I am not old. Maybe I am. I was 10 in 1982. My parents were relatively new immigrants from Guyana. I didn’t know it at the time, but in those days they were preparing me for a complicated Black American existence – for the new course of our family in the Untied States. During Black History and Culture Month all my friends and I, in P.S. 282 in Brooklyn, had to watch old distorted videos of black people suffering in the American South. I cannot count the number of times I have seen John Lewis and the other marchers being attacked by the terrorists on the Edmond Pettis Bridge in Selma. At home throughout the year, my father made me watch Like It Is with Gil Noble on Sundays. I had to listen to WLIB, the Black News and Information Station. I had to read articles in The Amsterdam News and The City Sun. I had to learn my way around the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture. My mother brought me to Nkiru Books on Flatbush Avenue as part of our mother and son routine. The first book reading I ever attended was James Baldwin reading from The Fire Next Time. The first time I was frisked was not by NYPD, but by the Fruit of Islam at a pre-Savior’s Day address by Minister Farrakhan at Restoration Plaza in Bed Stuy. After he frisked me he said, “Welcome Brother.” I was being prepared.
I was learning about the resilient spirit of black people in America in the context of white American barbarism. Violence against black people was lurking near everything I was exposed to. I was learning about human resilience in the face of adversity. Looking back; however, I think at that age I wanted to accept these ugly truths in an historical mode, sterilized in a textbook, the way I later learned about the barbarism of the Japanese in China or the Nazis in Europe, or the English in India - as if they were from a different human era that was not as evolved.
Chapter 2 - Japanese
Chapter 3 - Germans
Chapter 4 - Southern Whites
That historical view is a farce. It is still true that white people kill black people in America with impunity. During the endless replay of Eric Garner’s final moments, it struck me that I was watching the murder of an American black man on tv and no one was punished. This was not grainy video from 1965 on Eyes on the Prize. This was July, 2014. The history version of this narrative might take us back to Emmett Till or Medgar Evers or countless others in those distant and distorted images of 1950’s and 60’s America. This isn't history. This is contemporary and complicated by that very fact.
Without any history books, off of the top of my head, I can recite black people in my time that were brutalized by white men in contemporary digital clarity.
Michael Stewart, Eleanor Bumpers, Abner Louima, Amadou Diallo, Rodney King, Sean Bell, Oscar Grant, Travon Martin, Michael Brown, Tamir Rice, Eric Garner
I see clearly now that I was being prepared for a complicated Black American existence.