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I can’t trust white women, either: #SAEhatesme

Yesterday, Dr. Frances Becque posted a brief essay on her website about the Sigma Alpha Epsilon situation at Oklahoma. I had huge problems with it when I initially read it, but I decided to wait a while before I posted my response. I have immense respect for Dr. Becque’s research and promotion of fraternalism.

However, her essay is a prime example of what I spoke about yesterday on the issue of people of color being able to trust that white people won’t be racist in closed company, among other things. Yesterday, I spoke mainly about the aggressors. Today I will speak about bystanders.

What troubles me most about Dr. Becque’s post is not that she fails to use the word “racism” in the entirety of the post. (What I liked about the response of both SAE and the President of OU is that each was quite clear that the acts we saw on film were racist and bigoted.) No, it doesn’t surprise me at all–I am used to white people, well-meaning and otherwise, removing the “race card” from play even though it’s the only card that’s been dealt.

I suppose I could also be upset that she refuses to label those young men “men” and instead makes an intentional point to call them boys, as though to absolve them from the ownership of their words. (And let’s be clear that it’s not the words that hurt–it’s the environment that the young men perpetuate that hurts their chapter, their campus, and their community. Racism hurts black people, but racism also hurts white people.)

And sure, I could be upset at Dr. Becque’s appeal for calm, to remember that these “boys” are not “monsters.” (One could make a very strong argument that racists are monsters.)

What troubles me the most about her essay is that I’m not troubled at all. It’s just another symptom of white supremacy and patriarchy manifesting itself in the Greek community, perhaps where it spreads most efficiently.

To paraphrase Iyanla Vanzant, let’s call a thing a thing. White men who exist in white spaces that empower them to be racists are monsters. White women who empower those men in those spaces are bigger monsters, because they have the ability as parents to raise them right in the first place, but choose to coddle and protect them, to preserve the very patriarchy that continues to subjugate them.

I have no empathy for racists. It is not my job to fix racism. It is the job of white people to fix racism.

So fix it.

Stop empowering racists. Stop trying to appeal to a sense of calm when your “boys” are the ones in chaos. We will continue to march. We will continue to protest. And we will continue to call racism out where it happens and where it is coddled.

I Can’t Trust White Men: #SAEhatesme

Black people can tell if a white person is the type who says nigger when he thinks no one is watching. We know and we warn others about you. –Me, on Facebook last night.

Over the weekend, a story emerged about a chapter of Sigma Alpha Epsilon which was suspended due to racist behavior which was caught on film. For what it’s worth, I was impressed with the swift response from SAE’s National President Brad Cohen, who said “They will be dealt with.”

And dealt with they were. Chapter closed, members evicted from the house, and expulsions are sure to follow. Mr. Cohen’s response doesn’t seem to be the standard response of corporate embarrassment and brand protection. It seems to be genuine disgust. I appreciate that and I wish more fraternal leaders could be trusted to have similar responses.

But the problem is that white people are racist and I can not trust a white person I don’t know to not be racist.

My lack of trust in white people (men in particular) is not unfounded. It is not unreasonable. It is based in the reality of a racist and patriarchal society that was not designed for black excellence. These young men on this bus already have all the privilege in the world. It wasn’t enough to just be white in a space affirming of whiteness. They had to affirm their superiority and their exclusionary beliefs.

Thankfully there was at least one subversive person on the bus who filmed and shared it.

Anyway…

I am glad that the #SAEhatesme movement has begun on social media, but I hope people understand that this is not solely about Sigma Alpha Epsilon. This is about any institution of all-white (on some campuses) or mainly white (on many campuses) people that gets to decide their own membership. When picking a pledge class, a chapter may not be chanting about never taking a nigger, but what’s going on inside them when they do vote? Are they challenging themselves about why they are voting no on a candidate? Are they really checking their privilege?

Further, are they asking themselves why people of color are not rushing their chapters in the first place?

Do they know that we don’t trust them to do right by us?

I am a Brother of Alpha Phi Omega, one of the most happy-go-lucky fraternal organizations on the planet, and even in our own existence, there have been chapters which have donned black face and had jungle-themed fundraisers. Although this was decades ago, it is definitely documented in our national newsletter.

No institution of white people is immune to racism. But ultimately, my mistrust of white people is not my problem because it is not steeped in racism. It is an evidence-based emotion, signed in the blood of Mike Brown and Eric Garner, with a bullet as the exclamation point. It is on film. It is in print. I don’t trust a white person to not call me nigger behind closed doors.

