Icon by @ThatSpookyAgent. Call me Tir or Julian. 37. He/They. Queer. Twitter: @tirlaeyn. ao3: tirlaeyn. 18+ Only. Star Trek. The X-Files. Sandman. IwtV. OMFD. Definitionless in this Strict Atmosphere.
My thought is that it’s easier to control guns in this country than it is to control racism. The two are intertwined. But, legally, it is easier to control the production and sale of an object than it is to control the production and proliferation of a belief, no matter how abhorrent.
Generally speaking, my views on gun control and regulation are extreme. Extreme in that I deeply believe we shouldn’t have them, not at all, and police have gotten by just fine with nightsticks and flashlights (while never flinching from a long and storied history of brutality).
Getting rid of guns won’t stop racism or police brutality, but it will slow the slaughter of young black men and women, because it *has* to. And maybe, just *maybe* that will give everyone a little more space, a space in which maybe we can finally legislate that, no, you can’t just walk around killing people on sight, regardless of whether or not you wear a uniform. It’s an imperfect solution, hell, it’s not a solution–but it’s got to help stem the flow of blood.
There is one group of people in this country who may consider themselves to truly be “safer” for having guns, and that’s white men. That’s it. Break apart statistics on domestic violence, and women–of any ethnicity–are certainly not safer for there being a gun in the home. You don’t have to look hard to find that children, any ethnic minority, LGBTQ people, and all the places where those groups intersect, none of them are safer for the gun proliferation in this country. So, let’s pick it apart a little. The 2014 census reported white men as being roughly 31% of the entire US population.That’s it. Not even a full third of our population. To draw this out wildly, that means you have a minority deciding for a whole that it’s okay if everyone else gets shot and killed–young black men, children, gay people, women–so long as they can have access to a gun. For safety. Not to kill anyone, ever. They promise.
That’s privilege in its ugliest form. It’s also racism, because, there is an not-at-all subtle message that only white people should wield guns, men in particular. Gun ownership is tied so deeply to the idea of white American masculinity, that I could fill an entire post with nothing but action movie posters with a white guy holding a gun as blatant reference to his penis. (To be fair though, your wife, she can have a pink AK-47 if you get her one for Valentine’s Day. Oh, I’ve visited a gun show, thanks. And no, I’m never going back.)
But here, here’s the grossest false logic of all that white male privilege around guns. Most gun deaths in the US are suicides. Here’s a nice article on that. Most suicides by gun are committed by men. Oh, and here, look at a racial divide on gun deaths in the US. Basically, white men kill themselves and do so with guns. Do we count that as white-on-white crime or some other such nonsense? Any idea of gun safety, particularly our white American idea of gun safety–it’s a lie. All of it. We just don’t care when the mentally ill die, even if they happen to be white and male. So… okay, that’s even LESS than 31% of the US population that’s “safer” for having guns.
Which means there’s a very small number of ridiculous assholes out there who really don’t care when the rest of us die. Or worse, relish in the killing.
I don’t know how to stop racism. I always thought it was through reading, education, getting to know people, listening, and just trying. But that’s too slow and people are dying. I don’t know how to stop police brutality, or the fact that people are being hunted and others are being taught to hunt.
It seems pretty freakin’ clear what can be done to stop shootings, and it’s cut off the guns.
To not cut them off, we are saying:
It is okay for police to murder black people
It is okay for people to be shot for their sexual and gender identities
It is okay when women are shot in domestic disputes
It is okay to let our mentally ill die
It is okay to kill children
To be clear: none of that is okay, and we can’t pay for any of it anymore. And the number of black lives that have been lost for the “comfort” of less than 1/3rd of our population is beyond shameful.
I don’t like to stick my stupid white woman voice in on an issue where better people have more powerful things to say. I don’t like to stick my white woman voice in where it’s not needed or wanted, but goddamn do I have a stake in this. One of those statistics follows me around every day of my life. I don’t know how to stop systemic racism, but I damn well know one thing we can do to help keep people alive until we can fix it. SO. DO. YOU.
This put me damn near in tears; read this encounter with police that professor Steve Locke went through, and it will explain everything you need to know about being black in 21st century America. If you dont get it from this then really I’m wasting my time trying to explain it.
“This is what I wore to work today.
On my way to get a burrito before work, I was detained by the police.
I noticed the police car in the public lot behind Centre Street. As I was walking away from my car, the cruiser followed me. I walked down Centre Street and was about to cross over to the burrito place and the officer got out of the car.
“Hey my man,” he said.
He unsnapped the holster of his gun.
I took my hands out of my pockets.
“Yes?” I said.
“Where you coming from?”
“Home.”
Where’s home?”
“Dedham.”
How’d you get here?”
“I drove.”
He was next to me now. Two other police cars pulled up. I was standing in from of the bank across the street from the burrito place. I was going to get lunch before I taught my 1:30 class. There were cops all around me.
I said nothing. I looked at the officer who addressed me. He was white, stocky, bearded.
