"There ain't no justice, there's just us..."

the above lyric is a line from the chorus of The City High Anthem, and though they're singing with regard to a particular generation of underprivileged Black urban youth, I think people worldwide, and particularly Black peoples in the United States, find these words resonate with even more intensity in them tonight. 

Let me preface this by saying that I try, whenever possible, to be a proud American. I've had inter/transnational roommates chide me for being patriotic to a fault. Though this is no longer the case, I once regarded myself as "American" before "Black". Under normal circumstances, I will refuse to say "under God," but otherwise will pledge my allegiance to our flag and feel only positivity swell in my heart. Tonight, though, I will avert my eyes from wherever I might see this flag on my cross-campus walk. Tonight, I wear my American identity with shame, for I have been reminded that we do not always practice what we preach. I have been reminded of hypocrisy. I have been reminded of dishonor. I have been reminded of the harshest forms of prejudice. I have been reminded of systemic racism. I have been reminded of ideals that are only upheld for those deemed "ideal."

At 11:08 pm, an event transpired in the state of Georgia that can be properly referred to solely as a legalized lynching. 

Before I was born, Troy Davis, a 20 year old Black man, was found guilty of the murder of an off-duty White police officer, despite the fact that no physical evidence could be found linking him to the crime. The murder weapon was never located. At the time of his trial, nine witnesses swore before God, a judge, a jury, and a nation to various details cementing Davis's guilt. He was convicted and sentenced to death. 

In the 22 years since, seven of those nine witnesses have either fully or partially recanted their testimonies, saying they felt pressured by the police to implicate Davis. The gun has still never been recovered. Rumors have been circulating for years that one of the witnesses in Davis's trial, Sylvester "Redd" Coles, actually committed the murder, but no formal investigation has ever been launched against Coles. Each time Davis has filed for an appeal, he has been denied, with the courts citing a lack of "substantive claims" of his innocence, and dismissing the recants as "unpersuasive." 

From Wikipedia:

In August 17, 2009, the Supreme Court of the United States, over the dissenting votes of two justices, ordered a federal district court in Georgia to consider whether new evidence "that could not have been obtained at the time of trial clearly establishes [Davis'] innocence". The evidentiary hearing was held in June 2010, during which affidavits from several prosecution witnesses from the trial changing or recanting their previous testimony were presented; some affiants asserted they had been coerced by police. The State presented witnesses, including the police investigators and original prosecutors, denying any coercion. Other witnesses who had not testified at trial asserted that Coles had confessed to the killing, but this evidence was excluded as hearsay as Coles was not subpoenaed by the defense to rebut it. In an August 2010 decision, the conviction was upheld by the U.S. District Court for the Southern District of Georgia, which described defense efforts to upset the conviction as "largely smoke and mirrors".

 At this time, I would like to examine the legal definition of the phrase "reasonable doubt," as coined in the Fourteenth Amendment to our United States Constitution:

"The standard that must be met by the prosecution's evidence in a criminal prosecution: that no other logical explanation can be derived from the facts except that the defendant committed the crime, thereby overcoming the presumption that a person is innocent until proven guilty."

Please note that that says innocent until proven guilty, not guilty until proven innocent. The prosecution's case against Troy Davis was grounded entirely on circumstantial evidence, coerced and recanted witness testimony, and a dismissal of sworn witness testimony that SOMEONE ELSE HAD CONFESSED TO THE CRIME. How does any of that leave us within the boundaries of reasonable doubt? 

A hundred years ago (and more recently), in the state of Georgia (and elsewhere), when a Black man was accused of committing an offense against a White, his Constitutional right to a fair trial by a jury of his peers was conveniently overlooked. He saw no jury, no judge, no courthouse. If he were lucky, he saw torches, heard the mob coming. If he were lucky, he could get away. Thousands of Black men, women, and children were not lucky. They were not tried. Declared guilty by default, as a fact of the color of their skin and the nature that presumably accompanied it, they were kidnapped, tortured, hanged, riddled with bullets, burned [though not necessarily in that order]. Their images were printed on front pages and postcards, their body parts were auctioned off to the highest bidders, community members who wanted a souvenir.

