UNDER SIEGE: THE BODIES AND MINDS OF BLACK AND BROWN MEN AND BOYS
by fabian m thomas
When Kobe Bryant died I was struck not just by the fact that this man, as a result of how he had shown up in the world, had become a brother, friend and father worldwide. The world grieved, we mourned his loss because of the man he was. I was then struck by the dichotomy of the pain and beauty of black men crying openly, allowing themselves to be vulnerable, allowing themselves to feel, allowing themselves to grieve and mourn their fallen brother, his daughter (admittedly and unfortunately the other people that also perished became a backdrop to Kobe and Gianna’s demise). Amidst the fray of formal and social media attention, these multiple instances of black and brown men openly grieving was cathartic and important. It also became clear to me as I watched and listened to some of these men that they were grieving for more than just Kobe, that underneath the weight of this particular loss were other unhealed pains, unshed tears, as well as, past and current trauma. It was so profound to me I could feel it through the laptop and phone screens.
Fast forward to George Floyd. I will admit that it took me weeks to bring myself to watch the widely shared recording of his death, his murder. Before I viewed it, I overheard bits and pieces of it and they undid me. As I looked and listened outwards, I watched as black and brown men talked about their pain, their rage, about having to cage their rage, about past and present efforts to avoid being ‘the angry black man’. Many of them said I will no longer do this. I can’t pretend anymore. I am tired of this charade. Tired!
The black man and his body have long been seen, commodified, bought, sold, fetishized, loathed, lynched, burnt and cannibalized. In our now, black boys and men, our sons and fathers, our nephews and uncles, our partners and lovers, our friends and even our enemies are still feared, vilified, policed, incarcerated and targeted for breaking especially in places like America. We have to look at the fact that once legitimate agreements made ‘in the bowels of a slave ship’ to quote actor Mehcad Brooks are what continue to drive the American psyche and way of life. That being said, a cold hard truth is that outside of America, even in places like Jamaica where people of African descent are in the majority, black and brown men are more likely to be seen as a threat by most. To be black and brown is to be deemed dangerous. This man, officer of the law, agent of the State, put his knee on George Floyd’s neck as if he was less than a dog while he gasped for breath, called out for (or to) his dead mother, then died. His fellow officer/accomplices did nothing and onlookers were prevented from intervening. This on the heels of the murder, the execution of 25-year old Ahmaud Arbery and the attempted cover-up that followed.
In the face of these recent events and a litany of others involving black and brown men, women and children some black and brown men are sharing, working through their pain, grief and rage. I saw a post by my fantasy-best friend, Sterling K. Brown, who’s normally a bubbly ray of light and positivity breaking down, sitting in raw emotion and being real. Another favourite of mine, Mehcad Brooks, this over 6 foot, stunning man just fell apart as he was making a post after watching the clip of George Floyd’s murder, sobbing from deep within and articulating his despair and rage. I also watched actor Kevin Harrison Jr. read beautifully, but with pain and trembling in his voice, an essay by James Baldwin. I have watched Mike Peele, another black man who is usually bright, upbeat and positive, a fitness instructor/dancer. Mike was seething and talked about refusing to hide his pain. A few days later he made another post in which he cried openly. I watched a young TV host/media personality named Tyrone Edwards on Canadian TV who just like the others cracked open his armour, wept saying “I’m gonna stop muting my rage, I’m gonna stop muting my voice. They’ve been killing us for a long time, it’s not new. I can’t…won’t do this anymore!”
Change location to Jamaica where we have our own deep racial, class and gender issues around how we are raising our boys and men. To put it succinctly, we are reaping what we sow. Jamaica, where we have two ‘celebrities’ have melt downs in recent times regarding matters of the heart and body and the overwhelming response on social media and ‘the streets’ is to ridicule and disrespect them. My reaction was ‘Leave di yute dem alone, meck dem vent nuh?!’ It doesn’t have to be perfect, it doesn’t have to be a thesis statement that makes sense to you, let him rant his rage and his pain. Recently Jamaica, via the medium of Dancehall, mash up Verzuz, I didn’t watch but I saw all the celebrations and posts about how we ‘dun di internet’ and affirming that Jamaicans do things in a uniquely Jamaican way. Yaaayyy us! Then I watch these same Jamaicans turn around and remorselessly body shame Beenie Man, one of the artists they were iconizing for our ‘dunning’ of Verzuz and the internet.
