Screaming Into the Wind

Welcome back, have a seat. I’d like to start today’s blog with a little anecdote. Before I start, some background on the area I live in. This subdivision is a hodge-podge of houses built between 1904 and around 1965 or so. It used to be a part of East St. Louis. If you are unfamiliar with the tragic past of East St. Louis, I highly recommend you go down that rabbit hole. One subdivision over is the first planned subdivision in my city (yes this makes me easy to find, if you are that invested, please seek help). There is a very interesting blog, written by one of the Durbins about growing up in this area in the 1960’s. The white flight phenomenon which caused the growth of this city, and the dangers of being outspoken about civil rights. 

When my daughter was still stroller age, I took her out for a walk in our neighborhood, a place I’ve walked hundreds of times. Many of these houses are still occupied by the original owners or their families. As I walked my old familiar route, I turned a corner and was smacked in the face, not quite literally, by a large, brand new confederate flag waving in the breeze. My heart dropped into my intestines, I could feel tears coming. I froze, then let out a very lady like “what the fuck”, before turning and running home as fast as my non runner legs could take me. 

You may think I’m overreacted, but I assure you, I did not. When someone like myself, and by that I mean those of us who are brown or black, sees that abomination so proudly displayed, what are we supposed to think? Either you’re a racist and proud of it, or you’re a member of the equally racist but ashamed to admit it and incredibly backwards “Heritage Not Hate” group. I remind you I’m in Illinois, so if the second option is the case, so much for the Land of Lincoln.

It is a sign that we are not welcome, we are not accepted, and that there are people who still think of us as inferior. Imagine living everyday like that? Imagine putting on your shoes and going outside for a jog, and some hillbilly with an agenda thinks that now is a great time to go on a nigger hunt.

Did that word shock you? Did it offend you? Good. Be offended, but be more offended by the senseless deaths, and mistreatment, and the ignorance, and the intolerance that are still very much a part of this country. People are dying, and somehow “well he shoplifted once” makes it okay. It is not okay! 

Imagine being scared on some level everyday. Imagine being told that you need to be extra respectful to people who sure the hell aren’t respectful to you, because to be angry, or upset, or anything more than subservient is a death sentence.

I’m lucky that since I am , as I have stated before, ethnically ambiguous. I don’t have to worry like my brother and cousins have to worry. My wonderful family who are teachers, and chefs, and psychologists, and wonderful loving parents, who will always be classified first as black in some people’s minds. 

My son was born shortly before Trayvon Martin was killed for walking while black. I cried for his mother, and cried because I was so thankful that my son came out light skinned and I would never have to worry the way some mothers have to worry when their sons are older, and now somehow a “threat” to people who see a threat in a person going about their day.

My dad loves his grandkids. He loves to take them to the park, and fill them with candy and juice before he brings them back to me, extra hyper. I worry about my dad. I worry that some self styled “hero” is going to decide that my dad doesn’t match his blonde granddaughter and act as judge and jury. If I pull my daughters hair back a certain way, it’s more obvious that shes mixed, and more obvious that she looks like her brother, who is culturally ambiguous like I am. 

Someone is thinking, “well why not go with them? You can’t be that worried”. Yes I am that worried, but I refuse to allow my children’s relationship with their grandfather to be a sacrifice to people’s intolerance. So I let them go and I worry. 

I feel a little defeated writing this today. The people who need to hear it, who need the lesson, will continue to be silent, or blind. The people who live it, have been shouting until their throats are bloody and they still can’t be heard. I suppose I’ll end with a question. Is this where it ends? Is this the best, we as humans can do? 

Until next time. May your Earl Grey always be hot. Today mine seems to be a little cold.