Schnitzel with a Side of Racism

I feel as though I've been here before. As if I've written this before. So many times. So many hashtags. Too many to name. So many incidents of proving our worth... saying that our lives and bodies are ours... that they are not for public consumption, only to be gobbled up and spit out when the bitter taste of our history is too much to swallow... that our lives matter. I feel as though I've over explained that we are worthy to just be... and live. Truthfully, these are all requests that my grandparents and great grandparents fought for. My great grandfather was murdered for this request... his body left on a railroad track for all to witness what happens when Black people simply ask to be free... 

This past week was so much. I felt a lot. I felt angry... frustrated... annoyed... disrespected... exhausted... just tired. Last week, my husband traveled to Berlin for work. As a musician/producer he has been fortunate to travel all over this great big world. He has seen and experienced many things. However, nothing could have shocked him more than the blatant dose of racism that he would experience while at a small restaurant in Berlin.

It's early Saturday evening... around 4 o'clock.  Jon and his colleagues enter Restaurant Berlinchen. Upon entering, they quickly notice that they are by far the youngest and blackest people in this establishment... which often happens in foreign European cities... no big deal. However, the rest of the dining experience would take a turn... becoming more of a negative social experience than what Jon and his friends bargained for. 

"After being seated, one of my colleagues orders the schnitzel. My other colleague orders an herbal tea & cocktail. Surprisingly, the waiter scoffs and then proceeds to educate us on how it is unacceptable to order drinks without food. My colleague communicates that he'll possibly order a soup or salad in addition to his drinks once he returns from a visit to the restroom. Since I had just enjoyed a fresh smoothie & snack at the place we were previously, I declined to order anything. The waiter then walks away... my friend then walks to the restroom. Left at the table, are myself & my other colleague. We sat for about 3-4 minutes pointlessly looking over our menus while we waited... just biding time. All of sudden, one at a time, each of our menus were aggressively snatched from our hands. 'You must leave now... go!...' said our waiter. My friend and I were caught way off guard. It happened so fast. We slowly stood up and collected our bearings to depart the restaurant. At that time, my other colleague returns from the restroom... a bit perplexed to why we were getting ready to leave. We told him that we were asked to. He seemed as shocked as we were. Before leaving, I sat back down... reached for a pen & paper in my bag. I opened my Google translate app & proceeded to write the English to German translation for: 'Black people are not welcome. Do not come here. Racist!!'  My friends and I then proceed out the door. As the door closed, I left my translated note in the doorway, in hopes that potential customers may read & inquire to why someone would leave such an ugly note."- Jon

My phone rings... "You won't believe what just happened..." Jon proceeds to tell me what he and his friends had experienced. He was shocked. He couldn't decide which transgression was worse... being told to leave the restaurant OR having a menu snatched out of his hands like child. In the waiter's eyes, these men were boys... refusing to see them as men... as equal. To add insult to injury, after the restaurant's discriminatory behavior was called out online, the owner made false accusations that Jon and his colleagues were violent and drunk... that they had committed property damage (by leaving a note in the door). Not only were they not seen as men. but were being portrayed as violent and dangerous... the typical angry black male stereotype. Painting THIS narrative was the restaurant owner's first defense. Why was this so? Why was it so easy for him to imagine three angry black men coming into a restaurant to start trouble... while ordering schnitzel?

Oh how I would love to say that this is the only time my husband or I have experienced racism first hand. However, I would be lying. Like most people of color, we have experienced both blatant racism and casual everyday micro aggressions since we can remember. I would love to lie and say that Berlin was just an isolated incident. It wasn't. It happens everyday. It happens every time someone asks my husband IF he reads music (because Black folks are just suppose to "feel" the music, right?) There's no way that this black man can talk your head off regarding the technicalities of music theory. It happens every time someone assumes that my husband is the studio tech (and not the producer). It happens every time someone states how articulate we are. It happens every time we are viewed as the "exception to blackness," when we are not. It happens every time a white person says, "I don't see color." (Side note: Please know that when you say "I don't see color," you are saying that you don't see me.  Additionally, by saying that you "don't see my color,"  you are also saying that there is something about my blackness that makes you feel uncomfortable.)  It happens every time someone accosts my family and I in the grocery store and then begins to ooh and awww over our skin... and then begins to touch our bodies or our hair (without our consent.) It happens every time someone assumes anything about our lives soley based on the color of our skin. It happens every time we are asked to validate our feelings and/or perception of racism. It happens every time we are asked to go against our better judgment to call out racism as we see it... instead, being expected to internalize it and assume that perhaps we are seeing it wrong. It happens every time we are vilified for being too strong... too loud... too bold... too human. It happens every time our children can't be children.  It happens every time we are perceived as a threat... while ordering schnitzel. I would like to lie and say that Berlin was just Berlin. But it wasn't. These are everyday blatant and covert cases of racism that we experience,,, every. single. day. 

