I rather expect to be vilified, verbally abused, called names. I am certain that Rose42 and TexaCan will eviscerate me, etc, but I posted anyway.
Bring it on...
I grew up in Reno, Nevada.
In third grade a boy confidently tells me and my brother that his mom said black people cannot swim because our muscles are different than those of white people.
In middle school, standing among a group of white classmates talking video games, I am the only black child. One classmate expresses surprise that my family has enough money to afford a PlayStation.
In high school, I am the only black kid among a group of friends. When sharing drinks in my presence they frequently tell each other not to “n****rlip” the bottles. Even though I object, they continue to use the phrase.
In high school, my brother is at a teen house party that gets broken up by police, a common occurrence. The kids at the party scatter, also a common occurrence. My brother, the only black child in attendance, is the only one on whom a police officer draws a firearm to get him to stop running away. He is 14.
In high school, a group of my white friends frequently sneak on to the outdoor basketball courts at an athletic club to play. They can usually play for hours, including with club members. On the two occasions I attend, club members complain and we are ejected from the club within minutes.
In high school, I am excited about black history month and am talking to a friend about black inventors. My friend snorts and says, “Black people have never invented anything.”
In high school, as graduation approaches, many of my white friends tell me that I am lucky. They tell me that due to my skin color, I will get into any college I want.
I remain in Reno for college.
During college an employer keeps food for employees in the break room refrigerator. One morning I decided to have microwaveable chicken wings for breakfast. The employer tells me I might not want to eat that for breakfast with my skin color. The employer immediately apologizes.
In college I am standing in a group of white friends on campus. A white acquaintance of one of my friends approaches to chat. The acquaintance tells a story about something that frustrated him and then reels off a series of expletives ending with the word, “n****r.” None of my friends corrects him.
In college I visit an antique shop in Auburn, California with my girlfriend, who is white, and her parents. The shopkeeper follows me around the store whistling loudly as I browse, until we leave.
I move to San Diego, California for law school.
In law school, during a discussion in my criminal law class, a white classmate suggests that police officers should take a suspect’s race into account when determining whether there is reasonable suspicion to believe that an individual is committing a crime.
The weekend of my law school graduation my family comes to San Diego. I go to the mall with my brother and sister and visit the Burberry store. Two different employees follow us around the store – never speaking to us – until we leave.
After law school, I return to Reno.
A co-worker jokingly calls me “King David” upon seeing me each day. I joke that I’m not treated like a king. The co-worker then begins to call me “S***e David” each time we encounter one another. When I ask the co-worker to stop because it is hurtful, I am told by my co-worker that this is a problem that I have in my head.
I attend a pub crawl with friends. We end up at a party in a hotel suite in downtown Reno. I am greeted by a white man at the door who loudly expresses surprise that I am an “educated negro” upon hearing me speak.
I walk a friend who is a white woman from a restaurant to her car because it is night time. As we stand by the car chatting, a police officer pulls up and shines a light on us, asking if everything is okay. Once my friend confirms, the officer drives away. I tell her that he was worried about her, she teasingly says, “Oh yeah, because you’re so scary.” Later, I tell another white friend I felt racially profiled by the officer. My friend shrugs and says, “I don’t know man, that’s a stretch.”
A white friend tells me that white v**ers have become upset at black people because of black people’s liberal use of food welfare benefits. When I point out that more w****s than b****s receive welfare benefits in the U.S., my friend expresses confusion at how that could be the case.
I leave a downtown restaurant with my wife. As we walk along the river a homeless man appears to be having a schizophrenic episode, engaging auditory hallucinations. Upon seeing me, he becomes lucid and begins to shout the word “n****r” over and over.
I discover that one of my clients does not want me to represent him as his Public Defender because he does not want a black attorney. I am given the option to withdraw as counsel. I do not.
Last year, I am at a barbecue chatting with a white acquaintance who asks if I have ever experienced r****m. When I say it is a nearly daily occurrence, the acquaintance retorts, without missing a beat, “Bulls**t.”
Two months ago. I am driving to lunch with the black teen I mentor. At a red light a white woman crosses the street. As I begin to drive, she turns around and screams at us, “F**k you f****ing n****r!”
Before any of these instances, my family of origin moved to Reno, Nevada from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania in 1984.
My mother recently told me that when I was a very young child my parents hired a company to remove a tree from our front lawn. Two white men showed up and removed the tree. One of them carved a swastika into the stump. My father had to confront him and ask him to remove it.
Before that, my now 93 -year-old grandfather served in the Army National Guard and was stationed in the U.S. south. Despite being active duty, he was not allowed to eat in restaurants due to “w****s only” signage. He had to wait for fellow Guardsmen to bring him food outside.
Not long before that, my family were s***es, owned by Americans of English and Irish descent, which is why – despite being primarily of African descent – I have an English last name.
This is my experience of being black in America. To be black in America is to be told over and over that you are not good enough, that you do not belong, that you are genetically unfit, that your physical presence is undesirable, and that everything about you – right down to your lips – is wrong. It is absolutely true that everyone experiences hardships in life, but the psychological weight of being told both explicitly and implicitly, on a daily basis, that your very existence is objectionable can at times feel unbearable.
And despite this experience, I still love my country, my state, and my city. Despite my experience, I would not choose to be anything other than a b***k A******n. The history of black people in this country is one of struggle and triumph. Our people were brought to this country as s***es and against all odds, in the face of seemingly insurmountable obstacles, have made our mark. Through s***ery, poll taxes, literacy tests, redlining, and black codes we have persevered. Through the unspeakable horrors of mass lynchings; the Tuskegee syphilis experiments; and the massacres at Tulsa and Rosewood, we have persevered.
Bass Reeves, Dovey Johnson Roundtree, Sarah Boone, Oscar Micheaux, Shirley Chisholm, Dorie Miller, Susie King Taylor, Georgia Gilmore, Octavius Catto, Jack Johnson, Garrett Morgan, James W.C. Pennington. These are just a handful of extraordinary and oft forgotten b***k A******ns who helped to mold and preserve the American Dream. These individuals and their accomplishments should not be regarded as “black history,” but rather as American history.
I am an American of privilege, which makes me an African American of great privilege. I am an attorney. I live in a safe neighborhood. My children do not worry about their next meal. I can afford child care. My family can afford personal vehicles. If my children become sick, I can take them to the doctor. If I am this privileged, and these have been my experiences, primarily in my own hometown, often with friends and acquaintances who are fond of me, and of whom I remain fond even now; just imagine what daily life must be like for a black person in this country who does not enjoy my level of privilege.
The protests in the streets of America are certainly about the k*****g of G****e F***d, but not just about G****e F***d. They are about countless black men, women, and children for whom the punishment did not fit the crime – if indeed there was a crime at all. We live in a country where, in order to recall what life under Jim Crow felt like, many w***e A******ns must pick up a history book. Meanwhile, many b***k A******ns need only pick up a telephone, and call their parents.
When we as people of color share our experiences, we are not doing so to score political points, “play the race card,” get sympathy, assign blame, or to make you feel bad about yourself. We are asking you for help. We are asking you to join us in the ongoing fight against r****m in our country, because we cannot do it alone. It will take Americans of every stripe to eradicate r****m from American society.
I am now asking for your help. Please seek t***h and knowledge. When sharing information, please check your sources and make sure that they are reliable. Try to place what is happening today into a historical context. Read about s******c r****m and anti-r****m. When your friends of color tell you that r****m is real and affecting their lives, believe them and then, if you can, do something about it.
My children are likely to attend the same middle school and high school that I did. It is my great hope for them that those around them have the knowledge, compassion, and guidance to know better than to daily deluge them with words that make them doubt their intelligence, their beauty, and their worth as human beings based only on the color of their skin; and instead judge them by the content of their character.
It is for all of the above reasons, and so many more that we proudly say #blacklivesmatter
Abbie Hoffman wrote:
I rather expect to be vilified, verbally abused, called names. I am certain that Rose42 and TexaCan will eviscerate me, etc, but I posted anyway.
Bring it on...
I grew up in Reno, Nevada.
In third grade a boy confidently tells me and my brother that his mom said black people cannot swim because our muscles are different than those of white people.
In middle school, standing among a group of white classmates talking video games, I am the only black child. One classmate expresses surprise that my family has enough money to afford a PlayStation.
In high school, I am the only black kid among a group of friends. When sharing drinks in my presence they frequently tell each other not to “n****rlip” the bottles. Even though I object, they continue to use the phrase.
