I Never Believed It—But I Am Woke

“Ain’t no saving us, we gon’ have to save ourselves.” – Kendrick Lamar, Savior

I never believed it.

Not when I watched George Floyd’s breath stolen from him in broad daylight. Not when millions filled the streets chanting his name. Not when corporations made hollow statements and institutions promised change.

I never believed it when Ahmaud Arbery was hunted like an animal, gunned down in the open while jogging in his own neighborhood—his killers walking free for weeks because the system was never meant to protect him.

I never believed it when Botham Jean was murdered in his own apartment by a police officer who mistook his home for hers—because in America, a Black man relaxing in his living room is always a suspect, never a victim.

I never believed it when Breonna Taylor was shot in her sleep, her killers never truly held accountable—because Black women’s lives are too often dismissed as collateral damage in a system that has never valued them.

I knew then what I know now: America does not believe she was ever wrong.

She does not grieve the kidnapping, enslavement, degradation, or systemic oppression of Black people. She has never sought forgiveness, never pursued true penance, never turned from her wicked ways. This nation was built on a foundation of stolen bodies and broken backs, yet it still refuses to confess that sin.

And I never believed that justice would come from a nation that still clings to its rotten resolve—its exceptionalism, its entitlement. These are America’s true gods. They are contrary to Christ and contrary to the community He calls us to build. They are good for business, good for the illusion of power, good for the machismo that fuels her empire, but they are not good for righteousness.

But here’s what I do believe: I believe in being woke.

Not the caricature they’ve tried to twist it into—not the political buzzword, not the slur used to dismiss those who see injustice for what it is. No, I claim woke in its original, unshaken truth—the awareness of what has been done, what is still being done, and what must be done to move forward.

To be woke is to refuse the lullaby of American amnesia. To be woke is to know that justice does not roll down without action, without demand, without resistance to systems that were never designed for our freedom. To be woke is to see the world as it is and still believe in the God who can make it right.

The Weight of Being Woke

But let’s be real—staying woke is exhausting.

Carrying the weight of Black grief, Black fear, Black rage, and Black resilience day after day is enough to break even the strongest among us. The anxiety of simply existing in a world where our lives are undervalued, the trauma of watching history repeat itself, the stress of knowing we must work twice as hard to be seen as half as good—this burden is heavy.

And when the world gaslights us, when it tells us that we’re overreacting, that racism is in our heads, that justice is just around the corner if we’re patient enough—it takes a toll on our minds, our bodies, our souls.

Kendrick Lamar said it best:

“I suffer in silence and one day at a time / I been dealing with feelings I cannot explain.” – United in Grief

This is why mental health for Black people is not a luxury—it is a necessity. We cannot afford to ignore the toll that systemic oppression takes on us. We must be able to grieve, to rest, to heal. We must be able to say, “I am not okay,” without shame.

And yet, even in the midst of this pain, God is our helper.

“God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” – Psalm 46:1

“The Lord is my helper; I will not fear; what can man do to me?” – Hebrews 13:6

Healing While Woke

Our faith does not call us to ignore injustice, but neither does it call us to self-destruction. Jesus Himself withdrew to rest. Elijah, after standing up to the prophets of Baal, was so exhausted that he asked God to take his life—but instead, God gave him rest, food, and renewal (1 Kings 19:4-8).

To be woke and to be well are not contradictions. They are survival.

So we press on—but not as those who grind themselves into the ground for a system that does not love us. We fight for justice, but we also fight for our own peace. We protect our joy as fiercely as we demand our rights. We advocate, but we also take time to breathe, to pray, to heal.

Because our hope has never been in Pharaoh’s heart softening—it has always been in the God who sets captives free.

And if that makes me woke, then let me never sleep.