We Are All Talked Out

by with No Comment FeaturedPoliticsRace Relations

The other week South Carolina’s Republican Senator Lindsey Graham was asked what was his opinion on chokeholds, police brutality as well as the rise of racial unrest. Sen Graham responded, “Well I think we need to learn how to start talking to each other.”  He added, “First we should start talking then look at data.” I am personally sick of people, mainly White people, telling Blacks they need to start talking about it. Black Americans have been talking and talking for years, decades and centuries. The truth is some White Americans in power have never been interested in doing anything to address the issue of race.

On Monday, June 22, 2020, the US House discussed voting on their police reform bills. The Republican bill does not address issues with police brutality but actually give them incentives if they do not do chokeholds. It explicitly states, “Give Incentives to Police Departments that Do Not Do Chokeholds, Let States Maintain the Tracking of Police Misconduct, Would Not Amend Federal Civil Rights Law, No Change in Qualified Immunity, and just Collect State Data on No-Knock Warrants.“ On the other hand, the Democrat bill says, “Ban on Chokeholds, National registry to Track Police Misconduct, Would amend Federal Civil Rights Law, Change in Qualified Immunity and Ban No-Knock Warrants in Drug Cases.“

As to expected… night and day.

Clearly, Republicans believe that just because they proposed a police reform bill that would appeal to African-Americans voters. However, African-Americans will not allow the GOP to use their community as a prop. The evidence is in their bill, that Republicans in the House of Representatives do not believe that Black Lives Matter. The Black Community has been clear that they are ALL TALKED OUT, they are ready for ACTION.

Similar Read: My Letter to John Lewis

Why Are We Scared?

by with One Comment CultureFeaturedRace Relations

[New Contributor]

White America, stop. Look in the mirror and ask yourself, why?

Why does it not bother me that African-Americans are not on equal footing? Why am I scared about the empowerment of Black communities? Why do I not care about the injustices committed against African-Americans? Why am I not scared driving down the street but Black people are?

These of course are all rhetorical questions, but the why has been built into us over generations of discrimination against people who look different than us. We have to look at these questions individually. Not regurgitate a company line that we get from the media or the people we associate with. We have to make these problems personal. Why?

I am the results of the seeds sown by some of the most influential Black men in my life… coaches, teammates, friends, brothers. My story cannot be told without mentioning these men.

White friends, enemies, and family do not be scared or nervous, come talk to me. Ask me questions about these men and what they mean to me. I will tell you about Osi Umenyiora, Justin Tuck, Micheal Strahan, George Falgout, Mathias Kiwanuka, Jason Pierre-Paul, Carl Hairston, Perry Fewell, Antonio Pierce, Barry Cofield, Fred Robbins, Kenny Onatolu. The list goes on and on.

Why are we scared?

Similar read from another NFL player: Dear Black Man

Can You Hear Me Now?

by with 2 Comments CultureFeaturedRace Relations

[New Contributor]

Remember the old Verizon catchphrase? Imagine if, you will, an entire country of disenfranchised African-Americans screaming that right now. Is anyone listening??  

Let me preface this with the fact that I am a White male. I know the privilege I was born into and I also know that simply based on my skin color I will NEVER know the level of anger felt by my African-American countrymen and women these last few days. Now that we have gotten that out of the way, I have one simple message to the masses protesting: “Burn this bitch down.”

If that sounds familiar to you, it should. Michael Brown’s stepfather uttered this phrase in 2014. Let me say that again for the racists in the back… TWO THOUSAND FOURTEEN. 

Here’s my point…

For all of you telling protesters that they are taking this too far, I would argue that they may not be taking it far enough. 6 years after Ferguson and the same shit keeps happening over and over and over again. When all the public outrage ends and the celebrities point their tweets in a different direction, the clock starts on the next injustice and the cycle repeats.

So I ask all of you (mostly White) people, what would you do?

