Living Between the Darkness and the Light
By Relentless Aaron
To live in the United States is to participate in an ongoing dice roll—one where history, race, and circumstance collide with the randomness of human nature. The weight of injustice is undeniable, from the unprovoked killings of Emmett Till and Breonna Taylor to the public brutalization of Rodney King and the mass devastation of Black Wall Street. Our history is saturated with loss, inflicted both by systemic oppression and by our own hands—Black-on-Black violence, friendly fire, mistaken identity, and the individual tragedies that pepper the news cycle.
It can feel overwhelming. Exhausting. Like the killing never stops.
And yet, amidst it all, there is hope.
The Endless Reel of Tragedy
The names change, but the pain is the same.
Edmund Pettus Bridge, where marchers were beaten for daring to demand equality.
Philando Castile, shot in his car with his girlfriend and child as witnesses.
A woman killed near her stove, scalding water still on the burner when police burst in.
A man gunned down in his own apartment because an officer mistook it for hers.
Lynchings that never made the history books.
Police raids that hit the wrong doors, leaving families mourning.
We read about these moments, sometimes we march, sometimes we hashtag. But then life goes on. Work needs doing, kids need feeding, bills need paying. And so we adapt, pushing the horrors into the background so we can function. But is this a form of self-preservation or denial? Are we ignoring reality, or is choosing joy the most radical act of all?
The Balance Between Fear and Hope
I don’t walk in fear. Not of the police, not of the streets, not of the randomness of tragedy. But I am aware. I am aware that safety in America is relative—defined by zip codes, bank accounts, and social privilege. I am aware that even the most law-abiding, promising young Black man can still end up a hashtag.
But I also know that perspective matters. My mother, in her late 80s, has chosen peace. She doesn’t consume the horrors; she rejects the noise. My sister raises her children with affirmations, instilling in them a belief that they can shape their own futures. “I know I can be what I want to be. If I work hard for it, I’ll be where I want to be.” That song became their mantra, their protection against a world that tells them otherwise.
Maybe that’s what keeps us sane—the ability to believe in something greater than the pain. The ability to focus on our blessings, to see the beauty in life despite its brutality.
Where Are the Safe Spaces?
So where do we go to feel secure? If America is a gamble, is there a safer bet elsewhere?
Countries like Iceland, New Zealand, and Switzerland rank high for peace and security. But what does safety mean? Is it just about low crime, or is it about the feeling of belonging, of being free from systemic targeting? Safety is not just the absence of violence; it is the presence of justice.
And for Black people, that is often the missing piece.
So maybe safety is not just about where we are but how we live. Maybe it’s about building strong, protected communities. Maybe it’s about arming ourselves not with fear, but with knowledge, financial power, and collective strength. Maybe it’s about knowing that while history is dark, our future does not have to be.
A Call to Choose Light
The horrors will always be there. The brutality, the injustice, the violence—they are woven into the fabric of this country. But so is our resilience. So is our joy.
And we get to choose what we focus on.
So today, choose to build. Choose to teach. Choose to affirm. Choose to believe that despite the darkness, light still exists. Because if we don’t, then the horrors win. And that is something we cannot allow.
