The Antiracist

How to Start the Conversation about Race and Take Action

Kondwani Fidel

• Editore: Hot Books
• Anno: 2020
• ISBN:
  9781510764217
• Argomento: Social Sciences
• Categoria: Discrimination & Race Relations

What would happen if people started moving beyond the conversation and took action to combat racism? We are in an era where many Americans express the sentiment, "I thought we were past that, " when a public demonstration of racism comes acrosstheirradar. Long beforeviolence committed by police was routinely displayed on jumbotrons publicizing viral executions, the Blackcommunity hascontinuallytasted the blood from having police boots intheir mouths, ribs, and necks. The widespread circulation of racial injustices is the barefaced truth hunting us down, forcing us to confront the harsh reality—we haven't made nearly as much racial progress as we thought. The Antiracist: How to Start the Conversation about Race and Take Action, will compel readers to focus on the degree in which they have previously, or are currently contributing to the racial inequalities in this country (knowingly or unknowingly), andways they can become stronger in their activism. The Antiracist is an explosive indictment on injustice, highlighted by Kondwani Fidel, a rising young literary talent, whooffers a glimpse intonot onlythe survival required of one born in a city like Baltimore, but how we can move forward to tackle violent murders, police brutality, and poverty. Throughoutit all, he pursued his Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing & Publishing Arts from the University of Baltimore, while being deeply immersed in his community—helping combat racism in schools by getting students to understand the importance of literacy and critical thinking.Withhis gift for storytelling, he measures the pulse of injustice, which is the heartbeat of this country.

Fuck the Police

“Fuck the police” has been a popular phrase in my community for as long as I can remember. My favorite rappers rapped it over instrumentals, dirt-bike riders in my neighborhood kicked cop cars and spat on them as they skirted off wheelie’n, and my father said, “Fuck the police,” as if it were his second language. One day my father came to my house and told me to walk with him to the store so he could grab us some cold-cut subs and half and halfs from one of the delis inside of Northeast Market. As we hiked up Jefferson Street, we both stopped in the alley to take a piss. As soon as we were finishing, a cop car pulled up to the alley, we were in the middle, my father said, “C’mon Koni, let’s go,” and we cut through alleyways and side streets to escape the cop car, all the way until we made it inside of Northeast Market. I’m surprised my nine-year-old legs could keep up. My father was out of breath and said, “Man, fuck the police. They will lock you up for anything. Can’t even drain the weasel in peace.” I remember one morning I was lying on the living room floor watching Hey Arnold and Rugrats, when the police burst through my front and back doors, with their guns pointed at everything breathing. They arrested my father for allegedly flushing some heroin down the toilet, but as they walked him out in cuffs, he said, “Fuck y’all,” to all of them and chastised them for disturbing me and my grandmother’s peace. When both my mother and father were in prison at Jessup Correctional Facility, as a youngin’ I remember the prison guards were always angry, and by the way they ill-treated the prisoners, you could tell they hated them just as much as they hated their jobs.

Without cursing, as a kid, I’d ask my father why we didn’t like the police, and why they routinely harassed us without “reasoning.” I remember him saying, “It’s because we’re Black,” and I don’t recall him providing any context other than that.

My father told me several stories about Baltimore City police as a kid, but the ones that stuck with me the most were the stories about getting harassed by them, and about “crazy racist White boys,” while he and his friends minded their business, playing in Patterson Park. He told me that it was always one or the other terrorizing them. They got called everything from monkeys to “ain’t shit little niggers,” and many times it involved them getting beat up by the cops, or the “crazy racist white boys,” chasing them out of the park with baseball bats. Patterson Park is located in East Baltimore and was established in 1827— named after William Patterson, a wealthy shipping merchant who donated six acres of land—becoming the oldest park in Baltimore. Before it was an official park, the site played a major role in the Battle of Baltimore during the war of 1812, being an essential position for US forces against the British. Blacks served on both sides of this war, which was used as an opportunity to secure freedom, and hopes of providing a better life for their families. Enslaved Blacks faced some tough decisions because British Vice Admiral Alexander Cochrane issued a proclamation aimed toward enslaved Black men across the Chesapeake region—and by joining the British military, runaway slaves had an opportunity to relocate to a British colony as free citizens. This is one of many instances where Blacks sacrificed their lives, for the betterment of a country that gave them nothing in return but discrimination.

