I’m just tired

This morning, I woke up tired.

I do that a lot these days.

The problem’s not too little sleep.

The problem is being too woke.

 

I’m just tired.

Tired of Black people dying when policeman fear for their lives.

Tired of policemen dying when Black people fear for ours.

Tired of explaining privilege to those who deny it exists.

Tired of existing beneath it with frustrations I can’t explain.

Tired of war and warmongers.

Tired of fighting and hate.

Tired of the lies and the liars.

Tired of political pap.

Tired of “American dream” myths.

Tired of the nightmare truths.

Tired of “real change is coming.”

Tired of hoping it will.

Tired of gun rights being religion.

Tired of no rights to my own womb.

Tired of “Let’s Make America great.”

Tired ’cause we already did.

I’m just tired.

 

 

 

Orlando isn’t about us. Orlando is about US.

 

I have no problem talking about race. I won’t hesitate to call out racism when I see it. In fact, I’ve made it a personal life goal to not let racists get away with anything. But (unintended apophasis notwithstanding) the Orlando massacre is not the time to call out the media for downplaying ColfaxElaineTulsa and Los Angeles.  We don’t have time for oppression one-upmanship. Rather than focusing on where we differ in terms of belief and circumstance, now is the time to dig deep and find the points of connection, the places from which true empathy flows. Because no matter what your belief, we who are Black should know — better than most — just what happened in Orlando:

  1. Real people — not some stereotype — died. How many times have we who are Black been angered when people have looked at us through racist-colored lenses and transmogrified us into the demons of their personal nightmares? It wasn’t ‘a bunch of LGBTQs’ that died. It was Amanda, Antonio and Akyra. Darryl and DeonkaYilmary, Tevin and Paul. They were real people. And now they’re dead. Just like Trayvon, Sandra and Jordan. I bet you know somebody like him or her.
  2. For their families, the grieving has just begun. Every one of the 49 who died (and I don’t care about the 1 who deserved to) belonged to some others. They were sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, friends, neighbors and lovers. And because they were, there are mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, friends, neighbors and lovers — some unknown number multiplied by 49 — crying and preparing to bury them too soon. Just like Sybrina Fulton and Tracy Martin;  Geneva Reed-Veal and Sharon CooperRon Davis and Lucia McBath. I bet you’ve read about people like them.
  3. Somebody hated them because of who they were. People who decide to hate you because of who you are, whom you love — or what color your skin is — have decided you are making a choice which, in turn gives them a right to do likewise. Even if their deadly choices are in response to something that was never a choice for you. And that’s really scary because there are a whole lot of things — race, gender, sexual orientation, mental and physical abilities — that you and I don’t have a damn thing to do with. Homophobia, xenophobia, gynophobia, transphobia are all the same in the end. I bet you’ve been affected by something like that.
  4. That somebody believed he was justified. Religion, law, natural order. God, Allah, Jehovah. The Constitution, the Bible, the Koran. No system, higher power or guiding principle based on justice or love, life or liberty can condone murder. And if it does, perhaps it’s time to rethink it. Of course, it’s all a matter of perspective. Even the most loving belief can, in the wrong mind, twist into something diametrically opposed to its intent. But moral absolutes can drive people to absolutely immoral acts. Personal value systems are just that – personal. When someone imposes his or her values on someone else, things fall apart.  I bet you’ve accepted some ‘truths’ that truly are just belief.

My point here is that those real people, with real families and real existences are US. Evil people are everywhere, thinking and doing the unconscionable and unbelievable every day. But when they do, we have to step away from individual hurts and histories and lean in to the collective and present pain. It’s not about some of us, it’s about ALL of US. Loss is loss. It all hurts like hell. And for those who want to compound the hate, remember: No matter who or what you are, there’s somebody out there who hates you for being you. And one day, that somebody could pick up an all too available weapon of mass destruction and make his or her hateful beliefs a terribly tragic truth.

