Last week I mentioned the film "American Skin." It is a powerful, moving, and haunting story that is never far from my mind. It begins with a shooting of an unarmed innocent black teenaged boy. Without giving too much away, the story goes on a year later with college students starting to film a documentary and an interview with the boy's father, who was there at the time of the shooting. This story is fiction but it's implications are real. The story of an unarmed black man shot by police. The racism of the system, of law enforcement.
Last night, I thought I was ready to tackle the subject again and watched another black film, "Queen and Slim," on the same topic not expecting it to feel almost the same - boy, was I wrong! When I stopped crying, I texted a black friend of mine with whom I watch and/discuss a lot of black films with to tell him about this latest film. For him, having had racially charged encounters with police, he knew these films would be too triggering for him (and it makes me think of the trauma of racism, something we don't address nearly enough). He did ask me "this is my question to those of you who are already steeped in allyness: how much of that/those type of movies do y'all want to undertake? you know the outcome is gonna have you bawlin'" All I kept thinking is what a privilege it is to be able to turn it off when I choose. I can choose to not see and feel the pain of police brutality, of systemic racism, of a history of oppression. What a privilege it is! I cannot let my guard down and forget that, forget that every day when I walk out of my door, I don't have to worry how people will treat me based on the color of my skin. I don't fear when I'm pulled over that I may be shot. I don't have to worry about being in a store and automatically perceived as a potential thief because of how I look. I am never at a protest and called a thug. I don't ever want to forget the pain I feel, ever so briefly, when I watch these painful films. I get to turn the film off. I get to walk away, whole, and healthy, and safe. I don't ever want to forget!
I was also asked by a white colleague this week why the movie, "American Skin," has been so impactful for me and I had to give that some thought. I know recent events of this year have shined a spotlight on police shootings of black and brown people but I also think it goes deeper for me. I have a son and while he is now 20, he is not far out of his teens. I remember trying to have my version of "the talk" with him. I explained to him what black parents need to teach their sons about their dealings with police but in typical teen fashion, he wasn't having it and clearly not understanding it. He said he would just tell the cop to get out of his face - yeah, clearly not getting it. I think of Tamir Rice, who was two years younger than my son. While I've been on this journey of "wokeness" for some time, his shooting hit such a cord with me and changed the trajectory of my allyship from passive to active. I remember my thoughts and I share them here "It could be my son. He's a teenager. Impulsive. Reckless. Boneheaded. It could be my son. But it wouldn't be. Because his skin protects him. Because he can wear a hoodie. Because he can make a stupid choice and not pay with his life. It could be my son. But it won't be. And it should not be any other mother's son either." The movie "American Skin" tugged at my mother heart strings. My son is alive and well and serving his country, brought home to me safely one night by police officers when caught in a park after it closed. Tamir's mother should be able to say the same.
I can't imagine the pain so I immerse myself as best I can from film and story. May I never forget or try to turn it off just because my skin would allow me to do so. I will never forget that "American Skin" is too often thought of as white, as me. Tamir had American skin. George Floyd had American skin. Breonna Taylor had American skin. Patrick Warren had American skin. Say their names and never forget!
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