It was nothing more poetic than me being a youngin’, and having troubles with the law, in this same exact park that my father once did. One night my friends and I were sitting at Luzerne Avenue, the block where most of us lived, four blocks away from the park. For us, the park was a hub for pick-up basketball games and swimming, and the park hosted Virginia S. Baker, a recreation center where my cousin and I attended summer camp as kids. But on this particular day we had different plans for how we would deal with the park, just as the park had different plans for us. My homie Mark had just gotten released from a juvenile detention center a few days prior to our gathering and was venting to us about his difficulties in finding work, and about his family disowning him because of his reoccurring run-ins with the police, on top of dropping out of school. He pulled three black medal BB guns out of his backpack and sat them on the marble steps.

“Yo, you see these? They look real, don’t they?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Exactly, so if we catch somebody slippin’ down the park, ain’t nobody gonna crack slick. It’s like ten of us.”

We agreed. I took one of the guns, Mark had one, and our homie Ryheem had the other. The rest of the gang marched with us just in case we had to get physical with someone resisting the stick-up. We touched all bases of the park and ran into absolutely no one. We realized we were on a dead mission and decided to walk back home. As we made our way back to Luzerne, lights and police sirens lit up the park, and we made the smart decision to toss the BB guns and run. Some of the homies had lighting for feet and got away—if you were behind them, all you saw was ass and elbows. Cop cars sliced through the grass, and before I know it, five of us had police boots on our throats. The cops stomped our stomach and ribs and called us pieces of shit as they handcuffed us. They tossed us in the paddy wagon and ignored us as we asked them why we were being arrested. Once we arrived at the police station, they told us that we were being charged for assaulting a Hispanic male and robbing him of $500 and his moped. Later that next day, my grandmother picked me up from the station, cursed me out, and scolded me about making right decisions in my life, and how I’ll end up like my parents if I don’t. She didn’t believe me when I told her that we didn’t do what the police said we did. She didn’t believe me but was glad that I was home, nonetheless. Fast-forward to our first, and last, court date regarding this alleged assault and robbery. Neither the arresting officers, nor the alleged Hispanic male that was involved, showed up to court, so the judge dropped the charges and allowed me and my homies to walk. Still to this day, I think about the outcome and my future, and wonder if they had showed up to court, what would that have looked like for us? Would we still be incarcerated? If convicted, in what ways would it have threatened our future employment? School? College? Would we have been able to attend things like graduation? How about prom? One of the most anticipated days of my high school career was almost ruined by Baltimore City police.

* * *

It was my senior year of high school, and it was my prom day. I was rushing to get dressed, after oversleeping during my nap. I threw on my clothes, slapped on my cologne, brushed my teeth, washed my face, and headed out the front door, searching for my cousin who was supposed to be riding with me. He had said he was going to the corner store “real quick,” which I should’ve known was a lie. About five minutes later, he came around the corner with a black bag filled with snacks, “You ready?”

“Yeah, I’m ready. Come on, dummy, we gotta hurry up.”

We hopped in the car, banged a right on Orleans Street, and headed toward my prom date’s house, where we’d have the official leaving celebration. After cruising a few blocks, we got stopped by the police. Our lives didn’t matter to them, so of course, they didn’t care about me being dressed for prom and had no problem with ruining a special day for me and my family. They yanked all of us out of the car and forced us on the ground—they said they had probable cause to search our vehicle because they saw my cousin purchase some marijuana before getting in the car and driving off. Of course, they lied, because that’s what Baltimore City police specialize in. On top of it all, my cousin never touched a drug before in his life—for use or distribution. Baltimore police have a strong reputation for planting both drugs and guns on people; however, this time they let us slide after checking the car and not “finding” anything.