So figure out what you are — Black, gay, straight, male, female, transgender, gender fluid, a parent, a child, a friend, in business, on parole. For Goddess sake, HUMAN. And connect.  Because that’s the only way any of US are going to fix the things that make the things like Orlando happen.

I bet you know that all too well.

The revolution has not been televised (and it damn sure wasn’t at the Superbowl)

Panthermontage

Full disclosure: I’m not a Beyonce fan. Spoiler alert: And a lot of folks won’t like this post.

Am I the only one who does not see Beyonce’s Superbowl performance as revolutionary or consider her song, Formation, a social justice anthem? Because I don’t. In fact, I’ll go so far as to say I find both of them self-serving, appropriative and honestly, denigrating. I definitely don’t think the halftime show was any kind of tribute to the Black Panther Party. Allow me to explain:

  1. The Panthers believed BLACK is beautiful.

The word ‘negro’ — which Beyonce uses several times, from describing her daddy’s heritage to claiming the Jackson Five’s collective, presumably pre-plastic-surgery nostrils — would make Huey Newton and Malcolm X turn over in their graves.

Even though the pejorative term, ‘bamma’ — a countrified, backwoods person lacking style, taste, or class — is the polar opposite of the image Beyonce has created for herself, she has as much reclamation right to it is as Black people have to ‘nigger.’ But is she reclaiming ‘negro’ too? Or did she even think that hard?

Spanish and Portuguese slavers had to call the Africans they kidnapped from Africa something. Lacking both respect and creativity, they settled on their word for black, ‘negro’. Eventually, the adjective morphed into a lower-case noun, bringing with it all the negative stereotypes Whites ascribed to the people so named. Rejection of the term by the people so named started with the slaves themselves and continued all the way to…wait for it…the Black Power movement led by the Black Panther party! Rejecting the slave-given name Beyonce so proudly throws around was a basic tenet of the organization she supposedly paid tribute to. Here’s how the late, great Ossie Davis talked about it:

I am a Negro. I am clean, black and I smile a lot. Whenever I want something–to get a job in motion pictures, for instance, or on television or to get a play produced on Broadway, whenever I need a political favor–I go to white folks. White folks have money. I do not. White folks have power. I do not. All of my needs — financial, artistic, social, my need for freedom — I must depend on white folks to supply. That is what is meant by being a Negro. 

Malcolm X used to be a Negro, but he stopped. He no longer depended on white folks to supply his needs — psychologically or sociologically — to give him money or lead his fight for freedom or to protect him from his enemies or to tell him what to do. Malcolm X did not hate white folks, nor did he love them. Most of all, he did not need to tell them who he was. Above all, he was determined to make it on his own. That was why Malcolm was no longer a Negro. Malcolm was a man, a black man! A black man means not to accept the system as Negroes do but to fight hell out of the system as Malcolm did. It can be dangerous. Malcolm was killed for it. Nevertheless, I like Malcolm much better than I like myself.

Then there’s the colorist crap: “I stunt, yeah, yellow bone it.” She glorifies light (i.e., White) skin in the lyrics, then plants her yellow-boned, straight-weaved-blonde-braided self queenly amid a host of dark skinned and/or dark-haired afro wigged (i.e., psuedo-natural haired) dancers. Just in case you were confused about the hierarchy.

2. Black Panther women were ass kickers, not ass shakers. 

Pantherwomen

Real Panther women rocked real afros as a power statement, the embracing of a Black aesthetic with the rejection of the White one. That was revolutionary. Afro wigs and platinum blonde weave is not.

Real Panther women wore black leather and berets because they were the official party uniform, not because they translate well into booty-shorted revolution porn. They didn’t support stereotypical hyper-sexuality by twerking for the masses, they defied gender roles by becoming strong, gun-toting revolutionaries.

