More than a moment, July 8, 2020 by Western Gazette

Bl a c k & Bo l d C aro l i n e A l p e r t

More than a Moment

The Western Gazette vol. 114

Table of Contents

Guest Editor Angie Antonio

Letter from the Editor

To Be

Contributors Sunday Ajak Tolani Akinyosoye Janelle Allan Caroline Alpert Maryam Berih Amber Rose Carroll Tamia Chicas Joy Spear Chief-Morris Matthew Dawkins Kimberly Douglas Morea Haloftis Joe Hill Mudia Iyayi Esther Johnson Mandela Massina Charlene Chipo Mauppa Princess Ofori-Atta Sisyphus Amanda Tretter

Land of the ‘Free’

For Sandra Bland

Supporting Silenced

Editor-in-Chief Emily Tayler Managing Editor Rania Osman Creative Director Liam J. Afonso Coordinating Editors Hope Mahood Taniya Spolia Copy Editor Gabby Glasier Design Liam J. Afonso Taniya Spolia Anastasiia Fedorova

11 Fire 13

La Haine

Black IS Beautiful

If a Tree Falls

Fateful Destiny

My Life Ain’t Cheap

Our Truth Revealed

We Lost Ahmaud

I See Colour

I Long For a Day

Dear Young Black Boys

Growing up in the prairies, I always felt as though I didn’t belong. Being the only Black girl in my grade, I realized things about the world that my non-Black peers may have not understood. I felt as though I was a representative for my entire race. Due to the colour of my skin, I was constantly worried about being overlooked for positions despite being qualified. I was constantly wondering whether my personality was “too much” or if those around me thought I was “too Black.” Saddled with the desire to truly find myself, discovering the Black Students’ Association was a godsend. It gave me the chance to understand myself better, meet other Black people and be unapologetically Black. At events, you look around and you see different types of people who also look like you. It’s a fulfilling feeling. Since its inception in 1993, the BSA has been a socio-political club dedicated to supporting the Black community at Western University. We are a collection of individuals who, despite sharing a lot of similarities, encompass so much excellence, diversity and courage. We are no stranger to the stereotypes that have been eternalized by the media. Black students at Western and around the world are changing society’s narrative of what being Black truly means. From generation to generation, we see the constant pattern of endurance, resilience and bravery exhibited by Black people.

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

Society was not constructed in our favour. Laws were written and constitutions were created to place Black people in positions of powerlessness and keep them there, further perpetuating the negative stereotype of Black people. In the US and Canada, wealth is unequally distributed among minorities, especially Black and Indigenous people.

Angie Antonio

President, UWO Black Students’ Association

Housing, the healthcare system, the justice system and much more were created on the premise of keeping Black and Indigenous people in check. As a collective, we have been put down and beaten to nothing. Despite all of this, we are still here and still fighting. The colour of our skin has come to signify our bravery, endurance and resilience as a collective.

The world woke up to the oppression of Black people on May 25, 2020. The murder of George Floyd was broadcasted internationally and the world all fell silent. The horrific murder while in custody of white police officers was brutal, inhumane and evil. For some people, that was the first time they had seen such a senseless act of racism towards a Black person. But for Black people, this was not news.

others feel comfortable. Change needs to happen. Black students and the BSA are fighting to see change at Western. We commend Western and president Alan Shepard for the creation of the Anti-Racism Working Group and we hope to continue this work in the future to create a safer environment for Black students. However, this does not simply erase Western’s dark history of racism.

Seventeen-year-old Trayvon Martin was murdered by George Zimmerman in 2012, a neighbourhood watch captain; Philando Castile was shot during a traffic stop in 2016; Sandra Bland was hung in her jail cell in 2015 and Breonna Taylor was shot eight times while sleeping earlier this year.

Philippe Rushton was a psychology professor at Western who exploited and ridiculed the intelligence of Black people with his futile research. Last year, a white English professor used the N-word in class and when a student spoke up, she received death threats. These two incidents are examples of overt racism, but Black students also face microaggressions every single day on campus from their peers and professors.

