How do we create dialogue on different planes of reality?
I recently had a conversation with someone who stands on the far opposite end of the political spectrum from me. When I presented a verifiable fact, the type of fact that one could argue the reason for the content of the fact, but not the occurrence of the fact itself, I was told that it did not happen. “Fake news,” I was informed. I didn’t quite know what to say, but responded with a simple, “no, it’s not.” From there we argued whether or not the fact actually happened, and this person’s veracity made me question my truth. So, I re-verified what I knew to be fact. I felt vindicated, but I also felt cheated – that I had allowed what could have been a productive conversation between two people with different beliefs to turn into an argument over the very validity of a fact. Has political discourse become nothing more than petty arguments over what a fact is?
George Orwell, in his increasingly prescient novel 1984, said, “not merely the validity of experience, but the very existence of external reality was tacitly denied by their philosophy. The heresy of heresies was common sense.”
We currently have a president who has told more than 10,000 non-truths in 2.5 years. But, he is an expert at denying what we can see with our own eyes. By repeating the lie over and over, we begin to question what the truth is and, over time, our truths become different realities. When I speak about something I know is truth, there are others that believe the opposite is true. One of us believes 2+2=5, and as a result, the other loses the freedom that comes from saying 2+2=4. And while one can say they have verifiable evidence that 2+2=4 (the mathematics community, etc.), the believer that 2+2=5 has a traditionally reliable source telling them they are correct, the President of the United States. The very existence of eternal reality is being questioned. Arguing if what we know beyond a reasonable doubt as fact is true destroys all meaningful dialogue on the important topics we need to discuss as a nation.
So, how do we make sense of this and return to an age when we could discuss things productively? I believe that dialogue is important, and our lack of conversations of substance has badly harmed our country.
I think there are several things we can do to begin curing this and healing.
First, we absolutely must elect a president that holds truth to the highest standard. Someone who is honest even when it’s unpopular and hasn’t shifted their goal posts throughout their career. We will never be able to re-discover integrity, on both sides of the aisle, if we don’t demand our elected leaders possess it.
Second, we must demand that social media give us an accurate depiction of the world and political landscape so we can escape our individual bubbles. Social media is designed as an echo chamber in which we are presented with information that furthers our beliefs and shows us what we already believe, not as an actual provider of information and truth.
Third, we continue to talk, at any cost. Maybe we have to schedule these talks with others that actually want to have dialogue on important topics. Maybe we need to have a computer nearby to verify data we disagree on the validity of. Maybe we begin the conversation by finding common ground and building from there. There are very few people who believe small children should be separated from their mother, even if they don’t believe the mother and child have a right to be in this country. Are we able to get to meaningful conversation by first agreeing that children should not be kept in jails away from their family?
Fourth, we have to always remember that we have been presented with separate facts, and we do not share the same truths. The bubbles we live in are not of our own making, but they are real and we won’t pierce through them by getting frustrated or angry. So, we understand that we need the dialogue, our realities are different, but we have common ground. Then we verify facts and we demand the way we receive information is based in reality and our elected leaders are committed to the truth. Who knows, it could work.
One thing is for sure, if we do nothing, it will be a bright cold day in April as the clocks strike thirteen.
“Whatever that is done in darkness will come to light.” This is a saying that I live by to keep myself from harboring hatred and resentment towards the unfairness that runs rampant in the quotidian. This isn’t foolproof by any means, as can be seen of the Albert Wilson rape trial. Did he do anything in darkness that warranted this level of retribution in the light?
The law was created to punish those who did wrong, and protect the ones who did right. How is it that now those who are wrong and who are right now have a certain appearance? How is it that retribution takes different forms depending on what the defendant looks like?
Brock Turner, a White man, raped an unconscious White woman behind a dumpster in 2015 and was convicted in 2016. There was hard evidence that proved these allegations to be facts. There were even witnesses of this assault. His retribution took the form of a six-month sentence. He served only three of those months because prison was detrimental to his young psyche. He was even allowed to have a cellphone during the time he was incarcerated.
Albert Wilson, a Black man, was accused of raping an underage White woman in his apartment in 2016 and was convicted in 2019. There wasn’t even evidence to call circumstantial. Unlike with Turner, semen was not found in or on the victim, and I use that term loosely here. The only DNA found on the victim was on her chest, where he kissed her. Wilson testified to having done sexual acts with the victim but did not have sexual intercourse. Hell, there is surveillance footage of the apartment complex, showing the consensual and mutual exchanges going into the building and coming out of the building five minutes later, not stumbling incoherence that the victim claimed.