Real Panther women supported Panther men. Let’s face it: The BPP had real problems with misogyny, problems that played a role in its demise. However, ultimately, the strength of the movement rested in the strength of its women. I don’t agree one bit with the BPP’s gender hierarchy and hyper-masculinity, but I understand the historical emasculation of Black men from whence it sprang. Many a strong Black Panther woman fried chicken for the revolution, but they damn sure didn’t reward some man for a good lay by taking “his ass to Red Lobster.” Buying a man substandard suburban chain restaurant seafood and overpriced vanity sneakers at the mall — after driving his ass there — does not mean you ‘slay.’ Real Panther women manifested their power — even if it was limited at times — in local-level activism, providing food, housing and healthcare in Black communities. They slay all day, okay?

3. And don’t get me started about New Orleans and Katrina. 

Plaçage-wear, police cars and poor people — Beyonce had them all, sandwiched between images of surrounding and subsuming water. I love New Orleans.  I cried at Katrina and raged as the subsiding floodwaters exposed the naked underbelly of America’s racism. But I didn’t claim that pain, because it wasn’t mine to claim. Personally, I’m not comfortable with Beyonce claiming it, either, especially not for her profit. The images are there, but nothing in the lyrics of that song have a damn thing to do with Katrina — unless you count that whole Red Lobster thing. I mean, seafood is a thing in New Orleans. But to superimpose those images and with them, the memories, on such trite words as “I slay, okay, all day, okay”  looks and feels like exploitation to me. How does Beyonce’s self-proclaimed ability to slay help anyone in New Orleans? How does it help anyone other than Beyonce?

Beyonce didn’t prove she was Black. Beyonce proved she is and always was Beyonce. Beyonce has always been Black. Without a doubt. White appreciation is not always a direct result of White pandering. Beyonce also has always been about Beyonce. So, now she puts some overtly Black imagery in her show and video, albeit in a completely misguided form.  White people are apoplectic because they think she’s being accusatory. Black people are ecstatic because we think she’s being revolutionary. How about this — She’s being Beyonce. Formation is no more about Black power than Single Ladies is about female power. Both simply are Beyonce on Beyonce. Queen Bee ascendant.

We do have Beyonce to thank for this, though:

BPP-search

We’re so used to bad news about Black people, we elevate Beyonce to Black revolutionary simply because she, for one brief moment, used her commercial success to ignite a discussion. Never mind how she did it or why, using images that evoke things we are proud of — our culture, our beauty, our resilience, our strength — got people talking. And for people whose voices are too often suppressed, even a whisper becomes a shout.

Correction: It seems “take his ass to Red Lobster” actually has something to do with oral sex, based on the oft-quoted instructions for eating crawfish. If so, then I’m even more irritated by this song. Although, given some of Beyonce’s past work, I’m not in the least surprised. And this is what we call revolutionary?

 

Love the fruit, hate the tree

Appropriate

Two-year olds are notoriously selfish. Their favorite word? “Mine!” About everything. Especially somebody else’s stuff that’s decidedly not theirs. Most kids outgrow it. Those that don’t become sociopaths. Or Donald Trump. Or appropriationists.

I suppose it’s hard having a color as a culture. But whose fault is that? Our slaveholding founders should have thought about the limitations of elevating ‘white’ from absence of color to Ahura Mazda of color. Since they didn’t, white people simply “Mine!” their way through history. Frankly, I’m sick of it.

Anyone’s stuff that looks more interesting is fair game, but Black folks toys are the favorite for snatching because they’re usually shinier and more colorful. And Colored people have so much cool stuff! News flash: That’s ’cause making trumps taking any day.

Here’s how to appropriate in 3 simple steps

  • Step 1: Zero in on something amazing and unique Colored folks have had for centuries.
  • Step 2: Render it undesirable by belittling and disparaging it.
  • Step 3: When nobody’s looking, grab it and claim you discovered it.

Hey, it worked for Columbus. Why bother to make what you can take? And if you’re taking it, why not just claim yourself creator of it?

