Sonja Massey

Sonja Massey Moments Before She is Murdered by Sean P. Grayson

I realize I’m behind in addressing this subject. I really had to sit with this one for a while before I had the mental or emotional capacity to speak on it. My last blog post was about Roger Fortson, a black man shot in his own home by police. That happened on May 3rd. On July 6th Police were called to the home of Sonja Massey with reports of a possible intruder. Sonja opened the door peacefully, while she had dinner cooking on the stove, and allowed the officers into her home. While one officer cleared the house for intruders or other suspects, Sean Grayson spoke to Sonia in her home. As Sonja went to remove the boiling water that she was using to cook dinner, from the stove, Grayson" “felt threatened” by Sonja's behavior, drew his weapon, And shot three times striking Sonja one time in the face. The officer has been charged.

Here we are once again. A black person shot in their own home by a police officer. It's the story we keep reliving month after month, year after year. The only thing that changes is the community. Other than that the story remains the same. Black person, white cop, murder. Black person, white cop, murder. It's like the worst song that you can't get out of your head, replaying itself over and over until you become numb to its effects. Until you become numb to the tune behind the words. The tune behind the words of police brutality and murder, is systemic and systematic racism. That tune carries behind every law enforcement agency, every prison and jail and every encounter that police have with citizens.

As a black woman, the tune is one I can't block out. I see the notes every time I leave my house. I see the notes every time a police officer pulls up behind me. Knowing full well that the song of my life can crescendo and cease with one wrong answer, with one wrong move, with one wrong 911 call. Each time the song ends with the crescendo of a bullet being fired or whispers of “I can’t breathe” the outcry of injustice begins. The weeping in the streets, the outrage, the protests, the riots begin; and even in those we’re told to “get over it”. “Just don't resist.” “The police are just doing their job”. “Why do you have to bring race into everything?” These are the lyrics to the tune that replays itself time and time again until we're numb. It's time to change the tune. Time that we develop new lyrics. And the only way that we can do that is if we dismantle the choir.

Deb Anyaibe