do all lives matter?


i’m not sure that’s ever been the argument.

yet somehow that’s the debate we are having now.

we have such a dualistic mindset in our culture. it’s either A or B… nevermind that C might be our best option. And if we say C is the best option, it must be because we hate A and B.

so silly.

but let’s talk about lives. black lives. tell me, why is it so difficult for some to admit that they matter? why must the counteraction be… “yea well all lives matter!”?

we know that.

 we know that blue lives matter. it’s not against some rule to believe in the necessity of police officers. it’s not against some law of humanity to believe that those who have sworn to protect the peace, are actually capable of protecting that peace. i believe it, i know it happens and can continue to happen. saying that black lives matter does not and never has negated any of this.

the insistence upon stating that all lives matter is fine. if in fact there was an argument against the sanctity of all lives. the concept that black lives matter is meant to be inclusive of black lives into all lives, not in spite of all lives.

#blacklivesmatter is a movement calling for dignity and respect for black people. the refusal to acknowledge this is why such a movement is necessary. i was on the fence regarding this movement for awhile. not because i thought it was racist, as some have claimed. i was just not educated enough to make a decision one way or another.

but i started to wonder. why is it so hard just to acknowledge that black people deserve dignity and respect and most importantly, the right to fair justice? yes, there is much that should be done to curtail black on black violence. of course. there is much to be done about white on white violence. there is much to be done about violence. it is okay to acknowledge that black lives matter in a manner that is inclusive of all races, not exclusive of others. it is okay to state that those killed by police deserve justice, including black lives, not just black lives.

i’ve grown tired of all the back and forth, of the finger pointing and name calling. it’s a tired tradition to suggest “my way is better than your way”. as if there are only two ways to begin with. it’s foolish to make decisions without knowledge and scary to lay a belief system upon a set of untrue narratives.

do all lives matter? of course they do. all walks of life matter. the poor and uneducated lives matter. the sick and weak lives matter. the uninsured lives matter. the homeless lives matter. the single mother’s lives matter. the prostitute’s lives matter. the transgendered lives matter. #alllivesmatter shouldn’t be a convenient hashtag because you don’t like the narrative you see on social media. if all lives truly matter, why is there such vitriol against so many lives? why so much hatred and name calling against people who don’t look and sound like us? why is there so much angst against those who don’t make as much money as we do? don’t tell me all lives matter, and then fight to keep even a portion of lives out of our country. don’t tell me that all lives matter if you don’t think all lives deserve health care. don’t say that all lives matter if you think everyone in this country should speak the same language as you.

if all lives matter… act like it.

if all lives matter, don’t live an exclusive lifestyle.

if all lives matter, why are we so willing to fight wars and send teenagers to solitary confinement?

of course, all lives matter. so do black lives. that’s the point. black lives don’t matter more than other lives. as a black man, i just want to be acknowledged that my life matters. i sincerely do not believe that my request is too large.


no more silence.

being silent really hasn’t worked.

i took another break from writing the past few months because, silly as it sounds, i felt a little too worked up to write coherently.

funny thing is, now i’m mad as hell and i can’t help but write. if you aren’t mad as hell, then maybe you should just exit this post now.

for perspective as a black man, i’ve lived in predominately white culture my entire life. honestly, i’m pretty comfortable in this culture, because it’s all i know. i’ve gotten used to the way white people live. i’ve gotten used to how white, middle class people live.

i’ve gotten used to the comments and innuendos and the “i’m not racist… but…” type jokes. i’ve gotten used to people telling me that i’m too smart to be black, that i talk really well for a black man. i’ve been called nigger while walking down the street with my white wife. i’ve gotten used to people pointing out the color of my skin like i had a band-aid on my forehead. i’ve always thought… whatever, people are just dumb and moved on with my life because i know that i’m better than that or them. i have never had time to engage in ignorance.

i can sense the tide shifting.

it’s not just that i now have an infant daughter. it’s not just that i’m devastated to have to come to terms with reality that the world she will grow up in will not be much better than the world i grew up in. although that plays a huge part in my furious anger.

it’s more than that.

it’s that being silent doesn’t work anymore.

how can i be silent when police can execute civilians out of fear and without basis? how can i be silent when a simple traffic stop turns into murder in front of a four year old girl? how can i be silent when a man’s life is taken from him while screaming that he cannot breathe?

how can i be silent when the very same fears i have had, my daughter will most likely live with too?

 here’s the problem. i see a lot of white people saying, “let’s not jump to conclusions just yet.” that’s easy and convenient to say, but that simply doesn’t work today. i’ve lived in fear of “being black in the wrong place” my entire life. because of the events we continue to witness, my daughter may feel the same fears, and that just isn’t okay.

this is not an attack on white people. what it is an attack on is the culture that allows pervasive racism to continue. it’s an attack on the culture that is outraged by the death of a gorilla and cecil the lion (which i’m upset by too as an animal lover) but turns victims of violent police murders into the criminals by broadcasting prior records as if that has much to do with the actual incident. it’s an attack on the attitudes that have developed into saying “well, they must have done something wrong” to deserve being executed in the streets.

it’s an attack on a “justice’ system that time and time again fails to recognize that these acts are crimes. these are murders. yes, we know that these are murders by “bad apples”. we know that there are good cops. i know good cops. it doesn’t, however, excuse behavior. it doesn’t change the fact that men and women die at the hands of these “bad apples” without repercussions.