Looking for a new hairstyle? Go on Marc, Miley and the Kardashian KKK  – rename Bantu knots, dreadlocks and cornrows mini-buns, twists and braids. Dub them “edgy” and “fashionable,” and talk about how you inspired, debuted or rocked them. Top it off by calling Zendaya’s braids nasty, stopping just short of calling her a dirty hippy.  See? Easy as 1-2-3. Black people weren’t really all that happy being nappy, anyway.

Music putting you to sleep? Not fit for anything more turnt than the Carleton dance? Go ahead and take ours, Iggy. Billboard will make you Top Rapper of the year.

Not enough color in your life? Just take some, Rachel. And while you’re at it, why not grab an HBCU degree and NAACP chairmanship, too? Colored folks don’t know how to use all that color, anyhow.

Want regality without the reality? Put a skinny white model in blackface and exotic prints, then call her an African Queen or celebrate her sensuality. Or, put another skinny white model in an afro wig and accessorize her with a little Black baby. All that fabulosity, and you never had to set a foot on the dark continent. But if you like to travel, why not just claim the whole continent – again – for a romantically revisionist video? Right, Taylor? Though it’s surprising you couldn’t find a single Black person on the whole damn continent to put in the video, especially considering how much you like the way Black women shake it. But I guess that would ruin the colonial fantasy.

White men go for the big ticket appropriations. Want to rally folks around funding issues deleterious to Black folks and inviting racist keynote speakers to talk about them at your events? Compare your efforts to the Civil Rights movement, Mr. Koch. Want to make Kim Davis look like something other than the homophobic hypocrite she is?  Steve King and Jesse Lee Peterson have an idea — just call her Rosa Parks!

As if hundreds of years of taking Black lives wasn’t enough to affirm belief in the superiority of white ones, why not start a movement? No, wait. No need for all that. Simply change “black” to “all” and you’re there.

Look, imitation is not the sincerest form of flattery when it’s stealing.  Black people, Black culture, Black lives – damn! Can we have something?!

Oh wait – that’s right. We did get to keep the economic inequity. Redlining. Poverty. Microaggressions and macroassaults. Compromised health and circumscribed happiness. You want our asses but not our ass whippings. Our slang but not our stories. Our hair but not our hurt. Our poetry minus its pain. White privilege allows you to appropriate what’s good from Black culture and absquatulate from what’s bad.

It doesn’t work like that. You have to sing through suffering, and create from nothing to make the things we do. You haven’t done that, so you steal from those who have. When you snatch and claim things that are not and never have been yours, it’s not appreciation. It’s appropriation. And we’re the thugs?

“Mine!” is kinda cute and only a little annoying when two-year olds do it because you know the bad behavior will end.  It’s ugly and infuriating when the privileged do it because it’s been going on forever. White ‘culture’ is a hell of a lot older than two. Time to start acting like it.

Apologetically Black

unapologetically-Black-2

There’s a wonderful new term floating about: Unapologetically Black. I’ve been that way for a long time, but it’s nice to have a name for it. I’m not alone; there are a whole lot of Black folks living their Black lives unapologetically. And while there’s no one way to do that, one thing just doesn’t fit: Forgiveness.

I know the bible tells us so. The books of Matthew and Luke are replete with the idea. Even the Lord’s Prayer/Pater Noster — which everyone knows — admonishes us to forgive. But it also begs for deliverance from evil.

I can’t tell anyone how to grieve. I don’t know how I would deal with losing a loved one to racist violence. But I DO know I wouldn’t be offering any forgiveness. I’m sorry Black people, but we need to stop being apologetically Black.

For one thing, why forgive people who aren’t apologizing? A Confederate-flag waving racist guns down nine people in a church and their families forgive him. I have yet to hear him ask for forgiveness. Funny how that works — racists don’t ask for forgiveness, because they aren’t sorry. And yet we offer them forgiveness because somebody said we should. How apologetically Black of us.

So, where did this notion come from? Christianity, of course. And I realize I’ll make enemies with this, but consider the source. As late as 1800, most slaves weren’t even converted to Christianity. But when the Protestants said God didn’t need a middleman, Black folks jumped at the chance to set the record straight with Him about what was really happening down here.

