Acknowledgment & Perspective
I’ve always thought that there was such a thing as Black privilege. Today, I know it doesn’t exist.
The fire just wasn’t alive in my system yesterday. Nor is it today. Yesterday was the first day of the month of the last month of the quarter. Usually, I am ready to go. The eye is on the prize. And how to dominate this last month is all I am thinking about. But that was not the case yesterday. Work wasn’t something I really cared nor wanted to think about. I didn’t want to think about my biggest customer, sales pipeline strategy, or how I am going to hit my end of quarter quota because none of it really matters in light of what’s happening in the world right now and on my very own streets. Things are going on that are much bigger than me and for the first time in my life, I am completely torn apart by what is happening here in America and in trying to figure out my role in all of this. I’ve been sad before. I’ve been angry before. I’ve protested before. I’ve engaged in conversation before. But this time is different.
I am half African American and Malaysian, born to immigrant and minority parents. I am also from Roxbury, which outsiders might consider “the hood,” and have been subject to my own set of privileges which have prevented me from being as attuned to issues of racial injustice in America as I should have been for so long — issues pertinent to my very own well being. I went to Weston High School, a suburban school in one of the wealthiest towns in America. I attended Bowdoin College, a renowned institution here in the Northeast. I’ve been to the Nantucket, studied abroad in Europe, and have held great jobs. I’ve also got tons of white friends. In fact, the majority of my best friends are white. Some of their parents are in high places and I’m sure that if I ever needed something, I could call one of them up for help. I’ve certainly had to work hard and approach this life differently than many of my white friends, but I’ll be the first to admit that my struggle hasn’t been as difficult as the Black People getting killed here in America every day. So, why is this time so different? Why am I affected so much greater this time as opposed to when Michael Brown was killed? Tamir Rice? Or Freddie Grey? It’s because I am, for the first time, fully acknowledging that none of my perceived privilege matters.
George Floyd could have been me, and that’s simply because of the color of my skin.
It could have also been my brother, my cousin, or one of my dear friends. Breonna Taylor could have been my mother or sister. Amhaud Arbery quite literally could have been me as I went for my morning run on Sunday morning — right here in Boston where racism exists just as it does across America and the world. I may have historically thought that I was safeguarded from this travesty here in America, and I am sure my white friends have never pictured or imagined that it could be me in the news but it absolutely could be. I am Black. Everything else is irrelevant.
The literal instances that have occurred over the past week — watching a man that looked just like me get executed in broad daylight and the emotional processing have all been extremely heavy and emotionally exhausting. For me, it’s mostly been about acknowledgment. Acknowledgment of the world we live in; acknowledgment and comprehension of my own privilege, it’s past and why it took countless murders for me to feel the way I do right now; acknowledgment that some of my white friends do care and that many are ready to acknowledge their role in all of this, and acknowledgment that I have to be fully invested in this fight.
We live in a world where racism, bigotry, and hate are all around us. It’s not just in the South, or in the Midwest, or wherever you think it might be more present. It’s everywhere. It’s in your own backyard, in your classrooms, on your sports teams, at your job, and in your own friend groups and government. And because of this inescapable fact, we need to look at each other and first demand that we become better people. Nelson Mandela captured it perfectly, “No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite.”
Over the past few days, I have received dozens of messages from white friends and associates in which we have had very uncomfortable but productive conversations. This has happened before but not in this vein. In one conversation, we conversed about the man in West Virginia who has never seen a Black Person in his life. That man, due to his birth location, was not born to hate a Black Person. He just doesn’t know Black. If he were to spend time with a Black Person and bridge the gap between two cultures, he might realize that this Black Person is a beautiful soul. Smart, funny, loving, caring, and human. Hatred is born in the home and we as Americans need to find a way to address that. It starts by addressing and recognizing it within your own circles. I’d recommend reading works like Hillbilly Elegy by J.D. Vance in order to comprehend and understand more closely how ignorance such as this exists. It thrives because our systems don’t thwart it, but rather support it. Education is a great forum for the types of conversations that need to be had. We need to talk about more real issues in schools starting at a young age as it’s the center of most children’s lives. Teachers should play a parental role by sharing to kids the reality of the world, current events, and stories of those before in order to instill proper thought throughout adolescence. By properly educating children, we’re reinforcing the rule of accountability.
The light America is being displayed in this week isn’t a new reality. This is the America that has existed since its founding. So many of us are desensitized to these acts of terror, and us Black People don’t expect better. On the contrary, whites often don’t react how they ought to because they either don’t care, don’t know how, or are indeed racist themselves. I’d like to believe there is less of the latter, but even if that were the case, it’s the biggest threat to our society.
Black People have never had an equal share in America. Time and time again, we’ve been asked to uphold a contract with society — but that society has never upheld a contract with us.
