I come from a place where Ku Klux Klan meetings were televised Monday evenings.
I come from a place where a white man thought it was okay to call me a “monkey.”
I come from a place where comic relief for two white high school males was throwing rocks at my head while I was fishing.
I come from a place where people killed black cats, gutted them, and put them in our front yard to send a message.
I come from a place where my dad received hate mail at our house, referring to him as “the company token (expletive).”
People spat on me.
People threw food at me.
Now, at 37, I represent the United States of America. Literally. My job is to protect United States citizens, including those that attempted to deny me and my family the dignity of what it is to be human. The irony.
My name is Jason St. Julien. I am an assistant United States attorney. I am a federal prosecutor in the criminal division. I am the only black federal prosecutor in Colorado.
This, is my story.
* * * *
I am tired of being tired of this.
I am tired of seeing black and brown people killed. I am tired of people then putting the victim on trial for what he/she allegedly did to precipitate the use of deadly force.
I am tired of people worrying more about property damage and looting than a human life.
Are you listening?
I am tired of people making protesters wrong. I presume these critics know nothing of what it is like to worry about whether your black husband, black father, black son, black brother, or black boyfriend will survive a jog, bike ride, traffic stop, or walk in the park.
I am tired of the thoughts I have in my head. I am tired of wondering if I was naïve or stupid to think all of this would not happen.
I am tired of the tight rope walk of calculating whether I can trust someone who does not look like me. I am tired of wondering whether that person will have my back when it does not look good for them, when it may cost them, and when it is uncomfortable for them.
Do you hear me?
I am tired of thinking whether or not I have to signal to white people that I am safe (by smiling, waving, or saying hello) while jogging, riding my bike, or walking in a parking lot.
I am tired of people not getting that this — the unrelenting, frustratingly delicate balancing act of being black — is real.
This is not a farce. It is palpable. There is no ebb and flow. It is ever-present.
Wake up! This. Is. Real. People are dying and a large segment of the population couldn’t care less.
Do I have your attention?
It is so real that there are times when I do not want to get out of bed in the morning because I know that at some point during the day, I will come face to face with news stories rehashing how a black man was killed.
It is so real that there are times that I stay up as late as I can, past midnight, because the earlier I go to bed, the earlier I will have to face the problems of tomorrow, whatever they will be.
Do you see me?
It is so real that if indeed I get up on time, logging into my work computer seems like some herculean task.
It is so real that replying to an email feels like summiting Mt. Everest.
It is so real that I demand that the world have an authentic conversation about race. Not the type where you prance around with vagueries. The type where you tell the truth, wade into the muck, and confront the un-confrontable. That is where possibility lives. That is where mastery lives.
Do I have your heart?
* * * *
The conversation starts with you. You are powerful beyond measure. It is not because of some title or position you hold. It is because of who you are, who you are for the world. You possess the innate ability to alter the course of history. That is why I share myself with you.
That is why I request that when you see something, you say something. When you hear something, you say something. Tolerate nothing. Acquiesce to nothing. Be fierce. Be bold. Be brave. Be unambiguously clear that you do not accept the degradation, subjugation, and humiliation of black and brown people. That is how you make the difference.
It is time. This is happening.
We are transforming the conversation about race.
Are you in?
Jason St. Julien is an assistant United States attorney in Colorado. The views expressed herein are the author’s only and do not necessarily represent the views of the Department of Justice or the United States Attorney’s Office for the District of Colorado.
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