It would probably be impossible for me to go to bed after what I just saw. Technically, I shouldn't even be writing this considering the fact that we are on vacation. We drove down to South Florida at the start of the weekend to see my grandma and the rest of the fam. Among a list of other things like going to the beach and sitting out by grandma's lake, we already knew we wanted to see Fruitvale Station. Mental note: choose lighter entertainment for future vacations.
I knew I wasn't ready to face Oscar Grant, but as a leader and out of respect, I knew I needed to watch it.
And that's the thing. I don't think the world is ready to face Oscar Grant. I'm certain mainstream America isn't. And I know the church isn't. The real tragedy is just that. We don't hear Oscar Grant. We have not sympathized with his struggle. And I can hear the Bill O'Reillys, Don Lemons, and Uncle Ruckuses of the world already. They will say, "Pull up your pants." "These are the consequences of your actions." "Nobody made you sell drugs." "You have to pull yourself up by your bootstraps."
These are the ones who assume that Oscar's got boots to begin with. And if he has boots, where does he get the straps? I don't know. I never had any straps. Ask your dad. Speaking of fathers, anybody notice that there was not even a mention of Oscar's dad in the movie? Anybody seen Oscar's dad? Tell him his son's looking for him.
To mainstream America Oscar is a problem. And it's not because he's a convicted felon, it's not even because he got into a fight on the train. The cops never even took the time to effectively assess the situation on the train. The cop was at level 10 from the moment he first laid eyes on Oscar. "Arrest them. These punks are going to jail" (paraphrase). The cop never listened to what he had to say.
I have often argued the same point about rap music. We refuse to listen to what they're saying. "It's just sex, money, and cars," says one pastor. Does it matter that he's white? Just admit that you're not really listening. And we're not listening for a number of reasons. But maybe it's just that we don't know how to listen. It really does seem like cops these days don't know how to listen. So often they will escalate, rather than deescalate a conflict. Fact is, we're not listening to Oscar Grant.
In the film, Grant's daughter Tatiana begs him not to
go out into the night because she's afraid he'll get hurt.
There are numerous dark foreshadowing scenes in the movie. His daughter tells him not to go. His mom warns him while he's in prison. And he even gives a quasi-threat to his boss while begging for his job. But the one that grabbed me the most was the moment when he finds the stray dog at the gas station. For a moment it looked like a boxer, but a pit bull is much more poignant imagery for urban black culture. I'll go with the pit bull. Oscar sees the pit, goes over and pets and coddles this docile beast. Then, in a few short moments, a reckless driver hits the dog and speeds away with tires squealing. Oscar calls for help, but nobody hears him. Nobody comes. Nobody's listening. To so many people, Oscar and the dog are one and the same. We all know what happens to stray dogs. They're dangerous. They lock them up, put them to sleep, or they end up dead in the street...or the train station. Nobody cares.
Speaking of trains. My son loves trains. He's a huge fan of Thomas and Friends, and he has lots of the little toy models of well...Thomas and his friends. Back in early spring, we took a road trip and drove all the way out to California. When you're driving out west you see A LOT of trains. I'm intrigued wondering where are all these trains coming from and going to. Little Christopher is convinced that they all go to Knapford Station. I seriously doubt it. Crazy thing, the route we drove took us through northern California. I looked at the map and was surprised how close we were to Oakland, San Fran, and thus of course, Fruitvale Station. Christopher wants to ride the train. I seriously don't want him to.
And there goes O'Reilly, Lemon, and Ruckus again. They say, "You black people are so paranoid." "Why don't you get over it?" "Let him ride the train." "Nothing's going to happen to him." But that's exactly what Oscar Grant's mom told him. She certainly didn't expect that her son's innocent train ride would be the last voluntary ride he would ever take. Kinda funny how something so innocent as riding the train to hang out with friends on New Year's, or going to the store to get snacks to munch on while you watch the game, can turn into a trip to the mortuary. White people don't normally have those kinds of problems, so they don't really get the fear, hopeless, helpless, nihilism thing. And they hate it when we say stuff like that.
