I recently had the pleasure of doing a long form interview with TraumaMamaDrama! I’m grateful for the opportunity to talk about these race, adoption and parenting with her.
Take a looksee at Part 1 of my interview!
Tag Archives: Race
A Sad Mystery
There was a time when we would hear about police violence and people of color. We would see evidence, but without excessive documentation and a stand-up witness, it was easy for folks to just look the other way with little effort.
Today, technology has changed everything. We have the ability to capture real-time evidence of the good, the bad and the ugly.
We also have a much better idea of what happened in the absence of cameras.
The ugly part is that it hasn’t changed much. It seems that the only thing it’s changed is that we now require a bit more effort from those who are determined to look away as injustice persists.
Two years ago, in November, we learned that Darren Wilson would have no consequences from killing Michael Brown.
Last December we learned that the police who murdered Tamir Rice just seconds after pulling up in their car would not face charges.
There was a video of the whole thing.
One juror said he just couldn’t find Michael Slager guilty.
That juror looked away. When the judge heard about the hung jury days ago, he sent them back in to work it out. That juror essentially turned his chair around.
That’s a lot of effort.
And now more jurors “have questions.” #really?
And so, now, with a video that shows a man being shot in the back, there is no justice. Oh, sure, his family has already reached a settlement with the city, but the larger question of social justice…it remains unanswered.
So, how do we talk about this? Do I just tell Hope, “Ooops, they did it again?”
It really does become exhausting having some kind of hope that one day my daughter will be able to really see justice.
It’s like I’ve concluded that I won’t see it. My parents probably have only seen it fleetingly, but probably not.
What does the future hold for us?
And in the current national climate?
What should those of us parenting children of color think? What should we teach them? What will keep them safe? What will ensure they get justice if they ever need it?
It is a sad mystery.
If You Voted for Him — john pavlovitz
I have always been a believer in voice. Your voice is who you are. How you use it is a demonstration of your personal power.
Wars have been waged over voice—who has it, who doesn’t, how it is used.
I was always taught and been taught that silence is assent.
And this year, that is true.
In fact, I can’t think of another time in my life when it has been truer.
Just under half of the voting electorate voted for someone who seems to share very few of my beliefs or values.
Half.
It’s kind of like those old sayings when you go to college: Look to your left. Now, look to your right. One of those folks won’t be there at graduation.
Instead, now, the ending goes: One of those folks voted for the guy openly praised and endorsed by hate groups and restrictive regimes around the world.
So, you say, that you don’t share those beliefs?
Tell me.
Show me.
Stand with me.
Tell me, show me and stand with me.
Reblogged…
If you voted for him, I really need you to hear something right now: I believe you. I believe you when you say that you’re not a racist. I believe you when you say that you’re not a bigot. I believe you when you say you’re not homophobic. I believe you when you say you’re……
Vote Your Conscience
It’s pretty rare for me to engage in direct political conversation on this space, and I gotta admit that this is really deliberate for me. I live in the DC metro area; we breathe politics here. I was a lobbyist for almost 10 years, with an undergrad degree in government and politics. Politics are my occupational first love. What’s happening in the US right now almost defies words. I often imagine that it is like watching the midpoint of the fall of a great republic, which is shocking given that we’ve survived a lot of other bull ish.
I know who I’m voting for next month, but I won’t publicly endorse the candidate or name them since I do think that it’s a deeply personal decision, especially this year. (Of course, if you follow me on twitter, you already know who I’m voting for.) So many of us are making voting decisions based on who we can tolerate more and hate less.
This is my first election as a parent, and things are different. And in this election, that is an understatement. The crazy in the American election season this year is unprecedented.
Like many parents, so much of my political decision making is influenced by the future I want for my daughter. But even though this is my first political rodeo as a parent, I’m still voting in part based on who I think will eff up my daughter’s future less.
I am Black woman, raising a young Black daughter.
I’m guessing that you *should* be able to figure out who I’m not voting for in a few weeks.
Yesterday I was popping around a few adoption support groups when I came across a post by a parent who was defending her support of the GOP presidential nominee despite having children of color (though for me the argument could be made to just stop the sentence with “children.”). She posted about how she hated Clinton more. I get that.