In high school, my brother is at a teen house party that gets broken up by police, a common occurrence. The kids at the party scatter, also a common occurrence. My brother, the only black child in attendance, is the only one on whom a police officer draws a firearm to get him to stop running away. He is 14.
In high school, a group of my white friends frequently sneak on to the outdoor basketball courts at an athletic club to play. They can usually play for hours, including with club members. On the two occasions I attend, club members complain and we are ejected from the club within minutes.
In high school, I am excited about black history month and am talking to a friend about black inventors. My friend snorts and says, “Black people have never invented anything.”
In high school, as graduation approaches, many of my white friends tell me that I am lucky. They tell me that due to my skin color, I will get into any college I want.
I remain in Reno for college.
During college an employer keeps food for employees in the break room refrigerator. One morning I decided to have microwaveable chicken wings for breakfast. The employer tells me I might not want to eat that for breakfast with my skin color. The employer immediately apologizes.
In college I am standing in a group of white friends on campus. A white acquaintance of one of my friends approaches to chat. The acquaintance tells a story about something that frustrated him and then reels off a series of expletives ending with the word, “n****r.” None of my friends corrects him.
In college I visit an antique shop in Auburn, California with my girlfriend, who is white, and her parents. The shopkeeper follows me around the store whistling loudly as I browse, until we leave.
I move to San Diego, California for law school.
In law school, during a discussion in my criminal law class, a white classmate suggests that police officers should take a suspect’s race into account when determining whether there is reasonable suspicion to believe that an individual is committing a crime.
The weekend of my law school graduation my family comes to San Diego. I go to the mall with my brother and sister and visit the Burberry store. Two different employees follow us around the store – never speaking to us – until we leave.
After law school, I return to Reno.
A co-worker jokingly calls me “King David” upon seeing me each day. I joke that I’m not treated like a king. The co-worker then begins to call me “S***e David” each time we encounter one another. When I ask the co-worker to stop because it is hurtful, I am told by my co-worker that this is a problem that I have in my head.
I attend a pub crawl with friends. We end up at a party in a hotel suite in downtown Reno. I am greeted by a white man at the door who loudly expresses surprise that I am an “educated negro” upon hearing me speak.
I walk a friend who is a white woman from a restaurant to her car because it is night time. As we stand by the car chatting, a police officer pulls up and shines a light on us, asking if everything is okay. Once my friend confirms, the officer drives away. I tell her that he was worried about her, she teasingly says, “Oh yeah, because you’re so scary.” Later, I tell another white friend I felt racially profiled by the officer. My friend shrugs and says, “I don’t know man, that’s a stretch.”
A white friend tells me that white v**ers have become upset at black people because of black people’s liberal use of food welfare benefits. When I point out that more w****s than b****s receive welfare benefits in the U.S., my friend expresses confusion at how that could be the case.
I leave a downtown restaurant with my wife. As we walk along the river a homeless man appears to be having a schizophrenic episode, engaging auditory hallucinations. Upon seeing me, he becomes lucid and begins to shout the word “n****r” over and over.
I discover that one of my clients does not want me to represent him as his Public Defender because he does not want a black attorney. I am given the option to withdraw as counsel. I do not.
Last year, I am at a barbecue chatting with a white acquaintance who asks if I have ever experienced r****m. When I say it is a nearly daily occurrence, the acquaintance retorts, without missing a beat, “Bulls**t.”
Two months ago. I am driving to lunch with the black teen I mentor. At a red light a white woman crosses the street. As I begin to drive, she turns around and screams at us, “F**k you f****ing n****r!”
Before any of these instances, my family of origin moved to Reno, Nevada from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania in 1984.
My mother recently told me that when I was a very young child my parents hired a company to remove a tree from our front lawn. Two white men showed up and removed the tree. One of them carved a swastika into the stump. My father had to confront him and ask him to remove it.
Before that, my now 93 -year-old grandfather served in the Army National Guard and was stationed in the U.S. south. Despite being active duty, he was not allowed to eat in restaurants due to “w****s only” signage. He had to wait for fellow Guardsmen to bring him food outside.
Not long before that, my family were s***es, owned by Americans of English and Irish descent, which is why – despite being primarily of African descent – I have an English last name.
This is my experience of being black in America. To be black in America is to be told over and over that you are not good enough, that you do not belong, that you are genetically unfit, that your physical presence is undesirable, and that everything about you – right down to your lips – is wrong. It is absolutely true that everyone experiences hardships in life, but the psychological weight of being told both explicitly and implicitly, on a daily basis, that your very existence is objectionable can at times feel unbearable.
And despite this experience, I still love my country, my state, and my city. Despite my experience, I would not choose to be anything other than a b***k A******n. The history of black people in this country is one of struggle and triumph. Our people were brought to this country as s***es and against all odds, in the face of seemingly insurmountable obstacles, have made our mark. Through s***ery, poll taxes, literacy tests, redlining, and black codes we have persevered. Through the unspeakable horrors of mass lynchings; the Tuskegee syphilis experiments; and the massacres at Tulsa and Rosewood, we have persevered.
Bass Reeves, Dovey Johnson Roundtree, Sarah Boone, Oscar Micheaux, Shirley Chisholm, Dorie Miller, Susie King Taylor, Georgia Gilmore, Octavius Catto, Jack Johnson, Garrett Morgan, James W.C. Pennington. These are just a handful of extraordinary and oft forgotten b***k A******ns who helped to mold and preserve the American Dream. These individuals and their accomplishments should not be regarded as “black history,” but rather as American history.
I am an American of privilege, which makes me an African American of great privilege. I am an attorney. I live in a safe neighborhood. My children do not worry about their next meal. I can afford child care. My family can afford personal vehicles. If my children become sick, I can take them to the doctor. If I am this privileged, and these have been my experiences, primarily in my own hometown, often with friends and acquaintances who are fond of me, and of whom I remain fond even now; just imagine what daily life must be like for a black person in this country who does not enjoy my level of privilege.
The protests in the streets of America are certainly about the k*****g of G****e F***d, but not just about G****e F***d. They are about countless black men, women, and children for whom the punishment did not fit the crime – if indeed there was a crime at all. We live in a country where, in order to recall what life under Jim Crow felt like, many w***e A******ns must pick up a history book. Meanwhile, many b***k A******ns need only pick up a telephone, and call their parents.
When we as people of color share our experiences, we are not doing so to score political points, “play the race card,” get sympathy, assign blame, or to make you feel bad about yourself. We are asking you for help. We are asking you to join us in the ongoing fight against r****m in our country, because we cannot do it alone. It will take Americans of every stripe to eradicate r****m from American society.
I am now asking for your help. Please seek t***h and knowledge. When sharing information, please check your sources and make sure that they are reliable. Try to place what is happening today into a historical context. Read about s******c r****m and anti-r****m. When your friends of color tell you that r****m is real and affecting their lives, believe them and then, if you can, do something about it.
My children are likely to attend the same middle school and high school that I did. It is my great hope for them that those around them have the knowledge, compassion, and guidance to know better than to daily deluge them with words that make them doubt their intelligence, their beauty, and their worth as human beings based only on the color of their skin; and instead judge them by the content of their character.
It is for all of the above reasons, and so many more that we proudly say #blacklivesmatter
I rather expect to be vilified, verbally abused, c... (
show quote)
Too much information! I feel sorry for anyone who has to define themselves by the color of their skin. With that, I do pity you!
Abbie Hoffman wrote:
I rather expect to be vilified, verbally abused, called names. I am certain that Rose42 and TexaCan will eviscerate me, etc, but I posted anyway.
Bring it on...
I grew up in Reno, Nevada.
In third grade a boy confidently tells me and my brother that his mom said black people cannot swim because our muscles are different than those of white people.
In middle school, standing among a group of white classmates talking video games, I am the only black child. One classmate expresses surprise that my family has enough money to afford a PlayStation.
In high school, I am the only black kid among a group of friends. When sharing drinks in my presence they frequently tell each other not to “n****rlip” the bottles. Even though I object, they continue to use the phrase.
In high school, my brother is at a teen house party that gets broken up by police, a common occurrence. The kids at the party scatter, also a common occurrence. My brother, the only black child in attendance, is the only one on whom a police officer draws a firearm to get him to stop running away. He is 14.
In high school, a group of my white friends frequently sneak on to the outdoor basketball courts at an athletic club to play. They can usually play for hours, including with club members. On the two occasions I attend, club members complain and we are ejected from the club within minutes.