"Oh wow you are so articulate and intelligent"-A

"I feel like I can relate to you...You're not like the OTHERS."-P

"Several times and even today people assume after talking with me over the phone that I'm not black so when they meet me I'm either greeted with, 'Oh!' OR 'You sound so professional.' - A

"Your children are so beautiful,  do they have the same dad?" -R

"Wow! I'm surprised at how well you speak."-P

"From the perspective of someone who is mixed, I can say I've been the recipient of racial micro aggressions on both sides. On one end, I either spoke like I was white or thought I was better than other people because I had 'good hair'.  On the other end I surprised people with my eloquence, and my curly hair lured white hands to inspect my strands, often without my permission."-J

"I was like 17 when I went on an audition and saw another audition going on in the studio across from mine. I saw a lot of my peers auditioning, so when I called my manager to find out why I wasn't on that audition, after beating around the bush for a minute or two my manager told me, 'They wanted beautiful girls and you're not the beautiful girl.' When I pressed her as to what beautiful was, she said 'mixed' looking. I said, 'But the women that were there are the same tribe of folks.' Her reply, 'but you're not exotic.'  I can still recall the pain in my chest, the heat in my face radiating from the tears I fought back from falling and the tremendous sadness I felt."- S

"You're pretty... for a black girl."-P

"We REALLY wanted to hire you, but it was important to us to have an older (not more experienced) midwife. If you maybe charged a little less we would have been sold! You understand right girlfriend?" -R

"I came to Berlin for a salsa congress with a group of instructors in 2001. We left a Burger King late one night, and ran into steel-toe boot-wearing skinhead, sneering "Niggers" at us. Out of the group of about 10, only two of us were actually black."-I

"We have a group of black moms that go to the park every week and we get the most jaw dropping stares when all these black women walk in with their children. White women can't stop starring. I think they just never imaged they would see 'US' there."- B

" One time i went to a school administrator to complain after students were making fun of "ebonics" on the school radio. The person I was looking for was out of the office so the faculty member I spoke to said , 'well if I see him I'll tell him you're 'afa' him' -J

"I was making an announcements on my flight one day and a Caucasian couple waved me over and said that they were so impressed.. They stated that they never heard a person like me speak so eloquently before."- A

"Crossing one of Berlin's busiest intersections with my daughters one evening, a car full of young white males passed. One stuck his hand out of the window and yelled, 'Heil Hitler!' How he spotted us in a crowd through the window of a moving car, I'll never know."- I

"I was pulled out of my car by a police officer when I was 16.... Suspected of stealing the vehicle because my friends and I didn't look like we 'belonged' in the area. I was 5 miles from home."-P

"As a black woman in my 30s, I've often had people ask me if I'm single and when I say yes, they immediately follow by asking if I have kids and when I say no they're shocked. I've asked white friends of a similar age if they're asked if they have kids and they say no." -B

"In school one of my teachers continued to call me tiffany always forgetting that i was not the same person as the only other black girl in the class."- J

"A man in the grocery store stop us to admire Max. Man: 'Your son is so cute. What's his name?' Me: 'Thanks. His name is Maxwell.'  Man: 'Oh, Maxwell. You know, there's a dog store right down the street called Maxwell.' -A

"Scene: Talking to a white female coworker who wants to pull me aside and talk about a personal team matter involving herself. She wants to know why she feels potentially estranged from the team and is sharing her insights on the dynamics at play.Our team is mostly POC, so her feeling is that the only strike against her must be because she's a white woman.  Her: 'I mean, a few years ago when the whole Michael Brown and Black Lives Matter thing was going on, I made sure to give you, a black woman, space to feel all your feelings!'  Feel all my feelings? I...didn't ask for space, the team is primarily POC. And shouldn't she have meant...all the feelings everyone felt? The team's feelings? We're an activist organization."- R

