What if…

Ever wondered what life would be like if we had the power to achieve everything we desired? When I stop and think about it for even a minute, it’s amazing how many thoughts and ideas fly around in my head and make me smile. Then just like magic, the reality of the unjust world that we live in raises its ugly head to reinforce negative messages that it will never be possible for someone living and breathing in skins of various colours.

There was a time when I would wonder what it must feel like to not be Black and have access to everything that you want, regardless if you are incompetent, unqualified, illiterate or just a complete idiot. The world has answered that question for me over and over again. When I turn on the news, even for five minutes, the answer is revealed. My hardest decision each morning is to pretend the world is perfect and happy, or glance at 2 or 3 headlines and be reminded how everything is a repeat of the past 300+ years. That old saying, the more things change, the more they stay the same rings loud and clear. Murders are committed by people placed in power or control to protect an entire community, but they choose to only protect those that look like them. Lies are told in court and innocent people are sentenced to life in prison for crimes they never committed. Young Black men are stopped by police, beaten, and killed every day without anyone paying for the crime of murder.

Mothers and fathers all over the country live in pain and grief, like the mom of Elijah McClain who was confronted by the Aurora, Colorado police, attacked and given a sedative called ketamine by the paramedics. Someone allegedly called the police to say that the young man was acting strange. That has been said about me when walking friends to their car. Supposedly, I look strange, like someone that shouldn’t be living at the time in the Mission Bay of San Francisco. Although strange, suspicious white men and women were always attempting to break into condo buildings to steal packages, no calls were made about them. It was easier for them to enter a building because they looked like most of the people that lived in the building. Elijah was only 23 years old when he was unlawfully attacked. The Aurora police didn’t have a legal basis to stop, frisk, or choke this young man. No one was ever charged with a crime, but we all know that it was murder.

Just this week, seven Ohio prison employees were fired after murdering a black inmate, but not charged with the killing. The Franklin County Coroner’s office ruled McDaniel’s death a homicide and named the cause as a “stress-induced sudden cardiac death.” He suffered from injuries to his face, head, shoulders, wrists, knees, feet, hands, abdomen and toes. A county prosecutor will make a decision on whether to criminally charge the prison employees who were involved in Michael McDaniel’s death. In other words, he was tortured and beaten to death. Think for a minute, as a Black man, would I be able to get away with such a crime?

As a young boy I can remember my much-loved aunts and uncles telling us children that we could be anything that we wanted to be. I believed them and kept repeating that message to myself out loud every day as I looked in the mirror. It didn’t take long before I realised that my single voice wasn’t strong enough as a boy. Soon the twisted stories and lies started to have an impact on the lives of everyone in my community.

When I think about the community that I grew up in, I often close my eyes and smile as the images in my head play like I am watching a great film. When I take a deep breath, I can smell chicken being fried, beef chow fun noodles, enchiladas, lumpia fried rolls, gumbo being stirred, okra & shrimp, and jambalaya cooking. My community was like having an international family. Everyone seemed to have been from a different ethnic background, but the culture shared with each other was based on the love of food and of each other. I always looked forward, like all of my friends, to running home from school to see which aunt, uncle, grandma, or grandpa would hug us and feed us traditional food followed by helping each of us with our homework. At the time I didn’t know that it would be a special part of my life that I cling to and miss every day.

School was always fun because I was with all of my friends and neighbours. As children, we had signals and ways to disappear from the white police patrolling communities of colour just to harass the Black men or boys. We learned early to always stick together and protect each other. The cops didn’t like having their game of abuse and violence disrupted by what they would call, little darkies. Their goal was to create a pipeline to prison for all of us Black boys. Once I entered high school, many of my friends and I were separated and bussed to different schools and locations that were not very convenient. Often, I felt frightened and alone being in a school that was 90% white. After the first week I asked my mother if all white people were born racist or if they are taught to hate anyone that doesn’t have white skin. It’s the first time I can remember my mother being speechless to any of my million questions.

