The Impotence of Racism

My nephew is sitting on the loveseat, and I am on the couch. We are talking as we sometimes do—getting inside each other’s heads and sharing our generational perspectives. The conversation pauses when he sees a jar of shea butter on the brown ottoman. He picks it up, reads the name: Whipped Shea Butter Mix--100% Pure Black Woman. “That’s racist,” he says. I suck in my breath before responding.  I teach in a racially mixed school of Black and Latino students, and I am always hearing one of my students utter, “That’s racist.” These words that slide so easily off their new millennial tongues sound like someone popping gum too loudly. 

We have so misused the term “racist” by sticking it in places that it doesn’t belong that we’ve stripped it of its power. It’s useless. It is the limp dick of the 21^st century. Everybody is prejudiced to some degree—some more than others, but unless you have privilege and power to push your prejudice, you’re simply a bigot and an idiot. To label everyone and everything related to racial intolerance as racist is a failure to acknowledge the continued perpetuation of racism in this country and its impact on people of color.

There are those who will argue the dictionary definition of racist – a person who believes in racism, the doctrine that one’s own racial group is superior or that a particular racial group is inferior to others—is an argument to show that anyone can be a racist. But a country steeped in racism, using a dictionary created by the dominant culture is not sufficient enough to justify calling everyone who has issues with someone of another race a racist.

When I refer to racism, I’m speaking of the structural and systemic racism that has been used to advance one group of people while simultaneously keeping other groups of people back. It is these institutionalized practices put in place to continue to push People Of Color (especially Black folk) to the outskirts of society. I think it’s difficult (but not impossible) for POC to be racist. I admit that we can be as prejudiced and as bigoted as anyone, but to truly qualify for the title of racist—we have to have power and privilege which is almost nonexistent.

It’s challenging to explain power and privilege to young people, but I try. With everything happening all over the country as of late, I have more examples of power and privilege than I need to get my point across. From Trayvon Martin’s tragic death to the horrific massacre in South Carolina, racism has reared its ugly head and demonstrates how deadly power and privilege push prejudice and create toxic racist situations.

In June of 2014, Janelle Ambrosia, a white woman’s verbal slew of racial slurs against a Black man in a parking lot, went viral. Because of her rant, Ambrosia was quickly labeled a racist. While I thought Ambrosia was definitely a bigot, I don’t know if she was a racist. From the video it’s hard to imagine her not having any ill feelings toward African Americans, but unless she does more than spew her hateful thoughts, she’s a bigot.

A person moves from bigotry to racism by their actions. Paula Deen and Donald Sterling are racists. They’re powerful people who used their power and their privilege to push their prejudice. Deen was sued by a former employee for discriminatory practices when she worked in the restaurant owned by Deen and her brother. Sterling refused to rent to Latinos and Blacks. My nephew and I talk about recent incidents, and I also use current events in my classroom. The rash of incidents involving POC and the police are examples of racism at its finest, but this is not a dig against police officers. Police are the gatekeepers of the status quo, and the status quo in America is racist to its core. 

In October of 2004, Frank Jude, a biracial exotic dancer (Black in America) and his friend were invited by two women to a party at the home of a police officer. Jude and his friend felt uncomfortable, so they decided to leave, but they were confronted by the police officer hosting the party, and Jude was accused of stealing a badge and a wallet. Jude denied taking anything. The police severely beat and kicked Jude. One of the women called 9-11, and when the officers arrived on the scene, one of them joined the beating while the other one watched. The officers stuck a pen in Jude’s ears and cut his face. Jude was arrested and taken to jail. The stolen items were not recovered.

Eventually charges were brought against the officers, but none of the officers (mostly White) admitted to seeing anything. Instead they erected a code of silence refusing to speak out against their fellow officers in a clear-cut case of wrong doing. The case was stalled for months. Prosecutors initially failed to interview key witnesses. Three officers were charged and acquitted in state court, but were then charged with civil rights violations in federal court. Seven officers were convicted. In the end, nine officers were fired, and Jude settled for $2 million. This is racism; this is privilege + prejudice + power in full, living color. These men used their badges to push their prejudice to the extreme. 

