The Rampant Ignorance of America and the issue of race

We’ve all heard the news about 17 yr old Trayvon Martin being shot to death by George Zimmerman. That’s a fact.  We all know he did it. Whether you feel its a miscarriage of justice is up to you.  I happen to think the man should be in jail and put on trial.  For the past couple of weeks this story has been continuously in the news.  I can’t escape the comments about people being sick of the story in the news and are ready for the media to move on.  Why the hell should Americans move on?

I’m writing this post because I saw something on facebook that upset me.  Someone posted that they were sick of hearing about Trayvon’s case in the media.  They asked why a case from 2007 wasn’t in the news, they wanted to hear about that case.  The case they referred to was 4 black men, car jacking, kidnapping, raping, torturing and murdering a young white couple. The details of that case were absolutely disgusting and horrible.  The person seemed to be alluding to it being unfair for attention to “still” be on Trayvon’s case and not on this young couple.  Leaving out the fact that this inhuman crime was commited years ago, there is one huge difference, the killers were caught and brought to justice in the heinous crimes committed against the young couple.  The case was even on the ID channel.  I’m sure the families of the couple wanted justice for the atrocities done to their children.

Why aren’t the parents of Trayvon allowed the same?  Nobody has to search for his killer.  The police know who did it, the lead officer wanted to bring manslaughter charges but was told there wasn’t enough evidence.  George Zimmerman’s father being a retired judge, do you think he didn’t have connections in the DA’s office? Should Trayvon’s parents just let it go because people are tired of hearing about the case?  That was their child.  Would you let it go if your child was murdered walking down a street he had every right to be walking down?  Where is the compassion for this boys family.  Where is the compassion for an innocent young man?  He’s dead.  Zimmerman is free.  People shouldn’t just let that go!

In America there is a lack of compassion when something like this happens to black people. Name off the top of your head white women that got national attention for weeks and weeks because they were missing or murdered? Here let me help: Natalee Holloway, Elizabeth Smart, Lacy Peterson. Remember Jonbenet Ramsey? I read a story about her last week that said she’d have been 21 yrs old.  She was 6 I think when she was murdered. They’re still speculating on who murdered that baby.  Can you name off any black women or kids that have gone missing and it made national news for weeks and weeks?  No I didn’t think you could. Do people assume that black people don’t get kidnapped and murdered?  It’s just not talked about on the scope that it is for white people.  Maybe I’ll lose friends and alienate people but that’s my truth.  I’m black I see it. It’s not paranoia.  It’s not playing the race card. If you don’t see it, pay better attention.  People tend to be lackadaisical when things don’t directly affect them.  The black community is up in arms because it could have been any of our kids.  Chances are it wouldn’t have been a white kid that Zimmerman shot.  A white kid wouldn’t have been out of place in Zimmerman’s neighborhood. “They always get away with it,” he said to the police operator.  Get away with what George Zimmerman? Walking down the street?

George Zimmerman saw a black kid walking in the rain and he jumped to conclusions about what he was doing there.  For me, that is where race plays an issue. He operated under the general stereotype that black people are bad and up to no good when you see one in your neighborhood.  The boy was  out of place in his mind.  That’s bullshit. He wasn’t on private property, or sneaking around looking in windows. He was walking down the street trying to get to his destination. Whether George Zimmerman is a racist I have no idea.  People seem to hear him say ‘fucking coon’ while talking to the operator. I listened to that and I couldn’t tell what he said personally.  People have also said Trayvon should have identified himself and told Zimmerman what he was doing there.  We teach our kids not to talk to strangers. If a strange gun toting man came up to me and asked me who I was and what I’m doing there you better believe I’m getting the hell out of there because I don’t know your intentions. You aren’t a cop.  Being neighborhood watch doesn’t give you police privileges.  You’re supposed to WATCH and CALL the police when something doesn’t look right.

We’ve got to wake up.  We have to stop lying to ourselves about our own prejudices.  Think about stereotypes you think are true about another race.  We need to work to overcome such weaknesses in ourselves so that things like this don’t happen again.  I know there are a lot of well meaning white people out there who don’t believe racism is still a problem in 2012 in America.  You’re wrong my fellow man.  It goes in every direction.  I’m talking about all races in this melting pot.

I’ve seen and experienced racism first hand.  I’ve been passed over for things I worked hard for and deserved more than the next person.  My opinions and ideas were discounted and ignored constantly because other races assumed I had no idea what I was talking about.  I’ve been followed around stores.  I’ve been told by a coworker that her and her “girlfriends like to go shopping for ghetto clothes”, in an effort to identify with me.  I’m still not sure what ghetto clothes are, maybe it’s the hoodie that Geraldo was so adamant that it is as much to blame for Trayvon’s death as George Zimmerman is.  I’ve had another coworker be absolutely emphatic that its hard to see black men at night.  I’ve had white people carry on a perfectly normal conversation with another white person and turn to me speaking slang. I’m going to be honest, its hard being black in America, but the experiences I’ve had, the barriers that being black bring, and knowing what I know, if given the choice to choose my race, I’d still choose black. Not because black is better or worse.  Its because it’s all I know how to be.  I’m not a stereotype.  I’m a human, and so was Trayvon Martin.  Where is the justice for him based on that alone?

Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t about focusing less on white people and more on black people.  With something like kidnappings and murders and crime there is no way to make something like that be equally reported on, but its wrong to have things be so one sided.  There are other Trayvon’s out there, he isn’t the first and he unfortunately won’t be the last.  Read the story of 14yr old Emmett Till.

Love and equality people.  Its crucial now more than ever!!

 

Happy Birthday to Me!

Today I turned 33 years old.  I feel every one of those years.  I’ve had a rough couple of years but I pray that 33 will bring many more blessings.  I’m thankful for everyone that sent me well wishes via facebook, twitter and text messages.  I feel loved! Like I said on facebook, my cup runneth over.  I’m ending the day with a headache but that’s okay, today was a good day.  Now for Advil and a book before I try sleep.

 

Love and Equality ya’ll, its so easy!

It’s Common

Common makes great music.  He just does.  Over the Years rappers have attempted to make love songs but he’s the only one who has consistently done great ones.  I’m going to post my two favorites.  The first is called Come Close and it also features Mary J. Blige.  This song makes me cry. Its Amazing.

 

The next song is called The Light.  I can’t rave enough about how great this man is at what he does.

 

 

Charm With Dimples: A Narrative

This is something I wrote in creative writing class my senior yr in college.  It was my favorite class I took and can’t believe I waited so long to take it.  It was an amazing experience to be able to share the creative process with peers.  So let me also say this isn’t a true story.  Its nothing that’s happened to me.  Its in the voice of a battered woman.  Please in enjoy!

Charm with Dimples

I met him at Subway.  He was adding onions to my 6 inch tuna on white with Mayo.  His green polo fit snuggly.  It had a hot mustard stain in the middle and the word Subway stitched in yellow on the left shoulder.  He had dimples. I’ve always been a sucker for dimples.  I guess I can even say I’ve always been a sucker. He was charming.  After a week he charmed me into marriage.  I loved my husband.  I loved him till the moment I realized I didn’t.

The very first time I knew the full extent of his charm was only moments after I saw knuckles and felt their anger connecting with my eye.  I forget what I did to make those knuckles angry, but I remember vividly what happened next.  The pain was blinding.  I’d always told myself that if a man ever put his hands on me, one of us would not survive the encounter.  When that moment came, what I imagined to happen did not.  I stood there and looked at the stranger.  He was my husband, but he wasn’t.  The dimples were the only feature recognizable, and the rest was some animal, vicious and hungry for violence.  The stranger stood there as if challenging me to do something about his actions.  I was frozen in place.  He must’ve been satisfied by my non action because he turned and walked away.  Still frozen and staring into the mirror above the fire place, I saw, but I did not see.  I could only feel.

No time seemed to have passed before the stranger was back.  He walked towards me but something was different, he was no longer a stranger. He was my husband.  He looked into my eyes, I looked into his.  Mine full of what had to be pain and unshed tears.  His eyes were full of regret as he surveyed the damage his knuckles had caused.  He led me over to the black leather couch and gently pushed me down on the cushions.  He left the room again but came back a minute later with a blue ice pack in his left hand and a glass of water in his right. He put the ice pack in my hand and guided it to my eye and the glass he sat down on the coffee table, forgotten about for the moment. “I’m sorry honey,” he said. “I’m so very sorry”.  Then he cried.  He laid his head on my breast and we cried.  I knew he was sorry.  He would never do it again.

Some things you always regret in hindsight.  That moment was it for me.  I had never regretted a thing before that, nor have I since.  I did not regret it because I did not fight back.  I did not regret it because I forgave.  I regret it because I did not walk away.

He continued to charm me.  A cut lip, two broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, seven black eyes, and 11 cries upon my breast before I realized the animal and my husband coexisted.

Night after night I watched him sleep wondering how I would get my husband to control his knuckles, his feet, that stranger, the animal.  No thoughts came to aid me.  I was a mere shell of my former self. Purple and black became so familiar to me. Those colors were now my clothes.  An angry wardrobe provided for me.

There came a time when I forgot how a painless day felt.  I just existed.  I did not want to live so I didn’t.  It was like running a marathon, and somewhere around mile 23 or 24 you just want to quit because your legs are burning, and your breath is gone. You just wish it was over.  But just as you think you can’t go anymore something happens.  Your legs don’t burn anymore.  You catch your breath.  You get a second wind.  My second wind came when physical pain was no longer a problem.  I was numb.  My mind was broken.  An animal grew inside of me, one just as hungry for violence. It was fed.  Satiated from the newly crimson painted walls of our bedroom, the animal left as quickly as it had appeared, leaving in its wake the acrid smell of death.  Then I knew what it felt like to be him with one exception: I don’t regret it.

 

So I needed a break

I got tired of having nothing to talk about on these blog posts and decided at the beginning that I wouldn’t put pressure on myself to do it every day if I no longer wanted to.  It happened, so everyday posts are a thing of the past.  I’m okay with it. I found some writings I did in a college creative writing class that I’ll be sharing.  See the next post for Charm With Dimples.