I can sympathize, empathize, and encourage, but I will never know for sure what it's like to be in their shoes. Sure, I face my share of racism, prejudice, and injustice as a Black woman, but I think my plight is incomparable to that of my African-American brothas.
As a single, Evangelical Christian, natural-haired Black woman with a post-graduate education, I know my own set of statistics and stereotypes. That I'm militant & no-nonsense. That I'm uppity. That I'm too independent. That I have ridiculously high standards. That I'm bound to never get married. And that by chance, if I do end up in a relationship with a Black man, I will end up with a spouse that will cheat, beat, or leave me.
While none of these stereotypes and odds seem favorable, they don't stir-up fear in my counterparts of other races. Others may pity or "put-up" with me...but they will never fear me.
The other day, I went hiking on a nearby nature trail in my predominately White suburb. Temperatures had dropped, so I left the house unprepared with only my hood to keep me warm (and it's the only thing that would fit over my twist-out). As I encountered White faces along the trail, everyone was smiling & friendly. But I couldn't help but wonder, would I have been treated differently if I were a Black man?
On Monday, many of my African-American students (and I, myself) wore hoodies in Trayvon Martin's honor. The school policy is that students cannot wear hoods on their heads in the building...but on this day I chose to look away. A group of students were standing outside my room before school started donning hoods and carrying ice tea and skittles.
One young man, whose father is Black & mother is White, made a noteworthy lament: "Man, I can't do ANYTHING now! It was bad enough that I can't walk around with my hands in my pockets. Now I can't wear a hoodie either (without being thought of as suspicious)!"
I didn't say anything, but remembered the conversations my parents would have with me as a child about keeping my hands out of my pockets in any & all stores because they didn't want anyone to accuse me of stealing. It just didn't "look right," they would say.
It's odd the things that bring out fear and hatred. It could be a hood or hands in pockets. It could be a hijab or kufi. It could be a rainbow flag or bumper sticker.
While I do not know what it's like to be feared so much or to have so much hate toward another, I do know what it's like to receive mercy and see justice. May God's love, grace, and mercy be upon the Martin family. May God's love, grace, and mercy be upon the Alawadi family. May justice be rightly served on their behalf and most importantly, may their be peace.
