Why I Stand with Ferguson (They May Come for Me Next)

I'd never heard of Ferguson, MO until two weeks ago.

On August 9th, a young man named Michael Brown was shot while his hands were up, demonstrating the universal sign of surrender.  He was shot by a Ferguson police officer named Darren Wilson.  Michael Brown was Black.  Darren Wilson is White.  

In the past two weeks, coverage on television and social media outlets has painted a picture of Ferguson, MO as the United States' version of Gaza or Baghdad, as military tanks rolled down the streets and police officers dressed in army khakis and pointed their guns at protestors, both peaceful and angry.  Community members as well as outside supporters and agitators came to the site of Michael Brown's death to demonstrate their frustration with the treatment that African Americans have been subjected to since the existence of what we call the United States of America.  

Over the past two weeks, some of my friends have been very vocal about what has been going on in Ferguson.  There is a core group of people on Facebook who have been daily posting about the events in Ferguson, or about the choking death of Eric Garner in Staten Island, New York, or about the trial of the man who killed Renisha McBride in Dearborn Heights, Michigan, and of course these events cause us to reminisce (sadly) about the deaths of Oscar Grant in Oakland, California, and Trayvon Martin in Sanford, Florida, and Amadou Diallo in the Bronx, New York.  Out of my over 750 "friends", about 10-15 of us have been consistent in bringing to light the injustices suffered by people of color, especially this summer, especially at the hands of those who are supposed to protect and serve our communities.  Some of my friends have asked the question, "Why aren't more White people speaking out?"  And some of my friends have had a difficult time understanding what is happening in Ferguson.  They do know that an unarmed man was shot by a police officer, and some may empathize.  But some of my friends don't get why this is a "Black" issue or a "race" issue.  Most of my friends have been silent about this incident.  And yes, most of my White, Latino, and Asian friends have decided to stay in their bubbles of relative safety and post about babies or puppies or the latest show they are binge-watching.  I am not here to judge others' opinions or their decisions about what to post on Facebook, or to get everyone to agree with my opinion.  I can only express why I choose to share my opinion on my social networks as well as with anyone who wants to engage in these kinds of discussions in person.

I grew up in housing projects in Brooklyn, New York.  My family subsisted on welfare, disability benefits, food stamps,and medicaid.  My father couldn't work because he couldn't see out of one eye, and my mother couldn't work because she couldn't read or write.  Nowhere in that mix of circumstances can one find any kind of privilege whatsoever.  I remember filling out my financial aid applications for college, and it was so easy, because I just wrote zeroes down the page.  But that financial aid application was tied to college applications, which were tied to an opportunity to "get out" of my situation.  An opportunity to experience some of the privilege that I was not born with. Going away to a private university was a dream come true for someone who came from such humble means. This narrative could be anyone's - Black, White, Latino, Asian, Native American.  There are people who have grown up in the Appalachian mountains or in rural areas of the country who could have had the same type of experience as me, growing up.  Eating "welfare cheese" and drinking powdered milk, getting the ugliest glasses because that's what Medicaid paid for, and living in apartments or rented homes that were falling apart because that is what we could afford - that could be anyone in this country, regardless of race or ethnicity.

But that first weekend in college taught me something about race.  There is something unique about the experiences of those who wear brown skin of all hues.  That first weekend, my friends and I decided to hang out and get something to eat on the main street of our college town.  As we stood there deciding what to eat, talking excitedly about what was ahead of us for the next four years, my friends - one Haitian-American, one Dominican-American, one Nigerian-American, and me, a Puerto Rican-American - watched as a Caucasian American walked up the street and shouted, "THIS IS WHY WHITE MEN CAN'T STAND NIGGER GIRLS, BECAUSE YOU'RE SO FUCKING LOUD!"

This happened to me twenty-five years ago, this first time I was called the N-word, and I remember it as if it were yesterday.  Up until that point, I had lived a life where I never really thought about my race (or even knew that I was not part of one race, but an amalgam of three), and I never really understood why Black people talked about race so much.  Up until that point, I thought I was different from my Black friends.  But in that moment, each of us from our different countries and with our different (but very similar) languages and cultural traditions, became the SAME to that White man.  We were all NIGGERS.

