Who will cry for the little, dark boy?

A cry for Mike Brown

One day I hope to bring into this world a little dark boy: dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes; a little chocolate thing that I can love and teach, discipline and play with, fight for and care for; a little dark boy who will one day become a full grown, dark man, with the same, beautiful dark skin, dark hair, and dark eyes.

A dark boy; dark like my daddy, and my uncles, and my grandfathers, and my male cousins, and my beautiful nephew, Marc Anthony.

I worry for my little, dark boy who is yet to be. What will the world see when they look upon his darkness? Will his dark skin intimidate them? Will his dark hair upset them? Will his dark eyes scare them?

Will the world appreciate my little dark boy? Will the world allow my full grown, dark man to live and thrive, without having to consider what others think of his dark skin, dark hair, and dark eyes?

Don't come at me with talk of the dark boys murdering other dark boys in Chicago. This is not about that. This is about understanding the value of human life. White boys kill other white boys too. But this is not about that.

Don't come at me with talk of looters: that does not change that another unarmed, dark boy has been shot by police officers. The looting happened after the killing, so any discussion about his death need not include a discussion about looters.

Don’t come at me with stories of Black folks killing white babies, asking me why I’m only outraged when a white person kills a Black person. In all of those cases that folks circulated during the time of Trayvon’s death, the Black murderer had been promptly arrested, tried and convicted. Not sheltered and excused. Additionally, this is a case of the establishment using undue deadly force and misusing its power in a systematic way. I care about all the dead and murdered children, no matter their or their murderer’s color, but this is not that.

This is about the dark boys, the brown boys, the mocha and vanilla latte-colored Black boys who are feared and misunderstood for no other reason than the color of their skin, the kink of their hair, or their choice of clothing. Boys who grow into men with a profound distrust of those who are supposed to serve and protect, because the law has never been and is still not on their side.

I listened to the tearful plea of a white mother in Ferguson saying: “We just want life to get back to normal.”- Well, lady, I’d venture to say that people are protesting so that things will not get back to normal. Your normal is safe, and thank God for your safe, normal life. But their normal is what’s the problem. It’s time out for normal, for status quo. We need an abnormal situation, because normal is just not going to cut it for 100 more years. There’s more than one way to lynch, and we cannot continue with the lynchings, perpetrated and protected by the establishment.

A personal thought about modesty and the heart

As I was contemplating what I should wear this morning, my mind went back to something that happened about 3 years ago. On that day I was shuffling through my closet looking for something cute to wear and my eyes landed on a cute designer dress that I'd purchased (at a huge markdown) a few months ago but had not yet worn. The dress was chocolate brown, sleeveless, form fitting, and shorter than what I'd normally wear, but I'd just purchased an amazing pair of brown, peep-toed, four-inch pumps and shoes that fabulous required such a dress as the one I was eyeing in my closet. 

Now, normally I have this thing about balance-- if the dress is short, it can't be worn with too high a heel; if it's strapless, then it can't be too form-fitting; if it's form-fitting, then it can't be too short, and so on and so forth. Mind you, my idea of short is longer than the mainstream idea of short, but it was still a daring choice for me, and on this day I decided to forego my "modesty benchmarks," if you will, and go with the riskier fashion choice.

So I put on my dress, my pumps, kept the hair and makeup simple and to a minimum (I didn't want to look like I was meeting Eliot Spitzer for "coffee"), and with a confident stride descended down the steps of my apartment complex, as "She's a Bad Mama-Jama" played softly in the distance... I kid, I kid, but seriously, I thought I was cute that day ;-)

As soon as I got to the bottom step I saw a family of three tossing a football in the parking lot. I'd never seen this family before (or since then); a man, his wife and their young son. They were obviously Muslim, as the wife was wearing full hijab.

As I headed to my car the man took one look at me and quickly averted his eyes, discretely diverting the attention of his young son as well. It wasn't a rude gesture, or obvious, or judgmental. I don't even believe that he wanted me to notice his reaction...

But I could tell that he had seen me and had immediately wanted to UN-see me, and I instantly felt ashamed; not because my attire was inherently inappropriate, but because I had put this religious man in an uncomfortable situation. I didn't care what he thought about me, but I cared that I made him uncomfortable, and was a bit mortified at the implication- that I was something to be avoided, a vice or temptation that one must shield his eyes from...

Although, I didn't share this man's Muslim faith and certainly not his views on modesty (I'm not about to be head-to-toe covered in the summertime), he served as a reminder of my own faith and standards concerning modesty. You see, I don't believe there's a universal standard for modesty. But I do believe that modesty is an expression of what is in one's heart and that the manifestations of what is in the heart should be outward, not just buried in the heart.

It's simply not good enough for me to say "God knows my heart" when it comes to how I present myself to the world around me, because what sense does it make for me to allow the truths of my HEART to be a mystery to man, then readily reveal the secrets of my BODY to all of mankind? Am I to be coy about the expression of my heart, but unabashed in the expression of my sexuality? Surely not. It's an oversimplification of who I am, which is not just body, but heart, mind, and soul... all of which have something to say, and should speak louder than my clothes.

So dress however you want, but as for me, I want people to recognize me for my heart, not just for something as superficial and fleeting as my looks or even my intellect because those things can fade away.

But the heart is enduring, and I'd rather not disguise my heart or silence it with a provocative exterior.

Just a thought...

A word concerning Rachel Jeantel and the court of Black opinion

In a perfect world, a beautiful, articulate, college-educated white woman, with a rich husband, razor-sharp hearing, a spotless credit record, and a saintly visage would have been the last person that Trayvon Martin spoke to on the phone... 

Unfortunately, this is not a perfect world, so all we have is a young Black girl who has been thrust into a national spotlight under the worst of circumstances.

As I listened to people clown this young lady over the past two days and talk down about her looks, speech and demeanor, it reminded me of just how imperfect our legal system is and how easy it is for us to become the very thing that we ourselves despise-

Our legal system tells us that there are certain types of people whose testimonies aren't worthy or reputable simply because they are not the perfect witness. Forget about the fact that an injustice has occurred against them. God forbid you're brutalized by police and you have a felony record; your testimony against those thugs in uniform is not worthy because you're a convict... And God forbid you happen to be a woman who likes to have sex with multiple partners and one of those men rapes you; you are now a less than perfect witness of the crime against your body, because of your past. Here you are, a victim, but because of factors unrelated to the crime, you are shamed and discredited in court.

And now we get to Rachel Jeantel, who has done nothing wrong, but we- the oh so mighty court of Black opinion- have scorned her for being a less-than-perfect witness, not because she's a criminal or deviant, but because she doesn't speak and act the way we think she should act. I'm sorry she did not pass your test of acceptability for valid witness testimony, but we live in an imperfect world with an imperfect U.S. Justice system in which there are imperfect witnesses.

And this is where we, the "formal speaking, perfectly poised" collective of the Black Community embody the injustice of our legal system that we so readily speak out against. If you're out there shaming young Rachel, then you are no better that the legal system that shames the rape victim for not being the blessed Virgin Mary. Don't put on your Black hoodie in solidarity with Trayvon Martin and then do the very thing that you accuse George Zimmerman of- profiling a victim.

As a witness, she may not be what you want, but she is what you've got... or, what you "have," I should say (lest someone decide to discredit this post due to it's grammatical errors). And if you are for the cause of Trayvon, then be for it; it was an imperfect situation to begin with so don't expect perfection now.

So, show a little empathy folks and get over your unfounded elitism. Every person on this earth is important, and everyone's voice should matter, whether you like or agree with the sound of that voice or not.