You showed up to a government building with assault rifles because the government had the nerve to ask you to stay at home for the greater good. I shudder to think what would happen if suddenly the White race was consistently and intentionally targeted by cops for simply being White. So save your outrage. I say “burn that bitch down.” If you wanna hang your hat on the “Most cops are good” argument I say this: You’re right but there are enough bad ones that this brutality keeps happening, so I say “burn this bitch down’.” There are no more arguments to defend this behavior and if you have one, YOU’RE the problem. 

Can you hear me now??

Similar Read: Ahmaud Murdered… What’s Next? Who’s Next?

AMERICAN NOIR

by with No Comment CultureFeaturedRace Relations

“Fuck you! You black asshole!” is what she shouted as she poured the contents of her alcoholic drink all over me.

I had just arrived at a crowded bar in midtown Manhattan to meet a few colleagues for happy hour after work. We were huddled in casual conversation when someone walked by and forcefully pushed me as they were walking by; so much so, that I bumped into my colleague standing across from me. Agitated, I turned around to the culprit and said, “You can say excuse me!”, to which she responded with the racially charged epithet mentioned above. An uncomfortable silence fell over my colleagues as they were aghast by her racially charged remark and wondered aloud if people “like that” still existed.

The story got worse from that point but those details are not important. What is important is that these racially charged moments of aggression are potentially lurking around every corner of the Black experience. I could tell of the time when I was in high school, walking home from basketball practice in my catholic school uniform, when two police officers jumped the curb and drew their guns on my teammate and I. I could tell of the time I was in Atlanta when a cop pulled me over in my rental car and said, “Boy, get me your [rental] papers, I want to make sure this is yours,” before I was then pulled over again less than 3 minutes later by another cop who told me that my headlights were not on (it was 2 pm). I could tell of the time when an ex-girlfriend’s roommate was disgusted that she let a Black man take a shower in their bathroom. I could tell of the time when I was at the Intercontinental in Mexico and the hotel manager said to my friends, “Your Black friend isn’t welcome here.”

All of those horrible incidents of racial aggression don’t add up to the constant barrage of racial microaggressions that occur on a daily basis in the Black experience. Psychology Today defines racial microaggressions as, “brief and commonplace daily verbal, behavioral, or environmental indignities, whether intentional or unintentional, that communicate hostile, derogatory, or negative racial slights and insults towards people of color.”

Standing at 6’1” with a muscular build, I have a comparatively large physical presence. Layered on top of that is the fact that I am proudly dark skinned, so you might better understand some of the microaggressions that occur in my daily Black experience. However, what some may seem to forget, is that before all of those descriptors, I am a hominid (i.e. a human) with dignity.

(Dignity…)

When I walked into business meetings dressed in a suit and got asked where I played football, I know it was an attempt to erode my dignity. When I conducted a meeting and was then asked where I received my education, I know it was an attempt to erode my dignity. Being chased down and emasculated by another visiting employee at my office, who didn’t realize that I also worked there because I was casually dressed, was an attempt to erode my dignity. Conversely, last night, while wearing a custom tux and repeatedly being asked security type questions is an attempt to erode my dignity. Having to suppress my frustrations in fear of being labeled an “angry Black man” while White colleagues have the ability to freely express their frustrations, is an attempt to erode my dignity. Not seeing any Black executives at the company by which you’re employed, is an attempt to erode my dignity. Being told, “you’re not like those Black people,” when you absolutely are just like your Black brothers and sisters, is an attempt to erode my dignity. Being told that you don’t sound like you were born and raised in Brooklyn because you’re well-spoken, is an attempt to erode my dignity. People that have told me that they, “don’t see race,” are attempting to erode my dignity.  Going on a date and being told, “I know I’ve put on too much weight when Black guys start hitting on me,” is an attempt to erode my dignity. Dating someone who says, “my family will never accept you,” is an attempt to erode my dignity. Seeing the recurring violence against Black bodies and the equally as divisive rhetoric that follows on social platforms, is an attempt to erode my dignity. If this reads as an overwhelming paragraph of experiences then just imagine living it every day.  

