I don’t need to read the endless reports on what happened to young Michael Brown who is referred to as a man in all of these articles, but was really just a kid. He was just starting out his life, full of hope and possibilities when he was slain by a police officer for no reason. NO REASON. The deplorable actions of the police department to somehow muddy his name by releasing images of him wearing baggy clothes or posing a certain way is absolutely unconscionable. Police brutality is not new. It’s been happening for decades, sprinkled in local news like a flash in the pan, covered so thoughtlessly the nation was able to stay blissfully ignorant of the atrocities committed by the very people who are suppose to protect for so many years, but the blissful ignorance has ended and now it’s time to face reality.
I’m going to be really honest here and say I have never felt particularly safe around law enforcement. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve always felt this odd, almost combative, ego that emanates off of a lot of people in uniform as they strut around with firearms on their hips and prejudice in their minds.
Over one steamy summer in Miami, when I was in high school, one of my friends threw a party for their birthday and invited a whole bunch of us over to hang out and eat cake. The neighborhood we were hanging out in was predominantly white and upper-middle class. The building had some pretentious-sounding name and we had to check-in with the door man before going up to the “party floor.” While we were hanging out, a few of our friends-who were kids of color-decided to walk to Walgreens for snacks or whatnot and told us they’d be back soon. Walgreens was only a few blocks away and the rest of us nonchalantly waved them goodbye. After forty minutes of not hearing from either of them, we were wondered what happened. Then my friend who’s birthday it was got a phone call. As she listened to the voice on the other end, her face fell and she became nervous and distraught. “What happened,” someone asked gently. “(So and so) are downstairs with the cops.” All of us looked at each other with pure bewilderment. The kids in questions were the most docile humans. They were the sweetest and funniest people I knew and it was mind-boggling to hear they were involved in anything that would require the attention of police. Well, obviously, they weren’t. On their way back from Walgreens they were accosted by the police for no reason other than being minorities in that mostly white neighborhood. We all went downstairs to find them handcuffed and silent with the crushing combination of hopelessness and fear in their eyes.
The police puffed out their chests once we were all downstairs, us staring in confusion at what was transpiring. Why were there so many cops? What did they think was going on? Why were they asking them the stupidest questions?
“What were you doing walking around here so late?” One haughty cop asked.
They looked at each other, handcuffs tight around their innocent, young wrists, and one friend answered simply, “We just went to get some soda from Walgreens and were walking back to our friend’s house.” At this point, my friend who’s apartment parking lot was now a circus for uniformed clowns, was crying and pleading with the police to let our friends go because they didn’t do anything wrong (they really didn’t) and kept repeating that it was her birthday in hopes one of these lumps had a heart (and a conscience) to realize what a pitiful situation this was and completely uncalled for. Finally, after what seemed like an hour (it was probably more like 20 minutes) they let them go with a “warning” and we all left, heads down with the pressure of having witnessed the too-real events that made us feel the heavy weight of race inequality in America.
That wasn’t even that bad of an interaction. It pales in comparison to the senseless violence that has been plaguing the black community for as long as we’ve been in this country. Yet, even that mild brush with the popo is significant because it’s something that happens everyday. It’s significant because black men are subject to Stop & Frisk everyday. Because black men are not seen as people, but this scary fantasy created by a period in society that America refuses to acknowledge, which is pretty much directly responsible for the accepted violence and violation that has been going on for years. I’m like a broken record folks, yep, slavery. No. We are not fully passed it as a nation and it has spurred all of my personal favorite racially-charged events in history, such as the always wonderful entertainment called Black Face that openly mocked black people and let’s not forget those always fun Jim Crow Laws that basically gave white people the right to treat blacks like non-citizens. “Separate but equal?!” Who the hell thought that was okay?! Oh yeah, white people in power. These are things in history that are STILL HAPPENING TODAY. Remember those idiot kids in whateverville who wore black face for a photo? Segregation? Must I give ANYONE an example of that?! Ok, fine GENTRIFICATION.
When people say, “Chris, get over it.” I say, “Screw you.”
I won’t “get over it” until this country is safe for everyone. I won’t “get over it” until I can imagine a young black man walking carefree down the street in a hoodie listening to hip hop music with his pants hanging as low as he wants without fear of being shot or feared. I won’t “get over it” until there is actual justice when black men are gunned down or tortured because some white person feels threatened. Yes, that was a reference to Emmett Till who was FOURTEEN YEARS OLD when he was brutally murdered by some hokey townsfolk who, like someone else in the recent past, thought they would take the law into their own hands and administer a punishment that wasn’t only beyond inhumane, but truly, purely evil. I won’t “get over it” until there is a stop to systemic racism, to institutional racism, to plain hate that is accepted and coddled to a point where either most of the country is oblivious to it or they’re in denial.
Ferguson is the eye-opener this country needed. It is an amazing culmination, years in the making, of outrage, weariness, persistence, and solidarity. What happened in Ferguson, what happened in Sanford, what happened in Los Angeles, what happened in Beavercreek, what happened right here in NYC, what’s been happening all over this country is unfathomable and unacceptable. I know there has been some discussion about how people don’t want these protests to be called riots, but peaceful gatherings, and I think that’s wonderful. Though, I can honestly understand how years of frustration with the way this country has been treating us can be a catalyst to unleash some passionate feelings that have been percolating beneath the surface. It’s not so much rioting as letting out a long, angry sigh. I hope everyone protesting in Ferguson and anyone who is standing up for humanity is staying safe out there. Be vigilant, be safe, and be smart.
We shall overcome.