"December 2014. A German relative asked my husband if our daughter wanted a "neger puppe" for Christmas. "N*gger doll" in English. His defenses ranged from 'It's not like I called your daughter a n*gger' to 'That doesn't mean in German what it means in English.'"- I

Brooke's Story

Twenty-nine years ago, in a country halfway around the world, I was raped. Until now, only a handful of people knew. I was very young, very scared, and never reported it. I wanted to just go back home and leave the experience behind me. If only it were that easy- it took a whole lot of therapy to get to a point of no longer being consumed by that night. And yet despite that all that work to rise above the trauma, I stayed silent.

I stayed quiet not out of fear of my attacker; I was lucky enough to be returning home shortly thereafter and didn’t have to live in fear of running into him again. I chose to remain silent because I knew I would be perceived as a victim, and the thought of being looked at that way for the rest of my life repulsed me more than the act itself.

I saw how that played out in my high school, and later in college. Whispers, rumors, girls who stared at the floor as they shuffled from class to class. I didn’t want to be pitied, to walk with shame on my face, to always be seen as A Girl Who Was Raped. Why should I have to endure a lifetime of being stigmatized? If I just went on like nothing happened, life would be good.

When allegations rose against Bill Cosby, many asked why some of the accusers had not come forward for decades. It caused me to see how my own silence has contributed to rape culture. Not only did it allow my attacker to get away with his crime (and potentially attack other women), it left other survivors to stand alone. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy: people stay silent because there is a culture of shame, yet the more we stay silent, the easier it becomes for people to get away with rape. Can we change this? Maybe we can, if we erase the stigma and stop defining and viewing women and men by their rape. Maybe then we will see reporting rates increase, and an end to rape culture.

Which is why, twenty-nine years later, I am giving back my silence.

I am not my rape. It is one of a million memories I carry with me, and does not define who I am. Please don’t give that night more power than it deserves. To those who know me, don’t let this change how you view me.

I am a mother.

A wife.

A lawyer.

A friend.

A daughter.

A sister.

An aunt.

An occasional blogger.

A curator of black cardigans.

An unrepentant F-bomb dropper.

An enthusiastic cook of meals my children refuse to eat.

A budding surfer

A sleep-training ninja.

A serial houseplant killer.

An underachieving Pinterest addict.

I am all of these things, but I am no longer silent.

WWJD

I am a woman of faith… I think Jesus is pretty cool. I study the bible. I love my neighbor as myself. With that being said, the past election had me in a tizzy. I have been utterly disappointed and disgusted at numerous social media posts, by many people who claim to profess the same Christ that I follow. I have seen everything... from photos of dismembered, aborted babes splattered across my Facebook page, to images that painted Hilary Clinton as nothing short of a she-devil. To be honest, its sad and it does not represent the Jesus that I know. This post is addressed to two people:  the people who profess to know Jesus and those who may not. This post is not about the candidates or our now president. This is not about political parties, nor who I wish would have won. This post is about honesty, kindness… understanding… and demonstrating love… not hate… 

Dear “Christians”, 

Do you know who you follow? Do you know what you follow? Do you truly study your bible? One of my favorite scriptures is 2 Corinthians 5:20, where we as Christ followers are referenced as ambassadors. (20Therefore we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God were making His appeal through us. We implore you on behalf of Christ: Be reconciled to God.) What is an ambassador? An ambassador is a representative of someone or something. By definition, we are then, representatives of Christ. Therefore, when people see us, people should then in turn see Jesus. They should see Love.… the compassion of Jesus. Which leads me to my other question… Dear “Christian,” do you know who Jesus was? Jesus was kind. He was understanding. He hung out with the outlaws and sinners of the time. He gathered twelve misfits to be his disciples. He stood up for the down and out. He broke the law and healed on the Sabbath, because he cared more about people and their condition than He did for enforcing rules. He called out judgment and put people in their place when it came to doing so to others (the woman caught in the act of adultery) He couldn't just  sit there and let a woman die at the hands of men who were flawed themselves (John 8:7 “They kept demanding an answer, so he stood up again and said, “All right, but let the one who has never sinned throw the first stone!” 8 Then he stooped down again and wrote in the dust.”)  