Another time, I was riding my bicycle to the store, and when I approached the corner of Rose Street and Orleans Street, police hopped out of their cars, detained me, and I was searched by two officers. Their reason being that riding a bike on the sidewalk was illegal. After searching my name in the system, they harassed me even more as I sat on the curb, after finding out that my father and I had the same name. “Oh, you don’t look like you was born in the seventies.” And, “Oh this is Fuzzy’s son.” And, “Don’t end up like that motherfucker.” I can’t count the many times I’ve had the Gun Trace Task Force (a so-called “elite” squad of “highly trained” officers tasked with seizing illegal guns) roll up on me and my friends with their guns out, slamming us against walls and cop cars, digging in our private areas, in search of guns and drugs that we didn’t have on us. Or the time where I was arrested for loitering while running store errands for my grandmother. Back then, my friends and I didn’t know what “constitutional rights” were, let alone knew that they were being violated.

When I propose that we as a country should defund the police, and abolishing them being our end goal, it’s not because of a personal vendetta I have for police because of how they terrorized my friends and me, it’s because racist cops arrest, ruin the lives of, and murder Black people throughout this country constantly.

In 2018, eight of those “elite” and “highly trained” police were convicted on charges of racketeering, conspiracy, multiple violent robberies, and overtime fraud. In 2017, Mayor Catherine Pugh ordered a forensic audit of police overtime, and during that time it was discovered to be $1.6 million every two weeks, which is $40 million in overtime yearly. Back in 2014, the Baltimore Sun reported that since 2011 city police officers have faced 317 lawsuits for civil rights and constitutional violations, such as false imprisonment, assault, and false arrest. The Sun investigation also showed that even though the city had paid out $5.7 million over that period in lawsuits, it was revealed that the police leaders, city attorneys, and other top officials weren’t keeping track of the officers who repeatedly faced lawsuits with allegations of brutality, which allowed them to continue to use their power to steal money, drugs, and guns and plant drugs and guns on citizen to further their terrorization. The entire state needs to be held accountable for its participation and aiding in the terror of Baltimore citizens that was carried out by police. One of the many repeated criminals was former Baltimore Police Det. Daniel Hersl, who was convicted and sentenced to eighteen years in prison in 2018 for his role in the task force’s illegal and deadly series of schemes, and his overtime fraud. In my neighborhood, if Hersl didn’t beat your ass before, then you knew someone who got their ass beaten by him. His reputation of being a thief, abusive, and a certified cruddy individual is not just “He-says-she-says.” Before this GTTF investigation, Hersl had cost the city $200,000 in lawsuit settlements. He was accused of everything from breaking a guy’s nose and jaw, to beating up and arresting a woman who was selling church raffle tickets.

Even more recently, on June 25, 2020, a Baltimore City police sergeant by the name of James Lloyd had a dispute with his patio contractor that ended up in Lloyd kidnapping and robbing him. The patio contractor sorted out a price quote for Lloyd for $7,000 to build a patio. Lloyd wanted the patio to be larger, and the contractor gave him the price of $1,400 for the add-on. Lloyd was upset, and knowing that his police badge and gun grant him the power to terrorize and steal, he arrived at the patio contractor’s home and invited three of his homicide detectives to join. Lloyd and his cruddy buddies had their badges and guns out, Lloyd threatened the man, told him his license was suspended, and they’d he’d have him arrested and his car towed. The patio instructor said that the guns, arrest threats, and the police aggressive tones scared him. Lloyd then drove him to the bank and made him take out a $3,500 cashier’s check, while Lloyd held the man’s license the entire time. Lloyd is charged with extortion and kidnapping, while his three accomplices are on administrative duty pending an investigation.

Imagine if the police didn’t get caught? The average person in America can’t afford to have $3,500 taken from them. Imagine if Lloyd and his crew didn’t get caught, and how this could literally destroy a family. Baltimore City police have stolen lesser amounts of money than this from people I know. And I’ve heard stories where people went into debt, lost homes and cars, because of the thieves with badges.

The violent history of Baltimore City police, and the terrorization of Baltimore residents, stretches for eons, and although merely a spec of America’s issues, it is a reflection of the violent history of policing in this country, and why they need to be abolished.