And that's why Ferguson, MO is about race.  Because, my dear White friends, and friends of White people, a White person is not going to be called a nigger in the street on his or her first weekend in college.  A White person is going to learn about the "Great White People" in his or her history in school, like George Washington and Thomas Jefferson and Susan B. Anthony and Lucretia Mott, while a person like me never learned about Malcolm X, or Angela Davis, or Assata Shakur, or Audre Lorde, or the Black Panthers, or Nicolás Guillén, or Julia de Burgos, or Pedro Albizu Campos, or Lolita Lebron, or the Young Lords Party, until I went to college and became committed to learning about who these people were and what they contributed to history, art, politics, and social justice.  A White person is not as likely to be shot by police, even if he or she commits mass murder (e.g.: James Holmes, Jared Loughner), while an unarmed Black or Latino person is likely to be shot and killed on average twice a week in America in 2014.

That's why I stand with Ferguson, MO.  You may not want to see it, but this poem attributed to Pastor Martin Niemöller demonstrates what happens when we refuse to acknowledge that this country was built on racism and that racism is the cornerstone of the social injustices we hear and experience daily:

First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Socialist.

Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

Thank You, Trayvon (Race & the Dehumanization of Black and Latino Men)

 About an hour ago, the jury began deliberating for the first full day on the trial of George Zimmerman, who shot and killed 17-year-old Trayvon Martin on the night of February 26, 2012, as he was walking to his father's house from purchasing Skittles and an iced tea.

Without going into the details of an altercation that I was not there to witness, I will state the obvious effects that have lasted since this event became national news: protests and marches, people donning hoodies and declaring, "I am Trayvon", President Obama stating that, "If I had a son, he would look like Trayvon", people defending Zimmerman on the basis of a "Stand Your Ground" law that I am not sure really relates to this particular incident, people bringing up Martin's decisions pre-incident, and racial discussions that didn't go past the surface racial discourse we usually allow in this country.

We talk about race as if it were a real thing.  ALL people look different, except for identical siblings.  I am a caramel colored brown, but there are people in my family who are lighter, and some who are darker.  Race is a social construct, and, especially in American society, race has been a method of discriminating, segregating, and maintaining privilege for an elite few.  This is an aspect of capitalism and social darwinism that is almost impossible to overcome.  And if race isn't made an issue, class is the issue, poverty is the issue, gender is the issue. Something will be an issue, because, especially in a time of recession and economic struggle, people want to keep what is theirs, and do not want to share the wealth.  The United States, as it was founded, was based on just a few obtaining the privileges of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Did George Zimmerman kill Trayvon Martin because he was Black?  Did he kill him because he (Zimmerman) feared for his life?  Or did Zimmerman pursue and eventually kill Trayvon Martin because he didn't think of him as a human being, but as an a**hole, one of "those" who "always get away"?

I think the main problem we have in a society where Black and Latino men are pursued, beaten, stopped and frisked, and murdered constantly, sometimes by each other, many times by people in authority, is that we have stopped looking at Black and Latino men as human beings.  They are "animals", "savages", "thugs", "a**holes"; or, on the other hand, "athletes", "sponsors", or "hip hop moguls".  We either treat them like they're not human because they're sub-human, or we treat them as banks and use them for their talents and abilities, then throw them away when we have no use for them.

Believe me, all human beings are capable of poor decision-making, and I'm not excusing the bad behavior of some Black and Latino men.  What I am saying is that, as a society, it has become okay to say that a Black or Latino man should know how to comply with police officers, that they shouldn't wear what they wear, walk around at night, drive nice cars, or have human emotions or reactions.  We don't allow Black and Latino men to be HUMAN, and this is not a new thing.  Racism began as a way to maintain free labor, and in order to use and abuse people in the way slavery did (and still does), dehumanization is essential.

In not allowing the term "racial profiling" to be used in the courtroom, the judge in the George Zimmerman trial gave the prosecution and the defense an opportunity to portray Trayvon Martin as a human being, with both good and bad aspects of his humanity.  In seeing Trayvon Martin as a human being, we can see him as he really was on the night of his death: a 17-year-old boy minding his own business, doing everyday things we all take for granted, armed with snacks, who was murdered by someone who refused to treat him as a human being.