Dylan Roof walked into a church and asked for the pastor by name. He sat with the members of AME Emanuel Church, a church rooted in activism, for an hour before opening fire. He murdered nine people. He told friends that he intended to start a race war. A manifesto attesting to his twisted beliefs about Black people raping White women and taking over was found on Face book. Roof was apprehended alive and taken into custody wearing a bullet proof vest. He didn’t appear to be disheveled at all. I guess his horrific crime spree worked up an appetite, and the arresting officers purchased some food for Dylan from Burger King.

Now contrast Roof’s interaction with the police and that of Mike Brown, Tamir Rice, Eric Garner, Freddy Gray and others. All of these people ended up dead after coming into contact with police, and their crimes were what? Brown was walking in the street and refused to obey an order to move to the sidewalk. Rice was playing with a toy gun and was shot within two seconds of the officer exiting the police vehicle. Gray requested medical attention twice and was denied, but Roof got to have it his way. How can anyone look at these situations and believe that any and all incidents involving racial differences are racist regardless of the complexion of those involved? Clearly light skin trumped dark skin in each of these situations. 

Am I saying that all White people are racists and all POC are not? No. But all White people have the privilege and the power to be racist by virtue of the color of their skin. Oprah Winfrey is a powerful Black woman, and if she decided to discriminate against a group of people solely based on race, she would be a racist. The way people speak shows the way in which they think, and it is those thoughts of prejudiced people that create racist policy. Words do matter. But let’s not get lost in the rhetoric on race. When you are prejudiced or biased against a group of people and you have the power through culture, custom and law to push that prejudice, that’s racism and that, makes you a racist.

This country has been rigged against POC especially African Americans since its beginning. So, while we may be as biased, bigoted and as prejudiced as anyone, most of us are impotent in the face of racism. There is not enough Viagra or Sealis on the planet to give us the power to be collectively racist. Labeling every act of racial intolerance as racist perpetuates a false narrative that we are equally in this together; We are not.

Before I open my mouth to speak, my nephew says, “No, it’s not because racism is prejudice plus power.”Yes! I scream inside my head and pump my fist in my mind. These auntie-nephew conversations, talks around the dinner table at family gatherings, and that Urban Prep education is paying off, I say to myself. “That’s just the name of it,” I respond.

 He gets it, so there’s nothing else for me to say.

Boo, to the Red, White and Blue

I hear the pop, pop, pop of fireworks in the distance, and American flags waving from two houses on my block. The smell of charcoal drifts into my nostrils as the sound of house music fills the air. It’s the Fourth of July, summer’s first holiday and I'm feeling it; not today.

As a child and a young adult, like most Americans I loved the 4^th of July. I remember holidays at my uncle’s house with his special everything-and-the-kitchen-sink BBQ sauce. I remember both buying and watching fireworks when it got dark. I remember feeling a sense of belonging. Every red, blooded American celebrated the 4^th of July, right? 

But when I grasped the full meaning of the 4^th of July or Independence Day, my feelings became ambivalent. It was an American holiday, and I am an American citizen, but my ancestors were not part of the celebration of America’s emancipation from England. We went from indentured servitude to an imported enslaved labor force. We were anything but free then; we are anything but free today. And too often the red in the red, white and blue is not only the blood of those who died in the American Revolution, but the blood of Black folks flowing into the streets of America.

Since the Fourth of July was a day with family, I’d usually eat at one of my sisters’ houses, and then watch documentaries or movies on African-American history. It was my way of reconciling my Blackness with my American-ness. And that has worked for me until now. People of Color are treated poorly in this country, and Black people hold a unique place in American history in that we did not come by way of Ellis Island on the ships as passengers, but in the bowel of the ship as cargo. And we’ve been treated like shit ever since.

 The struggle for dignity and respect for people who look like me is real. I know this because I know the history of racism in this country, but I think I drifted off and let my eyes close to the reality of racism and its impact. It is tightly woven into the fabric of America. From Trayvon Martin to the massacre at Mother Emmanuel church, I’ve been jolted back into a painful reality. I may have dozed off, but my eyes are wide open now. There’s nothing particularly patriotic about the plight of Black people in America. 