This is a white person’s problem, not mine. I’m good. I don’t have work to do. White people do. In the words of Olivia Pope:

Earn me. Earn my trust. Show me that you won’t lynch me. Show me that you will teach your boys not to shoot me. Show me that you want me in your fraternities and your country clubs.

Until then… just leave me alone.

1987

Post by Stephanie T. Sutton-Johnson.

Tarot Tuesday: Is this year THE year?

A friend wanted to know about her relationship prospects over the next year. She and I talk about this sort of thing all the time, but she wanted to know what the cards would say with some detail: the who, the how, the when. I drew the Page of Wands.

I told the friend that based on this card, she would meet a man who was young, but established and successful. He is confident and emotional—not a weak sort of emotional, but a fiery sort. In the back of my head, I was thinking “Sounds like a Cancer man, probably.”

Then my mind wandered a bit to an episode of The Real World (as it always does) and this kind of man came up:

Yes, fiery.

Anyway, after we talked it out, she confided that a man fitting this description was already on the horizon! I hadn’t known about this guy and her reading confirmed that she was on the proper trajectory. Still, I told her to be on the lookout–just because the man she was talking to fit the description so far didn’t mean there wasn’t a similar model coming off the assembly line just for her.

If you would like your own tarot reading with even more detail, send me a message. The price is right and we’ll have a great time!

Writing into the Abyss: Where Depression and Creativity Intersect

I sit in front of my laptop, or my desktop, or on a throwback day, with pen in hand and spiral pad underneath. I try to write. Some days I am successful. Many days I am not.

There are two books that I want to work on, am working on, will work on. One should be easy. It’s already mapped out in my head and outlined on paper. The other is more challenging, but I know I want it to be good.

My life is not where I want it to be by a long shot. I have not reached the level of success or notoriety that I had hoped to have by the age of 35. I look back on what I have accomplished and I see four novels and a book of poetry. I understand. I possess the knowledge that I have done more than what many writers have done in entire careers. I understand that five books is a good thing.

But having the knowledge is not the same as feeling successful. I write and I publish and the people say it’s good and they immediately want another, not understanding that I have put years of my life into a work that they finished in a weekend, in a day, sometimes even just one long night. I give everything and more is desired right away.

With every new book comes the dread of following it up with another good book. I don’t know that I can. I never think that I can.

I feel, sometimes, that it’s all for nothing. I am a success, but I don’t feel successful.

They want more books, but they don’t know what I have to go through to get there.

It is dark where I am. My eyes are wide open but I can’t see a thing. I know I have to go to Tartarus alone and claim what belongs to me.

I take the first step and the panic already creeps over me, but I continue in spite of the sweat that has drenched me almost immediately. I am afraid that I will swallow my tongue, that I will stop breathing, that I will die on the spot. But I don’t, in spite of a racing heart and spinning head.

I descend further and further into the abyss for days, months, years, searching for my prize. I know it is here. It is always here. My greatest creativity has always been housed in my greatest pain. I cannot leave until I retrieve it.

I finally hit the basement level of my descent and all around me are the demons I have been avoiding. I have to acknowledge them in order to pass. They demand it.

My own doubts. My own fears. They screech beside me begging for attention. I ignore them and go deeper.

The mentor who betrayed me time and again. The father who doesn’t love me. Fathers and father figures alike grabbing at my shoulders to hold me back. I break free. I break through.

I see authoritarians there. You supervised me into submission. You bossed me into victimhood. You signed my checks but you couldn’t sign my life. I vanquish you, too. I go deeper.

I see the men. I see the ones who loved me wrong. I see the ones I loved. I see the ones who inspired poems:

i was born in diana’s tide with a caul over my third eye

And I see the ones who are the reason that I haven’t written more than two poems in the past decade. I pretend as though I feel more comfortable with fiction but the truth is I feel too broken to write poetry.

And even the ones I still love are there, compassing me about. I break free.

I see me. I see body image. I see someone who doesn’t feel worth it. I see an utter lack of hope, a vision of a future that is not there, in which I have not been remembered. I am dust.

And there, just beyond the nihilism, just one more step beyond the limits of my odyssey, it is there:

The next novel.

That is what it is like to write. Every single novel.

I cannot write until things are right. Every time I sit down to work on something, practically everything, even this blog post, I feel like I am going back to Hell to confront all of my demons all at once. I feel short of breath and I give up to work on other things that make me happy and give me some meaning.