But when the White girl screams rape, it seems that our justice system does not stop to examine the evidence or lack thereof, ask the right questions to the right people, and get to the bottom of what happened. It didn’t matter to the all-White jury, most of whom were women, that there wasn’t any actual evidence to pin the proverbial tail on the donkey. It didn’t matter because the case boiled down to hearsay, and they only listened to the White voice.
The light’s retribution for what was not done in darkness is twelve years, and reportedly the “lightest sentence” issued for rape in Kansas. Wilson was sentenced to twelve years for a crime that there is no actual evidence saying that he committed. Where is the innocent until proven guilty? It seems that this kind of consideration is not colorblind, rather it sees color and discriminates accordingly.
If this case remains closed, Wilson might be on the fast track to joining the statistic of being a Black man wrongfully incarcerated via the lack of due diligence by the people who enforce these laws, meanwhile, White men like Turner are wrongfully freed.
We sweat the same sweat, bleed the same red blood, shed the same tears. While not all of us have melanin or the same amount of melanin, that should not determine how the law is enforced on us. The system is designed to protect, but the judges and the juries, they are the ones who turn it into a weapon.
“No weapon formed against you shall prosper / And every tongue which rises against you in judgment / You shall condemn,” Isaiah 54:17. While everyone might not have the same faith, I think it can be said unanimously that these weapons are indeed prospering. The voices that rise against us, though we do condemn, we still fall.
What can we do? What we have been doing: raising our own voices. People have taken to Twitter to put out the word and raise awareness. The articles written by news platforms and the website www.freealbertwilson.com had been retweeted several hundreds of thousands of times.
At this time, that is all that we can do besides hope and pray for either an acquittal, like what Michael Rosfeld received, an appeal, a retrial, or complete exoneration. Unfortunately, it seems like our justice system will provide neither.
Silverback’s Note: There are no “Avengers: Endgame” spoilers ahead.
We gather at the Acropolis of Brooklyn. Our sneakers hit the artificial turf from various races, ethnicities, experiences, sexualities, regions, sizes, shapes, journeys, and stories.
Some of us drive the subway cars that herd millions of New Yorkers and visitors throughout this great city.
Some of us have raised our right hands to take an oath to support and defend the laws of the United States Constitution.
Some of us aspire to perform our talents under the brightest lights on the biggest stages.
We are “Kranksters.”
And on the surface, what brings this diverse community together is simply iron, rubber, and sweat.
However, if you attune your ears to the sounds that thunder from Krank Brooklyn you might hear a beautiful harmony.
Situated on the top floor of a less than auspicious storage facility, Krank is a boutique fitness gym featuring a body of citizens that exemplify America’s idealistic goals for diversity.
For me though, Krank has been the buoy that I drift to in my darkest moments lost at sea.
Owner Dan Salazar launched Krank in 2010. His love of performance science and insane competitive drive fueled his passion to master the art of training himself and others. The dude has over 15 training related credentials and certifications. The guy basically has information spilling out of his signature beanie. He is so encouraging, his energy is infectious.
A native New Yorker from the Lower East Side (LES) of Manhattan, Dan’s entrepreneurial spirit embodies a dream that has been fulfilled for millions of Latinos who arrived in New York City just a generation ago hoping to provide a better future for their families.
Dan’s vast knowledge and passion for training is what attracted some of the first Kranksters to join the gym. Admittedly, these first Kranksters were some of his childhood friends from the neighborhood in LES.
You may not be aware of this but it’s a Herculean task to get folks who live in Manhattan to cross the bridge and come into Brooklyn for anything — let alone to work out. The fact that he was able to convince his friends from the neighborhood to cross the bridge and put them through grueling workouts is a testament to just how special of a guy Dan is.
These “O.G. Kranksters” cemented the foundation this community is built upon.
One of these O.G.’s changed the course of his career by joining Krank. Head Coach, Miguel Gonzalez, known by various nicknames that are all synonymous with pain — mostly goes by “Migs” for short.
