Okay so here's a little preface. I haven't posted in a year. Law school is the probably the most stressful and busiest venture I've ever encountered. It has been beyond rewarding though - I'm not just saying that. So if this post gets deleted, it's because I freaked out and wanted to make sure I can still be a lawyer when I grow up. Although to be really real, I probably wouldn't want to work anywhere that can't get down with this post.
And, second preface. I started writing this at the airport two days ago. I just fixed the wifi situation in my parents home today. So for those of you all up on my life that know that when I say "today" it's not actually today, just humor me. Okay, I'm done prefacing now. Enjoy...
Today a middle aged white man standing behind me at the
airport said the following micro aggression under his breath, “It smells like patchouli oil in
here.”
At first I wasn’t sure what he said, because in my head, I
just finished identifying that the security check line smelled like tacos. So I
assumed he was going to say something like enchiladas or tortas, you know,
something that the area actually smelled like. But no, he looked down his privileged
little nose at me and decided he needed to make an aggressive remark about my
hair.
I assume that’s kind of man who’s voting for Trump. I’m
really tempted to refer to him as “he-who-must-not-be-named” because he is
definitely an evil wizard. At this point, that's the only plausible explanation. I digress. Back to this racially insensitive man and his attempt
to besmirch my crown.
Oh and for reference please recall this: Guiliana Rancic saying that Zendaya, a gorgeous goddess, looked like she smelled like weed because she was rocking impeccable locs.
Let me just state for the record, my hair looks all kinds of
excellent right now. I just re-twisted my locs 3 days ago and I did a braid out
so they are all crimped and curly. The locs in the front lay gracefully as can
be on my collar bone and there is a lovely, subtle hombre situation that goes from
black to a dark reddish brown. Before I left my apartment this morning, I
vitalized my luscious strands with some mango and lime spray and some African healing
oil. My hair smells damn delightful. Not that I have anything to prove, but I
just wanted you to know what was what. And even if my locs were not laid to the
gods, that still would not excuse this man’s comment. To avoid referring to him
as “this man,” I’m going to call him Buck. He looked like a Buck. My apologies
if you’re reading this and your name is Buck and you are as pleasant as can be.
Next time you need tell a story about a stranger who looks like an Ekaette, you
have my blessing.
Now obviously Buck did not smell my hair. He looked at it,
decided it was inferior to his insipid buzz cut, and felt the need to make sure
I knew that he felt that way.
Now as I said before, I really wasn’t expecting this comment
from this stranger, so it took a little minute to register. And when it did, I
looked at Buck and said “Really, sir?” I should not have called him “sir.” He
did not deserve it. He wouldn’t even make eye contact with me.
I stared at him for a little bit. And then I asked Jesus to
keep me near the cross. Jesus told me to move into another line and don’t start
no stuff at the airport. Jesus also reminded me that I specifically booked a
flight home on this day to catch the end of Baltimore restaurant week, and I
would be damned if I missed my flight and missed my lump crab cakes and key
lime pie all because some fool thinks it’s cool to verbally assault a young lady in a passive aggressive way for no reason.
I was, as they say, steaming. July has been one of my steamiest months to
date. I keep encountering terrible sides of people and humanity in general. Don’t
get me wrong – I am grateful for all of the beauty that summer time Chi has
bestowed upon me. My summer ’16 theme has been “live your best life,” and I
really do think I’ve been doing so to the best of my ability. I saw Drake on
Tuesday and borderline fell in love with him, and Future had me weak in the
knees. My friend and I bought nosebleed tickets to this concert and magically
got our seats upgraded by the stage. We were so close to Drizzy. We could see
his facial features. We could see him laughing in that cute way that Aubrey
does. We could see Future’s perfect teeth and poppin’ back muscles. It was the
delight of a century. I am listening to Views as I type.
But you know, it seems I only get the itch to write when
something makes my head tilt, my eyes slide to the side, or my ears steam. Or a combination of the three.
Side note, something that is currently perturbing me is that
I picked a window seat on the plane. There’s no window. Literally it’s just a
wall. I didn’t notice when I picked the seat (I’m flying Southwest). This friendly
couple got up to let me in, and I scooched past them making adorable small talk,
just to have my heart broken upon the sight of an alabaster block of nothing.
The person in front of me has a window but it’s closed. It’s almost slightly
behind him or her or them (don’t wanna put a label on this individual), but it
would probably be weird if I reached up there to open it. It’s just like, can I
catch a break? From the old gods or the new? I’m not choosy.
Update. Because fortune favors the bold, I reached up to
open the window about 1/5 of the way. I think the individual is asleep. And now
I can see the clouds. First win of the day. =)
Update on the update. Individual woke up and closed the
window to about a pencil width. I can see a pencil’s width amount of clouds.
-_-
Anyway back to my head tilts and side eyes. There are always
the petty things to be lamented. Boys who don’t text back. Friends who don’t
text back. (Theme: texting ruins lives.) That man who almost ran me into the train tracks trying to catch ‘em
all. -______-
My biggest disturbance this July was from a man I labeled
Chocolate Shemar before I learned he did not deserve such an honorable title. For everyone who thought they might be feature as the source of my steamiest moment this summer, you can breathe easy now! Also I was aiming to fix the wifi and post this by yesterday so that all the July references would be more pertinent... but it didn't happen. You probably didn't care, but I do, so just forgive me. Okay thanks.
