racial profiling

My Trayvon

/ Dawn Kasal-Finley / 3 Comments

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I look into these dark brown eyes and wonder “when does this sweet face turn into a dangerous face?”  At what point does  my sweet baby boy turn into someone who is feared?  At what point will those who comment on his manners or his personality start to view him with suspicion?  At what point does he stop being human and start being black?

These are hard questions.  There isn’t a manual on how to raise a child, much less a black male child (if there is, please leave a link in the comments).  We knew when we adopted our children that this would be something we would have to figure out.  To learn how to raise our son (and daughter–but that’s a different post) so he values who he is, but also knows what others may think he is.  He’s only 7 now, but these are conversations we have.  He has been acutely aware since an early age that he is different.  He asked me at 3 if the other kids are the part would think he was different because his skin was brown.  This is something he strives to process and understand.

He wishes he was white.  He does that at the age he is now because he wants to be just like his dad.  We work through that by pointing out all of the similarities the two have.  It makes Noah more comfortable with the differences if he realizes the similarities.  My 7-year-old can process that.  Why can’t others?

I am tired of hearing that things are better than they use to be as far as race is concerned.  Yes they are better.  I am not discounting that progress has been made.  But I call bullshit that the progress is enough. We can’t be complacent and treat it as if it isn’t a problem.  As if it isn’t something that erodes progress.  As if race doesn’t matter.  Because race matters.

We watched 42 last night and I cried.  I cried that Jackie Robinson had to endure what he did to prove the value of a black man.  I cried that Branch Rickey learned a lesson about not standing up and tried to do right.  I cried that Jackie Robinson would have waited until his teammates were done showering, so that he wouldn’t make them feel uncomfortable.  I cried because someday Noah will make someone nervous enough in a parking lot they will grip their mace and be ready to spray him.  I cried because someday Noah will make someone nervous in an elevator that they might not get off on their floor for fear of being followed.  I cried because someday Noah will go to pick up a girl for a date and her parents won’t let her go.  I cried because when Noah experiences these things, I won’t know what to say.  I won’t be able to understand how he feels.  I will be able to love him and listen.  I will know that just because I didn’t experience these things, they do exist.  I will allow him to give voice to how he feels.  I will love him.  I will listen.

That we live in a world where black men must be taught to be submissive to others for fear of their own life, makes me profoundly angry and sad.  That my son will stop being human and start being black is unfair.

My son will one day walk home on a dark rainy night.  I pray that someone offers him a ride instead of assuming he is up to no good.

Race Still Matters

/ Dawn Kasal-Finley / Leave a comment

What if the teens had been white?

There is a pervasive and toxic stereotype in our country–Black Males are DANGEROUS.

I will admit that as young white girl raised during a difficult racial period in my own city (desegregation of schools), I was taught/socialized to be more “aware” of black males.  That is painful for me to admit.  But I have to.  We have to.  We have to understand and acknowledge that racism is so deeply ingrained in the fabric of who so many of us (white people) are that we can’t see it.  We are ashamed to admit it.  We are afraid to admit it.

Until we admit it, we will never grow or change our views. My views changed drastically when I took my first teaching job at a school that was 98% African American.  It was not until I became a teacher and interacted on a daily basis with black males, that I began to realize that they were not a group to fear.  There was nothing scary about them.  But it forced me to admit the bias I was raised with that I didn’t realize I was raised with until I did a lot of honest (and extremely difficult) examination of my own beliefs and behaviors.

Let me be honest, I said I began to realize.  Erasing a life’s worth of ingrained racism and racial stereotypes is not easy.  Not for me or for out society as a whole.  To this day if you watch my local news–99% of the people shown as criminals are black.  Those are the stories that make the news.  These all have an impact on what we think of other groups (be it ethnic or religious or life-style choice based).

Now (10-years after I first stepped into that classroom full of a group of people I was taught to fear), I am the mother of two black children.  Now, when I see a group of black boys/men walking down the street, I see my son.  My son who everyone things is cute and great, but will that be the same when he is 16 and picking up someone’s daughter?  Will it be the same when he is out being a teen with his friends and mouths off to a grown-up?

My children already know that if a policeman stops them ever “we stop and let him see our hands and DO NOT Move.”  I was never taught that lesson.  I never needed to be taught that lesson.   Now, do I need to add middle-aged random white man to that list with policemen?