Feeling exiled in the country of my birth on Independence Day, what is there for me to celebrate? While others are reveling in the festivities of the day, on this day, I say . . . boo, to the red, white and blue.

Please be advised that Stephanie's Epiphanies is being temporarily shut down. Thank you for reading.

Dating Out

I have not been in a meaningful relationship for more than a decade now. And for the last few years I have been toying with the idea of dating out. I love my culture and my heritage and growing up I never entertained thoughts of being with men of other races or ethnicities.  I have gone on dates with men of other races, and I dated a White guy for awhile. To this day, it was one of the best relationships I’ve had, but the race thing was lurking around and I was not mature enough to handle it. Add in that he was my rebound after a bad break-up, and it was a relationship that was doomed. Still he showed me how a man treats a woman that matters to him. Too often, the ones that followed him, could not meet the standard he set.

Because of this idea-- real or imagined--that there is a shortage of "good" Black men, dating has become more difficult. Add that I'm no spring chicken onto the mix, and it is a recipe for disaster.  The men I meet believe I should be thankful to simply be in their presence. They have after all, chosen me among the hordes of women at their disposal, and I should worship at the temple that is Him.

Date # 1

We meet while he's driving the bus. I pull up next to the bus, and he starts flirting. I laugh. He asks for my number, and I give it to him. We talk on the phone and we agree to go out. Conversation starts on the wrong foot and goes down from there. I explain to him that I want to date a man that can make me a priority which is why I don't want to date a man with small children. If he's a good dad, he's spending time with his children and won't have enough time for me.  He disagreed stating that a man is always going to be a father. I didn't argue with that. I simply said the father of a 5 year-old is different from the father of a 25 year old. He went on to explain how his grown daughter lost her job and had to move back in with him. I explained that I understood him helping his daughter. I liked to go out and travel; he didn’t. Because of his line of work he didn’t like bring around crowds of people. He said he liked an occasion movie. Other than that he liked to stay at home. He likes horror movies. I don't. Our first date was our last date.

Date # 2

We meet in a store. He looks young so, I laugh when he tries to talk to me. He’s in his 40s, so I decide to give him a chance.  We talk on the phone. We go out to eat once. He has one child who lives out of state, but stays with him during the summer. I teach so I have summers off. We talk back and forth on the phone a few times. He wants to get together one day after he gets off work, and I'm agreeable to the idea. I don't hear from him the weekend, but the next week he calls me out of the blue and asks what my plans are for the day?  I say, I'm going to movies in the park.  I ask him if he wants to go. I say I have enough snacks for two, and he can join me. He says no because of the bugs and its hot outside and maybe there is a reason why I made snacks for two. I accept that he doesn't want to go and follow my original plan.

Fast forward a few days, he asks me what am I doing on a certain day  I say I'm open to suggestions. He says we’ll touch bases that day. On the day, I get a call from a good friend. She’s crying. Her husband who was battling cancer has died. I call another mutual friend and we agree to go by the house that evening. Knowing that I told the guy I was going to be available, I text him and explain that my friend's husband has died. He tells me to handle my business and he'll get back to me later. I send him a text later that night when I get home. He sends me a text that I'm too busy for him.

I joined a couple of dating sites, and that didn’t work out. So, I’m taking a hiatus from the dating scene. I thought I had worked on me, but maybe I need some more work because I cannot turn off this Neon Sign on my forehead that keeps drawing the wrong kind of men to me: liars, perverts, control freaks and commitment phobes.  Currently, I can’t. I have a wonderful family, great friends, a career that I love and I’m happy and healthy. The good man for me is a bonus. And I’ll wait because I’m done settling.

Given our history and the media saturated stories of the "war" between Black men and Black women and the so-called “shortage” of good Black men, I admit that my battle -weary body can't take much more. There is so much injustice in the word that I do not want to fight my comrades in this struggle for equality and acceptance. More and more I feel like we're comparing war wounds, when we’re all bleeding and hurting. I have not given up on Black men, but I will not limit myself to them. I love Black people and will continue to fight for our rightful place, but if love shows up for me wrapped in a color other than Black, I'm not turning it away.

