In this final video, Kelley, of Black-Burgundy blog describes what she admires about our blogs. We also have an in-depth conversation about the intersection of different generations (e.g., Silent, Baby Boomers, Generation X, Generation Y/Millennial, and Generation Z). Let us know what you think? Are the generations at odds? Do we respect one another?
It’s a great time to be African American. Just check your television listings. It’s like this:
I mean really. We have a well-rounded array of representation:
How to Get Away with Murder
The Get Down
A friend of mine called it a “renaissance of black culture.” I agreed. It sounds nice. Poetic. Artsy. A “renaissance of black culture” makes me feel good, until the next unarmed black man is gunned down by police. I can laugh at the upper-middle class woes of the Johnsons, until the next #BlackLivesMatter call to action. I’m considering buying a bullet-hole hoodie like the Luke Cage characters. The satire hasn’t escaped me. I watch Annalise, her students and her clients get away with murder, just like the police in my country. I admire how Duvernay wove BMike’s art and his message about police brutality in the last Queen Sugar episode. And even though I loathe Empire, I’m glad there are actors who look like us on television to serve as entertainment, until someone chokes, shoots or hangs another person who looks like me in real life.
Yep. It’s a great time to be African American, as long as you’re on television.
Whenever I wear this shirt, you should see the looks that I get. People gaze in amazement as if my name is George Zimmerman and I stood my ground against Trayvon Martin. They stare, eyes fixated on the word.
My dad saw me in this shirt and he just laughed. He understood.
“They probably look at you and say Justice, What?” He was right. That’s exactly what my father-in-law asked.
“Justice?” He questioned with his hands outstretched and face bewildered.
It’s justice for anyone. Justice for everyone. But no one else has asked. Instead, people glance and do double-takes, as if my name is Michael Dunn and I just murdered Jordan Davis, an unarmed Black boy who wouldn’t turn his music down.
People peer at the shirt as if the letters will change before their eyes. Maybe it reads Just ice, I imagine they’re thinking. But they never ask. Mostly, they gawk, like I was the cop who gunned down 12 year-old Tamir Rice on that cold Cleveland day. They whisper to their significant others as if I was the officer who shot Laquan McDonald 16 times in the middle of a Chicago street. Their glances speak volumes, as if it was me who kneeled on Eric Garner’s back and choked him to death on a New York city sidewalk. They glare at me as if I know what happened to Freddie Gray or Sandra Bland, two citizens found dead in police custody in Baltimore and Texas, respectively.
Accusatory eyes wonder if I assassinated John Crawford in the middle of WalMart as he shopped. Maybe they believe I know why Michael Brown was not only executed, but also left to rot in the sweltering Ferguson heat.
And I want to say, don’t look at me. I’m just wearing a T-shirt that shows what we all want. A T-shirt that reminds everyone what every American citizen is supposed to have.
Justice for Jamar Clark.