Monthly Archives: August 2015

Black Lives Don’t Matter

Posted by Cleo on

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I remember back in 2007 when I was working with the Alabama Department of Juvenile Justice. That was when I really understood police brutality and how it affected young, black men. I was green, hardly any street sense, but I had a passion for working with youth. I tried to be someone they could talk to but it often weighted on me heavily. I would bring work home a lot.

One day I was talking to a group of students during rec time about staying out of trouble when they got out. I suggested calling the police instead of always resulting to street justice. I thought I was teaching them but they ended up teaching me. One kid stopped me and said, “Miss A, how can you expect me to call the same police that had my face in the dirt just for walking down the sidewalk…. to come help me?”

I paused and gasp. At that point I had never personally had a bad experience with the police. The ones I knew were helpful and just did their jobs, but the tears begin to flow as they told me story after story of fear, pain, and total disregard for human life. How even as little kids they experienced police brutality doing simple things like walking home from the park or from a friend’s house. My heart broke for them.

I lied to them. Not on purpose. But I told them that when they got older and could afford to move out of those bad neighborhoods, they wouldn’t have to experience that anymore. I told them to get their education, learn their rights, etc…..bullshit respectability. As I look around today, I know that none of that works. Your educational or economic status shouldn’t determine your right to fair treatment. How you dress, how well you speak, the neighborhood you reside in, nor the color of your skin should make a difference in your rights. Everyday I get proved wrong just how those boys proved me wrong back then.

You don’t know sadness til you hear a 16 yr old black child cry about feeling worthless to the world when his life has barely started. When he thinks he will die in violence no matter what he chose to do in life. What the hell do we really tell these kids?! I don’t think I know anymore but I refuse to lie to them again…

Sad

Posted by Cleo on

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Sometimes when I am up late at night, I cry about how divided we are, how no matter how hard we try as men; as women; as black, white, Hispanic, etc., as Christians, Muslims…. its more people out there against you than with you. Characteristics like being nice, loyal, open, friendly makes you a clearly outlined, targeted to be the world’s victim. We are living in a time when we expect to receive the worst from people. Every where I look I see hurt, wounded people with open wounds inflicted on them, not by strangers, but mostly people they held dear to their hearts. I see a nation of people suffering from post traumatic stress disorder from just gaining knowledge about the world.

As a black woman, everything about me is politicized: my hair, my womb, my weight, my skin, my choices, my voice, who I love…. I work, I fight, I speak, I live, I write so that one day some little black girl can wake up and the only worries about her hair is how she chose to style it; her womb, preventing cancer; her weight, being healthy; her skin, stopping pimples, her choices, making those that are best for her; her voice, being heard; and her love, being reciprocated.

As a human, I don’t want to have to change or reduce who I am to please the masses and I don’t want anyone else to either. Within the light source that I cast into the darkness, I create a safe space for openness, love, trust, vulnerability, emotions, sadness….