* * *

On August 1, 2016, I was scrolling through Instagram and kept seeing pictures of a beautiful woman accompanied by the hashtags #KorrynGaines #CityForever. I searched the hashtags and discovered 23-year-old Korryn Gaines, a Baltimore City native who also walked the same hallways with me at Baltimore City College High School. Baltimore County Police invaded Korryn’s home, gunned her down, and shot her son—all for an arrest warrant related to a traffic stop. It was a devastating time for Baltimore, City High Community, and the Black community as a whole.

A few days later, just after performing at a local open mic in Baltimore, I went home, napped, and woke up to a few missed calls and a voice mail.

“Good morning Kondwani, this is Aleisha calling at 10:00 a.m. on August 4th. We are getting some things together for Korryn Gaines’s candlelight vigil at 7:00 p.m. tomorrow at City High School. We wanted you to attend as a guest speaker or maybe do a poem or something. If that’s something you are up for, then give me a call back. Again, this is Aleisha. Bye.”

I returned Aleisha’s call and accepted.

I pulled up to my alma mater for Korryn’s vigil, put my van in park, took a small sip of mango Amsterdam, and my phone rang. “Yo, Kon. Where you at? It’s your time to speak.” I hung up the phone with Aleisha and then went on to give my speech, in which I addressed the issue of violent racist police, among other things.

I listened to Korryn’s family and friends speak about how good a person and mother she was. Her father, Ryan Gaines Sr., said that during the hours-long standoff, he and other family members asked to go in and get Korryn out of the house because they were certain she would listen to them. The police responded, “It’s far beyond that now.” The term “far beyond that now” was confirmation that those bullets had “Korryn Gaines” engraved on them before the standoff even had begun—she was dead long before they arrived at her home. In 2018, a grand jury had awarded $38 million to Korryn’s family, who sued Baltimore County Police for wrongful death, but the decision was reversed the following year by the circuit court judge, who hailed the officers who murdered Korryn for “carrying out their duties.” There was a recent ruling that claimed the judge was wrong, and her family has won this case and will be granted the $38 million.

At the time Korryn was murdered, videos of her surfaced on the Internet, where she was speaking out about injustices Black people have to deal with in this country. During her traffic stop on March 10, 2016, you could hear her verbally resisting the officers harassing her: “When you put your hands on me. You will have to murder me. You will have to kill me. I promise you. . . . I’m not complying to your criminal fucking ways! I’m not gonna do it!” (The full video can be found on YouTube.)

In 2015 Sandra Bland, a twenty-eight-year-old Black woman, was stopped and arrested by police in Texas for failing to signal a lane change. Three days later, she was found hanging in her cell. Sandra Bland was harassed and pulled over by police for failing to signal a lane change but was abused, arrested, and murdered by the cops because she called them “bullshit,” “bitches,” and “pussies.”

Dr. Zoe Spencer, a professor at Virginia State University, was recently nominated for an Emmy Award for a spoken word performance titled “Say Her Name.” Dr. Spencer is not only one of my mentors, but she’s also like an aunt to me. Dr. Spencer shared with me an essay she wrote titled “Sassy Mouths, Unfettered Spirits, and the Neo Lynching of Korryn Gaines and Sandra Bland.” In this piece she carefully conceptualizes what she calls “Post Traumatic Slave Master Syndrome,” and the familiar “policing” of Black Women’s Resistance in 21st Century America.

Early in the piece, Dr. Spencer, introduces readers to a few Black women who were viewed threats to White supremacy and were brutally murdered for it in the early...

Indice dei contenuti

• Front Cover
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Contents
• Dedication
• Foreword
• Introduction
• The Art of Robbin’ and Stealin’
• Education behind the Bars of Poverty
• No Love for the Landlords
• Fuck the Police
• Turn the Fire Down
• Mother’s Day Deal
• HBCU LOVE
• Tweets Aren’t Loading Right Now
• Cool Tuesdays
• A Death Note
• Black Body as Temple
• It’s Always 12 O’Clock
• Baltimore Ceasefire 365
• Slippin’ into Darkness
• Viral Executions
• If Peach Fuzz Could Talk
• My Home Is a Noiseless Gun
• Acknowledgments