He called people to look at their own stuff, before brandishing a flashlight on other’s issues. My Jesus cared about people. He was loving. In fact, the only times you see Jesus really "setting it off," were in scripture involving the religious know it alls. Jesus was a revolutionary. He questioned the idea that the  law trumped caring for the needs of your brothers and sisters. I believe Jesus was a feminist. He cared about equal rights. He included women in his ministry, and bucked against gender roles.  Please note that the first preacher of the gospel, was a woman. He cared about women. He cared about people. I doubt if Jesus were here, that he would post photos of aborted babies on his social media page. That’s not who he was. Just like the woman caught in the act of adultery, he would show compassion and love. I know many women who have had abortions. Not one of them has said it was easy and that they were super excited about it. It’s hard and it sucks. You have no clue why someone would chose to end a pregnancy. Truth is... it's not for you to know OR understand... However, compassion is needed. Love is needed. Dear Christian, please be aware that while you are wagging your finger at people regarding issues in which you may not relate, you may be condemning the very person who is standing next to you. Truthfully, we all have our stuff… issues… What if your “stuff” were splattered across someone’s Facebook page? What if your "stuff" were the very thing that became part of someone’s political agenda and their ticket into the White House? 

Dear Church, what are you so afraid of? In the 1960's the church led the charge on Civil Rights. Where are you in terms of civil rights for all? Where are you in terms of immigration and aiding the refugee? Where are you? I am convinced that if this were the 1960's  and if it were up to the present day church, segregation would be alive and well due to the timidity of the church. This is unfortunate and sad. Dear church, do not say that you are pro life and yet, there is radio silence when those same lives are gunned down violently by law enforcement. Dear church, don't you dare fix your lips to utter the words that you are "pro-life," when you do nothing to make sure that people in your American backyard have access to clean water. You are not pro-life...You are pro birth. There's a huge difference. Dear white church, please know that when racial chaos is happening all across America and there is no mention of it in your pulpit, your black congregants absolutely take notice. Your silence is deafening. In fact, it screams loud and clear, how little we matter to you. 

Being a person of faith, means that we have the ability to heal... to love. Many wars were started in the name of Christ. I truly believe that if Christ were here, He wouldn't be for any of it. I'm convinced that He would push the boundaries, being more like the revolutionary and rebel that He was back when He walked this earth. He would care about Black lives. He would care about women’s rights. He would care about the poor. He would care about Native Americans and clean water. He would care about immigrants, refugees searching for safety and freedom. He would care about gay people. He would care about Flint Michigan... simply because He loved people. I often wonder who would be included in Jesus' current day motley crew. Would it be the dude from your local pot dispensary? Would it be the girl from the strip club? How about the "crooked" politician? I also wonder, would He be fascinated at how He’s depicted to look like Brad Pitt. I think He would find that pretty ridiculous. One of my favorite scriptures is Psalms 145:17, (Everything God does is right- the trademarks on all His works is love…”  I believe that this scripture acts as a checklist for everything that we do. Is it right? Is it trademarked in love? 

Lastly…. Dear person who may not know Christ. I am sorry. I am sorry for this poor representation What you have seen is not who Jesus is and/or was. Unfortunately, what many of you have seen from those claiming to represent faith is hate, anger, and prejudice hiding behind a political agenda. This is not Christ, or His love. This would be people, per usual. I pray that at some point, you come across sane, beautiful people of faith that truly represent not only what would Jesus do, but who He is…

Barbara's Story On Surviving Sexual Abuse....

I was sexually abused....and I would often question, why my abuser chose me? Was something wrong with me? One of my abusers was a family member… another a neighbor... another a classmate. I often asked did I do something wrong? Did I look like the boys that one of my abusers was into? I even believed there must be something about me that caused this… that there was something about me that made me a target. These are the random thoughts I would find myself wrestling with while processing my experience. And I dealt with all of this in silence, never telling my parents.