Miguel is genetically gifted and incredibly hard-working. The gods bestowed upon him a physique that appears to be carved out of marble, and I am convinced that he farts body fat for laughs. Nicknames and body fat aside, my fellow Aquarian is one of the most authentic, genuine, and caring guys I’ve come to know in recent years. I’ve always walked away from our discussions with a deep sense of connection. But more on that later.
Today — almost a decade later — Dan and Miguel continue to conduct Krank sessions like maestros. Directing, instructing, encouraging Kranksters and coaches to push themselves even harder to achieve their goals. All while remaining in tune with the pulse and pace of every section of this iron orchestra.
Traditional orchestras have four sections separated into categories of instrument. There is a woodwind, brass, percussion, and string section. Krank’s iron orchestra also features four sections. There’s the turf section, the rubber section, the iron section, and the raised platform section.
It was at this Acropolis where I built my Parthenon: my temple dedicated to guarding myself against my innermost demons.
Like most first time Kranksters, I couldn’t find the gym for my first session back in 2013. (Spoiler alert, the gym is actually inside the storage facility next to the Brooklyn Queens Expressway)
I hobbled into this no-frills storage facility desperate to make a change.
A few months earlier I had torn my second Achilles’ tendon playing basketball and required surgery to repair the injury.
Against my surgeon’s advice and with my thighs chafing from the August humidity, I rode the elevator thinking to myself, “What the (bleep) did I get myself into?”
Dan and Miguel’s attention to the limitations of my injury and their vast knowledge of modifying exercises for me to prevent further injury reassured me that this gym was the perfect match.
Months later I had reclaimed my body and was stronger than ever, but even more importantly, I had formed new friendships with some amazing people I had met along my Krank journey.
I love to challenge and compete with myself. But how does one compete with themselves without first establishing a baseline of success?
All right: Now I’ll admit that while I was hobbling through my first session I was picking out other Kranksters who I wanted to model my success after.
Later I would meet three Krank legends: Angel, Jamal, and Jessica.
Angel, an O.G. Krankster from LES, is a devoted family man and the strongest person that I know. Now I’m strong for your average mortal, but Angel is a Puerto Rican Samson. His strength is of biblical proportions.
Jamal, an O.G. Krankster from Brooklyn of Caribbean descent, is the most athletic person that I know. After years at Krank, I surpassed him in strength on the bench press and he then put me to shame by walking his large muscular frame on his hands for the entire length of the gym. (Yes, you read that correctly.)
Jessica, an O.G. Krankster from one of those cities in New England (kidding, Boston) is one of the most consistent people I know. There she is, day in and day out, a living embodiment of Krank’s mantra: “Do work, son!” Like me, she’s also of Cape Verdean descent which often reminds me of our ancestors.
Strength, agility, and consistency. Afro and Latino. Togetherness and encouragement. All the qualities that I possess, represented through these legendary Kranksters. The Krank community had breathed life into me and awakened the finest characteristics of my being.
It was also around this time in 2014 that I began to see a therapist on a weekly basis.
Between the almost daily sessions at Krank and my weekly visits with my therapist, I had begun to transform my mind and body. The place where I could release stress, let out a roar, and embrace the sense of community that we social creatures crave. Krank had become my sanctuary, my temple.
In fact, it was in my workouts with Angel and Jamal that the moniker “Silverback” was born.
Then years later through my love of music, I would add “Soulful” to Silverback and here we are.
So you see Soulful Silverback was conceived during a time of holistic wellness in my life. As a result of that healthy foundation, Soulful Silverback represents the finest ideals of who I continually strive to be as a person. Krank is the temple where the Silverback defeats his personal Thanos (the devastating supervillain from Marvel’s Avengers series).
Over the last two years, I’ve allowed that inner Thanos to get the upper hand on me and I found myself yet again lost at sea.
Krank is a short 10-minute walk from my apartment and I had intentionally been avoiding that climb to the Acropolis of Brooklyn.
I had forgotten what the iron orchestra sounded like and I was embarrassed to return in the poor shape I was in.
But like Thor in Marvel’s latest “Avengers: Endgame” film, I had to remind myself that, “I’m still worthy.” (And if you’ve seen the film, I probably looked like him too)
My mind, body, and soul was yearning for a dip in the temple waters.
Then out of the blue, my phone was buzzing. It was a text from Jessica and two other Kranksters wondering where I had been.
Like the Hulk, they encouraged me to come back home to Krank. I got the sense that they missed the Silverback but more importantly, I missed them.
