I can’t breathe. 5-27-20 by Jonathan Byrd
I know I’m supposed to be asking for your requests this morning, but I can’t breathe.
I know I’m supposed to be singing those requests tonight, but I can’t breathe.
You know I keep politics out of my performances. I believe that everyone deserves to come together, enjoy the music, and dance without shame or judgment, and I will continue to do that. This is not about politics. This is about breathing, and I can’t breathe.
We have a sign above our stage that says, “This is paradise.” That’s hard to say when I can’t breathe.
Maybe now we can see why protesters show up with weapons, because when they don’t, they can’t breathe. Maybe now we can admit that not only second amendment activists are concerned about tyranny, and that tyranny is real and it sits on your neck until you can’t breathe. Maybe now we can admit that breathing through a mask- even wearing a mask- is a luxury for many people in this country.
Only two days ago, many of us were honoring those who died for the greatest country in the world. It‘s hard for me to say “the greatest country in the world“ when I can’t breathe.
We can shut down the whole nation for months for a respiratory illness but we can’t even have a moment of justice for millions of Americans who live in fear every day of not being able to breathe.
I’ll have a debate about whether health care is a basic human right, or whether education is a basic human right, but I will not debate my right to breathe. I will not debate my fellow citizens’ right to breathe. I will not debate an illegal immigrant’s right to breathe. I will not debate whether someone with a criminal record has a right to breathe.
Everyone has a right to breathe. Yes, even that really terrible person you’re thinking of right now. Feel your own knee on your neck. We can start by allowing ourselves to breathe.
I spent a lot of time listening to recordings of men who were incarcerated as antebellum slaves on prison farms in Mississippi. When they breathed, I breathed. They literally taught me how to breathe. They taught me how to live inside each breath, and how each breath could be an expression of freedom. They taught me how precious that freedom is, and how fragile.
Now the hissing and fluttering of the recordings sounds like someone still struggling to breathe.
I would love to take your requests for tonight’s show, but I just can’t. When I’m done writing this, I’m going to turn off every device I have. Maybe by tonight, I’ll be able to sing this music that was created in large part by people who do not have the right to breathe in this country.
But now right now.
Right now, I can’t breathe.
We'll turn blue together.
Unfortunately, turning blue is not all that happens when you can't breath.
@jlynn37 I know, but it happens first.