“Shem Walker? Who the heck is Shem Walker?”

That was the response a friend had when I brought up the name of the recently murdered Brooklynite. I will admit that I would have LOVED to stand on my higher-than-thou step stool and wag my finger at him; I’d love to point out his blatant ignorance of such horrendous cases of police brutality in Black America. (We’re Black, we’re supposed to just feel police bruality, like a spider-sense, but with more drum and bass.) Truth be told, I had a similar reaction a mere twenty-four hours earlier. I was enlightened by the story of Shem Walker on a brunch outing with a group I affectionately refer to as the ”Black Justice League” (Batman/Wonder Woman-type justice, not MLK/Malcolm X-type justice). Little did I know that this innocent jovial outing would actually point out an injustice that I was sincerely unaware of.

I was struck when my friend was so dumbfounded by the name Shem Walker. Had I asked him about Dr. Henry Louis Gates he would have been quite familiar with HIM and all aspects of that incident, right down to the 911 call placed by a white woman, who did not mention race. Every known media outlet in America covered the allegedly biased arrest of the noted scholar and the following hailstorm of controversy that resulted. (Perhaps it was all a product of a little bit of Harvard lawyering, a little bit of presidential commentary, and a little bit of post-racial America’s slip showing.) The murder of a man on the stoop of his own home by a police officer seems to have had the same impact as Americans calling for health-care reform. Meaning none. No impact whatsoever. Congress will go on vacation and people will continue not knowing the name Shem Walker. Unlike the Gates case, it seems that the facts here are fairly clear.

An undercover police officer sat on Walker’s family stoop and so Walker requested the trespasser leave. The officer, who had headphones on, did not hear the request. Walker then went to remove the undercover officer from his stoop by force and a fight ensued. After yelling “freeze” Walker was then shot and killed.(A nearby police officer claims the undercover officer said “Police. Freeze.” Yes, there was a nearby officer and with this officer nearby the undercover officer still pulled a gun.)

End Scene.

Walker was described various ways: handyman, ex-con, dude on probation for drug charges, and an American veteran. In all honesty, it doesn’t matter if he was fresh out of jail for murder. Keeping somone off of your family’s stoop isn’t wrong. A man is now DEAD because of trying to keep his portion of the neighborhood clear of hoodlums and drug dealers.

Ironic really. The officer was posed as a drug dealer and he was treated like one.

Shem Walker, now dead due to excessive force (Yes, EXCESSIVE. Walker didn’t pull a gun or a knife), and yet the news preferred a “shot from the hip” comment from our president about Gates as opposed to a “shot dead on his front stoop” story, giving yet another example of a Black man’s life being thrown away in a heartbeat. We’re so past race that a comment about race saturated the media for days. An unnecessary loss of life on the streets of Brooklyn barely raised a blip on the radar.

Hey CNN? MSNBC? FOX News? (I apologize. Me mentioning Fox implies that they are an actual news source. That was a regretable implication.) Where’s my endless coverage of this? Why don’t I know every aspect of every detail? Why haven’t the neighbors who live seventeen doors down been on CNN to explain their minimal connection to this event? Why do I sound like a Jadakiss song? These are all questions that should be answered.

But they won’t be. If not for a few voices speaking up (shoutout to Ta-Nehisi Coates), I probably wouldn’t have heard about it. My hope is not to be a wall for this to bounce off of. I pass it to you. What will YOU do?

Popularity: 1%

Possibly Related Posts:

• Notes from a Phantom Negro: “Skip Gates:Please Sit Down”
• Why You So Black?
• A Message from The Average Black Person
• This Week In Blackness: “Thats Whats Wrong with Black People”

Facebook Stumble This Post

Here at “This Week in Blackness” we get a lot of submissions which we should do way more with. This particular one we thought had such an interesting concept that we felt we’d like to share it with our readers. My (Elon’s) own take on this subject has been covered ad nauseum via Twitter & will be featured on the next TWiB! but Blackness has multiple lines of thought. Read &  please let us know what YOU think. - ejw

Note to the reader: Dr. Henry Louis Gates has reach and influence in the academy, and that reach can–and has–severely damage careers. A pseudonym, in this case, is essential.

Notes from a Phantom Negro.