Weeks have passed since I returned to my temple atop the Acropolis of Brooklyn and oh how I have missed rumbling around this sanctuary.
As I was alluding to earlier, the discussions on the temple grounds of Krank are sometimes even better than the workouts themselves (if you can catch your breath).
They are discussions that would make any political pollster salivate. Discussions that express the soaring highs and the dark lows of the human experience. Discussions that center around the eternal principles of art, faith, justice, thought, and love.
They are topics, discussions, and stories that exemplify the storytelling tradition of our species. And in the backdrop, the drive that our species has to improve on what Leonardo da Vinci thought he perfected when he drew the Vitruvian Man.
Dan, Miguel, Angel, Jamal, Jessica, and countless other Kranksters are all central figures in my adventures atop the Acropolis of Brooklyn. They are the people who make Krank a special community to be a part of. It’s these interconnected bonds — a celebration of togetherness — that lures every Krankster back to sweat in that old storage facility.
These days as I take that rickety elevator to the 8th floor — those blue elevator doors slowly peel open and as I get closer to the temple grounds — I can hear the instruments of the iron orchestra get louder and louder.
I smile as I am reminded that there is healing in community, and together we go farther than we could alone.
Time to “Do work, son!” and be the hero of your own story.
If there’s any artist that’s capable of stopping the world, it’s Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter.
In 2018, she delivered her highly anticipated performance at Coachella as the festivals’ first Black female headliner and left observers completely in awe. A year later, on April 17, 2019, her Netflix documentary Homecoming premiered, which chronicles the journey she went on to craft her legendary performance. In the film, Beyoncé says “When I decided to do Coachella, instead of me pulling out my flower crown, it was more important that I brought our culture to Coachella.” Watching Homecoming was very impressive, as it gave me more insight into the hard work, sacrifice and intentionality that went into it. There were many aspects that made Beychella pure excellence, but my favorite aspect was seeing the celebration of Black culture taking center stage.
Beyoncé mentions in the documentary that she grew up near Prairie View A&M University and spent a lot of time during the early years of her career rehearsing at Texas Southern University. Her father is a graduate of Fisk University and she always dreamed of attending a Historically Black institution of higher learning. Beychella paid homage to the nine Black Greek Letter Organizations and an HBCU Homecoming ceremony, with the inclusion of steppers, majorettes, and a marching band. Although I don’t attend an HBCU, I appreciate and respect the importance and significance that they hold, and have witnessed over the years the way that they’re often undervalued. But in the words of Beyoncé, “There is something incredibly important about the HBCU experience that must be celebrated and protected.” With Beychella, she did just that.
Beychella also included her own rendition of “Lift Every Voice and Sing”—which the NAACP dubbed the Black National Anthem—which transitioned into her pro-Black anthem, “Formation.” She and her dancers swag surfed, danced to a mix of her hit “Crazy in Love” and Juveniles’ “Back That A** Up”, and included the instrumental to C-Murders “Down For My N*****”. The same day that Homecoming was available for streaming, she released her live album of the same name, which featured her cover of Frankie Beverly and Maze’s “Before I Let Go”, which is a staple at Black functions. Although Coachella’s audience is predominantly White (which made it all the more special that in Homecoming, the camera repeatedly focused on Black audience members), Beyoncé took the opportunity to shine a light on the pure greatness that is Black culture.
While watching Homecoming, one of my greatest sources of joy was that a light was also shone on Black women through voiceovers of icons Nina Simone and Maya Angelou, as well as the many Black women on stage. During Beychella, dancer/choreographer Edidiong Emah was given a solo, and in the film, she says she once felt she was “too short and too thick” and never dreamed she would be there. The space that Black female performers like Edidiong were given onstage was amazing.
In a voiceover, Beyoncé makes a statement that I—and I’m sure many other Black women—could relate to… “As a Black woman, I used to feel like the world wanted me to stay in my little box. And Black women often feel underestimated.” She adds, “I wanted us to be proud of not only the show, but the process and proud of the struggle. Thankful for the beauty that comes with a painful history and rejoice in the pain. Rejoice in the imperfections and the wrongs that are so damn right. And I wanted everyone to feel grateful for their curves, their sass, their honesty. Thankful for the freedom. It was no rules and we were able to create a free, safe space where none of us were marginalized.” Ensuring that her performance made Black women feel prideful, represented, and appreciated was clearly a major priority for her, something that I found very special since the world treats Black women as an afterthought. These women had various skin tones, body types, and skillsets, making Beychella all the more beautiful.
