Blinding Patriotism (or why I won’t stand up)

There’s seems to be something about professional football that gets people all riled up (something in the turf, maybe?) If you haven’t read about my first encounter with ignorance at an NFL game, read this first.  Or if you haven’t read my piece on the silent protests taking place at professional sports games, read this one, too.

Yet again, my significant other and I ran into some trouble when visiting Baltimore to watch the Steelers play their rival team. After a festive bout of tailgating, we arrived at our seats with a couple minutes till kickoff. The stadium was packed (with mostly Ravens fans) but we got settled pretty quickly by the time the national anthem started to play. In hypnotic fashion, (nearly) everyone in the stadium stood to hear the rendition belted out as we remained silently seated. To our right, a rather disgruntled woman leered in our direction. “Oh my god, are you kidding me?” was audible enough for us to hear, coupled with her look of absolute disgust at our silent act of protest.

Because I was fairly certain she wasn’t just mad about us supporting the opposing team, my partner and I talked to each other about her assumptions and reaction. She initiated a conversation with my partner: “My family is full of veterans who fought to protect this country.” Little did she know (at least at first) that we both are closely related to veterans who fought in combat for the U.S only to return to face either racial discrimination or neglect from the VA. But alas, she wasn’t here to listen. She was here to feel important.

As my partner continued to advocate on our behalf for our RIGHTS AS AMERICAN CITIZENS to express ourselves freely, our disgruntled patriot friend, with her husband’s hand blocking her face so he could watch the game, started to shout profanity at us. Visibly upset by our encounter, the woman left with her husband (whom I feel some sympathy for; he missed nearly the entire game). We didn’t see the woman for the rest of the game. It was too painful for her to sit next to disrespectful, unappreciative, “assholes” who clearly have no reverence for democracy.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? People who serve in the military understand that their brave and selfless actions serve a larger purpose of freedom. You don’t become a soldier because you want people to think the same way you do; you serve in spite of those differences. You serve in the name of freedom and a democratic society where citizens have the right to express themselves, well freely.

So, angry Ravens fan, I appreciate the people who serve in the military and I value their efforts to protect my rights as a citizen. Thus, as a way to show that appreciation for what they do, I will continue to express my opinion in a way that may make you uncomfortable. My sitting for this anthem (created during a time when I would have been considered less than human) is not an attack on veterans or soldiers. It’s an attack on the institutionalized racism ingrained in our “free” society that shoots down black bodies and fuels the school to prison pipeline. The racism you might not notice as a white American thanks to your disillusioned perspective courtesy of Fox News.

I’m sorry, not sorry, that your world view can’t allow you to see the injustices marginalized people face on a daily basis (especially in a city like Baltimore.) But your insults and anger won’t deter me from continuing to exercise my rights.

 

 

Letter to the aggressive sidewalk peddlers in uptown Manhattan

Have you ever been in a situation where someone said something offensive to you, but you couldn’t think of a great response until at least 2 hours later? Well, this is my response to a couple of “sidewalk peddlers” who have been increasingly aggressive in their tone towards me recently.

“So you don’t care about police brutality?”

The words seep in through my ears and twist around my brain.

My stomach grows heavy as concrete as I turn slowly.

My eyes land on the speaker and I restrain the urge to scream.

She stood there, natural hair in an afro, glasses atop her nose, as if expecting me to smile wide and join her in her fruitless attempt to garner support midday on a progressive Ivy campus. I resisted the urge to cock my head sideways and insult her effort.

I usually ignore the comments (“seasoned” Brooklynite that I am, brushing off the catcalls en route to the subway). But this was different. The situation, my emotional fatigue, her tone. I couldn’t gather the words fast enough, but soon came face to face with her.

If only she knew, I thought! That a black body lying prone, hands up, could have very well been my brother. My father. My student. The person I love simply because the police are threatened by the color of his skin as it glistens in the sun when he reaches for his driver’s license at the traffic stop.

If only she knew that I’ve organized with others at Howard when Trayvon was shot, when all of this came into focus. That I sought the comfort of my mother when Zimmerman was acquitted, and that I’ve been numb ever since. That the killing of black women isn’t the priority right now in this country and that I’ve been dismissed in conversations when I try to assert my right as a woman of color because of the fairness of my skin.

Excuse me for not wanting to donate my money, my mental energy, my exhausted emotional state to your organization. Excuse me for not being ready to address the trauma I face when I hear about yet another civil rights violation. Excuse me for not allowing your anger about standing on the sidewalk in 95 degree weather affect my resolve. Excuse me for not letting your guilt-inducing tactics sway me into wavering on my stance.