The Ivy League is not real life. College in general is not real life, and the Ivy League is a more fantastic version of college. The amenities are better, the rules are flexible and everyone, student and faculty alike, is well aware that the realities of life as most people know it are merely a peculiar footnote to the day to day of campus life. I do not speak out of turn when I say this. I know because I am in and of that world.

As a Black Ivy Leaguer, something funny happens as you become ensconced in ivy. You’re smart enough to understand that race and racism is a reality, you deal with on a daily basis, but you also know that your university ID sets you apart. Does this mean you are kept from hurtful incidents? No, but it is to say that much of the outrage felt at a racial slight is replaced by outrage at a class slight. Sure; we get pissed, knowing we’re getting hassled because we’re Black, but the real indignation comes from being hassled as members of an elite group. How dare you hassle me? I go to school here. I got to work here. That second part of the thought is always present. I go to school here. I go to work here. When the Ivy League Effect is going full tilt, our Black compass gets confused;the realities we know to exist become other peoples’ problems.

True story: One night, years ago, many of the Black students at school were throwing a party in a dormitory common area when three police officers arrived, flashlights searching the crowd. Nobody moved, nobody left, nobody did anything but keep dancing as three police officers walked through the crowd, flashlights in faces. I didn’t run either. In fact, I wondered if they were chasing someone on foot and wondered if they’d run into the party.

That could only happen in the Ivy League. Three cops come into a party and nobody, surreptitiously or otherwise, made for an exit? It seems like the beginning of a joke. On one hand, you could argue that this is a sign of progress; a sign that we’ve moved past the days of fearing police presence. I say that quasi-luxury is brought on by the muscle backing these students (and, by extension, the faculty)–the school. All the lessons about dealing with police as a Black person seem to have no place in the Ivory Tower. We can forget those lessons because, more than we’re Black in America, we’re Ivy Leaguers.

Which brings me to Skip Gates. He isn’t outraged because he feels he was the victim of racial profiling by the police (that dubious honor goes to his foolish neighbor). He’s outraged because he was the victim of class profiling. He didn’t resent being identitified as Black; he resented being identified as that kind of Black, the kind of Black that can be hassled and pushed around by simpleton cops. How dare you hassle me? I’m Skip Gates: Harvard professor!

Skip has fallen victim to the Ivy League Effect. Check out his articles–you can definitely go to The Root–the website he is Editor-in-Chief of–if you want to see a repository for the whole masturbatory display. He all but says, “Do I look like that type of (Black) person? I was wearing a blazer and a polo shirt!” Gates is Ivy League pissed with a dash of Black anger. Not the other way around. Is this to say the police weren’t in the wrong? Hardly. As a person is familiar with the Cambridge/Boston PD, the prospect of some procedural malfeasance on their part is entirely believable if not an abject certainty.

But I’m also sure, the good doctor was talking some shit. The Ivy League Effect, when it’s potent, wouldn’t allow otherwise. It made Gates forget that, no matter what, even when you’re right, you don’t talk shit to the police. And that’s not a matter of manhood or pride; it’s a question of survival. Why? Because you’re Black before you’re a Harvard professor. Because, in an extreme case, you can’t tell your side of the story if you get shot reaching for your ID. As a Black man and a Harvard professor, Gates’ thought process should have been: “Wow. I am so thoroughly pissed right now. When this current situation is resolved and am out of harm’s way, I’m going down to the station and I’m going to use my considerable influence to make heads roll. But right now, I need to be the smart one, remember all the details and not give him any reason to escalate this situation.” That’s what any of my fellow colleagues have done, guns drawn on them at night in the middle of campus by the police. They didn’t get loud; they got smart. They diffused the situation, then got pissed and did something about it. And I assure you, they did so with much less juice than Dr. Gates.

I remember when I heard about the story, I couldn’t help but think: Wow, that Ivy League Effect has washed out his healthy fear of the police. Yikes.

Can he be outraged? ABSOLUTELY. The circumstance should outrage any person that happened to. But why is he outraged? Because he didn’t think the Black Tax applied to him anymore. In his mind, he was Skip Gates, well-regarded Harvard professor who was being treated poorly in his home by the police. Believe me, if this took place at North Carolina State his sense of indignation would be far different and his ability to garner attention would be much less. And if he was just a working-class stiff? Forget it.

