Story

“There aren’t as many of them, maybe it’s because their culture doesn’t value education and the arts.”

“We had 6, but they graduated.”

“I just don’t know any.”

Do you know what it feels like to sit in conversations where people that claim to support you write you off in front of your very eyes?

As many of us are engaging with each other to validate and question the Black Lives Matter movement, I commented on a post from a man who was “really trying to understand why this person is considered racist,” and implored his friends to “keep it civil.” I explained my perspective: one person doesn’t have the right to impose their will on anyone, and the very approach is a privilege that not all of us have, whether they know it or not. In fact, it potentially puts the lives of others in danger.

“Isn’t that judgmental of you.”

“You’re saying it’s ok to stereotype white people.”

“Why is race immediately dragged into it?”

This is civil in America.

I felt like I had taken a gut punch, and skulked away from the conversation. I’m used to being ignored and talked down to: I don’t exactly look like an everyday CEO. Still, in that moment, I could feel the shame and embarrassment of memories of angry white men and women putting me in my place. These voices mostly come from my childhood in Texas, but if I’m honest with myself, they’re everywhere in my story.

“Don’t you dare talk to my boys, you cockroach.”

“Maybe you ought to go back to Mexico if you can’t behave yourself, we are good Christians.”

“We don’t usually have people like you here.”

Imagine a Texan accent when you read those quotes. In fact, imagine any American accent, because someone in this country is probably saying that to someone else right now.

“If you think you’re going to have a career, you have to dress more masculine.”

“I don’t want to hear you or see you while you’re here.”

“The line for the vending and cleaning staff is outside: this entrance is for musicians.”

“Oh, do you think how you play really matters?”

“I would quit if I were you.”

Most of these words come from people that don’t know me, but so many come from people that say they like me, they believe in me, or at least that’s what they say. I’m tired of telling myself that I should or shouldn’t have done or said something. I’m so tired of carrying around shame in my throat and in the pit of my stomach. I’m so tired of being angry at everything, now and in the past, and assuming that my future will be the same.

And this is just a fraction of what my black fellow humans feel every day.

So when I was out for a walk and saw a protest, I joined them and held my head down, and my fist in the air.

I listened to their stories, past and present, and held that shame in my throat.

I stayed until the very end, and listened to a woman rage at the wall of cops that were snickering as she yelled herself hoarse into a megaphone.

No, this moment isn’t about me, it’s about all of us. We all experience these stories, have heard some version of these quotes in our own lives, but most of us don’t fear for our lives when we see police, or feel fear when we can see rage in someone’s eyes as they yell in our faces, their hot saliva hitting your face, and stinging from the shame of it. And if we don’t know this feeling, we certainly know now that it happens to our fellow black humans every single day.

Some people live with that feeling 24 hours a day. It’s like swallowing solitary confinement. Now that we are aware, silence is complacency.

My children have a white father. They have his last name, and I am glad that their childhoods won’t look anything like mine. They will grow up in a city that accepts them for who they are, and will receive the optimism for their futures that they deserve.

But I kept my last name because, despite it all, I refuse to erase these stories. They have to count for something better for someone else, maybe for everyone else.

“You radiate love and kindness.”

“You are wonderful and important.”

“I see you and I appreciate you.”

“You are a musical poet.”

All spoken to me by black women and men, at times when I really needed to hear some kind words.

#BlackLivesMatter