The list is never-ending. Of every person I have mentioned, not one of them received justice — all of their killers were acquitted or haven’t faced criminal charges. Crime or no crime, no one deserves to die at the hands of those who are called to protect. The Black Lives Matter movement was created to dismantle white supremacy and find liberation for the Black struggle.

We are here to take charge of what happens in our life. This should not be an argument. It’s always been this way, information has just become more accessible. Black people are a resilient group of people and we will never allow ourselves to be bound by the ropes of a society built to keep us down. We will fight until our voices are heard and our demands are met. The BSA gives Black students a space to feel comfortable at a predominantly white institution.

It is 2020, our voices are just beginning to be amplified, but we have been crying out for generations. We have not been silent. Issues of police brutality, racism and injustice are not new to us. The only difference between now and other instances is that we are finally being heard.

Over time society has tried to make Black people feel as though they are lesser. Black Lives Matter is popular now but what about next week? Next month? Next year? Will Black lives still matter when it’s not plastered all over social media? It’s so unfortunate that it took a nine-minute recording of a Black man’s death to wake society up to what’s been going on for years.

We are not asking for much. We expect to be treated fairly. The system should not have been created to make us fail. We are calling for systemic change in society. Performative allyship — surface level activism, like posting a black square on social media but still saying the N-word — is a mechanism that has been used and abused in order to distract and deter us from the bigger picture.

Black people didn’t just start getting murdered by police in a day, it started with racism that officers were taught from young ages. To kill the racism we see on the streets, we need to start by killing the seed of racism in our hearts. Though it is in the system, it is also something that we have been taught and reinforced with throughout our lives, and something that will take a lot of unlearning to fix.

When it comes to the issues of Black people, people want to do things that look like change — renaming streets, taking down statues, marching in solidarity despite having the power to do so much more — but are really just taking the spotlight away from the real problem. We say Black lives matter because they do and should be treated as such. We are tired of having to diminish our pain to make 2

T i re d A mbe r Ro s e C ar rol l

TO BE

Tolani Akinyosoye I wanted to be a Fair-skinned sapphire-eyed pink-gums kind of girl I wanted to be The kind of girl without this hair And whose skin would Roast under the sun I called my peach crayons “Skin-coloured” even though they were never my skin’s colour. I played with barbies whose only dark feature was their auburn hair. I hated my African name I wanted to be a Becca Lucy Amy Cameron Kate. I was malignant to my melanin So I made sure to keep my arms covered With long sleeves and jackets A conscious habit That became so problematic And tragic, when I’d sometimes Be in a short-lived state of panic Is that too dramatic? Well, it’s true, Just because of my complexion I didn’t realize how much I Wanted to be something That was so impossible Because I hated that I stood out in my classroom When all I wanted to do Was blend Into that sea of white I wished to be a part of that ocean instead of being noticed like a lone candle in a dark room. I lost count of the days that I didn’t feel beautiful I lost count of the days that I felt Like an outcast, over something That I’m now proud to broadcast. This skin These eyes This hair My pride. 4

LAND OF THE ‘FREE’ Esther Johnson

everyday it’s a new hashtag a new video another lost soul my soul is empty my body filled with rage and pain i am empty with everything to gain like trust and peace and love and acceptance instead my people and i are neglected it seems they love the idea of us but they hate the idea of us a strong us a rich us an independent us a successful us but what they don’t understand is there is no US without us we built that land for free until we got free chains dropped but they still got us on locks through mass incarceration systemic racists and profiting corporations this is a nation that would rather let cities burn than let justice be served what kind of sense does that make? i’m tired of seeing bodies drop at the hands of cops who walk free in the end i’m tired of seeing mommas cry when they black girls and boys die i think you getting the trend i’m tired of seeing all lives matter because that can’t happen until black lives matter.

Fa ces o f T h o se T h a t M a tter C aro l i n e A l p e r t

FOR SANDRA BLAND Matthew Dawkins

It is good to see you shouting with us. Your voice carries in the streets, you know More than your sobs do.