By the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, the evangelists stopped opposing and started defending slavery. Told slaves they should obey massa. Because God said so. All of a sudden, Christianity was a thing — for massa. Slaveowners were converting slaves as fast as they could. Letting them come to their churches (because they knew better than let slaves do their own kind of interpretation). They couldn’t sit in the pews, but even way up there in the balcony, they could hear the Word — obey, endure and no matter how bad massa was, forgive.

As far as subjugation strategies go, I can’t think of a better one: Strip people of their humanity and replace the belief system that sustained them with a religious Simon-says:

  1. God says…some people are born masters and some people are born slaves.
  2. God says…the more hell you catch on earth while you’re alive, the more joy you’ll have in heaven once you’re dead. God said so.
  3. God says…but if you’re the slave and don’t forgive the master who doled out that hell — even if it kills you — you’ll never get to heaven.

Very wrong.

Highly effective.

Consider the source.

I don’t expect anyone to reconsider Christianity or question its convenient ‘truths’. But I think forgiveness is something you earn. Forgiveness is something you might need to beg for but, at the very least, should have to ask for. Forgiveness is something you get only if and after you stop doing whatever it is you need forgiveness for. Forgiveness is apologetic Blackness. It needs to stop.

Black, woman, victim: Who shall I be today?

IsRapeWarFrontI was going to write a different post today, but then President Obama essentially called Bill Cosby a rapist. I’ll write that other post later.

I’m Black (just in case that wasn’t clear). I’m a woman. And I’m a rape victim. It might seem I would applaud automatically any man who spoke out against a rapist, right? But check that hierarchy:

Black.

Woman

Rape victim.

In terms of where my sensitivities rest, I’m Black first. Call it my personal Scoville subjugation scale.

As a Black person, I know all too well how the myth of the Black rapist has led to the death of thousands of Black men. How it is so endemic to the White collective consciousness that, even though lynching is now frowned upon, White cops and civilian kooks routinely kill Black men just for breathing. White women clutch their purses and cry rape because the myth of a Black rapist makes a great cover. And  it’s not like it doesn’t still happen, as a recent case in Brooklyn shows. So, when Black men are accused of rape — especially by White women — I’m skeptical. Sometimes it’s complicated.

This ain’t one of those times.

The fact that President Obama spoke out against Cosby makes me love him even more. Cosby was an icon in Black culture. President Obama is an iconoclast. Cosby is a man in a world dominated by men. President Obama defected. Goddess bless him.

I believed Cosby was a rapist. I’d be lying if I said I knew exactly why I believed that. In all fairness, I’d heard the rumors for years. I knew the woman he settled out of court with all those years ago was Black. Common sense told me the likelihood of a Crush-the-Cosby conspiracy was slim from a bunch of women with lots to lose and little to gain, even if they are White and he is Black. And when Beverly Johnson, a Black woman, came out — reluctantly and with complete understanding of what her statements would mean for a Black man — well, I was as sure as one could be without having taken the red pill myself.

I think this where my other definitions came into play. As a woman, I want to believe women when they cry rape. But as a Black woman who loves and protects Black men, when a White woman cries rape about a Black man, my brain immediately starts calculating probabilities. Automatically. The factors, the people, the situation — these factors are thrown into a belief formula developed over centuries of historical racism, perfected and adapted to decades of modern racism. The answer always falls at some point on a 1 – 10 scale of probability — Carolyn Bryant, Ruby Bates and Victoria Price? One. Barbara Bowman? Eight. And when the next two or three accusations started rolling in – 10. I wish I could have believed the first victim. But that’s another really ugly symptom of racism — I don’t have the privilege to be a woman first.

But I really think it was my third definition — victim — that sealed my opinion. As a want-to-be expert on racism and a sorry-to-be expert on rape, here’s what I know: Racism isn’t about prejudice and rape isn’t about sex. They’re both about POWER.

