Uncle Tony.

Tonight, I thought about my Uncle Tony. No blood relation, but he was  definitely family. I remember the excitement I had inside me, when he first was hired at the Dillingham Police Department. I felt like he and my dad were the dynamic duo that would FINALLY stand up for me against the racist bullies that I dealt with every single day at school and in our community. 

My time had come, I just knew it. I felt it in my bones. He quickly became my big homie. He had a cold flat top (haircut), wore cool sunglasses, played instruments and listened to hip hop. 

I wanted to be just like my dad and Uncle Tony. After watching me plead with my dad about “helping out” at the station, he talked my dad into letting me start walking to the police station every day after school. At that point, nobody could tell me a thing. I would help Uncle Tony type up reports, he even let me go learn some dispatcher duties and dabble in communicating with officers over the radio. The first time my dad heard my little voice over the radio, he paused and said, “is that you, Mookie?” I responded, “10-4, D1! What’s your eta?” (That didn’t go over so well, but Uncle Tony always had my back.) I wanted in, we were all a crew in my mind. 

I felt normal with Uncle Tony around. Safe to exist. I wasn’t the Black girl that got bullied. I wasn’t the “dirty nigger” or the many other colorful terms my peers came up with. We were family. He bobbed his head like me when we listened to music. He even had a high bubble butt like me! I was teased relentlessly about my butt and I stayed trying to tuck it. Seeing someone not in my biological family that resembled me in that city was everything I needed. 

He had a deep chocolate hue, full lips, deep voice, I know I already mentioned his haircut, but it was a whole vibe in my eyes.  There were no Black barbers in Dillingham, but Uncle Tony kept his flat top crispy! 

He used the same vernacular as my parents did when we were in the privacy of our own home. We hooped together. We watched The Simpson’s together. He really became my person, he and his wife were family to us. 

I could tell that both my dad and Uncle Tony truly valued and respected each other.

He often told me about his daughter, Antoinette. He missed her and was planning on her visiting him in Dillingham that upcoming summer. I was so hype about that tidbit of information. We made plans to go camping, fishing and hiking that upcoming summer. I imagined she and I being the best of friends. I mean, helloooo! We are both Black! What better reason could there be in my young, lonely mind. Why wouldn’t we be? We were practically the same age and again, ahem, the most important part…….BLACK. Both of our fathers served in the military and became police officers. I just knew that when she came to visit her dad, WE would hit it off. BFFs. 

Some people called him Flip, I stuck with Uncle Tony. We played instruments together, the bass, drums, my clarinet. I swore to him that I made the clarinet sound dope. He teased me for choosing the clarinet. He was passionate about running and often participated in sprint challenges with my siblings and I. We stayed betting a soda or $1 for a race. 

He was another black face in a city that only had 6 out of just over 1500 at the time. Those 6 faces were all my family, he made number 7. I have always known that there are strength in numbers. I knew that I needed more Black folks in my brigade. In my mind I contemplated how this additional black person would somehow make some of the racist people in that community be decent. I had big plans, or so I thought. 

Those plans came to an abrupt end. 

The night of February 12, 1992, my Uncle Tony was killed in the line of duty. *I went to find a link to share regarding the annual run that was established in his name. As I read, I was angry at how they described his killer. 

“On 02/12/1992, while Tony was on duty, he was fatally shot in downtown Dillingham by a troubled youth. Dillingham was wrapped in shock and grief.” A troubled youth. No degrading adjectives, just “troubled youth”. I won’t go off on a tangent, just know this, the more colorful adjectives get saved for Black criminals, but he got to be a “troubled youth”.  A tale as old as time. 

When my dad received the call late that night, he jumped up and threw his uniform on. He quickly briefed us with the information he had been given and sped to the scene. My mom, siblings and I gathered around the scanner. It wasn’t confirmed immediately that he had been killed. Officers couldn’t safely get to his body right away, the murderer was holed up in the hardware store. 

My mom hurriedly got herself together to go see his wife. Not knowing if he was injured or actually gone. My world was crashing down around me in real time. “I prayed. Please let him live God, please! My friend. My ace. My Unc. I won’t ever get to meet Antoinette. He’s gone. Please God don’t let this maniac shoot my daddy too! This can’t be real.” 

Hours passed. My siblings had all fallen asleep. I was wired. I needed answers immediately. Then the phone rang. My mother answered. Immediately she gasped and said, “Lord have mercy, JESUS!” She wept uncontrollably. I knew. We all knew. We cried. Everything went into a haze at that point. I can’t remember how many days I missed from school or the days that led up to his funeral. But I do remember how empty I felt. How sad I felt for his daughter, my dad was still here and hers wasn’t. It wasn’t fair. 

At 12 years old I agonized over why I couldn’t have saved him. I imagined building a time machine and taking him a bullet proof helmet before he went on that call that night. I wrote an entire proposal to my dad encouraging him to ask the city for a budget to buy bullet proof helmets……the day after Tony was killed. I even drew illustrations, did the best research I could on bulletproof material and presented it. My dad listened, with tears in his eyes and hugged me tight. My trauma incited me to try to figure out how to make sure this didn’t happen again. 