So I’m not ready to sit down with you near the end of my lunch break (after I’ve spent all morning creating ways to engage my black and brown students in discourse about their lives and before I scroll through my feed for the umpteenth time, trying the scores of images of black bodies in the street).

Because even though I’m not ready to take the action that might suffice in your eyes, I am in front of my black and brown students day in and out, collecting the strength to look them in the eyes and say that they are worth it. That they matter.

I want them to understand who they are and why their presence in their communities is important. I want them to feel valued and know that their voices can be loud enough to enact change. I want them to see things from another perspective, so hopefully they can understand that we are all more similar than different.

(un)safe Spaces in Black Academia

In case you missed it in these past few weeks, attending a university is yet another thing people of color cannot do in the U.S. Between Mizzou and Harvard, the message of exclusion for people of color in higher academia has been made loud and clear.

COLUMBIA, MO – NOVEMBER 9: Jonathan Butler (c), a University of Missouri grad student who did a 7 day hunger strike listens during a forum speaking to students on the campus of University of Missouri – Columbia on November 9, 2015 in Columbia, Missouri. Students celebrate the resignation of University of Missouri System President Tim Wolfe amid allegations of racism. (Photo by Michael B. Thomas/Getty Images)

In response to widespread racism and discrimination against black students on Mizzou’s campus, several students rallied together to demand focus on the reality of living as black students on predominately white institutions (PWIs). As several voices have pointed out, protests like these are nothing new; students of color (and their allies) across the country have demanded attention to bring change and awareness to their campus communities.

In this particular case though, the backlash from the protests at Mizzou have highlighted why black voices remain silenced in largely white spaces. Conservative pundits, color blind well-meaning white people, and even outwardly racist folks alike were quick to shame protesters for voicing their concerns, accusing protesters of ignoring other issues around the world.

Meanwhile, the blatant acts of racism on Harvard’s campus demonstrate the reality that blacks are especially excluded from ivy league institutions which have been built upon the notorious legacies that founded this country. The irrational fear, grounded solely in illusions of white privilege, has emboldened white students, born of this legacy of hatred, to commit hateful (yet cowardly) acts on college campuses.

The seemingly inherent fear of blacks somehow diluting the pure prestige of ivy league schools has trained many white college students to believe that racism and discrimination are normal aspects of college culture. An NPR story on the future of Mizzou after the protests featured an interview with a white student.

“I honestly want these protests to try and die down,” he says. “I want the message to continue, but I think it’s attracting a lot of unnecessary national attention from just everywhere. And it’s giving Mizzou a bad image in my opinion … I don’t think we deserve what’s going on right now. I just kind of want things to go back to normal, how they were. Nice and quiet.”

Many of the phrases used here are elements of coded language that get thrown around in an effort to lessen the sting of racism (and make white people more comfortable with expressing their ideas publicly.) The idea of a “normal” highlights the lack of awareness of students who don’t understand what it’s like to feel unsafe in most spaces. The privilege of power extends to these students when they can walk freely to class instead of avoiding potentially fatal threats on campus.

While the issues surrounding these recent incidents remain, it’s clear that the next generation of leaders refuse to allow racism to subtly coat the surface of academic spaces. The black lives matter movement has continued to gain momentum, despite it’s inner struggle in grappling with intersectionality. In order to see true change in public spaces, the uncomfortable conversations about race must continue.

Otherwise, things might just go back to how they were. Nice and quiet.

This is Just to Say

This is just to say
We have stopped
tolerating your oppression
that you’ve imposed
for centuries

and which
you were probably
planning
to destroy us with.

Forgive us
it was long overdue.
Freedom is so sweet
and so powerful.

-Christine Williams
(based on the William Carlos Williams format which can be found here)

Misogyny and the Policing of Black Female Bodies

“When we think of police brutality, it’s normally men we envisage as the victims” Olivia Marks. This has been a huge concern of mine in regards to the black lives matter movement. Black men who suffer brutality at the hands of police are, more often than women, shoved into the spotlight of national media. We see these images and hear their names so often that it can be easy to forget about the women who are also victims.

And while some would argue that women suffer a different type of racism at the hands of police, insinuating that it’s not as brutal as what men face, gender often plays a small role when it comes to racism in the police force.

If you haven’t read the Guardian piece on Sandra Bland and Serena Williams yet, Olivia Marks does a much better job at describing each incident in detail.