Homecoming provides an insight into the hard work and dedication that was put into Beychella: a stunning display of the beauty that exists in Black culture, Black womanhood, and Black colleges. Black people are the owners of Black culture despite constant attempts to hijack it, and I thoroughly enjoyed watching the love of our culture being celebrated by one of its’ actual, rightful owners. Beychella was the embodiment of “for us, by us” and I will forever appreciate it.
Black bodies, young and old, are being cut down by blue hands. This has become the American Normal, an epidemic that many have been fighting to find a cure for. Black Lives Matter is the largest movement of today, potentially since the Panthers. Their aim is to establish equality in the Land of the Free, to show that freedom belongs to Black people also.
Since the abolition of slavery, our chains aren’t visible, but that doesn’t make them any less present. Our movements are restricted through racial profiling, generalizations, and a fear of police. The police force was formed to protect people from people by people. This force is comprised of people who go above and beyond to make our neighborhoods and cities safer to reside in. Lately, I have begun to question, safe from whom?
What determines someone is dangerous? Reaching for an ID which is being asked for? For having on a hoodie with the hood up? For demanding to know why they’re being detained? For resisting arrest? For being Black? While the reasons behind these deaths aren’t certain, in the last few years, the number of fallen Black bodies has been on the rise. Unarmed Black bodies. Unarmed Black bodies of young men and women, of fathers and mothers, of brothers and sisters.
People make mistakes of all proportions. We are all imperfectly human. What makes a person worth their salt is their ability and willingness to take responsibility for their mistakes.
We have to hold everyone to the same extent of the law, which includes law enforcement. Simply because they enforce the law does not mean that they are above it. When an officer is killed, the person or persons responsible for it are prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. When a civilian is killed, sometimes the officer is fired, maybe they face jail time, but more often than not it feels as if everyone is getting off scot-free, with a slap on the wrist called an acquittal.
Antwon Rose II was seventeen when he and his friend Zaijuan Hester were pulled over for driving a car that fit the description of one that just did a drive by a mile and a half away. Why did they run after being pulled over? What Black boy in this America would sit still when they see the boys in blue in their rearview mirror? And that officer is White, which is, unfortunately, the common scenario for these wrongful deaths? Get away or die trying.
There was footage taken from an apartment window of the shooting. As discussed in court and what can be plainly seen, Rose and Hester were running. All of a sudden ex-Officer Michael Rosfeld was shooting. There was no pursuit, just three rounds echoing in the silence in East Pittsburgh. I watched this video at least twenty times, trying to see anything other than another unarmed Black body hitting the ground with injuries that proved fatal. Each time I jumped as the shots pierced through the air.
There were three people in the car that was seen in surveillance footage that fled from a drive-by shooting. When Rosfeld and his partner pulled the car over, it would make sense to wait for backup since there was no telling how the situation would unfold. It was a choice to engage the teenagers without waiting. It was a choice to not pursue Rose and Hester as they fled. It was a choice to shoot at them, and those three shots landing into Rose’s back. Rosfeld was charged with criminal homicide, which includes murder, voluntary manslaughter and involuntary manslaughter under Pennsylvania law, according to CNN.
As of March 22nd, 2019, Rosfeld was fully acquitted of all charges that could have been upheld. The nation, and especially Rose’s loved ones, are in uproar over the fact the jury’s deliberations lasted less than four hours. Rosfeld was given the proverbial slap on the wrist for murdering a teenage boy, like many others before him.
Race relations in America gets bleaker by the day. America shouldn’t be a battleground. Lives shouldn’t be lost due to itchy trigger fingers and bad snap judgments. We are losing our young people who will make a better tomorrow. While these lives cannot be revived, we can at least in their own effect positive change so that no more bodies join theirs in the statistic of Black lives lost as a result of police violence.
When a person buys a home, they more than likely become the newest member of their community’s homeowners association. That association has rules and guidelines for residents… rules and guidelines that new residents have little to no say about.
HOA’s use extreme measures to enforce their rules and often stand by the notion its to “preserve the community for the liking of all residents.”
Humm…
If only that mindset could be applied to neighborhoods that are majority Black and Brown.