What I couldn’t wrap my head around was the tacit acceptance of racist, homophobic, misogynistic, rapey, ablest, gutter language spouted by a candidate that has emboldened some pretty awful citizens to come out from their hiding places. I also couldn’t understand how that reality could be reconciled with the desire to raise children of color, or girls, or special needs children or just children to live in a safe country that values and embraces them.
What about our shared values?
Maybe we don’t have shared values.
Maybe we never did.
For me, ultimately, this is what a lot of the national discourse has been reduced to.
I’m not nearly as afraid of terrorists or undocumented immigrants or increased taxes or Russia as I am about my black daughter potentially being killed by American police, being sexually assaulted, being marginalized and bullied at her school, being accosted on the street by some crazy racist, sexist person who makes her feel threatened.
For me, the devil beyond the borders isn’t nearly as frightening as the one within them.
With each week, the discourse worsens and my fear escalates.
I genuinely worry for our collective futures.
I worry for our children.
I worry for my beautiful black daughter.
I worry for Hope.
I’m not naïve. I don’t expect everyone to vote the way I will. I don’t believe that we all share the same beliefs and values. I don’t believe that everyone hopes the best for me or people who look like me—both Black and a woman.
But I still hope that people will invest some critical thought into their votes.
If you’re really ok with a candidate who believes cozying up to White supremacists is ok, then vote your conscience.
If you’re really ok with a candidate who believes “locker room” talk includes descriptions of sexual assault, then vote your conscience.
If you’re really ok with a candidate who blasts his sexual assault accusers but can still fix his mouth to bring up the affairs of a candidate’s husband as though they are more legitimate and/or somehow different than his own narrative, then vote your conscience.
If you’re really ok with a candidate who openly mocks women’s looks and bodies and believes in punishing women in for having a voice, then vote your conscience.
If you’re really ok with a candidate who openly mocks those with disabilities, vote your conscience.
If you’re really ok with a candidate who conflates being Black with living in hellish inner cities, then vote your conscience.
If you’re really ok with a candidate who doesn’t include men and adoptive families in his family leave plan, then vote your conscience.
If you’re ok with a candidate who practiced housing discrimination, then vote your conscience.
If you’re ok with a candidate who has defended the killing of unarmed people of color by law enforcement, then vote your conscience.
If you’re ok with a candidate who cloaks himself in religion when it is expedient, specifically when there is a need to be forgiven, then vote your conscience.
If you’re ok with a candidate who lives on Twitter but doesn’t disavow a hashtag like #repealthe19th then vote your conscience.
If you’re ok with a candidate who embraces voters who actually wear racist and sexist paraphernalia with his name emblazoned on it, then vote your conscience.
If you’re ok with a candidate who waxes philosophical about a time when America was great and various citizens were legally subjugated, then vote your conscience.
I could go on; there is so much more.
Vote your conscience.
Or not.
It’s hard to focus on actual policy when the mud is so thick.
I need a shower after just comprising a list.
I don’t suggest that there isn’t mud on all sides, certainly there is, and none of it makes me excited about this election. But again, my fears are more immediate, more personal.
So, this post isn’t an endorsement of anyone, but it is a call for folks to really think about what their vote means, what their conscience is really saying to them, and what they really want for the future of America.
For me, I want something different. I don’t have many options, but I definitely, definitely want something different.
I hope you do too.
Coming Up for Air
After being pulled over last week, I just needed to step away. I threw myself into work and into making sure Hope was ok.
I still watched the news, but I muted it when stories I couldn’t handle jumped on the screen. I watched a lot of Hulu. I did a lot of work. We skipped Back to School night to rest, eat a bunch of McDonalds, and chill out on the couch.
By the weekend I was prepping for a business trip. Hope was talking about missing me, which always makes me feel good. Not because I like her missing me, but I like being missed.
I touched down in the Midwest, and found more of my mojo.
It helps to feel needed, to feel competent, to feel like you matter.
Work gives me that. This weirdo gives me that.
Several days later, I’m home and prepping to head out for a quick trip to Texas to give a talk.
Bits of my humanity are sliding back into place, but it’s hard when you see another event, another hashtag #AlfredOlango, and the face of a crying child talking about her fears.
Sigh.
It really is exhausting.
Last week, Mimi asked me about my feelings when I was stopped. It took me a few minutes to get the words out.
I was terrified, but not for me. I do not fear death. I mean, I’m not exactly looking forward to it or anything, and I’d really prefer not to meet death anytime soon. I’d like to have a long, healthy life.
