Rules of a Race

Few things sadden me more than seeing the very clear internal results of racism in this country. What I mean by internal results are those things that can be felt but not always seen. I am not speaking about poverty, data concerning the educational achievement gap or even the many pictures and video clips of victims of police brutality that float around the world wide web. Internal results are those things that can be felt like anxiety, depression, anger and fear all of which can be easily conjured up by the slightest hint of racism which beckons one’s own personal tragic experiences with the aforementioned traumatizing social construct to rise to the surface. I've seen it in the eyes of my family members when I tell them I'm going on a trip that involves me driving for long distances. There's a tremble in my mother's voice, a slight raise in my sister's eyebrows, or perhaps the heavy tone of concern in an uncle's words... "be careful", they say. It's a simple phrase that carries such heavy and complex fears. Be careful of the elements; be careful of thieves; be careful of possibly deceitful "friends"; be careful of the police. The very last of these cautionary instructions comes with a specific set of directions I have heard repeated like a pledge or a prayer: If you are ever stopped by the police place both of your hands on the stirring wheel, pull over calmly and do not move. Do not move. Do not reach for anything. Do not turn on your lights. Do not answer your phone. Do not move. When you are instructed to handover your license, registration and proof of insurance tell the officer where each of these things are located and ask him or her if it's okay if you get them before you reach for anything.

These are some of the rules that come along with being Black, male and paranoid in a country that has treated both your actual and fictive kin like second-class citizens and at many points not citizens at all and at other points not even human. Some may look at these elements of Black culture and perhaps think they're ridiculous. Perhaps at some point in my life even I didn't fully understand the need for these commonly shared do's and don'ts, but now at the age of 22, I fully understand the intentions of my elders. I have been taught how to use bread and a hook to catch fish, how to clean the home, how to wash, fold and properly iron clothes, and how to stay alive in a world filled with so many opportunities to be harmed. My elders and loved ones were not and are not unreasonably paranoid. They just can't erase, from their psyche, names such as Emmett Till, Rodney King, James Byrd, Abnder Louima, Amadou Diallo, or Sean Bell. As sad and incredibly depressing as it may be, my loved ones believe, and for great reasons, that if they are not careful to remind me of the rules my own name could make headlines as the innocent, slayed victim in yet another "misunderstanding" or "accident"...

This piece was originally published in December, 2009. Photo provided by thenewblackmagazine.com