In high school, I am excited about black history month and am talking to a friend about black inventors. My friend snorts and says, “Black people have never invented anything.”
In high school, as graduation approaches, many of my white friends tell me that I am lucky. They tell me that due to my skin color, I will get into any college I want.
I remain in Reno for college.
During college an employer keeps food for employees in the break room refrigerator. One morning I decided to have microwaveable chicken wings for breakfast. The employer tells me I might not want to eat that for breakfast with my skin color. The employer immediately apologizes.
In college I am standing in a group of white friends on campus. A white acquaintance of one of my friends approaches to chat. The acquaintance tells a story about something that frustrated him and then reels off a series of expletives ending with the word, “n****r.” None of my friends corrects him.
In college I visit an antique shop in Auburn, California with my girlfriend, who is white, and her parents. The shopkeeper follows me around the store whistling loudly as I browse, until we leave.
I move to San Diego, California for law school.
In law school, during a discussion in my criminal law class, a white classmate suggests that police officers should take a suspect’s race into account when determining whether there is reasonable suspicion to believe that an individual is committing a crime.
The weekend of my law school graduation my family comes to San Diego. I go to the mall with my brother and sister and visit the Burberry store. Two different employees follow us around the store – never speaking to us – until we leave.
After law school, I return to Reno.
A co-worker jokingly calls me “King David” upon seeing me each day. I joke that I’m not treated like a king. The co-worker then begins to call me “S***e David” each time we encounter one another. When I ask the co-worker to stop because it is hurtful, I am told by my co-worker that this is a problem that I have in my head.
I attend a pub crawl with friends. We end up at a party in a hotel suite in downtown Reno. I am greeted by a white man at the door who loudly expresses surprise that I am an “educated negro” upon hearing me speak.
I walk a friend who is a white woman from a restaurant to her car because it is night time. As we stand by the car chatting, a police officer pulls up and shines a light on us, asking if everything is okay. Once my friend confirms, the officer drives away. I tell her that he was worried about her, she teasingly says, “Oh yeah, because you’re so scary.” Later, I tell another white friend I felt racially profiled by the officer. My friend shrugs and says, “I don’t know man, that’s a stretch.”
A white friend tells me that white v**ers have become upset at black people because of black people’s liberal use of food welfare benefits. When I point out that more w****s than b****s receive welfare benefits in the U.S., my friend expresses confusion at how that could be the case.
I leave a downtown restaurant with my wife. As we walk along the river a homeless man appears to be having a schizophrenic episode, engaging auditory hallucinations. Upon seeing me, he becomes lucid and begins to shout the word “n****r” over and over.
I discover that one of my clients does not want me to represent him as his Public Defender because he does not want a black attorney. I am given the option to withdraw as counsel. I do not.
Last year, I am at a barbecue chatting with a white acquaintance who asks if I have ever experienced r****m. When I say it is a nearly daily occurrence, the acquaintance retorts, without missing a beat, “Bulls**t.”
Two months ago. I am driving to lunch with the black teen I mentor. At a red light a white woman crosses the street. As I begin to drive, she turns around and screams at us, “F**k you f****ing n****r!”
Before any of these instances, my family of origin moved to Reno, Nevada from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania in 1984.
My mother recently told me that when I was a very young child my parents hired a company to remove a tree from our front lawn. Two white men showed up and removed the tree. One of them carved a swastika into the stump. My father had to confront him and ask him to remove it.
Before that, my now 93 -year-old grandfather served in the Army National Guard and was stationed in the U.S. south. Despite being active duty, he was not allowed to eat in restaurants due to “w****s only” signage. He had to wait for fellow Guardsmen to bring him food outside.
Not long before that, my family were s***es, owned by Americans of English and Irish descent, which is why – despite being primarily of African descent – I have an English last name.
This is my experience of being black in America. To be black in America is to be told over and over that you are not good enough, that you do not belong, that you are genetically unfit, that your physical presence is undesirable, and that everything about you – right down to your lips – is wrong. It is absolutely true that everyone experiences hardships in life, but the psychological weight of being told both explicitly and implicitly, on a daily basis, that your very existence is objectionable can at times feel unbearable.
And despite this experience, I still love my country, my state, and my city. Despite my experience, I would not choose to be anything other than a b***k A******n. The history of black people in this country is one of struggle and triumph. Our people were brought to this country as s***es and against all odds, in the face of seemingly insurmountable obstacles, have made our mark. Through s***ery, poll taxes, literacy tests, redlining, and black codes we have persevered. Through the unspeakable horrors of mass lynchings; the Tuskegee syphilis experiments; and the massacres at Tulsa and Rosewood, we have persevered.
Bass Reeves, Dovey Johnson Roundtree, Sarah Boone, Oscar Micheaux, Shirley Chisholm, Dorie Miller, Susie King Taylor, Georgia Gilmore, Octavius Catto, Jack Johnson, Garrett Morgan, James W.C. Pennington. These are just a handful of extraordinary and oft forgotten b***k A******ns who helped to mold and preserve the American Dream. These individuals and their accomplishments should not be regarded as “black history,” but rather as American history.
I am an American of privilege, which makes me an African American of great privilege. I am an attorney. I live in a safe neighborhood. My children do not worry about their next meal. I can afford child care. My family can afford personal vehicles. If my children become sick, I can take them to the doctor. If I am this privileged, and these have been my experiences, primarily in my own hometown, often with friends and acquaintances who are fond of me, and of whom I remain fond even now; just imagine what daily life must be like for a black person in this country who does not enjoy my level of privilege.
The protests in the streets of America are certainly about the k*****g of G****e F***d, but not just about G****e F***d. They are about countless black men, women, and children for whom the punishment did not fit the crime – if indeed there was a crime at all. We live in a country where, in order to recall what life under Jim Crow felt like, many w***e A******ns must pick up a history book. Meanwhile, many b***k A******ns need only pick up a telephone, and call their parents.
When we as people of color share our experiences, we are not doing so to score political points, “play the race card,” get sympathy, assign blame, or to make you feel bad about yourself. We are asking you for help. We are asking you to join us in the ongoing fight against r****m in our country, because we cannot do it alone. It will take Americans of every stripe to eradicate r****m from American society.
I am now asking for your help. Please seek t***h and knowledge. When sharing information, please check your sources and make sure that they are reliable. Try to place what is happening today into a historical context. Read about s******c r****m and anti-r****m. When your friends of color tell you that r****m is real and affecting their lives, believe them and then, if you can, do something about it.
My children are likely to attend the same middle school and high school that I did. It is my great hope for them that those around them have the knowledge, compassion, and guidance to know better than to daily deluge them with words that make them doubt their intelligence, their beauty, and their worth as human beings based only on the color of their skin; and instead judge them by the content of their character.
It is for all of the above reasons, and so many more that we proudly say #blacklivesmatter
I rather expect to be vilified, verbally abused, c... (
show quote)
Sounds made up, are you and woody colluding on the massive amounts of bulls**t one can pack in a single post?
None of that can be believed......neither can you.
Abbie Hoffman wrote:
I rather expect to be vilified, verbally abused, called names. I am certain that Rose42 and TexaCan will eviscerate me, etc, but I posted anyway.
Bring it on...
I grew up in Reno, Nevada.
In third grade a boy confidently tells me and my brother that his mom said black people cannot swim because our muscles are different than those of white people.
In middle school, standing among a group of white classmates talking video games, I am the only black child. One classmate expresses surprise that my family has enough money to afford a PlayStation.
In high school, I am the only black kid among a group of friends. When sharing drinks in my presence they frequently tell each other not to “n****rlip” the bottles. Even though I object, they continue to use the phrase.
In high school, my brother is at a teen house party that gets broken up by police, a common occurrence. The kids at the party scatter, also a common occurrence. My brother, the only black child in attendance, is the only one on whom a police officer draws a firearm to get him to stop running away. He is 14.
In high school, a group of my white friends frequently sneak on to the outdoor basketball courts at an athletic club to play. They can usually play for hours, including with club members. On the two occasions I attend, club members complain and we are ejected from the club within minutes.
In high school, I am excited about black history month and am talking to a friend about black inventors. My friend snorts and says, “Black people have never invented anything.”
In high school, as graduation approaches, many of my white friends tell me that I am lucky. They tell me that due to my skin color, I will get into any college I want.
I remain in Reno for college.