So, CS and I were having our first ever conversation. He thought it was necessary
to tell me that any woman in her 30’s who is not married is a selfish woman and
something must be wrong with her. Those are actual words that he said. My head
was tilted all the way to the side. I almost hurt myself. I’m not sure why I
allowed him to continue talking. It was the audio equivalent of watching a car
crash and craning to look at the aftermath.
Then. Somehow. Who knows how. He said that the concept of
Black Girls Rock is stupid and the Black Lives Matter movement is ridiculous.
Now mind you, this is a black man. Not one of those Shad Moss (Lil Bow Wow)
types who feel like they can’t relate to BLM because they’re mixed. I swear to
the heavens I will never understand that rationalization. Racist people do not
look at you and say oh, you’re only half black, well you’re okay then. Come on
now. The one drop rule is still in full effect people! This man was Dominican,
but as I illustrated with his name, he was a chocolate man. You look at him,
you see a black man. If someone were to racially profile him, they wouldn’t
stop and say oh, well what kind of black are you? If you’re Afro-Caribbean, you
get a pass. Nope. Doesn't happen.
Sigh.
The he said – Black people should not expect people to care
about their lives if they don’t care about their own.
My neck was on FULL TILT. My new nick name was about to be
Nearly-Headless-Ekaette. Yes, I’m on HP reference number two, not an ounce of
shame in my game.
I asked him if he was making a reference to black on black
crime. And then explained that “black on black crime” is just crime. The same
way “white on white crime” is just crime. Except you’ve never heard anyone use
the term white on white crime. It’s equally as prevalent. Crime is most likely
to happen intra racially. Black on black crime was just coined as an excuse to vilify
a group of people and help black people themselves believe that they are the
aggressive animals the media says we are. When a white person kills another
white person, white people do not say, damn we gotta stop killing ourselves. If they
did say that, they would be talking about people in general not white on white
crime. Obviously any death is to be mourned and prevention measures are important.
But to let that rhetoric fool you into thinking that that alone is an excuse for a
police officer to shoot and kill someone is beyond ludicrous.
I lost it on this man. I was angry at him but also sad and a
little scared for him. You expect that kind of idiocy to spill out of the mouth
of a privileged white person. We’ve all heard and read that kind of idiocy spill out of
the mouth of a privileged white person. But it was just so strange coming out of a chocolate mouth directly into my chocolate ears. Not on TV, not in a news article. But someone actually speaking to me, and my chocolate self.
He then started saying that the solution was to give resources to poor black communities. Which obviously I'm all for. Resources are great. Never turn those things down.
But I am black woman who can claim some privilege herself. I went to private school from age 6 to 18. Then I became a BlueJay and now I'm.... I think it's a Hawk. Whatever, I'm in law school now. That didn't stop me from being scared out of my mind when I got pulled over one evening for a dimmed tail light. It wasn't out. It was literally dim. It was pretty late, maybe 11:30 p.m. I was driving my mother's GMC. I was wearing a Hopkins hoodie. But it was black. Don't remember if I had the hood up or not. But driving a nice car, at night, in a black hoodie while black.... well I guess that was my mistake. I was about 4 minutes from my house. The officer kept asking me whose car it was that I was driving. There's only so many ways to say it's my mother's. I never know when to throw in the "both of my parents work for the Baltimore City Police Department" card - don't want them to think I'm sassing them. Also this occurred maybe a few days after Sandra Bland was killed, so I was on all types of edge. Took the officer a LOOOONG time checking my ID back in his vehicle. Not sure what he thought he was going to find. And even though I knew I had nothing for him to find, and no reason for him to hurt me, I was scared. All my "resources" did not protect me from that moment. Bad things have happened to people who look like me for doing something as or less benign as driving with a dimmed tail light.
CS kept interjecting "but all lives matter" at every spot he could. I asked him why he thought that mantra existed. He said because it is meant to be all inclusive. I explained that it was a DIRECT response to Black Lives Matter, because for some reason, it is painful for some people in this world to recognize that things happen to people of color systemically that just do not happen to the majority. We should be able to shine a light on that without being challenged. I've said it once, I'll say it a million times. To say Black Lives Matter does not mean someone else's does not - it means exactly what it says. It's irresponsible, naive, and petty to read something else into those simple three words and what they clearly stand for. Being anti-police brutality does not mean anti-police. If you really can't see the difference, I encourage you to open a dialogue. But do recognize that a true dialogue cannot occur if you're yelling or typing furiously on the internet without taking the time to understand what someone is trying to explain to you.
As evidenced by the fact that I even let CS continue talking, I am the kind of person that will oftentimes engage in a conversation with someone, when they have polar views from mine. To be fair, I also like a good debate. But, to me, that's the only way progress can happen. I think there are a considerable amount of people out there who operate in a similar fashion. However when it's clear that your conversation partner is not actually having a conversation but simply spewing that bull, well for me, that's when I gotta let you go. It's exhausting trying to help people see the light sometimes.
For those of you who don't know, we are in the middle of a civil rights movement. Ask your friends and family about the micro aggressions they have encountered, I assure you they have a story for you. Those micro aggressions stem from the systemic racism that BLM is attempting to combat.
I want to write more but I gotta dip my toes back into this blog writing game, especially with this whole lawyerly business. Also my left over key lime pie is calling my name. Until next time.
