Sandra Bland & Driving While Black

Sandra Bland #SayHerName

We don't know how Sandra Bland (#SayHerName) ended up dead in police custody after an unnecessary, ultimately violent traffic stop and arrest in one of the scarier parts of Texas, at least if you are driving while black.  Waller County Texas has a history of racial tension, a police chief who was fired from the nearby town of Hempstead for unremitting racist behavior; and Waller County, on the edge of Harris County and the Houston municipal limits,  is in the part of the state where police departments make lots of money from stop and seize activities.

A friend, who like me, has enjoyed the freedom of driving as part of our training and consulting activities, commented about how much what happened to Sandra Bland frightened her.  And I share the same worry, especially when crossing the Mason-Dixon line (although central PA always gives me pause).

I once researched a non-fiction piece to answer the question, in how many states, between Maine and the panhandle of Florida, would I find the confederate flag? This was in 2004.  I loaded up the Brown Dog, and we set off from Boston on a 3 day drive -- we had been in Maine and NH earlier, which is why I wanted to write the piece.  The important detail here is the Brown Dog.  Of course I found the confederate flag, stuck to, flapping from or emblazoned on something in every state, from Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts (South Boston of course),  New York, and just over the line in the Pennsylvania town of Milford, on a flagpole in front of the cigar shop in its historic district.  I was not surprised, and only appalled once, in West Virginia at the site of Booker T. Washington's first home house in freedom, a truck perpetually parked nearby, a battle flag prominently affixed to its bumper.

Brown Dog was my Co-Pilot

But this post isn't about the flag.  It's about the security I felt with my 60 pound lab/shepherd mix by my side.  An utterly harmless dog who seemed to strike terror in the minds of men.  Brownie, the Brown Dog, traveled the country with me, north and south.  He passed on in 2008, to be with the elders who he had
known and loved.  And every year without him, I am a little more fearful about driving alone.

And isn't this the point of terrorism?  To deprive us of the freedom to go where we please, do what we want, enjoy this country as most white men believe it is their right to enjoy this country? (I know white women think they have this unvarnished right but that is only because of their misplaced faith in white supremacy.  They forget to look over their shoulders at the patriarchal vengeance that seeks to keep them in check.)

#SayHerName Brief, AAPF

I have no words of encouragement, no analysis that relieves the unease I feel -- many Black women feel, most Black men feel -- that in those uninvited interactions with the enforcement mechanisms of white supremacy, the local and state police agencies, our lives do not matter.  We can't be respectable enough, educated enough, dignified enough, distinguished enough, docile enough.  So we might as well resist and disrupt with all our might.

"When I dare to be powerful, to use my strength in the service of my vision, then it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid."  Audre Lorde, The Cancer Journals, p. 13

A Deep Environmental Funk

Compost Pile Akron winter Feb. 23rd

I know I've been away for awhile. I've been in a funk about the fate of the earth and all the beings residing on it; and all the communities in which we live. Trying to pull myself together because Mossville needs what little help I can offer, because #AllLivesMatter which is demonstrated in the way we struggle to honor how #BlackLifeMatters. So, In honor of all life, a couple links to articles that demonstrate why I have been in "the sloth of despond". Thankfully all things, including despond, arise and pass away. 

1. Oklahoma knew in 2010 what was causing all them earthquakes:

http://bit.ly/1AILds1

2. Only Capital, and its interests seems able to stop #MountaintopRemoval coal mining.http://bit.ly/1CwfpO5

3.  The man who brought you those lite coffee capsules that are clogging the ocean has regrets.  http://bit.ly/1AISjN9

It's An Act of Kindness. It's An Act of Justice. Shut It Down!

#ThisistheMovement #61

I now believe I spent a lifetime with a man, my father, running scared from police violence.  

Since I first became conscious of racism (1st grade, St. Bernard's, first day of school) I have worried about what white men would do to my people, to me. It's a low-level anxiety, one that I can box up and hold at bay.  But less so lately.  Especially in regards to law enforcement.  I drive the speed limit these days and drive slowly by any time I see that the Ohio Highway Patrol has pulled someone over.  Just to make sure they aren't black, and if they are, to ascertain if they are safe.

And while I understand the choice, I find it unfortunate when Black and Brown people choose to wear the uniforms of the institutions that enforce systematic structural racism in this country.  I'm very near 60 and I don't want to see any of the young people from this past summer's youth employment project or my younger relations or any random black girl or boy spend as many years worried, scared or afraid.  I don't want to see another person killed by those who wear the uniform that supports structural inequity (even if you don't think that is what you are doing). So it's time to call a stop.  

I'm not that different from the sometimes bitter middle-aged man who was my father.  I, like him, am afraid of big demonstrations.  I'm a stay-in-the-background kind of activist.  I prefer the hard work of creating viable organizations and building individual and community capacity for social change to standing on a street corner with a megaphone.  I hate to be arrested.  But I agree with the brave, young, BOLD Black Lovers -- It's time to shut it down.

I'm going to Walmart first thing Friday morning to urge Black folk to stay away, for at least this one day.  For John Crawford, who was shot in a Walmart for carrying a pellet gun that he picked up in that Walmart, and was being sold in that Walmart just outside Cincinnati. I'm going for Tamir Rice, a 12 year old boy, playing with the modern equivalent of a dart gun, shot by Cleveland cops within seconds of their arrival at the playground where Tamir was hanging out. I'm going for the scores of others who weren't at their family's Thanksgiving table because of institutionalized, state-sanctioned murder.  I hope you will join in wherever you are.  It's time to disrupt the system that allows these events and so many other instances of structural racism to damage the lives of our relations, friends, family, community members.

