Hear Our Pain or Feel Our Rage

This time feels different.

The history of the United States, from its inception to now, is marked by black folks trying to make the country live up to the promises it made on July 4, 1776. This idea that all men are created equal has somehow eluded us. So the country sits, nearing the midway point of 2020, at a place that we may not have ever seen it before. The check that America wrote to its black citizens nearly 244 years ago has come due.

Hear our pain or feel our rage.

We've seen the images in Minneapolis of folks protesting. Not just protesting the death of George Floyd, but by the justice systems lack of urgency in addressing it. Finally, his killer has been arrested, but only after a chunk of the city was set aflame. In my own hometown of Louisville, KY, protestors marched in the memory of Breonna Taylor, a black resident that was killed when police executed a No-Knock Warrant. Yes, violence erupted during the protest. Why? Because black people are tired. We are so sick and so tired of  being denied justice. And in 2020, we have reached the boiling point.

Hear our pain or feel our rage.

Fox News contributor Tomi Lahren opined, echoing a few other prominent white folks, why do black people need to riot? Why can't they just protest in some other fashion? That sounds great on paper, seeing as the First Amendment to the US Constitution grants every citizen the right to protest and air grievances. But let's unpack a few things because the "riot" isn't where this started, but it is where we are right now.

Black folks said don’t treat us like slaves and that we were more than 3/5th human and the whole country went to war over it. After the Civil War, you said we couldn’t live with you, so we went and set up our own neighborhoods and cities and towns and you got upset and they were burned to the ground. At the beginning of the 20th century, we tried to get laws passed, peacefully, so we could legally be full citizens and you lynched us, for fun and sport. Lynching to send a message of hate.  Then, in the late 1950s and 60s, we peacefully marched through the streets. We sat in at lunch counters. What was your response? We were assaulted. Fire hoses and police dogs were turned against us. The homes of our leaders and our churches were bombed. Our children and elderly were killed (there’s a neighborhood in Birmingham called Dynamite Hill because the area was bombed over 50 times in a less than 20 year period). And the man that you love to quote, that stood up and preached nonviolence, that said he had a dream about love and brotherhood and urged America to come together in peace... He was shot and killed, like a rabid dog in the street.

Black folks have quite literally tried everything to get you to care. We’ve tried begging. We’ve tried pleading. We’ve marched. We’ve sang songs. We’ve voted. We’ve gotten laws passed. We’ve prayed, Lord have we prayed. We've written eloquent essays and delivered eloquent speeches. And, yes, we’ve even kneeled. 

What has become of all that pleading? Nothing has been right. Nothing black folks have ever done has been accepted by the majority as the right way to protest. Nothing. So, you wanna finally notice the plight of black people because there’s riots? You wanna thumb your nose at the way we communicate our pain? You only mention Chicago when it fits your gun rights narrative? You wanna toss out “black on black” crime, as if ALL crime isn’t intraracial? You wanna look down your nose at the very people who's blood helped fertilize the soil of this country? To quote Ice Cube as he portrayed Craig Jones in the 1995 film Friday: "Bye, Felisha."

Hear our pain or feel our rage.

This time it feels different than the other times black folks have collectively reached their breaking point. And it has to be. This has to be it. I had a conversation with my youngest daughter. She reads and watches the news. She asked me about George Floyd. She asked about Amaud Armery. She asked about Christian Cooper. We talked and, like every generation of African-Americans before me, I had to have a frank conversation with her about what her race (she's biracial, but that IS black) means in America. It was heart-breaking to tell her what she's going to have to deal with. The worst part of all is when she hugged me and said: "Be safe."

Now, I can add my daughter to the list of the black people over the centuries that have had to hug their black brothers and sisters tight and say "be safe." Be safe when you run (Amaud Armery). Be safe when you're in the park (Christian Cooper). Be safe when you're at home (Breonna Taylor, Botham Jean). Be safe when you go to a party (Oscar Grant). Be safe when you have a normal traffic stop (Sandra Bland). Be safe when you're playing in a park (Tamir Rice). Be safe just existing. Two words that carry so much weight because while we know those names, there are so many more that aren't publicly known, but their families and their communities miss them just the same. 

