Author: Sometimes, They Forget

One of biggest struggles to a movement, of any sort, is gaining and maintaining support. Dr. King recognized this when he penned his letter while sitting in a Birmingham jail.  His aim was to speak directly to those who supported the direction the long arc of justice bends but say nothing.

In like fashion, we experience this today.  It’s impossible to know the feeling of being harassed by police.  It’s impossible to know what it is like to condition young black men on making themselves as small as possible when dealing with the police.  If this has never been thought, the best that can be hoped for is empathy.  Empathy, however, is not universal.

One of the pillars of the privileges that come with being white is that one gets to choose whether or to empathize.  Just as easily, one can blame the conditions of the culture.  But that too is flawed.  Systemic racism is a verifiable fact.  But when facts make people uncomfortable, they tend to take to half-measures.  These half-measures range from having a black friend to liking a post or sharing a video.  But to end there is a perpetuation of the injustice that actually exists.  It creates noise that adds to the noise, but it accomplishes nothing.

Adding to the complication is the understandable frustration that results from the advocates of a cause.  A scary black man with a message is still a scary black man first. The moderates that are necessary are turned off–even if they agree.  They cannot overcome the socially engrained perception that relegates black men to a secondary class, and being excessively vocal about matters that matter is no matter.

Messaging is yet another condition of living in the “white space.” Knowing the audience, their predilections, and curtailing the delivery of the message is a necessary condition. This is not to say that it is right, but it is a part of the very same struggle activists hope to abate.  If one cannot get out of the starting blocks, how can one hope to compete in the race?

Some contend, and rightfully so, that there is no need to capitulate further.  There has been enough modifying of behavior.  The mere notion angers them.  Again, understandable.  There must be a calculation, a balance of what is to be gained versus what can potentially be lost.  Everyone is heard yelling.  But that elicits more half-measures, and the greater cause goes unnoticed.

We live in a world dominated by those who have held dominion over racial categories for centuries.  So engrained is this dynamic that a movement needs all the foresight it can get.  Dr. King understood this.  His successes have set the table and allowed us to sit.  It is up to us to determine what we eat first.  Otherwise, we will eat what we are told.

 

 

 

First time for everything, right?  I would be lying if I said what I write here are honest thoughts.  Usually, I’m drunk, mad at the world, and then I pen something–or type–whatever.  Then I correct it later.

This time, it is not the case.

Sober.  And no edits.  And fuck.  Everything seems to have departed reality.  In recent days, found myself spending far too much time scrolling through the crazy.  I grew so angry at the apparent lack of thinking that I even took to addressing an issue–or two.

I see this photo come across my feed.  From right to left, there is a kneeling Colin Kaepernick.  Next to him was an angry WalMart regular, white with a bald head, a big gut, and an American flag tee.  His finger was pointing at Kaepernick and the comment bubble read: “THATS OFFENSIVE!”.  Behind him lay the folded body of a Black man–blood outlining his lifeless body.  His tee said “UNARMED BLACK MAN.” and a body crumpled up

Now, I’d seen this before, but as I said, this time, I  was in a mood.

Inevitably, the filth that inhabit our society began to berate my friend. He brought up the usual canned responses, fueled by cable news (both sides do this well) and completely devoid of reason (narrows the news network, huh?).  I faced two choices: go in, or step back.  I chose wrong.

I proceeded to go line-by-line and deconstruct his attacks on this or that.  I decided that a bully–especially a dumb bully–will bully no more. Who the hell am I to decide that?

I fired off the response and walked away.  I knew the troll would shoot back.  I secretly hoped he would.  Then he did.  Not only had he completely disregarded every point I made, but he also did so with a certain incoherent babble one can only attribute to the perpetually brainwashed.  I expected it but was still shocked to read it.

I thought a lot about it in the ensuing night.  I began to question myself. Had I just trolled a troll?  Does it make a difference if he doesn’t understand what I’m saying?  Most telling: would people who read what I wrote think me pedantic and fighting an ego-driven battle disguised in right action?

It became too much.  I deleted the post.  Then deleted the FB app.  I realized that I’d gotten so enmeshed in the negativity of the internet I had forgotten things I hold dear: Never let them know you know what you know.  Never forget the audience.  Always work toward a bridge. Never burn what you’ve built.

I’d done all of the above.  It was time to leave it alone.  That is how this came to be.  I paid for this damned domain name and dammit, and I’m going to use it.

FB requires I bend to the attention of others.  This platform, however, has to be actively sought.  If you value what I think, or think I can add value to your world, then I can’t wait to begin.

If you disagree but know I don’t just fire off stupid shit, then please take me as I am, and challenge me as I need to be.

 

 

I saw a man die on Facebook.  I heard the distraught commands of the officer who shot him.  Friends of Lavish Reynolds watched the live stream.  The world watched later.