During college an employer keeps food for employees in the break room refrigerator. One morning I decided to have microwaveable chicken wings for breakfast. The employer tells me I might not want to eat that for breakfast with my skin color. The employer immediately apologizes.
In college I am standing in a group of white friends on campus. A white acquaintance of one of my friends approaches to chat. The acquaintance tells a story about something that frustrated him and then reels off a series of expletives ending with the word, “n****r.” None of my friends corrects him.
In college I visit an antique shop in Auburn, California with my girlfriend, who is white, and her parents. The shopkeeper follows me around the store whistling loudly as I browse, until we leave.
I move to San Diego, California for law school.
In law school, during a discussion in my criminal law class, a white classmate suggests that police officers should take a suspect’s race into account when determining whether there is reasonable suspicion to believe that an individual is committing a crime.
The weekend of my law school graduation my family comes to San Diego. I go to the mall with my brother and sister and visit the Burberry store. Two different employees follow us around the store – never speaking to us – until we leave.
After law school, I return to Reno.
A co-worker jokingly calls me “King David” upon seeing me each day. I joke that I’m not treated like a king. The co-worker then begins to call me “S***e David” each time we encounter one another. When I ask the co-worker to stop because it is hurtful, I am told by my co-worker that this is a problem that I have in my head.
I attend a pub crawl with friends. We end up at a party in a hotel suite in downtown Reno. I am greeted by a white man at the door who loudly expresses surprise that I am an “educated negro” upon hearing me speak.
I walk a friend who is a white woman from a restaurant to her car because it is night time. As we stand by the car chatting, a police officer pulls up and shines a light on us, asking if everything is okay. Once my friend confirms, the officer drives away. I tell her that he was worried about her, she teasingly says, “Oh yeah, because you’re so scary.” Later, I tell another white friend I felt racially profiled by the officer. My friend shrugs and says, “I don’t know man, that’s a stretch.”
A white friend tells me that white v**ers have become upset at black people because of black people’s liberal use of food welfare benefits. When I point out that more w****s than b****s receive welfare benefits in the U.S., my friend expresses confusion at how that could be the case.
I leave a downtown restaurant with my wife. As we walk along the river a homeless man appears to be having a schizo
over that one of my clients does not want me to represent him as his Public Defender because he does not want a black attorney. I am given the option to withdraw as counsel. I do not.
Last year, I am at a barbecue chatting with a white acquaintance who asks if I have ever experienced r****m. When I say it is a nearly daily occurrence, the acquaintance retorts, without missing a beat, “Bulls**t.”
Two months ago. I am driving to lunch with the black teen I mentor. At a red light a white woman crosses the street. As I begin to drive, she turns around and screams at us, “F**k you f****ing n****r!”
Before any of these instances, my family of origin moved to Reno, Nevada from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania in 1984.
My mother recently told me that when I was a very young child my parents hired a company to remove a tree from our front lawn. Two white men showed up and removed the tree. One of them carved a swastika into the stump. My father had to confront him and ask him to remove it.
Before that, my now 93 -year-old grandfather served in the Army National Guard and was stationed in the U.S. south. Despite being active duty, he was not allowed to eat in restaurants due to “w****s only” signage. He had to wait for fellow Guardsmen to bring him food outside.
Not long before that, my family were s***es, owned by Americans of English and Irish descent, which is why – despite being primarily of African descent – I have an English last name.
This is my experience of being black in America. To be black in America is to be told over and over that you are not good enough, that you do not belong, that you are genetically unfit, that your physical presence is undesirable, and that everything about you – right down to your lips – is wrong. It is absolutely true that everyone experiences hardships in life, but the psychological weight of being told both explicitly and implicitly, on a daily basis, that your very existence is objectionable can at times feel unbearable.
And despite this experience, I still love my country, my state, and my city. Despite my experience, I would not choose to be anything other than a b***k A******n. The history of black people in this country is one of struggle and triumph. Our people were brought to this country as s***es and against all odds, in the face of seemingly insurmountable obstacles, have made our mark. Through s***ery, poll taxes, literacy tests, redlining, and black codes we have persevered. Through the unspeakable horrors of mass lynchings; the Tuskegee syphilis experiments; and the massacres at Tulsa and Rosewood, we have persevered.
Bass Reeves, Dovey Johnson Roundtree, Sarah Boone, Oscar Micheaux, Shirley Chisholm, Dorie Miller, Susie King Taylor, Georgia Gilmore, Octavius Catto, Jack Johnson, Garrett Morgan, James W.C. Pennington. These are just a handful of extraordinary and oft forgotten b***k A******ns who helped to mold and preserve the American Dream. These individuals and their accomplishments should not be regarded as “black history,” but rather as American history.
I am an American of privilege, which makes me an African American of great privilege. I am an attorney. I live in a safe neighborhood. My children do not worry about their next meal. I can afford child care. My family can afford personal vehicles. If my children become sick, I can take them to the doctor. If I am this privileged, and these have been my experiences, primarily in my own hometown, often with friends and acquaintances who are fond of me, and of whom I remain fond even now; just imagine what daily life must be like for a black person in this country who does not enjoy my level of privilege.
The protests in the streets of America are certainly about the k*****g of G****e F***d, but not just about G****e F***d. They are about countless black men, women, and children for whom the punishment did not fit the crime – if indeed there was a crime at all. We live in a country where, in order to recall what life under Jim Crow felt like, many w***e A******ns must pick up a history book. Meanwhile, many b***k A******ns need only pick up a telephone, and call their parents.
When we as people of color share our experiences, we are not doing so to score political points, “play the race card,” get sympathy, assign blame, or to make you feel bad about yourself. We are asking you for help. We are asking you to join us in the ongoing fight against r****m in our country, because we cannot do it alone. It will take Americans of every stripe to eradicate r****m from American society.
I am now asking for your help. Please seek t***h and knowledge. When sharing information, please check your sources and make sure that they are reliable. Try to place what is happening today into a historical context. Read about s******c r****m and anti-r****m. When your friends of color tell you that r****m is real and affecting their lives, believe them and then, if you can, do something about it.
My children are likely to attend the same middle school and high school that I did. It is my great hope for them that those around them have the knowledge, compassion, and guidance to know better than to daily deluge them with words that make them doubt their intelligence, their beauty, and their worth as human beings based only on the color of their skin; and instead judge them by the content of their character.
It is for all of the above reasons, and so many more that we proudly say #blacklivesmatter
I rather expect to be vilified, verbally abused, c... (
show quote)
I'm glad you found a movement that you can embrace. But pay attention to the leaders and ask yourself if their motives are the same as yours. They may promote Black L***s M****r to the world but they don't seem to care about the black lives that are snuffed out by other b****s. You must know the percentage of black on black murders better then me ,so why should I feel black l***s m****r when b****s certainly don't seem to give a damn about their own unless it's politically motivated? Don't get me wrong, I believe what your saying, but I also believe that All l***s m****r. Singling out any one race just further divides our country at a time when we should be trying to come together and unifying our nation . We need harmony not chaos if we hope to move forward as a country. Like Lincoln said A HOUSE DIVIDED CANNOT STAND.
Oh, and welcome to OPP..
Abbie Hoffman wrote:
I rather expect to be vilified, verbally abused, called names. I am certain that Rose42 and TexaCan will eviscerate me, etc, but I posted anyway.
Bring it on...
I grew up in Reno, Nevada.
In third grade a boy confidently tells me and my brother that his mom said black people cannot swim because our muscles are different than those of white people.
In middle school, standing among a group of white classmates talking video games, I am the only black child. One classmate expresses surprise that my family has enough money to afford a PlayStation.
In high school, I am the only black kid among a group of friends. When sharing drinks in my presence they frequently tell each other not to “n****rlip” the bottles. Even though I object, they continue to use the phrase.
In high school, my brother is at a teen house party that gets broken up by police, a common occurrence. The kids at the party scatter, also a common occurrence. My brother, the only black child in attendance, is the only one on whom a police officer draws a firearm to get him to stop running away. He is 14.
In high school, a group of my white friends frequently sneak on to the outdoor basketball courts at an athletic club to play. They can usually play for hours, including with club members. On the two occasions I attend, club members complain and we are ejected from the club within minutes.
In high school, I am excited about black history month and am talking to a friend about black inventors. My friend snorts and says, “Black people have never invented anything.”
In high school, as graduation approaches, many of my white friends tell me that I am lucky. They tell me that due to my skin color, I will get into any college I want.
I remain in Reno for college.