Under the Bus

I have tire marks

On my neck

My back

My chest

My arms

My legs

My forehead even

And the bus keeps rolling

I have so many tire marks

On my body that

 I’m beginning to think

 That they’re tattoos

I’ve been rolled over

So many times

 That I can’t feel anything

 Anymore

I’ve been

Mangled

Crushed

Dismembered

And the bus keeps rolling

I’ve been thrown under the bus

 So many times,

 That I’m not waiting anymore

I’ve learned

 To throw myself

 Under the bus

And convince myself

That it doesn’t hurt

As much

I’ve been under the bus

So long that

I think this is where

 I belong

And the bus keeps rolling

Why Valentine’s Day Sort of Sucks

It’s not a good look to say that Valentine’s Day sort of sucks on Valentine’s Day. It sounds like I’m sitting around sipping on a big glass of Hater-Aid. So, I waited for the day after V-Day to say it sort of sucks. And it does. But not for the obvious reason of my singleness.  For the last decade, I have been uncoupled more than I’ve been coupled, so I’ve always done my own thing for Valentine’s Day. Sometimes I’ll catch an early movie, or have dinner with another single friend. I don’t give much thought to V-Day except as it relates to my students. V-Day is a big day for middle school students, and that bothers me. How in 7^th and 8^th grade do my students come to expect the exchange of trinkets and gifts to demonstrate their love and affection for each other? 

On Friday, I was driving to work when I saw a young man, small in stature with this gigantic teddy bear! I laughed and I shook my head. He was truly struggling carrying that over-sized stuffed animal. Well, low and behold, when I got to school I found out that it was one of our students carrying the bear. The principal made him leave it in the counselor’s office until the end of the day. She knew that a bear that size would cause disruptions throughout the day. I looked at the bear and I kept thinking, what does it mean? 

New Year’s Eve and Valentine’s Day are the biggest couples holiday, and my middle school students are not old enough to “show their love” on New Year’s Eve, so Valentine’s Day is their day. The boys are out shopping for candy and cards to give to their girlfriends and the girls are waiting for their gifts. This is why Valentine’s Day sucks. There is the expectation the boys will purchase gifts for their girlfriends. What lessons are we teaching our children? Are we telling them that love is bought and sold?

I remember Valentine’s Day as a child. You brought the cutesy Valentine’s Day cards to school and passed them out to your friends. If your parents were feeling especially generous, then they bought you candy to share with our friends. It was sweet for the most part, but there was also a level of meanness because every child didn’t get a card. If you didn’t like so-and-so, he or she didn’t get a Valentine.

One year, maybe first or second grade, every boy in my class gave be a Valentine Day card. And I had a meltdown. I cried because I didn’t like all of the boys in my class, and I thought that by giving me a card, they had to be my boyfriends. The teacher sent a note home, and my mother and I had to have a talk that evening about why the receipt of cards from the boys did not mean that they ALL had to be my boyfriends.

I can laugh today, but I was confused by this idea of “love”. And perhaps it is my own trauma about love that fuels my issues with V-Day and my students. There were boys who caught my attention in junior high, but I didn’t have a boyfriend. It was strictly prohibited, so if a boy had given me a Valentine’s Day gift I would have been trying to figure out how to sneak it in the house, or better yet just leave it at school. In my tenure as a teacher, I have witnessed many V-Days over the years, and it ain't nothing nice sometimes.

When Valentine’s Day falls on a weekday, the girls come to school all dressed up, and the boys come bearing gifts to show their love. And not every girl who has a boyfriend gets a gift. To be among her peers, and not be acknowledged by her beloved is social suicide. I’ve seen a many angry and/or sad girls on Valentine’s Day. I’ve seen boys come bearing gifts only to be rejected. This breaks my heart. What are we teaching our daughters? What are we teaching our sons?

Adults and Valentine’s Day is one thing, but for adolescents whose hormones are out of whack, it can be too much.Why are girls expecting gifts? What are they obliged to give in return? Where are boys supposed to get money from to buy gifts? Call me old-fashioned or whatever you like, but this idea of “love” in middle school makes Valentine’s Day sort of suck.