Heartstrings

Heartstrings's Journal

June 10, 2020

The hippies were right!

June 9, 2020

Question....

Anyone have experience with the non-Zuckerburg site called “Liker“?

June 9, 2020

Sadly, this is from my hometown, Fond du Lac, WI. 😥

The Never-Ending Timeline of Racism
By: Devon Snyder

My earliest memory of racism was in 5th grade during my parent teacher conference, at Parkside Elementary School. During my parent teacher conference, Mrs. Theisen told my white mother “I thought Devon was going to be a bad kid. He looked like a bad kid. I thought he was going to be trouble.” In fact, I out beat every kid in my class when it came to reading, writing, math, science, and English. My 5th grade teacher made a preconceived notion about me based off my skin color. My school teacher. My teacher that’s supposed to educate me. A teacher that’s supposed to educate other children. She generalized me. She stereotyped me. My mom told her off and we abruptly left. I didn’t understand why my mother was so upset at the time.

That’s when my white mother said some words to me that I’ll never forget. “Devon, I know you don’t understand what just happened, but l will explain. People are going to judge you based off of your skin color until the day you die. That’s the sad truth. There are people who are going to hate you. Some of my own family members won’t even talk to me because I have black children. There are going to be people who want you dead. When it comes to the police, always comply even if you’re not in the wrong. That way you can make it safely back to me.” My white mother had to explain racism to her black child at 10 years old. 10 fucking years old.

Fast forward two years. I am a 7th grader at Sabish Middle School. I am 12 years old and just made the track team. I was jogging, practicing my long distance running on Forest Avenue when two police officers illegally stop me. My mom’s words echo through my head: always comply even if you’re not in the wrong. I am 12 years old and scared for my life. The two police officers start illegally searching me. They are patting me down. Sweat falls down my face. My heart rate starts to accelerate. My heavy breathing conquers the air. “Where did you steal this iPod from?” yells one of the cops. Stuttering, “Sir… I didn’t steal this iPod. My mom bought it for me... This is mine,” I frantically explain. “I am going to ask you again. Where did you steal this iPod from?” yelled the cop. My voice starts to crack, “Sir… I didn’t steal this iPod…This is mine. My name is even engraved on the back… Look it says Devon Snyder.” The two white police officers in disbelief, let me go and tell me “it’s my lucky day” and to head home. Eyes watering, stomach turning, I ran as fast as I could back to my mom’s house. To my safety. To my sanctuary.

The year is 2011 and I am 17 years old at Fond du Lac High School. I just got accepted into the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Some of my other white classmates started to feel some type of way because I got in, and they didn’t. In fact, one of my white classmates made a Facebook status about me saying that the only reason I got into UW Madison was because I’m Black and because of affirmative action. I got into UW Madison based off my own merit, hard work, and my own intelligence. I got in because of my GPA, my leadership skills, my letter of recommendations, and my demonstration and activism of trying to change my community. I didn’t get into UW Madison because I’m Black.

Growing up in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin people never let me forget that I was black. Whether it was getting called a Nigger while walking down Main Street, or my friends reminding me that I was black. During my four years at Fond du Lac High School, my white friends, my family members, and my best friends kept calling me “the whitest black kid they know.” This is by far the most offensive compliment that I can be given. This statement has an unintentional racist undertone. But what those people don’t understand is that, kidding or not, there’s subtext at play. You made that statement because of your own preconceived notion of what is and isn’t normal behavior for a “black” person. But the truth is, that reflects poorly on you, not me. There are generalizations and stereotypes about the demeanor of different races due to the dramatizations of the media and ignorance. The bottom line is this: Intelligence is not measured by color, nor is success.

It’s September 2012, and I’m 19 years old in my sophomore year at University of Wisconsin-Madison. I am hosting a party with my roommate for his birthday on Breese Terrace. My roommate gets super drunk and out of control, and gets in my face. He keeps pushing me, hitting me, and trying to provoke me. I am not giving in, when all of sudden he punches me, and I hit him back. He calls the police on me. I get booked and arrested. Even though my roommate hit me first, told the officers that he hit me first, and told the officers that he doesn’t want to press any charges against me, I still get arrested. Yes you read that correctly. The Madison Police Department arrested me, booked me, and charged me for something that I never should have been charged with. I just became another black person in the system.

Fast forward 8 months to May 2013. It’s 2am and I’m stumbling home from my buddy’s house on Regent street back to my place after Mifflin. I get jumped by four white guys. They begin shouting Nigger, hitting my body all over. I try to fight back. I try to cover my head. I black out. I wake up in the hospital. No charges were ever made, and no arrests ever happened.