And no, Oscar Grant was not a saint, so you may cast the first stone if you wish. However, Tracy and I agreed that we want to own the movie because we have a son who needs to learn why it's so important to make good decisions. Do the right thing. Stay on the straight and narrow. And if you must take that train ride, be careful because some stupid cop with no self-control might mistake his taser for his gun and murder you. I've never heard of this sort of thing happening to a white person. And yes Son, you can be anything you want. You can be an explorer who determines to ride every passenger train in the world. You can be a train conductor. Or you can be an engineer who designs and builds trains. But just know, you have to be ten times better than the next (white) man or you'll never get your just due. You could even rise to the highest office in the world, but you'll still be able to relate all too closely with the Trayvon Martins and Oscar Grants of the world. Maybe it's time we read a book about the underground railroad. You should probably work on those kinds of trains. Apparently we still need them.
We got home late after a really long day of ministry. I was kinda zoned out and only thinking about one thing...relaxation. I was sitting on the couch with my son watching the movie Antz while we shared a leftover piece of cheesecake. He begged for a piece, and I gave a him a sharp, gruff, "No!" I'm trying to teach him not to beg and whine for what he wants. I felt good because he took it like a man. I know he wanted to keep asking. I could see it almost spilling out of him. But he held it in. I was proud.
Thing is, I had every intention to share it with him in the first place. There is no way on earth that I could sit on my couch with my son next to me and not share this small slice of sweetness. Plus, I'm also trying to teach him how to share. It gives me leverage for me to share something so desirable with him. So it makes me happy to make him happy by sharing my cake with him. Truth is, he is what makes the cake so sweet. We killed that cake. He got the last bite. Don't you just hate that feeling when you're really enjoying something and then you realize it's all gone. I hate that feeling. No more cheesecake.
I hugged him tight and we watched one little Ant take action against an oppressive force in his colony. Funny thing, kid's movies be kinda deep.
My wife was sitting behind us on the stairs scrolling through her phone and looked up to say, "We have a verdict: Not guilty." Everything just froze. I had every intention of going to bed early, but now I can't sleep. I poured over Facebook and twitter reactions to the verdict. Posting, tweeting, commenting, liking, retweeting, searching...for something...anything that would make sense out of the senseless failure to deliver justice to a hurting family and a reeling community. I didn't go to bed till after 2:30. I hate going to bed on an empty stomach. There's that feeling again. Unsatisfied. No more cheesecake.
When I woke up this morning I wondered would we be
hungry enough for justice that it led us to speak out more?
When I woke up this morning I just felt really off. Bad taste in my mouth. I wondered, "Is it just me? What are other people saying?" Then I noticed that several cities were wide awake with protests through the night: D.C., Miami, San Fran, and more. I noticed this link to a site where they were listing all the cities, rallies, and protests happening today and tomorrow around the country. I didn't eat breakfast, but I was hungry.
My family spent the day with friends at the zoo; a much needed distraction from the frustration that would've probably consumed the better part of my day. It still didn't feel right though. I took note that there weren't many black folks at the zoo today. My wife agreed. Somebody commented that maybe they were all at church. Well this was certainly a good day to be in church. I actually woke up wondering what a few pastors would have to say on this particular Sunday. Plus, they always have good cake at church potlucks; or at least they used to. As I said, the zoo didn't seem right. I thought a lot about how they often treat us like animals (or less than animals). I thought about how our young black men are getting hunted down in the street like animals (S/O to Trayvon Martin). I thought about how they lock our young black men up in cages in such a disproportionate number (S/O to Michelle Alexander). I thought about the one person I'd like to see locked up in a cage right now (S/O to George Zimmerman). But still, no cheesecake.
