Hey all!
Here is a recent short piece by Glen Ford. I am reposting it on my blog because I think it is an important perspective.
A Black Agenda Radio commentary by Glen Ford
Why did Staff Sgt. Robert Bales kill 16 Iraqi civilians in the deep of night and, supposedly, all by himself in the countryside of a foreign land? Why did George Zimmerman stalk and then kill 17-year-old Trayvon Martin as the 140-pound kid talked on a cell phone with his girlfriend in a gated community near Orlando, Florida? Bales and Zimmerman did it because they could, because they felt they had permission to snuff out the lives of Iraqis and Black teenagers who had never even thought to offend them. The only reason that these two instances of murder are of such deep importance in the larger scheme of things, rather than just to the families and neighbors of the victims and the killers, is because both murderers had good reason to believe that American society would approve of what they did.
Certainly, Sgt. Bales thought so. He had served three tours in Iraq, after joining the Army at the ripe old age of 27 right after 9/11. The hyper-nationalist media constantly told him and the rest of American public that the troops were “heroes” who were not only serving their own country, but also doing a great favor for the Iraqis and the Afghans. If the people of Iraq and Afghanistan didn’t appreciate the presence of Sgt. Bales and his fellow soldiers and marines, well, they were ingrates of the worst kind, unworthy of the sacrifice of even one of Sgt. Bales’ buddies. Besides, they were all Hajjis – a slur for Muslims that has the same venomous connotation as “nigger.” Sgt. Bales was not ashamed to use the term “Hajji” in letters to his wife, so I guess he had reason to believe she was a racist, too. The U.S. military preferred to descend on villages late at night, when they had the advantage of surprise and night vision goggles and could wipe out whole extended families of Taliban – or people who were pronounced to be Taliban, post-mortem – usually without suffering a single casualty. We own the night – that’s what the Americans said. And nighttime is for killing Hajjis.
George Zimmerman had every reason to believe that Florida’s Stand Your Ground law was written especially for him. And, actually, it was. The Sanford, Florida police department clearly thought the law was meant to protect Zimmerman from murder charges, which is why they claim they didn’t arrest him. When Zimmerman called the local cops from his SUV to tell them he was stalking Trayvon Martin, he confided to them that “assholes” like the unknown Black kid “always get away.” But, this one wouldn’t get away – not with his life. Florida and lots of other states in recent years have noted that too many Black people are getting away with life, and need to be stopped, so they crafted legislation that would allow white fear to trump Black rights to breath air. In such jurisdictions, evocation of white fear now provides the same justification for summary murder as claims of rape of white women did for mob lynchings, back in the day. It is as if the Florida legislature had put out a call for Black people to be summarily shot all over the state, when it passed the bill. The racial intention was clear, the results totally predictable. George Zimmerman doesn’t seem like a very bright young man, but even he knew that Florida civil society wanted some Black folks dead.
Sgt. Bales and Steve Zimmerman murdered Afghans and an African American kid because they could, and because American society told them that they should.
For Black Agenda Radio, I’m Glen Ford. On the web, go to BlackAgendaReport.com.
BAR executive editor Glen Ford can be contacted at Glen.Ford@BlackAgendaReport.com
Showing posts with label black. Show all posts
Showing posts with label black. Show all posts
Monday, March 26, 2012
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Is There Any One Way To Be Black?
No, of course not. There is no one way to be black. We have pundits that try to pigeon-hole it, to make people (and of course) society feel that there is just one way out there. Also, let's not forget the role of stereotypes. Stereotypes have been consistent and successful in institutionalizing that one-way view. And, of course, the paradox about stereotypes is that there is a part of them that is true.
When I was six years old, I remember hearing two words on the radio quite often. Those words were guerrilla and Negro. I had been to the Bronx Zoo with my family a few times, so I thought I knew what a guerrilla was. Much to my surprise, after asking my father, I found out it wasn't the kind of animal I had in mind.
"Well then, what is a guerrilla?" I asked.
"The guerrilla they were talking about on the radio is a liberation fighter. As I explained to you before, there are all kinds of wars going on around the world, and this "guerrilla" wages war differently than what you see on television or have been taught in school."
"OK. And what is a Negro?" I asked.
"Look in the mirror," my father said tersely.
The curtness of his answer both surprised and shocked me. But being that I had politically active parents, I came to realize that something was terribly wrong with a society that puts distinctions on individuals or groups based solely on color. I was also grateful that my parents encouraged me as a youth to work with my peers to design “rap” sessions and workshops that seriously addressed the questions of the day. As the next few years of my life unfolded, through these rap sessions and informal workshops with my peers, I realized that as a "Negro," in order to be considered equal to white people, I would have to spend much of my time de-emphasizing the distinction of color. This realization was very painful for me because I had also been taught to appreciate the distinction of color as it related to cultural achievement and pride.
These experiences brought me full circle insofar as developing, as a teenager, working models for social change. But interestingly, within that context, I started to see that there was not one way to be black. There were so many ways black folk were expressing "themselves." Some were productive, some were mysterious and lost, some were profound, some were negative, and some were just too real.