Nope, Black and Brown people are subject to gentrification instead of preservation. Gentrification… a process I’ll refer to as the grandchild of urban “White flight” post World War II, is possibly the simplest and most forward example of racial division in the United States.
White flight was when droves of White people moved from within the city limits of most major cities to get away from their Black neighbors.
This continued even until the mid-90s… then a reverse Uno card was placed down on major cities across the country and White people started moving back into major cities.
However, they didn’t move back to major cities with the original residents nor the conditions in which Black and Brown people had to endure. Since the 90s, many White people have been incentivized to move into newly developed and transformed neighborhoods for their pleasure and liking.
Their homeowners association, the American racism foundation, long neglected the cries of Black and Brown residents. Everyone from real estate developers to elected officials ignored the cry for better recreational centers, places of commerce, and healthy eating options.
Whole communities from Harlem to Houston have been gutted and transformed with a tag of $2,100 a month rent.
First residents from Cabrini Green of Chicago to downtown Brooklyn were either relocated because of their federal housing status or simply priced out due to higher rents.
Then came the tearing down of aging and dilapidated homes and apartments, followed by swanky new townhomes and condos, then finished off with a new Chipotle, Starbucks, and of course… bike lanes and a pet grooming store.
Black and Brown neighborhoods aren’t even offered fresh food options, yet White residents are given brand new communities before signing their Wells Fargo home loan.
Guess a “hood” owners association should be founded to keep the soul, cost, and originality of communities intact. But we need to act fast! Kroger and CVS are coming soon!
This weekend I experienced overt racism in Arizona.
400 years after the first African human beings arrived in shackles to the shores of the then English colony, Virginia.
162 years after a Chief Supreme Court Justice informed the plaintiff, a free Black man, that he could not try his case as he was not considered a person in the eyes of the American legal system.
72 years to the day after Major League Baseball allowed the first human with Black skin to play a professional sport in Brooklyn.
51 years after a reverend with a peaceful dream was gunned down on a balcony in Memphis.
2 years after sixty-three million Americans got dressed, left their homes, and cast a vote for the sitting President.
I, a Black American, experienced overt racism in an upscale Arizona restaurant in the year of our Lord 2019.
I’d love to tell you the full story but I refuse. Short of being referred to outside of my given name, the story unfolds in just the way you’d imagine it would.
I shared the story with my Black friends and they responded with a Bran Stark level of surprise.
I shared the story with my White friends and they responded with a Jaime Lannister level of shock.
It’s a tale as old as time. One that Black folks are all too familiar with and one that White folks are all too unfamiliar with.
As if I had forgotten, I was reminded that my blackness is still not welcome in American dining establishments. As the incident was unravelling, I quickly assessed what was happening and it felt like time began to slow down. The moment Black folks fear on a daily basis was actually happening.
This was not a drill. Man your battle stations. We are under attack.
I remained calm, composed, and graceful in navigating our group out of the situation. Not because of anything that I actively train for but because my DNA is hardwired for survival in these moments.
I always walk away from these incidents feeling like I cheated death. Like a victorious warrior in the Roman Colosseum, you almost want to let out a primal roar. However, I moved on clutching to my dignity, my pride, and knowing that my ancestors are always guiding me.
Then minutes go by, then hours, and then days and you struggle to breathe because you still smell that foul odor all around you.
It’s like stepping in a massive pile of dog shit. You look to wipe your shoes in the nearest puddle of water. You find a stick to pick out the particles of shit that are in the grooves of your shoes. You slide your shoes back and forth on the pavement hoping to remove any last bits that remain. You ask people around you if they smell anything funny. But everywhere you go all you can smell is that lingering smell of shit following you everywhere.
Major League Baseball celebrates Jackie Robinson Day on every April 15. Every team and player that plays on Jackie Robinson Day has to wear my favorite number, 42. I always try to attend a baseball game to see all the jerseys adorned in that beautiful number and honor Jackie’s lasting impact on my life.
It’s not lost on me that today is Jackie Robinson Day.
22 years after the inaugural Jackie Robinson Day and I am still yearning for the day that Langston Hughes once wrote about in his classic poem I, Too in 1926. The day that, “They’ll see how beautiful I am and be ashamed.”
