A Note About the Attack on My Hometown

Buffalo — 05.14.22

Photo by Jonathan Rivera on Unsplash

[*deep breath*]

This isn’t an essay. This won’t be edited or even read before I post. I’m not offering the definitive take, nor a particularly novel one. I’m ruminating from a perspective I specifically have because of where specifically this happened.

[Of paramount importance, though, and since I’m writing the beginning of this at the end, I must say this sea-of-consciousness did not turn out how I thought it would, and many of the thoughts, words, and occasionally even rhythm of this piece owe a considerable debt to pan-African writers and thinkers, Black people more generally, and elements of Black art, storytelling, and culture, including but not limited to James Baldwin, Maya Angelou, bell hooks, Stokley Carmichael, and W.E.B. Du Bois, as well as Buffalo’s own India Walton. Any exact lifts are purely coincidental and corrections and citations will be annotated post-publish.]

Should you wish to help those more personally affected, you can do so here.

Alright, let’s talk about Buffalo.

I have a lot on my mind and in my heart but nothing elegant to say. It’s no picnic to see your hometown become the latest hashtag, and that’s to say nothing about how these terrorist attacks never get any easier in general, much less…