I got time (not really, but let’s pretend I do).
By: Yordanos T.
Tags: Capitol Riot, BlackLivesMatter, White Supremacy, George Floyd, Trump

I was 13, almost 14, when I first became aware of how dangerous Black skin was.

At 15, I learned that Black people don’t receive justice.

The summer after my freshman year of high school, I watched every single day of the Florida v. Zimmerman trial. I wasn’t able to watch it at home, so I went to my gym and used whatever machine that had the trial playing on a TV in front of it. When I heard the news about the verdict, I was confused. I couldn’t comprehend the fact that a grown man was getting away with killing a teenager. Trayvon Martin’s death sparked the #BlackLivesMatter hashtag on social media that turned into a movement.

A year and four days after the Zimmerman verdict, Eric Garner said “I can’t breathe” 11 times as he fought for his life while he was held in a chokehold by a NYPD officer. A month later, Michael Brown of Ferguson, Missouri was shot and killed by a police officer just under 90 seconds after they encountered each other. Two months after that, Tamir Rice was killed at the park in Cleveland, Ohio. He was 12.

2015 took away Walter Scott, Freddie Gray and Sandra Bland from us. The #SayHerName hashtag turned movement was a response to Sandra Bland’s death. The movement seeks to specifically highlight the ways that Black women are disproportionately affected by police brutality and anti-Black violence, with perpetrators being predominantly male.

At the time of Bland’s death I was about to enter my senior year of high school. Being 17, I was finally a lot more aware of the treatment of Black people by the state. Bland died exactly two years after George Zimmerman was acquitted of all charges. All throughout high school, I watched the state kill Black people and terrorize those who marched for them in the streets. I also watched many people in my life ridicule the movement, justify deaths, and blame Black people for things we have no control over.

You know how racists are always saying things like “me??? Racist???? I have a Black friend!” Only recently have I come to the realization that to many, I was one of the first Black people they considered a friend. I attended predominantly white religious schools for most of elementary/middle/high school, so you can imagine the demographic of the people I was around during most of my life. Growing up in church, I was probably one of the only Black people in my age group, and I think that my religious background made me an “exceptional Black” for a lot of people. There was so much social distance between me and other Black people that I was stuck in a bubble where my Blackness was so ignored, (unless you know, someone wanted to be racist) to the point that I felt guilty for caring about these Black movements. Whenever I publicly expressed something that pertained to Black people, I was gaslit to the point where I thought “hmm, maybe I am being too sensitive.” It took me a while to realize that the reason why I was made to feel so ashamed about wanting others to care about Black people was because the communities I was a part of simply did not care about Black people who weren’t me/my family/those “like us.”

The summer before I started college, the back-to-back killings of Alton Sterling and Philando Castile took place. My freshman colloquium class was titled “Remembering Emmett Till,” and in it, we studied the life and death of Till as well as the history of anti-Black violence in this country. Up until that point of my life, Black people had never been discussed in any classroom I was in (outside of the watered down/filtered out Civil Rights history stuff and like, slavery). It was refreshing to be able to talk about my frustrations, fears, and hopes with people in the same room as me versus with strangers on the internet. Outside of the classroom, I was able to finally meet and befriend other Black people on campus. It was the first time in my life that I had opportunities to be in community with people who looked like me. I learned how comforting it was to know that I wasn’t the “only one” anymore. Even though there were bigger things to care about at the time, being around other Black people really helped me feel less guilty about wanting better for myself.

During the Fall semester of my junior year, I had the chance to take a course titled “Black Lives Matter.” As one of two Black students in the class, I must admit that it felt kinda weird sharing a syllabus with my non-Black classmates. I don’t think I learned anything new in the class (not that the class was bad, but it was definitely a class for non-Black people) but I did come out of it with a new understanding of white entitlement and the myth that is BIPOC solidarity. I remember having an assignment where I talked about the death of Botham Jean of Dallas, Texas, who was killed in his own apartment. While I was working on that assignment I took a moment to think about how odd it was that I was taking a class where I could be the next topic of. Yeah, it was nice to have the Black experience academically validated but at what cost? Is it even necessary?