it no longer is an option to remain calm and keep quiet. it no longer is an option to look the other way and hope it all settles down one day.

being silent doesn’t work anymore.

it’s time to talk

this page is like a blank canvas. i get to say whatever i want. i don’t know if very many people read what i write and that’s fine. it’s a therapy, it’s a hobby and it’s a tiny little forum for me. maybe a soapbox.

i don’t write often, not these days. not because there isn’t enough to say. i don’t write as much as i used to because i’ve been struggling for the right words. as a writer, this is a terrible feeling. to have so many thoughts and not enough words to describe them. what sucks is that a lot of times, i find myself writing when terror strikes. it sucks a lot.  it sucks to me that 1) terror strikes and 2) that’s when i find my voice.

i’m writing this because a friend of mine posted on her social media about the need for discussion in this country about racism. suddenly i started to think about what i had to say about the issue. i have a lot to say about it.

we all should have a lot to say about it.

here’s the thing… racism is bullshit. i don’t know if i can say it any clearer. and it makes me angry. and it should make you angry. i should be able to drop the mic and end this post right now. what else really needs to be said right? but there is more.

what happened in charleston this past week was terror. pure terrorism. and it’s time to talk.

these events keep happening. why? because these are madmen? because these are crazy people who are just an abscess to society? or is the subtle tone of racism in our country becoming a little less subtle everyday?

the talk should not be about mental illness. the concept that only mentally ill people can walk into a church and shoot black people because “you rape our women… you have to go” is a lie. racism pervades our society and it’s not a mental illness. it might be a sickness, but sweeping these types of acts under the rug as “oh he’s crazy” is shallow and wrong.

we’ve got to start having real conversations about this.

i remember when i was probably in first or second grade, kids calling me names on the school bus, making fun of my skin color.  i was the only black kid on the school bus. i was also the only black kid in the school. and the neighborhood, and the town. i was different than what the other kids knew. i grew up in very white america. and that’s okay. i have fond memories of my childhood. i also have very painful and disturbing memories. but i learned to bury the painful parts. i learned to just tolerate it.

but that’s what we do. we tolerate. if we don’t like someone, we tolerate them. we don’t learn anything about them or get to know the backstory. every person has a story. we just don’t take the time to learn it. we do what we have to do to not let them infringe upon us. we don’t learn to love. we learn how to not hate, because well… hate’s a strong word. strongly disliking is acceptable.

this is my least favorite topic to discuss. i’ve always resisted this conversation. it’s a painful reminder of the struggles that so many people have had to endure for so long. i’ve experienced racism for as long as i have memories. some subtle, some blatant. i’ve experienced racism disguised as compliments, “you are pretty smart… for a black kid”, i’ve endured racism as stupid jokes “how high can you jump?”, “can you teach me ebonics?” i’ve had to answer the question, “yes i like fried chicken and watermelon and kool-aid! who the hell doesn’t?”  i’ve experienced racism as a threat to my safety and i’ve been called a nigger. as recently as 2013.

 so i don’t like talking about racism. i don’t like having to discuss my fear of being in the wrong place at the wrong time and being mis-identified by police.  do you know how terrifying it can be to always have people tell me they thought they saw me somewhere that i wasn’t? i’ve had that fear since i was about 8 years old. don’t tell me it’s not a real fear.

but what does not talking about it do? ignorance and silence gives license to these kinds of hate and builds deeper fears. we may not murder because of our hatred, but it doesn’t mean it isn’t deadly. i used to think that talking about it and writing about it only gave voice and attention to the worst of society. i used to ignore it. when people would say, “James, you aren’t really black” or “James, you are the whitest black person i know”, i used to blow it off. because all of my white friends in white america were such experts on black culture. they even meant it as a compliment, that’s the amazingly sad part. it was racism in it’s subtlest forms and i knew they didn’t even realize how wrong they were. the concept of a black person speaking clearly and having intelligence was foreign to them. i was never really angry then, i was just sad for them. ignorance is a sad and lonely trait to carry. but the thing is, by me not addressing it, i was giving license to ignorance. not every black man listens solely to rap music and has a low IQ. but my white friends were stunned when i could form a sentence using proper grammar and my favorite band is U2. why is that? who set that up as a thought?

one of the saddest things i’ve read about the charleston case is the comments by the killer’s roommates. they’ve said he would make comments about black people, how he thought that black people were “bringing down the white race”. they said he wanted to escalate a race war. yet they said they didn’t take him seriously. really? they thought he was joking. really? we’ve got to start having conversations about this. it’s time to talk.

so where are we? maybe the question is, who are we? who am i? me, i am a black man. does that change anything for you? what is the first thing that comes to mind? what do you fear? why do you fear? where does that fear come from? there are many questions, probably more than answers. that’s okay too. we cannot live in fear any longer. fear of what others think, fear of each other, we have to start somewhere. the best starting point, i believe, is to start with ourselves.

it’s not just that black lives matter. all lives matter. we have to find a way to treat each other with the common respect and decency we crave for ourselves. it isn’t enough for us to tolerate, we have to come together. there has to be more. we have to learn to love our differences. that’s what makes us real. that’s what makes us the human race, our differences. not our similarities.