Let’s start with the best athlete of all time, Serena Williams.

Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the past few weeks, you know that she won the Wimbledon championship for a 6th time during her illustrious athletic career. Think about a time when you felt confident, powerful, and strong, characteristics I’m sure Williams feels as she dominates on the court.

Now, imagine someone coming along to belittle you in your moment of confidence. Maybe they comment on your performance, or give a particularly mean-spirited criticism. Or even worse, they criticize you for something you have no control over.

The amount of hateful criticism Serena faced after her most recent win is disgusting. The main gripe among these critics, who I can only imagine are adolescent white teenagers in denial about their physique, is that she is “built like a man.” Since when did having a visibly strong physique equate with looking masculine?

Oh yea, I forgot. Women who body build have to wear bikinis so we can delineate their gender.

This obsession with “body image” shone through in The New York Times most recent piece that focused on Williams. In the article, white, petite, young tennis players are asked about their bodies and how they look/play in comparison to Williams.

One notable quote from the highest paid female athlete, Maria Shirapova:

“I always want to be skinnier with less cellulite; I think that’s every girl’s wish,” she said, laughing.

I can’t get through that one without cringing. As Amelia McDonnel Perry mentions in her criticism of the article, the most frustrating part of the piece is how it focuses on Williams. If it had simply been an article on body image and sports/tennis, using a plethora of viewpoints of tennis players, the writer could have pulled it off well. But because the piece makes Serena’s body type the “other” in this homogeneous group of athletes, the obvious racial undertones creep to the surface. While this piece doesn’t go so far as to equate Williams with a “gorilla” like those on Twitter did, it hints at the idea that black women do not fit into the metaphorical box of predominantly white female sports.

If you’re still unclear on all the issues here, watch this video:

How does this relate to Sandra Bland?

Once we as a society have a group which we can call “other,” these attitudes become dangerous. Those who equate Serena’s physical strength with masculinity no longer see her as a woman. Instead, they see her as an animal with brute strength and who, potentially, could be dangerous. When this erroneous stereotype is applied to all women who look similar to Serena Williams, it’s problematic. Those in power who hold this perspective are the most troubling.

The police involved in Sandra Bland’s tragic death claimed that she was combative on the side of the road when they pulled her over for improper signalling. If the police were exposed to the derogatory comments about Williams earlier that week, those racist and sexist undertones were present in their consciousness. Even if they didn’t agree with the criticism, they viewed Sandra Bland in a different light then they might have before. If she was combative, they saw her as a threat. One police officer very clearly slams Bland’s head against the concrete, in an attempt to subdue her. Why would he need to use such brute force in this situation?

The police officers didn’t see Bland as a person; they saw her as a part of the other who didn’t belong. This dangerous concept ultimately led to Bland’s sudden and unexplained death. The claim that she committed suicide is an obvious ploy of the police department hoping to avoid any serious investigations.

For many reasons, police brutality against women of color is swept under the rug quickly after it occurs. The archetype of the “angry black woman” often goes as justification for police officers to handle women with undue force. Layered with the inappropriate discussion of black women in the media (conversations which usually focus on their hair, dress, physical physique, and behavior), misogyny is as detrimental as ever to black women’s well being. It’s critical to be aware of what’s happening and to stay vocal.

“If you are a Black person, you can be one police encounter away from death. Any age. Any gender. Any class background.” -Jamilah Lemieux 

It isn’t going away anytime soon

Here I was, typing a response to some recent sexist comments and behaviors I experienced from men in New York City.

And then this happened.

It would be nearly pointless to discuss the obviously discriminatory way that this terrorist is being analyzed by popular media outlets. As usual, he’s a “disturbed loner” who possibly had friends of different races. The backlash against labeling him as a racist terrorist comes in the ironically just idea of “innocent until proven guilty” (perhaps that’s why we’re still calling him the shooting suspect, as if there is any doubt that he carried out this massacre after his confession.)

I would rather discuss the tragically ironic idea that this self-proclaimed racist, who wore pro-apartheid paraphernalia on his jacket, was given the honor of wearing a bullet proof vest when finally captured in North Carolina.

2 things:

1. He was able to flee as far as North Carolina before eventually being captured ALIVE. Walter Scott barely made it 20 feet after a traffic stop before a police officer shot him dead. The invisibility of white privilege made his escape almost a success as he drove 250 miles north of Charleston.