During college an employer keeps food for employees in the break room refrigerator. One morning I decided to have microwaveable chicken wings for breakfast. The employer tells me I might not want to eat that for breakfast with my skin color. The employer immediately apologizes.
In college I am standing in a group of white friends on campus. A white acquaintance of one of my friends approaches to chat. The acquaintance tells a story about something that frustrated him and then reels off a series of expletives ending with the word, “n****r.” None of my friends corrects him.
In college I visit an antique shop in Auburn, California with my girlfriend, who is white, and her parents. The shopkeeper follows me around the store whistling loudly as I browse, until we leave.
I move to San Diego, California for law school.
In law school, during a discussion in my criminal law class, a white classmate suggests that police officers should take a suspect’s race into account when determining whether there is reasonable suspicion to believe that an individual is committing a crime.
The weekend of my law school graduation my family comes to San Diego. I go to the mall with my brother and sister and visit the Burberry store. Two different employees follow us around the store – never speaking to us – until we leave.
After law school, I return to Reno.
A co-worker jokingly calls me “King David” upon seeing me each day. I joke that I’m not treated like a king. The co-worker then begins to call me “S***e David” each time we encounter one another. When I ask the co-worker to stop because it is hurtful, I am told by my co-worker that this is a problem that I have in my head.
I attend a pub crawl with friends. We end up at a party in a hotel suite in downtown Reno. I am greeted by a white man at the door who loudly expresses surprise that I am an “educated negro” upon hearing me speak.
I walk a friend who is a white woman from a restaurant to her car because it is night time. As we stand by the car chatting, a police officer pulls up and shines a light on us, asking if everything is okay. Once my friend confirms, the officer drives away. I tell her that he was worried about her, she teasingly says, “Oh yeah, because you’re so scary.” Later, I tell another white friend I felt racially profiled by the officer. My friend shrugs and says, “I don’t know man, that’s a stretch.”
A white friend tells me that white v**ers have become upset at black people because of black people’s liberal use of food welfare benefits. When I point out that more w****s than b****s receive welfare benefits in the U.S., my friend expresses confusion at how that could be the case.
I leave a downtown restaurant with my wife. As we walk along the river a homeless man appears to be having a schizophrenic episode, engaging auditory hallucinations. Upon seeing me, he becomes lucid and begins to shout the word “n****r” over and over.
I discover that one of my clients does not want me to represent him as his Public Defender because he does not want a black attorney. I am given the option to withdraw as counsel. I do not.
Last year, I am at a barbecue chatting with a white acquaintance who asks if I have ever experienced r****m. When I say it is a nearly daily occurrence, the acquaintance retorts, without missing a beat, “Bulls**t.”
Two months ago. I am driving to lunch with the black teen I mentor. At a red light a white woman crosses the street. As I begin to drive, she turns around and screams at us, “F**k you f****ing n****r!”
Before any of these instances, my family of origin moved to Reno, Nevada from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania in 1984.
My mother recently told me that when I was a very young child my parents hired a company to remove a tree from our front lawn. Two white men showed up and removed the tree. One of them carved a swastika into the stump. My father had to confront him and ask him to remove it.
Before that, my now 93 -year-old grandfather served in the Army National Guard and was stationed in the U.S. south. Despite being active duty, he was not allowed to eat in restaurants due to “w****s only” signage. He had to wait for fellow Guardsmen to bring him food outside.
Not long before that, my family were s***es, owned by Americans of English and Irish descent, which is why – despite being primarily of African descent – I have an English last name.
This is my experience of being black in America. To be black in America is to be told over and over that you are not good enough, that you do not belong, that you are genetically unfit, that your physical presence is undesirable, and that everything about you – right down to your lips – is wrong. It is absolutely true that everyone experiences hardships in life, but the psychological weight of being told both explicitly and implicitly, on a daily basis, that your very existence is objectionable can at times feel unbearable.
And despite this experience, I still love my country, my state, and my city. Despite my experience, I would not choose to be anything other than a b***k A******n. The history of black people in this country is one of struggle and triumph. Our people were brought to this country as s***es and against all odds, in the face of seemingly insurmountable obstacles, have made our mark. Through s***ery, poll taxes, literacy tests, redlining, and black codes we have persevered. Through the unspeakable horrors of mass lynchings; the Tuskegee syphilis experiments; and the massacres at Tulsa and Rosewood, we have persevered.
Bass Reeves, Dovey Johnson Roundtree, Sarah Boone, Oscar Micheaux, Shirley Chisholm, Dorie Miller, Susie King Taylor, Georgia Gilmore, Octavius Catto, Jack Johnson, Garrett Morgan, James W.C. Pennington. These are just a handful of extraordinary and oft forgotten b***k A******ns who helped to mold and preserve the American Dream. These individuals and their accomplishments should not be regarded as “black history,” but rather as American history.
I am an American of privilege, which makes me an African American of great privilege. I am an attorney. I live in a safe neighborhood. My children do not worry about their next meal. I can afford child care. My family can afford personal vehicles. If my children become sick, I can take them to the doctor. If I am this privileged, and these have been my experiences, primarily in my own hometown, often with friends and acquaintances who are fond of me, and of whom I remain fond even now; just imagine what daily life must be like for a black person in this country who does not enjoy my level of privilege.
The protests in the streets of America are certainly about the k*****g of G****e F***d, but not just about G****e F***d. They are about countless black men, women, and children for whom the punishment did not fit the crime – if indeed there was a crime at all. We live in a country where, in order to recall what life under Jim Crow felt like, many w***e A******ns must pick up a history book. Meanwhile, many b***k A******ns need only pick up a telephone, and call their parents.
When we as people of color share our experiences, we are not doing so to score political points, “play the race card,” get sympathy, assign blame, or to make you feel bad about yourself. We are asking you for help. We are asking you to join us in the ongoing fight against r****m in our country, because we cannot do it alone. It will take Americans of every stripe to eradicate r****m from American society.
I am now asking for your help. Please seek t***h and knowledge. When sharing information, please check your sources and make sure that they are reliable. Try to place what is happening today into a historical context. Read about s******c r****m and anti-r****m. When your friends of color tell you that r****m is real and affecting their lives, believe them and then, if you can, do something about it.
My children are likely to attend the same middle school and high school that I did. It is my great hope for them that those around them have the knowledge, compassion, and guidance to know better than to daily deluge them with words that make them doubt their intelligence, their beauty, and their worth as human beings based only on the color of their skin; and instead judge them by the content of their character.
It is for all of the above reasons, and so many more that we proudly say #blacklivesmatter
I rather expect to be vilified, verbally abused, c... (
show quote)
If you want to publish your life history on this forum, that's your business. But, if you are serious about combating r****m, you can start by looking in a mirror.
Yeah, black l***s m****r, all blood is red, but America's black community has its share of r****ts and it isn't winning any points when a violent organization emerges under the banner of Black L***s M****r.
Maybe you should start listening to a smart young black woman who sees clearly the problems b***k A******ns are facing - and bringing upon themselves.
Candace Owens UNMASKS Black L***s M****rCandace Owens: The real goal of the 'Black L***s M****r' movement is the destruction of western society
Abbie Hoffman wrote:
I rather expect to be vilified, verbally abused, called names. I am certain that Rose42 and TexaCan will eviscerate me, etc, but I posted anyway.
Bring it on...
I grew up in Reno, Nevada.
In third grade a boy confidently tells me and my brother that his mom said black people cannot swim because our muscles are different than those of white people.
In middle school, standing among a group of white classmates talking video games, I am the only black child. One classmate expresses surprise that my family has enough money to afford a PlayStation.
In high school, I am the only black kid among a group of friends. When sharing drinks in my presence they frequently tell each other not to “n****rlip” the bottles. Even though I object, they continue to use the phrase.
In high school, my brother is at a teen house party that gets broken up by police, a common occurrence. The kids at the party scatter, also a common occurrence. My brother, the only black child in attendance, is the only one on whom a police officer draws a firearm to get him to stop running away. He is 14.
In high school, a group of my white friends frequently sneak on to the outdoor basketball courts at an athletic club to play. They can usually play for hours, including with club members. On the two occasions I attend, club members complain and we are ejected from the club within minutes.
In high school, I am excited about black history month and am talking to a friend about black inventors. My friend snorts and says, “Black people have never invented anything.”
In high school, as graduation approaches, many of my white friends tell me that I am lucky. They tell me that due to my skin color, I will get into any college I want.