And we have plugged you into speakers Hooked up to megaphones Connected to hearts Echoing out of mouths You should know that now, You are as loud as ever.

For little did they know that when they hung you â&#x20AC;&#x201D; They hung us. And when we gently unwrapped the rope of silence from our necks It was nothing compared to when we broke chains. Care not the other types of trees they try to string us up on Because we are immortal.

A people you can kill But never silence.

T h e Ar t o f Letti n g G o A mbe r Ro s e C ar ro l l

ON SUPPORTING THOSE WHOSE

VOICES HAVE BEEN SILENCED

Photo of members of the Black Panther Party at a rally in De Fremery Park in Oakland, California (1966). Courtesy of Stephen Shames and Firelight Media.

Joy Spear Chief-Morris Horrified, scared, emotional and overwhelmed all at the same time. Recognize those who are overwhelmed by the constant influx of images and news upon their screens, grieving for those they have never known, consciously and daily aware of the structures that have brought about these crimes. The structures in power that make you daily aware of your identity. Grateful for the awakening, grateful for the self-reflection and cries for justice and action amongst those who have not engaged before in this time old struggle. Yet also tired and emotionally exhausted for what it does to your soul and being. Become allies, become informed. Donate your time and money to the right causes. Respect and support those who are protesting, and respect and support those who are fighting more quietly beneath the battle lines. 9

This is what I posted to social media a few weeks ago in light of the Black Lives Matter protests and social media solidarity and allyship posts. In the past month it feels as if the world has imploded — more than it already has this year.

Police brutality and the condition of Black lives in America and Canada is not a new phenomena, it is the result of systemic racism and structural violence dating back centuries; these incidents and crimes have become a normality in our lives. These protests are not a new phenomena, the difference is that, at last, it seems that the majorities of society are slowly waking up and realizing what we have been saying for far too long: enough is enough.

I feel overwhelmed. I see the pressure to show support on social media, but I feel that a lack of acknowledgement has been made for how this constant influx of information and media pouring out about this brutality can affect some people of colour, like myself. I felt I had to make a post and statement, but also felt worried about making myself vulnerable to judgement for how my words would be perceived. Of course, posting to social media is not enough. Writing this post was not enough. Starting and adding to the dialogue is only the beginning, and this is not the beginning of this movement. It is the movement to a struggle that has persisted since the arrival of colonizers centuries ago.

It is amazing to see this level of action occurring, yet it also makes me fearful. I think of my family and pray that they are safe. I want to engage in protests, and even though I know I live in an area where violence is not likely to happen, I still fear for my own safety. I am tired. I am tired of having to engage in the topic of racism and how it has and does affect my life. I do not need to be constantly reminded of my condition as a woman of colour, or those of the people I love. I do not need to see more footage of Black lives needlessly lost — it hurts my soul.

I am an Indigenous woman. I am also an African-Canadian woman. My family are the descendants of African slaves who were brought to the United States during the slave trade and much of my family still lives across the United States. I am proud of my heritage and of my history and how it shapes the woman I am.

I am grateful for the awareness that is occurring across social platforms and for the action that is occurring across the continent. I am grateful for those who are willing to put their lives on the front lines of this movement during this time. I am grateful for the engagement and will always be willing to engage in this important dialogue. I am grateful for those donating to the organizations supporting these movements (and have always worked to support these causes) and have donated to them myself.

The crisis that is occurring across the United States is not solely unique to them. I have grown up always being consciously aware of my identity as a person of colour living in predominantly white urban areas in Canada. Racism and the feeling of being the “other” are just actualities of my life. I am perceived by the world by the colour of my skin and it is a constant thought that crosses my mind when I go to job interviews, on first dates, raise my hand in classes, post on social media, enter a store and walk down the street. As a single coloured female, I go for runs in the middle of the day and yet, I often take glances over my shoulder. I never walk alone at night, even if it is only a block or two. I am self-conscious of feeling eyes on me in public places. These are not fears or worries that I want to have, yet they are simply part of my subconscious in this world we live in. This is not just an American problem.

