White People: Listen, and then Educate Yourselves

As I sat down to write this, I started scrolling through my past posts. My post on Charlottesville, my post on the 2016 election, my post on Ferguson. And here I am again, begging white people to do the work necessary to dismantle the systemic racism in this country, because it's on us--the people who created it--to tear it down. 

So listen to your black friends/family/neighbors/colleagues, and then educate yourself. Ask questions if you need, but don't expect them to teach you about something your ancestors created. 

Below is a list of some of the resources that I've read/watched as I've tried to educate myself. This list is by no means exhaustive, and my own work continues. 

History Lessons: 

Wilkerson's book traces the migration of over six million Black Americans from the South to the North from 1915-1970s as they looked for better lives. She focuses on three individuals in particular--Ida Mae Gladney, George Swanson Starling, and Robert Pershing Foster--telling their lives before their moves, the issues they had while moving, and the issues they encountered once they found their new homes. (Spoiler: racism and segregation aren't just a Southern thing.) A really good overview of the time and the people who continue to change our country.

I know Dr. King's name has been used to try to discredit what is currently going on, so I hesitated to include the movie here, but I think it's important for people to realize that it hasn't mattered HOW Black Americans have protested in the past--white people have never liked it. A good look at the lead-up and consequences of the March on Selma. 

Also: Check out Rep. John Lewis' three volume graphic novel memoir March about his experiences during the same time period. I would recommend watching  movie and then reading the graphic novels together. 

Black America and the Criminal Justice System: 

Michelle Alexander takes a deep look into the criminal justice system and the practices put into place that have resulted in more Black Americans behind bars in this country than were enslaved. It isn't a coincidence that these policies took over once Jim Crow laws were abolished. 

Ava Duvernay's documentary The 13th covers much of the same ground as Alexander's book, particularly how our justice system actually kept slavery in the Constitution with the 13th Amendment: "Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States." 

That loophole has allowed our government to justify the things discussed in Alexander's book as well as the "tough on crime" stance of a lot of our politicians (on both sides of the aisle). 

Bryan Stevenson is the founder of the Equal Justice Initiative, dedicated to ending mass incarceration and racial inequality. His book chronicles his experiences both as a lawyer in Alabama working to free people wrongfully charged and as a black lawyer in the South. 

(This was recently turned into a movie starring Michael B. Jordan as Stevenson, but I haven't watched it yet.)

Memoir/Essay: 

James Baldwin's 1963 work was written during the centennial of the Emancipation Proclamation, and consists of two letters, one to his nephew discussing what life is like as a young black man in America. His line "This is your home, my friend, do not be driven from it; great men have done great things here, and will again, and we can make America what it must become" contrasts greatly with current administration's views on this country, as well as echoing Langston Hughes' poem, Let America Be America Again. 

An incredibly important work, this one should really be at the top of your list. 

The eighteen pieces in the collection, written by contemporary authors of color (Black and otherwise), address the situations Baldwin brought up over fifty years ago. These essays, poems, and memoir continue the conversation of race in this country--both historical and contemporary, as well as the hope for the future. 

Following in Baldwin's footsteps, Coates' 2015 book is a letter to his teenaged son about being a Black man in America and everything that entails, including the very real threat of police brutality. 

Fiction/Poetry:

Rankine's work was published in 2014, only a few months after Michael Brown was murdered by police in Ferguson, MO. This is a mixed media work, including poems, artwork, and video links that address the spectrum of racism Rankine and her friends have experienced, from subversive to the explicit. 

This is one of the most powerful pieces I've read in recent years, and asks that you look at your own biases and place in the systemic racism in the country. 

Ruffin imagines a not-so-distant dystopian future (present? It's hard to tell, and that's the point.) where a Black father decides to do everything he can to protect his biracial son from society, including medically lightening his skin. It's a horrific, chilling look at a world not that different from our own, where Black men are forced to wear surveillance devices, police can legally cut off locs, and deportation "back to Africa" is a justified punishment. 

Ruffin recently tweeted: 

    Reader Question: why did you make the police so brutal in your book? 

    Me: I didn't make them anything. 

We're seeing evidence of that every day. 

Don't be put off by the "Young Adult" tag on this novel. It's every bit as important as all the works on this list. (I'll save my rant on the dismissal of YA lit for another day.) Angie Thomas tells the story of Starr Carter, a young Black teen who lives in a poor Black neighborhood but attends a predominately white high school. She witnesses the death of her best friend at the hands of a police officer, and has to decide whether or not to come forward with what she knows. Meanwhile, the national media attention and protests begin, with very real consequences for everyone involved.

Read it. And then watch the movie. With lots of tissues nearby. 

And as always, 

Life Is Not Ok Right Now

I finally lost it last night.

I broke down and cried for the first time since New Orleans/Louisiana issued a stay at home order. Four weeks of me trying to being the strong one, teaching online, checking on friends and family, trying to be optimistic (more time to read is always a good thing!), and I cracked.

It came out of nowhere. I was watching a video love letter to New Orleans from a man in New York City. In it, I saw my adopted home: full of interactions, joy, hugs, smiles, music; full of life. And I cried.

I miss my students, even the ones that drive me crazy. Especially the ones that drive me crazy.

I miss my colleagues, that amazing group of educators dedicated to insuring that our students know they're loved and cared about in the midst of all of this.

I miss my New Orleans friend-family. I miss their faces, their hugs, their dumb jokes.

I miss being able to go out to restaurants, bars, festivals, theaters.

I miss being able to walk down the streets, seeing the strange and wonderful variety of people who inhabit this city.

I miss being able to travel. 

I miss the crush of humanity.

I miss life.


New Orleans isn't supposed to be quiet. We're not supposed to be separated from our community. We're supposed to be out in the streets, enjoying each other's company. Instead, we're mourning our losses separately, unable to gather together to share the sorrow. No one here is untouched. I have friends who have had the coronavirus or who are waiting on test results, and friends who have lost loved ones.

And I know we're not the only ones. My heart is with everyone trying to cope with this strange, awful situation. I'm terrified for my family and loved ones in Nebraska, where there is no stay at home order, and the numbers are starting to accelerate. But this virus is hitting New Orleans differently. We're losing our culture bearers to this awful disease. The ones who create the music, the life that everyone loves so much.

Our most vulnerable populations are being hit hard. And while I could go on a rant about the incompetence of this federal administration (and believe me, I have), please realize that we can't go back to the old normal when this is through.

Things have to change--socially and politically--if we want to insure that something like this doesn't happen again.

We will get through this. Stay safe. Stay home.

I love you.

From Jazz Fest 2019, when life was normal