Aisha Huisar

Summertime and the Livin’ Ain’t Easy

Summertime for my family is usually filled with celebration and adventure. Several of us celebrate our birthdays during the summer, including myself, and we enjoy planning barbeques, birthday parties and family trips.

I remember the summer my daughter, Naima, turned two years old. The date was July 6, 2016 and I was sitting on the couch finalizing the details for her birthday party when my cell phone rang. It was my husband Antonio. I thought he was calling to check up on Naima and I so I answered with an upbeat “Hey!” He responded with a short and dry, “hey.” The tone of his voice concerned me and I asked, “Are you ok?” He replied, “no”. He then proceeded to inform me that Philando Castile, a Black man in Minneapolis, was fatally shot by the police. I immediately put my party planner down and grabbed my laptop. I went to Facebook looking for posts and videos. My timeline was filled with statuses about the incident and dread overcame me. I thought to myself, ‘not again?’ Just the day before Alton Sterling, another Black man, was fatally shot by a police officer in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. It seemed like every summer after the killing of Trayvon Martin in Florida, Black people were becoming hashtags for being wrongfully killed. 

I tuned back into our conversation and Antonio told me he saw the video of his murder online and that it was unbearable to watch. Selfishly, I didn’t want to see it. I didn’t want to watch a man lose his life on Facebook. In shock and with not much to say, we ended our conversation. I hung up the phone and tried to carry on with party planning but I couldn’t. The news weighed heavily on my heart and I broke down and turned on the television. Coverage about the shooting was on every news station. Protesters took to the street and the feeling of civil unrest began to grow. Glued to the television, it wasn’t until Naima sat at my feet that I noticed she was watching the news too. I hurried and turned the television off. I picked her up and placed her in her crib with a few toys. I returned to the living room and wrestled with my thoughts. ‘Do I turn the news back on or do I go back to party planning?’ I turned the television back on and within moments the newscaster warned viewers that the video contained graphic images. 

Nothing could prepare me for what I saw. For the first time on American television I witnessed a young Black man, with his family beside him, being fatally shot by a police officer. I burst into tears at the sight! Devastated! Angry! I sat alone on the couch and cried into a nearby pillow. I thought this was the worst of it. No. The footage then transitioned to his partner handcuffed in the backseat of a squad car. I cringed as I heard her wailing and screaming in distress. Then a child's voice broke through. The little girl says, “It’s OK Mommy…it’s ok, I’m right here with you.” Dumbfounded, I sat in disbelief. I couldn’t believe the officers placed a child in the back of a squad car too. I thought to myself, ‘Why? What did this child and her mother do?’ Then, her words repeatedly played over and over again in my head, “It's OK Mommy…it’s ok, I’m right here with you.” Hearing the little girl encourage her mom in the midst of a crime scene was like salt being poured on an open wound. My heart ached for this family. Many thoughts crossed my mind. I imagined how easily this could be ANY Black family. I thought about how unprotected and undervalued Black lives are in the United States and I cried into my pillow even more. 

Part of me went numb that day. We did celebrate my daughter’s birthday two days later, but I wasn’t the same. My heart was filled with joy for my daughter and sorrow for the Black community. Sorrow because the year changes but our treatment remains the same — Black people are still degraded and dehumanized in the United States. Sadly, more Black people were wrongfully killed in the years to follow, their untimely deaths stung but didn’t crush me like Philando Castile’s murder — until George Floyd.

It’s now 2020 and life is surreal! We’re living through a global pandemic and people are getting sick and some dying at alarming rates from COVID-19. From March 2020 until June 2020 the world experienced a complete shutdown. The only places open for business were hospitals, grocery stores and gas stations. Schools were forced to close and operate remotely. Restaurants operated via drive-thru and sporting events were canceled. Life seemed to come to a halt. With not much to do, most people glued themselves to their social media accounts or the television.

 I remember being excited toward the end of May. Remote learning was finally coming to an end and come June 1st, we were all officially off punishment. Well, that’s exactly what sheltering-in-place felt like for the past several months, punishment. Come June 1st, businesses were allowed to invite patrons back in person. These warm summertime feelings came to a halt when news about the murder of George Floyd began to surface on social media. As I scrolled down my Facebook timeline I saw multiple Black Lives Matter posts. I expected the worst. I came across a video someone posted and watched in horror. I wept. Watching Derek Chauvin kneel on George Floyd’s neck as he cried out for help and eventually for his mom pierced my soul. It was something about him calling for his mother as he gasped for air that chilled me. I was again reminded of how disposable Black lives are and I simmered with hatred. Hatred over white privilege and systemic racism. It wasn’t enough that Black people were dying at disproportionate rates from COVID-19 compared to our White counterparts. No, we must be handcuffed, held down and publicly executed.

Days later I came across a Facebook post on my daughters school Parent Group page. Geoff, another parent, threw out the idea of having a family friendly protest in Orland Park — the idea was inspired by his 9-year old son. I immediately jumped at the opportunity, I was ready for my voice to be heard! I reached out to Geoff and we began to plan. It all happened so fast! Within a week's time we had found marshal’s, connected with Dr. Ameenia Matthews, another Black Lives Matter organizer and promoted the protest. I felt ready to go — until the day of the protest.

A wave of emotions overcame me that day — sadness being one of them. I remember creating a Black Lives Matter poster for my daughter prior to the protest. While taping pictures of Emmett Till, Trayvon Martin and Tamir Rice on the poster I began to cry. Tears streamed down my face as I looked over what I created. I thought about how their young lives were cut short simply because they were Black. The gravity of the protest and what it meant began to settle in. The thought came to me that, ‘I am their voice and I speak for those who no longer have one.’ Pulling myself together, I bottled up my emotions and headed to the protest.

When I arrived, there were crowds of people waiting for us to begin and even more people when we reached the corner of 143rd in LaGrange. At that moment, I was overcome with love. I watched families: White, Black, Latinx and Middle Eastern shout Black Lives Matter! I stood in awe gazing upon little children leading our chants. Not only did I witness the beauty of our country, but the power of our democracy. Our humanity was on full display for ALL to see. No, I didn’t fear counter protesters, because the perfect love I experienced there drove out all fear. As one community we stood, shouted, kneeled, cried and demanded that our nation live up to its creed, that all men and women are created equally and have unalienable rights — one being the right to live.

Black Lives Matter simply means we should be seen and treated as human beings. Human beings in this nation have the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. In the words of Bettina Love, we want to do more than survive. We want to live and thrive!

In various cultures it’s believed that speaking the name of someone who has transitioned honors the life they lived and makes them alive again. To honor them I ask that you say their names aloud.

George Floyd (age 46)

Philando Castile (age 32)

Sandra Bland (age 28)

Breonna Taylor (age 26)

Ahmaud Arbery (age 25)

Elijah McClain (age 23)

Trayvon Martin (age 17)

Tamir Rice (age 12)

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