Some people take this ultra high and super sanctimonious road; suggesting that we ought to be more upset about black on black crime than we are about George Zimmerman. To them I say, "Stop changing the subject! We're talking about cake. You're talking about Kool-aid." In other words, There's a big difference between impoverished and oppressed people in desperate situations taking desperate measures with disastrous ends. But this was a innocent young brother walking through a nice neighbor who was shot by a stranger for little reason beyond suspicion. Nowadays we don't even have to be poor, ghetto, criminals. You could be innocent, in a nice neighborhood, with a sweet tooth and a penchant for canned soft drinks. This verdict says you're not safe no matter who you are, or where you are. And the law does not, will not, protect you. Too bad, no cheesecake for you.
I'm hoping that this makes some people hungry...like really hungry. I know a lot of people are asking why we're so angry. Maybe it's because they've never been harassed by the cops. I have. Multiple times. Maybe they've never known anybody who was innocent and still got 15 years of hard prison time. I have. Numerous times. Maybe it's because black people keep coming up on the short end of the stick in these types of situations. Maybe it's because they don't have to teach their sons the same lessons that we have to teach our sons. But hey, maybe it's because you never find The Cheesecake Factory anywhere but the white neighborhood. I still want more cheesecake.
Mr. Martin and his family can no longer share precious
moments together. Trayvon is never coming back.
Anybody else hungry? Will our hunger lead us to speak up and speak out? Will our hunger lead us to get out into the streets, march, and protest? Will our hunger drive us beyond marches and speeches? Will our hunger lead us to lobby for legislative change? Will our hunger embolden us to organize in our communities and protect our youth from the forces that seek to destroy them? Will our hunger incite us to educate our sons and daughters for generational change? Anybody for some cheesecake?
Too bad for the Martin family. Especially, Mr. Tracy Martin. For them, for him, there's no more cheesecake. No more Saturday nights watching movies with his son. No more lessons to teach. No more sweet special moments to share. No more football games. No more justice; at least not right now. The cheesecake's all gone. The state of Florida killed that cake. George Zimmerman ate the last bite.
So a lot of people heard that I got arrested last night, and they've been tweeting and messaging me to find out what happened and whether or not I was joking. No, It wasn't a joke. It really did happen. And rather than tell the whole story a million times to everyone who asks, I figured I'd just put it here (maybe as a prelude to my official statement to the police). But first, since this blog is actually about Hip-Hop I feel inclined to draw a connection. The whole ordeal reminded me pf this song by Jay-Z. Please give it a listen and pay close attention to the 2nd verse. For those who may have trouble following the lyrics, click to listen and follow along here. For those readers whose ears have always only heard the soft dew falling on green petals in the gardens of goodness, please be advised you may be offended by some of the content. In other words, the following video contains explicit lyrics; parental discretion is advised.
My wife is headed to the inauguration with some family members. They live in south Texas and had planned to drive the entire way to D.C. The plan was for me to drop her off at a half way point when they stopped to sleep for the night. It just so happened that the rendezvous point chosen was Nashville, which was a benefit for me because I've got family about an hour away in Clarksville and could use the trip to pay a quick little visit.
The plan when off without a hitch. We were a little late getting on the road though, so we didn't make it to Nashville until after 10 (pm). So we chatted a bit and I determined to get back on the road so I can try and settle down before it gets too late. Plus, the Heat are playing the Lakers and I really wanna see Lebron beat up on Kobe again. I talked to my nephew on the phone as I was leaving Nashville and he told me that it was only halftime. The GPS said 1hr and 4 mins, so I'm hoping that I can catch at least some of the game.
By this time its just after 11 (pm) and the roads are clear so I'm making pretty good time on my way. The speed limit was 70 on the highway so I set the cruise control to about 76-77. I didn't wanna be speeding, but I was trying to catch at least a little bit of the game. I scanned the radio and found the local ESPN station and to my surprise they were calling the game live. I caught the third quarter just as it was starting and was listening with great delight as the Lebron and the Heat are successfully keeping the Lakers in check. It was at about 3-5 minutes left in the third quarter when the drama started.
Just like Jay-Z said, I noticed in my rear view mirror a car following me pretty close. I had a strong feeling that it was a cop because I know enough about cars that I can tell those Crown Victoria head lamps anywhere. Problem is, he was following me too close. Then he would drop back real far and then a few minutes later he was up on my bumper again. He was really driving kinda erratic, and so now he got me kinda worried. I'm checkin my rearview mirror thinkin all kinda crazy thoughts about Tennessee rednecks, KKK, and the like.