2. Watch this video where the terrorist is gently escorted into a police car after shooting 9 innocent people dead. Now, see how these police officers treat these female teenagers during a pool party in Texas. Or, how Eric Garner is treated by Staten Island police after reportedly selling illegal cigarettes.

Don’t see the difference? In all situations, according to our society’s skewed view of what justice is, each person getting what they deserve. A killer will be put on trial to spew his racist ideology in court while people of color get “what they deserve” in the eyes of law enforcement. If this 21 year old were part of ISIS, and had committed the same crime, perhaps we’d see an investigation into a larger group motive; maybe he was part of a global terrorist plot. No, the police decided that he had acted alone. We will probably hear the insanity defense as a misguided way to address our own fear of what human beings are capable of.

While I would love to delve into the individual lives of each innocent victim, I’m afraid it might not effect change. In each instance of racially motivated violence, we know the name of the perpetrator and the victims’ names become hashtags. Those close to them remember their legacies but the broader society forgets their names as quickly as it forgets the discussion on gun law reform.

What would it take to change the nature of the way we analyze and deal with cases of racist hatred in the U.S? We can talk ourselves hoarse about his motives and personality, but it doesn’t address the larger, structural causes of his actions. We attempt to brush these things off as a way expedite the healing process. We, as a country, fail to address the real motivations of racism and hatred as a means to avoid those difficult conversations that make us uncomfortable.

Racism is not a fad or a trend. It isn’t going away and unaddressed racist violence will only exacerbate and encourage others who share this dangerous ideology to commit more violence and openly express their views.

“I was sentenced to life plus 30 years by an all-White jury. What I saw in prison was wall-to-wall Black flesh in chains. Women caged in cells. But we’re the terrorists. It just doesn’t make sense.” Assata Shakur 

Progress

It seems difficult to keep up with the “newest” person of color who dies at the hands of the police lately. Either the predominance of these occurrences has picked up or the media coverage prevalent on social media has made it too easy for us to share the newest data, name, or viral meme.

People of color are dying. This list, although possibly not exhaustive, is difficult to read. The stories of black people killed at the hands of officers in the past 15 years. Even more difficult to think about the number of times police officers have not been charged with crimes after these deaths occur. The value of a life, in comparison to that of an officer of the law, is null and void. (But if you’re keeping score, black bodies have always been considered a commodity.)

People across the country, the world even, celebrated when the 6 police officers were charged in the aftermath of Freddie Gray’s death. After peaceful protests that attracted the attention of the National Guard and prompted city wide curfews, it seemed that Baltimore might finally get the justice it sought.

Or, maybe the case will go the route of Eric Garner, Timothy Russell and Malissa Williams,  John Crawford, or the countless number of transgender people of color who are killed by police without swift justice being brought on the officers.

But wait, you say. Those cases didn’t end in indictments. This case just HAS to end in “justice” because Marilyn Mosby is here to save the day (let’s be clear, no shade to my fellow HBCU graduate.) Let’s have hope that this case will have a similar result to the “loud music” trial. This guy went to prison for life for killing Jordan Davis. They can’t possibly let ALL of these officers off.

Good point. Perhaps we’ll see justice for the 6 police officers who allowed Freddie Gray’s death to become an inevitability. That will definitely compensate his family for his untimely death and, if we’re lucky, heal the wound of racism that’s been ravaging our urban communities for decades.

An indictment is far from progress. Remember Aiyana Jones? (Possibly not if you still think only black men are killed by police.) After police conducted a “no knock” raid on her home, she died of a gunshot wound. The case was later dismissed (but not before the indicted officer tried to blame the death on Aiyana’s grandmother bumping into him, causing the gun to fire.)

How do we know that the 6 officers involved in Freddie Gray’s death won’t convince the jury that they had “reasonable” cause to treat him the way that they did? That it was a necessary use of force to keep him in the police wagon, handcuffed, without restraint? How do we know the officers won’t convince the jury that Gray was a threat to their safety and were simply standing their ground when he had his legally owned knife?

At this point, I’m not willing to put my faith in a justice system that arbitrarily decides when a 12 year old boy in a park is a threat to the public. I’m not willing to believe that a system built on the backs of people of color is, all of a sudden, willing to drop those systemically racist notions for the fairy tale of a post-racial society. And I certainly will not condemn those who react to this racist system with violence or “looting;” it’s obvious that black bodies will be policed whether they behave “peacefully” or not.

So until we begin to admit that the knife is there, please don’t ask for my opinion on the “all lives matter” movement. And please don’t ask if I think violence is the “answer.”

“The master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house.” Audrey Lorde