Oscar Grant III.
Google his name, if you need to, and then get back to me.
Another young black man killed in police custody. This time it was in the wee hours of the new year, in a subway station I’ve ridden through since high school. The evidence that he was (a) unarmed, and (b) shot through the back, while he was on his stomach, is clearly overwhelming. Â Witness cellphone video accounts were on the internet within hours of the shooting.
In the pre-dawn hour this morning, after my four-year-old daughter slipped into our bed after a nightmare, I could not stop thinking about young Mr. Grant, and the fact that his daughter is the exact same age as mine. Â Years from now, they very well could show up to the same stadium for a high school ball game (our school districts are adjacent). Â If I knew more about his family, I’d say they could also very well show up to the same large hall for a college entrance exam. Â Maybe one will be short a sharpened #2 pencil, and the other will have an extra to lend.
Later this morning, when my son was done with his pre-dawn nursing and had crawled over to cuddle with me, I held him, and continued to think about Oscar Grant. Â In another twenty years, when my son grows to be as old as Mr. Grant was when he was shot, there will be one humungous, consequential difference between the two of them. Â Even if my son is involved in a brawl on a subway train following a New Year’s celebration, and he is among those rounded up and cuffed on a subway platform, unarmed and face down, after all that, he will be white and face down, not black.
There is analogy, and there is equivalency. I hold fast to the critical value of analogy as a means of opening up understanding. Â Frankly, it was the lack of a suitable analogy that made it so hard for my dad — an able-bodied, financially comfortable, non-Jewish white male — to understand what living under misogyny was like for my sister and me. Â I wracked my brains for years, trying to find a way for him to get it, viscerally. Â Likewise, it was the experience of direct analogy that enabled my mother — a Â non-Jewish white woman of very modest means, raised by a divorced mother — to feel a sense of compassionate connection with the working class black girls at Berkeley High in the 1930s. Â They saw her show up to school with the same few dresses, saw her be teased/ underestimated/ ignored for that and for being fat. Â And by analogy, they connected. Black girls were among the few friends our mother had in high school, and she never let us forget it.
Analogy means: one is like unto another. Â That’s what our kids will be puzzling out in the logical reasoning part of their college entrance exams: if A is to B in this way, then C is to D in that way. Â But it does not mean one is equivalent to another. Â So while I genuinely believe that all struggles for civil rights and recognitions are part of the same larger fabric — in fact must be seen so; each one learns from, builds on, and ideally helps strengthen the other — there is no question that some strands have way, way more blood on them.
Not like I agree with Mike Huckabee that an aggrieved group needs to be subjected to genocide (Middle Passage, centuries of chattel slavery) or systematic violence from the state’s individual arm (police) to earn or deserve civil rights. Â I’m just saying. Â In the early morning hours, when I’m holding my two children close to me, and about ten miles south of me, Oscar Grant’s family is still in shock and weeping every day, I come as close as I can to knowing the difference.
8 thoughts on “Why no one will ever hear me saying, “Gay is the new Black””
I’m guessing this was not easy to write but you did so with clarity and grace.
It’s an important thing to say.
ahhhh, such beautiful and incisive writing, LD.
and so provocative in just the right way…. profound.
and so so glad there are more posts, devil take the hindmost, or the sidebar, sounds like a math problem you got there and those make my hands sweat.
Thank you. Again & again, thank you.
Well done, my friend, well done.
Good to see your words again.
New to this blog – linked from IBARW I think (I was hunting around there) and lured in by the title of your post and (as the non birth mother of a little boy) the title and focus of your blog.
“Analogy means one is like to another… But it does not mean one is equivalent to another.” this is important and I want to remind people and myself(!) of this when we’re tempted to say “I understand racism because I’m queer”. While I believe that being out and queer has helped me understand the frustrations and weariness of other prejudices I am still essentially privileged by my whiteness and it’s just not the same.
Touching post. I am glad I read this.
Similar to how I do not like the term “tolerance” — that word seems to me to have a connotation of superiority or condescension or something. Do you recommend any other replacement terms besides “acceptance”?
Sorry for such a slow reply here, OldGreyMare (and welcome!) I did find a great alternative, in the text of Bishop Gene Robinson’s (un-aired) invocation at the start of Sunday’s concert at the Mall:
(Text of the prayer here, video here.)
Got here late, through starkeymonster’s del.icio.us page.
The analogy =/= equivalent explanation is very clear.
I’m a vegan, and while the analogy explanation has been helpful to myself to notice and better understand various kinds of oppression, I’ve seen people either get close to it into equivalent or slip into that completely, which is far from helpful and generally ends up being rather offensive. Having the difference clear in my own mind will make it easier to discuss things respectfully.
I also love the alternative for tolerance and the links. I live in the Netherlands, which is (IMO quite wrongly) known for it’s tolerance. The word gets used an awful lot, often in a self-congratulatory way though also at times in a way that implies we’ve gone too far allowing other people certain things, and it’s been bugging for the reasons OldGreyMare mentioned.
Tolerating something is like grudgingly accepting that certain people or practices exist but don’t feel we should be anything more than perhaps mildly polite and not openly physically violent about it.