After all these years, I am sorely convinced that Black lives still don’t matter—most importantly, not even to us as Black people.

Shush. I know this is not the politically-correct thing to say. That after my opening refrain, Black-ademics, the Afro-stocracy, and those fist-pumping Blacker-than-thou soul brothers and sisters might be ready to cancel me—at least to demand revocation of my Black card.

But before I relinquish it, let them prove to me that what I said isn’t true. Go ahead. Prove it. At least first hear me out…

Where is the outrage among us Black folk over the at least 50 mostly African-American women murdered in Chicago since 2001 possibly by at least one serial killer? Where’s the mass outcry among us over the more than 5,000 Black women and girls murdered across America from 2019-2021 alone? Where are the marchers and hell-raisers infuriated over the nearly 98,000 Black females listed as missing in 2022, according to the National Crime Information Center? .

Why have I never seen Black Lives Matter protestors wading in a sea of humanity and impassioned, spit-spewing chanting and sign-waving as they march through the ‘hood demanding justice when another young Black man is gunned down by another young Black man? Only when the killer or assaulter is white.

Where is the Black Lives Matter movement after yet another mass shooting by a young Black man with a “chopper” on the block that leaves yet another trail of blood, carnage and tears? Why have we as a race of people been so numbed into complacency and a state of near complete blindness and deafness with regard to the disappearance and murders of thousands of Black women and girls? Why are we so mute?

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An Example of a Local Effort: Missing and Exploited East of the River Ward 7 and 8