So recognize and engage in the movement. Engage in the right conversations. Become informed and educate yourself if you have not already. Embrace the feeling of discomfort. Support those whose voices have been silenced. For those who can, stand in protest. For those who can’t, donate your time and money to the right causes.

FIRE.

Mandela Massina I am a Canadian student of Congolese descent studying English Literature and Creative Writing at Western University. I wrote this verse in response to the unjust murder of George Floyd. May he rest in peace. Policed by a fire squad, fire squad Feel I need to fire back, fire back Walking free breaking laws, breaking laws We killed and can’t fire back, fire back Fear of me they fire shots, fire shots When can we fire back? Fire back Smoke in the air, I can’t breathe, can’t breathe Think it’s time to fire back, fire back Young black male, melanin the most hated Taught me at eleven to know hatred, go face it My bloodline created out of some broke places From Congo to Toronto, we made it, so gracious Leopold cut our hands, spite our faces, so racist, Past time we had cuffs, now my Invicta’s gold plated Long way from the days as massa’s slave, disrespecting me Now pave roads to master’s degrees, mastered my destiny Rejected the image they project on me Picture of a boy from the projects, they expect to see Baller top pic, no scholar prospect, young black gifted, MLK wanted for Christmas, I’m on Detroit Red’s wish list Young black success story, some can’t believe that shit Stab my backside whispering we don’t need that shit Sideline side eyes, wishing that they could be that shit Change our wealth in one generation, that’s the speed we flip Young black male, in panic in view of red and blue On top of the roof, a dangerous crew, violent group Gas lighting you, all lives matter, blue lives matter My weary blues muted by America’s white chatter 11

Institutional lies, now we’re institutionalized Thirteenth amendment, blacks used by the whites Still locked up for grams, dope runners with no bodies Thoughts that jog in my head is that I might be Aubery How swift would cops make Maya Breonna Taylor? Well suited for destruction, who’s Uncle Sam’s tailor? Haunted by thoughts of dad lost, his poor boy Might go George Foremen on killers of George Floyd Say race don’t matter? you made race matter Once you started spilling African plasma American heroes? NO, just protected villains sir Making a killing, making all these killings occur Young black male, I always imagine my demise Of bullets flying, ending my life through racial profile Thinking that I’d die, driving in my daddy’s ride My crime? Enjoying the fruits of labour he provides Young black male, you would never trade placement Why would you leave your penthouse for the basement? Putting band-aids on the wounds that built your nation We were promised by forefathers emancipation Uncle Sam didn’t monopolize discrimination I’ve been racialized and hated by other nations Rap music, style, slang, insane how much you’re taking But when shit hits the fan, what stance are you taking? Spent time being uni educated, my Invicta is gorgeous Obeying speed limitations in luxury foreign Be half black like Obama, or fuck white girls like Jordan But when they see me, I’m just another thug on the corner 12

Movie still from La Haine (1995). Courtesy of IndieWire.

LA HAINE: WHAT WE CAN LEARN ABOUT POLICE BRUTALITY, RACE RELATIONS AND HATE Mudia Iyayi

In 1995, Mathieu Kassovitz released not only one of the finest commentaries on police brutality and race relations of late 20th century France, he did so via a compelling story that transcends the borders of Europe. La Haine — French for “the hate” — is a modern classic that challenges our preconceived ideas on nationality, race and, most importantly, the police.

life instances of police brutality inspired him to write the script for La Haine and it is surprising that, even 25 years later, this issue is just as relevant. The film also tackles other issues that face the Black community and other disadvantaged minorities today, such as racial profiling, stereotypical representation by the media, the perpetual, systemic cycle of poverty and druguse and a myriad of other issues.