It doesn’t seem to matter where we are. The bodies (and minds) of black and brown men and boys are under siege. We are tasked, and self-identify, as bread winners, hunter-gatherers, defenders, fighters, ballers, brawlers and shot-callers. We aren’t supposed to feel, or aren’t allowed to. Our pain, trauma and issues, all too often, get swept under the rug, minimized, negated or beaten and bullied out of us. In many cases this forced masking and subsuming results in or triggers a dizzying spectrum of mental health issues, which also often go unaddressed as a result of fear, shame or denial. It is not an untoward leap to connect these issues, commingled with socialization and personality, contributing to the sadly common maltreatment, abuse, rape and mutilation of black and brown women and girls (and others) in our proximity and beyond. We continue to have seared into our consciousness, the aftermaths of the ‘perfect storms’ that these factors unleash.
Right now, I am preoccupied with thoughts about my extended and immediate tribe of black and brown princes and kings, my friends and brothers, but I am also holding consciousness for people I don’t know living in America, especially black and brown men who have black and brown sons, brothers, nephews and cousins. I can barely imagine what it must feel like living, trying to breathe in that place, always having to seek out or create safe space. But I don’t kid myself, Jamaica being 95% black does not mean that black and brown men are safe here, we are just safer, sometimes. Yes, there is racism, yes there is colorism, but many times it’s other black men (uniformed and not) who are killing, disregarding and dismembering other black men and life goes on. In this land of wood and water that gave the world the mighty Marcus Mosiah Garvey, classism and elitist separatism reign supreme, in fact, in our black, green and gold (62-year old) independent nation, the plantation is alive and well…but I digress.
Black and brown men are gasping for breath (and I haven’t mentioned the at risk and vulnerable groups within, such as gay, bisexual, transgender, differently-abled etc.). In spite of the status quo, we are entitled to feel and own our emotions, share and show them, so we can purge and heal. The eruptions in the US sparked by George Floyd’s murder are not surprising. When any people are routinely, systemically downtrodden and dehumanized there must be an uprising, a cathartic, often chaotic refusal to accept what is in favour of new norms and ways of being, of coexisting and thriving. To those who said that the rebellious damaging and destroying that erupted (along with organized, peaceful protests) are not ‘the’ answer, I ask: what is?
©fabian m thomas
by fabian m thomas
When Kobe Bryant died I was struck not just by the fact that this man, as a result of how he had shown up in the world, had become a brother, friend and father worldwide. The world grieved, we mourned his loss because of the man he was. I was then struck by the dichotomy of the pain and beauty of black men crying openly, allowing themselves to be vulnerable, allowing themselves to feel, allowing themselves to grieve and mourn their fallen brother, his daughter (admittedly and unfortunately the other people that also perished became a backdrop to Kobe and Gianna’s demise). Amidst the fray of formal and social media attention, these multiple instances of black and brown men openly grieving was cathartic and important. It also became clear to me as I watched and listened to some of these men that they were grieving for more than just Kobe, that underneath the weight of this particular loss were other unhealed pains, unshed tears, as well as, past and current trauma. It was so profound to me I could feel it through the laptop and phone screens.
Fast forward to George Floyd. I will admit that it took me weeks to bring myself to watch the widely shared recording of his death, his murder. Before I viewed it, I overheard bits and pieces of it and they undid me. As I looked and listened outwards, I watched as black and brown men talked about their pain, their rage, about having to cage their rage, about past and present efforts to avoid being ‘the angry black man’. Many of them said I will no longer do this. I can’t pretend anymore. I am tired of this charade. Tired!
The black man and his body have long been seen, commodified, bought, sold, fetishized, loathed, lynched, burnt and cannibalized. In our now, black boys and men, our sons and fathers, our nephews and uncles, our partners and lovers, our friends and even our enemies are still feared, vilified, policed, incarcerated and targeted for breaking especially in places like America. We have to look at the fact that once legitimate agreements made ‘in the bowels of a slave ship’ to quote actor Mehcad Brooks are what continue to drive the American psyche and way of life. That being said, a cold hard truth is that outside of America, even in places like Jamaica where people of African descent are in the majority, black and brown men are more likely to be seen as a threat by most. To be black and brown is to be deemed dangerous. This man, officer of the law, agent of the State, put his knee on George Floyd’s neck as if he was less than a dog while he gasped for breath, called out for (or to) his dead mother, then died. His fellow officer/accomplices did nothing and onlookers were prevented from intervening. This on the heels of the murder, the execution of 25-year old Ahmaud Arbery and the attempted cover-up that followed.
