I grew up in a small town outside of Atlanta. Admittedly it wasn't too diverse, either you were Black or you where White (ironically Spanish speakers, Indians and other First World people were designated as White) and with that we all knew our "place." Blacks for the most part were relegated to working either domestic or warehouse jobs where Whites were "professionals." While of course there were exceptions to the rule, but this is pretty much how the city ran.My mother kept me very involved in extracurricular activities i.e. scouts, sports, etc. and this kept me in a pretty mixed crowd.I grew up being told that I was trying to "act white" or that I "talked just like a white boy." (Ironically, now I get that I sound like a Yankee, imagine that!) While I never thought that I sounded any different that my friends in the "Blacksville" community, I guess my close proximity to Whites did have a bearing on my speech patterns (couple that with my families insistence that I speak correctly). My Great Grandmother as well as my Grandmother worked for a very prominent family as domestics (I won't say their name, but I will say that there is a street named after them and they owned a drug store that took up the chairs in it after several Black people came and demanded to be served). Working in this capacity was both a blessing and a curse. I watched them say Sir and Ma'am to children younger than their own, but at the same time, I watched them be able to manipulate the de facto segregation of the 1980s in this small town.
I can recall one day being at the home of this prominent family and the patriarch of the family struck up a conversation with me. After we chatted for some time, he went into the kitchen (that placed reserved for domestics) and told my grandmother that was a "exceptional" boy and that I was mannerly. I recall her telling me how proud she was of me and that if I kept that up, I would grow up and be successful.
A few years later I was in Boy Scouts and for some reason my mother didn't put me in the "Black" Boy Scout Troop at my church, I went to the White one on the "White" side of town. Unlike most years, I wasn't the only "Black" Boy Scout in my den. After going to visit the sick at the local hospital, I can recall my Den mother pulling me aside and telling me that she was so proud that I wasn't like the rest of them (Ironically the them lived in my neighborhood and were my friends when I was away from "them"). While there are a few more incidents of me being told that I was "smart to be Black" or that I wasn't "really Black" because of the way that I spoke or acted, I was always reminded that I wasn't exceptional every time I went back to the house where my Great Grandmother, my mother, my Grand Uncle and I lived. It was a small two bedroom house where my mother and I shared a bunk bed. I was sure I wasn't exceptional every day I saw my mother coming home tired from working long hours at the Waffle House or when the White kids would call my friends the "N" word and then tell me that they were so glad I wasn't one.
Let me begin this by saying that racial profiling abhors me and it is a major issue in communities of color was well as many poor and working class communities. In the very near future I want to look at the rate that African Americans are stopped by police compared to Whites, but also, how African Americans are sentenced in comparison to Whites as well. For far too long, race has been the elephant in the closet and America has failed time and time again to forthrightly address this issue. (I had several people to say to me things like "now that we have a Black president, Al Sharpton and Jessie Jackson won't have a job," as if racism, prejudice and bigotry were going to disappear after the inauguration.) While I don't want to address the issue of racial profiling in this essay, what I do want to look at is Dr. Henry Louis Gates' notion that the cop "didn't know who he was messing with" and that "I studied the history of racism. I know EVERY incident in the history of racism from slavery to Jim Crow segregation" or "if this could happen to me, it could happen to any body in America," as if he is some how exempt or above the every day struggles of African Americans.
I'm sure most people involved in African American Studies in one way or another knows that Dr. Gates has often compared himself to the 21st century's equivalent to W.E.B. DuBois. One need not to forget the controversy surrounding the Encyclopedia Africana or Dr. Gates' lack of involvement in any African American Studies Professional Organization. Maybe I'm reading too much into Dr. Gates' statements but it seems to me that he feels that he's above the lived experiences of "everyday" African Americans. It seems to me that Dr. Gates' as brilliant and accomplished as he is has let the "exceptional" Negro phenomena get the best of him. He seems to epitomize what Adolf Reid talked about when he said that quite often scholars put the back to the Bantustan to translate the drums for Tarzan rather than talk to the drummers.
