How It Happens: A Theory of Trickle Down Racism and Marginalization of Black Lives
I'm expecting to a lot of blow back. My black card will be snatched. I'll be accused of whining. But in recent weeks the less than equal citizenship and right to humanity of Black-Americans has been thrust into the forefront. (And yes, much to the chagrin of a certain former Alaskan governor, I am hyphenating. The term "American" connotes someone of Caucasian descent, and using the term here would cause confusion.)
Last summer, the counselor of a runaway autistic man was shot while trying to subdue his patient. The patient was sitting in the street with a toy truck while his counselor lay on his back with his hands held aloft. The counselor was trying to de-escalate the situation to prevent his patient from being harmed. His patient began to yell at the police; the counselor tried to calm him down. Three shots rang out. One of the officers fired three shots into the counselor, who was lying on his back with his hands up. The police put the counselor in handcuffs, and let the gunshot wound in his leg bleed for 20 minutes until EMS arrived. Unfair? Insane? One more detail is needed. The counselor was a black man, a black man who thought he was being helpful, a black man who thought that he'd be safe if he put his hands up and showed submission to law enforcement. This was a black man who thought he'd do the right thing and protect his client. What did he do to warrant getting shot?
It was an accident, right? Or was it something more insidious? Something that many in this country still don't want to face? Despite landmark cases like Brown v. Board of Education and the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, we still live in a separate and wholly unequal America. But why? We've cured institutions of systemic racism, right?
I shouldn't know anything. After all, I'm the daughter of two upwardly mobile parents who moved to open-minded New Jersey from the Old South. Two parents who paid their way through college with their own blood, sweat and tears. Two parents who survived the segregated south in all of its former Confederate glory.
My parents desire to give me the best in life, led them to move our family to a tony suburb in New Jersey just east of Philadelphia. It boasted high property taxes, a wonderful school system, and unwritten rules. It was ethnically diverse. There were Jews, Greeks, Koreans, and a small but growing Black population.
I excelled in my environment academically, and I made friends who still keep my secrets. Unbeknownst to me, there were lines that even I could not cross. I could go to school with whites. I could even be friends with them. However, there remained entrenched line that I, one of those "good blacks", could never cross. Not I, with my chemically straightened hair, modified speech pattern, fake Doc Martens, or Honors classes (where you ended up being stared at anytime during black history month).
I can still remember those experiences that would for a long time haunt my life. I remember the time as a sophomore in high school, the time the popular boys in the marching band (yes, oxymoron, but even marching band had a pecking order) had created a list ranking all of the girls from most attractive to not with explanations as to why. (Sarcasm here: Nothing offensive about that at all, right? What 15 year old heterosexual girl seeks validation from members of the opposite sex in her peer group?). So one day during a band camp lunch break, a the a group of us (boys and girls) were sitting around discussing this list. I got a gander on it, and I noticed my name was missing. Like a fool I said, "Hey, I'm not on here." One of my friends, replied with a bright smile and vacant eyes replied, "Of course not, you're black!" My world stopped. She kept talking with the rest of the group. The cadence of the conversation continued, but I invisibly picked up my lunch and walked away. In those few words, I heard, "You don't matter. You're ugly. You're blackness makes you untouchable." My eyes were opened and held with open crazy glue. None of the people in that group are amongst the small group I call friends. ( And in case you're wondering now, this was during a time when I had yet begun the fight to become who I am today.) Why was that alright to do?
Junior year arrived. That meant junior prom season was on the horizon. When April or March rolled around, people started pairing up for prom date season. By that point, I hadn't been asked by anyone, not even the few Black boys that went to my school. So I decided to take initiative and ask someone from my social circle (mostly theater and music kids). I talked to my mom about it, and she gave me the confidence, hairstyle, and outfit to ask this one guy to the prom. I practiced the invitation. I saw him, and I asked him after music rehearsal. His response? He told me that he couldn't go because the prom was the same day as a family Bar Mitzvah he had to attend. Three weeks later, I found out he was going to the prom with someone else. Since he had to face me on a regular basis, he made a point of apologizing to me and then explaining that the Bar Mitzvah date had been changed.
*Slow blink* Now I am not a member of any of the 12 tribes of Israel, but I knew that Bar Mitzvah dates don't change. Bar Mitzvah were I grew up were like weddings. Bar Mitzvahs are booked years in advance. Looking back, I give him credit for taking the time to come up with a fantastic lie. That really took time and rehearsal. I hope he uses those creative skills now.