“You weren’t over there, were you?” He pointed down Centre Street toward Hyde Square.
“No. I came from Dedham.”
“What’s your address?”
I told him.
“We had someone matching your description just try to break into a woman’s house.”
A second police officer stood next to me; white, tall, bearded. Two police cruisers passed and would continue to circle the block for the 35 minutes I was standing across the street from the burrito place.
“You fit the description,” the officer said. “Black male, knit hat, puffy coat. Do you have identification.”
“It’s in my wallet. May I reach into my pocket and get my wallet?”
“Yeah.”
I handed him my license. I told him it did not have my current address. He walked over to a police car. The other cop, taller, wearing sunglasses, told me that I fit the description of someone who broke into a woman’s house. Right down to the knit cap.
Barbara Sullivan made a knit cap for me. She knitted it in pinks and browns and blues and oranges and lime green. No one has a hat like this. It doesn’t fit any description that anyone would have. I looked at the second cop. I clasped my hands in front of me to stop them from shaking.
“For the record,” I said to the second cop, “I’m not a criminal. I’m a college professor.” I was wearing my faculty ID around my neck, clearly visible with my photo.
“You fit the description so we just have to check it out.” The first cop returned and handed me my license.
“We have the victim and we need her to take a look at you to see if you are the person.”
It was at this moment that I knew that I was probably going to die. I am not being dramatic when I say this. I was not going to get into a police car. I was not going to present myself to some victim. I was not going let someone tell the cops that I was not guilty when I already told them that I had nothing to do with any robbery. I was not going to let them take me anywhere because if they did, the chance I was going to be accused of something I did not do rose exponentially. I knew this in my heart. I was not going anywhere with these cops and I was not going to let some white woman decide whether or not I was a criminal, especially after I told them that I was not a criminal. This meant that I was going to resist arrest. This meant that I was not going to let the police put their hands on me.
If you are wondering why people don’t go with the police, I hope this explains it for you.
Something weird happens when you are on the street being detained by the police. People look at you like you are a criminal. The police are detaining you so clearly you must have done something, otherwise they wouldn’t have you. No one made eye contact with me. I was hoping that someone I knew would walk down the street or come out of one of the shops or get off the 39 bus or come out of JP Licks and say to these cops, “That’s Steve Locke. What the FUCK are you detaining him for?”
The cops decided that they would bring the victim to come view me on the street. The asked me to wait. I said nothing. I stood still.
“Thanks for cooperating,” the second cop said. “This is probably nothing, but it’s our job and you do fit the description. 5′ 11″, black male. One-hundred-and-sixty pounds, but you’re a little more than that. Knit hat.”
A little more than 160. Thanks for that, I thought.
An older white woman walked behind me and up to the second cop. She turned and looked at me and then back at him. “You guys sure are busy today.”
I noticed a black woman further down the block. She was small and concerned. She was watching what was going on. I focused on her red coat. I slowed my breathing. I looked at her from time to time.
I thought: Don’t leave, sister. Please don’t leave.
The first cop said, “Where do you teach?”
“Massachusetts College of Art and Design.” I tugged at the lanyard that had my ID.
“How long you been teaching there?”
“Thirteen years.”
We stood in silence for about 10 more minutes.
An unmarked police car pulled up. The first cop went over to talk to the driver. The driver kept looking at me as the cop spoke to him. I looked directly at the driver. He got out of the car.
“I’m Detective Cardoza. I appreciate your cooperation.”
I said nothing.
“I’m sure these officers told you what is going on?”
“They did.”
“Where are you coming from?”
“From my home in Dedham.”
“How did you get here?”
“I drove.”
“Where is your car?”
“It’s in the lot behind Bukhara.” I pointed up Centre Street.
“Okay,” the detective said. “We’re going to let you go. Do you have a car key you can show me?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m going to reach into my pocket and pull out my car key.”
“Okay.”
I showed him the key to my car.
The cops thanked me for my cooperation. I nodded and turned to go.
“Sorry for screwing up your lunch break,” the second cop said.
I walked back toward my car, away from the burrito place. I saw the woman in red.
“Thank you,” I said to her. “Thank you for staying.”
“Are you ok?” She said. Her small beautiful face was lined with concern.
“Not really. I’m really shook up. And I have to get to work.”
“I knew something was wrong. I was watching the whole thing. The way they are treating us now, you have to watch them. ”
“I’m so grateful you were there. I kept thinking to myself, ‘Don’t leave, sister.’ May I give you a hug?”
“Yes,” she said. She held me as I shook. “Are you sure you are ok?”
“No I’m not. I’m going to have a good cry in my car. I have to go teach.”
“You’re at MassArt. My friend is at MassArt.”
“What’s your name?” She told me. I realized we were Facebook friends. I told her this.
“I’ll check in with you on Facebook,” she said.
I put my head down and walked to my car.
