MLK 50: BANKRUPT JUSTICE

[This is part two of a three-part series on American gun violence. Read part one here.]

“Man, I’ll tell you this, if your big Black ass ever gets stopped by a cop just lay on the ground and don’t move. I work with them and I know them racists will shoot your Black ass in a heartbeat,” said my childhood friend, a Black NYPD officer, with a chuckle and a swig of a beer one summer night.

Given that they were to write the first governing document for a democracy in the history of the world, the writers of the United States Constitution had a seismic task ahead of them. As this young nation progressed, they decided to update – or amend – the language in the original governing Document.

The Fourteenth Amendment provides the promise of equal protection under the law and the Fifth Amendment provides the promise that restricts the government’s ability to prosecute folks accused of a crime. In short, the Fourteenth Amendment promises fairness and the Fifth Amendment promises order.

You see, these are some of the “promissory notes” that Dr. King referenced in his I Have A Dream speech when he said, “It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked “insufficient funds.” But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt.” 

The enforcement of Law in the United States effectively rolls up to the Justice Department which is now overseen by Attorney General, Jefferson Beauregard Sessions III. Why the name Jefferson Beauregard you might ask? Well, because his namesake is derived from Confederate icons, Jefferson Davis (president) and Pierre Gustave Toutant-Beauregard (general). Yes, the same Confederate States that seceded, formed their own government and went to war with the United States to uphold the right to own black human beings as property. I digress; loosely speaking, the Attorney General acts as the top Law Enforcement Officer in the nation and I have a pretty good idea of what his ancestors would think about laws that pertain to my humanity.

So if you dig deeper into my childhood friends cautionary advice, what he was effectively warning me was that because of the color of my skin and the size of my person that law enforcement, backed by the full power of both the Constitutions of the United States and the State of New York, would forego my rights to fairness and order and snatch my life in a heartbeat.

Yet again, my friend’s cautionary advice came to life last week in Sacramento. Stephon Clark was fatally struck by six out of twenty bullets, in his back, while in his grandmother’s backyard. Just as I’ve come to expect, “law enforcement” supporters made repeated the same cold asinine statements:

“If he only would have complied with the officers’ commands.”

“If he only didn’t run.”

“If he only had his hands up.”

“You put on a uniform.”

“It’s a split-second life or death decision on whether or not someone has a gun.”

As we reflect on the fifty years that have passed since Dr. King’s assassination, lets us also remember that not much has changed since April 4, 1968. In the last few weeks, America’s bank of justice returned the promissory notes of Stephon Clark and Alton Sterling marked “insufficient funds.”

From the Attorney General to local Law Enforcement, America continues to remind us that her bank of justice remains bankrupt insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. I pray that my loved ones never receive a promissory note marked “insufficient funds” and that my childhood friend is not a Prophet.

Rest In Power: Stephon Clark, Alton Sterling, and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

Part Three: Dancing With the Devil in the Pale Moonlight 

This article was originally published on 4 April 2017.

A MAN WAS LYNCHED YESTERDAY

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.

1 year after a Lynching Memorial, The National Memorial for Peace and Justice, opened in Alabama.

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.”

Because, honestly, I’m tired of this shit.

Similar Read: A Peak Inside American Sports: Cheers & Protests

Musings on the State of Race in America

In the past week and a half, we have seen various milestones pass us in the struggle for civil rights in America. Foremost of those events, was the 50th anniversary of the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. The majority of the things King stood up for in his illustrious but short career are still with us today. In the 50s and 60s, people were far more open in their racism and bigotry, and were more likely to express it openly (without fear of retribution). Today it seems as though those same attitudes were just suppressed and became part of society’s larger working. For example, people controlling mortgages for homes do not lend to minorities in certain areas and historically, black institutions have never been allowed to take on those functions in black communities to help their own people. The racism and bigotry we think of from the 50s and 60s has been there since America’s inception and has simply been institutionalized instead of treated. Therefore, the roughly 13% of the population that is African American is never going to get the fair shake the majority of society receives.

The second event was the airing of Hope & Fury, the very aptly named documentary by NBC News; “hope” being the optimism of the 60s and early 70s that things were going to change along with the Civil Rights Movement, and the “fury” comes from that in 50 years later although some things have changed, there is still an extremely long way to go before gaining racial equality in America. This documentary, through actual news footage, painted a very real picture of what 1955 was actually like. Although the police at the time were are an active part of the hate-filled mobs, they have taken a step back from blatant society supported assaults on blacks to a more inconspicuous attack on black society through “justified” killings of black men as their position as the police. Until there is a fundamental change in the mentality of the policing in America, nothing will change in the black community because the people who are doing the policing have no stake in that community and no incentive to see that community thrive.

I was distressed to find out that the day after the airing of Hope & Fury, that Linda brown, aged 75, passed away. She was the lead plaintiff in Brown v Board in 1954. Her entire life was defined by the Civil Rights Movement and the court case that changed America’s schools forever. I personally found it very tragically ironic that the day after Hope & Fury aired she would pass. Could it possibly be that she lived through the hope and ended up at the fury of realizing how little things had really changed in the scope of her lifetime? If we take the events discussed here, 50 years since the death of MLK, the Airing of Hope & Fury, and the one week anniversary of Linda Brown’s death, and juxtapose them over 50 years, are race relations better off 50 years later, or if you scratch the surface are they just as bad as 50 years ago?

Similar LCR content: Hope & Fury

Hope & Fury

About two weeks ahead of the 50th anniversary of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s assassination, NBC aired a powerful documentary, Hope & Fury, showcasing how far Black Americans have come and how far our country still has to go regarding race relations.

The documentary is an equally unnerving and enlightening account of the horrors committed against Black Americans and their strides toward equality. The documentary is a must-watch for everyone in the country as a reminder of the tenacity in the Black community in the face of vicious prejudice, racism, and murder encountered today, yesterday, and 60 years ago.

As much as we like to think we’re a post-racial society, we’re not. That fact is made clear every time a slur is hurled, a Confederate flag is flown, or unarmed Black man is shot. The notion that racism is a time-old problem of yesterday is inaccurate and borderline offensive to the experiences of today’s minorities and the work of Civil Rights leaders. John Lewis, featured in the documentary and current Democratic Congressman from Georgia, was a leader beaten during Bloody Sunday, and is still alive. Eight of nine students who formed the Little Rock nine are still alive. Although segregation laws and Jim Crow are no longer in existence and the Civil Rights movement made major strides in legislation towards equality, Black people are not equal and the fight will continue until they are.

Hope & Fury is a powerful reminder of how far Black Americans have left to go, of how pervasive racial hatred was and still is in this country, and the tenacity of defiance and hope that lives within the Black community. 

Similar LCR Content: Musings on the State of Race in America