Grief, Delayed

I didn’t publicly mourn Viola Fletcher. I recorded video after video before calling it quits, because I had been following her for so much of my life.

Randomly throughout the year I found myself holding my breath, hoping she was still alive before checking online. I found myself sitting around just wishing she would be able to witness certain things, and when Kamala was announced, I hoped she got to live to see her win.

Now as a quick aside, I had a lot of strong feelings about Kamala Harris but one thing that I did feel hope for was hope that the Black women that have spent their entire lives fighting to be recognized would get to see one of their own in office. I deplored most of the policies by both Democrats and Republicans, I hated the stances, but I loved the hope I saw in the eyes of Black women around me when they got to see that. For Viola Fletcher, I wanted her to witness that in her lifetime.

I wanted Viola to live forever, to win her lawsuit, to continue beating so many odds as a middle finger to white supremacy and on a night like tonight (writing this at 1 am) I find myself in tears thinking of her. 

I think there is a grief in not being able to give more to the people that paved the way for you. It’s never something on your own that you do, but at times we feel personally responsible for giving them their flowers.

I wanted Viola Fletcher to witness a downfall of White Supremacy, to witness a massive shift in us — to a certain extent she did. She lived through an era of major achievement, of accountability, and of fierce resistance but I never wanted that to curve back around to our neighbors being kidnapped and white men marching in the streets.

The grief I feel for Viola Fletcher is a grief I feel for so many of my ancestors. On a day like today where I have been fighting for people to respect the language that those ancestors and elders created, the memory of Mrs. Fletcher sits a little bit deeper. 

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