Black in America

Its impossible to fit in when you’re Black in America. You’re like a puzzle piece being jammed until it bends and almost breaks. You smile and say hello but instead of greetings you get threats, blank stares, or fearful faces. You are more alone in a crowd than in a cell of isolation called solitary confinement.

When I was fifteen years old my mom got a knock on the door. She was living in a small predominantly White town named Ironwood, MI. There was only one Highschool, Luther L Wright. Although I was a bright student I had been forced to drop out. The racist name calling from students, insults from teachers, and violence from kids whose parents were White Supremacists had pushed me prematurely from the only safe space I knew. School was all I cared about in the summer of 2005. I was excited about my education and I looked forward to applying to another campus in a nearby town called Bessemer. When my mom answered the door I’m sure she expected to find a neighborhood kid looking for me so we could play. Instead she found a stern policeman with a warrant for my arrest.

In the age of Social Media and cell phone cameras it shouldn’t be hard to imagine the injustices I faced as a teenager. The all White Ironwood Police Department would frequently stop me for walking through town and harass me. On one occasion they beat me ruthlessly and hog tied me with zip ties and handcuffs before throwing me in the back of a cop car for “loitering.”

On the summer day in 2005 when they knocked on my mom’s door and arrested me I was just as confused as she was. According to the Police there was an incident involving a tall Dark Skinned Black Male with braids. I was short, light complexioned with an Afro that was my signature/trademark at the time. Everyone said I looked like Huey Freeman from the Boondocks and I was just as revolutionary. I couldn’t comprehend how the officers were saying I matched the description of the suspect they provided. In my mind the misunderstanding would be figured out in less than an hour and I would go back home to my family. Instead I was booked into a juvenile detention center and held with a bail too high for my chronically homeless mom to afford with her Social Security/Disability check. I would have to remain behind bars until I could make a court appearance.

When my first day in court finally arrived I was confident that the Judge would understand that a mistake had been made and offer me an apology. The probable cause hearing was my chance to redeem myself. The prosecution would have to provide evidence to the Judge to show that there was reasonable suspicion that I had committed a crime. Since I was innocent I knew I would be released. At the hearing the prosecution presented statements from two young White men in their early twenties. Both the men described an altercation with a young African American male who did not match my description. The young men giving their statements were adults and it sounded like the person they had a problem with was an adult too. I was fifteen years old. I played with stuffed animals, action figures, and video games. I read Harry Potter books and Batman comics. I was a kid. I played table top Role Playing Games and Board Games. I was a nerd not a gangster. I knew the Judge would realize that the two men weren’t talking about me. After the prosecution presented their evidence the Judge claimed that since the suspect was Black and there weren’t any other young Black males in Ironwood that he was aware of besides me, there was sufficient probable cause to charge me with a felony crime.

I went back to the juvenile detention center flabbergasted. I couldn’t believe the injustice I was experiencing. Whenever I was accused of telling a lie I hadn’t told at home I would get severely emotional. I was highly sensitive of my rights and I expected to be treated fairly by others. I didn’t just expect fairness, I demanded it. After spending time in Juvenile detention and going back forth from court the prosecution must’ve felt they had worn me down. They took me into a room alone with a bunch of adult White men in suits. They all stood around me while I sat at a table. They explained to me how bad they felt about my mother. They told me it was a shame that she had to walk on her crutches from Ironwood, MI to Bessemer, MI every time I had court. They said it wasn’t right how everyone in the courtroom made fun of her and called her names for having mental illnesses. They told me that they didn’t want her to have to go through this anymore and that if I just pleaded guilty she wouldn’t have to walk along the side of the road to the courthouse anymore. One of them said they drove past while she was walking and he felt really sorry for her. I explained that I was innocent and I couldn’t just plead guilty to a crime I didn’t commit. They told me it didn’t matter if I did it or not. If I pleaded guilty I would get a lesser sentence then the one I was facing and my mom wouldn’t have to suffer through a trial. My public defender agreed with the prosecution. They produced some documents and smiled as I reluctantly agreed to sign them for my mother’s benefit.

Looking back on Ironwood, MI, my mom was always an outcast there. The kids would chase her and throw things at her when she walked around outside. The students at school never slept over at my house or invited me to parties. My mom was a physically disabled, mentally ill single mother with mixed African American kids. The town hated her and feared her sons. Me and my brothers never belonged in Ironwood, MI. My eldest brother was bullied and ridiculed for being gay in a small conservative town. My second oldest brother had to fight constantly because of racism. As the youngest I was spared the worst of the bullying but I was still targeted and harassed due to the color of my skin.

When I got off probation and left Ironwood, MI, I discovered that Anti Black racism wasn’t just an issue in small towns. It was in Milwaukee, Chicago, Grand Rapids, Baltimore, Louisville, and LA. Being coerced into pleading guilty to a crime I didn’t commit was like child’s play. Eventually I would be sentenced to prison for a crime I didn’t commit. I would have to fight in courtrooms and overcome insurmountable odds time and time again. As a formerly homeless, formerly incarcerated, single Black father in America, I have never fit in to the narrative America has about Black men.

Prison hasn’t stopped me or slowed me down. I’ve served in City Government, nationally with Federal partners, locally as an elected official, and within the non profit sector serving youth. Today I am an English Major at a community college and I am finishing up my AA so I can transfer to earn my Bachelors from a four year university. I still face racism everyday. From the LAPD officer that stops me and asks why I’m walking with my daughter, a young girl, to the Starbucks manager that orders her barista not to serve me, to the History professor who tells me that Africa is a “third world and underdeveloped continent.” I tell my stories to raise awareness of the injustices I’ve faced and share the resilience it takes to overcome them. I am Black in America.