The Sean Bell Case
It is an all too familiar story: a young black man loses his life at the hands of a seemingly trigger-happy police officer, likely from the city of New York. What makes this case stand out, among other things, was something that even the NYC mayor termed "excessive": 50 shots, 31 of which were issued from one police officer, who actually stopped and reloaded his weapon during the course of those firings.
When all was said and done, one man was left dead hours before his wedding to his high school sweetheart and the mother of his two young children. His friend was face down on the ground, screaming in pain with a bloodstreaked face as he was arrested. Another friend was taken to the hospital with upwards of 11 bullets in his body only to later be handcuffed to his hospital bed, as if he were really a flight risk. These two men survived, facing years of physical (and possibly mental) therapy and, for one of them, a number of bullets still lodged in his body.
And it was likely those images & ideas that led a grand jury in Queens last week to indict three of the five cops involved in the aforementioned shooting of Sean Bell, handing out charges of 1st degree manslaughter to two of the cops and reckless endangerment to a third. Today, the accused surrendered, all entering pleas of not guilty. The manslaughter charge implies that the detectives had some sort of intent when the shooting occurred and requires jail time if the policemen are convicted, up to a maximum sentence of 25 years.
For the last four months, arguments and accusations have flown back and forth between the NYPD, its respective union, the family & friends of Bell, his friends Joseph Guzman and Trent Benefield, various sectors of the black community and others. And there’s no doubt that the debate will rage on over police protocol, over the alleged criminal records of the victims, if racism played a part, whether the charges were sufficient, the presence of a fourth man (no way) and so on.
But there is one theme that seems to keep recurring, that of training. How police are trained, what they are trained to do, why they are trained in a certain manner. Quite frankly, I think the time has long passed to talk about training – because, as one gentlemen pointed out, if it was only about training, these types of shootings would be happening in all neighborhoods, not just the black ones. And let’s be clear, these incidents happen almost exclusively in the black community.
Training is something you do for a new pet, to keep them from soiling your carpet. You train a child to write with his/her left or right hand. Many people train themselves to get up & exercise before work when all they really want to do is stay snuggled up under the covers.
Training, however, can lapse. Indeed, depending on the circumstance, certain situations can cause you to forget all training. One's mindset, on the other hand, is ingrained, is a part of you. You carry it with you day in and day out. It shapes who you are, positively or negatively, and can be quite hard to unlearn.
So when you see a black man, what is your mindset? In that split second before he opens his mouth, before he extends his hand to shake yours or smiles and says ’hello’, what is your brain saying? Do you see a fully formed, flesh and blood human, who is trying to make it in life just like you? Or do you instead conjure up some of the more prevalent images of black men that exist today, the ones of deadbeat fathers, of cracked-out, unemployed bums or of gun-toting criminals?
I think it is safe to say that the stereotypes of black men have affected and infected the mindset of a large segment of our population, including the police. That image of the thugged and blinged out, sneering black man makes it easy for others to forget – or IGNORE - that black men and the larger black community are a multi-faceted, multi-talented group of people. That negative image becomes the standard by which many black men are measured, rightly or wrongly.
That image is the one many Americans carry in their heads when they see our black fathers, brothers, boyfriends, cousins and sons heading in their direction. It makes little old ladies clutch their purses a little tighter, young women cross to the other side of the street and cab drivers refuse service, saying they aren’t going uptown, downtown or crosstown.
That image makes it hard for the some to see the suit and tie clad brother who just came from closing a big deal on Wall Street.
That image makes it difficult for others to see the young brother who takes two buses and a train to get to school, in the hopes of earning his high school and then college degrees, so he can come back to help his mother and his community.
That image makes it impossible for still others to see the young professional mentoring youth in his neighborhood, trying to set them on the right path.
And too often, that image is internalized by our young men as something to aspire to. Hey, if 50 Cent can be shot nine times, survive and go on to sell hit records rapping about it, why can’t I? Well, the reality is 50 is traveling around with serious security, a bullet proof vest for himself AND his young son (?!) and starting beefs with anyone he can, keeping up the drama that has become his life. His is not a normal world and my guess is it isn't the kind of world that any mother would want her child to inhabit.
