“Southern trees bear strange fruit, blood on the leaves and blood on the root…”
On Tuesday, July 6, 2016 in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, dash cam footage made its way to the internet depicting yet another police execution of a black civilian. The victim was a 37-year-old father named Alton Sterling, who was selling CDs and DVDs outside of a convenience store. Although the video itself isn’t long, the horror is still palpable. In the video, Sterling is seen being violently shoved to the ground and is shot in the head. His body, not even cold yet, lays in a pool of his own blood.
“Black bodies swinging in the summer breeze, strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees…”
The video (and subsequently a second shorter one) has been shared via social media several thousand times. By the time you finish reading this piece, it may be millions of times.
“The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth, scent of magnolias sweet and fresh, then the sudden smell of burning flesh…”
As I logged into Facebook this morning, I was bombarded with video footage and pictures from the murder. Without thinking, I started to weep, as I looked at the bloody face of a dead man who looked a bit like my own father.
“Here is a fruit for the wind to pluck…”
I truly am not here for the sharing of these, to put it bluntly, snuff films. Too many times, have I seen black and brown bodies dehumanized all for likes and reblogs. It’s eerily akin to the old postcards of lynchings that people used to send to one another as mementos. Yes, once upon a time (only a few decades ago), you could pick up a postcard of a white mob (usually at a fun gathering like a picnic where women and children were present and smiling) gathered around the charred remains of a black man, woman, and/or child hanging from a tree.
“For the wind to gather, for the wind to suck…”
The pain that some of us black folks endure when we see these videos and images can’t be put into words.
“For the sun to rot, for the tree to drop…”
Our collective pain, our bodies passed around the internet like a novelty pack of trading cards. Our bodies, it seems, are worth nothing.
The world has become desensitized to our deaths. My father could be next, or my mother, or my brother. Their executions wouldn’t be private, the world would get to see the flesh of my flesh lying cold, eyes open, and dead on the pavement. I will have to share their last words with Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat. Their lives are worth nothing more than a reblog.
“Here is a strange and bitter crop.”
Featured image via “Memorial wall to Alton Sterling, near the Triple S Mart” by Former UN Special Rapporteur on assembly & associa / CC BY 2.0