The film opens with the Bob Marley and the Wailers song “Burnin’ and a Lootin,’” with the lyrics bearing an uncanny resemblance to the plot of the film, as well as the current climate of protests that have erupted across the globe in response to the murder of George Floyd and, more so, due to years of systemic abuse of the Black community by the police:

The film doesn’t attempt to explain why the system is rigged against the boys or why these generational tragedies keep occurring. The film itself does not even try to rectify the wrongs of society; Abdel eventually dies and Vinz is senselessly killed by a police officer. There is no happy ending or revolution to change the status quo. It simply is what it is.

This morning I woke up in a curfew

It is naive to think La Haine has a depressing or abrupt ending — I’d even argue this sentiment is disrespectful. Black individuals in society have been enslaved, segregated, marginalized, mass-incarcerated, discriminated against and killed at the hands of racialized acts of violence for centuries. It is possible to write a novel of Tolstoy proportions with all the names of the Black individuals who have been impacted or died at the hands of racial violence and police brutality. For Kassovitz to portray the boys as victorious in their struggle against a system rigged against them would be unrealistic. It is the movie’s gritty realness that allows for its relevance even 25 years after its initial release.

O God, I was a prisoner, too — yeah! Could not recognize the faces standing over me They were all dressed in uniforms of brutality. The film then follows the three protagonists; Saïd, Hubert and Vinz and the events that unfold in just under 24 hours following a riot the night prior. In fact, other than providing insightful commentary — and beautiful direction and cinematography — the film does not really follow the typical three act structure, or even truly have a concrete plot. The only underlying conflict that drives the movie forward is the question of whether Abdel, a critically injured friend of the boys, will survive. Abdel is currently hospitalized in police custody and Vinz vows to seek revenge on the local police if Abdel dies.

However, life is not a movie. The Black Lives Matter movement currently serves as hope that tangible change can be enacted in society. We as a society can advocate for change and reform. We can write that rectification that Kassovitz was unable to optimistically portray. We can change the system that has detrimentally impacted Black lives for centuries. We can change la haine.

Once again, Kassovitz fuels this perpetual conflict between the disadvantaged minorities and the overarching police department. Real

Bl a c k I S Bea uti f ul J an e l l e A l l an

BLACK IS BEAUTIFUL Janelle Allan The theme of these three pieces is voice and diversity. Having no representation of Black people has been an issue for me my whole life, whether it be in my school communities, neighbourhoods or friend groups. This rubbed off the impression that Black isn’t worth being represented and that it is ugly. This is why I wanted to use this piece to shine light on a different type of beauty that is not recognized enough — Black beauty. When glancing at the three pieces, at first sight what you see are three strikingly beautiful figures. When you take a closer look, there are deeper messages that shine light on issues concerning the Black community. These issues are something that I as a Black individual have been affected by, but in multiple communities that are predominantly white, many people are blissfully unaware of these issues. The issues I focused on were cultural appropriation, police brutality and beauty double standards. The statements on each piece were phrased as questions because I wanted to provoke people’s thoughts and make them look at each issue from a different perspective — one that they may have never considered before. Despite the hardships and oppression that the Black community has been through, after a long journey of self love, we still manage to find our confidence and wear our Blackness with strength and pride. We are still beautiful, no matter what the media or anyone else says.

IF A TREE FALLS

SISYPHUS

I can’t breathe My throat is constricted My chest is tightened My lungs cannot expel anymore air I’m screaming My fists clenched with conviction My heart fighting My windpipe resounding until there isn’t anything there The truth: they never really cared I can’t breathe My people wear handcuffs like a wrist watch But still can’t tell how much time has been lost Yelling “We shall overcome” and yet Diminished to nothing more than hashtags and tik toks They’ve been holding us by our necks While we’ve been wondering who’s next We’ve been fighting for more and winning less And yet they treat us as if we are the threats Sorry mom, I won’t be home like I should be It’s my fault I shouldn’t have been black and wearing a hoodie I know it isn’t what you wanted It’s my fault I should have made it clear that I was just reaching for my wallet This is not what we wanted This is the echos of a repeated cry Hands pointing to the sky Unarmed but still pleading because he’s scared to die I can’t breathe This is not what we meant when we asked you to kneel too This is pain that our mothers, our fathers, our sisters and brothers feel too This is the war cry of the abandoned and the marginalized These are the battle scars of the uprooted and the ostracized And if a black man falls to the floor and pleads for his life But no one is around to film it, did he really deserve to die? We will keep screaming We are not just chalk lines and body bags We are not just names to put after a hashtag This is the tree falling And the subsequent sound Screaming at the top of our lungs “How do you expect us to breathe when your hands are around our necks?” Your goal was never to serve and protect But rather to hold us down I can’t breathe I can’t — 19

