I'm Awake.

the first time I met a black person, he was in an elevator in Chicago, and I was two years old. the light blue of my eyes met the dark brown of his and I started crying, terrified. my parents were mortified. 

Brunswick, Maine has a little over 20,000 residents— 93% of whom are white. the median age is 41. it was a pleasant, safe upbringing. the only color in town was found in my mother’s gardens or on the faces of military families who lived in the housing provided by the Naval Air Station, but came from everywhere else. 

I was taught to love, and taught by love itself. “hate” was always too strong of a word to use in my house, a punishable offense. 

my parents deemed travel not only important, but imperative. meeting as many people as possible, connecting with and learning about different cultures and beliefs and backgrounds. 

my sister Jackie and I weren’t baptized. my dad, a religion major and very much involved in the Catholic church as a young boy, wanted us to make our own decisions. he wanted us to believe in what we decided to believe in, and he wanted it to be a decision based on personal experience and unbiased education. 

Jackie and I used to fight incessantly. shouting, throwing things at each other, sometimes biting and pulling hair. my mom, exasperated, sat us down one day and said, “if you were just nice to each other, everyone would be happier. be nice.” I remember it clearly, because it was such a simple request, and when applied, it worked quite beautifully. 

as far as non-prejudice goes, I had a really solid foundation, but I didn’t have much immersion. a certain measure of ignorance remained. a certain level of covert racism was stitched between my thoughts. that’s the version of me that showed up to Syracuse University, life in tow. 

covert racism is tricky, because it hides. it’s subliminal. it’s passive. it is the fear of a hoodie pulled up over a brown face, even though you yourself are wearing a hood, walking in the same cold on the same night. it’s the second half of “I love your hair, is it real?” and “he’s really hot for an asian dude.” the “I’m not racist, my best friend is black!” 

it is basic human nature to be afraid of what we don’t recognize or understand. the remedy? see it all. learn it all. spend time with what is foreign until it becomes comfortable. stepping outside of your comfort zone is one of life’s greatest juxtapositions; the amount of fear is directly correlated with the significance of the reward. you can teach yourself to enjoy the fleeting discomfort, knowing how great the outcome will feel. 

I got my higher-level academic education in the classrooms of a private university that has a number of programs nationally recognized for excellence. but my most valuable education came outside the classrooms, from a number of friends who had the patience to teach me not only the “whats” but the “whys.” I gave them an open mind and a empathetic heart, they gave me essential knowledge and understanding. my ignorance dissolved. I owe them everything.

I was on the treadmill at the gym when the footage of Eric Garner was released. it was all over CNN, and I remember watching it confused and disoriented. but, at least his murderer would be jailed and policemen would start getting more training and it would be a terrible, terrifying, isolated incident. because growing up, that’s what we learn is supposed to happen. the bad guy goes to jail. 

instead, while the death was indeed ruled a homicide, the NYPD officer who committed that homicide was put on desk duty. the case went to the Grand Jury. the Grand Jury did not indict Daniel Pantaleo. New York paid The Garners $5.9 million for Eric’s death. 

Eric Garner certainly wasn’t the first black man who died at the hands of policemen. Daniel Pantaleo isn’t the first officer who has gotten away with murder. Amadou Diallo was killed in 1999, armed with a wallet that I guess looked like a gun. officers acquitted. Malcolm Ferguson, unarmed, 2000. officer cleared. Patrick Dorismond, 2000. officer not indicted. Ronald Beasely & Earl Murray, 2000. officers cleared. Prince Jones, unarmed and mistaken for someone else in 2000. case was not put before a grand jury. Timothy Thomas, unarmed, 2001. officer acquitted. Ousmane Zongo, unarmed, 2003. officer charged with negligent homicide, 5 years probation. Alberta Spruill, unarmed, 2003. Timothy Stansbury, 2004. officer not indicted. Ronald Madison (developmentally disabled) & James Brisette, 2005. the five officers involved received sentences, which were later appealed. Henry Glover, 2005. both officers sentenced, both sentences later appealed. Sean Bell, 2006. officers acquitted. DeAunta Terrel Farrow, armed with a toy gun, 2007. no indictment. Tarika Wilson, unarmed, 2008. officers acquitted. Oscar Grant, 2009. officer “meant to taser, accidentally shot” Oscar in the back. officer sentenced only two years in prison. Shem Walker, unarmed, 2009. no indictment. Victor Steen, 2009. officer suspended without pay for two weeks. Kiwane Carrington, unarmed, 2009. no indictment. Aaron Campbell, unarmed, 2010.  no indictment. Steven Eugene Washington, unarmed, 2010. officers cleared of charges. Aiyana Jones, unarmed, 2010. both officer’s trials ended in mistrial. Danroy Henry, 2010. no indictment. Derrick Jones, unarmed, 2010. no indictment. Reginald Doucet, unarmed, 2011. no charges. Raheem Brown, 2011. no indictment. Alonzo Ashley, 2011. no charges. Kenneth Chamberlain, 2011. no indictment. Remarry Graham, unarmed, 2012. indictment overturned. Sgt Manuel Loggins, unarmed, 2012. deputy was cleared of charges. Shereese Francis, unarmed, 2012. no charges. Kendrick McDade, unarmed, 2012. officers cleared. Damon Robinson, unarmed, 2012. no charges. Sharmel Edwards, unarmed, 2012. no charges. Shantel Davis, unarmed, 2012. officers placed on desk duty. Reynaldo Cuevas, unarmed, 2012. officer not found at fault. Jordan Baker, unarmed. officer put on administrative leave.

a paragraph of names about this length, maybe even longer, follows Eric Garner’s death and brings us up to date, seven days shy of two years later. I wasn’t aware of any of these people before I started researching Mr. Garner at his time of death. it took until the summer of 2014 for me to really begin to wake up. 

