Tuesday, March 27, 2012

The Racialization of Trayvon Martin pt 2.

Black kid in a hoodie.  Black kid making a corner store run.  Black kid with a hood drink and candy.  Black kid with a background requiring disciplinary action.  Regardless of past behaviors, he did not deserve to die.  In a world where it is so easy to write off black life, black kids are marked for death.

Monday, March 26, 2012

Hood(ies): The Racialization of Trayvon Martin

I'm sure many people heard that Trayvon Martin's girlfriend said why he put on his hoodie that day on his way from the store back home.  Trayvon was not wearing the hood on his sweatshirt as a fashion statement.  He put it on when he realized he was being followed.  This image of his revelation and desperate act to take cover is horrifying to me.  And to me, it is an important distinction that some people have internalized and some haven't.  I still see people posting that he was wearing his hood because it was raining or just because and that they relate because they do the same thing.  I wore my share of Fubu, Fila, Polo, and Tommy Hilfiger in high school so I do not cringe at the idea of racialized clothing choices.  I even think critics of "sagging" might lighten up.  But inaccuracy is unnecessary.  I realize how important it is for some kids to distinguish themselves culturally through clothing.  Not only was Trayvon's hoodie distinctly not a black thing or a youth thing (as it has been noted that everyone is wearing them nowadays), it was not even a clothing choice, it was his turtle shell, his protection. His hoodie did not seal his fate.  Zimmerman was determined before the hoodie appeared to not let another one (black man) "get away" and his recognition of the hoodie as additionally suspicious was more or less an afterthought.  Nor were the Skittles and ice tea mistaken for weapons like Amadou Diallo's black wallet.  I am overwhelmed with emotion to see people coming together to protest this blatant disrespect of a human life.  And these symbols are helping; and these symbols are fitting; and I think most people get it.  However, I believe that some continue to racialize issues that aren't racial.  It is great to hear people saying this is not a race issue but an American issue, yet at the same time people are racializing the wrong things. That is not to neglect that the whole situation is inherently racial.  The hoodie was not the issue.  Likewise,  the Skittles and the Arizona were not the suspected weapons but sad artifacts from a brutal killing.

Friday, March 23, 2012

Harassment: A Black Boy in the Burbs

Trayvon Martin's Fate Is the Fear of Every Young Man of Color

How the 17-year-old's murder shined a light on the dangers of being Black in America.
     The case of Florida teenager Trayvon Martin is an abomination.
Martin, a black 17-year-old who was described by an English teacher as “an A and B student who majored in cheerfulness,” was killed February 26 during an altercation with a self-appointed neighborhood watch captain who confronted the teen for what looks to be the offense of being black in a predominantly white neighborhood.
     Martin’s killer, 28-year-old George Zimmerman (who was described as white in early news reports, but is actually of Latino descent) claims he fired his 9-millimeter handgun in self-defense. Martin’s girlfriend, however, who spoke with Martin on his cell phone in the minutes leading up to his murder, recounts that Martin told her someone was following him--an act Zimmerman admitted to while on the phone with a 911 operator. Zimmerman also told the operator, “These a**holes always get away."
     Though only two people know exactly what transpired that evening, and one is dead, details of the incident only seem to get more discouraging as they are discovered, including another part of Zimmerman’s 911 call in which he is believed by some to have referred to Martin as a “f***ing coon.” Zimmerman’s father, coming to his son’s defense in a letter posted in the Orlando Sentinel, describes Zimmerman as a “Spanish-speaking minority with many black family members," as if that disqualifies him from being a racist. At this point, we know far too little about Zimmerman to call him a racist, but also too much not to consider it.
     Martin’s case came to the nation’s attention almost a month after his murder, with police having neither arrested nor made plans to arrest Zimmerman. While a federal investigation into the case is finally under way, a public awareness campaign is also taking place, causing people to assess much about their country and maybe more importantly, about the things they can believe about it.
     The Trayvon Martin case hits especially close to home for me, a black (and Latino) male who encountered many a circumstance throughout my adolescence like the one leading to Martin’s death. You’d be hard pressed to find many young men of color, of approximate college age, who haven’t at some point in their lives been told that they “fit the description of a suspect” police are looking for. The experience is far less typical for those whom police reports would classify as Caucasian males. But it becomes something of a gag after awhile. It's dark humor—the sort that helps to quell the growing frustration of feeling like you aren’t welcome in the space you were reared in. It was a point of camaraderie for many of us; I can remember feeling especially close to the occupants of my college dorm after one such communal exchange. Our shared misery brought us closer together.
     As a young man coming up in the predominantly white suburb of North Haven, Connecticut, I learned very quickly what it was like to be “behind enemy lines.” I know too well the accusatory glares and the impromptu neighborhood watches and eventual inquisitions that come with traversing the sidewalks of the town whose name stuck out so proudly from the front of your high school basketball and football jerseys. Those jerseys had power, to be sure; not just in the way they stirred smiles from females or nods from other athletes or reverence from nerds, but in the way they brightened the glances of adults, of parents, of administrators, of the neighbor who can barely be made to bob his head while cutting his lawn every weekend. You’re all right with us. You are allowed here. I can remember when I wasn't allowed.
     The deeper in numbers, the worse things could become. Outings to the local movie theater, fast-food joints and strip malls could be too often dampered by self-appointed overseers. Neighboring towns where our faces were unfamiliar were worse, and trips into them were often formulated by way of incentive and patience divided by stop risk. East Haven, a neighboring town whose police chief resigned earlier this year in the midst of a scandal involving long-demonstrated harassment and abuse of Latino residents, was a place we generally avoided. Police showed up often. On one occasion, guns were drawn. I should note that this particular incident, in which a group of five were walking down a well-lit street to a house party, unfolded before anyone in tow had the chance to say word one. And these were police. Our police, and the police of the people who’d summoned them.
     George Zimmerman was not a cop. By all accounts, he fancied himself something of a protector, but his encounter encompasses some of the worst things about America and humanity on the whole, including murder, racial profiling and police negligence. It raises a number of questions baffling to most anyone who trades in common sense. What right did Zimmerman have to be suspicious of Martin? Why would an armed adult feel threatened by a teenager walking away from him? How does following someone who is minding their own business beget self defense? Why was Zimmerman excused so immediately of his transgression? Do these a**holes always get away?
     As many on social networking sites have noted, it is extremely difficult to imagine police handling things in a similar manner if the roles, and more specifically the races, were reversed. Keystone police neglected to test Zimmerman for alcohol or drugs, standard procedure in the instance of murder. The officer in charge of the crime scene was involved in some more controversial dealings in 2010 when he initially failed to arrest a lieutenant’s son who was videotaped attacking a homeless black man.
     For people like me, and our parents and grandparents especially, the aunts and uncles and older friends who warned us continuously to “be careful” even when just going to hang out, the ones who spoke to us with the gravity only years of institutionalized racism can sear into a person’s soul, Zimmerman represents a very specific kind of boogie man. The kind history would tell us may get you, but also who you won’t get back. For the people who must account for this terror, young men of color, and their loved ones by proxy, the Trayvon Martin case is another reminder of the futility of grace. You can give your children every advantage you know, teach them manners and etiquette, good from bad and right from wrong, but you cannot protect them. You can give them the world and with it, instruction. But beyond that, you can pray.