I was told that I would never be as good as a white person and working twice as hard may help me to get ahead, but there were no guarantees. So, I followed the advice of the school counsellor and prepared myself to compete. I got into trouble over and over again for competing too well and kept making straight As in every course, mostly for the fun of it. I also wouldn’t stop helping others that looked like me, although I was often punished or held after school. I was always taught by my family to leave no one behind if they needed help. As graduation was approaching, career counsellors met with all students, one on one, to assist with our decisions to attend university. My college exam scores were almost perfect, and it was demanded that I retake the test under careful watch because no person of colour could do that well because of our smaller brains, and our capacity to cheat. I didn’t realise they were serious, so I took it as a joke and scored even higher the second time around, to the surprise of everyone. We had no teachers of colour in the entire school. Even the custodians were white. Once my score was accepted, I was counselled that a career doing a trade or joining the military would be a better choice because no decent college wanted anyone that looked like me. It’s hard to believe that this didn’t occur in the 1800s. Nevertheless, I didn’t give up.

When I look at this beautiful baby boy, I send positive thoughts and love to him and his family that his life will be different and better than my life. This little man is the child of one of my dearest friends and he is like my grandchild. I adore him and would do anything to protect him from the racism of the world. My wish is for him to be able to choose his own path without roadblocks or having to go through checkpoints with racists. Everyone deserves the life of their choice and not because of the colour of their skin. It’s wrong to receive special treatment or privileges just because of the colour of one’s skin.

Recently, I had the great fortune to visit the National Gallery of Victoria where I was introduced to the great work of Maree Clarke’s exhibition entitled, Ancestral Memories. The Melbourne-based artist makes art to affirm and connect with her cultural heritage, reviving and sharing elements of south-East Australian Aboriginal culture. Ancestral Memories showcases her diverse practice including mixed media installations, photographic lenticulars, possum skin cloaks, and jewellery made from glass, echidna quills and kangaroo teeth. It’s an incredible experience. While there, I stumbled into the section highlighting the bold work by Vernon Ah Kee entitled, If I Was White. See is an Australian award-winning artist, political activist and founding member of ProppaNOW. He is an Aboriginal Australian man with ties to the Kuku Yalandji, Waanji, Yidinji and Gugu Yimithirr peoples in Queensland, Australia. I am not sure why, but I am still surprised when I learn how people all over the world are mistreated by those with white skin because of a sense of superiority. So many people that hold on for dear life to their racist beliefs and hatred for others, also seem to hold on tightly to their religion and lies they have been taught all of their lives. Do you think they will ever hear the alarm to wake up to truth?

Here are some of the quotes from Vernon Ah Kee’s exhibition:

• If I was white, I would not have to live in a country that hates me.
• If I was white, I could accept a life of privilege, wealth, and power that the exploitation of Black people has brought me without even blinking.
• If I was white, I could live, shop, and socialise wherever I want.
• If I was white, I wouldn’t be asked if I was fullblood, half-caste, or part white.
• If I was white, I would not have to be smart to keep a good job.
• If I was white, I would have more chances of getting a job.
• If I was white, I could go to church and Jesus Christ would look like me. Imagine Christ images all over the world being Black.
• If I was white, ignorance could be my excuse.
• If I was white, I would have nothing to fear from the police.
• If I was white, I would not have to explain the things I say.
• If I was white, the world would make more sense to me.
• If I was white, I could call the police on someone for just looking at me.
• If I was white, I could walk in a white neighbourhood and not look suspicious.
• If I was white, I could make myself believe that Black people are evil.
• If I was white, I could write history any way I please.
• If I was white, I would be taken at my word.
• But I am Black and I am as misunderstood as the next Black fella, but I am beginning to understand the white man.wh

What if you could have a wish fulfilled or do something amazing, what would it be?

If I could make my wish come true, it would be to reverse everything that has negatively impacted the lives of people of colour over the years and all over the world. I would like for those that consider themselves the superior race to experience the grief, pain, abuse, discrimination, servitude, murders, racial profiling, wrongful convictions, violence, and trauma that young children of colour are forced to deal with every day of their lives. Would it make the world a better place with understanding, and love for each other, I doubt it, but what a great experiment it would be.

I have great hopes for my little baby champ, being trained and prepared by his incredibly bright mother, to conquer the world.