It echoes in the wind.
It haunts the countryside.
It reverberates through the very soul of America.
It is the sound of a mother’s anguish.
Like a Hurricane, it begins across the Atlantic with a mother’s cries of sorrow when her son doesn’t return to the village. She looks longingly toward the coastline and realizes, like so many before, he has been taken by the white men in boats, and he would never be seen again.
It makes landfall in the American south with a mother screaming NO as the white men pull her son from her arms. As they leave with him, a tear runs down her cheek, and she realizes, like so many before, he would be sold to another plantation, and her son would never be seen again.
It sweeps across the purple mountain majesty with a mother’s sobbing as her son’s lifeless, unrecognizable body is pulled from the river. Her body trembles and she realizes, like so many before, he was in the wrong place on the wrong night, and the white men in the pickup truck took his life only for sport, and her son’s smile would never be seen again.
It rattles the amber waves of grain with a mother’s moaning as the jury of white men enters the court room and, despite all the evidence to the contrary, pronounce the defendant innocent. Her soul fills with disbelief, and she realizes, like so many before, any chance of justice for her murdered son would never be seen again.
It is heard from sea to shining sea with a mother’s grieving as the video of the white police officer calmly resting his knee on her son’s neck plays. She watches in horror as her son yells I can’t breathe and calls out for her, and as the life slowly drains from his body, she realizes, like so many before, the joy on her son’s face would never be seen again.
Listen to it, America.
Listen and do not turn a death ear to it.
Listen to 400 years of a mother’s anguish.