I saw another man die on Facebook.  This time, I looked at the gun fire into him at point-blank range.  His arm grasped at the life that a moment ago he owned, and in a moment, he would lose.

I’ve sat and quietly watched the world burn this summer. Shame on me.

Dallas saw 5 of their public servants fall in the line of duty.  They fell protecting & serving a community exercising their Constitutional Rights. They were just doing their jobs. They didn’t deserve to die. None of them deserved to die.  But they all did.  And we’re left to quibble over the remnants of violence.  We try, in vain, to make it all make sense.

Violence is the thread connecting all of these events.  Violence in America is ubiquitous. Predictably, warring factions will entrench themselves in opposing corners.  They will hurl accusations and denials, prey on ignorance with rhetorical fallacies, and deepen the chasm that got us here in the first place.  No compromise.  They’re in the business of building walls.  The opportunity cost is distributed equally amongst the crumbling bridges while the victims plummet through the cracks.  They are the victims of violence from fear and frustration. They are victims of violence, born of violence, and condemned to suffer from the very same violence from which they sprang.

Yet we bicker.

In the not-so-distant past, a letter was penned in a Birmingham jail.  Written as a rejoinder to the bickering of the day, the words of this letter were velvet daggers puncturing the facade of a manufactured empathy.  The author’s well-reasoned attempt to turn sentiment to action resulted in a prose composed with a smooth and rolling tenor. He masterfully criticized without scorching the earth.  He questioned without brushing back on the fur and proffered a message that is as relevant today as it was fifty years ago.  The author never saw the complete realization of his work.  Violence was the response to Dr. King’s reasonable pursuits, and violence took him way too soon.

“Unwise and untimely” is the critique that prompted Dr. King’s Letter from a Birmingham Jail. Implicit in the assertion is that disrupting social norms (de facto) to claim rights guaranteed by law (de jure) requires better timing.  Conceding that the timing isn’t right is admitting that at some point, the time is right.  It is the suggestion that the status quo continues governing until the social discomfort is not so uncomfortable. In other words, “unwise and untimely” is a euphemism. And fuck those insidious creations.

What is really being said, at least on the surface, is that “your problem–and any solution–requires action from me, and that encroaches on my liberty.  My ‘freedom from’ obligation provides me with the ‘freedom to’ ignore.”  Simply put, while life may be inequitable, it’s not my problem. And that’s not okay.  It is America.  You can think/feel whatever you’d like.  But….

One doesn’t need to stay out of the rain to enjoy the life it nurtures.  We cannot be afraid that outside of our bubble is slippery when wet. Taking a stance on an issue is commendable, but it is only the first step. Stationary advocacy then, as now, rings hollow. I must confess that I too am guilty of this.

I transgress my station each time I remind myself that I can’t appear militant. “Don’t be too brash” I’ll say, “they’ll stop listening.” Because they can.

What makes this climate seem impossible is that we need them to listen. But we must overcome our cowardice.  We must not settle to take our lumps or swallow our pride to make the money we need to live in their world. Make no mistake: it is their world, you, me, and all the disaffected are still a guest in it. And we are privileged to share in the privilege.  But only insofar as it is allowed.

 

 

 

I’m dumbfounded. Truly. I can’t understand how anyone being 100 percent honest can’t see what I see. But maybe I’m biased you know, cause it’s me. But being me, I can’t help but think that indiscriminately killing police officers fucked.

Cops aren’t the enemy. No cop goes to work hoping to shoot a black person. It’s probably real shitty, being the ‘officer’ in the officer-involved shooting. My friends, people who put the uniform on every day to serve the public, would be devastated to be that officer.

Those same friends now have to justify a profession that requires self-sacrifice.  It is as fucked as me having to justify where I was going last night when I was pulled over for no reason, given no ticket, and let go.

Cops aren’t the problem. We are. All of us. If you say believe that being white doesn’t come with privilege, you’re the problem.  If you think that all cops are gunning for blacks, you’re the problem.  We’re not accurately framing the conversation.  All these ailments are symptoms of a far greater evil.

We are a deeply flawed society.  We are held together by a firm belief that equality is a thing.  It isn’t.  It hasn’t been.  And won’t be until we stop focusing on everything that makes us different.

Cops are extensions of a flawed society. They don’t cease being brothers, husbands, wives and daughters when they put on a badge. All that is good and all that is bad in America make up our police. And the good cops, I think, recognize it.  The rest of us should, too.

Boy snatched by gorilla.  Gorilla shot.  Orlando has just been terrible.  Terror and alligators–by all accounts–a bad weekend.  Two prospective tenants of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue  that no critical thinker is satisfied with.

What can be said?  Who will listen?  Because I cannot dedicate the time to the commentary each subject (and a whole lot more) deserves, I’ve remained silent. It kills me.

Know I am thinking of them all.  I am very present.  I just can’t’ do what matters right now. In time, I will, but it is, I believe, time to observe for a while.  Mostly because everyone is so willing to talk.