FATEFUL DESTINY Charlene Chipo Mauppa

my heart is heavy my head hurts the pain I feel inside cannot be explained the hurt I feel cannot be described is this what life has become? worried that I will never get to be someone someone who has a voice someone who’s melanin is loved someone who lives past the age of 12,..18,...29,....32,......45... someone who’s skin is not a weapon I am armed in the eyes of my enemy will they ever see past their lies? will they see past the badge and blue disguise? they look at us and see danger we look at them and see anger WHY....WHY? are we destined for a life of fear and hatred? does the cop pull the trigger and asks questions later? we die a death of empirical design designed to eliminate my black kin to enslave the black man to dismantle the black woman mothers pray for a different fate fathers are a mystery in history childhoods lost in the streets no longer no more the white man’s system must come down where “hands up don’t shoot” is not drowned out by raging bullets “i can’t breath” is not silenced by pressing knees we will SCREAM we will CRY we will ARISE left behind will be the white man’s demise 20

MY LIFE AIN’T CHEAP Maryam Berih

My life ain’t cheap It’s no Coca-Cola can on the street It’s rich like rivers of chocolate Willy Wonka could never fathom A melanated song The melody they love to sing off tune Till it is unrecognizable Copy Righted Till it is taken and named their own You stripped us of our identity In exchange for Suffering Business as usual You couldn’t adopt our strength, our dedication, our resilience Our immeasurable compassion, our brilliance Instead Lighten my roots Balayage my traditions Trim my culture For it to be more appealing to your eyes Did you forget we are people No name branded us to forget our heritage Did you forget that too? You stole my mother tongue So we were forced to learn yours The kink and coarseness of my syllables The sting of my words Like a whip on virgin flesh The arson of my diction Set ablaze to your reign and dominance But your language is violence, murder, cruelty Destruction So our melody of emancipation was lost in translation Like bodies of slaves lost at sea We are a problem before we are individuals 21

An obsidian canvas they stroke their hate through So all too often does your “service” end in Bang ! Bang ! Casket But you can cheer when the black boy is making a basket The system soaked in devout stinginess and glorified hypocrisy A thread that holds together the oppressive hand-me-down rag Each time it wipes away the blood from your hands Have you realized darling, it is clearly due for a wash The bank of justice has loaned you centuries Your debt to equality and truth are overdue You cannot buy more time I’m sorry the systems card has been declined So we stand We march We demand An assassination of your privilege Let the catalyst of this condition colonize the souls A metastasis of pure morality Of Hope Of Equity Of Revolution It will flow through the arteries of our society Arouse the minds of our nation Until both the body and the mind are Overcome by the infectious disease of True Freedom My life ain’t cheap So let this be a reminder that if you try steal it Know that you Will Pay the Price 22