Last Friday, the most anticipated political moment of the Trump Presidency occurred: The Mueller Report was completed and submitted to the Justice Department. Within minutes of the breaking news, every cable news channel, political blog, and Facebook newsfeed was flooded with a flurry of opinions without any new details. While it is a perfect example of the hyper-polarization of today’s political climate, it is also a microcosm of a much deeper trend that transcends politics. Like our interest levels in sports, music, and entertainment in general, our passion is no longer rational and under control. Due to the global reach of social media with immediate access to anything that strokes our most passionate interests, it is no longer acceptable to be a casual fan. You are required to devote a level of obsession that previously was considered psychotic.
Through social media and advancements in technology, fans of any form of entertainment have access to stoke their curiosity level from casual to knowledgeable to obsessive. There are Facebook groups, hashtags, fan pages, message boards, YouTube channels, smart apps, etc., dedicated to every cinematic or musical genre, sport, team, political candidate, and political or current event. If you are a fan of your college team, there are multiple message boards that provide in-depth analysis, recruiting updates, and behind-the-scenes stories regarding potential coaching challenges that keep you informed before any of it hits the mainstream news. If you are a fan of the WWE, you have an on-demand network that has every match, pay-per-view, or show. If you are a big video gamer, you can play every game online with people across the globe on every gaming console (Xbox, PlayStation, Nintendo, PC) that matches your skill level and personal tastes. Simply put, if you have more than a surface-level interest in something, you will be exposed to enough material to progress that interest from ‘Intrigued’ to ‘Passionate’.
Like our entertainment options, the same options are available for our political tastes. Whether it’s the cable news channels that unabashedly market to a specific political affiliation, Facebook groups and fan pages devoted to individual candidates or causes, or the pre-determined newsfeed of our Facebook page from the people we associate with, it is nearly impossible for someone with an interest in politics to not make the emotional leap from a responsible voter to outspoken advocate. As one’s interest grows, the pressure from fellow believers is to only communicate and associate with likeminded views while censuring out anything that challenges or competes with that unassailable principle. One’s community is no longer your next-door neighbours or co-workers; it’s the hundreds of people we communicate with daily across the world. In many cases, these ‘friends’ are people we have never met and will never meet in person.
As our created communities become more politically homogeneous, our tolerance for divergent views weakens. If this were a football game, we became ‘That’ fan with our face and chest painted in team colors standing in sub-freezing temperatures heckling every opposing player or fan present. No one questions our fandom, but opposing fans and even some mutual fans, will dodge us to avoid making a scene or listen to a guilt trip for being a ‘Fairweather fan’. As voters transform from the family taking their kids to their first ballgame to ‘That’ fan, the political candidates who best play to ‘That’ fan are the ones that rise to the top. Donald Trump is NOT the cause of this dynamic, he is the byproduct of it.
President Trump is the perfect byproduct of this phenomena. For the most part, no one is a casual fan or critic of him. He uses this dynamic to provoke the (predictable) reactions from his audience. If this was a neutral stadium, he’s provoking the liquored-up super fans from both teams to go at in the stands. In a vacuum, we generally find this behavior disgusting, but the reality is we all had a hand in this. The reality is we are all guilty of being ‘That’ fan (I am guilty when it comes to A&M football, Spurs basketball, and the WWE). For some of us, it’s politics. For others, it’s a sports franchise, musical artist, or gaming community. Having passion for something is a GREAT thing, but if our passion controls our behavior and character it will continue to poison the well for future generations.
Congresswoman Ilhan Omar’s recent remarks about Israel’s involvement in US affairs has sparked outrage in our government. In one of her statements to Congress, she said, “I want to talk about the political influence in this country that says it is OK for people to push for allegiance to a foreign country.” Without ever attacking Jews or Judaism itself, she has been labelled as “anti-Semitic.” Pro-Israel lobbying groups quickly went up in arms to attack her, and multiple people have called for her to be removed from the Foreign Affairs Committee. President Trump even tweeted a response in which he called her comments reflective of a “dark day for Israel.” A picture of Omar has gone viral that depicts her in front of the burning buildings from 9/11.
Despite receiving an inordinate amount of criticism, Omar has not retracted her comments or stepped down from her position on the Foreign Affairs Committee. Plenty of Democrats have voiced their opinions against her, despite belonging to the same party. Several days after Omar’s remarks, a resolution was passed to denounce anti-Semitism and overall hate, which includes anti-Muslim rhetoric as well.
