The Big "Why"

Most Americans have seen the horrible incidents that have taken place in Ferguson a few weeks ago. The U.S. faced yet another racial controversy as an unarmed young African American male was gunned down with dozens of onlookers at the scene. We’ve seen the protests as people in Ferguson and nationwide took to the streets to decry the incident as another unjust slaying of a black man. We’ve seen images and footage of rioters angrily destroying property and plundering local businesses.  We watched as the assault rifle wielding National Guard filed into Ferguson in an attempt to quell unrest. We’ve heard citizens, civil rights leaders, pastors, and members of the media reignite old flames with talk of institutional racism and a prejudice police force. And so it was, America’s “Pandora’s box” that is race lay agape for all the world to see, and a torrent of past fears, underlying racial tension, and misunderstanding came whirling out.

Here we go again.

As a young African American male, these types of issues aren’t new to me. I grew up hearing about O.J Simpson and Rodney King, and seeing how passionate members of the African American community became at what appeared to be even the slightest notion of racial injustice. Elder’s warned me and other black youths of the power of the white establishment to single out and destroy the lives of blacks that stood out of line of the establishment’s expectations (“Look at what they did to Dr. King and Malcolm X!”). We were told us of how the system could not be trusted to protect the welfare of our people and that we would have to forge a path for ourselves if we desired a satisfying future. We were cautioned that no matter how friendly, educated, well-mannered, wealthy, or assimilated we were, we’d never be accepted. In this world, only “they” could enjoy the fruit of the “American dream” and everyone else was left to fight for the scraps.

 I hated this world. I hated hearing about it and I hated thinking that all the “other” friends I’d made thought that I was beneath them. I mean, they had always been nice and fair to me, did they really think I was less than they? I hated thinking that I’d never be accepted simply because of something as shallow as the color of my skin. It was like I had to constantly look over my shoulder to see if I was being singled because I was black. This world wasn’t fair. This world was cruel. And fortunately, this world didn’t exist.

Well….at least not completely as I had been warned.

Granted, there are people with some serious racial prejudices that do make life hard for minorities, but most of those populations are marginalized so much so that they hardly influence the everyday lives of minorities (I guess that’s why they have to resort to things like violence and other forms of terrorism). And there are pretty scary disparities in education and disproportionately high population of blacks within the prison systems, but the fact of the matter is African Americans and other minorities enjoy more freedoms and a higher standard of living than in any other time in the history of this country. Because of the hard work and sacrifice and many dedicated individuals from a wide spectrum of life, the system now is better able to address the needs of minorities even thirty or forty years ago. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that we live in a “post-racial” society, and neither would I dare say that we should all be content with the strides that we’ve made thus far, but blatant racism no longer exist in the lives of most minorities in such a way that it inhibits everyday life (we’ll talk about more subtle forms racism later). Maybe the roof could be a little higher for minorities, but it’s definitely not caving in.

With this in mind, I’m rarely caught up in the fervor that most racial controversies generate within the black community. Even when asked to reflect on the Trayvon Martin, I did so with an emotional distance that allowed me to look at the case as objectively as possible. I’ve learned how the media manipulates the public by inflating these stories to garner ratings and allow “experts” a platform to promote themselves and their agendas (A trick they picked up from the O.J. trial).

But something different happened to me with the Mike Brown case.  Seeing his body lying there in the street I began to ask myself questions, questions like:

“What did he like to do with his friends?”

“How was his childhood?”

“Was he planning on going to college, and if, so where?”

“What kind of future did he see for himself?”

I guess for the first time I didn’t see another black man dead in the street. I saw an individual with potential, with hopes, with dreams. I saw myself.

And then I found myself asking the same questions of Trayvon Martin and all the other young black men whose lives were lost to some sort of violence or the Justice System. I began to build an identity with them that I had been kind of shielding myself from. Why? Because I don’t sag my pants, or watch B.E.T, or listen to Hip-Hop (that much), or wear Jordan’s, or do any of the other things that categorize many other African American males.

But why should any of that matter? Why should the way you dress, or your style of music, or even your skin color keep me from trying to understand your unique situation and perspective as a human being?

I guess this is my journey, to try and uncover the unique situation of young African American males, and hopefully I’ll say or post something that might change the way someone sees young black men, or themselves, or the world. I believe there is value in this voice and a need exists to flush it out in a clear and interesting way. If Jane Goodall could find a way to relate the voice of another species to the human condition, this shouldn't be that hard. Or maybe I'll just end up race baiting drawing out some nasty KKK trolls. That'd be fun.

 

I suck at conclusions.