I remain in Reno for college.
During college an employer keeps food for employees in the break room refrigerator. One morning I decided to have microwaveable chicken wings for breakfast. The employer tells me I might not want to eat that for breakfast with my skin color. The employer immediately apologizes.
In college I am standing in a group of white friends on campus. A white acquaintance of one of my friends approaches to chat. The acquaintance tells a story about something that frustrated him and then reels off a series of expletives ending with the word, “n****r.” None of my friends corrects him.
In college I visit an antique shop in Auburn, California with my girlfriend, who is white, and her parents. The shopkeeper follows me around the store whistling loudly as I browse, until we leave.
I move to San Diego, California for law school.
In law school, during a discussion in my criminal law class, a white classmate suggests that police officers should take a suspect’s race into account when determining whether there is reasonable suspicion to believe that an individual is committing a crime.
The weekend of my law school graduation my family comes to San Diego. I go to the mall with my brother and sister and visit the Burberry store. Two different employees follow us around the store – never speaking to us – until we leave.
After law school, I return to Reno.
A co-worker jokingly calls me “King David” upon seeing me each day. I joke that I’m not treated like a king. The co-worker then begins to call me “S***e David” each time we encounter one another. When I ask the co-worker to stop because it is hurtful, I am told by my co-worker that this is a problem that I have in my head.
I attend a pub crawl with friends. We end up at a party in a hotel suite in downtown Reno. I am greeted by a white man at the door who loudly expresses surprise that I am an “educated negro” upon hearing me speak.
I walk a friend who is a white woman from a restaurant to her car because it is night time. As we stand by the car chatting, a police officer pulls up and shines a light on us, asking if everything is okay. Once my friend confirms, the officer drives away. I tell her that he was worried about her, she teasingly says, “Oh yeah, because you’re so scary.” Later, I tell another white friend I felt racially profiled by the officer. My friend shrugs and says, “I don’t know man, that’s a stretch.”
A white friend tells me that white v**ers have become upset at black people because of black people’s liberal use of food welfare benefits. When I point out that more w****s than b****s receive welfare benefits in the U.S., my friend expresses confusion at how that could be the case.
I leave a downtown restaurant with my wife. As we walk along the river a homeless man appears to be having a schizophrenic episode, engaging auditory hallucinations. Upon seeing me, he becomes lucid and begins to shout the word “n****r” over and over.
I discover that one of my clients does not want me to represent him as his Public Defender because he does not want a black attorney. I am given the option to withdraw as counsel. I do not.
Last year, I am at a barbecue chatting with a white acquaintance who asks if I have ever experienced r****m. When I say it is a nearly daily occurrence, the acquaintance retorts, without missing a beat, “Bulls**t.”
Two months ago. I am driving to lunch with the black teen I mentor. At a red light a white woman crosses the street. As I begin to drive, she turns around and screams at us, “F**k you f****ing n****r!”
Before any of these instances, my family of origin moved to Reno, Nevada from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania in 1984.
My mother recently told me that when I was a very young child my parents hired a company to remove a tree from our front lawn. Two white men showed up and removed the tree. One of them carved a swastika into the stump. My father had to confront him and ask him to remove it.
Before that, my now 93 -year-old grandfather served in the Army National Guard and was stationed in the U.S. south. Despite being active duty, he was not allowed to eat in restaurants due to “w****s only” signage. He had to wait for fellow Guardsmen to bring him food outside.
Not long before that, my family were s***es, owned by Americans of English and Irish descent, which is why – despite being primarily of African descent – I have an English last name.
This is my experience of being black in America. To be black in America is to be told over and over that you are not good enough, that you do not belong, that you are genetically unfit, that your physical presence is undesirable, and that everything about you – right down to your lips – is wrong. It is absolutely true that everyone experiences hardships in life, but the psychological weight of being told both explicitly and implicitly, on a daily basis, that your very existence is objectionable can at times feel unbearable.
And despite this experience, I still love my country, my state, and my city. Despite my experience, I would not choose to be anything other than a b***k A******n. The history of black people in this country is one of struggle and triumph. Our people were brought to this country as s***es and against all odds, in the face of seemingly insurmountable obstacles, have made our mark. Through s***ery, poll taxes, literacy tests, redlining, and black codes we have persevered. Through the unspeakable horrors of mass lynchings; the Tuskegee syphilis experiments; and the massacres at Tulsa and Rosewood, we have persevered.
Bass Reeves, Dovey Johnson Roundtree, Sarah Boone, Oscar Micheaux, Shirley Chisholm, Dorie Miller, Susie King Taylor, Georgia Gilmore, Octavius Catto, Jack Johnson, Garrett Morgan, James W.C. Pennington. These are just a handful of extraordinary and oft forgotten b***k A******ns who helped to mold and preserve the American Dream. These individuals and their accomplishments should not be regarded as “black history,” but rather as American history.
I am an American of privilege, which makes me an African American of great privilege. I am an attorney. I live in a safe neighborhood. My children do not worry about their next meal. I can afford child care. My family can afford personal vehicles. If my children become sick, I can take them to the doctor. If I am this privileged, and these have been my experiences, primarily in my own hometown, often with friends and acquaintances who are fond of me, and of whom I remain fond even now; just imagine what daily life must be like for a black person in this country who does not enjoy my level of privilege.
The protests in the streets of America are certainly about the k*****g of G****e F***d, but not just about G****e F***d. They are about countless black men, women, and children for whom the punishment did not fit the crime – if indeed there was a crime at all. We live in a country where, in order to recall what life under Jim Crow felt like, many w***e A******ns must pick up a history book. Meanwhile, many b***k A******ns need only pick up a telephone, and call their parents.
When we as people of color share our experiences, we are not doing so to score political points, “play the race card,” get sympathy, assign blame, or to make you feel bad about yourself. We are asking you for help. We are asking you to join us in the ongoing fight against r****m in our country, because we cannot do it alone. It will take Americans of every stripe to eradicate r****m from American society.
I am now asking for your help. Please seek t***h and knowledge. When sharing information, please check your sources and make sure that they are reliable. Try to place what is happening today into a historical context. Read about s******c r****m and anti-r****m. When your friends of color tell you that r****m is real and affecting their lives, believe them and then, if you can, do something about it.
My children are likely to attend the same middle school and high school that I did. It is my great hope for them that those around them have the knowledge, compassion, and guidance to know better than to daily deluge them with words that make them doubt their intelligence, their beauty, and their worth as human beings based only on the color of their skin; and instead judge them by the content of their character.
It is for all of the above reasons, and so many more that we proudly say #blacklivesmatter
I rather expect to be vilified, verbally abused, c... (
show quote)
Do you know what
plagiarism is, Abigail Hoffman? Because that is what this is. This is a piece written by David Gamble, Jr., an attorney and Reno native, in the Reno Gazette Journal. It's titled
"Growing Up Black in Reno".https://www.rgj.com/story/opinion/voices/2020/06/14/growing-up-black-reno-david-gamble/3187611001/Here is HIS picture, "Abigail".....
Radiance3 wrote:
===============
Wow, a litany of massive information proclaiming who you are. I am not intimidated by the color of the people's skin, black, brown, and white. I only base my replies to the contents of their message. By that alone, I could gauge that kind of person. Blackness of people don't intimidate me. Only the B*M's, cause they don't resort to civility, but violence thru their Marxist ideology. That's our country's biggest problems now.
Most black leaders refuse to see their problems. Thus never corrected but magnified.
=============== br i Wow, a litany of massive inf... (
show quote)
Sad but true. Color makes no difference to me. A person in trouble, receiving or giving, has to be helped. Sometimes it is nothing more than comfort, to tell someone by the grace of God it will be alright and sometimes jail is the solution. I have had a few who try to play the race card and I ignore them. I work for the people and being black, red, yellow or white will not get you better treatment. However, if you are cooperative and polite, I will treat you well.
I don't think she should have submitted this thread, it was just too much information.
Abbie Hoffman wrote:
I rather expect to be vilified, verbally abused, called names. I am certain that Rose42 and TexaCan will eviscerate me, etc, but I posted anyway.
Bring it on...
I grew up in Reno, Nevada.
In third grade a boy confidently tells me and my brother that his mom said black people cannot swim because our muscles are different than those of white people.
In middle school, standing among a group of white classmates talking video games, I am the only black child. One classmate expresses surprise that my family has enough money to afford a PlayStation.