O U R

T R U T H

REVEALED TAMIA CHICAS

I believe it is exceedingly important that we, as the Black community, begin to bring light to the different examples of racism which we have unfortunately been faced with. It is my hope that by coming forward we can eliminate racial slurs and racism in places like universities and work. To begin, I have had racist teachers, from elementary school till now. But how does this happen? Where and why does it take place? The unfortunate reality that we must come to realize is that racism does exist, and without proper education and understanding, it will continue. What we need to take away from this is that truthful and historically correct education is vital. How do we teach children that supposed “great explorers” like Christopher Columbus “discovered” new land? Speaking from personal experience, I did a project on him when I was in Grade 6 and all the information I came across was derived from a school-issued text. This misinformation is what is harmful to us and the minds of young children. In reality, Columbus was a tyrant who abused his power, led mass genocides and enslaved Black people in order to build the “new world.” We are being taught lies, given texts that glorify and misconstrue our true history. We idolize these explorers; we sculpt monuments after them and name schools in their honour. Rarely are we ever taught about the racism and oppression minorities have and continue to face, what it truly took for us to be where we are today or whose lives and rights were ignored. Rather, we are taught the many great triumphs 23

of these explorers but never the tribulations they inflicted on minorities.

It isn’t only in schools that I have seen or even experienced white individuals using the N-word: I have worked in places where my white colleagues thought it was appropriate to use this word. When we would close for the night, we were permitted to play our music and often it was rap. We would clean, they would sing and proudly say the N-word, and I remained silent because I was afraid.

Considering this, who should be educating us on the truth? As students we are meant to trust our educators, but what happens when we cannot? Earlier this school year we saw some of our own professors ignorantly use the N-word. I’ve been in classes where professors would openly use the N-word while citing from texts. I remember being the only person of colour in these lectures, and all eyes would fall on me.

But why? Why should we be made to feel ashamed or disrespected when people shouldn’t be saying it, let alone in the direct presence of a Black person. Any store or any manager who can stand behind this type of behaviour is what silently condones it, and it is what continues to oppress Black people like myself.

Imagine as a Black woman being told that it is acceptable to use that kind of inappropriate and demeaning language, with excuses like you were “only repeating the words of the author.”

In sum, we continue to make progress in 2020, yet it still is not enough. With the experiences I have shared, racism and discrimination still play a roll in places where we should feel most safe. It is time for a change, as a Black woman, I am done being looked down on, done suffering injustices at the hands of those who wish to oppress me and done watching my people be savagely beaten and killed.

To be frank, if a Black student comes forward to address a situation in which you have made them feel uncomfortable, it is your duty as an educator to not only acknowledge their feelings, but to also ensure it doesn’t happen again. If you disagree and continue to use this language, then you lack the fundamental understanding of the meaning and hatred behind the word.

So, stand up with us, speak up and support us. Being Black is beautiful, never feel ashamed of who you are.

Further, it takes great bravery for a Black student to come out and speak against injustice and racism, and as students, it is important to stand alongside these individuals. To those who speak out, thank you; because “creative liberty” and “using the words of the author” are invalid excuses. 24

A mbe r Ro s e C ar ro l l

we lost ahmaud i cried to my momma the night we lost ahmaud it’s unfair unjust uncivil it’s a modern-day genocide the victims are my people

WE LOST AHMAUD Esther Johnson

why can’t we run in peace? we lost juice i cried to my daddy the night we lost juice when they made us feel lesser than since birth, how can a black man live a life they filled with pain instead he’s filled with codeine, addys and percs why can’t we die in peace? we lost breonna i cried to my sister the night we lost breonna they raided the wrong home an accident they said “we promise we don’t condone” why can’t we live in peace? we lost x i cried to my brother the night we lost x he was gonna be a dad he spoke words of wisdom to black youth but was assassinated young over a LV bag why can’t we drive in peace? we lost pop i cried to my cousin the night we lost pop we’re all we got left, but we don’t got trust black-on-black crime they call it so they can finally blame us why can’t we sleep in peace? we lost george floyd i cried to my friend last night about george floyd 4 cops, one with a knee on his neck we protest retweet retaliate somehow we can’t keep this system in check why can’t we exist in peace? we lost houdini tonight is the night we lost houdini and i can’t sleep where’s the peace? 26

I SEE COLOUR PRINCESS OFORI-ATTA

Oh you don’t see colour? how nice for you. I see colour every day. I see it in the way that people look at me, I see it in the comments that people make.