In the face of these recent events and a litany of others involving black and brown men, women and children some black and brown men are sharing, working through their pain, grief and rage. I saw a post by my fantasy-best friend, Sterling K. Brown, who’s normally a bubbly ray of light and positivity breaking down, sitting in raw emotion and being real. Another favourite of mine, Mehcad Brooks, this over 6 foot, stunning man just fell apart as he was making a post after watching the clip of George Floyd’s murder, sobbing from deep within and articulating his despair and rage. I also watched actor Kevin Harrison Jr. read beautifully, but with pain and trembling in his voice, an essay by James Baldwin. I have watched Mike Peele, another black man who is usually bright, upbeat and positive, a fitness instructor/dancer. Mike was seething and talked about refusing to hide his pain. A few days later he made another post in which he cried openly. I watched a young TV host/media personality named Tyrone Edwards on Canadian TV who just like the others cracked open his armour, wept saying “I’m gonna stop muting my rage, I’m gonna stop muting my voice. They’ve been killing us for a long time, it’s not new. I can’t…won’t do this anymore!”
Change location to Jamaica where we have our own deep racial, class and gender issues around how we are raising our boys and men. To put it succinctly, we are reaping what we sow. Jamaica, where we have two ‘celebrities’ have melt downs in recent times regarding matters of the heart and body and the overwhelming response on social media and ‘the streets’ is to ridicule and disrespect them. My reaction was ‘Leave di yute dem alone, meck dem vent nuh?!’ It doesn’t have to be perfect, it doesn’t have to be a thesis statement that makes sense to you, let him rant his rage and his pain. Recently Jamaica, via the medium of Dancehall, mash up Verzuz, I didn’t watch but I saw all the celebrations and posts about how we ‘dun di internet’ and affirming that Jamaicans do things in a uniquely Jamaican way. Yaaayyy us! Then I watch these same Jamaicans turn around and remorselessly body shame Beenie Man, one of the artists they were iconizing for our ‘dunning’ of Verzuz and the internet.
It doesn’t seem to matter where we are. The bodies (and minds) of black and brown men and boys are under siege. We are tasked, and self-identify, as bread winners, hunter-gatherers, defenders, fighters, ballers, brawlers and shot-callers. We aren’t supposed to feel, or aren’t allowed to. Our pain, trauma and issues, all too often, get swept under the rug, minimized, negated or beaten and bullied out of us. In many cases this forced masking and subsuming results in or triggers a dizzying spectrum of mental health issues, which also often go unaddressed as a result of fear, shame or denial. It is not an untoward leap to connect these issues, commingled with socialization and personality, contributing to the sadly common maltreatment, abuse, rape and mutilation of black and brown women and girls (and others) in our proximity and beyond. We continue to have seared into our consciousness, the aftermaths of the ‘perfect storms’ that these factors unleash.
Right now, I am preoccupied with thoughts about my extended and immediate tribe of black and brown princes and kings, my friends and brothers, but I am also holding consciousness for people I don’t know living in America, especially black and brown men who have black and brown sons, brothers, nephews and cousins. I can barely imagine what it must feel like living, trying to breathe in that place, always having to seek out or create safe space. But I don’t kid myself, Jamaica being 95% black does not mean that black and brown men are safe here, we are just safer, sometimes. Yes, there is racism, yes there is colorism, but many times it’s other black men (uniformed and not) who are killing, disregarding and dismembering other black men and life goes on. In this land of wood and water that gave the world the mighty Marcus Mosiah Garvey, classism and elitist separatism reign supreme, in fact, in our black, green and gold (62-year old) independent nation, the plantation is alive and well…but I digress.
Black and brown men are gasping for breath (and I haven’t mentioned the at risk and vulnerable groups within, such as gay, bisexual, transgender, differently-abled etc.). In spite of the status quo, we are entitled to feel and own our emotions, share and show them, so we can purge and heal. The eruptions in the US sparked by George Floyd’s murder are not surprising. When any people are routinely, systemically downtrodden and dehumanized there must be an uprising, a cathartic, often chaotic refusal to accept what is in favour of new norms and ways of being, of coexisting and thriving. To those who said that the rebellious damaging and destroying that erupted (along with organized, peaceful protests) are not ‘the’ answer, I ask: what is?
©fabian m thomas
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