I have one question for President Obama and Attorney General Eric Holder: Can we declare a genocide of young black men in America?
I don't mean to be melodramatic, and I'm not naive enough to believe that there isn't enough already in America's mean streets and hard 'hoods responsible for the deaths of young black men.
But somehow, I never hear of unarmed young white men being accidentally shot by police officers or intentionally shot by wannabe vigilantes or old people with an aversion to loud hip-hop blasting from an SUV. I don't hear of any other race of young men in America being gunned down like dogs as often as young black men.
How many more have to die before we realize we have a problem?
Do I have to go before the U.N. to have a genocide declared? President Obama just authorized air strikes to avert a genocide in Iraq. Can we get an air strike or two up in the 'hood to avert the genocide of young black men in America?
I have yet to take down my "Justice for Trayvon" photo for this blog because, as soon as I think about taking it down, another young black unarmed man is shot down.
If indeed Michael Brown was shot while he had his hands in the air, that's murder. Added to all the other murders of unarmed black men (Trayvon, Oscar Grant, too many to name), this, to me, is looking like a genocide.
As someone who hopes to be the mother of at least one son, I'm at a loss of what to tell this son-to-be that he can do in the presence of police or other maniacs to make sure he doesn't get shot. Clearly, putting your hands in the air doesn't work (Michael Brown). Walking away doesn't work (Trayvon Martin). Lying face down with your hands behind your back doesn't work (Oscar Grant).
How many more have to die before we declare a genocide?
I call B.S., America. This IS a genocide.
Suicide, Depression, Forgiveness, and Robin Williams
Robin Williams starred in one of my sister's favorite films, "What Dreams May Come." In it, he portrays a physician who marries an artist (played by Annabella Sciorra). They later have two children, a boy and a girl, who are killed in a car accident. Although the deaths of their children bring them to the brink of divorce, they decide to stay together. Then the husband dies in a car accident and ascends to Heaven. Grief-stricken and unable to continue on, the wife kills herself and ends up in Hell, not as punishment, but because the pain that brought on the suicide creates Hell for her in the afterlife. The husband attempts what had never been achieved: Leaving Heaven to rescue a soul from Hell to bring to Heaven. He succeeds.
This movie resonates with the African-American Protestant upbringing of my youth to a certain extent: The idea that suicide on earth equals Hell in the afterlife. Like many other African-American Protestants, I was taught that suicide was the one unforgivable sin for which you most certainly would be sent to Hell. "Self-murder," my Baptist mother-in-law called it. My husband, Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB), tells me he learned in his new membership class at his church that suicide is indeed forgivable. How can it not be when someone suffering from mental illness commits the act?
Whenever I hear of someone having taken their own life, I wince with the residue of the beliefs of my upbringing. Now, I question those beliefs. I can't believe a merciful God is incapable of forgiving someone who is so mentally wounded that he can't bear the pain of another day on this planet.
If suicide is indeed a sin and a forgivable one, I pray that God would forgive Robin Williams. If suicide is a sin and isn't forgivable, I hope God makes an exception for Robin Williams.
Growing up, I would have put Richard Pryor at the pinnacle of comic genius. But when you look at the versatility of Robin Williams, tie goes to Robin Williams. He wasn't like some comedians who were only capable of comedy that appealed to those who shared their race, gender, or class; he made comedy that was funny to everyone. His mind was so quick, so sharp, so able to bend into different characters, voices, you name it. And then he could play a dramatic role so moving, such as his roles in "Good Will Hunting" and "The Dead Poets Society," that he reminded you that, yes, he was a top-notch acting student from Julliard. He gave so much joy to the world and did such good works while he was here. He deserves divine forgiveness, assuming he needs it.
What should we take away from this tragic loss? Many things. You never really know what a person is going through, even if you think you do. People who are depressed don't always admit it because of shame and stigma. What looks like addiction to drugs or alcohol may often be self-medication of depression. Depression knows no boundaries -- it strikes the rich and the poor, men and women, and people of all social classes. Just because someone has all of the makings of success -- wealth, fame, etc. -- doesn't mean they are immune from depression or any other mental illness.
If Robin Williams' soul is in the Hell of my upbringing and of the movie "What Dreams May Come," he's worth some soul in Heaven taking a risk to save him.
Robin Williams, may your soul know the peace that eluded it on earth.
This movie resonates with the African-American Protestant upbringing of my youth to a certain extent: The idea that suicide on earth equals Hell in the afterlife. Like many other African-American Protestants, I was taught that suicide was the one unforgivable sin for which you most certainly would be sent to Hell. "Self-murder," my Baptist mother-in-law called it. My husband, Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB), tells me he learned in his new membership class at his church that suicide is indeed forgivable. How can it not be when someone suffering from mental illness commits the act?
Whenever I hear of someone having taken their own life, I wince with the residue of the beliefs of my upbringing. Now, I question those beliefs. I can't believe a merciful God is incapable of forgiving someone who is so mentally wounded that he can't bear the pain of another day on this planet.
If suicide is indeed a sin and a forgivable one, I pray that God would forgive Robin Williams. If suicide is a sin and isn't forgivable, I hope God makes an exception for Robin Williams.
Growing up, I would have put Richard Pryor at the pinnacle of comic genius. But when you look at the versatility of Robin Williams, tie goes to Robin Williams. He wasn't like some comedians who were only capable of comedy that appealed to those who shared their race, gender, or class; he made comedy that was funny to everyone. His mind was so quick, so sharp, so able to bend into different characters, voices, you name it. And then he could play a dramatic role so moving, such as his roles in "Good Will Hunting" and "The Dead Poets Society," that he reminded you that, yes, he was a top-notch acting student from Julliard. He gave so much joy to the world and did such good works while he was here. He deserves divine forgiveness, assuming he needs it.
What should we take away from this tragic loss? Many things. You never really know what a person is going through, even if you think you do. People who are depressed don't always admit it because of shame and stigma. What looks like addiction to drugs or alcohol may often be self-medication of depression. Depression knows no boundaries -- it strikes the rich and the poor, men and women, and people of all social classes. Just because someone has all of the makings of success -- wealth, fame, etc. -- doesn't mean they are immune from depression or any other mental illness.
If Robin Williams' soul is in the Hell of my upbringing and of the movie "What Dreams May Come," he's worth some soul in Heaven taking a risk to save him.
Robin Williams, may your soul know the peace that eluded it on earth.
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