But this didn’t happen anywhere else. It happened in Cambridge on Ivy turf and now, his story has taken on Paul Bunyon-esque qualities. If you didn’t know better, you’d think a lynch mob was waiting outside Gates’ door with the rope and the hitching wagon before Ving Rhames came along and saved the day.

Skip Gates thought that he’d worked hard enough, achieved enough, become Harvard enough that this sort of treatment did not apply to him. And now, rather than channel that outrage in a such a way that is subtle but effective, he’s very publicly suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, having ‘joined the ranks of the million incarcerated Black men in America.’ That’s laughable. He does not see those million men as kin and he doesn’t, by and large, give a damn about those guys. He’s merely annoyed that such an annoyance as police misconduct found its way into his home. If he read about this story happening to a plumber in Roxbury, he’d shake his head in disappointment and then go on with his life.

So before we heed the call of racism, let’s be mindful of the tower from which that call came. This has something to do with race. But it as a lot more to do with messing with Skip Gates.

The Ivy League Effect, people. The Ivy League Effect.

Popularity: 39%

Possibly Related Posts:

• How Post-Racial America Forgot about Shem Walker
• Why You So Black?
• A Message from The Average Black Person
• This Week In Blackness: “Thats Whats Wrong with Black People”

Facebook Stumble This Post

I started performing stand-up comedy around 2004. I had been working in corporate America for a few years and I hated everything about it. I didn’t hate it because it was soooo racist (I worked in what was affectionately referred to as the “I.T. Ghetto” at a primarily black company in Brooklyn, so race wasn’t a problem . . . well . . . depends on what you see as a problem), I hated it because I had always wanted a more creative outlet. When I first stepped onstage, I felt like I had come home.

Funny enough, when I stepped OFFstage, people would question me as if I just admitted to signing off on CIA kill squads that were never approved by Congress. I’d hear comments like:

“Where are you from?
“You said you’re from Brooklyn. You can’t be from Brooklyn.”
“I’ve never heard a Black guy sound like that.”
“Negro, you ain’t Black!”

I didn’t really talk about being Black onstage. I would tell amusing (or so I thought) anecdotes about my family and other vanilla (no pun intended) subjects. But my demeanor and speech pattern caused people to pause. They kept waiting for me to acknowledge that I was, IN FACT, Black and yet I wasn’t falling into the acceptable Black mold.

The first joke I ever wrote to acknowledge this was: “Greetings and salutations, one and all. My name is Elon James White and I know exactly what you’re thinking. You’re currently looking at a large Black man and yet you don’t ‘HEAR’ one. Some of you may be asking: ‘What type of sorcery IS this?’ “

And laughter ensued. The laughter wasn’t because that was SO funny. They laughed because I let the audience know, that I KNOW, that I’m not the “Right Type” of Black. That put them at ease.

Since then I’ve taken on the concept of Black head on. I joke, I make videos, I write, I tweet. I am constantly Blacking it up. And you know what? I have moments when I look at my body of work and wonder to myself: Should I really keep tackling this “Black” thing? Should I lay off it?

Then the past 2 weeks occurred.

It started with my *cough* White girlfriend’s parents acknowledging that I’m not what they want for their daughter. This was something they had decided upon hearing of my Negro coloring a long time ago, but felt the need to let it be known again Independence weekend.(Happy 4th!). Then I get 1000 tweets about the Valley Swim Club turning away a group of young Black kids because they might change the “complexion and atmosphere” of the club. Next, I sit through four days of Supreme Court judge confirmation hearings that may have been one of the most racist government-sanctioned events I’ve witnessed in my life. This was followed up by a segment on CNN on segregated proms, and then watching Pat Buchanan freak out about the rights of White males.

