ait, 2018.

Some moments don’t make sense until years later.

Back when i was in AIT at Fort Sam Houston, i was doing everything right. i took pride in that. i moved how a soldier is supposed to move. i listened. i learned. i earned my spot. At one point, i was even given the responsibility to lead my platoon. That meant something to me. It wasn’t just rank—it was trust.

One weekend, we had pass. Nothing crazy. Just a chance to breathe outside the structure for a minute. me and my battle buddies were out, dressed down, just being regular people again. One of my friends had music playing from his phone. Hip-hop. The kind of music we grew up on. The kind of music that tells stories we already understand without needing explanation.

Out of nowhere, a general officer runs up on us.

Not a sergeant. Not a lieutenant. A general.

At the time, i didn’t fully process it. i just saw rank, saw authority, and snapped into soldier mode. But what followed never really sat right with me. He asked why we were listening to music with the word “nigga” in it. Then he asked if it was okay for him to say it. Just like that. No context. No bridge. Just dropped it in the air and let it sit there between us.

And in that moment, i didn’t respond. None of us did.

Not because we didn’t have thoughts. Not because we didn’t feel something shift. But because in that uniform, in that position, there are moments where your voice doesn’t feel like it belongs to you anymore.

We were told to go back, change into our dress uniforms, and report to his office.

On a Sunday.

That alone told me this wasn’t small.

By the time we got there, it wasn’t just him. It was our entire chain of command. People who were probably supposed to be with their families now standing in formation because of something that started with music playing from a phone.

We got marched there. About a mile. Silent. Minimal cadence.

When we walked into his office, i remember the details more than the message. Burgundy carpet everywhere. Clean. Quiet. Controlled. It felt like walking into a space where everything had purpose… except what was about to happen next.

He played a video of a black woman being attacked by a dog during a civil rights march.

Then he asked us if we knew who she was. We didn’t.

He said she was someone who “couldn’t use her words,” and that’s why she got bit.

i remember standing there thinking… what does this have to do with us?

As tears hit the floor, i knew i would never get that answer.

Even now, years later, i’m still asking that question.

Because it wasn’t explained. It wasn’t connected. It wasn’t a conversation. It was a moment where something was being projected onto us, and we were expected to receive it without clarity.

After that, things changed for me.

The role i had earned was taken. Privileges gone. Pass revoked. The city we were just out enjoying—closed off to us completely.

And just like that, something shifted.

Not in my discipline. Not in my performance.

But in my understanding.

That moment taught me something i didn’t have the words for back then. It showed me how quickly power can move without explanation. How easily a situation can escalate when authority decides it needs to. And how, sometimes, the lesson being taught isn’t the one that’s actually received.

i’ve thought about that day more times than i can count. Not because i’m holding onto anger—but because i’ve been trying to make sense of it.

As a soldier, i understood structure. i understood correction. i understood discipline.

But i didn’t understand that moment.

And maybe that’s the truth of it.

Not every experience is meant to be wrapped up clean. Some moments stay with you because they were never fully explained in the first place.

But what i do know now is this:

i didn’t lose anything that day.

If anything, i gained awareness.

Awareness of how important it is to communicate clearly.
Awareness of how culture and context matter.
Awareness of how leadership isn’t just about authority—it’s about understanding the people in front of you.

And most importantly, awareness of my own voice.

Because even though i didn’t use it then… i can use it now.

And maybe that’s what this is really about.

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