You Would Cry Too, [But Only] If It Happened To You
That’s me when I was four years old. But my memories of being racially harassed by neighbors, peers, strangers, and cops stretch back to when I was three years old:
When I was told by my four-year-old neighbor that I was brown because I was dirty.
When I was five years old, and my friends’ cousin told me I had to pick flowers last because I was Black.
When my parents tried to do the right thing, by calling the police when we were threatened, not for the first time, by our white neighbors — and the police told my parents they would arrest them. My parents who called for help. Not the neighbors who were harassing my family.
When mall security told my grandmother (who can “pass” but has never tried to) to watch her purse, because my brothers and I were “following” her.
When the cops came storming into my home, slashing open pet food bags in a search for nonexistent drugs.
When a field hockey opponent called me — out of earshot, mind you — a “n*gger from the ghetto,” just because my defense was too strong for her.
When I was touring the Midwest with a theater company this winter (portraying Rosa Parks, no less), and a man at a Wisconsin hotel asked my Black cast mate to take his bags and then thrust his keys in my face and asked if I wanted to go get his car. A bystander laughed it off and said the man was “just joking”.
… I could write 10 books. My parents and brothers can probably write more.
Society tells us that we’ll be treated fairly if we behave.
They tell us how not to get killed by the police for merely existing (In addition to being Black, I am female. So society also likes to tell me how not to get raped… but that’s a story for another day. What is my life?). Being friendly, cute, well-behaved, well-educated, etc. won’t save you if you’re Black.
I’ve always been a “good girl”. I’ve always had excellent grades. I never got suspended from school. As an adult, I’ve never had so much as a traffic citation. But my blood still runs cold when I hear sirens and see flashes of red and blue. Because I know how easy it is for those in power to erase me. To silence me. And I know that even if it’s caught on video, a white cop can harass me/molest me/kill me with impunity. They’ll say I didn’t return a library book when I was 10, and therefore, I was a criminal who deserved what she got.
It’s 2016, and we cannot parent, we cannot exist, in peace.
We have grotesque video proof of what we’ve been saying for years (centuries, even), and you still deny and justify murder. I would like to say that I can’t believe two more Black men (likely, more than 2 that didn’t get media coverage) were outright murdered by police in the last 2 days, but I can’t honestly say that. Society has told me, shown me —time and time again— that Black lives do not matter. But you get angry and defensive when we stand up and say they do.
Stop defending a corrupt, murderous, and broken system.
“But it happens to white people too,” is a dismissal, and not a justification. “Why aren’t we talking about [fill in the blank with XYZ] instead,” is a dismissal and not a justification. “But not all cops,” is a dismissal and not a justification. “All lives matter” is a dismissal and not a justification. “But he stole something when he was a teenager,” is a dismissal and not a justification. Neutrality is not an option. If you’re not sure what to say — shut your mouth, open your eyes and your ears, and absorb all of the plain-as-day information that unequivocally points to “this is wrong and it needs to stop”. And after you’ve seen and listened, stand up and speak out.
We’re not dividing ourselves by talking about race and racism. We continue to be divided by race because of generations of racists, their racist systems, and because of the silent people and the people in denial about the very obvious and pervasive effects of a system that was built upon, and profits from, blatant and covert racism.
I don’t need to be Black to know that the disproportionate incidence of police brutality against Blacks is wrong. Just like I don’t need to be female to know that rape is wrong. If you’re not speaking out because it’s not happening to you, a family member, or a friend, then you are a huge part of the problem. Yes, talking about “racial issues” can be uncomfortable. But you know what’s really f*cking uncomfortable? Being Black in a society that says you don’t deserve basic human rights, as your “friends” and neighbors stand by and silently watch it happen —because injustice isn’t personally coming for them today.
