Black Lives...Matter?

"If you get tired take a break but don't give up." - Donnie I. Bets. 

On Thursday I stayed at work later than usual to attend an event. There was a play being performed in the theater called 'BLACK' and I wanted to stay to see it. The words on the flyers, that were hung all over school, intrigued me and I felt compelled to stay and watch it. 

The flyers read "After one more young black man dies at the hand of police, a community is shaken. A conversation evolves between two mothers at the vigil - one white and one black. Through their interaction BLACK, gets to the heart of the matter on communication between races." Intriguing right? 

The theater, that two months earlier was packed with students eager to see Footloose, was almost completely empty. The first few middle rows were the only ones occupied. My colleague and I easily found seats and settled in as the show began. 

The play begins with a black woman walking on stage. She wore all black, as one typically does at a vigil, her steps though intentional and steady were also somber and heavy. She seemed like the type of person that typically walks with a soft quiet step, but on this day her movements seemed heavy, loud. A crying, distraught, white character joins the Black woman on stage. She's devastated over what has happened and doesn't understand how an adult could shoot a child. 

"What was he thinking?" she exclaims repeatedly, getting more and more upset each time she says it. The Black character gives her a tissue and some serious side eye. She doesn't engage initially but after a while she decides to give her new companion a talk on the Black experience in America.

They talked about the Black Lives Matter movement and how it's not an exclusion but rather an intentional focus on a demographic that is marginalized and suffering in our society. They talked about white being perceived as the norm and capital "B" Black as an identity.

They dive into all of this until suddenly it's time for the Black female to speak at the vigil. The scene unravels and we find out the the white woman is the wife of the cop and the black woman the mother of the child that was murdered. I've already given away the climax of the play so I could go on but I'll stop there. After the show the actresses, the writer (an East alumna) and the director, had a round table conversation with everyone who attended. 

They instructed us to leave our seats and to form a large circle so that we would all be on the same level to be able to see each other. The director asked if anyone had any thoughts or feelings they wanted to share and a young, black man, raised his hand and shared a bit of his story. 

I wish that I could tell you everything he said. Initially I planned to, but then I remembered that everyone in attendance agreed that what happened in that auditorium and what was said there would stay there. What he shared was not something that was new for me to hear. What he shared was a confirmation of what I had just seen portrayed in front of me. It was an African American mans black joy crushed and darkened by white fragility.

A young black man speaking of treading lightly and not wearing a hood and flowing through life trying to go unnoticed and trying not to ruffle feathers, trying to survive. The play paired with his story made me furious. The Black mom in the play eventually shares that her son was walking home from baseball practice when he was killed. Thinking that he was a criminal, a cop stopped him. When the 12 year old turned around with his baseball bat the cop shot him because he assumed his life was in danger. 

Black lives matter. 

There's so much weight behind those three simple words; Black lives matter. So many people get uncomfortable when they read it and skim over it hoping that the next line will house a different set of words that will ideally bring a familiar sense of comfort. Black lives matter. 

I, too, have found myself treading lightly, trying not to get angry and ignoring microaggressions. Black lives matter. Microaggressions that I believe lead people to think that a 31 year old white man, who trashes a store in Brazil, is a kid trying to have fun; while a 17 year old black boy walking home from the store with a hood on is a grown man worth fearing. Black lives matter.

Aggressions that start out as micro. Ideals that lead people to believe that since there's been a Black president that there's no such thing as modern day lynching or the new Jim Crow. Black lives matter. Microaggressions that makes someone bold enough to say All lives matter to the face of their black friend and the ignorance to get upset when they're challenged on their foolishness. 

Black lives matter. Not more than white lives or Asian lives or Hispanic lives but rather just as much as. Not an inclusion but rather an invitation into the lives of a group of people who are asking to be seen, are asking for equity and are asking for a system that was not made for us to stop oppressing us. An invitation for the majority to use their society given privilege, not earned privilege, to fight for the lives of those who are, too often, over looked. 