I know that being a writer is my destiny and my gift to the world, but I can’t always do it. This, in spite of the many people who ask me when the next book will be out. If I could make a living on my writing, I would write three a year. But I cannot live in the abyss in order to do that.

This is not writer’s block. This is depression.

I will beat it someday.

Street Photography in DC

Earlier this week while running errands, I brought my camera along with me. I am trying to get in the habit of being ready for anything when it comes to capturing moments both important and mundane. I didn’t think any of these photos were particularly stunning, but I was glad to get the practice.

Here is my entire street photography album. The newer ones are toward the end.

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Tarot Tuesday: Is she an obstacle?

A friend had a special inquiry about an endeavor she was embarking upon. She’s very active in her community, church, and is a busy career woman. She’s currently starting a massive project that will require support from many areas of her life. She wanted to know what was on the mind and in the heart of a specific colleague who had the ability to say yes or no to a request.

I drew the Three of Cups. I immediately had a positive reaction in my heart, but as a skeptic, I delved deeper and listened to what the universe was trying to tell me.

My friend’s endeavor would be a success, but why? And why was she having trouble in these starting stages?

Well, I looked at the three women on this card as the three women who would bring the success: the workers, represented by the woman in red; the supporters, represented by the woman in white; and the leader, the woman in gold and white. All women are necessary, all women helped, all women celebrated, but only one brought the grapes! She is the leader and she wants what’s best for you, but give her time to get this thing figured out so she can determine the best way to support.

This was a fun read and I enjoyed coaching my friend through this issue as she continues on the path to greatness!

If you would like a more detailed reading, they’re only $45! Contact me through my tarot page today!

Breaking the Boycott of Sorority Sisters

My name is Rashid Darden and I am a novelist. I am also a member of Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity, Inc. Acting independently from my fraternity and the members who have chosen to boycott, I plan to exercise my own rights:

I will be watching the remaining episodes of Sorority Sisters this Friday night on VH1 from 9:30pm onward.

As I’ve already stated in an earlier essay, I believe that the backlash from the show stems primarily from the dangerous and alienating respectability politics of black folks. Since that essay, and since subsequent shows have aired, I have been witness to the devolution of values of the members of fraternities and sororities who are against the show.

I’ve seen women exclaim gleefully that they couldn’t wait for their sisters to be expelled from their organizations. The cast members of the show have spoken about the death threats they have received, but fraternity and sorority members only said “Well if that were true, the police would be involved.”

Spoken by people who have never been impacted by cyber bullying and harassment.

Perhaps even more insidious than the aggressive attacks against these women is the acts of the bystanders joining the protests. People joined the boycott because it was the popular thing to do. I had friends who supported the boycott who admittedly only did so because they don’t like shows which air “dirty laundry.”

I also suspect that there were those who were adamant about supporting the boycott because it positioned them to be quoted in national media as an expert in Greek life, to perhaps boost their sales or notoriety. Can’t knock the hustle, I guess.

Meanwhile, I have seen a great deal of non-Greeks support the show. They say to me that they are glad to see that real people are members of these organizations–not just the St. John suit-wearing, mink-flaunting, middle-aged socialites, but real women who have bills and kids and kids’ fathers–just like them.

Behind all of this backlash, some will be suspended. Yes, some will be expelled, but hopefully not without deep conversations about sweeping codes of conduct and broad codes of ethics. Conversations need to happen about why some members are given the harshest penalties while others skip off into the sunset, saved because of their high positions in their organizations. Saved because of the political heft of their chapters of initiation. Why can a man who steals from one chapter be expelled from an entire national fraternity, but a national leader who steals from his entire fraternity is not? Why justice for some, but not for all?

Let’s be clear: These women are not being punished for the show. They are being punished for the attention. Had this been a no-budget YouTube series, this would not have been an issue.

But these are conversations to be had within the organizations. Perhaps the lessons learned from Sorority Sisters will be the impetus that all organizations need to create policies which recognize and reaffirm that disclosure of one’s membership does not tarnish a century-old legacy. Indeed, tarnish doesn’t happen overnight.

Perhaps the legacies first began to tarnish when that first person decided that their organization should fund their travel rather than paying for it out of pocket.

Perhaps the legacies first began to tarnish when that first person voted “no” on a candidate because they were suspected to be “funny” or a “confirmed bachelor.”

Perhaps the legacies first began to tarnish when that first person turned their nose up at a young man or young woman who came to college at a nontraditional age.