So given what I have said, you may be wondering if I think Sean Bell, Joseph Guzman and Trent Benefield were in any way responsible for what happened to them that night. And my answer is a loud and resounding NO. Shooting anyone 50 times is beyond comprehension, defies any and all logic; you don’t treat an animal that way. So many times, criminals are held up as an example of what is wrong with society and are punished to serve as an example to others. These officers must be held up as an example of what has gone horribly wrong, for much too long, in our law enforcement community. Justice must be served.
As a people, however, African Americans need to start recognizing and rejecting the b/s being sold on our behalf and with our consent, our blessing & even our support. The one-sided stories being told about how we live, how we love, how we succeed, how we fail. It is time to change OUR mindset, reclaim our voice and learn to control the message instead of letting the message control us and subsequently dictate how our lives will play out, with some ending tragically like Sean Bell’s.
At the NAACP Image Awards a few weeks ago, comedian Chris Tucker gave an introduction of his friend and NAACP honoree Bono, the frontman for the band U2. Tucker commented on Bono's unrelenting efforts on behalf of Africa's poor, noting in his trademark high-pitched voice that Bono "ain't even Black" and saying that black people need to get it together. His remarks drew laughter, but his call was a serious one: black people, we need to get it together.
Don’t let Sean Bell’s death and the deaths of so many other unnamed black men and women be in vain. We can’t wait for another tragedy to take place before we 1) demand better from our civil servants and 2) demand better from each other. Because at some point, we have to take a good, hard look at ourselves and what behaviors we can change. Martin, Fannie Lou, Malcolm, Rosa, Medgar and many others did not fight so hard for us to fall so far.
We need to start valuing ourselves and each other. And we need start showing the police, the corporations, the politicians, the nation and the world that we can not and will not be treated like this any longer.
Enough is enough. 50 shots is enough.
The Mouse Chronicles, Pt. II
For those of you out of the loop, Mouse Chronicles pt. I happened almost three years ago, when my beloved cat Titan woke me up around 230am -- by dropping a live mouse she'd caught onto my bedspread. Hilarity ensued (well, it's hilarious looking back on it) as well as a huge vet bill. Read on for the 2K7 version...and Happy New Year!About 6 hours ago, I was awakened by a loud thumping noise. Alarmed, I jumped out of bed and turned on the lights. I found my cat basically inhaling my shoes with her tail a-twitchin' as she went from pair to pair, then under my bed, around my computer -- ending at my dresser, which seemed to generate an unusually high interest for her.I feared the worst, because Titan is only in hunter's mode when she sees something moving that she knows shouldn't be here, ie. bugs and/or mice. So I looked alongside my dresser, where she had wedged herself in the narrow alley between it and my wall. Everything looked ok, there was the cord for my bootleg cable, the area is clean since I just swept it out...wait, WHAT is that thin grey line???Attempting to remain calm, I reached for my glasses, leaned in for a closer look and found...OMG, IT'S A TAIL!!! A TAIL IS STICKING OUT FROM MY DRESSER AND MY CAT IS ABOUT TO JUMP ON IT!!! Now, one of my New Year's goals (I don't make resolutions) is to stop cursing. So I won't write what I was thinking at the time but it goes a little something like this: ##$#&*%#$$!#$$. Oh and this, too: *#$&&^!@###.So I did what any normal, scared of mice chick would do in her time of need, that time being 3:13 in the a.m.: promptly called my childhood friend (who lives next door), threw on my robe, grabbed my cat, blanket and pillow and got the heck out of there! Having been visited by mice in recent months herself, she was quite sympathetic to me and pulled out her trundle bed for me and Titan to sleep on.As I settled in for the night, the main thought running through my mind was 'WTF is up with these New York mice?! Have they targeted my studio?? And I have been on a cleansing diet, trying to get fit for the New Year; once again, there is really no food here for them to eat. I cooked a soy burger last night, which was my first real meal in about 4 days. Are mice going vegan and forgot to tell me? 