Black Lives Matter.

It’s not a saying to look woke and cool, its not something to commodify for Instagram (or random beer blog) clout and it is certainly not something a person should say and then forget about.

It stands for very real lives in our communities fighting for equal rights in the face of a constricting serpent of a culture literally designed from the jump to crush the spirit and lives out of Black people.

Racist policing is the most visible symbol of this system, along with overzealous prosecutors and the entire carceral system we’ve all just come to accept as normal. But redlining, lack of representation in all forms of media — including journalism — and prejudicial behavior from the public at large all stack up into a towering obelisk of abject racism looming far above the head of any one person.

As I write this, players in the National Basketball Association and Major League Baseball are wildcat striking, refusing to play to bring attention — and maybe action — to the state of Wisconsin, where a white cop tried to murder Jacob Blake, a Black man who was leaving a fight he had helped break up. In front of his children.

When white people like myself begin to embrace the Black Lives Matter movement, so many of us do it in a way that either centers ourselves in the spotlight or venture into the bizarre racist trope of fetishization of Black people.

These aren’t “Black bodies” as the parlance of these times seems to veer towards. These are people. Mothers. Fathers. Sisters, uncles, brothers, grandparents, cousins. Boyfriends, girlfriends. Wives, Husbands. Friends. Coworkers.

They are nurses. Birdwatchers. Sports fans. Chess players. Readers, lovers, doers.

We have to remember that. When we take the humanity out of the movement, what is it we are fighting for? Are we looking for change? Catharsis? Or something altogether more selfish?

And that obelisk? The cracks are beginning to show. It is rotting from the inside out. It is ripe for demolition.

But we can’t let up. Even for a second. Even if our breath gives out and our bones break. Because if any person in this world faces injustice, we cannot claim to be just. We cannot claim to be moral.

So when I heard my former (?) employer was creating a beer for the Black is Beautiful campaign, I was hesitant, but intrigued.

The Black is Beautiful campaign was started by Black-owned Texas brewery Weathered Souls.

The initiative “is a collaborative effort amongst the brewing community and its customers, in an attempt to bring awareness to the injustices that many people of color face daily. Our mission is to bridge the gap that’s been around for ages and provide a platform to show that the brewing community is an inclusive place for everyone of any color. We are asking for all breweries and brewers far and wide to raise a glass with us in unison and participate in this collaboration.”

100% of the beer’s proceeds are donated “to local foundations that support police brutality reform and legal defenses for those who have been wronged.”

Original 40 Brewing, in the North Park neighborhood of San Diego, is helmed by head brewer Chris Gillogly, a friend of mine and a damn fine brewer.

Proceeds will go toward San Diegans for Justice and California Innocence Project.

He knocked this out of the park.

The beer — based on one recipe developed by Weathered Souls but intended to be highly customizable — is a velvety rich 10% ABV with deep fudgy notes, dark roast malts and hints of blackstrap molasses and fresh-brewed coffee. A tiny nip of heat from the alcohol is rounded off by the thick texture and roast flavors.

Pours pitch black with a mocha head, absolutely designed to sip slowly and with friends.

Analogous to the Lost Abbey’s Serpent Stout.

Delicious. Must-buy.

Oh, and in case you forgot, Black Lives Matter.