My daily prayer begins with "Dear Lord, please don't let Terry Brown be a hashtag."

Hear our pain or feel our rage.

Judge me if you want. Judge my people if you will. I’ll only acknowledge your riot takes if you know the name of the man MN police killed (George Floyd, by the way). If you want to understand what it's like for your African-American brothers and sisters, just listen. We're trying to tell you. We want you to understand. We want to make America the best that she can be. Black folks have been fighting and dying for this country since Crispus Attucks fell in the Revolutionary War. The Greatest Generation of black folks went and fought for a country that still denied them the right to vote. Do not EVER question our patriotism. We just wish America loved us as much as we love her

It’s not the 3rd Monday in January and it’s not Black History Month, but try THIS MLK quote on for size: 

“And I contend that the cry of ‘black power’ is, at bottom, a reaction to the reluctance of white power to make the kind of changes necessary to make justice a reality for the Negro,” King said. “I think that we’ve got to see that a riot is the language of the unheard.”

Goodbye, My Friend

I first met Chris Renfrow in 2014. On Twitter. Our first interactions were rivalrying, he for his University of Louisville Cardinals and I was always defending my beloved Kentucky Wildcats. At some point, after a steady stream of jabs, we realized that we had a lot in common. We became Twitter friends. For all the talk about social media being a cesspool (it kinda is) and Twitter friends not being real (they absolutely are), we kinda had a special connection.

In July 2015, my dad died. And Chris, this guy I hadn't met in person, reached out to let me know that I could depend on him. In 2016, I started one of the hardest stretches of my life. I got divorced. Chris, who had been divorced and remarried, reached out to me again. He checked in almost daily. He listened to every single ex-wife story I had and countered with his own. He let me know that, in the end, if you worked hard and let go of the anger, divorce wasn't a death sentence.

The first time I actually met Chris in the real world, he helped me move out of my house. He moved boxes and furniture as I worked toward figuring out my new normal. I had to move back in with my mother and Chris was right there, helping move boxes in. Again, he didn't just leave it there. He checked in on me. He wanted to know how I was doing. He invited me out to hang so I wasn't just sitting at home feeling sorry for myself.

We talked about a lot of things. Exwives, kids, life in general and... mental health. Chris made a habit of touching base if he saw a Twitter post that didn't seem right or a Facebook post that most people would have overlooked. Over the last few years, when I was down, Chris was usually sending a "hey, you good?" text. It wasn't just superficial and he wasn't just doing it for show. For every "yeah, I'm good," he followed up with additional questions.

Chris was a diehard liberal (I would routinely send him pictures of Sarah Sanders just to aggravate him). An ally to marginalized folks when he didn't have to be. He had some wild takes, particularly about food, but he was an ally to minorities and LGBTQ folks that you don't usually see: he listened. He listened because he cared. He listened to my stories about my parents and what they had to endure in pre Civil Rights America. He marched in Pride parades and he opened his home to everybody.

Chris and his wife Ami opened their home to me and my girls and I'm going to be forever grateful. It's one thing for a friend to stand by you when times are tough, it takes someone special to decide to be your friend when you're at your lowest and not expect anything in return other than your friendship. And that's Chris. He celebrated my successes and was there in the dark parts. That's a friend.

I'm going to miss my friend. I'm going to beat myself up wondering if there was anything I could have done to help him with his pain. But I've been there. I know that sometimes our demons can get the best of us. I hope that he's found some semblance of peace. Chris was an atheist and I certainly respect his beliefs, but I'd like to think, I hope, that one day I'll see him again and tell him that fried chicken is good, the Notorious BIG is not overrated and cold weather sucks.

I love you, Chris Renfrow.

Can't We All Just Get Along?