As the years went on I thought sex was the value of my existence with men. Being a sexual being was one of the few ways to keep someone around and convince them that I was worth caring about and loving. Eventually I realized that this way of thinking was afflicting pain and hurtful, as if it were a religious act of flagellation. Eventually I would receive counseling off and on from various people; from pastoral to professional counseling. I even think that my sexual abuse had an affect on the progress of my labor while birthing my daughter. All of the fears of my past suddenly rushed in the moment I was suppose to push my baby into the world... I was scared to have my baby out of fear of her entering such a fucked up world.

It was when my daughter was a few months after turning one, that I started counseling again. And it was through this (counseling) that I started to finally see my healing take place. Maybe it was the desire to be the best mother I needed to be, to finally let go and realize I am not the sum of my experiences OR the false notion that I caused the sexual abuse that I experienced...that I was worthy of complete healing, self-care, self-love. I started reframing my thinking. Being a professional counselor myself, I had to be the best me I could be for those I would help through their healing process.

As an artist, I created space to speak of my experience hoping to help someone else who might be silently dealing with the same things I went through. I birthed Project Vapeur. Project Vapeur was a biographical therapeutic expressive art project about myself (photographed below).  I don’t think healing is a linear process. You will go through the process of grief. And I don’t think there is one perfect way to get to your healing, but several ways to get to your comprehensive holistic healing. You must search within yourself to see what those different options are which can be both an internal and external process that must engage you emotionally, mentally, physically and spiritually. It will hurt. It will be painful to go through. But read that again… You will GO THROUGH it, but you will not stay there.

I discovered the men who invaded me were also sexually assaulted as children. I believe one of the sad reasons it happens so often is because sexual abuse has become a norm in the caribbean culture for some reason as if it were playful horseplay and part of the initiation of becoming a man, especially if a older woman forced herself onto a boy. We must break the silence on the taboo subject of child sexual abuse/incest within our culture. My parents never spoke to me about my body or what was good and bad touches But moreso scorned me to stay away from boys or that I would get pregnant if I kissed a boy. Who's heard that before?

One of the most hidden forms of abuse against children is sexual abuse, which many times is committed by a person closely related to the child. Sexual abuse is not a new phenomenon. It occurs in all racial, ethnic, religious and socioeconomic groups and affects children of all ages, including infants even though porprogandga will make you think otherwise. Within the family sphere, sexual abuse is commonly referred to as incest and is usually perpetrated by those who are in positions of trust and intimacy and power – fathers, fathers-in-law, grandfathers, stepfathers, brothers, uncles, brothers and other male relatives and even friends of the family that are considered family.

I believe that we must discuss with our children regarding what’s normal and not normal. Lovingly express that they can talk to you no matter what. This can be done before bedtime, or around the dinner table, or even in your daily day to day routines. Talk to your children and know what’s going on in their world. Don’t force children to hug or engage adults they may get a bad vibe from. Pay attention to your children’s body language no matter how young they are; you never know what they are indirectly trying to tell us. As parents we can protect our children. Taking these steps may help your little one.

Lastly, if you are a survivor of sexual abuse…  IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT. IT IT NOT YOUR FAULT. IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT. YOU ARE LOVED. YOU ARE WHOLE. YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL. YOU ARE NOT THE SUM OF YOUR EXPERIENCES. YOU ARE WORTH MORE THAN YOUR EXPERIENCES. YOU ARE VALUED. YOU ARE NOT IMPOSSIBLE TO LOVE. YOU ARE LOVE. YOU ARE POSSIBLE OF ANYTHING. YOU ARE MIRACULOUS.

Katie's Selah Moment

For a long time, poetry was my hidden place...exclusively mine. No one allowed in- including my husband. And for a long time, I didn’t write because I was broken. My brokenness suffocated any type of creating. It’s funny because starting this shop forced me to step out from behind my comfortable curtain and learn in a new way that “I am worthy.” I write because words heal and if my words resonate with your heart, I’m so glad my hidden place is no longer exclusively mine. 

“Arrows”

When did you stop living free? 

Where did you feel last alive?

She journeys back to the rubble, 

revisits every splintered piece.

Notices a tied down broken arrow 

hidden beneath a lifeless scene.

She reaches in, to say “thank you,” 

for every directionless year she lost.

Her wandering…

… found truth.

The sun as her compass 

guided her soul.

And where the light settles in 

she is restored!

Courage sings her song 

an arrow soaring free!

-Katie Lyn