Sorority Sisters has not made the public think less of Greek letter organizations. It has given us, the members of Greek letter organizations, an opportunity to check ourselves.

We are not perfect. And how we have handled Sorority Sisters reflects our imperfections. The reaction has saddened me, to be honest, especially in the midst of so much in the world we could be working on.

It’s funny to me how none of the conversations I’ve observed have mentioned how our organizations could get a handle on Sorority Sisters and use a second season of it as a vehicle for changing the culture of Greekdom itself. Kefla Hare’s (Alpha Phi Alpha) appearance on Road Rules Australia truly made me look at Alpha in a different light when I was in high school. Before him, I considered Alphas to be arrogant, out of touch, and pompous. Kefla’s appearance on MTV and his representation of a real Alpha made me reconsider. Put Kameelah, an AKA who appeared on Real World Boston in that category also.

This generation deserves to see itself in April, Cat, Adrene, Shanna, Priyanka, MeToya, Joy, Lydia, and Veronica, with all of their efforts to be good, to be better, and to be real. We are not our sisters’ keepers – we are our sisters. We are our brothers. Whether they look like we look or act like we act, we are still them and they are still us.

Thank you, Sorority Sisters, for showing us as we really are–on your side of the television and on ours.

Tarot Tuesday: Who’s that guy?

Welcome to Tarot Tuesdays 2015! Every other Wednesday I will be writing about my experiences as a tarot reader. Several friends, acquaintances, and nice people that I know have volunteered for a one-card reading lasting about 20 minutes. I will share what happened in these readings with all of you.

Just a note: I am not a psychic and I do not believe that I personally can predict the future. I view tarot as a fun method of deciphering what’s going on in your life by decoding symbols that are presented to us.

Now, onward to the reading.

Yesterday, I drew a card for a very nice young lady I met the last time I visited New Orleans, though she is a west coaster herself. She wanted to know what her romantic prospects were, and more specifically whether she already knew the person she was meant to be with.

I drew The Chariot, reversed. That means the card was upside-down. (For the record, I strongly prefer the Rider-Waite deck with images drawn by Pamela Colman Smith.)

The Chariot is typically a card representative of success and triumph. It can also be seen as an admonishment against arrogance. But in the reversed position it takes on a slightly different meaning.

When it’s upside-down, I told my client, it means a victory that’s a little more…messy. I asked her “Do you watch Scandal? Well, in the upright position, this card could be seen as Olivia Pope–a victory of the good guys, the white hats. But reversed, this card is more like Cyrus Beene than Olivia Pope. A winner, yes. But a good guy? M’eh…”

So what did this card mean in the sense of love and relationships? My intuition told me that this card did not describe my client, but the man who would be entering her life. I was certain this was not a man already in her world. This guy would be new–accomplished, affluent, and flashy. He would be new money, not old-guard wealth. He would be great for adventures and a short-lived good time, but he was not the one to be settling down with.

Avoid him if you want to, I told her. But if you do engage him, make sure you understand that this guy is a winner, but he’s not the good guys. Be careful, and leave room for the guy who is supposed to be there.

She was pleased with the reading? Why?

She had gone to a psychic this weekend who told her the same thing.

I screamed. “Are you kidding me?” I asked. Yep, she had gone to a psychic who read her palm and told her she would meet a fast-talking, new-money man who would be good in the short term, but someone was coming who would be far better for her.

Clearly, I was shocked at the similarities, since I clearly did not know the psychic and didn’t know the details of the query until the day of the reading.

But what fun, right? These are the lessons we can learn through the symbols of a tarot reading. I’m looking forward to a check-in with her in about six months to see what’s going on.

Would you like a tarot reading of your own? I give more detailed readings for a flat rate of $45 by phone or Skype. Check me out!

The Magic of Dreams: Eleanor Lopes Akahloun’s memoir is here

Last month, I had the pleasure of attending the book launch for Eleanor Lopes Akahloun’s memoir The Magic of Dreams: An American Diplomat’s Journey. Ms. Akahloun–known as Penny to her friends and family–is the mother of one of my dear college friends. The event was at Sankofa Books & Cafe in Northwest DC–a fine venue to just meet friends, purchase books from the diaspora, or have an intimate special event.

I brought my camera just in case my talents were needed and I found myself doing my thing fairly quickly. I was happy to serve, considering I know what it’s like to have to put on a book event and worry about all the little things that come up in the course of the day.

Ms. Akahloun did a wonderful job and I can’t wait to read about her various adventures as a woman in foreign service.

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