I recently spoke to someone who highlighted something I had never thought of before. When someone says something against Jews or Judaism, they are labelled as anti-Semitic. The use of the prefix “anti” indicates that the person who is committing the action is in the wrong. They are against something that they should not be against. When there is anti-Muslim rhetoric; however, it is most often labelled as Islamophobic. The suffix “phobia” implies that it is not necessarily wrong for someone to be against Islam. In fact, the use of this term categorizes Islam as something to be afraid of, like the dark or spiders. A person who is Islamophobic is seen as a good person who is rightly afraid of something, whereas an anti-Semite is a bad person who is against something good. The usage of these terms are not an accident, and it is clear that there are political associations with both words.
Ilhan Omar brought to light an important matter concerning our country’s undying loyalty to a foreign nation, yet she was attacked for doing so. The U.N. recently found that Israel intentionally shot children, journalists, and the disabled during protests in Gaza; yet, we see more outrage when someone questions our national loyalty than the murder of innocent people. It is clear that there is a major issue with the way that the US blindly supports Israel and its policies, and I hope that Ilhan Omar will not be the last one to call attention to this problem.
I learned about the history of blackface in my music history class back in my junior year of college. It focused on popular music and blackface was a prominent form of entertainment dating back to the 1830s. In the late 1850s there was a surge of Irish immigrants due to the famine that overtook Ireland. The crops failed, leaving death to claim the Irish by means of hunger and/or disease.
At this time, they weren’t considered White. According to author and historian Christopher Klein’s article published on History, they were even considered lower than Blacks for not being Protestants. American Protestants were afraid that the Pope was sending his army to take over America. This fear stemmed from when America’s forefathers fled Britain for religious freedom (Klein). While they lived in the same slums as Blacks, they were still not accepted as White.
In an interview with author John Strausbaugh published on Vox, Strausbaugh states that blackface was taken up by Irish immigrants in order to set them apart from Blacks. At the end of the day, they were still just as fair skin as Whites. At the end of each performance, they would wipe the black off their faces, to say that well, at least we weren’t actually Black. Through the popularity of these performances, they gained White status (Strausbaugh).
Blackface, I thought, no longer held a place in society. I thought we made progress. However, our black skin is still worn by white sheep who want to be the big bad wolf. With Gucci’s sweater that has an extended turtleneck which covers the face but has a large mouth printed around the hole in the neck, how were we not supposed to understand that as a new form of blackface?
It would have been a completely different story if the turtleneck was simply longer than normal because in my opinion, the extended neck isn’t blackface. It just functions as a scarf and ski mask without all the extra material and allows for warmth without the bulk. But I and others like me cannot just look past the glaringly obvious. Apologies are not enough when discrimination, bias, and ignorance are stigmatizing our black skin. More has to be done. Reformation needs to start now.
Daniel Day, affectionately known as Dapper Dan, is an African-American fashion designer who continues to work in collaboration with Gucci after this incident. It is a bold move that I believe others are not willing to take. Day is thinking about the future of Black fashion designers.
The fashion industry is notorious for being racially exclusive. Take a look at advertisements in magazines and on television. Take a look at the runways. While the magazines might feature designers and models of color, the runways have always contrasted it with the whitewash. As Day has said in several interviews, he went through a lot to understand the industry/business and to keep his brand growing. These large brands are the stepping stones for Black designers to use to catapult their careers.
By boycotting Gucci, that is a “now” solution. This will only resolve people’s gripes now but what about later? If we continue to boycott every incident individually, nothing will ever get done. Think of it as constantly pausing a movie every two minutes. It makes the movie much longer than it is, the plot gets disjointed by the constant stop and start, and the end gets pushed farther and farther away. By trying to handle each incident in real time, we are stopping and starting, pushing off the reformation that we seek. Reform will not happen if we keep getting in our own way.
To make change, we have to be the change. We need to take a stand for the future and not everything that happens in the present. This is not to say that Gucci should be given a free pass, but as Day said in an interview with The Huffington Post, “this is an opportunity to learn.” This incident with Gucci is another moment that you could call a pause. There have been several pauses before this one and can be several pauses after this, but why not make this incident the last pause? In this pause, we can initiate the process of change and let it develop over time like a plot in a movie? Otherwise, we will always be dissatisfied with how things are and always call for change.