My colleague was in our shared office and she was able to calm me down. I had about 45 minutes until my class began and I had to teach. I forgot the lesson I had planned. I forget the schedule. I couldn’t think about how to do my job. I thought about the fact my word counted for nothing, they didn’t believe that I wasn’t a criminal. They had to find out. My word was not enough for them. My ID was not enough for them. My handmade one-of-a-kind knit hat was an object of suspicion. My Ralph Lauren quilted blazer was only a “puffy coat.” That white woman could just walk up to a cop and talk about me like I was an object for regard. I wanted to go back and spit in their faces. The cops were probably deeply satisfied with how they handled the interaction, how they didn’t escalate the situation, how they were respectful and polite.
I imagined sitting in the back of a police car while a white woman decides if I am a criminal or not. If I looked guilty being detained by the cops imagine how vile I become sitting in a cruiser? I knew I could not let that happen to me. I knew if that were to happen, I would be dead.
Nothing I am, nothing I do, nothing I have means anything because I fit the description.
I had to confess to my students that I was a bit out of it today and I asked them to bear with me. I had to teach.
After class I was supposed to go to the openings for First Friday. I went home.”
Honestly, if any person of color sees something like this please stay and comfort them. We need to protect our black brothers and sisters. They are a target in this racist shitty country. We don’t need another innocent life taken away.
Watch Powerful Spoken Word Poem “Black Joke” By Taylor Steele
In her poem “Black Joke” poet Taylor Steele highlights the most common jokes White people throw at Black people. She perfectly explains how unthoughtful it is of people to say such things and how an intention to come off as funny turns you into a racist. Next time you come up with a witty remark, think twice before letting unwholesome word proceed from your mouth.
The United Church of Christ (whose congregation is 87% white) posted a meme on its Facebook page Saturday showing congregants how they can reject their white privilege. Only Jesus can fix the response in the comment section.
Globally, most victims of terrorism are Muslim.
“In cases where the religious affiliation of terrorism casualties could
be determined, Muslims suffered between 82 and 97 percent of
terrorism-related fatalities over the past five years.”
I know people will argue causes and solutions. Can we at least admit the U.S. has a clear problem with gun violence?
Politicians are trying to pass laws to keep transgender people out of bathrooms, despite the fact that,
“Over 200 municipalities and 18 states have nondiscrimination laws
protecting transgender people’s access to facilities consistent with the
gender they live every day, [and] none of those jurisdictions have seen
a rise in sexual violence or other public safety issues due to
nondiscrimination laws.”
Meanwhile, this wave of transgender bathroom panic has led to moreattacksbycisgender people.
One study
found that 70% of transgender people had been harassed while trying to
use the restroom, and just under 10% had been physically assaulted.
#
I’m tired. I’m heartsick.
I’m afraid. Not for myself — statistically, I’m one of the safest
people in the U.S. — but for my friends, my loved ones, and my country.
I’m afraid we’ll keep looking for simple, simplistic answers to
complex problems. We want a clear enemy to fight. An easy solution.
Build a wall. Bomb ISIS. Kick “them” out of the country.
It’s the same pattern, the same thinking I’ve seen with cases of
rape. We cling to myths and misinformation that give us a false sense of
safety. Like rapists are all strangers lurking in the bushes, easily
identified and avoided with simple precautions. Rape victims must have
done something to deserve it, and if we avoid those “mistakes,” we’ll be
safe. Carrying a gun will keep you from getting raped.
I’m afraid my country will continue to accept these tragedies, so
long as those in power aren’t directly or proportionally affected.
I’m afraid people will still refuse to recognize or acknowledge the
real risks LGBTQ people, people of color, women, non-Christians, and
other minorities face every day in this country. Or we’ll minimize the
risks and harassment, as illustrated so well in a recent Dork Tower comic.
Time and again we refuse to listen. We refuse to believe people when
they talk about the threats, the harassment, the fear they face simply
for existing. Simply for trying to have a voice. We call them
thin-skinned and oversensitive. We accuse them of making it up for
attention. We dismiss them as “perpetually offended.” All so we can
avoid the discomfort of acknowledging the hatred and violence others
face every day.
I’m afraid we’ve grown numb to violence.
I’m afraid we’ll continue to let everyday hate and bigotry go unchallenged.
I’m afraid we’ll keep attacking things like diversity and
inclusiveness and representation instead of recognizing them as a
reflection of the world we live in, and a way to help build empathy and
connection and acceptance.
I’m afraid those in power are teaching our children to Beware the
Other, and to use hate and violence to keep those others from gaining
power of their own.
I’m afraid people will continue to choose the comfort of ignorance.
To all of my friends and readers and loved ones, particularly those
of you who are people of color, who are LGBTQIA, who aren’t Christian,
who aren’t male, and who are otherwise marginalized, you don’t deserve
this. You don’t deserve the hatred. You don’t deserve to live in fear.
You have my love, and you have my ongoing pledge to try to make things better in whatever ways I can.
whom is delusional enough to think violence against lgbt people can be divorced from racial disparity in the united states a country where black & latin@ lgbt people are statistically the least likely to survive homophobic/transphobic attacks