Felipe Delerme is a Brooklyn-based freelance writer and editor whose work has appeared in the FADER, Complex, SPIN, and Pitchfork.

Full Article from www.alternet.org

Must Be Nice

Today I was enjoying my dinner sitting on a stone wall in the little park on 57th and 9th Avenue when I noticed a white man in his 50's training his miniature collie on the tiny lawn that had a sign that said something straight to the point like, "No Dogs on the Lawn."   A little pomeranian walking a light-hearted young couple could not resist the collie and joined it on the grass.  I fantasized about and was nearly tempted to yell, "Can't you read, little white dogs?!"  But I thought the joke might be lost.  And I was the only black person in the park.  I pictured myself and my African American pitbull, Joanie, named after the author Joan Didion, being taken away in cuffs by the police after attempting to enjoy a frolic on the lawn.  This type of thought process did not result in the wake of tragedy although that's what prompts me to share.  There was a recent article that black kids receive more severe punishment in school.  I remember that.  Especially, the little black boys.  Must be nice...

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Real People: Sign Petition for Trayvon Martin

You Can Sign the Petition Here

On February 26, my son Trayvon Martin was shot and killed by George Zimmerman, the community's self-appointed "neighborhood watch leader."

"Trayvon was my hero. At the age 9, Trayvon pulled his father from a burning kitchen, saving his life. He loved sports and horseback riding. At only 17 he had a bright future ahead of him with dreams of attending college and becoming an aviation mechanic. Now that’s all gone.

Please join me in calling on Norman Wolfinger, Florida's 18th District State's Attorney, to investigate my son's murder and prosecute George Zimmerman for the shooting and killing of Trayvon Martin."

It's All About The Bottom Line: Medicalization














Be wary of  of "medicalization."  The process of taking normal problems people experience and listing them as a "disorders" in order to sell drugs.  Turning "conditions" into "symptoms."  Tired?  Irritable? Low energy?  High energy?

"Ask your doctor if May Result in Death is right for you."


Female Sexual Disorder (actually lack of pleasureful stimulation or body image problems)
Social Anxiety (reacting to a stressful environment)
Restless Leg Syndrome (huh?)

Fuck out of here corporate sponsored disease creation.  Get your greens on!

source: check out this and other topics on the psychetruth youtube channel

Monday, March 12, 2012

Too Froward?

Love this word.
(From the makers of creative spelling. Creative etymology.)

Froward
1
: habitually disposed to disobedience and opposition
2
archaic : adverse
— fro·ward·ly adverb
— fro·ward·ness noun
"I'm not bad.  I'm just drawn that way."

    Friday, March 9, 2012

    "I Am My Father"

    Last night I watched the first performance of  the one man show, "I Am My Father" by my comedy troupe's (http://jumpoffcomedy.com/)  Rick Younger.  You may have seen him on every commercial ever.  I am a nosey person.  But I'm too lazy to coax a story out of you.  Give me an hour and a half performance of your life any day!  Is that really too much to ask?  Entertain me!  I keep saying I'd make a shrewd but fair sultan.  And I got to experience the show alongside Rick's wife, his mother, and their friends, and our mutual friends.  That's like crack to a nosey person.  And it was, duh, if you can see where I'm going, amazingly deep and funny.  He told of how his father was his role model and also real coooool.  And how he is becoming his father over time.  Plus he can sang!  The entertainment stars were aligned.  And his wife, Vanessa, a hilarious actress, even made cupcakes for the audience because it was Rick's Birthday.

    I got to hear about things I like to say I missed out on growing up, like singing in the Church.  And those I haven't experienced yet, like having a baby.  Look out for this show.

    I Ain't Got Shit to Say

    Be back soon.