By State Sen. Marshall Bullock
I consider myself a strong Black man, the kind who has learned to use chess moves to navigate the minefields in American life rather than throw grenades or take aim at my enemies with flame throwers. Chess is a different kind of strength, and as a Black person who has learned that Black life is a risk unto itself that frequently results in abbreviated life spans, chess is a strategy for those of us who prefer the long game.
But sometimes the cerebral and methodical strategies of chess simply don’t contain a sufficient vocabulary to get the job done. Sometimes being a Black man in America means you have to scream, yell, and basically exhibit the type of behavior that certain white folks say make us so threatening. Because sometimes being a Black man in America means you don’t always get to choose the calm response. Just ask George Floyd, or the thousands of protesters who took to the streets all across this country – and around the world – to raise their voices in response to yet another Black man killed at the hands of police brutality.
I want a society where my children are no longer the enemy.
For generations we have endured the one-size-fits-all-Black-folks virus of racism, classism, white privilege and profiling. This virus has manifested itself as the proverbial knee on the neck of Black and Brown communities here in Michigan through inequitable healthcare and criminal justice policies and racially discriminatory laws.
Racism is a public health crisis. We need to work together to address it, and that means speaking up and speaking out. Because silence about racism, police brutality, insensitive conduct and implicit biases makes you guilty.
The last few months have been filled with injustice – Ahmaud Arbery in Georgia, George Floyd in Minnesota, and Shatina Diggins right here in Washtenaw County. In Lansing, we witnessed assault rifles paraded in the gallery by white people spewing hatred from their lips as their colleagues literally performed a modern day minstrel show in blackface on the steps of the Capitol while others waved the Confederate flag just a few short weeks ago.
And not one word from any of my own 22 colleagues. Nothing but a deafening silence. Just like the silence two months ago when Republican State Sen. Dale Zorn wore a Confederate flag as a face mask to work. First he denied that it was what it obviously was, but then he later felt compelled to apologize when he realized those who made the accusation actually were not blind and knew a Confederate flag when they saw one. The unapologetic response that was eventually issued displayed nothing but deflection and a clear lack of understanding of why an elected official wearing a Confederate flag to work in the State Capitol was not a good idea.
But this is so much bigger than that. This is an underlying representation of what minority members of the legislature, staff and other political professionals encounter all too often in this world every day.
The persistence of racism in our communities is exhausting as we continue to struggle to get a handle on decades of federal and state policies of racial and socio-economic discrimination that has become magnified by the COVID-19 virus.
This is 2020, and ignorance can no longer be accepted as a valid excuse to habitually cross the line on racism with no fear of consequence or repercussion. Either we step up and tackle the problem together, or our children will pay the price for the rest of their lives. And their children will likely pay as well.
Leadership matters. Black Lives Matter. For all of us.