I sure hope Dr. Gates was not injured physically or psychologically by this incident and I also hope this incident (though not isolated from the daily experiences of most of us) sparks a meaningful conversation about race in America and the world. I pray that this motivates us to look at not only racial profiling, but police brutality and the sentencing disparities between African Americans and Whites, but I also hope it sparks some conversation about political prisoners and prisoners of war in America's prisons. More importantly, I hope this will remind us of Malcolm X's quote, "What do you call a Black man with a Ph.D.?" Maybe this situation will help ground the "Dream Team," but also remind us all that we are not divorced from the brother on the corner with his pants sagging and his hat cocked to the side in the eyes of some. It was W.E.B. DuBois who said the problem with the 20th century is the problem of the color line and now the problem with the 21st century may be the problem of the class within color line.
I can recall one day being at the home of this prominent family and the patriarch of the family struck up a conversation with me. After we chatted for some time, he went into the kitchen (that placed reserved for domestics) and told my grandmother that was a "exceptional" boy and that I was mannerly. I recall her telling me how proud she was of me and that if I kept that up, I would grow up and be successful.
A few years later I was in Boy Scouts and for some reason my mother didn't put me in the "Black" Boy Scout Troop at my church, I went to the White one on the "White" side of town. Unlike most years, I wasn't the only "Black" Boy Scout in my den. After going to visit the sick at the local hospital, I can recall my Den mother pulling me aside and telling me that she was so proud that I wasn't like the rest of them (Ironically the them lived in my neighborhood and were my friends when I was away from "them"). While there are a few more incidents of me being told that I was "smart to be Black" or that I wasn't "really Black" because of the way that I spoke or acted, I was always reminded that I wasn't exceptional every time I went back to the house where my Great Grandmother, my mother, my Grand Uncle and I lived. It was a small two bedroom house where my mother and I shared a bunk bed. I was sure I wasn't exceptional every day I saw my mother coming home tired from working long hours at the Waffle House or when the White kids would call my friends the "N" word and then tell me that they were so glad I wasn't one.
Let me begin this by saying that racial profiling abhors me and it is a major issue in communities of color was well as many poor and working class communities. In the very near future I want to look at the rate that African Americans are stopped by police compared to Whites, but also, how African Americans are sentenced in comparison to Whites as well. For far too long, race has been the elephant in the closet and America has failed time and time again to forthrightly address this issue. (I had several people to say to me things like "now that we have a Black president, Al Sharpton and Jessie Jackson won't have a job," as if racism, prejudice and bigotry were going to disappear after the inauguration.) While I don't want to address the issue of racial profiling in this essay, what I do want to look at is Dr. Henry Louis Gates' notion that the cop "didn't know who he was messing with" and that "I studied the history of racism. I know EVERY incident in the history of racism from slavery to Jim Crow segregation" or "if this could happen to me, it could happen to any body in America," as if he is some how exempt or above the every day struggles of African Americans.
I'm sure most people involved in African American Studies in one way or another knows that Dr. Gates has often compared himself to the 21st century's equivalent to W.E.B. DuBois. One need not to forget the controversy surrounding the Encyclopedia Africana or Dr. Gates' lack of involvement in any African American Studies Professional Organization. Maybe I'm reading too much into Dr. Gates' statements but it seems to me that he feels that he's above the lived experiences of "everyday" African Americans. It seems to me that Dr. Gates' as brilliant and accomplished as he is has let the "exceptional" Negro phenomena get the best of him. He seems to epitomize what Adolf Reid talked about when he said that quite often scholars put the back to the Bantustan to translate the drums for Tarzan rather than talk to the drummers.
I sure hope Dr. Gates was not injured physically or psychologically by this incident and I also hope this incident (though not isolated from the daily experiences of most of us) sparks a meaningful conversation about race in America and the world. I pray that this motivates us to look at not only racial profiling, but police brutality and the sentencing disparities between African Americans and Whites, but I also hope it sparks some conversation about political prisoners and prisoners of war in America's prisons. More importantly, I hope this will remind us of Malcolm X's quote, "What do you call a Black man with a Ph.D.?" Maybe this situation will help ground the "Dream Team," but also remind us all that we are not divorced from the brother on the corner with his pants sagging and his hat cocked to the side in the eyes of some. It was W.E.B. DuBois who said the problem with the 20th century is the problem of the color line and now the problem with the 21st century may be the problem of the class within color line.
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