Then there are the psychological questions that begin to fester in my mind because of the racial climate in which we live. Constantly wondering if I am walking too close to someone thereby putting their feelings above my own, is a subtle attempt to erode my dignity. Sitting across from a new prospective client and wondering how does this person view Black people, is a subtle attempt to erode my dignity. Walking out of an interview and wondering if you will or will not get the job on the merit of your experience and not because of the color of your skin, is a subtle attempt to erode my dignity. All of these thoughts come in a flash but can tally up over the course of time to weigh on one’s psyche.

The experiences above are not shared by my White colleagues and friends and therefore we lack the equality that the Declaration of Independence illustrates. Ignoring this difference continues to marginalize our experience as humans with darker epidermis. Despite the aggressions and microaggressions lurking around any given corner, Black people across the diaspora are not victims, we are mighty victors in the face of an ongoing attempt to rob us of a dignity that we hold so dear. But we will not crumble to any perils that may be lurking around any corners because as Maya Angelou wrote, “I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise. I rise. I rise.”

Similar Read: Amy’s Gotta Problem

The Constitution?

by with No Comment CultureFeaturedPolitics

[New Contributor]

The Constitution is a term that’s used regularly in the political world and in right-wing circles. But it’s constantly misused like the term love, which is used every single day. There are many levels of love. It can go anywhere from love for your favorite sports team, love for a family member, and of course, the love of your life (at the time lol). But again, the term love is used all day, every day.  And similar to the adjective “the,” there’s often not much meaning behind it.

Similar to “love” and “the,” the term Constitution is used improperly or rather without true meaning. We live in a time where many want to bring up their Constitutional right, whether they are left, right, or somewhere in the political middle. We often hear “It is my Constitutional right…,” “I am protecting my Constitutional right,” or, “They want to take away our Constitutional right…” and so forth.

The issue is many who are yelling protection of their Constitutional right do not even know what the Constitution says. They are clueless about how many Amendments are in the Constitution and what they actually state.

There are 27 Amendments in the Constitution. Some remember popular Amendments, such as #1 Free Speech, #2 Right to Bear Arms, or #5 Remain Silent. But as mentioned there are 27 Amendments, and I can guarantee you judges, police officers, and government officials constantly use many of them as justification for their actions despite not actually following the law.

Let’s deal with the Second Amendment for today. Many gun activists believe that the Second Amendment is their only God-given right and the most important. They also believe that this Amendment justifies having 18-20 guns to protect themselves including military-like weapons. This may be true, but this is not the law of the Amendment nor is it the purpose of its creation.

Because these activists have chosen not to use the Amendment properly, they have subsequently created a Stand-Your-Ground Law. Stand Your Ground Law states that you have the right to use your gun to stand your ground when you feel your life is threatened. But these activists are using their guns any way they want because they believe the Second Amendment and Stand Your Ground Laws give them that right and justify their actions. Once again something that is not accurate. And what we’ve discovered is “Stand-Your-Ground” really means Whites can stand their ground and Blacks & minorities have no ground to stand on. Blacks can’t say, “I am standing my ground because I fear for my life.” Blacks cannot walk up and down the street waving a gun or have a large gun strapped across their chest and walk in a Burger King, gas station or Walmart without police or authorities being called. That phone call on that Black individual most likely will end in an arrest or murder by the police or civilians. 

If we’re being honest, Stand-Your-Ground Law is another made-up law that allows White Americans to make civil arrests or take the lives of innocent people, mainly African-Americans. If it was really about protecting everyone then the law would also give African-American their fair protection and rights to STAND THEIR GROUND as well.

But the reality is it’s not for Blacks. They still believe how dare a Black man own a gun because that is NOT American so they must be up to some type of crime.  How dare a Black man go golfing, take a jog, sit in first-class on a plane, or be in the park with friends. 

