Black Lives Matter: Bigger Than Football – I know! I know! America is tired of hearing “Black Lives Matter.” I can assure you, however, they are not nearly as tired of hearing it as Black Americans tire of having to say it and remind us! That America needs reminding that Black Lives Matter in the year 2020 is an abomination to the very ideals on which our forefathers founded America. Our heights were lofty almost 250 years ago and we have yet to realize them. Yet, despite the odds, America endured, America survived, and eventually America prospered. But not all Americans. Not those of color, although their toils and hard work helped make that a reality. Even though those ideals and prosperity promised them, too.
Even as a White man, the Black Lives Matter movement means something to me. It’s deeply personal. That’s why I rejoiced when our Super Bowl MVP quarterback, Patrick Mahomes spoke out in support of the Black Lives Matter movement. For MVPat, it was personal, too:
“The best thing about it is you’re showing kids that no matter where you grow up, what race you are, that you can achieve your dream. For me, being a black quarterback — having a black dad and a white mom — it just shows that it doesn’t matter where you come from.”
Teammate Tyrann Mathieu, the Honey Badger, never one at a loss for words, spoke out, too.
Next up, none other than Big Red. Like a true leader of men, Coach Reid, backed up his men.
I was not surprised. The Kansas City Chiefs have a long, storied history in the fight for Civil Rights. From them scouring HBCU for Black talent (with the help of pioneering AFL Scout Lloyd Wells), to them drafting the first Black college athlete ever drafted in the first round of the 1962, Buck Buchanan out of Grambling, to them winning Super Bowl IV in 1970 with the first predominately Black team, the Chiefs were on the forefront.
In an interview in 1969, Chiefs head coach Hank Stram stated straightforwardly,
“We don’t particularly care what color he is, what nationality he is, what anything. The only concern we have is bringing them in with the idea of competing for our squad, and if they earned the right to be a member of our 40-man squad, then they’re going to be here.”
Neither was it surprising when Chiefs owner, Clark Hunt (he is his father’s son), also opined.
Even our own Arrowhead One has long been against the insidious, vile disease of racism which perpetually pervades our country and infects our fellow Americans. Back in a 2016 article, Racism, A Black Woman’s Perspective, writer Angela Terrell stated what I might try to emote, but woefully fail in her eloquence,
“When we take initiative, we find out we’re more similar than different. Everything begins with a thought and then we speak it into existence. We get good back… and we get the bad as well. We need to mind our mouths and man our thoughts.”
[On a side note, please read her article of four years ago. She says much more than I could ever… in far fewer words, too!]
While the Chiefs, and their players, fully supporting the Black Lives Matter movement did not surprise me, it warmed the very cockles of my heart. Again, it is very personal to me.
You see, I had a unique and wonderful upbringing. My biological father died before I was born. Life changed for Mom and our family. She met the love her life, a Korean war veteran and a Black man, Clarence (they were married for 28 years until his death in 2004). I was raised in an all-Black neighborhood, circa 70s/80s by my mother and stepfather, Clarence. My father (he is my father — he raised me) was, rare for those times, a college-educated, young Black man who more than earned his place in an all-White world, despite rampant racism. He was serious-minded, yet witty. Mr. Holley had an unwavering sense of right and wrong and, a strict-disciplinarian, was not one to spare the rod to spoil the child. My Dad, Clarence, was the best father a son, White or Black, could ever ask for. To this day, over fifteen years later, the one man I respect, adore, admire, and love above all others. There exists no cherished childhood memory that Mr. Holley is not front and center of.
Happy Fathers Day, Clarence. I miss you.
Growing up where and how I did, I saw first-hand, regularly, how police officers treated people of color. At best, it was with a callous indifference and disregard. At worst, which was all too often the case, it was with disdain, disgust, and often outright evilness. I never saw the police arrest, accost, nor apprehend anyone in my neighborhood, a mere few blocks from the Ferguson, Missouri riots just six years ago, without the use of excessive force and unnecessary roughness.
So, yes it’s personal too me. George Floyd and the countless other Black men killed in just the past decade, all look, not only like my father, Clarence, they also look like my brother, my cousins, my nephews, and countless others in my diversely wonderful, crazy family.
I’ll not address those that constantly rebut Black Lives Matter with All Lives Matter. That’s a given. Arrowhead One editor-in-chief, Ladner Morse, did a much better job than ever I could in his response/explanation here.
For those who say, “but what about Black on Black crime?” Yes, it’s a problem that needs to be addressed, but it has nothing to do with allowing police officers to kill Black men. Outright. Black men who kill other Black men are caught. They are tried. They are convicted. And they serve their sentence…. but…
… Police officers who kill Black men, unjustly, are not.
All too often, they are back on the street just days later,
free to kill other Black men.
Also, on the subject of Black on Black crime, don’t discount that systemic racism and a judicial system stacked in favor of the failure of our young Black men is not also a factor and at fault.
You also have some who are skeptical of the Black Lives Matter movement and are all too quick to remind us that “none of this would happen if they didn’t do anything wrong.” Poor Breonna Taylor committed the crime of sleeping in her own bed, in her own home, after a shift as her job as an EMT. You know, those wonderful first responders who save lives of us Americans, regardless of color. While Breonna slept, police stormed her home and shot twenty times at her, sleeping in bed. Eight of those twenty pierced our EMT’s body and caused her death.