At one point I was in the slow lane and he pulled up beside me like he was going to pass, but stayed right near my back fender. Meanwhile, I'm comin up behind an 18-wheeler. Sidenote - I hate when people do that. They act like they wanna pass you, but then when you need to pass the car in front of you, they wanna ride next to you like you're partners. So in an effort to not have to reset my cruise control, I sped up, got in front of him, passed the truck, and got back over into the slow lane. All the while, I'm still not sure that this is a cop. The road is too dark, and I can't really tell. I'm actually pretty worried cause I'm feeling kinda harassed. I just prayed, "Lord help me get there safe." I don't need no issues with these crazy people out here.
That's when the game was gettin pretty good. Ray Allen came in the and hit a quick shot. NBA legend Chris Mullin was calling the game and commented that, "Ray Allen is the greatest shooter of all time!" I thought to myself, WOW! I pulled out my phone and started to tweet about it (don't judge me), but I felt myself veer to the right a little bit and then I remembered that I still had this cop riding my bumper so I opted to put the phone away. Just then, he rides up close on my bumper again. And finally, he flips his lights on.
Wow!
Here's the thing. I'm just about 7 exits away from where I'm going, but it's still some straight deep thick forest, so there's no way in the world I'm stopping out here in the middle-of-nowhere-darkness. It's just my luck though that there's an exit coming right up. I slowed, signaled right and exited. As I got on the exit ramp, I slowed down even more and turned on my hazard lights so that he knew that I saw him and that I wasn't trying to run. I got to the end of the ramp and there was a traffic light. I saw a gas station to the right and I was kicking myself because I had already opted to get in the left lane and turn left. I have no intention to make any sudden movements, so I'm just gonna wait it out at this light and hope he doesn't come running up to the car with his gun drawn.
When the light turned green I signaled and inched out so that he had no question that I wasn't trying to run. I turned my hazards back on and inched along, but I still have no intention of stopping until I reach one of these restaurants or gas stations up ahead. I'm barely out of my turn when he turns on the sirens and then the loudspeaker and starts barking orders. "PULL OVER TO THE RIGHT SHOULDER!!! PULL OVER TO THE SHOULDER!!"
Oh boy, here we go...
Why couldn't these gas stations be just 100 yards closer...ugghhhh man....I can feel it. It's about to go down right here, right now. And that's exactly what happened. Homie does a super-cop super maneuver and swings the patrol car in front of my car in a way that I'm either gonna slam on my brakes or I'm gonna hit the cop car. I slam on my brakes, and even though I'm kinda shocked by what just happened I know I gotta make sure I chill. I put the car in park and turn off the car. He jumps out the car. I roll down my window and start yelling like "What are you doing?!?!" But it's too late homie's already at level 12 on a 10 point scale. "Get out of the car! Get out of the car!"
He opened my door and starts pulling on my arm trying to pull me out of the car. He's twisting my arm and yelling, "Get out of the car!" He pulls out the cuffs and starts locking it on my wrist. All the while I'm like, "What did I do?!?!" You can't come dragging me out of my car like a criminal and I didn't break any laws.
I know this isn't right, but then I get to thinking...Im in Tennessee, I'm in the middle of nowhere, he's already outta control, and he's got a gun. This situation can get real ugly, real fast. I figure the safest decision is to just comply with him. I get out of the car. He turns me around and he seriously starts cuffing me. I'm actually really shocked and surprised, but then he opens the back door to the patrol car and tells me get in. I have not intention of getting in the back of the car. So I sit down on the back seat, but I'm not trying to put my feet in. And we're just kinda goin back and forth. "Why didn't you stop?!?!," he screamed. "Man I'm not stoppin on no dark highway! This is TENNESSEE!!!" We go back and forth until I finally turn and put my feet in.