But people used The Constitution as their American Bible to hide behind their hatred and evil speeches. Believing that The Constitution is their legal right to do whatever they want as long as they say my Constitutional rights.  It’s the same ones that say, “Get over slavery it was a long time ago.”

But Blacks and minorities have Constitutional rights. It is their right to speak up, defend, and protect themselves and their families. It is their right to not be killed, shot at, or threatened. It is their right to vote, worship, love whom they deem fit, and it is their right to stand their ground and demand justice in our judicial system. The sad truth… justice is not blind, it can see real good. She sees color, skin tone, race, nationality, gender, sexual orientation, and income status. Justice is not blind and justice is not fair. So when will we make The Constitution something that protects and serves all Americans? Because it’s just not for White people.

DEAR WHITE FOLKS: BRING SUNSCREEN

by with No Comment CultureFeaturedRace Relations

I have a diverse group of friends. Over the years, I’ve had great conversations with my White friends about what my experience is as a Black American. Often in those various conversations, a few statements have recurred:

“I won’t ever know what it’s like to walk in your shoes”

“I don’t see color”

“I don’t know what I can do to help”

Generally speaking, all of these statements were said with good intent. So I’ve come up with a simple but impactful analogy that might help shift one’s thinking from apathy to care. 

In my travels and most summers, I love to go to the beach. Growing up in Brooklyn, I never felt that I had a connection or access to picturesque beaches but there is calming quality in listening to the waves crash under the sunshine. I find that the beach is a great place to read a book, listen to music, have few drinks, and/or connect with friends. When I take out my beach bag to leave for the beach there is always something inside the bag that I don’t really need; sunscreen.

Now before you get all preachy on me about the dangers of skin cancer hear me out. First, my doctor tells me every year that I have a vitamin D deficiency. Second, my dark skin can absorb the sun’s rays and I’ve never gotten sunburned in America. Third, my skin looks radiant and I look great with a tan.

So why do I buy sunscreen and remember to take it with me to the beach? I know that when I leave the house for the beach that I will likely be going with other people, of lighter skin (i.e. White folks), who will need sunscreen or else they get sunburned.

Now, I’ve never had a bad sunburn but I have been around plenty of White folks who didn’t apply sunscreen properly and have gotten a bad sunburn. To be frank, it looks awful and extremely painful. Because I’m not apathetic, I’ve asked my White friends to share their sunburn experience with me. What does it feel like? When does it go away? What happens when you touch it? How does it heal? Why did you not apply sunscreen more effectively? You really have to go through this entire sunscreen application process before you layout? Why do you want to get a tan anyway? Yes, I know being darker is sexier but is all this worth it? So I’m thoughtful enough to leverage my Black privilege in this instance to bring sunscreen just in case.

Similarly, when I leave my apartment every day there are things that I have to think about that White folks don’t. I’ve previously written about some of the things that I have to think about when I leave the house. While I can’t speak for the 40+ million Black folks in this country, I can tell you that acknowledging our struggles under the metaphorical sun will go a long way to improving the racial discourse in this country.

You see, Black folks are familiar with the White experience in this country because that experience has remained prominently at the forefront of our culture. In an era where access to information is just a few clicks away, I’ve come to feel that some White folks are simply apathetic to our experience and choose to remain ignorant of the full spectrum of the Black experience. Folks choose to remain uninformed and believe, just as our current administration does, that only negative portrayals of our communities are worth highlighting. 

In his usual eloquence, James Baldwin, explains the White apathy towards the Black experience as a segregated wall where there is no desire to peer over the other side of the wall because there is a conscious effort to remain ignorant of the Black experience. 

In short, we want our White brothers and sisters to look over that wall, we want you to understand the complex spectrum of our experiences, we want you to be curious about how we live, we want our struggles under the metaphorical sun to be acknowledged, we want you to join in our interconnected fight against racism. We want you to bring sunscreen, even if you don’t need it.