What frightened me was the possibility of Hope being left alone…again.
I mean, I have a will, arrangements have been made for her to be raised in a loving home. But the issue is more trauma for her.
It is the way in which families of victims of police violence become collateral damage in the aftermath.
Victims’ bodies are often left where they fall, for as long as four hours. There never seem to be efforts to save the lives of the victims; people handcuff the dead. They step over them. They mill around with no sense of urgency over what transpired moments before.
And there’s always video. Oh, sure the dash and body cams aren’t reliable, but there’s almost always cell phone footage or security cam footage.
It is released and the victim is shown repeatedly laying there lifelessly.
I couldn’t bear to think about what that would do to my daughter.
I’m fortunate to not have any mug shots or untoward photos out there that would be used by the media, but my name would be a hashtag and would be posted, shared, tweeted and retweeted and posted for days.
Having already survived so much loss, the thought of my daughter facing that breaks my very heart; it is crushing. It is scary; worse than any horror movie.
That’s why I cried that day; I can’t possibly leave my beautiful girl.
It really is challenging to be emotionally healthy during these times.
I’m better this week. I’ve got my bearings.
I’m emerging from the deep and coming up for air.
My family is safe. The bills (and ticket) are paid. Hope and Yappy are acting dorky. There’s a band practice to shuttle her to in a few minutes. Elihu and I are planning a hot date night this weekend. We have a good life. I love the life we’ve built.
Today we are fine. We are floating about in our little bubble, praying that it never is pierced by violence.
Girl Bye
I am not here for Rachel Dolezal.
I am not here for her brand of blackface.
I am not here for the flippant and co-opted use of the term “transracial” to explain her choice to identify as Black.
I am not here for the ability to put down and pick up privilege at will and at the expense of an entire culture.
I am not here for a faux brand of “keeping it real.”
I am not here for the appropriation of color and culture.
So, check it, this week the parents of Rachel Dolezal, president of the Spokane chapter of the NAACP, went on local TV and blew up her spot as a White woman who’s been posing as racially Black for nearly a decade. Apparently, Ms. Dolezal has a special affinity for Black folk, culture, skin, hair, etc, etc.; so much so, that she simply put it on.
No really: She. Put. Black. On.
She put it on like it was a sweater and carried a culture and history around in her handbag. She constructed a back story, you know, “of the struggle,” complete with a fake Black father. She darkened her skin. She permed her hair and/or scored some fabulous curly fro wigs, dreads and braids. She taught Black history. She painted Black and Brown bodies and stories, some she claimed to be autobiographical. She fought the power with a fro and an afro pick.
Oooooh weeee. Wooosaaaaa.
That’s what’s really interesting to me. She’s “committed to the cause,” with a clear interest, personally and academically, in Black life and Black issues; she has a compelling CV dedicated to civil rights, equity and inclusion. I’m here for White allies. I’m here for White folk who take a personal and academic interest in the African diaspora.
And I’m all down for inclusion…authentic inclusion.
But…I can’t with this chick. I cannot.
I’m not sure what her deal is; honestly I don’t even care, but this idea that you can just decide one day that because you like a culture so much that you’ll just…become a member…
#nope #memberapplicationdenied
#allthenopesinnopeville
But Rachel wasn’t about that life, she wanted a different connection, a different identity, so she just created one. Really girl? Really?
REALLY?
It takes mega-privilege, epic-privilege, next-level kinda privilege and serious cajones to just recreate yourself as a different race, especially since you still could just drop that identity when it suits or benefits you, and you know that folks who you knew “before you were Black” have receipts.
Rachel Dolezal is a liar, plain and simple. She’s co-opted stories like mine, being a Black woman, and actually profited from it. I just can’t!
I am not here for her foolery.
I’m not tripping over her being president of the NAACP—be an ally of any shade and be a leader—I don’t care; I’m tripping that she created a life and a set of experiences out of thin air, simply because she wanted to, because she “felt” Black, because ultimately “we’re all from Africa..”
Gurl… #smh
Race, ethnicity and identity are complicated things; they are. And lots of folks struggle to construct their racial identity, struggle to figure out what and how to acknowledge contributing heritages, struggle to either find a box to fit in or create a new box for themselves. And generally I’m not one to get too huffy on how people identify, but I do have a problem with racial and cultural appropriation, and I believe this is what Ms. Dolezal has engaged in. I’ve got a problem when you construct a whole false reality based on another race and culture. Where’s the respect in that? Imitation isn’t always flattering and putting on Blackness isn’t either.