It’s November 2016 and I am at a Badger football game. There is a white guy dressed as President Obama with a noose over his head. I am infuriated, and disgusted. My friend tells me that I shouldn’t be so sensitive, and that it’s freedom of speech. My University’s initial response was disheartening, and basically stated that it was freedom of speech also. I was outraged. I made my voice known to the Dean, Chancellor, and the local news stations. I made it known that there is a difference between our right to freedom of speech and hate speech. There is a difference between exercising your right and disguising that said right in the form of bigotry and hate.

Present. It’s February 2020 and I just bought the nicest car I ever owned in my life. I leave the dealership with such joy, and determination, when all of a sudden, I see flashing red and blue lights. I didn’t even own the car for five minutes and I get pulled over. My mom words echo in my head once again: comply even if you’re not in the wrong. My heart is racing. Am I going to die? Am I going to get arrested? Am I going to be the next Sandra Bland? Do I reach to get my license and registration, or is the cop going to think I’m reaching for a gun? My life flashes before my eyes. “Whose car is this? Do you know why I pulled you over today?” asked the police officer. “Sir this is my car. I don’t know why you pulled me over,” I frantically explain. “How did you afford this car? I pulled you over because you did a rolling stop, and your lights weren’t on, explained the cop. My lights were on and I didn’t do a rolling stop. “Sir, I just picked this car up from the dealership. I was on my way back home,” I stutter. The cop smirked, and asked for my license and registration and went back to his car. What is going to happen to me? I don’t want to die. I don’t want to go to jail. I want my mom. The police officer comes back to my car with my license and registration, and tells me “it’s my lucky day” and to head back home.

This is what it means to be black in America. The never-ending timeline of racism. Racism is built in the DNA of America. And as long as we turn a blind eye to the pain of those suffering under its oppression, we will never escape those origins. White silence is violence. This is why we protest. This is why we say Black Lives Matter. This is why we don’t trust the police. This is why we’ve had enough. “That’s not a chip on my shoulder. That’s your foot on my neck.”-Malcom X

June 8, 2020

State Street, Madison, WI. 6-7-20...2 fav new street art

Will post more later. These 2 just struck me!

June 7, 2020

Status update....

An analogy about expectations for my fellow white folks just diving into anti-racism education:

Imagine showing up to a class an hour late. How would you expect the professor to respond to your entrance?

Would you expect them to greet you at the door, tell you how happy they are that you arrived, walk you to your seat and make sure you were seated comfortably? Ask you if you have everything you need, and thank you for showing up? Would you expect them to take time away from the class to do that, and would that even feel appropriate?

OR would you expect them to say, “Hi, take a seat.” Or perhaps nothing at all—maybe just give you a glance while they get on with the class as you find a place to sit?

And how would you enter that class if you were an hour late?

Would you walk in and announce, “Hey, I’m here!” and then give a big explanation for why you are taking the class and what took you so long to get there, diverting the class’s attention and taking away valuable class time?

Would you walk straight up to the professor and say, “Sorry I’m late, but could you please go over what you’ve covered in the last hour with me?” (Imagine the professor’s face if you did that, and hold that thought.)

OR would you quickly and quietly sit down, open your book, and do your best to keep up with where the class is now, knowing you’re going to have to catch up on the first hour’s material on your own (maybe borrowing someone’s notes to help with what you’ve missed)?

Would the professor be glad that you were in the class? Sure. Better late than never. But would you expect them to express gratitude or happiness that you finally showed up? Of course not.

Now imagine the professor’s life depends on people like you showing up for class. Imagine that they’ve seen countless students arrive late, sit down for a few minutes, decide the desk is too uncomfortable or the subject matter is too hard, then walk out, over and over and over. Would you expect them to feel relieved at your arrival? Would you expect to be met with a warm welcome, or some understandable skepticism?

White folks, we are that late student. Only we are far more than an hour late.

If you’re just diving into anti-racism activism and it all feels a bit pricklier or less patient or less welcoming than you expected, this is why. We don’t get a cookie for showing up to a place we already should have been. We should not expect an open-armed, warm welcome because we’ve finally arrived.

We might be embarrassed when we realize how late we are. We might feel like we have some good reasons for it. But lengthy apologies and explanations just waste valuable class time and no one really wants to hear it, no matter how heartfelt or sincere. The class just wants to move on.

We’re undoubtedly going to feel a little lost. But if we raise our hands to ask questions about stuff that was covered in the hour we missed, we should expect the response to be a simple “You’re going to need to get someone’s notes on that” or “That was covered in Chapter 1—go back and read it.” No one would expect a professor to go over material that’s already been covered for the student who showed up an hour into class. And no one should expect them not to find those questions annoying.

Yes, it is good that we’re here. There's no question about that. But we’re late to a class that’s already in session and that’s the dynamic we should expect. The most respectful thing we can do is recognize our lateness, then quickly take a seat, open our books, and listen like someone's life depends on it.

Credit to Annie Reneau via Facebook.