Bullets Hitting Close To Home

I feel that I should start off by saying: I have not abandoned this blog. I have been suffering from a lack of inspiration and good ole writer’s block...amongst other things. Since the last blog entry, my life has changed considerably. From being diagnosed with a disorder to watching my grandfather die of liver cancer, my life seems to be a continuing saga of sorts. But alas, in all of my drama and despair, I have found a topic that I have an urgent need to discuss: black men and the police.

I do not want to beat a dead horse. I think, by now, everyone has weighed in on the tumultuous relationship that exists between the black community and law enforcement. This week, we all were reminded once more of this facet of black life when the murderer of Oscar Grant, Johannes Mehserle, was found guilty of involuntary manslaughter. Grant was shot in the back by Mehserle on New Year’s Day 2009, as he laid face down and handcuffed on a passenger platform at a BART station in Oakland, California.

Soon after the verdict was read, many wondered if Oakland would have any riots that would be similar to those from the early 90s. I find it preposterous to think that anyone would support the destruction of any community, but than again people do love drama at any expense. As I sat back in my chair pondering the absurdity of the conclusion of the trial, a profound sadness touched me. My melancholy emerged from the realization that I may too one day know an Oscar Grant. The funny thing about life is that a tragedy only remains thus for a certain amount of time. After a number of tears are shed, a few heart-felt words are spoken; everyone moves on with their lives and forgets. But, I know that I cannot and should not forget this trial as I have the others for one simple reason: My life is littered with black men.

From my father to my ex-boyfriends, I am so honored to say that I know masculine, intelligent, cultured, brave, and loving black men of all hues. But being all of these wonderful things does not protect any black man from the bullets and torture of an officer. Who is to say that one day one of the men that I love and admire will not join the names of Oscar Grant, Abner Louima, and Amadou Diallo as one of the countless numbers of black men who have lost their lives to senseless violence perpetuated by law enforcement? The fact that a community has to live in fear of those who take an oath to protect and serve is not some great plot in a crime/thriller novel, it is my reality and the reality of millions of blacks across this country.

I currently live with one of my brothers. He is 12 yrs old, quiet, well-mannered, and artistic. I marvel at the way he is slowly leaving his childhood to enter his manhood. But, as pristine as it may look and sound, I know the dangers of what it means to be a black man in America. Since the Grant trial has come to a close, I find myself looking for words to explain to him the potential dangers that exist simply because of his gender and race. I search to no avail. How do you tell a 12 yr old that he must be wary of those in uniform, because to them all he may appear to be is a stereotype…a statistic? I don’t want to scare him, but I also don’t want him to be naive. I don’t know how or when I will approach him with this horrifying talk. But I know it better be soon rather than later, because too many of our beautiful black brothers are being remembered for the way they died, rather than for the way they lived.


Pic via theblackcouple.com

"...But You Don't Look Haitian??"

First things first: I am a second-generation Haitian-American. Whenever I have expressed my ethnicity to non-Haitians, I have usually been met with the sentiment, “…but you don’t look Haitian.” Looking Haitian…What is that? I find it so demeaning that years of Western propaganda has brainwashed many in America as well as other countries throughout the World to believe that there is such a thing as “looking Haitian.” When I was younger, I never understood what people meant by such a statement. When I would demand an explanation they usually pointed to my hair and say something along the lines of, “you have good hair, Haitians don’t have good hair.” And even with such detailed answers, I still felt disrespected, but I was too young back then to understand the politics of colorism much less Black Hair.

As I have gotten older, I’ve realized that “looking Haitian” carries heavier connotations than just colorism. It carries connotations of extreme poverty, backwardness, and of course everyone’s favorite stigma: Voodoo. I cannot in one post destroy every stereotype that has been built against my ancestral home. It’s preposterous to think I’d be able to demolish almost 206 years of indoctrination in a one thousand word post. But, I will say that I am very proud of my country. Haitians are a proud people with a beautiful legacy of pride, culture, and revolutionary spirit. We have a history that exudes Black Nationalist ideologies way before the eras of Malcolm X and Huey P. Newton. And although recent events like the Earthquake and rising dissent against the government are threatening the stability of the Western Hemisphere’s first Black Republic, I am certain that the country will rise from the ashes, like a phoenix, to reclaim its title as the Pearl of the Antilles.

And it is with one of our pearls that we will display the beauty of our nation in the next Miss Universe contest. It has been reported this week that Haiti will enter its own contestant into the competition. Although, it has been almost three decades since Haiti enrolled one of its daughters into the pageant, the country has a profound history within the organization. In 1962, Miss Haiti, Evelyn Miot, became the first black woman to make it into the semi-finals.

Saroj Bertin is the woman who has been chosen to be Miss Haiti. And I must say she is stunning! Bertin hails from the capital, Port-au-Prince, and is a lawyer. She is no stranger to the pageant circuit, having represented Haiti in Miss Intercontinental 2005. She seems to be the complete package: beauty and brains. And, I know that I will join my countrymen (and women) in Haiti and the Diaspora the night Saroj Bertin sashays onto the world stage to be one of the ambassadors of our beloved country.

The return of Haiti back onto the world stage in the Miss Universe contest will re-ignite a confidence not only into Haitian adults, but particularly Haitian children as well. I know that I am neither the first nor the last Haitian-American to be disrespected with “but you don’t look Haitian” sentiments. For many Haitian children, seeing Bertin compete with other nations will be the first time that they will have ever witnesses their country treated with such respect in the media. I am smart enough to know that the hope and future of the Haitian people all over the world do not lie solely on the shoulders of Saroj Bertin. But, I am hoping that with these few steps forward, Haitians can become constructors of what it means to “look Haitian.”