'Cause maybe I should take a nutritional survey so I'll know what to do to prevent them from coming back!Previously, an exterminator told me that mice tend to have set travel patterns, ie. they stick to the baseboards because they have poor eyesight. Now I guess that held true in my apartment in 2004 B.C. (Before Cat), but I have also seen mice literally leaping across my floor - front paws in the air - with joy. And if this one was near my shoes, ick, then maybe the (one) blind mice theory isn't always the case. And why the hell was I thinking about this at 5am when I should have been getting some sleep? ARGHTitan didn't really understand our impromptu sleepover so she had some troubles adjusting. I thought 'Hey, I am with you on that one Titan...I'd give anything to be back in my full size bed instead of sharing this trundle with you. But we gotta do what we gotta do -- cause Mama doesn't have $1,000 to give to the vet this time.' So I lay there, as my cat curled up against me, alternatively sniffing my face and grooming herself. Cats stay fly no matter what happens. For a moment, I thought that, given Titan was likely sniffing a mouse only a few moments ago, being nose-to-nose with her probably wasn't the best idea. But instead, I enjoyed it as a comforting reminder of what a normal night's sleep is like.Cause tomorrow? Oh, it's ON like popcorn! Mice, be damned!(and let the countdown to Miss E's move OUT of NYC begin...)
To Insure Prompt Service
"OH GOD! ONLY A DOLLAR!" (growl of disgust, back turns)
Half an hour earlier, somwhere in Gotham...
After the hectic holidays, I decided to give myself a present today: a mani/pedi at a local nail salons. Just $19.99 gives hands and feet a nice little treat...and gives me a moment to relax and forget the frenzied environs of New York.
I slid off my shoes and sank into the chair, propping my tired feet up on the little post. I could only imagine the thoughts running through my nail technician's mind as she removed the worn out polish...but, hey, I am sure she has seen feet in worse shape than mine. And at least my toes are cute (well, they are since the surgery. But that's another story).
This is great and so overdue, I thought to myself. Callouses, be gone! In a few moments, my toes are going to be in tip-top shape. And then ole boy won't know what hit him when he gives me that foot rub later. Ima just sit back and....HEY! IS SHE DONE ALREADY?!!
I opened my eyes to see the aforementioned nail technician slipping my tootises into the little paper slippers and bending over to grab my bag and shoes, which she would soon drop at her station. My daydream interrupted, I followed her, sat down and held out my hands to complete my day's beauty. Before finishing my manicure - and as customary in most nail salons - she handed me the bill, so that I could pay ahead and thereby sidestep - no pun intended - any immediate chances of ruining her handiwork. I complied, leaving her a small tip. After all, the service wasn't remarkable so no need to get carried away with the gratuity, right?
Well, my theory takes us to the beginning of today's entry ..as well as the title of it, which is the acronym TIPS. When I was growing up, my dad told me that TIPS stands for To Insure Prompt Service. I would like to put a little 2K6/7 twist on it and say the P should be revised to Proper Service. Proper service means more than just set out the silverware with a thud, throw the eggs and bread into the same plastic bag or, in my case, slap on a coat of polish over toes that were barely buffed, filed or shaped. Proper service could mean taking a little extra time with that pumice stone - or even asking me if there are any particular points on my feet that need special attention. If you go by my version of the TIPS acronym, I think that my dollar tip was more than sufficient. No doubt the little roach that crawled along my chair as I got my pedicure would agree...
And so it seems that my take on TIPS puts me in a dilemma quite often in the city. It can be really expensive to make it here as the song goes: for some workers, tips are a big boost to a small check. All apologies to Goldilocks and her three bears, but I think tips are similar to porridge: you want to make sure it isn't too little or too much -- but just right. Friends and family who used to work in the service industries often comment that they remember the bad ole days and therefore, try to put a little somethin' extra when paying the check.