I was self conscious. I didn’t attend any protests or marches. I would get so far as my front door, and then shy away and change my mind. I bought a sweatshirt from GLOSSRAGS that says, “Emmett & Amadou & Sean & Oscar & Trayvon & Jordan & Eric & Mike & Ezell &…” and only wore it in public twice. I would feel my face get hot when my white friends called me out for an “over-dramatic” tweet or Facebook post. there was a lot of backlash, stemming from defensiveness. covert racism, man. I wasn’t ready to stand up against it. I was totally aware of my cowardice, and the guilt and anxiety that came with it were worse than any of the teasing would have been. I know that now. 

it’s easy for me to take breaks when I get tired. imagine not having that ability. because my skin is white, I am in no immediate danger. imagine not having that taken-for-granted peace of mind. I don’t have to think about what I wear before I go on a walk after dark. I don’t have to rehearse what I will do or say in the event I get pulled over for a traffic violation. my white privilege is my safety blanket. 

the deaths of Alton Sterling and Philandro Castile, and the very public footage of both, shocked me to my core. with Alton’s, it was because the video was so exactly reminiscent of Eric Garner’s. zero progression in two whole years—that should scare you. in Philandro’s case, it was the fact that I saw him alive while his girlfriend, Diamond Reynolds, told their story over a live stream. and then, he was dead. 

Diamond found the strength to film the death of the love of her life, in hopes that people would finally wake up to the problems upon which this country is built.

it has been two years since Eric Garner’s death and we’re still allowing it to happen over and over again. 

every single day, we’re allowing people of color to be punished simply for being people of color. 

every single day, we’re allowing murderers to run free because they got 6 months (or less!) of academy training and put on a badge 40 hours a week.

no shit it’s not all cops. stop saying that, everybody knows that. no shit all lives matter. I value the hell out of my life, but my life isn’t the one that’s in danger every time I set foot outside. if one finger is broken you don’t put a cast on the whole arm. you focus the healing on that finger. 

I convinced myself that white people were getting better. I realized that that’s also a cute perk to white privilege. we can pretend whatever we want to pretend, because we aren’t marginalized every day. but after Alton and Philandro, I got scared. I got scared for every single one of my non-white friends. I got scared of them even leaving their house. the past week has been cut up with restless nights. I wake up every hour, sweating after this nightmare—one of those dreams that keeps picking up where it left off. in the dream, all my friends are faceless, but I know who each person is. I can’t hear them, but I know they’re shouting. I can’t get to them, because they keep getting further away, but I know they’re in trouble. the setting around all of it is like a really twisted Dr. Seuss landscape— happy and calm, but sickening.

five nights of this dream followed the murders of Alton and Philandro. Friday at 6:30am I was taking turns staring at the ceiling and refreshing my Twitter feed, and saw that a peaceful protest was being organized downtown. my friend Darnell was already there. this time I didn’t wrestle with the idea of joining the march. I brushed my teeth, put on my GLOSSRAGS sweatshirt and headed down. 

I really believed that putting myself in the presence of the physical efforts of change would quell my uneasiness, guilt and anxiety. but when I arrived, it got worse. I was one of three white people at this protest. I don’t know if it’s my perpetual naïvety or an undereducated optimism, but I expected at least a quarter of the participants to be white. hoped for a third, even. 

this is very simple. we have a problem. there are victims and there are perpetrators. the problem is racism. the victims are people of color. the perpetrators are white. not all white people? ok, but most. I group silence with racism. 

when you see a person suffering, is it not your first instinct to figure out a way to help them? these people are suffering. they need our help.

as we stood outside of LAPD in Downtown Los Angeles against those big metal dividers they use at concerts, an officer began walking down the line, introducing himself as Andrew. he shook hands and thanked us for being there. I listened to him while he spoke of his own ideas for a solution— a program like DARE, that would get cops back in the school, and develop better relationships with the kids and the community. something that teaches children what do to in emergencies while also creating a bond, eliminating the divide before it is created. 

my English friend Jordan proposed a country-wide gun ban. 

the real problems lie in the fact that the people at the top are afraid to lose power and money. the whole patriarchy would have to be torn down, as it is all based on those two entities. how daunting is that? I fear that we are never going to have the courage to face it. 

but we can start so small. first, I need to wake you all up. once you’re awake, I need you to stand with me in taking responsibility. we are protected by our white privilege like a bulletproof vest. we have the ability to use it to protect those without it. 

it took me 25 years to reach this point of awareness, understanding and accountability. now I am begging you to join me.