I’ll also reiterate that which I’ve seen over my 53 years in America, sometimes you are stopped simply because you are Black. Besides, passing a bogus $20 bill (wittingly or unwittingly) or falling asleep in a Wendy’s drive-thru because you are driving intoxicated should not be a death sentence. Certainly not it 2020.
Moreover, the job of a police officer is to apprehend a suspect and merely bring them in to endure the judicial process. Until they are found guilty of a crime, these young Black men are innocent in the eyes of the American judicial system… on paper, at least. Less than six months of training does not entitle anyone to become: Judge, Jury, and Executioner.
Despite my unique understanding of Black America, I can’t speak for Black people. While I’m empathetic, I’ve not walked in their shoes. I know not their dread when they see the flashing lights in the rear-view mirror. While I’m uneasy when I’m pulled over, I’m not concerned about going home to see my family that evening. Young black men not only worry whether they will see their loved ones that night, they worry whether they will see their loved ones ever again. When a Black person sees those flashing red lights behind them, they are panic-stricken, for not only is tomorrow not promised, the odds of them seeing another sunrise have lessened significantly.
I know all too well, however, the knot that perpetually lives in the stomach of Black parents throughout America. My wife of almost thirty years is Black. She and I have five wonderful boys. While they were great kids growing up, I laughingly referred to our family as Mr. & Mrs Rose and all their little Thorns. Mrs Rose was not amused. I digress, however, they’ve grown into awesome young men whom I love, admire, and respect. No matter their racial makeup, America, specifically American law enforcement sees them as Black men.
It’s hard to raise kids in America. It’s even harder to raise Black kids. In addition to the “Birds and the Bees/Respect All Women” talk you must give young men, parents of Black teenagers have another talk they owe their children. It’s ten times more awkward, and it’s ten times harder. It’s a litany of do’s and don’ts when dealing with the police.
It starts with the impossible task of, “Do not ever put yourself in a position of having to interact with the police.” It then degenerates from there. A few of those rules to help you get the gist of the conversation include:
- Don’t show emotion when dealing with a police officer — no fear, no anger, nor resentment. No nothing!
- Do have your hands visible to the officer at all times.
- Do say “Yes, sir,” “Yes, ma’am,” “Yes, officer.”
- Do answer directly and specifically to the questions asked. Keep your answers to one word whenever possible.
- Do try and pullover to a well-lit, populated area.
- Do not, ever, resist (“We will work it out in court, later, Son”).
- Do not ever reach for anything without permission. If asked for your license and/or registration, ask for permission first, and do so, slowly.
- Do not make sudden moves. Ever.
There are more, but you get the quintessence of that blasted, accursed talk I’ve had to give five times in my life. Once was too many. Each time I gave it, it tore at my soul each time. Never have I been so ashamed of my country as when I had to look my children in the eye and all but admit that America valued their lives less than mine.
That’s the thing America, Black parents love their children just as much as you love yours. Black people have nieces, nephews, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, and cousins that the absolutely love and admire, just like you do. As difficult as it may be for some folks to believe, Black people are just regular folks, like you and I. The only difference is, Black people are 2.5 times more likely to be executed by the police than are White people.
It’s not just the children, either. I have a brother, I have cousins, nieces, and nephews that I pray for each day. I’ve eight grandchildren with one on the way. The oldest grandson is but three years away from obtaining his first drivers licence and I’m already worried.
America, these are the clouds of despair and dread that Black Americans have lived since before I was even born. Yet still it persists… in 2020… in America!
I don’t have all the answers about how we end police brutality towards people of color, nor how to stop and defeat the systemic racism prevalent in America. I have a few obvious ideas, such as better training, reforms and regulation, a renewed, determined emphasis on de-escalation, customer service, social skills, community policing, etc. However, I know the greatest change must come from within us each. We all must police ourselves. Take a hard inner-look and make some changes within, where it counts. This is difficult and most assuredly uncomfortable for each of us. Yet, they are necessary and long overdue.
“In order to change the world, you must first change yourself. In order to have the right to see what is wrong with the world, you must first earn that right through seeing what is wrong with yourself. We do not become influencers, leaders and teachers, through pulling on our better attributes and applying those better attributes to a broken world like a healing balm; rather, we become influencers, leaders and teachers in this world, by performing within ourselves the purging that we wish to see take place in others.” – C. JoyBell C.
Even as you read this, a young Black kid is in his backyard and tossing the pigskin around with his brother. Dreams of becoming the next Patrick Mahomes fill his head as he drops back, evading imaginary defensive lineman. He plants his foot and sidearms a perfect spiral to the waiting arms of his little brother. The speedy young receiver, a much better ‘catcher’ than a ‘thrower,’ fancies himself the next Tyreek Hill. These young men’s mother watch from the kitchen window as she pours herself a cup of coffee and can’t suppress a slight smile. But, it’s an uneasy smile. Mom knows the probabilities that her young son’s, whom she loves more than life itself, are just as likely to become the next George Floyd and/or Rayshard Brooks, than they are Mahomes or Hill.
That is, unless we change, America.
So, yes… Black Lives Matter.
Michael Travis Rose — ArrowheadOne
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