At what point does the responsibility shift from my black son and onto those whose ingrained stereotypes cause often deadly reactions based in “fear.”  I can hear the voices of 3 teenaged boys talking shit to a middle-aged man who asked them to turn their music down.  I know–because I know what I would have said to my friends in the car, just loud enough that the guy could hear.  He claims he thought he saw a gun.  Would he have “seen” a gun if the three teens were white–but still talked shit?  I have a hard time believing he would have pulled out his gun and fired 8 or 9 rounds.  We have to admit that race is a factor.  What if it had been 3 girls–white or black?  Same reaction?

He fired 8-9 rounds but they claim, when he is compared to George Zimmerman and his shooting of Trayvon Martin.

“That’s ridiculous. Michael is not a vigilante,” the attorney said. “He’s a brilliant software developer. It was never his intention to kill anyone.”

How is it not someone’s intention to kill someone when they a) pull out a gun, b) fire the gun, and c) fire 8-9 shots at close range into a car?

Again, we have to admit why these things happen and have honest discussions about them.  He claimed he saw a gun.  What he saw was three black teens, talking shit and he had no idea what it meant.  I hope he does some deep soul searching (along will all of us) and considers how the scenario might be different if the teens in the car had been white.

We do not live in a post-racial society.  We live in a society that that has convinced itself that race no longer matters.

Tell that to every parent of a black son.

Tell that to Jordan Russel Davis’ parents.  They buried a son that was shot because race absolutely still matters.

My Worst Nightmare

/ Dawn Kasal-Finley / 2 Comments

Trayvon Martin‘s story could one day be my son’s story.  Like Trayvon, my son is black.  Right now it doesn’t affect his life much–but one day (in 11 years) he’ll be a 17-year-old black man walking the streets in a predominately white neighborhood.  By virtue of his skin color, he will be suspicious.  I thought I had come to grips with this.  I thought I was prepared.

I am not prepared for the possibility that my son could be the victim of this type of crime.  Trayvon did nothing wrong.  The man who shot him wanted to shoot him.  The man who shot him hunted him down.  The man who killed him, felt that he was justified.  That is what scares me the most.  What happens when Noah forgets his key and climbs through the front window our house in our mostly white neighborhood?  I haven’t forgotten about what happened to Henry Gates at his own home in Cambridge.

I struggle for the words to express my fears for my son.  You think the world is different and has changed, when in reality that is something we tell ourselves to feel better.  We live in a pretty isolated world.  My kids go to private school with people who love them and see them as people.  They have family and friends who love them.  But events like this break the illusion.  Events like this make me question how we allow things like this to happen. Events like this make me realize that race matters; perhaps even more now than previously.  Race matters more now, because we have become complacent.  Race matters because so many people think it doesn’t.  It matters to Trayvon and his family.  It matter to the man who shot and killed Trayvon simply because he was black and perceived to not belong.

It is time that all of us stood for justice.  This isn’t just an issue for the black community to take a stand on.  This is an issue for all of us to take a stand on.  By doing nothing, by not acting we send the message that Trayvon doesn’t matter.  By doing nothing, by not acting we say to all other black males–you deserve what you get.  That is not a message I will send to my son.  That is not a message I will send to someone else’s son.  Everyone matters.  And it is time we stand up and shout “Being Black doesn’t make someone guilty, suspicious or dangerous.”

I live with immense privilege.  I accept that privilege, but with it comes a responsibility.  My son and daughter enjoy some of the privilege that I have.  But as soon as they are old enough to be out on their own–the privilege disappears.  Because of this, I cannot afford to be complacent.  I cannot afford to turn a blind-eye when injustice happens.  I cannot afford to let my children think that their skin color doesn’t matter.  Because it does to so many people.  Because it will be the first thing people judge them by.  Because it will lead to my son and daughter being followed through the store as they shop with friends.  It will lead to other parents not wanting their child to date mine.  It will lead to my son being pulled over as he leaves a friends house on a Friday night.

We can’t stand by and allow it to be okay.  We have to be aware of our own bias and actively fight against it.

Today, I stand in solidarity with Trayvon Martin’s family. Today, I stand with my son.