Those that are killed while playing with a toy in a park. Tamir Rice. Those that are shot in their cars while reaching for an ID that they were instructed to show. Philando Castile. Those who are choked to death on the side walk for selling cigarettes. Eric Garner. Those who are stopped and asked to walk backwards with their hands up and as they're doing so are shot. Terence Crutcher. 

Black lives matter? Yes. Of course they do. I know that, do you? 

"If you have a critique for the resistance, our resistance, then you better have an established record of critique of our oppression." - Jesse Williams

A life of privilege.

Injustice infuriates me. There aren't many things that make me more angry than seeing people around the world suffering and being treated unfairly. Whether it's human trafficking, systematic oppression, sexism etc..it all makes my skin boil. 

I will openly and without abandon, denounce anything that I think aims to lower a person's self worth. These enemies to self esteem and self value often come in the form of systems; systems created by people who are in love with power and aim to oppress any and everyone who is different than them. 

I haven't always been so aware or so 'woke' as people say. I grew up in an environment that was so diverse and inclusive that issues of race were simply not on my radar. As I've matured, traveled and exposed myself to other perspectives I now see that a life free of racism and oppression is without a doubt a life of privilege. 

As I dive deeper into these different narratives I'm blown away by the stark contrasts I see. Differences that are rooted so deep and go way beyond where someone lives or where they went to school. Differences that shape the experiences of youth and the thoughts and belief systems of adults. 

I see these different experiences and different outcomes and they unsettle me. I see how my life of being home schooled and the fact that my mom was able to stay home with us has served me immensely.

I'm aware of the amount of privilege I have and have had in my life and I'm able to identify areas where I've been given the upper hand or had more access to success because of it. The privilege is not the main contributor to all of my accomplishments but it has definitely made things easier and more accessible. 

My awareness of my educational privilege, in particular, has fueled a large part of my desire to work with under served youth. I want every student, whether their family can afford a private school or to home school, to have access to the best education possible. My privilege drives me.

I'm not sure what it is about awareness that leads some people to action and others to guilt. For example, white guilt, have you heard the term? It's something that boggles my mind. It's the idea behind White Americans feeling guilty because of slavery, racism and systematic oppression.

It often births, in moments where I've been able to observe it, feelings of bitterness, anger and the need to defend oneself.  

Guilt is not the best use of privilege. Guilt does not translate to a call to action or to a change of systems and norms. Guilt is not the first step to a better world. In all of my conversations about race and injustice It has never been my goal to make my white counterpart feel guilty or like they need to apologize for the actions of their forefathers. 

Rather the aim, my aim, is to help my friends and people I meet to see their privilege and become aware of the ways they've benefited because of it. White privilege is real and I'm not asking for someone to apologize for it, I'm asking for you to acknowledge it and use it to make this country a just, safe and equality driven place to live. It's not about cultivating a group filled with guilty motionless people, ones who are drowning in the aggression and hate of their ancestors. No, it's about people who are aware, filled with action and willing to extend their upper hand instead of using it simply for their own gain.  

I would like to use Colin Kaepernick for a second to help explain privilege. Colin Kaepernick, despite the fact that he is a black man, has been privy to a lifestyle that reflects the privilege that white males typically have. As a baby Kaepernick was adopted by a white couple and lived for a short while in Wisconsin before moving to California. Kaepernick's parents were able to pay for him to play multiple sports his entire life which led to him being able to play in college and later in the NFL, which leads me to his current situation.

When Kaepernick became 'woke' to the systems of oppression in our country, even though he wasn't subjected to them growing up, he used his platform and his privilege to speak out against those systems.

Has Colin Kaepernick said all the right things throughout the process? No, but he had the courage to speak up and utilize his constitutional rights. Kaepernick chose to not pledge allegiance to the flag, something that I haven't done since college and he's brought awareness on a very large scale to an issue that he easily could have chosen to ignore.

Kaepernick is a black man in America that had access to a large amount of privilege, privilege that most black men will never touch and where he could have chosen to bask in his success he instead chose courage and integrity and to identify, utilize and potentially lose his privilege. 

Do you have the courage to do the same?

So to wrap this all up, can we please talk about your privilege? Can we talk about how it serves you? How it has given you access to education and jobs and successes? Lets talk about it and push away the urge to feel guilty, to feel angry or to feel attacked.