Trayvon Martin's parents don't care that he was Black.  He was their son.  His friends, I'm sure, didn't care that he was Black.  He was their friend.  His brother didn't care that he was Black.  He was his brother.  He was a PERSON, walking down the street, protecting himself from the rain with his hoodie, coming back from the store with a snack, talking on his cell phone with his friend.  He was not expecting that taking these normal, human actions would result in an altercation that led to his death.  No matter what the jury decides, we have moved beyond Trayvon as an "a**hole who always gets away", to someone's son, brother, and friend.

We all walk, talk, and go to and from the store every day, yet some of us have to worry more than others that those simple actions could lead to our deaths.  For some people, knowing what Trayvon Martin did that night as a HUMAN BEING doing what HUMAN BEINGS do might help them to understand that race makes a difference in the outcomes of people's actions.  However, more importantly, it might help them to understand that Black and Latino men, like Trayvon Martin, are human beings, not animals, or savages, or a**holes, who deserve to live a life free of worry about whether they will be able to see their loved ones once more when they go out at night.

Thank you, Trayvon.  We didn't know you, but you remind us that we, as a society, need to move beyond the dehumanization of anyone in this society, and to look upon everyone as human beings with equal right to live and pursue happiness in this place we call America.

Who Is Trayvon?

Trayvon Martin, murdered on February 26, 2012

Everyone knows about the 17 year-old boy from Florida walking to his father's girlfriend's house from the store with a bag of Skittles and a can of iced tea.  Trayvon Martin. Everyone with a conscience, a heart, and half a brain understands that Trayvon's death was a tragedy, that it was unnecessary, cruel, and inhumane.  Everyone knows that the killer has yet to be brought to justice, and like the coward he is, he is currently hiding because he is afraid for his own life.  (Funny how he's not even giving someone an opportunity to chase him down any streets, huh?)

Over the past week, many people have spoken out about the case, the motive, the murderer, and the investigation, but President Obama verbalized what many of us have thought, but maybe didn't articulate so eloquently: "If I had a son, he'd look like Trayvon."  President Obama reminded us that Trayvon Martin is a person, and he could have been someone we all know and care about.

I work with  students at a four-year public residential college.  The assumption some might make is that, if these students are making it to college, they are safe.  This assumption could not be further from the truth.

• My students come to this rural, conservative, largely Caucasian community and feel out of place. 
• They are noticed because they look different.
• They are either greeted by phony friendliness or just completely ignored.
• They are treated differently by some of their professors, as if they are not as intelligent as the other students.
• Some of their peers assume they got into college because of affirmative action.
• They are arrested and given excessive charges for making dumb decisions most teenagers make.
• They are given the run-around by people who don't want to be bothered to help them navigate the system of undergraduate education.
• Although they speak English, they come into an environment that speaks a language of privilege and cultural capital they have not learned.  
• They might be the first in their family to go to college.  They might even be the first in their family to graduate high school.
• They are scared that they will fail.  And they are scared that if they fail, they have not only failed themselves, but their families and friends.
• Many of them chose this rural, small community hours from home because it is safer than the streets where they live; yet, this environment is almost as frightening if not more so.  

I didn't know Trayvon Martin, but I know countless teenagers and young adults who have lived a life running and hiding because they did not feel safe anywhere.  Those are the ones who ask me, "Why is my life so hard?"  They look at me and wonder, "Why do I continue to fail no matter how hard I try?"  "Why did I get picked out of the crowd and blamed for something I didn't do?"  And sometimes I tell them the truth: This system wasn't created for you to succeed, so you have to work harder; you have to study more; you have to watch every decision you make and never make a mistake that will get you noticed by the wrong people.  Sometimes I have to tell them: Your race is a factor whether you like it or not, or your gender is a factor no matter what anyone says about how far society has come.  Because the truth is what they need to hear so that they can empower themselves with the tools to cope, and to succeed.

Who is Trayvon?  All of our youth are Trayvon.  Our sons and daughters, our nieces and nephews, our students, and yes, even the boy walking down the street with a hoodie that you might not know.  And we, as adults, need to care enough to tell them the truth, and to be there for them so that they have a place to feel safe.