When I was 18, I ran away from St. Louis.  I ran away from it’s racism.  I rarely spoke about it, when I was there.  Mainly because I knew what many of your reactions would be. “Don’t be silly.”  “That isn’t what is happening.”  “That’s not racist.”  “You aren’t like the others.”

I was the only black kid in my grade at Catholic school and one of four in my high school class.  It takes a lot for a kid to speak up when you are the only one.  I was already advocating for myself because of my height.  Speaking up about race was too much.  So, I lied to you and I am sorry for that.

I let the comments “You are cool for a black person.” and “You aren’t like the rest of them” go.  I didn’t know what to say.  It hurt.  They were little gut punches, but I kept it to myself.  I feared being ostracized and that wasn’t something I was willing to risk back then.

The one time I did speak up was in religion class at Nerinx.  We were getting ready for prom, which was being held on a river boat.  Our teacher asked how we were feeling about it.

A girl raised her hand and said

I am scared. We are going to be downtown, where the black people are. I am afraid I am going to get raped. My father said all black men want to sleep with white women.

Once again, I was the only black kid in that class.  I was sick to my stomach.  That girl was talking about my relatives.  I am sure she didn’t think it through and didn’t really mean it. But, never the less she was talking about my father, brother, cousins and uncles.  That is a lot for an afternoon religion class.  The teacher asked for comments from others, so we could discuss.  The teacher never addressed the racism.  She just left it hanging in the air.

I raised my hand. I was too upset to control myself and I said

My father and brother are both black men and they wouldn’t touch you with a 10 foot pole.

The teacher freaked out and said

Cara that isn’t constructive!

But, I was seventeen and that’s the best I could do.  The racism was still never addressed.

I went to Loyola in Chicago and it was better.  There were more black people and we could discuss the issues freely and openly in class. But, I still held my tongue in private, when my friends made comments about black people.

I didn’t start getting really honest with myself, until I moved to Bed Stuy five years ago.  I watched as the police pulled over my neighbors for walking down the street.  I watched as they questioned them, while their children stood next to them.  I sat with teenagers being held in the subway by police, because they are black.  Fifteen and fourteen year olds, on their way to school, but now they have the indignity of being frisked.  This is all before they reach their first class.  Imagine what that does to your psyche in high school.  I think it would be pretty hard to concentrate on your studies after that.  Bed Stuy has made it impossible for me to hide from the state of my people and I can no longer be quiet about it.

So, I will apologize for not being honest.  We are friends and I should have said something earlier.  I didn’t have the words or the courage.  I am saying it now and as a friend I hope you will accept my apology.

For those of you who say your children will never talk back to cops.

Ummm… Remember, I hung out with you and watched you talk back to cops. I saw you drinking underage, drunk driving, peeing in the street and smoking marijuana.  Some of these activities happened in junior high (and some as early as grade school.) I know you. Why would your children be above that, you weren’t? It’s part of growing up. I know I did my fair share of rabble rousing.

Sorry Mom and Dad.

For those of you who ask “Why protest in the mall and disrupt business? What does that do?”

Remember the Civil Rights movement.  Do you remember Rosa Parks? The boycott she started crippled the Montgomery municipal bus system.  We all think that’s pretty cool now. Well, why not now in St. Louis? Rosa Parks was a badass.  So are Amy Hunter and Antonio French.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Montgomery_Bus_Boycott

Protesting peacefully in malls during Black Friday is fair game.  What point would it be to protest in a corner.  Social change is supposed to hurt. It’s like surgery to fix a ruptured tendon.  It’s messy and will get messier if left unattended.  You have to listen.

The black community is standing with an open wound and please if your next comment is “Well it’s their fault.”  Just don’t comment, until you read about the Jim Crow laws.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jim_Crow_laws

and in St. Louis’ history

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shelley_v._Kraemer

http://www.stlmag.com/Mapping-the-Divide/

This is my neighbor who fought against blockbusting in University City.  His wife Joy and daughter Denise are still fighting for change.

http://www.stltoday.com/news/local/obituaries/larry-lieberman-dies-fought-block-busting-helped-delmar-loop/article_79382c7a-3578-5a70-bd53-8f9dde15dda7.html

After reading these articles, If you still think it’s all black people’s fault, you aren’t looking for change and your comments will not be constructive. Don’t bother.

Some black people’s reaction to injustice has not been constructive.

Rioting is not constructive, because it’s like depression; anger turned inwards. That doesn’t mean you get to shut down and pray that this one blows over quickly.

If someone is sick do you say,

“Oh well sucks to be you, it’s your fault.”

If a person says “Hey I don’t feel well?”

Do you say “Suck it up?”

I went to Catholic school with many of you and I have seen your Facebook posts about attending church.  Are you listening, when you go?  Or, are you tapping your foot, thinking about the doughnuts afterwards?  I am not going to lie, I think a lot about doughnuts, while in church.  But, I still remember the hours of religion class I spent with you learning about Jesus.  We were taught, Jesus was kind, forgiving and willing to lend a hand.  That’s what I remember from my years of religious education.   I also remember the annual Lenten Jesus Christ Superstar screening in grade school and giggling with you about the ridiculous clothing.  Weirdly, as an adult, I dress like I am in the touring production of JC Superstar.

This isn’t the time to talk about it.  

When, tell me when? Let’s make an appointment. I’ll show up, will you?

This isn’t how to go about it.  

How, tell me how?  Let’s have a discussion.

This doesn’t effect me.