When comedian Hannibal Burris lit the fuse on the Cosby conflagration, he characterized Cosby as having the “smuggest old black man persona” and a sense that he could talk down to Black people because he “had a successful sitcom” in the ’80s. I had said the same, in slightly different words, for years.

To me, Cosby was always about power. About having power and making a choice about how he used it. For a while there, when he was proclaiming how f’d up young Black men are from every soapbox he could, Cosby was the darling of the right-wing, a poster child for bigots. Cosby didn’t give a damn about fueling modern racist beliefs with simplistic, blame-the-people-ignore-the-history explanations. And yet, how many of us were and still are defending him? Even if you don’t believe he’s guilty, please do what he didn’t: Keep it to yourself. Don’t dismiss women’s voices the way he dismissed Black folks’ voices.

Because of his power, Cosby voted himself Black folks’ moral judge and jury a long time ago. So, when women started saying he was a rapist, for me, it wasn’t such a huge leap of faith to believe it. Now, I’m sure that some folks will read that and accuse me of saying all powerful men are rapists. I’m not.

Hear me on this: Power doesn’t make all men rapists. But all men who rape want — and exert — power. We know the saying – power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely. White slaveowners had it. Bill Cosby and Clarence Thomas had it. They all used their power for evil. Barack Obama has more power than any of them. He used his power for good.

Strange Fruit: 8 things you might not know about lynching

nooseImagine what would happen if all the people in five small Southern towns just disappeared? Slowly, over the course of 70 – 80 years. I think someone would notice the trend. Someone would conduct a study. The NYT would write about that study when it came out. If you didn’t know it was happening as it happened, you’d be asking some follow-up questions. If you did know, you might ask why, even advocate to stop whatever was ‘disappearing’ them. Evntually, someone would give the phenomenon a name and it would find its way into history books.

Guess what? Something like that did happen. From the late 1800s to the late 1960s, thousands of people disappeared as the result of one thing. More than the entire populations of Enterprise, MS; Ideal, GA; Adler, TX; Dodson, LA; and Carolina, AL. People knew it was happening because newspapers wrote about it. There were postcards with pictures. Some people advocated against it, but, since it could be contagious, only a hardy few risked those follow-up questions. Studies have been done, the NYT has written about it, and it wasn’t actually outlawed until 2005. But you won’t find it in most history books and only a few know much about it. Why is that? Because the people who disappeared overwhelmingly are Black, and Black lives don’t matter. What was it? Lynching.

Estimates of the number of Black people lynched vary.  3,446 between 1882 and 1968. 3,959 between 1877 and 1950, according to a study released earlier this year, which includes 700 people not named in previous studies, some conducted while lynching was still a thing.Map
Mind you, the number assuredly is higher than that. The recent study used the the NAACP’s definition, thereby accounting only for those events where three or more people did the lynching and somebody wrote about it. Trust and believe, the newspapers didn’t get all of them. Granted, there were picnics, photo ops and postcards at many of the lynchings, which were actually quite the social event in places and among people who didn’t know the difference between a pig pickin’ and a “coon cooking“.

FullSizeRender[1]If you’ve ever seen my library oFullSizeRenderr my bulletin board, you know
lynching is a study of mine. I just can’t fathom that so many people could die in such gruesome ways for so long with thousands of witnesses at the “hands of persons unknown”. Imagine if they had been White. And before anyone says it, I know White people were lynched, many for coming to the aid of a Black victim or speaking out against the practice. But in SC, of the 160 recorded lynchings, 156 were of Black people. Let’s be real about where the real issue rests.