Though they have varied their methods with time--substituting a fixed trial with incapable public defenders and coerced witnesses for the previously non-existent trial, the emotional torture of caging a boy for the entirety of his manhood for kidnapping and physical torture, and a lethal injection for the satisfaction of hearing a neck snap--you cannot tell me they do not still lynch Black men in the state of Georgia. The only difference is the entire process is entirely legal, rather than extralegal now. You cannot tell me Troy Davis's rights were upheld. You cannot call this justice. I see only predeterminism and vengeance, and when these things are idolized in the place of justice, America has failed itself. These cannot be equated. I am neither comfortable in my own skin or with my own patriotism in the face of a system that does not know the difference, with checks and balances that are meant to help allowing states to get away with murder.

I am not a religious woman, but with everything in me, I hope that Troy Davis finally knows freedom. I also hope that we remember that the irony of the "I am Troy Davis" campaign launched this week to protest his impending execution is that there many Troy Davises spread around the country (Mumia Abu-Jamal, anyone?), probably thousands around the world. Even in cases where guilt is unequivocal, is retribution ever truly just? My friend Brittney's family did not call for it, even when the grief and rage seemed overwhelming. I will admit that there are some crimes so heinous that my first reaction is you, offender, do not need to live any longer. This is primarily reserved for people who rape and murder 27 women and make suits out of their skin, etc. But taking a life should never make one sleep easier at night. Inflicting more of the seemingly unbearable and insurmountable pain one person's loved ones had to go through when they were taken onto another person's loved ones...why is this something to pay forward?

I will never get a Twitter because this rant is almost 1400 words long and that's the way I like it, but so that I may stand in solidarity, I would re-tweet this all night:

#toomuchdoubt

I'm so conflicted about whether or not to see 'The Help'

On the one hand, sisterhood! friendship! standing up for what you believe in! stories that haven't been told! a movie about Black women! 
On the other hand, though, yet another tired old film about Black people whose lives really are interesting and meaningful, but made so only through the intervention of a benevolent White woman! (The Blind Side, anybody?) celebration of Black women's stories as long as they're told from a White woman's perspective! making people feel like the conditions of 
oppressed minorities weren't (aren't) so bad!


Some people are telling me I'm making too big a deal about this. That there are [much less successful] movies and books about Black persons who stand up and tell their own stories. That I shouldn't look at these things as Black v. White, but in terms of other divisions, like religion or class. That I should see the patronizing White female savior as really just a friend like any other friend, and not pay attention at all to all the privileges she has over her Black female domestics "friends". That I should validate her for working against societal expectations by caring about these Black women. Or, my fucking favorite, that Hollywood isn't about historical accuracy or truth-telling, but rather is for entertainment purposes only, and presumably has absolutely no societal responsibility to speak of. That it somehow shouldn't bother me that, with few exceptions, the most widely popular films that feature or are about Black people offer those characters little more than belittlement and backhanded compliments. Self-sufficiency and positive narratives are few and far between.


I'm terrified that this will someday get shown/read in history classes in high school, and be taken as an accurate representation of what life was like for these women. NOTHING GOOD can come of members of a dominant group writing the history of members of a marginalized group. Nothing. So when someone asks me what I expected from a White woman's telling of the story, I say this: that I expect White people to finally learn that maybe they shouldn't be trying to tell the narratives of Black experiences. But alas, they will never learn this, because this book was wildly successful, and the film most likely will be too, because unlike when a Black person tries to talk about a Black experience, this appeals to White audiences [sugar-coating history has a tendency to do that]. 


The friend I'm arguing with on Facebook [I hate Facebook arguments] raises the incredibly valid point that the representations of Blackness coming from within our community are arguably worse. I agree 100%, a la the post immediately prior to this one, but that just means I'm not going to stand for either one.


My friend says the only way to change this is to go out and do something about it, instead of just bitching about what's wrong with the images we're being presented with. Again, I agree 100%, but we have to recognize that if a Black woman had written a novel about Black women's experiences as maids in the South, it would be relegated to the huge pile of "African-American literature to be ignored by the general public unless one has a very progressive high school English teacher" and the idea of a movie deal would be laughable. So, as I am not a filmmaker or a screenwriter, but an academic, all I can do is talk about why I don't think these images are acceptable, why I don't think these movies will do anything good for anyone (except put money in the hands of the people who made them, and making wealthy White people feel less guilty--which I'm pretty sure is only beneficial to them, not to the people of color and/or in poverty who could use a program or two that might be created [or, at the very least, not ripped to shreds] by people who have stopped recognizing that guilt is entirely appropriate). Maybe wanting to hold Hollywood to some level of social responsibility is naive of me, but how can we change the dominant cultural perceptions of a community if only narratives that perpetuate those perceptions are allowed to be seen/heard?


I suppose I have to see it now that I've talked so much shit about it though, huh? Damn.