By the time I graduated, I learned that the academic and institutional validation of Black people and Black experiences meant nothing, and in most cases, did more harm than good. There’s a reason why my school had a “Black Lives Matter “ class while they did not formally celebrate Black History Month (to the extent of comparable liberal arts schools in the state). There’s a reason why a white sorority member was able to stay at school after she sang the n-word on camera. There’s a reason why after the incident, the Black Dean of Students asked if I could gather some Black students so we could have dinner with and educate a group of white people about why they shouldn’t be racist. Long story short, these folks will only care about Black people when the entire world seems to be doing so.

I kind of took a detour but I’m about to get back on track. Oops.

The deaths of Breonna Taylor and George Floyd as well as the nationwide protests that followed had everyone scrambling to say something. We all know why politicians, corporations, and academic institutions had to make sure their statements emphasized peaceful protests. My own Facebook timeline was filled with self proclaimed liberals spewing the same talking points as hardcore conservatives. People who claimed to support Black lives suddenly became Walmart and Target activists. I saw more Christians listing Bible verses to condemn violent protests than Christians listing Bible verses condemning anti-Black violence. The whole “our country is more divided than ever” rhetoric was being swallowed UP by people who wanted to stay neutral, which had me confused because howwwwwwww do you stay neutral in a time like that? If you don’t like negroes, say it with your chest — nothing will happen to you, you’re probably in the majority.

As a resident of the anarchist jurisdiction, Portland, I have done my best to keep up with what activists and community members are up to. The way the news, anti-antifas, and the president were talking about Portland, you’d think they were telling the plot of one of The Purge movies. Most of the country was talking about the Portland protests in a way that completely dismissed the escalation of violence by local law enforcement and federal agents. No one was talking about the mutual aid and community support that many protesters participated in. Although protests have died down since the summer, they haven’t even stopped completely. It’s been nine months since the start of the summer, and Portland activists are still advocating for change, leading protests, and making sure that the most vulnerable in the city are being taken care of. All of that to say, the violent protests that took place over the summer were just as valid as the peaceful protests. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s quote “a riot is the language of the unheard” was referenced many times this past summer, and I’d like to share the portion of his speech that quote came from:

“…I think America must see that riots do not develop out of thin air. Certain conditions continue to exist in our society, which must be condemned as vigorously as we condemn riots. But in the final analysis, a riot is the language of the unheard. And what is it that America has failed to hear? It has failed to hear that the plight of the Negro poor has worsened over the last few years. It has failed to hear that the promises of freedom and justice have not been met. And it has failed to hear that large segments of white society are more concerned about tranquility and the status quo than about justice, equality and humanity. And so in a real sense our nation’s summers of riots are caused by our nation’s winters of delay. And as long as America postpones justice, we stand in the position of having these recurrences of violence and riots over and over again. Social justice and progress are the absolute guarantors of riot prevention.” — King

Yesterday was Martin Luther King Jr. Day aka the birthday of Martin Luther King Jr. aka the day people and institutions who would’ve actually hated MLK Jr. post the most palatable quote of his they can find to prove they aren’t racist. This day happens every single year, but the hypocrisy really jumped out this year.

The same people I’ve been seeing condemn the Black Lives Matter protests over the summer posted a quote.

The same institutions I’ve seen do the bare minimum to advocate for Black people and denounce white supremacy posted a quote.

The folks who decided to not comment on the January 6 attack on the Capitol after bragging about being on the Trump Train since 2015 posted a quote.

If King was assassinated in the year 2021, the country would react in the same way they have been reacting since May 2020. No one can change my mind. The quotes I saw yesterday — and the quotes I see every year — only prove my point.

In King’s Letter from a Birmingham Jail he writes “…I must confess that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Councilor or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to “order” than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: “I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action”; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a “more convenient season.” When is that “more convenient season?” If anyone finds the dates for it let me know so that I can put it in my Google Calendar.

In all seriousness, we’re watching. I’m watching. The Black people in your lives are watching. The Black people in your workplace are watching. The Black people on your campus are watching. Not only are we watching, but we’re left to deal with the emotions that come with seeing your ignorance. Grow up a little, listen to Black people, and stop treating Black lives like a political issue. How does Black liberation hurt you?

#BlackLivesMatter