The looting and violence are no surprise. It’s baffling that we aren’t asking more about the looting by major corporations and our very own government. It’s said that “U.S. corporations dodge $90 billion a year in income taxes by shifting profits to subsidiaries — often no more than a post office box — in tax havens”. Black America has been pushed around for too long, and we’ve had enough. I marched peacefully through Boston this past Sunday alongside thousands of others. We were united and sound. Unfortunately, the night will only be depicted by an outside lens that wants the public to believe that these protests are the driving force of violence. I hope those that believe that jargon to be true take a long look in the mirror and ask themselves where the violence really stems from? Have you thought about yourself or your peers? These people protesting have lost their parents and siblings. These people have been cheated out of jobs. These people have been blamed falsely and jailed. And it’s all due to the color of our skin. The world loves us in the context of sports, media, entertainment and culture, but when it comes to a regular Black Person, their life is irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. It doesn’t matter if we’ve made a little money or work in high places. That’s the cold hard truth. I don’t want our neighborhoods burned down nor our communities destroyed. My mom talks about how buildings that were burned in the 60s and 70s during protests took decades to reconstruct. Those that acted in violence at the end of Boston on Sunday night and in many cities across America are not the majority. I don’t condone the violence but I understand it. I join those in condemning those acts but I join those more closely in demanding that our government do their part. Arrest officers. Charge for murder to the highest degree. Govern with integrity. How cruel it is that a government doesn’t care for its very own people who helped build this nation.
I watched this disturbing video after a friend posted it to his Instagram earlier this week. I was both appalled and swept with emotion. Appalled at what I was viewing and lost in emotions knowing that this level of racism still exists today. The video is over 40 years old yet America hasn’t come very far. The cherry on top is knowing that our country is being led by a man who has picked the side of the oppressor in this situation. Racism is rooted in our institutions and it comes from the top. President Trump has racism all within him and continues to add fuel to the fire of white supremacy and ignorance. Worst, the Republican party won’t condemn him to the fullest extent. This is not a Republican party governing our land. This is President Trump governing our land. Cops, on the other hand, continue to enforce with brutality. The footage is real and it’s sad and incriminating. Rubber bullets shot in eyes. Children having been pepper-sprayed. It’s inhumane and it’s proof. Proof that the police need better training. That they need to be screened more intensively. And that they need to police knowing they could be jailed for acting unjustifiably violent. 50-A needs to be repealed and enforced in New York State, and similar legal action must be taken in all states that lack police accountability and transparency. What I don’t think this government realizes though, that this time we’re for real.
Enough is enough. Whatever it takes, a revolution, a war, Black people will not lie down.
Putting into perspective my own privilege has brought me to apologize to myself for times in the past where I didn’t do what was right. Like the time a friend asked me if he could have “the pass” to say the nigga as a teenage boy and I said yes because I thought I wouldn’t be cool if I didn’t. That was wrong. Like the times I declined to actively participate in the Black Student Union in high school and worst not at all in college. I don’t know why I thought I was too good for BSU or that my membership wouldn’t be significant. Wrong. Or like the time I was driving with a customer and he answered the phone on speaker and his colleague used nigger describing a type of job someone was trying to get them to do. “They want us to do this bullshit nigger job,” he said. I chose to not say much because I wanted to be professional. That was wrong. But while I have acknowledged where I have made the wrong decisions, apologized to myself and to my people, and put this all into perspective, I don’t apologize to white people and my people will not any longer. We have been oppressed since the day we arrived here after being kidnapped from our homes in Angola in 1619. It’s 2020, and I can’t walk or breathe without fearing my life on these streets. I’ve got to be worried about my brother, my friends, and my entire family at all times. The tipping point has been surpassed. We have been enslaved, beaten, jailed, cheated, abandoned, and murdered and we will stand for this anymore. It’s tough to comprehend why it took me so long to feel this way but I think it has to do largely with a sense of maturity. I’m not a kid anymore. I’m an adult. I don’t have a place to not think about this stuff anymore. I have to be in this fight for the purposes of my own survival. Black privilege doesn’t exist. It’s a dangerous myth perpetuated by those who refuse to acknowledge America’s problem.
Hope is still alive. I still have it and for good reason. Over the past week, I have engaged in many uncomfortable conversations with my white peers. We’ve had conversations that have reached new levels of depth, many that they initiated. These same individuals also shunned ignorance in group settings when applicable and left no leave room for it. Nor did they let ignorance escape the conversation without discussion. This is why I have hope. I’ve received calls, messages, and emails and everything this time has a bit of a different tone. A serious one. People willing to do the work. This is why I have hope. Individuals are approaching this differently. With words. With recognition. With Action. Myself included. While I don’t necessarily feel I need this level of acknowledgement from my circle, it’s reinvigorating to know that I’ve got circles that are bought into this fight. That I’ve chosen people willing to stand up and willing to fight. I need all my people with me. This is an American issue. The real test will be those that are bought into the long run. Those that realize this fight doesn’t end next week, or when COVID settles down and Freehold is open again, or in 5 years when you’re thinking about your husband and kids. Change comes in increments and so we’ve all got to pick a side in order to be the driving force towards necessary change. We all need to be in this together and so we should continue to engage in uncomfortable dialogue and continue to keep each other in check and held accountably. If we can continue to do that, then I have hope. And I want to have hope because if there is no hope there is no life.
Answers are something I am still searching for and are something that I don’t think will come today or tomorrow or next week. The only answer I have is that I’m in this. I’m going to go to the rally later today and will go to the next one if I am able to. I’m going to keep my circles in check and not be quiet anymore. I don’t know exactly what I need to be doing or saying but it needs to be something. Writing some thoughts down seemed like a good first outlet. I cannot continue to be quiet given my privilege, my platform, my network, and most importantly my reality as a black man. This fight is mine too just as much as it is George Floyd, Trayvon Martin, Eric Garner’s, and all of my black brothers and sisters that I love and care for. I hope to have my white friends alongside me too because this is our world. We’re supposed to rule it together.