Yes, I have high expectations of police officers because I had great police officers in my life. I watched my dad and Uncle Tony handle people that they arrested. Some belligerent, some violent, some very proudly racist. 

They always handled people respectfully, never any excessive use of force. Even when my dad had to stop on the side of the road thinking he was doing a quick health check on a man slumped over when we were on our way to my basketball game. The man was inebriated and went for my dad’s gun. I thought D1 was a whole ninja! He did some awesome move where he ended up getting control over the man and cuffing him. His hands moved so quickly. He then called it in and the CSP (community service patrol) came to pick the man up. My father didn’t beat the man to a pulp. He didn’t draw his weapon. He used his skill set to diffuse the situation. Of course I’m aware that every situation will not be diffused, but I’m also aware that we need to at least try. 

I think of Tony so often. I sometimes hear his voice. I recently became friends with his daughter on Facebook and have been nervous to reach out and start dialogue with her. But, I am hopeful to meet her in the near future. Maybe her and I will get to go on the camping trip that he and I had planned for us all to go on. 

Information about Tony’s annual run: 

http://www.safebristolbay.org/tony-s-run-home.html

Finna.

This. This simple, respectful acknowledgment of a part of our language is a real moment for me. I’ve always been a lover of words. I keep a word journal to this day (I started my junior year of high school). Words make you feel. And there’s nothing like a lil AAVE to add some funk to your sentences.

On behalf of the Black Delegation, I accept these flowers. I don’t look at this as an approval, we’ve never needed approval. Instead, I see it as a welcomed (albeit late) celebration of how spectacular and multifaceted we are. Welcome to the party non Black folks!!! There is so much more where that came from! We are fun, brilliant, dynamic, trend setting, forces of nature. I’m a whole Black unicorn out in these streets, betta ask somebody!

Television, film, marketing, fashion, social media, music, cuisine, you name it—all influenced by Black culture. Historically, we have received backlash and judgment for using AAVE. As if we have less intellect for using slang. Uneducated. Uncouth. But, then white companies will gladly use said vernacular to sell their products. Take a scroll through TikTok and see the power of Black cultural influence. It’s phenomenal.

This monumental moment has given me high hopes. I need my iPhone to stop autocorrecting ‘’finna’’ to ‘’gonna’’ now! Where’s my update Apple? I know what I type iPhone. I get tired of cussing my phone out for autocorrecting words I type to words I don’t intend to use. Anytime now, APPLE. I code switch in real life and via text. Respect the culture! I can’t wait for finna to be the dictionary.com word of the day. What a time to be alive! #finna #mtm #getintoit

“That’s Gonna be a Closed Casket Homie.”

Originally Published May 10, 2020:

Fair Use News Photo, No infringement intended.

“PLEASE COME GET ME! PLEASE COME GET ME!” Those are the words that Airman Sean Reed screamed before being gunned down. Almost four thousand people were watching. By  the end of the live feed, 15.7 had tuned in and were sharing it. They heard everything. They were watching his murder.

Yes, he ran away. It’s easy to say, “why didn’t he just pull over?” or, “should’ve complied.” callously when you’ve never had to walk a millisecond in a Black Man’s shoes. When you don’t have constant fear of the police, you really can’t begin to understand. The complexity of the relationship between law enforcement and the Black community dates back decades. White men can confront law enforcement with loaded assault rifles and not an eye will blink. But a Black kid running after being chased? We see a contrast. Automatically he deserves death. 

There are a different set of rules for White Americans than what is applicable to Black Americans. We see it every single day. Evading arrest only gives Black men automatic death penalties. No questions asked, no feeling about it. And this isn’t exclusive to White officers, it is a culture to not respect Black lives. Hearing the officer that made the closed casket comment, without seeing him, I believe he is a Black officer. Like I said, it’s a culture that’s deeply ingrained in a lot of people. 

There are a different set of rules for White Americans than what is applicable to Black Americans. We see it every single day. Evading arrest only gives Black men automatic death penalties.

You see comments like, “they’re all killing their own anyway!” No we aren’t. We all don’t gang bang. We all don’t sell drugs. There’s more of us that care than that don’t. But what drives crime? Poverty. Enough said. 

The video is painful to listen to. It ripped me to shreds as I immediately felt his fear, pain and desperation. How I wish I could hug his mother tight. How scared I am for my Black nephews. Namely, my 6’0 ft. deaf nephew who wouldn’t be given the chance to express that he is deaf. Fear. We live it. We have to prepare our kids for life differently. When my kids are gone too long, I send texts that simply say, “proof of life.” I get the designated response and I relax. We warn of dangers that only Black people will encounter. Oh, but it’s the race card, right? Sike your mind. Stop lying to yourself if you don’t believe this is an issue. If you are capable of explaining this away, blaming it on the victim, you’ve got so much more work to do. 