Much has been made about about Ellen Degeneres hanging out with former President George Bush. And, of course, there was the hug heard 'round the world between Brandt Jean and his brother's murderer, Amber Guyger. Jean's hug of the former Dallas police officer and Ellen hanging out with W (and her followup statement) have been held up as points of light in this otherwise dark world. And on their face, it forgiveness and kindness sound good.... but not when they're used to muzzle the voices of the oppressed.

Botham Jean was shot and killed by Amber Guyger. That was Brandt's brother and I'm not going judge his actions. Thankfully, I've not been in his shoes, losing a loved one to such an act of violence. However, black death has rarely remained the burden of the immediate family. Since its inception, America has used state-sanctioned violence against individual black people (yes, Guyger was off work, but as a uniformed officer she was certainly an agent of the state) to keep the black community in line. From the public beatings of disobedient slaves, to the thousands upon thousands of lynchings of black people at the beginning of the 20th century, to the atrocities of the Civil Rights' movement (church bombings, house bombings and other murders) to the cavalier way the police summarily execute black males today (3 times more than anyone else) the families grieve privately and the community grieves collectively.

While I have zero problem with the Brandt Jean hugging and extending forgiveness to Guyger, I have a ton of issue with the over the top response. Most folks expressed the sentiment "Wow! I've never seen anything like this!" Except we have. The families of the victims of Dylann Roof offered forgiveness for Roof before the memorials and funerals were even held. Time and time again, from Eric Garner to Tamir Rice to Medgar Evers to Emmett Till to Martin Luther King, Jr, the question is always asked of these surviving black families "do you forgive?" Most faith traditions express the need for forgiveness, especially Christianity. Jesus spoke at length about forgiving others. But Jesus also talked about holding those accountable in power. It speaks volumes that Brandt Jean's hug resounded with more people than Allison Jean (Brandt and Botham's mother) calling for accountability for the Dallas Police Department specifically and the country as a whole. Jesus didn't say either or, he preached both.

Ellen Degeneres caused a stir when she took in a Dallas Cowboys game with former President George W. Bush. To be sure, it was an odd pairing. Ellen famously lost her TV sitcom when she came out of the closet and has been a staunch LGBTQ rights proponent. Bush made banning gay marriage one of the cornerstones of his presidency. When some people expressed outrage that Ellen could be so cozy with someone that seemed to be against everything you believed in. How could Ellen, perhaps the most famous lesbian in America, be buddy-buddy with someone that worked so feverishly to deny people like her the basic human right of marriage? It didn't seem to make sense.

Well, Ellen came out with a prepared statement, something to the effect of: we should be able to be friends with people we disagree with. She ended her statement with "Be kind." And we should be kind. We should be able to get along with people of differing backgrounds and political beliefs and all that. Here's the thing, however, there are some things that are just deal-breakers. To quote the great James Baldwin: "We can disagree and still love each other unless your disagreement is rooted in my oppression and the denial of my humanity and the right to exist." Disagreeing with someone about their favorite candy or favorite musical genre is one thing, but there are things that aren't so easily breached. If I say that Black Lives Matter and you're retort is they don't, where's the common ground?

Like forgiveness, this be kind message sounds good in theory, but both ideals have been weaponized to silence marginalized groups. Like with the Jeans, everyone loves the hugs and the words of forgiveness, but no one champions the calls for justice. Ellen can certainly hangout with who she wants, but the average LGBTQ person isn't going to sit down and share laughs with someone that actively campaigns against their basic rights. And that shouldn't be mandatory to be seen as a decent person. Again, this mindset has been used to get marginalized groups to fall into line. Everyone remembers Martin Luther King Jr's dream, but no one really focuses on the hundreds of other things he asked America do to.

We can disagree without being disagreeable. We should forgive those that have wronged us. Both of those actions ring hollow when there's no action on the other side. The Jean family can forgive Amber Guyer, but that doesn't absolve her of suffering the consequences of her actions. Ellen can laugh and dance with who she wants to, but most of us aren't in a position to be friendly with those that fail to see our humanity. And for a lot of people, that is a choice between life and death.