In high school, I am the only black kid among a group of friends. When sharing drinks in my presence they frequently tell each other not to “n****rlip” the bottles. Even though I object, they continue to use the phrase.
In high school, my brother is at a teen house party that gets broken up by police, a common occurrence. The kids at the party scatter, also a common occurrence. My brother, the only black child in attendance, is the only one on whom a police officer draws a firearm to get him to stop running away. He is 14.
In high school, a group of my white friends frequently sneak on to the outdoor basketball courts at an athletic club to play. They can usually play for hours, including with club members. On the two occasions I attend, club members complain and we are ejected from the club within minutes.
In high school, I am excited about black history month and am talking to a friend about black inventors. My friend snorts and says, “Black people have never invented anything.”
In high school, as graduation approaches, many of my white friends tell me that I am lucky. They tell me that due to my skin color, I will get into any college I want.
I remain in Reno for college.
During college an employer keeps food for employees in the break room refrigerator. One morning I decided to have microwaveable chicken wings for breakfast. The employer tells me I might not want to eat that for breakfast with my skin color. The employer immediately apologizes.
In college I am standing in a group of white friends on campus. A white acquaintance of one of my friends approaches to chat. The acquaintance tells a story about something that frustrated him and then reels off a series of expletives ending with the word, “n****r.” None of my friends corrects him.
In college I visit an antique shop in Auburn, California with my girlfriend, who is white, and her parents. The shopkeeper follows me around the store whistling loudly as I browse, until we leave.
I move to San Diego, California for law school.
In law school, during a discussion in my criminal law class, a white classmate suggests that police officers should take a suspect’s race into account when determining whether there is reasonable suspicion to believe that an individual is committing a crime.
The weekend of my law school graduation my family comes to San Diego. I go to the mall with my brother and sister and visit the Burberry store. Two different employees follow us around the store – never speaking to us – until we leave.
After law school, I return to Reno.
A co-worker jokingly calls me “King David” upon seeing me each day. I joke that I’m not treated like a king. The co-worker then begins to call me “S***e David” each time we encounter one another. When I ask the co-worker to stop because it is hurtful, I am told by my co-worker that this is a problem that I have in my head.
I attend a pub crawl with friends. We end up at a party in a hotel suite in downtown Reno. I am greeted by a white man at the door who loudly expresses surprise that I am an “educated negro” upon hearing me speak.
I walk a friend who is a white woman from a restaurant to her car because it is night time. As we stand by the car chatting, a police officer pulls up and shines a light on us, asking if everything is okay. Once my friend confirms, the officer drives away. I tell her that he was worried about her, she teasingly says, “Oh yeah, because you’re so scary.” Later, I tell another white friend I felt racially profiled by the officer. My friend shrugs and says, “I don’t know man, that’s a stretch.”
A white friend tells me that white v**ers have become upset at black people because of black people’s liberal use of food welfare benefits. When I point out that more w****s than b****s receive welfare benefits in the U.S., my friend expresses confusion at how that could be the case.
I leave a downtown restaurant with my wife. As we walk along the river a homeless man appears to be having a schizophrenic episode, engaging auditory hallucinations. Upon seeing me, he becomes lucid and begins to shout the word “n****r” over and over.
I discover that one of my clients does not want me to represent him as his Public Defender because he does not want a black attorney. I am given the option to withdraw as counsel. I do not.
Last year, I am at a barbecue chatting with a white acquaintance who asks if I have ever experienced r****m. When I say it is a nearly daily occurrence, the acquaintance retorts, without missing a beat, “Bulls**t.”
Two months ago. I am driving to lunch with the black teen I mentor. At a red light a white woman crosses the street. As I begin to drive, she turns around and screams at us, “F**k you f****ing n****r!”
Before any of these instances, my family of origin moved to Reno, Nevada from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania in 1984.
My mother recently told me that when I was a very young child my parents hired a company to remove a tree from our front lawn. Two white men showed up and removed the tree. One of them carved a swastika into the stump. My father had to confront him and ask him to remove it.
Before that, my now 93 -year-old grandfather served in the Army National Guard and was stationed in the U.S. south. Despite being active duty, he was not allowed to eat in restaurants due to “w****s only” signage. He had to wait for fellow Guardsmen to bring him food outside.
Not long before that, my family were s***es, owned by Americans of English and Irish descent, which is why – despite being primarily of African descent – I have an English last name.
This is my experience of being black in America. To be black in America is to be told over and over that you are not good enough, that you do not belong, that you are genetically unfit, that your physical presence is undesirable, and that everything about you – right down to your lips – is wrong. It is absolutely true that everyone experiences hardships in life, but the psychological weight of being told both explicitly and implicitly, on a daily basis, that your very existence is objectionable can at times feel unbearable.
And despite this experience, I still love my country, my state, and my city. Despite my experience, I would not choose to be anything other than a b***k A******n. The history of black people in this country is one of struggle and triumph. Our people were brought to this country as s***es and against all odds, in the face of seemingly insurmountable obstacles, have made our mark. Through s***ery, poll taxes, literacy tests, redlining, and black codes we have persevered. Through the unspeakable horrors of mass lynchings; the Tuskegee syphilis experiments; and the massacres at Tulsa and Rosewood, we have persevered.
Bass Reeves, Dovey Johnson Roundtree, Sarah Boone, Oscar Micheaux, Shirley Chisholm, Dorie Miller, Susie King Taylor, Georgia Gilmore, Octavius Catto, Jack Johnson, Garrett Morgan, James W.C. Pennington. These are just a handful of extraordinary and oft forgotten b***k A******ns who helped to mold and preserve the American Dream. These individuals and their accomplishments should not be regarded as “black history,” but rather as American history.
I am an American of privilege, which makes me an African American of great privilege. I am an attorney. I live in a safe neighborhood. My children do not worry about their next meal. I can afford child care. My family can afford personal vehicles. If my children become sick, I can take them to the doctor. If I am this privileged, and these have been my experiences, primarily in my own hometown, often with friends and acquaintances who are fond of me, and of whom I remain fond even now; just imagine what daily life must be like for a black person in this country who does not enjoy my level of privilege.
The protests in the streets of America are certainly about the k*****g of G****e F***d, but not just about G****e F***d. They are about countless black men, women, and children for whom the punishment did not fit the crime – if indeed there was a crime at all. We live in a country where, in order to recall what life under Jim Crow felt like, many w***e A******ns must pick up a history book. Meanwhile, many b***k A******ns need only pick up a telephone, and call their parents.
When we as people of color share our experiences, we are not doing so to score political points, “play the race card,” get sympathy, assign blame, or to make you feel bad about yourself. We are asking you for help. We are asking you to join us in the ongoing fight against r****m in our country, because we cannot do it alone. It will take Americans of every stripe to eradicate r****m from American society.
I am now asking for your help. Please seek t***h and knowledge. When sharing information, please check your sources and make sure that they are reliable. Try to place what is happening today into a historical context. Read about s******c r****m and anti-r****m. When your friends of color tell you that r****m is real and affecting their lives, believe them and then, if you can, do something about it.
My children are likely to attend the same middle school and high school that I did. It is my great hope for them that those around them have the knowledge, compassion, and guidance to know better than to daily deluge them with words that make them doubt their intelligence, their beauty, and their worth as human beings based only on the color of their skin; and instead judge them by the content of their character.
It is for all of the above reasons, and so many more that we proudly say #blacklivesmatter
I rather expect to be vilified, verbally abused, c... (
show quote)
Yes, you will be vilified. I have to ask if any white person was ever kind to you?
Tiptop789 wrote:
Maybe the name Abbi Hoffman is a pseudonym, you know, a f**e name.
She already said her parents named her Abigail Rose Hoffman in another post (Sep 9, 2020 03:50:44 in the thread "Austic boy shot by police"), and she refers to herself as a girl in that same thread. She COULD be David Gamble, Jr., but I doubt it. The first few sentences imply that this is HER story...
Simple Sam wrote:
Sad but true. Color makes no difference to me. A person in trouble, receiving or giving, has to be helped. Sometimes it is nothing more than comfort, to tell someone by the grace of God it will be alright and sometimes jail is the solution. I have had a few who try to play the race card and I ignore them. I work for the people and being black, red, yellow or white will not get you better treatment. However, if you are cooperative and polite, I will treat you well.
I don't think she should have submitted this thread, it was just too much information.
Sad but true. Color makes no difference to me. A... (
show quote)
It's not her story. She stole it from David Gamble, Jr. See my post above....
