Weight 

By Priscilla Wiredu 

That weight. 

That weight that has been on the shoulders of the first African forced onto that ship.  

The weight that crushed them amongst each other through the violent, uncaring waves.  

The same weight carried on the back of the first slave to set foot in the Americas. 

That weight that lived on slaves’ backs, their heads, their shoulders, their feet, keeping them down, submissive, scared. 

That weight makes them think that they were better off drowning in the water with others. The weight of grief is piled on top of that too, but for their survival, they push that aside. 

It’s amazing, the Black human body, isn’t it?  

The weight in which Black women carry when dealing with their boss’s families and their own. The weight Black men feel to “stay in their place” when minding their own business.  

The weight of hateful eyes looking at them, waiting for them to step out of line so they can unleash their animalistic hate. It’s like walking through a lion’s den covered in T-bone steaks. 

It’s dangerous to not be aware of this weight — Emmet Till, just a boy, was just getting used to his weight when his life was savagely torn from him. All because of the lie of a white woman. Now his mother carries his weight until her death. 

The weight has become our survival instinct. The weight of carrying our crying babies on our backs escaping the cotton fields at night. The weight of worrying when our Black family will return home, if at all.  

That weight. That immovable weight. 

That weight never goes away. Every Black American has felt it, personally or sympathetically.  

Whether it’s walking into a store to get something. 

Or encountering a police officer, 

Or walking home alone in the dark (where people are afraid of YOU, ain’t that some shit?) 

The weight Martin Luther King Jr. talked about in his iconic speech, how the weight he felt for every Black American and his dream to one day uplift it. 

The weight Rodney King felt as those three heavyset police officers beat him within an inch of his life, and were acquitted for doing so. 

The weight Ruby Bridges felt walking down the steps of her home, aligned with bigots shouting at her as she made her way to school. A weight no six-year-old should have to feel. 

The weight George Floyd felt on his neck for nine minutes. Recorded,slow, and tortuous weight. 

The weight of the gunshot that crashed through Ralph Yarl’s face, simply because he had the nerve to not know where he was.  

The weight OJ Simpson felt when the verdict at his trial was announced. 

The weight Barack Obama felt during his inauguration.  

This weight is ambivalent for Black people. This weight has made itself a home within every Black American, whether they acknowledge it or not. It should be crushing, it should be devastating, it should wipe anyone out. 

But it doesn’t.  

Because through everything Black people have been through, they have been granted strength. 

Resilience. 

Resistance. 

Pride. 

Love. 

Justice. 

Acknowledgement. 

Whether its ending generational trauma, or passing new laws, or positive representation, 

This weight is shared equally among Black people, and as a people, we have learned to distribute it among us so that no one suffers alone.