Respect : It's Not Just Politics

Full disclaimer: I'm not a fan of the 45th President of the United States. And it has nothing to do with his politics. In fact, if you check the voter registration rolls, I am a registered Republican (*partly because of I was young and confused and partly because I'm old and lazy). The thing is, we can debate politics all day long. Throughout American history, there are issues that many famous Americans, great leaders, have had political debates on. From the wording of the Declaration of Independence to the current quagmire in Washington, DC, there are tons of topics of which there can be a healthy debate. My humanity isn't one of them.

This current President once took out an entire page ad in the New York Times demanding that the young men known as the Central Park 5 be prosecuted and put to death. Since then, every one has been exonerated and still the current resident of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue stands by what he said nearly 30 years ago. When you wonder why some people say "he's not my President," that's the starting point.

With the Virginia Men's Basketball team being the latest championship winning team to decline an invitation to the White House, a customary event for a generation, a familiar refrain has been invoked: "Respect the Office of the President, if not the occupant." And that's the issue. How can you respect the office when the person in it doesn't respect it? His language is coarse, his words to and of his rivals are demeaning. He has grade school level nicknames for his congressional foes. His relationship with the truth is dubious at best and while it's said that all politicians lie, has anyone been this committed to various, easily disproven facts?

I'm an American. I will always respect the Office of the President of the United States. All I ask is that the person that is in that office do the same. For those that demand respect, where were you when the current POTUS was peddling the false, conspiracy-riddled birth nonsense? Shouldn't the 44th President get just as much respect as the 45th? Where's that respect when the current POTUS tweets childish names at sitting members of Congress? Do they not engender respect? What about the US Citizens this POTUS has labeled as sons of bitches because they expressed their first amendment right to protest? No respect for them?

I've never been invited to the White House for anything and, most likely, never will. It's always an honor to be extended an invitation to the people's house by a sitting President. If offered by the current occupant, I'd politely decline. I was raised by my parents that to get respect, you give respect. And I don't respect someone that lies so brazenly and boldly, that gives comfort to white nationalists, that name calls other elected officials, that only praises those that praise him and went out of his way to disrespect the previous POTUS. Respect is earned, not given.

Looking Forward and Looking Backward

Divorce is weird. It's more than just a breakup. It's telling someone that you made the mistake of loving them. That you'd be better off without them in your life, that you made a mistake, of sorts, by saying "I do." This is isn't to mean that sometimes divorce is needed. There are instances where the best thing for everyone is to part ways.

I used to laugh when I'd hear a person going through a divorce state they they just grew apart. I used to think how was that possible? How could all of that love and all of those good feelings from the wedding and those first few years go away. How can the person that was once your light become nothing but darkness. As I found out, it can and does happen.

I could have been a better husband. My marriage could have been better. Sadly, it reached a point where divorce was the only logical conclusion. There were lots of symptoms, but the root cause was we stopped talking. I stopped sharing the high points of my day and stopped engaging when my wife shared her obstacles. It's amazing how two people in one house, raising children could be in two separate worlds, But, it happened. It became obvious that we were better off apart than we were together.

I've had friends get married in the years since my divorce. I've even officiated a wedding. My advice, such as it is, is to never stop talking. Never stop being there for each other. Got a funny story that happened at work? Share it. Got an aggravation that happened at the grocery store? Share it. Keep that person number one in your life. Most wedding vows have verbiage to forsake all others. I thought that just meant not to commit adultery, but it's more than that. Your spouse, your helpmate should be your top priority. It really is the little things that keep a marriage strong and vibrant.

Looking back on my marriage and divorce, I can honestly say that one thing has not changed: I want my ex-wife to be happy. I used to think that I was able to make that possible, but I'm not. And that's OK. I want to co-parent with her and raise our smart, beautiful girls. I want to remember the good times, of which there were many. I still love her, but it's just different. I want her to be happy, not because she's the mother of my children, but because we had over 12 great years of sharing our lives together.