As a Black man/minority/not a White male, I find Pat Buchanan’s rant outrageous. Forget the ludicrous claim that “White people built America and deserve more” because thats so idiotic and laughable its not even worth my energy. To imply that affirmative action is somehow ridiculous is to suggest that the socioeconomic ripples of slavery and discrimination are absolutely moot. This breaks down to saying what America did to a people–My People, mind you–should be forgotten.That racism is now “fixed” and that any further discussion is simply bellyaching. Taking responsibility is one thing. Claiming that real issues are pure nonsense is another. [

I watched Sen. Lindsey Graham and Sen. Jeff Sessions pat America on the back because of the Supreme Court’s ruling on the Ricci vs. destefano case. White males are now getting promotions, so the American justice system should be applauded. How many minorities have been ignored? Currently there’s a young man, Eric Frimpong, from Ghana sitting in prison because a White girl, who was dangerously intoxicated and can’t remember what happened, claims he raped her. None of his DNA was found on her, but her White boyfriend’s was. Her boyfriend has not been considered a suspect. The Black guy OBVIOUSLY did it.

That seems really justice-y.

To praise America for the firefighter case is offensive. I’m not arguing whether it was right or wrong (although John Payton of the NAACP Legal Defense fund makes some clear arguments why the case isn’t so cut and dry), I’m arguing that there are more pressing issues that have gone through our system and have been ignored.

I understand that the confirmation hearings are not really confirmation hearings, but a showcase for the Republican party to clarify where they stand on the issues, but as a Black man, it struck a chord in my soul. It created an “Us vs. Them” environment. If that was the GOAL, then kudos, job well done.

So here I am. I’m Blacking it up even NOW. I have the appearance of a angry, fist-pumping, screaming, militant Negro. Please note: I am NOT an angry, fist-pumping, screaming, militant Negro. I’m not sitting here with my big afro thinking about how I’m going to take down the White man. I am an Average Black Person. I would much rather play my Xbox 360 and watch reruns of Scrubs (yes, I said it). I would much rather argue why Batman can, in fact, take down ANYBODY. I don’t want to rant and rail against the system and the perceptions of Blacks: I’m FORCED to. Why? Because I’m not deaf, dumb, and blind. If I had those three ailments perhaps I wouldn’t be able to tell how NOT post-racial America actually is.

That’s not true. I’d probably still feel it.

Popularity: 22%

Possibly Related Posts:

• How Post-Racial America Forgot about Shem Walker
• Notes from a Phantom Negro: “Skip Gates:Please Sit Down”
• A Message from The Average Black Person
• This Week In Blackness: “Thats Whats Wrong with Black People”

Facebook Stumble This Post

To Whom It May Concern:

Greetings. My name is Elon James White. I’m Black.

I write this letter on behalf of alot of people that fall into the category of Average Black People. (Yes, I capitalize it, as if it were a title.) I do not claim to represent them because that would be absurd. I really, truly don’t. I don’t even represent my circle of friends. At any point in time one of my Black buddies will, in fact, tell me to go to hell when speaking on concepts of race, politics, or religion.

I do, however, qualify as an Average Black Person. I am neither a part of the Black intelligentsia, nor do I fall into the category of your garden-variety street Negro. A lot of folks see Black people in one of these two categories. Normally, let’s be honest, it’s the latter.

I don’t qualify.

I do come from “the Hood.” That’s right. I am a born and bred Brooklynite raised in the middle of Bed-Stuy. If you aren’t familiar with Bed-Stuy, perhaps you have never listened to gangster rap. You’re probably also unfamiliar with Jay-Z, Biggie Smalls, or the thousands of songs that yell out “Brooklyn!” and then give a shout-out to Bed-Stuy. It’s fine. Just understand that Bed-Stuy has a primarily negative connotation and for many years was used in boasts to gain respect or fear because it’s an incredibly violent environment.

In other words, you could get shot, son.

Speaking of which, I am the son of a single mother. My father is in prison. My grandfather was a pastor and I grew up in the church. I, without shame, also enjoy fried chicken, watermelon, ribs, and orange soda. I can have an incredibly in-depth debate on the best five MCs ever. My credit isn’t great and I’ve been shot.

With facts like this I qualify as a STEREOTYPICAL Black person right?

But I am also a computer programmer. I’ve been known to quote Nietzsche. I, on occasion, host dinner parties where I serve five-course meals, including a specialty of mine, White Truffle Tilapia (It’s delightful). I have the entire John Williams discography and wear a backpack that is emblazoned with the Thundercats insignia.

Those with one half of that story shake their head at the sheer mass of stereotypes I carry. Then those with the other half question if I even understand the Black experience at all. Some refer to me as someone who “made it out.” I currently live in Crown Heights. Some say “You’re not like the others.” Most people I interact with are very similar to me.