Funny. I had a choice of "blackness" to pick from. And I have chosen all of them in my life. Some were safe. Some were familiar. Some I just hung on to (and still hang on to to this day) because I was and am too scared to venture out on my own and define it for myself. It is safer sometimes to let dominant culture define it for me. That way, I don't have to discover my path or the truth. But within this context WAS how I looked at change. Was I comfortable in my black skin? At that age, yes, but no too. I admit that I was working the stereotypes; the good ones to help define my blackness, the negatives one internalizing. As a teenager, I knew or had a more intellectual understanding of change. I knew that if change is inevitable, I needed to direct the change instead of just watching it pass on by. I also knew that there was a relationship between consciousness and action, and that it was important to always remember that, even in times of great fear and trepidation.
So yes, I take these lessons forward to this day. And I feel there is positive movement in my quest to define my blackness, but where I still feel diminished/stuck is outside of my inner self, my heart, and in what I allow the larger society to define for me. And I think that I have internalized the subtle values of my white friends/relationships and dominant culture in terms of them shaping my identity instead of shaping it on my own.
I have to understand that my level of understanding attained is the beginning of the change and not the end result of change. I have to be vigilant about what I do once I reach certain levels of political consciousness, and not become complacent because I feel that the work is over and there is no more left to accomplish. Or, that what is left to accomplish is either too hard (internalizing the feeling of being diminished) or too easy (succumbing to white guilt and using it as a negotiating tool with my white friends and my blended family).
In conclusion, I feel that I must take responsibility to develop frameworks that translate historical lessons into a language I can not not only understand, but can mobilize and educate people as well. That would be the best way to define myself as a black person, one with a healthy identity that can't be taken away from me.
When I was six years old, I remember hearing two words on the radio quite often. Those words were guerrilla and Negro. I had been to the Bronx Zoo with my family a few times, so I thought I knew what a guerrilla was. Much to my surprise, after asking my father, I found out it wasn't the kind of animal I had in mind.
"Well then, what is a guerrilla?" I asked.
"The guerrilla they were talking about on the radio is a liberation fighter. As I explained to you before, there are all kinds of wars going on around the world, and this "guerrilla" wages war differently than what you see on television or have been taught in school."
"OK. And what is a Negro?" I asked.
"Look in the mirror," my father said tersely.
The curtness of his answer both surprised and shocked me. But being that I had politically active parents, I came to realize that something was terribly wrong with a society that puts distinctions on individuals or groups based solely on color. I was also grateful that my parents encouraged me as a youth to work with my peers to design “rap” sessions and workshops that seriously addressed the questions of the day. As the next few years of my life unfolded, through these rap sessions and informal workshops with my peers, I realized that as a "Negro," in order to be considered equal to white people, I would have to spend much of my time de-emphasizing the distinction of color. This realization was very painful for me because I had also been taught to appreciate the distinction of color as it related to cultural achievement and pride.
These experiences brought me full circle insofar as developing, as a teenager, working models for social change. But interestingly, within that context, I started to see that there was not one way to be black. There were so many ways black folk were expressing "themselves." Some were productive, some were mysterious and lost, some were profound, some were negative, and some were just too real.
Funny. I had a choice of "blackness" to pick from. And I have chosen all of them in my life. Some were safe. Some were familiar. Some I just hung on to (and still hang on to to this day) because I was and am too scared to venture out on my own and define it for myself. It is safer sometimes to let dominant culture define it for me. That way, I don't have to discover my path or the truth. But within this context WAS how I looked at change. Was I comfortable in my black skin? At that age, yes, but no too. I admit that I was working the stereotypes; the good ones to help define my blackness, the negatives one internalizing. As a teenager, I knew or had a more intellectual understanding of change. I knew that if change is inevitable, I needed to direct the change instead of just watching it pass on by. I also knew that there was a relationship between consciousness and action, and that it was important to always remember that, even in times of great fear and trepidation.
So yes, I take these lessons forward to this day. And I feel there is positive movement in my quest to define my blackness, but where I still feel diminished/stuck is outside of my inner self, my heart, and in what I allow the larger society to define for me. And I think that I have internalized the subtle values of my white friends/relationships and dominant culture in terms of them shaping my identity instead of shaping it on my own.
I have to understand that my level of understanding attained is the beginning of the change and not the end result of change. I have to be vigilant about what I do once I reach certain levels of political consciousness, and not become complacent because I feel that the work is over and there is no more left to accomplish. Or, that what is left to accomplish is either too hard (internalizing the feeling of being diminished) or too easy (succumbing to white guilt and using it as a negotiating tool with my white friends and my blended family).
In conclusion, I feel that I must take responsibility to develop frameworks that translate historical lessons into a language I can not not only understand, but can mobilize and educate people as well. That would be the best way to define myself as a black person, one with a healthy identity that can't be taken away from me.
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