And we are co-parenting well. Ironically, I think our communication may be better now than it was during the last few years of marriage. Even though I know that the divorce was the best thing for everyone involved and that we both now have the opportunity for real happiness, there are times when I will hear a song or smell something that reminds me of those good times. Even though the marriage didn't end like we thought it would, there were some really joyous times that we can look back on fondly.

Divorce, like most things in this human experience, changes you. It gives you a new normal. Just like everything else, it's up to you to determine whether the change will be positive or negative.  I'm choosing positive.

We're All Blind

So, by now we've all processed the run-in on the National Mall by the MAGA hat wearing high schoolers from Covington Catholic High School and Black Hebrew Israelites and Native American marchers. The initial 20 second clip was all it took to jump to conclusions about what happened. A lot of people rushed to judgement. I did. But, like everything else in 2019 America, the truth wasn't as clear cut as it first look. I apologized for jumping the gun and piling on the young men from Cov Cath. Upon further review, it seems as if there was a lot of blame to go around from a lot of different people that day. Just because I regret piling on, doesn't mean that I think those young men were without culpability. Again, everyone saw and still sees what they want to see.

America doesn't mean the same to everyone. Every group has had a different experience in America depending on its collective experience. Native Americans have been subjected to certain circumstances. So have African-Americans. Just like the German, Irish British and Dutch Americans as well. The same could be said for Asian Americans. Each group's relation with America begins with how they were introduced to the America. That's what makes the African-American legacy in America wholly and completely unique. While other groups willfully immigrated to America, the majority of black Americans can trace their lineage back to the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade, i.e. kidnapping.

I'm 41 years old. My parents were born and raised in pre Civil Rights Era America. The story of America that I was taught at home was far different than what was being sold to me at school and in media. In the 1980s, when the country was looking wistfully back at the 1950s, my dad told me that the good old days weren't good for everybody. The sanitized, watered down version of yesteryear that was being peddled, and to some extent still is, was dramatically different than the first hand stories I heard from family members. So, the lessons that I and most of my black friends and schoolmates were taught were quite different from those of our peers. It wasn't due to hatred of America, the lessons were about survival in a land that has been historically hostile to black people.

My father was born in 1937. The first major legislative success of the Civil Rights Movement was the Civil Rights Act of 1964. Among other things, the Act guaranteed black people the right to vote. My father was 27. After the murder of Martin Luther King, Jr., the Civil Rights Act of 1968 was passed. This Act provided protection for fair housing, forcing neighborhoods to integrate. My father was 31. My brothers turned 8. In your own life, think of how much of a person you are by the time you turn 31. Imagine 31 years of living in a country, your homeland, and being denied the basic rights that everyone else seemed to be getting. Those are the lessons I and the the other black kids of my generation were taught. Those are the things that color our perception.

This is new to me. It's an incredible clip. pic.twitter.com/0KC4yrh1Wf

— Alheli Picazo (@a_picazo) January 21, 2019

To be clear, my parents were not anti-white. In fact, my mother and father went out of their way to point out that the abolition of slavery and the end of Jim Crow could not have happened without a lot of good white people that sacrificed everything they had, up to and including their lives, to make sure that America was a better place for all. Individually, they'd say, we are all God's children and you should love everyone for the person on the inside, not what their outside looks like. That was a lesson I was also taught. That being said, systemic racism is real and must be defeated.

In 1973, my father, James N. Brown, Sr. and Shelby Lanier sued the Louisville

Police Department for discrimination. Their case was based on the lack of promotion opportunities for black officers and their general treatment. They were fired. My parents had to make financial sacrifices and were harassed while the case worked its way through the courts. Eventually, in 1974, the Federal Equal Employment Opportunity Council took over the case and won, which forced the city of Louisville to change the way it handled all city employees. When I asked my father why he would take such a stand, he responded with the same answer he gave when I asked him why he would join the US Navy in 1954 when he couldn't even sit at a lunch counter: "You do things not to benefit yourself, you have to do things to make things easier for the next man."