 Disrupt, before it's too late for another black boy or girl, man or woman. 

Consider it an act of loving-kindness. 

Disrupt.

Before it's too late for all of us. 

No Indictment: A Letter from the Organizers in Ferguson

The Results Are In

An Open Letter from Protestors On The Grand Jury Decision (11.24.14)

In Ferguson, a wound bleeds.

For 108 days, we have been in a state of prolonged and protracted grief.  In that time, we have found community with one another, bonding together as family around the simple notion that our love for our community compels us to fight for our community.  We have had no choice but to cling together in hope, faith, love, and indomitable determination to capture that ever-escaping reality of justice.

After 108 days, that bleeding wound has been reopened, salt poured in, insult added to the deepest of injury.  On August 9^th, we found ourselves pushed into unknown territory, learning day by day, minute by minute, to lead and support a movement bigger than ourselves, the most important of our lifetime.  We were indeed unprepared to begin with, and even in our maturation through these 108 days, we find ourselves reinjured, continually heartbroken, and robbed of even the remote possibility of judicial resolution.  A life has been violently taken before it could barely begin.  In this moment, we know, beyond any doubt, that no one will be held accountable within the confines of a system to which we were taught to pledge allegiance.  The very hands with which we pledged that allegiance were not enough to save Mike in surrender. 

Once again, in our community, in our country, that pledge has returned to us void.

For 108 days, we have continuously been admonished that we should “let the system work,” and wait to see what the results are.  

The results are in.

And we still don’t have justice.

This fight for the dignity of our people, for the importance of our lives, for the protection of our children, is one that did not begin Michael’s murder and will not end with this announcement.  The ‘system’ you have told us to rely on has kept us on the margins of society.  This system has housed us in her worst homes, educated our children in her worst schools, locked up our men at disproportionate rates and shamed our women for receiving the support they need to be our mothers. This system you have admonished us to believe in has consistently, unfailingly, and unabashedly let us down and kicked us out, time and time again.

This same system in which you’ve told us to trust--this same system meant to serve and protect citizens-- has once again killed two more of our unarmed brothers:  Walking up a staircase and shot down in cold blood, we fight for Akai Gurley; Playing with a toy after police had been warned that he held a bb gun and not a real gun at only twelve years old, we fight for Tamir Rice. 

So you will likely ask yourself, now that the announcement has been made, why we will still take to the streets?  Why we will still raise our voices to protect our community? Why will still cry tears of heartbreak and sing songs of determination?

We will continue to struggle because without struggle, there is no progress.

We will continue to disrupt life, because without disruption we fear for our lives.

We will continue because Assata reminds us daily that “it is our duty to fight for freedom.  It is our duty to win.  We must love and support one another.  We have nothing to lose but our chains.”

Those chains have bound us-all of us- up for too long.  And do not be mistaken- if one of us is bound, we all are.  We are, altogether, bound up in a system that continues to treat some men better than others.  A system that preserves some and disregards others.  A system that protects the rights of some and does not guard the rights of all.

And until this system is dismantled, until the status quo that deems us less valuable than others is no longer acceptable or profitable, we will struggle.  We will fight.  We will protest.

Grief, even in its most righteous state, cannot last forever.  No community can sustain itself this way. 

So we still continue to stand for progress, and stand alongside anyone who will make a personal investment in ending our grief and will take a personal stake in achieving justice.

We march on with purpose. The work continues.  This is not a moment but a movement. The movement lives.

This letter was written and signed by numerous protestors and supporters, too many to list. Permission is granted in advance for reproduction by all outlets.

Ferguson & The Declining Effectiveness of Civil Rights Era Leadership

As the reaction to the murder of Michael Brown by a Ferguson, MO cop continues to Many have found the actions (or inactions) of Missouri Governor Jay Nixon  incomprehensible.  On Thursday, August 14, the day he turned enforcement responsibilities over the the Highway Patrol, he made his pronouncements from the relative safety of the University of Missouri.  At some point on Thursday he appeared in Floissant, MO, 3 miles from Ferguson, to seek the prayers and intercession of the local African-American clergy.

Those spiritual efforts have not proven wholly effective.  In fact, local clergy and community leaders have lamented their inability to control the protestors, many of whom are under 30 years old and, frankly, able to stay awake and out in the streets far later than their elders.  Ferguson is a rage that has grown beyond the control of traditional non-violent protest tactics. Perhaps fueling this rage is the disappointment in the outcomes of the civil rights years, not only the police violence, but the unfulfilled expectation of good jobs, housing, and peace in our communities.  Just as our ancestors experienced the fearsome and effective backlash of the white citizens movement at the end of Reconstruction, African-Americans of the last half of the 20th century have experienced an organized reaction, fueled by the defection of southern Democrats to the Republican Party, and the refuge they have taken in the toxic rhetoric of welfare reform, gun rights, drug wars and zero tolerance education policies.

Those of us who made class moves away from historically black communities or embraced the delusional prosperity gospel of the 1990s megachurch  frequently choose to blame those literally imprisoned, or living under a kind of occupation, with the constant reminder of their conditions of servitude:  no or poorly paying jobs, underfunded schools, and a punitive law enforcement that guarantees no one strays from physical and psychic boundaries.

There has always been a black underclass. During segregation we had to live in close proximity to

Howard University Students #Don'tShoot

each other.  As a post-voting rights era class divide has emerged and become a permanent feature of the African-American community this underclass has become more isolated and frequently demonized by those who have climbed (and forgot to lift up the community with us).  So now we wring our hands, sick with outrage and shame.

As I finish this, with no real conclusion to offer, the National Guard is on its way to Ferguson.