About 15 years ago, I was pulled over by the police for having expired license tags. The police officer called in backup and I was handcuffed, placed in the back seat of a police car, and taken to a holding room at the police station where my fingerprints were taken as if I were a criminal. For expired tags. There wasn’t a warrant out for my arrest and there were no other extenuating circumstances. I was by myself in the car and on my way to a friend’s house where we were going to be celebrating my birthday. I will never forget how angry and scared I was at the same time. I was also embarrassed. Did I look to be a threat? Why was backup called? I didn’t yell, scream, or even raise my voice. I acknowledged the expired tags and even apologized for the oversight. Why the handcuffs? Is this a normal procedure for expired tags? I remember calling my mother from the police station and hearing the shock and fear in her voice. I can’t imagine what was going on in the mind of Breonna Taylor’s mom when she received her phone call.
I debated with myself for several days, trying to decide if I should write this week’s blog. I know I will offend some. Others may not understand or accuse me of being too political. Please know this is not my intent. For me, right now, regardless of how close we are to the general election, my views in this blog are not about politics. It’s about trying to put on paper all the thoughts in my head. It is difficult to put in words how I am feeling because they are so complex. However, cleansing my soul of these thoughts and how I feel, I hope I am able to sleep again through the night and others will begin to understand my perspective and value this country’s unique diversity.
Although I am a Black woman, I do not speak for all Black people. I can only speak from my experiences and perspectives. And although there are historical and cultural experiences that affect all Black people, each of us, as with any race, has varied experiences that shape our beliefs. Growing up, I attended a K-12 school district that consisted of mostly all-white students. I enjoyed my school years and my two best friends now are women I met when we were in junior high school. Having spent all of my formative years around white people, I was accustomed to and even assimilated some to, their culture. I didn’t think of myself as different from other Black people, as this was all I knew. I realized other Black people attended different schools and lived in different neighborhoods, but it was not a big deal to me. It wasn’t until I went away to college that I realized I was “different”. I attended a university that was in rural Missouri during my freshman year. I had an extremely difficult time fitting in with my peers. Most of the Black students thought I was conceited and believed I was better than them because I “talked white” and had different interests. The white students, mostly from surrounding rural towns, didn’t want to be around me because they hadn’t been around many Black people and already had preconceived ideas about who I was and what I was going to do. I was miserable. Trying to fit in with two totally different groups is tiring. However, it prepared me for my adult life.
Like most Black people, I have had to live in two worlds. I have worked and socialized with white people in almost every area of my life, while also personally overcoming (or trying to) systemic racism and reining in on my anger and even my voice when I see injustices happening around me. I have had to be careful about what to say and how to say it so that I do not offend my fellow white colleagues or am not seen as a troublemaker or an angry Black woman. The irony of not wanting to offend my fellow white citizens when some don’t seem to have the same consideration towards me is what is now causing me so much angst and hurt feelings.
When the current President of the United States, the highest office in America, has rallied and I hear him say racist and cruel remarks about people, it hurts. But what hurts, even more, is when the audience laughs and applauds – agreeing with him. When I hear this same President, when talking about white supremacists, say, “There are good people on both sides”, it hurts. When some white people question Black people’s patriotism and love of this country because we want to peacefully protest by kneeling during the national anthem, it hurts. Especially because it was Black men who risked their lives fighting for America in World War II, a country that had little respect for them when they returned home. After fighting for their country, they were denied their right to vote and most of their civil rights came home to segregation, and could not live where they wanted. They risked their lives for a Constitution that didn’t even consider them human. Yet they still fought. If that’s not love of country and patriotism, I don’t know what is. So, when someone claims that Black people don’t love their country, it not only hurts, but it’s insulting.
It hurts when I see injustices happen disproportionately to people of color, yet some white people preface their comments with, “If only he had followed orders”, “but he had a record”, or “he was going for a weapon”. Even in my opening story, I felt the need to explain that I had no warrants out in my name and that there were no extenuating circumstances for my arrest. Those things are not said when it’s a white person. In fact, a white, 17-year-old boy who traveled out of state to a protest in Kenosha, killed two protestors with an AR-15 style rifle, not only walked past police officers but was later called a hero by some news media outlets. His mother, who drove him to the protest, and also drove him away after her son shot three people and murdered two, was given a standing ovation at a GOP fundraiser and was never arrested as an accomplice.
And it is disturbing knowing that I have friends, family members, colleagues, and acquaintances who would rather vote for a man who espouses racist, misogynistic rhetoric, lies, and participates in criminal activity than vote for any other candidate. To me, it doesn’t mean the people who support the current President are racist, it means they are comfortable with a racist being President and something is more important to them – in essence, choosing political party over country. In my mind, I can’t think of any issue more important than how the person in our highest office treats other people, how much he/she cares about others, and how much I can trust them to do what is best for ALL Americans. A journalist I follow on Twitter asked a genuine question, what will be the relationship between Americans and Trumpists after the election ends. Do people anticipate simply letting bygones be bygones with people who are pro-Trump? I really thought about the question and initially thought that I couldn’t – I now know too much. But that is unrealistic. It is also unrealistic that today, with everything that we know and have seen, to continue the narrative and belief that we as a country have come so far. That as a Black person in America, I should feel proud of the accomplishments that have been made. After all, we are no longer under Jim Crow laws and we have had a Black man as President.
As Black people, we may no longer be in physical chains, but we are still locked in the chains of systemic racism and social injustices. There are still inequities in education, healthcare, housing, the jail system, and police brutality. And just because there has been one Black president out of the 45 presidencies and other Black people have been in prominent positions, that does not mean I should feel satisfied and acknowledge how much better off we are now. If nothing else, these last four years have shown me how much work is still left to do in America. I, as a Black woman, still don’t fit into this America. I would hazard a guess that white people would not feel satisfied if roles were reversed.
But just as it’s unrealistic to cease relationships with people who do not agree with me, it is also unrealistic for me to live with anger and distrust. It is unhealthy and I believe, not Christian. So, what’s the answer? I do not believe this is who we are as America. I do believe there are people who have hate in their hearts for people who look like me, but I believe there are more who are as hurt and angry as I am with what they are seeing our country become. And I don’t believe they are all Black people. I, along with those who are angry, must use our anger to propel change, not incite more hate and misunderstanding. And our white friends must continue to acknowledge, speak up and stand with their Black brothers and sisters about all injustices. Black people want to be seen, valued, and considered equally worthy. And we want those who perform injustices to be held accountable. It’s not about who goes to jail – it’s about accountability and the consequences that come from that. If we can’t at least agree on that issue, is this really America?