After my first, non-rejection I asked three other non-black friends on my circle. All of them said yes, but I didn't go to the prom with any of them. Within a day of saying yes to me, each boy either called me on the phone or told me directly that they could not go to the prom with me. When I asked why, they only said I can't go with you. When the one boy called my house, my mother looked beyond hurt. She offered to pay for the boy's tuxedo and said, "It's not like you're getting married." But why would she even have to say that? From all of this I heard that loud voice again say, "You're not valid. You're unworthy. You're blackness makes you unacceptable."
I could go on and on about similar experiences where my classmates revealed that prejudice was was a part of their daily diet. You know what I'm talking about, the secret birthday party that your close friend has at home that you accidentally find out about. The one you're not invited to because her parents don't want blacks in the house. One of those same friends would later tell me that she couldn't get an academic scholarship because of all the unqualified blacks getting scholarships. I had been awarded an academic scholarship to college giving me a full ride, and she didn't share my joy. (No, we are no longer friends.) Yeah, those were some truly golden moments.
We'll discuss getting followed around in the local grocery store for no damn reason in a later post.
I've only given a snap shots of two years out of my high school life, but there are tons of experiences like this for me as a black girl growing up where I did. My skin made me less worthy of inclusion, incapable of achievement, untrustworthy, and undesirable. It seems even in the 1990s that all of humanity mattered, unless if was covered in brown skin like mine.
Those classmates grew up. They got educations and entered the working world. But I wonder if the attitudes their parents taught them have seeped their way into how they treat others that share my skin. Are they doctors who treat black patients differently? Are they police officers who ask the black kid entering his home with a key if he really lives there? Are they the thousands of Americans (note lack of hyphenation) who actually think it was alright for a grown man to stalk a teenager and murder him? Are they amongst the thousands who believe Alton Sterling deserved to be shot because he had a criminal record? Are they amongst the thousands of Americans who think that if you submit to the police that you won't get shot? Check the headlines. Are they amongst the thousands of Americans who keep posting pictures of themselves drinking, vacationing, and partying while this country rips itself apart? The silence is deafening. It's not really a question of all lives mattering. It's a question of what are we teaching our children individually that becomes entrenched in governmental institutions?
We could all do better.
Racism is systemic because it is taught on an individualized basis. The genteel silence about it is simply standing silently at a cross burning. You may not chant, but your silent presence is assent.
Last summer, the counselor of a runaway autistic man was shot while trying to subdue his patient. The patient was sitting in the street with a toy truck while his counselor lay on his back with his hands held aloft. The counselor was trying to de-escalate the situation to prevent his patient from being harmed. His patient began to yell at the police; the counselor tried to calm him down. Three shots rang out. One of the officers fired three shots into the counselor, who was lying on his back with his hands up. The police put the counselor in handcuffs, and let the gunshot wound in his leg bleed for 20 minutes until EMS arrived. Unfair? Insane? One more detail is needed. The counselor was a black man, a black man who thought he was being helpful, a black man who thought that he'd be safe if he put his hands up and showed submission to law enforcement. This was a black man who thought he'd do the right thing and protect his client. What did he do to warrant getting shot?
It was an accident, right? Or was it something more insidious? Something that many in this country still don't want to face? Despite landmark cases like Brown v. Board of Education and the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, we still live in a separate and wholly unequal America. But why? We've cured institutions of systemic racism, right?
I shouldn't know anything. After all, I'm the daughter of two upwardly mobile parents who moved to open-minded New Jersey from the Old South. Two parents who paid their way through college with their own blood, sweat and tears. Two parents who survived the segregated south in all of its former Confederate glory.
My parents desire to give me the best in life, led them to move our family to a tony suburb in New Jersey just east of Philadelphia. It boasted high property taxes, a wonderful school system, and unwritten rules. It was ethnically diverse. There were Jews, Greeks, Koreans, and a small but growing Black population.
I excelled in my environment academically, and I made friends who still keep my secrets. Unbeknownst to me, there were lines that even I could not cross. I could go to school with whites. I could even be friends with them. However, there remained entrenched line that I, one of those "good blacks", could never cross. Not I, with my chemically straightened hair, modified speech pattern, fake Doc Martens, or Honors classes (where you ended up being stared at anytime during black history month).