This is a prime example of, see one and they all are the same. Tell me how the police have been vilified, the
aged, the heavy drawl folks and those with turbans
on their heads. Most of us have been raised to be warry
of these types, they don't fit in our tribe. Then along comes B*M to confirm it and 911....
Abbie Hoffman wrote:
I rather expect to be vilified, verbally abused, called names. I am certain that Rose42 and TexaCan will eviscerate me, etc, but I posted anyway.
Bring it on...
I grew up in Reno, Nevada.
In third grade a boy confidently tells me and my brother that his mom said black people cannot swim because our muscles are different than those of white people.
In middle school, standing among a group of white classmates talking video games, I am the only black child. One classmate expresses surprise that my family has enough money to afford a PlayStation.
In high school, I am the only black kid among a group of friends. When sharing drinks in my presence they frequently tell each other not to “n****rlip” the bottles. Even though I object, they continue to use the phrase.
In high school, my brother is at a teen house party that gets broken up by police, a common occurrence. The kids at the party scatter, also a common occurrence. My brother, the only black child in attendance, is the only one on whom a police officer draws a firearm to get him to stop running away. He is 14.
In high school, a group of my white friends frequently sneak on to the outdoor basketball courts at an athletic club to play. They can usually play for hours, including with club members. On the two occasions I attend, club members complain and we are ejected from the club within minutes.
In high school, I am excited about black history month and am talking to a friend about black inventors. My friend snorts and says, “Black people have never invented anything.”
In high school, as graduation approaches, many of my white friends tell me that I am lucky. They tell me that due to my skin color, I will get into any college I want.
I remain in Reno for college.
During college an employer keeps food for employees in the break room refrigerator. One morning I decided to have microwaveable chicken wings for breakfast. The employer tells me I might not want to eat that for breakfast with my skin color. The employer immediately apologizes.
In college I am standing in a group of white friends on campus. A white acquaintance of one of my friends approaches to chat. The acquaintance tells a story about something that frustrated him and then reels off a series of expletives ending with the word, “n****r.” None of my friends corrects him.
In college I visit an antique shop in Auburn, California with my girlfriend, who is white, and her parents. The shopkeeper follows me around the store whistling loudly as I browse, until we leave.
I move to San Diego, California for law school.
In law school, during a discussion in my criminal law class, a white classmate suggests that police officers should take a suspect’s race into account when determining whether there is reasonable suspicion to believe that an individual is committing a crime.
The weekend of my law school graduation my family comes to San Diego. I go to the mall with my brother and sister and visit the Burberry store. Two different employees follow us around the store – never speaking to us – until we leave.
After law school, I return to Reno.
A co-worker jokingly calls me “King David” upon seeing me each day. I joke that I’m not treated like a king. The co-worker then begins to call me “S***e David” each time we encounter one another. When I ask the co-worker to stop because it is hurtful, I am told by my co-worker that this is a problem that I have in my head.
I attend a pub crawl with friends. We end up at a party in a hotel suite in downtown Reno. I am greeted by a white man at the door who loudly expresses surprise that I am an “educated negro” upon hearing me speak.
I walk a friend who is a white woman from a restaurant to her car because it is night time. As we stand by the car chatting, a police officer pulls up and shines a light on us, asking if everything is okay. Once my friend confirms, the officer drives away. I tell her that he was worried about her, she teasingly says, “Oh yeah, because you’re so scary.” Later, I tell another white friend I felt racially profiled by the officer. My friend shrugs and says, “I don’t know man, that’s a stretch.”
A white friend tells me that white v**ers have become upset at black people because of black people’s liberal use of food welfare benefits. When I point out that more w****s than b****s receive welfare benefits in the U.S., my friend expresses confusion at how that could be the case.
I leave a downtown restaurant with my wife. As we walk along the river a homeless man appears to be having a schizophrenic episode, engaging auditory hallucinations. Upon seeing me, he becomes lucid and begins to shout the word “n****r” over and over.
I discover that one of my clients does not want me to represent him as his Public Defender because he does not want a black attorney. I am given the option to withdraw as counsel. I do not.
Last year, I am at a barbecue chatting with a white acquaintance who asks if I have ever experienced r****m. When I say it is a nearly daily occurrence, the acquaintance retorts, without missing a beat, “Bulls**t.”
Two months ago. I am driving to lunch with the black teen I mentor. At a red light a white woman crosses the street. As I begin to drive, she turns around and screams at us, “F**k you f****ing n****r!”
Before any of these instances, my family of origin moved to Reno, Nevada from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania in 1984.
My mother recently told me that when I was a very young child my parents hired a company to remove a tree from our front lawn. Two white men showed up and removed the tree. One of them carved a swastika into the stump. My father had to confront him and ask him to remove it.
Before that, my now 93 -year-old grandfather served in the Army National Guard and was stationed in the U.S. south. Despite being active duty, he was not allowed to eat in restaurants due to “w****s only” signage. He had to wait for fellow Guardsmen to bring him food outside.
Not long before that, my family were s***es, owned by Americans of English and Irish descent, which is why – despite being primarily of African descent – I have an English last name.
This is my experience of being black in America. To be black in America is to be told over and over that you are not good enough, that you do not belong, that you are genetically unfit, that your physical presence is undesirable, and that everything about you – right down to your lips – is wrong. It is absolutely true that everyone experiences hardships in life, but the psychological weight of being told both explicitly and implicitly, on a daily basis, that your very existence is objectionable can at times feel unbearable.
And despite this experience, I still love my country, my state, and my city. Despite my experience, I would not choose to be anything other than a b***k A******n. The history of black people in this country is one of struggle and triumph. Our people were brought to this country as s***es and against all odds, in the face of seemingly insurmountable obstacles, have made our mark. Through s***ery, poll taxes, literacy tests, redlining, and black codes we have persevered. Through the unspeakable horrors of mass lynchings; the Tuskegee syphilis experiments; and the massacres at Tulsa and Rosewood, we have persevered.
Bass Reeves, Dovey Johnson Roundtree, Sarah Boone, Oscar Micheaux, Shirley Chisholm, Dorie Miller, Susie King Taylor, Georgia Gilmore, Octavius Catto, Jack Johnson, Garrett Morgan, James W.C. Pennington. These are just a handful of extraordinary and oft forgotten b***k A******ns who helped to mold and preserve the American Dream. These individuals and their accomplishments should not be regarded as “black history,” but rather as American history.
I am an American of privilege, which makes me an African American of great privilege. I am an attorney. I live in a safe neighborhood. My children do not worry about their next meal. I can afford child care. My family can afford personal vehicles. If my children become sick, I can take them to the doctor. If I am this privileged, and these have been my experiences, primarily in my own hometown, often with friends and acquaintances who are fond of me, and of whom I remain fond even now; just imagine what daily life must be like for a black person in this country who does not enjoy my level of privilege.
The protests in the streets of America are certainly about the k*****g of G****e F***d, but not just about G****e F***d. They are about countless black men, women, and children for whom the punishment did not fit the crime – if indeed there was a crime at all. We live in a country where, in order to recall what life under Jim Crow felt like, many w***e A******ns must pick up a history book. Meanwhile, many b***k A******ns need only pick up a telephone, and call their parents.
When we as people of color share our experiences, we are not doing so to score political points, “play the race card,” get sympathy, assign blame, or to make you feel bad about yourself. We are asking you for help. We are asking you to join us in the ongoing fight against r****m in our country, because we cannot do it alone. It will take Americans of every stripe to eradicate r****m from American society.
I am now asking for your help. Please seek t***h and knowledge. When sharing information, please check your sources and make sure that they are reliable. Try to place what is happening today into a historical context. Read about s******c r****m and anti-r****m. When your friends of color tell you that r****m is real and affecting their lives, believe them and then, if you can, do something about it.
My children are likely to attend the same middle school and high school that I did. It is my great hope for them that those around them have the knowledge, compassion, and guidance to know better than to daily deluge them with words that make them doubt their intelligence, their beauty, and their worth as human beings based only on the color of their skin; and instead judge them by the content of their character.
It is for all of the above reasons, and so many more that we proudly say #blacklivesmatter
I rather expect to be vilified, verbally abused, c... (
show quote)
You’re right, we vilified, insulted, called you names, verbally abused you!...........we called you Rumi!
That is the ultimate Judgment! 😂😂😂😂🧐😀🤗😘🥺🤔🤭☺️😉😝😅😊😏😒😟
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