A black man named Montrell Jackson was executed in cold blood in America yesterday. A hooded assassin drove hundreds of miles to deliberately shoot him and two of his white co-workers dead in the street with an AR-15. It was a senseless, callous, horrific act of violence that left a wife without a husband and a baby 4-month old son without a father.
Montrell was by all accounts a decent, generous and loving man.
A ‘gentle giant’ who was ‘always about peace.’
Colleagues said he worked hard, often seven days a week.
Friends spoke of his humorous streak and addiction to shoes.
He was a big fan of the New Orleans Pelicans and Dallas Cowboys.
Yet today he is dead.
Snuffed out in the prime of his life, aged just 32.
Last week, after two black men of similar age were shot dead, there was national outrage.
The black community rose as one to demand action against the perpetrators.
There was fury in the streets from New York to Los Angeles.
Men, women and children marching as one, baring placards screaming ‘Black Lives Matter!’
Beyoncé even stopped a concert to read out a rally-cry for justice for the men who had been killed.
Yet for THIS black victim, there was a very different reaction from that same black community.
Where are the protests?
Where are the placards?
Where’s the incendiary Beyoncé statement?
Where’s the RAGE?
Sadly for Montrell Jackson, he simply didn’t matter as much as those other two men to the Black Lives Matter movement.
Why?
Because he was a police officer.
This, to many Black Lives Matter activists, made him the enemy.