I can still remember those experiences that would for a long time haunt my life. I remember the time as a sophomore in high school, the time the popular boys in the marching band (yes, oxymoron, but even marching band had a pecking order) had created a list ranking all of the girls from most attractive to not with explanations as to why. (Sarcasm here: Nothing offensive about that at all, right? What 15 year old heterosexual girl seeks validation from members of the opposite sex in her peer group?). So one day during a band camp lunch break, a the a group of us (boys and girls) were sitting around discussing this list. I got a gander on it, and I noticed my name was missing. Like a fool I said, "Hey, I'm not on here." One of my friends, replied with a bright smile and vacant eyes replied, "Of course not, you're black!" My world stopped. She kept talking with the rest of the group. The cadence of the conversation continued, but I invisibly picked up my lunch and walked away. In those few words, I heard, "You don't matter. You're ugly. You're blackness makes you untouchable." My eyes were opened and held with open crazy glue. None of the people in that group are amongst the small group I call friends. ( And in case you're wondering now, this was during a time when I had yet begun the fight to become who I am today.) Why was that alright to do?
Junior year arrived. That meant junior prom season was on the horizon. When April or March rolled around, people started pairing up for prom date season. By that point, I hadn't been asked by anyone, not even the few Black boys that went to my school. So I decided to take initiative and ask someone from my social circle (mostly theater and music kids). I talked to my mom about it, and she gave me the confidence, hairstyle, and outfit to ask this one guy to the prom. I practiced the invitation. I saw him, and I asked him after music rehearsal. His response? He told me that he couldn't go because the prom was the same day as a family Bar Mitzvah he had to attend. Three weeks later, I found out he was going to the prom with someone else. Since he had to face me on a regular basis, he made a point of apologizing to me and then explaining that the Bar Mitzvah date had been changed.
*Slow blink* Now I am not a member of any of the 12 tribes of Israel, but I knew that Bar Mitzvah dates don't change. Bar Mitzvah were I grew up were like weddings. Bar Mitzvahs are booked years in advance. Looking back, I give him credit for taking the time to come up with a fantastic lie. That really took time and rehearsal. I hope he uses those creative skills now.
After my first, non-rejection I asked three other non-black friends on my circle. All of them said yes, but I didn't go to the prom with any of them. Within a day of saying yes to me, each boy either called me on the phone or told me directly that they could not go to the prom with me. When I asked why, they only said I can't go with you. When the one boy called my house, my mother looked beyond hurt. She offered to pay for the boy's tuxedo and said, "It's not like you're getting married." But why would she even have to say that? From all of this I heard that loud voice again say, "You're not valid. You're unworthy. You're blackness makes you unacceptable."
I could go on and on about similar experiences where my classmates revealed that prejudice was was a part of their daily diet. You know what I'm talking about, the secret birthday party that your close friend has at home that you accidentally find out about. The one you're not invited to because her parents don't want blacks in the house. One of those same friends would later tell me that she couldn't get an academic scholarship because of all the unqualified blacks getting scholarships. I had been awarded an academic scholarship to college giving me a full ride, and she didn't share my joy. (No, we are no longer friends.) Yeah, those were some truly golden moments.
We'll discuss getting followed around in the local grocery store for no damn reason in a later post.
I've only given a snap shots of two years out of my high school life, but there are tons of experiences like this for me as a black girl growing up where I did. My skin made me less worthy of inclusion, incapable of achievement, untrustworthy, and undesirable. It seems even in the 1990s that all of humanity mattered, unless if was covered in brown skin like mine.
Those classmates grew up. They got educations and entered the working world. But I wonder if the attitudes their parents taught them have seeped their way into how they treat others that share my skin. Are they doctors who treat black patients differently? Are they police officers who ask the black kid entering his home with a key if he really lives there? Are they the thousands of Americans (note lack of hyphenation) who actually think it was alright for a grown man to stalk a teenager and murder him? Are they amongst the thousands who believe Alton Sterling deserved to be shot because he had a criminal record? Are they amongst the thousands of Americans who think that if you submit to the police that you won't get shot? Check the headlines. Are they amongst the thousands of Americans who keep posting pictures of themselves drinking, vacationing, and partying while this country rips itself apart? The silence is deafening. It's not really a question of all lives mattering. It's a question of what are we teaching our children individually that becomes entrenched in governmental institutions?
We could all do better.
Racism is systemic because it is taught on an individualized basis. The genteel silence about it is simply standing silently at a cross burning. You may not chant, but your silent presence is assent.
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