I see it in the way it enters a room before I do. I see it in the way it speaks my worth and place in society, before I can say a word. I see it in the way it tells the story of my ancestors and the injustices they faced.

I see it in the bleeding, dying man, lying on cold pavement under his oppressor’s knees. I see it in every plea for justice each broken state demands, as its requests are tear-gassed and violently hindered.

I see it in the life sentences dished out in response to disproportionate crimes, I see it in the wrongfully convicted brothers and sisters. I see it in the comfortable lives lived by my white friends and allies.

I see it in spaces made in the corporate world for the white girl who is just like me, but white. I see it in the ways my mother warns my brother as he leaves the house at night, I see it in the ways my father begs me to not move to the United States.

I see it in the eyes of George Floyd and in the limp of Ahmaud Arbery, I see it in the sneers of white supremacists. I see it in the declaration that “all lives matter,” when only one is at stake.

I see it in the blind optimism that racist ideologies and systemic injustices are in no way as bad as what our grandparents faced I see it when I ask God “why?”

I see colour everywhere I step my feet. yes, I see colour every time I look at me.

A mbe r Ro s e C ar rol l

I LONG FOR A DAY JOE HILL

I long for a day… When the divide between black and White is no longer something we have To fight. When the badge on an officer’s breast pocket Is no longer used To take sight, to take aim, then cock it!

I long for a day… When black parents once weakened, can teach Lessons of freedom with no need to practice “Keep your hands where I can see ‘em!” When the darker shade of one’s skin is not the Ammunition for the oppression that swallows him

Dear God I pray… That there will come a day When justice isn’t just spoken, but lived When trust isn’t just hoped in, but given When BLACK isn’t my choking, but a gift

Dear God I pray… That a bended knee will be restored for the glory Of Jesus Christ our Lord And the breath once taken away, may return A fresh, a blessed display, of new life where there Once was death.

november 11 2018 a letter to our kings. a poem by KIMBERLY DOUGLAS ©. 222 black boy joy lane my journal, planet earth K1Y 2D2

DEAR YOUNG BLACK BOYS,

you are far more than this world expects you to be. you were not placed on this earth to be threats, suspects, inmates or creators of calamity. you were not placed here in an act of mistake, error or catastrophe. and yet since the moment you were born, they held a gun to your head and told you to only speak when spoken to. since the moment you were born, they labelled you, categorized you, placed you in a box and tried to silence your screams. they have deemed you as mediocre and ruined your ability to think big and dream. they have expected you to be emotionless, submissive and especially quiet. they expect you to keep your mouth shut, hoodie up, head down and silent. but God forbid let that hoodie be black, add a pack of skittles, an arizona and that’s a bullet in your back. but you are not what they expect of you. you are much more, greater, you shine so bright. you are strength, power, beauty, light. a gift to this world with so much to bring, not young black boys, but young. black. kings. so it makes me so greatly wonder, why would you choose to fall into their stereotypes? why do you feel as if you need to “rep” this and “rep” that and never leave home without a strap, and tell me, why do you act like the “thug life” is your only fate? this world 31

will try to fool you, fill your head with tons of hate like you can’t be the world’s next doctors and lawyers or simply graduate, and why allow yourselves to give them what they want? you do not have to live the life they have tried to give you. you do not have to follow the story they have already written for you or fall victim to such taunt. you are far more than they expect you to be. so do not give them a reason to categorize you. instead, shock them. leave their mouths open, jaws dropped, minds blown and speechless. give them an alternative reason to see you as a threat. show them the power you hold, the potential you possess. your history lies within your ancestors’ struggles, not the sagging of your pants. it lies beneath the melanin of your skin, not the cuffing of your hands. you are royalty. you come from kings, and kings of kings, and kings of kings of kings. generations of fighters that marched so you could walk free, chanted so your records could be clean, were cuffed, thrown in jail and punished, so you didn’t have to be. so dear young black boys, I mean, young. black. kings. do not succumb to the expected fates they have for you. sincerely, a young black queen facing the same worldly struggles too. 32