I am an Average Black Person.

So, as an ABP I have a few requests:

Media.
Please stop referring to blacks as a monolith. I can’t possibly express to you the different types of Black people that exist. We neither move as an entity, nor do we move as three or four entities. For every Sharpton, there’s a Steele. And for every Sharpton and Steele there are a hundred folks in the middle. What we share is a past, which on occasion helps shape our view on things. Also? Obama is not a unicorn. Please stop acting like Obama and his family are magical in the Black community. Just because some of you may not have seen a Negro like this doesn’t mean they don’t exist. Lots of smart black folk living with their smart mates and their cute smart kids. So please remember. Obama? Not a unicorn. Black people? Not one voice: I don’t care what the supposed Black leaders try to claim.

Supposed Black Leaders.
Please stop speaking for us as if we were a monolith. This is NOT the 1960s. We don’t need a Martin Luther King, Jr. or a Malcom X. You speak for yourselves and your view on what’s happening. You also can’t police black people. THERE ISN’T AN US. Are there issues within the Black community? Absolutely, but its not everybody as much as it’s certain groups, most time classes that are in need of help and focus. Hence you can’t speak for “Blacks.” There are people who NEED your help and don’t want you SPEAKING for them. Oh, and for the love of all that is holy, could you please stop critiquing Obama simply to show you aren’t drinking the kool-aid. I get it. You’re sugar-free. Got it.

Critics Of Obama
Hey, um . . . guess what Black people are not? A monolith. We are not holding Obama on a pedestal. Some critique him harshly (and personally I feel unjustly) and others love him. This is the case WITH EVERY PRESIDENT. Obama is not the spokesperson for Black people. He is a symbol of hope. He is a symbol of opportunity in a land where opportunity for us seemed nonexistent. He’s a symbol of a fight where people cried and died and sacrificed in order for the opportunity for HIM to exist. But his actions are his actions and have to be judged. Just not 4 months after he walked in the door with one of the worst clean up jobs in the countries history. You may critique him without critiquing Blacks’ ability to critique him.

The hypocrisy of saying we are not One, and yet speaking for the exact group for which I just emphatically denied exists, is not lost on me. Perhaps there are Black people who absolutely want to be spoken for and referred to as if we were one big team. I acknowledge the possibility, but if this was the majority people like Dyson and Smiley would be way more important, and let’s be honest: they aren’t. After reading this, the next time you talk to a Black person you can feel comfortable in NOW KNOWING with every fiber of your being that you have no clue what they think or feel based on their skin color.

But if they’re wearing a Soulja Boy shirt you may disregard this essay and judge them immediately.

Popularity: 13%

Possibly Related Posts:

• TWiB! Season 3 – Ep#4 “Obama’s USA…still can’t talk Race”
• TWiB! Season 3 – Ep#3 “Michael Eric Dyson should Shut Up…”
• TWiB! Season 3 Ep#2 “On The Word Negro”
• TWiB! Season 3 Premeire!
• “Is Obama Keeping Promises?” There’s an App for that…

Facebook Stumble This Post

As Featured in The Huffington Post:

If you happen to have perused the latest Rolling Stone you might have come across an interesting comment by celebrated Black academic Dr. Cornell West:

That’s not my calling. Yeah, brother, you find me in a crack house before you find me in the White House. I’ll go into the crack house before I ever go that far inside.

Dr. West was answering a question about whether he would ever accept a position in the Obama adminstration’s White House. On the surface this might seem like the rebel response. No, he won’t join the institution that is holding down Black people across the land. He is a free thinker who will not be bound by a country who still doesn’t take the plight of all of its citizens seriously.

Or you could see this for what it is. Sheer lunacy.

>>> Cont

Popularity: 3%

Possibly Related Posts:

• TWiB! Season 3 – Ep#4 “Obama’s USA…still can’t talk Race”
• TWiB! Season 3 – Ep#3 “Michael Eric Dyson should Shut Up…”
• TWiB! Season 3 Ep#2 “On The Word Negro”
• TWiB! Season 3 Premeire!
• “Is Obama Keeping Promises?” There’s an App for that…

Facebook Stumble This Post