Not once do you hear, “drop your weapon!” or “where is his weapon?” after they used his body for target practice after tasing him. But made sure to claim one of the shell casings was from Sean Reed. Tased and shot multiple times. Jokes made over his freshly murdered body. No sound of remorse in any of their voices. It was like ordering a quarter pounder combo in the drive thru. Rest in power Sean Reed. 

No more passes. 

-Mookie

White Fear Spurs Black Death

Originally published April, 20th, 2020

After I completed this piece, I shared it for feedback and to be edited. One of my fellow writers said, “I’m not sure about a title, but the body is good. I think we need an introduction that doesn’t come out the gate taking heads off. Remember our audience.” How can I forget that my audience is diverse? Meaning, I’ve got a number of White followers. Knowing that is exactly why I won’t dumb down my delivery. I’m not here to give you that warm fuzzy feeling. I want this to make your gut ache like ours do.

So, proceed with caution. 

White privilege is not being charged after murdering an innocent Black man. Reread that if you are having trouble. Innocent until proven guilty, or is that only applicable to certain people? 

It is the belief that you have the right to hunt a Black man down, because he made you uncomfortable. It tells you that it is okay to hop in your truck, guns in tow, cocked and ready to fire. Chase down a Black man taking a jog and DEMAND he stop in his tracks and entertain your questions. Sounds legit, right? How dare he not stop! How dare he ignore your questioning! How dare he not accept your threatening him with guns ”attempting to make a citizens arrest.“ I don’t believe that citizens arrest story. He’s Black, he’s beneath you and must do what you say. He does fit your “scary Black man” description. 

This is reminiscent of George Zimmerman the daft crusader. He murdered Trayvon Martin and profits from it because a lot of White people praise his actions. So many White people excused it because, “all he had to do was answer the questions.” “He shouldn’t have run!” “Why did he fight? He should’t have fought!” If you subscribe to that ignorant frame of thinking, you are problematic and have underlying prejudices when it comes to race.

Black men are expected to bow down to their White counterparts. Just like Trayvon Martin, a child, painted as an adult in the media, who was minding his own damn business. Ahmaud Arbery had every right to continue jogging. White privilege decided he didn’t. He didn’t have the right to react surprised and threatened as most people would. He was expected to answer all of the questions and prove his innocence because they said so. I don’t believe he even had a criminal background as I couldn’t locate any arrest records nor did the media run with that as they usually do. 

*Guess what? Even if he had a criminal record, he still didn’t deserve to die. 

White privilege allows you to make up asinine stories and be believed without even the blink of an eye. White privilege tells you that your life, your personal belongings matter more than that of a Black man. White privilege gives you the one up on the person you just murdered and allows you to make up any story that you choose to run with. 

White privilege affords you to “bypass” calling police when you are concerned because ‘Merica says you’ve got the right to bear arms, so that means you can use them at will, right?!  “Wait Mookie, that’s too far. Don’t be judgmental, mean and…..dun…..dun…..dun…….snarky!” Clutch your pearls virgin eared folks because I’m SNAPPING. 

When White people tote guns openly, it’s their right. When Black people do it tends to be frowned upon. We are looked at as criminals. Questioned. How did you get that firearm?

In Kentucky, gun rights activists aka hella White men protested at the state capitol openly carrying guns.  Just two weeks ago in Michigan there was a protest of stay at home orders………guns in tow by you guessed it, White men. White people with guns has always been accepted by the masses. These men felt empowered by systems that support and encourage their thinking. 

These racist, dunces didn’t once think that Mr. Arbery lived in the area. This may be of surprise to some White people, but we don’t only exist in the hood. Shocking, right? I know it is. I get it every time I speak to a White person here in the south. The shock and amazement that I’m from Alaska and I’ve traveled is always entertaining.

Mr. Arbery was jogging through a residential neighborhood in workout clothes. No bags full of stolen goods. His Blackness fit their description? That gives you a lense to see how these men (and many like them) are wired. 

Pillars in their community? Save it. That dissolved the moment they murdered this man. I have not been successful in finding a story about the supposed “suspect” in the burglaries that had been occurring in the neighborhood nor a picture since they said Mr. Arbery “fit the description”.  I’m also curious why these two murderers pictures aren’t being spread across social media and mainstream media. 

I wish racists received a shock every time they uttered that phrase ”fit the description” in defense of Black people, Black men specifically being racially profiled, roughed up, and often killed. A good shock every time you felt threatened by a melanated person minding their own business. That might deter some of the “mishaps” that keep occurring. 

Apologies won’t cut it. These murderers need to be arrested, tried and convicted. 

“According to documents obtained by The New York Times, a prosecutor who had the case for a few weeks told the police that the pursuers had acted within the scope of Georgia’s citizen’s arrest statute, and that Travis McMichael, who held the shotgun, had acted out of self-defense.” Self defense when YOU start the fight. Just like that coward, George Zimmerman.   No, I wasn’t there, but what I do know is Mr. Arbery would still be alive if these two White men hadn’t decided to be vigilantes.

The prosecutor needs to charge them. He knows it’s the right thing to do. No more passes.

-Mookie