So, here are a few things you might not know about lynching:

  1. Lynchings were festive occasions — for racists. People came from miles around for a lynching. Lynchings were announced and photographed for postcards. Sometimes thousands of adults and children attended.
  2. For lynching victims, the noose usually was the best part. Lynching of Black people — especially men — was not like what you see in movies. More often than not, Black men were castrated, dismembered, set afire and shot before they were hung. Women often were raped. Why? Because a core tenet of racism is a belief in the moral inferiority — immorality — of Black people. Black men are brutal beasts intent on raping White women, whose purity must be protected at all times, by any means. Black women are oversexed, doing their best to tempt White men anyway, so it isn’t really rape. And these perceptions exist. They’ve morphed into the myth of the scary, Black man who makes cops feel their lives are in danger and incites racist vigilantes to stand their ground — even if the only ‘weapon’ a Black man has is tea and Skittles, a toy gun or loud music. Or even if he’s still a child. Black women are exotic reductions of T&A — lots of A — appropriated by White girls like Miley Cyrus, Katy Perry, Lily Allen and Taylor Swift.
  3. Lynching — as an idea — is great creative fodder. SAEs Need a frat ditty? Lynching works. San Francisco cops need to bond over email? Nothing says brotherhood like lynching. Looking for an interesting way to invite your friends to hang out? Use a noose! Or, do something creative with one on a presidential poster. Even Black people use lynching as creative inspiration. Just not the same way. Ask Billie Holliday.
  4. At least three men share the dubious honor of being the source of the term ‘lynching’: First, there was  Charles Lynch, a planter, politician, and American revolutionary from Virginia who led a kangaroo court where “Lynch’s Law” — organized but unauthorized punishment of criminals — was used on British Loyalists.  Next, came William Lynch (not to be confused with Willie Lynch), who actually laid claim to the term, “Lynch’s Law”, saying it came from a 1780 agreement he signed with his Pittsylvania County, VA neighbors, to handle things outside of the law. Finally, there was Willie Lynch, who gave a speech in 1712 about his special methods for “The Making of a Slave“. My money is on Charles.
  5. Lynching has been a legal issue since…two weeks ago. Earlier this month, in an ironic legal twist, at least two Black activists in Los Angeles were charged with felony lynching during Black Lives Matter protests. Gov. Brown had to fix that mess. But hey, just 10 years ago, you might actually get away with lynch murder. Not until 2005 did the U.S. Senate apologize for not passing anti-lynching laws long before, admitting it had failed — repeatedly — to make lynching a federal offense.
  6. There are still folks around who know about lynching – firsthand. The last mass lynching in America happened on July 25, 1946 when two young Black couples – George and Mae Murray Dorsey, and Roger and Dorothy Malcom — were murdered in Walton County, Ga. People still living know what happened, saw what happened and the case has been reopened. But nobody’s been convicted. Laura Wexler wrote a great book about it, Fire in a Canebrake. Filmaker Jacqueline Olive, is working on a documentary, Always in Season, which introduces you to relatives of both the perpetrators and victims of lynchings in four communities. You can see clips on indiegogo, where she’s crowdsourcing funding for it; I was happy to help.
  7. Lynching monuments are rare. Some spots local folks know all about, like the Chickasawhay River bridge, where at least six Black people — two brothers, Major and Andrew Clark and two pregnant sisters, Maggie and Alma Howze in 1918; 14 year old Ernest Green and 15 year old Charlie Lang in 1942 — were lynched. The locals refer to it as “the hanging bridge”. As for finding monuments to the victims? Good luck with that. Bryan Stevens, head of the Equal Justice Alliance, is working to get memorials erected, but many people in most towns would rather just not talk about it.
  8. Women were lynched, too. Maybe this was a surprise only to me. But when I saw this picture of Laura Nelson, Laura-Nelsonlynched with her son, JD Nelson, on March 25, 1911, I had to be quiet in myself for a long time.

Hers is the picture that hangs on my bulletin board. Hers is the picture that started me on a journey to write the story of Marie Scott, another woman lynched, then forgotten. One day, I’ll actually get it written. But, according to records, at least 150 women were lynched between 1886 and 1957. I’ve decided to do a pilgrimage, and visit every known site where a Black woman was lynched. I’ll write about it when I do.