He went around and got in, radioed in his stop, then we're goin back and forth again. "Why didn't you stop?!?! When you don't stop you're evading arrest!!!" That's when I reply, "I don't know who I'm dealin wit! I don't know you! I'm tryin to get to some lights!!!! I put my hazards on and slowed down that oughtta tell you I'm not tryna run!"
Then he got out, checked my car and motioned to the cars waiting on the street to move on by (we were clocking traffic from an off ramp and from the street). The whole time I'm sitting there thinkin that I can't believe I'm actually sittin in the back of a cop car. I've been read my rights before for some craziness I did in high school, but I've never actually been cuffed and thrown in the back of an actual cop car.
Let me add right here that you don't ever wanna be cuffed and thrown into a cop car. there's no space back there. My legs are pretty long so my knees are mashed up against the back of the front seat and thus pushing me back up against the backseat. But that's the worst part because your hands are cuffed behind your back. The cuffs were on super tight and when you combine that with your wrists all bent and pushing up against the back seat, you got the makings of a very uncomfortable situation. The only recourse is to turn your legs sideways and lean your shoulder sideways against the back seat to take the pressure of your wrists. Life-lesson: Don't get cuffed and thrown into a cop car.
Finally, he comes back to the car, opens the door and tells me, "Step out of the car. I am not detaining you any more, but you have to see it from my perspective. You didn't stop when I flashed my lights. Most people stop when I turn on my lights. The constitution states...blah blah blah...you made think you could be anybody. You could be a robber, a murderer. I don't know who I got here. All I'm thinking is why isn't this guy stopping? You could've been loading a gun...blah blah blah...Where is your wallet? I just need to check and make sure you are who you say you are.
Mind you, I'm still in the cuffs. He feels for my wallet, pulls it out, and puts me back in the back seat (cuffs still on). He gets back in the car, calls in my license, confirms my identity, then gets back out, motions more cars to move on, moves my car out of the street (we're still blocking traffic), get's back in the car and moves it up behind mine.
Then he comes back opens my door, lets me out, and finally takes the cuffs off. He proceeds to lecture me about the letter of the law and how his perspective of the situation led him to take such an aggressive approach. He proceeded to tell me he understands why I didn't want to stop and that he's a good guy just trying to obey the laws and not like those guys who beat up Rodney King. He said He grew up on the Southside of Chicago, and that he understands the stuff that goes on with cops in the city. It sounds a lot worse now that I'm typing it. Point is, he was working hard trying to apologize and make it clear that he had no ill intent. Nevertheless, he said he had to give me a warning for records sake.
I was just happy to be out of those cuffs, but kinda stunned and shocked by the craziness that just took place. Then, as I drove off I turned the radio back up and heard that the game was over. All this drama caused me to miss the end of the game. Thanks a lot for a wonderful evening Tennessee Highway Patrol.
The more I thought about it, I wondered if he would've took it to such a high level if I were a middle-aged white woman, or a senior white male. But because I'm a young black male wearing a black jacket, black bubble vest, and a black hat, I'm already at a gross disadvantage. Sad story. True story. A story that just about every black male can regurgitate for you in some way shape or form (especially if they're from the hood).
And that's exactly what Jay-Z is referring to in "99 Problems." It doesn't matter if he has drugs in the car or not. The cop admittedly pulled him over for "doing fifty-five in a fifty-fo." He immediately takes it to the next level of wanting him to get out of the car and to search him and all this extra stuff with no actual probable cause. The verse is about police harassment and the challenge of being black in America. It's hard to catch a break even if you're a pastor, author, and doctoral student. How hard do you think it is if you grew up in a poor, single-parent home in a Brooklyn housing project?
You probably had a hard time listening to the song because he used the "B" word so much, but that's another one of his problems one of his problems. If you listened closely to the song, he doesn't even talk about women. And that's just it. People are so appalled and embarrassed by him, they don't even take the time to hear him and the problems he's really dealing with.
I hear you Jay, and I feel you. I got 99 problems too.
If you havin girl problems I feel bad for you son. I got 99 problems but a cop ain't one.