“Most of the White Americans I have ever encountered really, you know, had a negro friend or a negro maid or somebody in high school. But they never, you know, or rarely after school was over or whatever, you know, came to my kitchen. You know, we were segregated from the schoolhouse door. Therefore, he doesn’t know – he really does not know – what it was like for me to leave my house, you know, leave the school and go back to Harlem. He doesn’t know how negroes live.

And it comes as a great surprise to the Kennedy brothers and to everybody else in the country. I’m certain again, you know, that like – again, like most White Americans I have, you know, encountered, they have no – you know, I’m sure they have nothing whatever against negroes. That is not – that’s really not the question. You know, the question is really a kind of apathy and ignorance which is a price we pay for segregation. That’s what segregation means. It – you don’t know what’s happening on the other side of the wall because you don’t want to know.”

— JAMES BALDWIN, 1963

A POC Undefined

by with 6 Comments CultureFeaturedGen Z

I am exoticized, and my olive skin, my big brown eyes, and black hair that falls in loose curls are the culprits. I am quick to be labeled as anything that will make everyone else comfortable: Latina, Indian, Asian, and etc. I am objectified with “Hey light skin” and “Hey Mami,” and the contours of my body are to blame. “I want to get to know you,” they will say. However, they only want to get to know this body that is the physical embodiment of the unknown. I am just a rare commodity.

People tend to not look beyond my appearance because it is too mysterious. It is truly baffling because you cannot tell ‘what’ I am by just looking at me. Get-to-know-you questions always begin with, “What are you mixed with?” My answer is never satisfactory, and therefore, people will argue with me about how I identify. At the end of the day, it is no one’s business but mine what my genetic makeup is unless I choose to make it their business.

I am a multiracial woman, but more often than not I am not accepted as such. I can distinctly remember in high school, this guy pestered me about what I am. After a while, I stopped dodging the question and gave him an answer. He kept telling me that I wasn’t that. He kept telling me that I was Indian and that I should stop lying and saying that I’m Black. It is funny to me that people already have an answer to their question, yet they still waste their breath on asking me anyway. It is as if verification is needed for them to feel the way they do about me, to think what they want about me. 

I am too Black to be White, too White to be Black, and not enough Native American to claim my heritage. Growing up was difficult because there were racial cliques. My being multiracial made me the outsider to all of them. I ‘didn’t understand’ the struggles of thick, coarse hair management. I was ‘privileged’ for my lighter complexion, but was still overlooked to favor my White counterparts. I knew nothing about the reserves and the fight to keep those sacred grounds sacred, to defend against industrialization. I wanted to belong to something so much that I denounced everything that wasn’t Black and made that my new identity, but that only made matters worse. It gave way to incidents much like the one with the guy from high school. 

All of my experiences bred a level of self-loathing for being different. I have never wanted anything more than to be able to not stand out wherever I go. I wanted to be able to just go about life without being questioned in most conversations about my race. Now, being a young adult, I’m learning to love the melanin in my skin that allows me to be pale like butterscotch in the winter and dark as cognac in the summer. I’m learning to appreciate each curve of my body and not try to diminish myself every time I step foot out of the house. That is doing myself a disservice.

I am a Person of Color, and never will I ever again be ashamed of being more than just one color. 

Similar Read: I’m Tired of “Wokeness”

This article was originally published on 12 February 2019.

Learning From Black History

by with One Comment FeaturedGen Z

As everyone likely knows, the month of February is Black History Month. In this country, the topic of race tends to be a very sensitive one. The reason race is such a difficult topic to discuss is because nobody wants to be called a racist. Nobody wants to be called out and told that what they are saying or doing is wrong or problematic. However, what many people don’t realize, is that this kind of call-out communication is sometimes necessary. If a person of color takes the time to explain why something is offensive or harmful, it is important to really listen and understand. White people cannot decide for people of color what is and is not racist.

