I wasn’t naive or historically ignorant enough to think, when Obama won the presidency in convincing fashion in 2008, that America had finally transcended racial matters. But I’ll admit being both naive and ignorant (in the literal sense) about the extent to which we still had to grapple with such idiocy, and almost two full decades later, I’m convinced we always will—it’s part of who we are, what we do, how we roll.
In hindsight, not only did Obama’s eight years in office not move us inexorably forward, it’s very possible that the very act of a black man being president (and a quite successful one, with minimal drama and no meaningful controversies) actually moved us backward, because backward people simply couldn’t tolerate such a situation. What this says about a not insignificant portion of our population is so infuriating and depressing it’s hard to know what to say.
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I could, without exerting myself in the slightest, think of hundreds (thousands, hundreds of thousands) of examples to illustrate the illogic, hypocrisy, and maddening double standards of American justice as it relates to black & white (not to mention male & female, or wealthy and poor, etc. and so on), but two always leap to mind: one, the Bundy Family “standoff” which resulted in exactly zero people being shot; two, the McCloskey clowns, who—of course—became right wing celebrities instead of spots on the cement. (Also, everything about this sociopathic crybaby who, of course, also became a right wing celebrity.)
That this slow motion murder, filmed for review, was even controversial, was capable of instantly becoming an us/them situation, offered irrefutable proof that America is many miles from a sane, egalitarian place as it relates to justice and race.
Shortly after the footage of this atrocity went viral, filled with rage and disbelief (which gradually, pitifully became a resigned belief, an acknowledgment that of course this was happening because of course), I wrote this poem in one burst. More than anything else I’ve ever shared on social media, this one received more attention in the form of shares, comments, overall engagement. This was encouraging only because it suggested an inflection point, the beginning of a movement, an opportunity to meaningfully engage.
Five years later, the same race-baiting buffoon is in office, and we narrowly refused to allow our first black female president an opportunity to lead us (because of course). Have we made any progress? Possibly. Have we, at least in some obvious ways, regressed? Undeniably.
What can we do?
The same as always: keep peacefully protesting, keep writing, keep talking, and mostly insisting on being disgusted by every outrage, never allowing this to be normalized. When we’re numb, we’ve lost everything.
I Can Breathe
Of course I can.
I’m white.
I can breathe.
I can also bear
arms with impunity,
vote in absentia or
in person. I can shop
without eyes—electronic
or human—clocking my
every move, I’m innocent
until proven guilty, if then.
And I can run, metaphorically,
from trouble or laws I break
(by accident or on purpose). I can,
because my wallet and my whiteness
protect me. Separate but equal my ass.
I can also run, literally, shirtless and sweating
down the center of town, or through neighborhoods,
(wearing a hoodie in front of hooded, huddled masses)
and know cops are there to serve and protect me.
Because the only white flight is fear, so we arm
men in blue (and white men wearing white) to
disappear—by any means necessary—the boogie men
we imagine and invent, on TV and in our minds.
I can breathe and I can smell and I can taste and
this scent is the charred flesh of better angels (Naturally)
who never had a chance, and all of this is by design.
I can breathe and I can talk and I can read and I Can’t
Believe we’re here again, and Hell, I don’t even know
the half of it, being white and ill-equipped to fathom
the fury and fear that suffocates (symbolically, sure,
but also in real time, right before our eyes, in living colors).
I can breathe and I can kneel and I can protest and I can even cry
like a baby, knowing a pacifier called The System will always have my back.
I can breathe and I can listen and I can figure out What’s Going On.
But I can’t sleep and I won’t stop and I will vote and I must swear
that we shouldn’t rest until the experiment we started centuries ago
is better than half-baked for more than half of the millions amongst us
who would love nothing more to breathe and to be, but until we’re all
kneeling in peace and in power everyone has to stand, no more excuses.
It’s not much, I admit, but as someone with more skin in the game once
said, there’s no peace until there’s justice. So while I’d prefer to sing a
happier song I’m going to holler these truths until there’s enough air
for all of us to breathe freely.
Finally.
05-30-20