Well, then we aren’t friends.  Because if my pain, isn’t yours, then you aren’t really a friend.

We are too young to be this closed minded.  The language some of us are using sounds like we were raised in the Jim Crow South.  WE WEREN’T!  WE ARE TOO YOUNG!  WHY ARE WE ACTING LIKE OLD PEOPLE?  We should be excited that America might finally have equality.  We should be joining in and figuring out how we can help.  This is exciting.  This is democracy.  You should be teaching your children about it.  This is how we keep moving. PROGRESS

When you decide you want to talk about it and realize that my pain is yours, I will be waiting right here.  I have known you for years, this is personal to me.  You should respect and validate my feelings.  They are my feelings, they can’t be wrong.  Note: I didn’t say opinion, I said feelings.

Her name is Hate Speech Hannah.  I met her over a year ago on my way to work.  When I got to the bottom of the station stairs, there was a train at the subway.  I had to catch it, because if I missed it, it might mean another fifteen minutes before the next one and I would be late. A train service is spotty at best.  So, I ran through the turnstiles and onto the crowded subway car.  My success turned into a loss as soon as the door closed.  There was a woman screaming, in the middle of the car.  I could tell where the sound was coming from, but I couldn’t see her.  I plugged my headphones into my phone and then the screen went black.  The battery was dead and I was trapped listening to the screaming.  I began to pray and the crowd shifted.  I got my first view of Hannah.  An older middle aged woman with soft features.   Her hair held in a net to keep the wash and set in tact.  She was dressed like a nice old lady; fashion bug sweater, polyester ankle length skirt and sensible shoes. If she wasn’t screaming hate, you might look at her and think “Oh what a nice lady.”

Hannah’s preaching (screaming) quickly turned to gay people and how we must repent for giving them the right to get married.  “Marriage is between one man and one woman, we will have hell to pay for this, because the bible tells me so.”  I began quietly praying (begging) she would get off at the next stop. She didn’t.  She got more aggressive with her rants, spitting and sweating while beating her hand on her bible.  The whole car was collectively groaning.  One poor lady became completely frazzled because Hannah was screaming and sweating right in her face as she attempted to study for her morning exam.  I couldn’t take it any more, so I lost my cool and started yelling back “Shut Up.”  Hannah was initially stunned silent, then the anger washed over her face. Indignant, that anyone would question her right to preach the “word,” she rebuked me and screamed louder. I continued to interrupt her sermon with “No one cares and please stop screaming hate.”  The other passengers didn’t quite know what to do.  Hannah rebuked me again.  “I rebuke you, I rebuke you, in Jesus’ name I rebuke you,” so I took her picture.  Hannah turned around, so I couldn’t get a picture of her face.  That actually took the pressure off the young lady trying to study, because Hannah’s butt instead of her mouth was now facing her.

Hannah continued to scream her hate, twenty minutes into my ride.  I stopped interrupting her as much, until a young man got on the train and started his own campaign to rid the car of Hannah’s sermon.  He screamed back at her to “Please knock it off.”  Reinvigorated, I started tag teaming with him.  We had a little movement going.  Others joined in.  Hannah was suddenly outnumbered and she didn’t like it.  Her voice went hoarse.  She was defeated and she knew it. Hannah got off at the next stop, but not before she rebuked me again.  I smiled and waved at her as the subway doors closed.

Yesterday, I got on the train and guess who was there, that’s right, my old friend Hannah.  She was still screaming hate, but it was muffled by the sweet sounds of Jamiroquai coming from my headphones.  I grabbed the pole in front of an older lady.   The lady had had it with Hannah (she didn’t have headphones.)  Frustrated, she started screaming back at Hannah.

“Listen, I read the bible.  What you are saying is nonsense.  Love thy neighbor is what it says.”

Then the old lady turned to me and said

“Some people read the bible, but they don’t understand it, she needs to make a prayer closet and go in it when she feels this nonsense coming on.”

The old lady continued screaming at Hannah. Realizing she had already lost the car, Hannah got off at the next stop.  If you see her in your travels, tell her the rebuked says “Hello!”

This morning I was leaving for work and Miss Barbara, my next door neighbor, was sweeping the sidewalk as is her regular routine.  Miss Barbara is the block holder of the gossip, the car watcher and the child corrector. Cars are never stolen on our block. The teenage boys fear her because she karate chopped one in the neck and kicked him down the stairs, when he threatened to steal her purse.  She is 98 pounds, 69 years old and a lean mean fighting machine.  She is the eyes, ears and muscle of our block.  You want to know something, you go to Miss Barbara.  This morning she greeted me as she normally does.

Miss Barbara: Hey Baby

Me: Hi Miss Barbara, how are you this morning?

Miss Barbara: I am fine, it’s going to be a hot one.

Me: Yes it is

Miss Barbara: Do you see that lady over there?

I immediately know this is going to be good. Miss Barbara directs her eyes down the block to a middle age woman who is larger than your average lady.  Definitely full-figured.  The woman is wearing a T-Shirt that just covers her bottom and it looks like she isn’t wearing shorts.

Me: Yes
Miss Barbara: Don’t you know she left out of here yesterday in nothing but a pair of panties and a T-shirt tied up to her waist.  Going to the show over there. (West Indian Day Parade)
Me: No
Miss Barbara: I tell you the truth she did.  It was ridiculous.

I tell Miss Barbara Goodbye, while giggling a little.  Miss Barbara was giggling too.  She always tells it like it is.  I look forward to my conversations with Miss Barbara everyday.  I get a little dose of home every time I talk to her.