On the other hand, however, it is never necessarily a person of color’s responsibility to teach White people about their history. People of color should not have to carry the burden of educating White people. If you are not Black but you want to do something for Black History Month, take the time to learn some Black history for yourself. Black history is often not taught thoroughly in schools. In general, we really only learn Black history through the lens of American history — starting with slavery, and usually ending around desegregation and integration. However, we all know Black history didn’t start with slavery, and the hardships certainly didn’t end with integrated schools.

There are centuries of Black history prior to slavery that has essentially been erased. There are so many Black people in this country today who don’t know where they are from or who their family is. Absent history is a huge problem in the recording and telling of history. All it takes is for someone to decide that your storyline is unimportant, and suddenly it’s gone forever. The more you learn about Black history, the more you realize just how much is left out in teachings. 

The best thing you can do as a White person during Black history month is to listen and to learn. If we want to move forward in our society, we need to stop silencing people. We need to listen to these marginalized groups and stop assuming that we know what they need or what’s best for them. Take a step back and listen to those who are actually affected by racism and other race-related hardships every day. We are still far from true equality in this country. One Black president does not mean we have solved racism. We still have a long way to go in our society. If we want to make lasting change, we need to start giving Black people the power and the voice to be able to do so.

The Struggle Is Black, The Word Is Black

by with No Comment CultureFeaturedRace Relations

Language is a social contract. We agree on the meaning of words and consequently we can communicate.

We agree that some words are offensive so that we can use them to offend. If “f*ck you!” was not offensive, then it would have no meaning when we said it to someone we were angry with. 

Offensive words are generally determined in the aggregate, via all of the mechanisms of culture: Media, Communities, Families, Government, Entertainers, and so on.

So who is allowed to say the N-Word?

Generally, it is impolite to comment on someone who is overweight as being “fat.” A person who has weight issues may self-ridicule, but to address that person’s issues for them is commonly considered offensive or cruel.

Likewise, it is rude to call someone ugly or hideous if they are disfigured or unfortunately featured (whatever that may mean, after all beauty is in the eye of the beholder). 

Weight and appearance struggles belong to the individuals that bare them.

So, I would say that the N-Word represents centuries of torture, murder, rape, ridicule, and exclusion endured by African-Americans, and therefore the word belongs to them.

The word was (and sadly still is) used as a weapon specifically against African-Americans. To defang the word, the Black Community over the last century has taken the N-Word from racists and claimed it as their own. This seems just.

The struggle is Black, the word is Black.

In short: America’s social contract regarding the N-Word is that African-Americans can use it however they see fit and it is simply off limits for other Americans.

Most all Americans agree to this contract, at least the ones who understand privilege and history. Even racists tend to fear the word because of how strong the national understanding has become, and how damaging the punishment for misuse.

Are there exceptions? There are always exceptions, but I’d say that even the exceptions are determined by the Black Community – which is also a nebulous concept, comprised of Families, Media, respected Celebrities, etc.

“But why do Black people get to say something and not me? That’s racist!,” says the ignorant person who is unable to understand historical nuance and the complexity of linguistics.

Using the N-Word assumes ownership of the word, and the majority of our modern society has decided that non-Black people simply don’t own it.

Even non-Black people who are extremely allied to the Black Community and given permission in their own Black social circles to use the word generally understand not to say it outside of those limited, friendly circumstances. One person may have a social contract with his or her friends, but this does not typically extend into the rest of society (until the issue has resolved once and for all everywhere in the country).

Will there come a day when anyone can use the word without offense? Will the N-Word ultimately share a status with other historically racist words that no longer offend anyone because the group of people the word insults is no longer disenfranchised? Perhaps.

But until that day, if I am asked: “Can non-Black people say the N-Word?” 

I would say, “No. At least not until the Black Community says yes.”