But I don't believe in rewarding substandard service. So, should I explain what it is that I like, want or need? Perhaps, but in some places, isn't the service standard in question pretty, well... standard? Maybe I should have told the woman today what I expected from a pedicure - that way, we both would have been happy, me with my feet and she with her tip. Something to think about as I scout my next nail salon. 'Cause she probably told her colleagues about my cheapskate tip ways and now I am persona non grata at their establishment.
So for all the people who saw me walking in the cold & windy weather today with my coat, hat, scarf - and flip flops...I wasn't crazy. I was just trying not to ruin my pedicure.
And make the most of that dollar.
Say It Loud, I'm Racist and...Proud??
UPDATE 12/26: The title of this entry was a take on a song that became an anthem for African-Americans, 'Say It Loud (I'm Black and I'm Proud). That song was recorded by the Godfather of Soul, James Brown, who passed away early yesterday morning. In addition to fancy footwork and memorable melodies, Brown will also be remembered for his political activism - especially as it concerned black people and the poor in this country.R.I.P. James.By now, you've no doubt heard about the tirade launched by former Seinfeld castmember Michael Richards - aka Kramer - at an LA comedy spot a few weeks back. It seems that, after being heckled by two black audience members, Richards thought it appropriate to fire back with some heckling of his own -- in the form of the 'n' word and other ostensibly racist imagery. If you've not heard about it or have been under a rock somewhere, feel free to check it out here.
The fallout was fairly swift: the Laugh Factory offered a refund to its entire crowd that night, the first such move in the club's history. LF also banned Richards. The actor-turned-comic and his publicist then reached out to (heavy sarcasm here) the authorities on black American life, Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton, to discuss how to make amends. The subjects of his verbal assault made their expected talk show rounds, demanding not just an apology but monetary compensation. Richards himself appeared on David Letterman in following nights, offering a mea culpa and the standard 'I am not a racist' line. Today, he turned up on Jesse's Keep Hope Alive radio program, saying his behavior was rooted in anger, not bigotry. How he was humiliated onstage and wanted to presumably give as good as he got.
Now, I have no idea if Michael Richards is a racist or not. I have never met the man and wouldn't presume to know the workings of his mind or his heart. Nor did I watch Seinfeld, but as I understand it, Richards is an actor first -- and not at all skilled in the standup game. The Laugh Factory incident may have been the rare, unscripted gig for the cat. However, if you are having an 'off' night in your standup routine - as Richards is said to have had - and you decide that the only way you can revive your act is to attack your audience members' race, then you have a serious problem.
But instead of saying 'I am seeking treatment for anger management' and shrinking away from the label of racist, maybe folks should just admit their prejudices. There is a song from one of my favorite Broadway shows, Avenue Q, entitled 'Everyone's Just a Little Bit Racist'. Here's an excerpt of the lyrics
If we all could just admit
That we are racist a little bit
Even though we all know That it's wrong
Maybe it would help us Get along.
Am I saying that I want folks to yell 'Hey, N---' when they see me walking down the street or shopping in a store? Absolutely not. But what I am saying to Michael Richards and others who might find themselves in a similar predicament (Trent Lott, anyone?) is that the cat's out of the bag, the chicken has flown the coop or any other tired cliche about futilely trying to save face after the fact. I don't know anyone who truly believes racist commentary is an acceptable, albeit misguided, attempt to make a joke, to honor an old Southern statesman or anything else. For those who issue these comments to think their audience is that naive is insulting. It might be better to just own up to it, especially when it is on tape, and meet with everyday people (vs. so-called 'leaders') to talk about exactly what is on your mind and theirs. Then maybe you could get a better understanding of how, along with sticks and stones, words can and do hurt. An honest, open discussion on race will be painful but at least it will put us on the right road. And it surely can't be any worse than the alternative of ignorance.
And to the two guys seeking money for this, give me a break. Why don't you seek to educate people instead of lining your pockets? Because anyone who has ever been on the receiving end of a racial epithet or taunt knows that it ain't all about the benjamins.