Ms. Dolezal is expected to address the controversy in what is probably expected to be the most interesting NAACP meeting in recent history. I’m curious about what she will say. I’m curious about how and why she chose Blackness. I’m curious to see how the world responds (especially Black Twitter; I’m guessing the clowning/dragging will continue, just head there and search #AskRachel and commence to cackling).
I’ll watch, ‘cause I’m petty like that. But I’m guessing there is nothing she’s going to come up with that’s going to get drafted to my team.
I’m not claiming Rachel. #nopenopenope
I hope she puts that tube of self-tanner down and unleashes that sew-in and lives as I do, in her own skin, with some visits with a professional somewhere.
I am not here for Rachel Dolezal.
#girlbye
Talking about #Ferguson
Oy! My mind has been in a million places this week. Apologies for the mistaken title and reference.
_____________________
Hope and I were in a bit of a bubble for the last week and half or so. After I made the decision to say goodbye to The Furry One, I just kind of shut down. Truth be told I’m still kind of closed for business, but that’s for another post. We certainly were aware that Michael Brown was killed by a police officer. I was aware of the decline of Jefferson into a bit of chaos over the last week, but mentally and emotionally I was elsewhere. There was a lot of Disney Channel watching. There was a lot of Shark Week. There was little news watching, together anyway.
I would watch the news late at night. Read the news articles, watch videos, read blogs about Brown, his death, the frustrated, hurt and angry town besieged by tanks, snipers and a media circus. My heart hurt. My head hurt. I’d turn it off and return to my own grief. I’ve done this every day for 10 days.
Last night I told Hope we were going to watch Anderson 360 to.
Sigh. She whined. And then she started to watch. Then she started to wonder out loud and the questions came.
The questions she had. The commentary on race. How she described what she was hearing, thinking, seeing, believing. It’s disheartening. She deconstructed *everything.* I hardly know what to even say about it all.
The idea that somehow she has to be less threatening to others as a young black child…we talked about that. There was a lot of, “…and that’s why mom tells you to…” do something that is a tactic to be as non-threatening as possible. You have to earn the right to be completely authentic, delightfully and meaningfully confrontational and candid as a brown child. Not everyone will be comfortable with that you. These were difficult things I told her.
She hates the police. She sees them as the “system.” She’s always been very data-driven and evidence based, and Hope’s evidence says, most compellingly, that the system and all its players are not to be trusted. I wonder whether she will always have such distrust. I shudder at how she might react to being confronted by law enforcement. I cry when I think that she might be killed because of her lack of trust in those who are sworn to protect and serve.
Her anger, and mine, about an unarmed young man, just 5 years her senior, being shot in the street and left there for hours was palpable. I think she would march in the streets if she could. I would so be there with her.
I’ve been thinking about all the code-switching I’ve been trying to teach her. These lessons are second nature to me, but she questions me all the time about them. “But why do I have to….” “Because,” I reply, “You don’t want people thinking XX about you.” What I really mean is, you will find a lot of White people who think XX about you already, and you can’t give them any reason to keep believing that or worse: you need to make the White people around you feel comfortable.
Grammy has long told me this world is made for the comfort of a dominant few.
I don’t want to teach my kid to not like or trust any group of people. But I also have a responsibility to talk about and teach her ways to navigate in brown skin. I wish it wasn’t different, but it is. It’s a blessing to be privileged in so many ways, but to lack privilege in something so obvious as the color of our skin…
Sigh. It’s hard to discuss and explain to a 13 year old who’s only lived with me since January. I remember when she asked me months ago why was it ok to kill Black boys? It must be ok because it happens with alarming frequency followed by narratives that paint the kids as deserving of their plight and a killer walking away into the sunset. That’s what she sees. A lot of times that’s what I see.
I’ve been doing diversity work for more than a decade. I’m good at it too. But now, with my own kid, with her unique history…it’s a whole different ball game.
There’s so very much more I could stumble through on this topic in this space but I’m going to just have to leave this right here for the moment. There’s been another shooting in St. Louis.
Sigh. #JusticeforMikeBrown
AdoptiveBlackMom 