Samson Tequir: What Healing Looks Like

It has been hard for me to sit and write this, because every-time I attempted, I felt I may have been writing a suicide letter. It’s taken until now to be able to tell this story without fixating on myself as a victim.

On July 31st, 2020, I was assaulted just steps from our home in Rochester, NY.

That morning, we left our house to make a quick run to the store just at the end of the block. It was hot and we grabbed whatever clothes were closest. We left our house and went to the same store we’d been in plenty of times. I remember the group of guys who were watching us at the corner. I saw them every day. Sometimes we’d speak, but usually we just nod and keep walking. My partner went into the store and I went into a garden across the street. The same group of men watched me while I walked through the garden looking for kale, until going to the store front to wait for my partner.

That’s when they told me to leave their block. I was supposed to “take my gay shit” somewhere else. But why would I leave without my partner? I refused to go and they walked into the store to harass my partner, telling them to make me leave. Once we were together, we tried to go home. They followed us around the corner and, while I was walking away, one of them hit me from behind.

I woke up a moment later on the ground. The group of young men around me and my partner pulling at me, telling me to stand. A teenager in the group, went live on Facebook and recorded me on the ground. I stood up and saw blood on

the sidewalk, my face was numb, I hadn’t realized it then, but I couldn’t see out of my right eye. After a few steps, I collapsed in our yard and was nearly dragged into the front door.

I don’t remember much of that part. I remember yelling and a 911 call. One of my closest friends tried to clean blood from my face and chest- she would later be one of the many who cared for me nearly 24/7. I remember paramedics trying to ask me questions. I remember Rochester police

officers showing up and doing absolutely nothing. I remember all of our Black community and allies showing up and occupying our block. Then I remember 2 of my brothers carrying me into an ambulance.

I was seen quickly and never left alone, only due to the love, planning and labor of my community. Just a few hours later, I learned the extent of my injuries: a fractured eye socket, a fractured cheekbone, retinal tearing, a concussion and a broken tooth. The entire right side of my face had been broken. After the weekend and many failures from

Rochester General Hospital in communicating with my care team, I was admitted for surgery to repair my facial fractures. I now have 2 titanium plates in my face fixing a sloping eye and a sunken cheekbone.

We expected a few hours for surgery, and then back home for recovery. So I was shocked waking up a day and a half later, with a breathing tube in my mouth, to learn that I had gone into cardiac arrest during surgery. During resuscitation, injury to my ribs was added to the list of things that would need to heal. I stayed the remainder of the week in the hospital, and once discharged, my mother, my partner and my friends spent the next month caring for me full time.

It has been 3 months since that chain of events. The man who assaulted me returned to our home multiple times during my recovery, despite multiple restraining orders. Fortunately, we foresaw this happening and I spent my remaining time in Rochester in a large undisclosed space, housing myself and my family, paid for by donations from our community- the Black Queer community. I have since been able to feed myself, bathe alone and walk unassisted. All of this I needed constant help with for nearly 2 months. I’m back to breathing nearly normally and going places alone. My eyesight is still mostly gone in my right eye and I have adapted to that as best I can. Eyepatches to match all of my cute outfits. And I’ll finally say it, I still look damn good with one eye.

This assault sparked my partner and I to relocate and we are starting a new home while I finish my physical healing and begin emotional repairs.

I decided that I will not write my assailants name here. It isn’t important. He is the result of widespread homophobia, transphobia and anti blackness that eats away at Black culture and will get publicity from me. I believe that Black life is beautiful and unique and my entire community has marched in the streets all summer saying just that. I will never not believe it. The man who broke my face- and almost my spirits- is one more Black life. As I wrote this, I know he will be in prison soon and I sincerely hope he does not become another one of our skewed statistics. As I am healing, I also hope that he heals as well. I hope he can return safely to his life after he is released. I hope he can find love for himself and people around him. I hope he can feel

love just as well. I hope that love is what he carries around with him as he works and raises his children and makes trips to the corner store. I hope he heals so he does no more harm.

I am healing from this. I’m learning to not blame myself for simply existing as me. I’m learning to not be afraid of men in the street and continue my life. I’m learning to recognize that even after that one moment of hate, I have seen nothing but love, support and encouragement from my entire community embracing me. I am going to heal completely and I wish this same healing to all of us. All Black lives matter. All of us.

Every day that I wake up, its even more evident that I can love being me and I will keep being flamboyant and Black because there is room and love for us always and in all ways.