Hide your wife, hide your kids

When my dad used to drop me off at school on Monday mornings, he’d kiss me goodbye and say, “Careful crossing the street, honey; the white people will use you as a speed bump!” I was twelve.

What the hell, right? It was a joke, clearly, but twelve-year-old me wasn’t up for understanding something so loaded and so ridiculous at 7:30am. I was busy hoping my pants were long enough and flared right, that my hair was in the right kind of messy bun, that people would think my necklace was cool instead of nerdy. I did not have time to suspect every white person at my Princeton University feeder school of racism.

Nor did I really care. I am pretty sure that throughout my childhood years I thought my father alternated between being insane and being a rock star who could do no wrong.

I learned to read with children’s books about the Underground Railroad, Malcolm X, Marcus Garvey, and Harriet Tubman. I had the black American Girl doll—she looked like me—and I ate peanut butter, which, I was always quick to point out, had been invented by a black man. I made my parents friendship bracelets with red, black, and green thread. I learned early on that my people were strong, proud, and brilliant, and that nothing could keep us down.

So I came from some pretty impressive stock. That was kinda cool. At some point, though, it occurred to me that I did not identify as a “black child.” I was just a freaking kid. Therefore, the white friends that I inevitably made at this prep school of glory were just kids too, and I saw no real point in qualifying each other.

I began to seethe when my father made jokes about white people. I had no idea what the hell he was talking about, and he went on and on about racists and not being able to trust white people and this and that, and I had this unrequited desire to call him out, loudly, for being racist himself. Somehow, it took me a while to understand that my own father had to carry bricks to school every day, because if he went unarmed, the white kids would beat him up for being black.

I think it was Gandhi who said, “An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.” Or whatever, maybe it wasn’t, but whoever said it had a valid point. Violence and hatred simply begets more violence and more hatred.

The crossing guard at the school where I evidently could have been used for traffic control is white. We’re Facebook friends now, some twenty years after we first met. We don’t have a hugely personal relationship, but we comment on each other’s pictures and wish each other happy birthday and the like. He always looked out for all of his kids at that school, and I was no exception to the rule. We all loved him, and he loved all of us genuinely and without bias.

After all those years of love, I’m now livid about some Facebook status he shared earlier today about a white guy on a scooter who got beat up by some “black Travyon crazed thugs…”:

…[T]he owner of a New Haven, Connecticut motorsports shop…was out test driving a moto scooter…when a mob of black Trayvon crazed thugs pulled him off of the scooter and beat him to a pulp.

He was so severely beaten by the racist thugs that he has no memory of the attack. Luckily there were witnesses and police are pursuing leads. Media is reporting the attackers as only ‘youths.’

Where is the outrage and 24-hour none [sic] stop coverage..of course there is none…we need to share it so people see the media bias.

(Chances of ‘hate crime’ charges – 0%.)

There’s a comment by the original author attached to it: “Help spread the word about what is really happening and who the racists really are.”

I have no idea if this is a real occurrence or not. I haven’t looked it up and I don’t plan to. But hear this: EVERYONE CHILL THE FUCK OUT.

It does not help to beat up random white people on scooters. It does not help to shoot a kid who probably was just getting a snack.

We still live in a racist country. Trayvon Martin is dead because of the color of his skin. God knows I’ve been glared at in Tennessee and have had assumptions made about me by TV stations and even rejected by boys, all because of the color of my skin. And, my brethren of the majority, I appreciate your empathy, and I’m glad most people know that this shit is wrong—but you don’t know what it means to have these things applied to you. You don’t. You’ve never had to. And you won’t ever. Not in this country. It's reserved for the oppressed.

But you know what? Our President is black, and so are our neighbors. And you know what else? Our other Presidents have been white, and so are our neighbors. We are black, white, queer, straight, Asian, Latino, women, men, bipolar, depressed, autistic, blind, deaf. None of us will ever go away.

There seem to be a few people pointing out various issues in the white community and complaining that the media is biased for not making a big deal out of them. I’ve seen a post circulating on Facebook about a white toddler who was killed in a convenience store robbery, and that post has the same complaint on it.

Let me explain something. Trayvon Martin literally was murdered for no reason other than he was black. Black men who kill white people for being white go to jail, or they die. (And frankly? If the justice system does it right all day every day, jail is fine by me. Murder is murder.) George Zimmerman got off scot-free. There was heavy-duty coverage on the case because this has been an ongoing problem. Because even though we did elect a black President, not much has changed. Because the justice system is still biased, not the media; God love the media for giving Trayvon what they could. Because we still think it’s okay to kill someone based on an assumption we made about him. Because some white people are still scared of people of color. Because some people of color are still scared of people of color. Because hundreds of years ago, someone made a terrible judgment call and decided it would be great to enslave a group of people he didn’t understand, and here we are today, doing the same damn thing. Hide your wife, hide your kids. Ain't nobody safe in this place.

We will not get anywhere if we do not stop drawing color lines and pointing fingers. Every crime like this is a crime solely fueled by hate. The problem is not solely the justice system. The problem is the people. ALL of us. It does not matter what color you are. You can still be judgmental, racist, and mean. Similarly, you can still be minding your own damn business in your crusty hoodie or on your lame scooter.

I had no intention of commenting on the Trayvon Martin/George Zimmerman issue, mostly because it just makes me angry. I also tried to stop myself from commenting on this woman’s post that our crossing guard shared, because that made me absolutely livid. (Bitch, you wanna point out who the “real racists” are, maybe you shouldn’t then be openly hoping that the black women in the picture with the scooter guy are mocking him, as your other comment so classily stated. Okay, I feel a little better now.) And I’m tired of hearing about all this, honestly, and I’m not entirely sure what me being disgruntled is going to do for it. I’m one weird little person who works from home in her underwear, inappropriately quotes Family Guy in serious situations, and is terrified of carpenter ants and small children. If this Daddy’s girl can’t change her father’s mind about white people, is she really going to change the minds of those she doesn’t know about black people, or anyone else, for that matter?

But I've reached my limit. I’m tired of the way everyone treats everyone else. People are just people. Fix the damage—fix the justice system, let’s maintain that “all men are created equal” thing—and let’s start moving on. I know all too well that it’s not that easy, but if we don’t move on? Our kids will grow up to be bigots. Our kids will get screamed at and kicked at and shot at. Our kids will go to jail for something they didn’t do, or they’ll get off for doing something terrible. And we will be right back where we started.

I’m pretty sure it’s okay to make fun of hippies though.

(I’m baaaack.)