My interest in the topic of privilege, particularly white and male privilege and my desire to bring exposure, awareness and action, does not come from a place of anger or hate, it comes only from love. White privilege is real and regardless of if you can identify how you've benefited from it, if you're a white person in America, you have.  So lets talk about it, expose it and act. 

Driving while black.

When I was a teenager, just learning how to drive, I got pulled over by a cop. My mom was in the passenger seat and I had just paused at a stop sign instead of coming to a complete stop. Within seconds lights flashed in my rear view mirror and that well known sound swirled in my ear. 

As I pulled to the side of the road I immediately started to cry. The cop, a white man,  walked up to my window and when he saw my tears began to comfort and encourage me. He told me that I had run a stop sign but that I wasn't in trouble and didn't need to cry. He said that he had a teenager daughter at home and that he when he saw me, he thought of her and that he wants both of us to be safe drivers. 

He didn't give me a ticket or a warning but he did give me a hug through the window. That was the only time I had ever been pulled over, until recently. 

I was driving home from having brunch with Patrick's mom, about a month or so ago, when a cop pulled up behind me and turned on his lights. 

I pulled over to the side of the road, rolled down my window and put my hands in plain sight on the steering wheel. The officer introduced himself and attempted to make small talk. He told me that I was going over the speed limit but if everything came back clear he would let me go on my way. 

With one hand on my window and the other on his gun, he asked for my license and registration. I told him that my license was in my purse, under my seat and asked for permission to reach down and grab it, he said "Yes, of course." I then told him that my registration was in my glove box and asked for permission to reach across the seat to get it, he again said "Of course." 

I've only been pulled over twice in my life and both times the officer was extremely kind but despite his kindness the second time I struggled to shake my fear. I remember being hyper sensitive of my hand placement before the officer even got to my window and making a conscious decision to not cry, to not be afraid and to not be a statistic. 

You see, I knew that when he ran my information that nothing would come back and that I had nothing to hide. Even with all of this in mind, the memories and images from months and months of videos and articles of people who look like me, being shot and killed by people like him, had me a little shook. 

Growing up my friends and my brothers and I made a lot of jokes, in very poor taste, about slavery and racism. We made jokes about driving while black and black people being picked on by cops. We could joke about these things because it was something that was never on the back of our heels or knocking on our front door. 

We don't make those kinds of jokes anymore. 

African Americans make up only 13 percent of the US population, yet account for 24 percent of those that are fatally shot by police. That means that African Americans are 2.5 times more likely to get killed in an interaction with a police officer than White Americans. According to the Washington Post, in 2015 of all of the unarmed people shot and killed by police, African American men made up 40% of that number even though they only make up 6% of our countries population. 

After I got pulled over by the cop I told a few of my friends the story and as some laughed at my response and how I reacted I was reminded that I was the only person of color in the group. The more we talked, the more they understood my reaction and emotions but I couldn't undo the realization of how heavily our perspectives have shaped our views on the world. 

When I see and read about people of color being shot and killed for petty crimes or committing no crime at all, I see myself. I don’t just see a black man or a little black boy, I see my brothers and my nephews…I see family.

When the cop finished checking my information and told me that I was all clear to go, I just sat there for a few moments. I imagined what it’s like to have a seemingly simple stop escalate for one reason or another, to the point where someone leaves in a body bag. I thought of Philando Castile and Sandra Bland, I thought about Tamir Rice and Eric Garner and how I wished they could have gone home.

I thought about all of the men and women who serve as police officers in this country and how everything that they do is now under a microscope. I thought about fear and prejudice and preconceived notions and how all of those things culminate.

I just sat there, with sweaty palms and a racing heart, thinking.

 Despite all of the things I’ve read and seen I still believe in people. I still believe in police officers and I believe that African Americans are more than just something to be oppressed in our society. May my experience of kindness and thoughtfulness from an officer become the norm. May our men stop being feared and officers stop being hated.

May driving while black, stop being a death sentence and go back to simply being a description of my daily commute.