I have said for a long time that the biggest reason that race relations are in their current state is because my parents' generation was basically told by America to "get over it." Even in the 1980s, when I was growing up, talking about the Civil Rights Era was always chalked up to that period being in the past. No reason to talk about it because some laws got passed and now we're all good. That's not how this works at all. Sometimes the only way to move forward is to acknowledge past mistakes and have a dialogue about what's next. And that it what's missing.

We're living in a time where there's a need to "both sides" an issue, as if there's a flip side to every situation worth discussing. Not only does it happen with current events, many people look backward on past events and apply the same logic. The most often logic is when a historical person is said to be "a product of their time." To be clear, there are some absolutes: Driving Native people off their land was wrong, as was American chattel slavery, as was denying women the right to vote as was rounding up all Japanese Americans during World War 2. Those events were wrong in real time, no need to rethink or examine anything further.

There's also a need to saddle every criticism as being a part of outrage culture. Are there frivolous things that people get mad online about? Sure. I assure you that black people didn't wake up on President Trump's inauguration day and decide to be upset about Confederate Monuments. That fire has been burning for a long time. it's just what then most of the monuments and statues were being built, that was also the time period where thousands of blacks were being lynched, hung from trees as some sort of spectacle. The time period was not conducive to protesting statues. The difference is now that marginalized groups that had no voice in the American marketplace of ideas now has found their voice. That's the inclusive America we should all want.

As the world is changing and everyone now has a voice, it is incumbent on all of us to listen to people different from us. It is important to listen with open ears, open hearts and open minds. To know better should also mean we should do better. Just as we no longer dump our waste into the city streets, as was once customary, we must grow and learn and do better. That means admitting our own biases and changing our own behavior. My high school mascot was the Redskins and we did the Tomahawk Chop at sporting events. It wasn't until we had a Native American come speak to the school that I understood just how offensive that was to him and his people. I stopped doing it and haven't done it since. It shouldn't be hard to do the right thing.

I'm still not perfect. I'll read a story on the internet and jump to conclusions. I will see a 20 second clip and make decisions based on my own experiences. The key to individual growth and real systemic change is that we collectively re-examine ourselves and our own biases. We all have them. Whether it's race or class or area of the country, we all have preconceived notions about our fellow Americans. The key is understanding our biases and learning how to change them. Like it or not, we're all in this thing together.

Depression and Mental Illness: You Are Worth It

Depression is a thief. It does nothing, but take. It takes your time. It takes your spirit, making you less you. It takes fathers from their kids, wives from their husbands, friends from each other. It does nothing, but take. Worst of all, Depression steals your joy.

And I hate it.

I hate taking medication daily. I hate going to therapy. I hate coping strategies. I hate analyzing every thought. I hate having to convince my mind to convince my body to get out of bed. I hate getting lost in my own thoughts. I hate feeling like a burden. I hate forcing myself to be present. I hate enjoying the good days because I know that there's a bad day coming. I hate always having this feeling of dread.

I hate having to convince myself that I'm worth it.

When I was first diagnosed with clinical depression in 2014, I attacked it like you would a broken leg. I tried to fix it, so I could move on to other things. I wanted a cure and like most Americans, I wanted it yesterday. But that's not how this works. Depression doesn't just go away after so many therapy sessions. Medication, while extremely helpful, isn't a cure-all. My fix it quick approach was only making my depression worse. Depression, like other forms of mental and physical illness, is something that I will always have to deal with. It's taken me awhile, but I finally have accepted that.

This process hasn't been easy. But it's been worth it. And that's the challenge of dealing with mental illness, telling yourself that you are worth it. It's hard to reach out for help when you don't think you're worth it. You are.

I'm worth it. You're worth it. We are all worth it.

National Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255