by Tyson Amir
Fast forward to Dec. 2, 2015. A complaint comes in via a man who was stabbed in the Bayview area. A general description is given of a black male of a certain height and complexion. Officers begin to make their way to the area and search for a suspect. Eventually Mario and a few officers cross paths. As of now we do not know if Mario was the person who stabbed the victim. We are told in police accounts that Mario was holding a knife, and it can be heard on video that voices in the crowd were urging Mario to drop something. The California penal code does not state that stabbing a person or being suspected of stabbing a person are lethal offenses. I am not attempting to be dismissive of the victim or the victim's family either. If a wrong was committed, then that wrong needs to be addressed and dealt with appropriately. The metaphor of justice is a scale connoting balance. The wrong committed throws off the balance of that scale. The idea of justice served is when all parties affected by the "wrong" are restored to a state of balance. The victim, offender, and community are all parties to the wrong, and all deserve justice. I'm quite sure the victim and their family wanted justice regarding the stabbing, but I don't think it looked in their minds like it did to us online. Mario was surrounded by ten officers who all had their weapons drawn on him. The official report states the officers tried to de-escalate the situation with non-lethal rounds by using beanbags. This did not give them the result that they were looking for so their circle began to close in on Mario as more directives were being yelled at him. Mario begins to stagger and walk off with his right shoulder against the wall away from the majority of the police officers. The report states that officers began to shoot when Mario made a threatening gesture with his knife-wielding hand at one of the officers. Their account is contradicted by the video footage that shows he made no such "threatening" gesture, but police still fired. The timing of Mario's murder is important because this all took place five days after a white man, Robert Lewis Dear Jr. shot up a Planned Parenthood in Colorado Springs, Colorado, killing two civilians and a police officer but somehow was arrested non-violently. Meanwhile, in San Francisco, California, a young black man who was suspected of stabbing a person, who when confronted by police attempted to walk away and made no threatening gesture, was shot twenty times. Seventeen of the shots were through his back, according to the autopsy report.
Yesterday was Jan. 20, the date that Mario and his mother Gwendolyn Woods were both looking forward to. This was the day he was to walk across the stage, maybe even say a speech, and look out into the crowd and see his mother's proud smile upon him as the state of California placed a high school diploma in his hand. This was to be the first of many more major accomplishments but instead of Mario, it was his mother who was to walk across the stage with a bouquet of colorful sad flowers and tears streaming down her face. I was to play the role of the teacher who had only a few weeks ago attended Mario's wake with some of my colleagues and was now at the podium reading off his name knowing full well that he would not be bounding up those steps in cap and gown with a smile on his face, hand extended for a firm handshake and hug.
As teachers, we are not parents, but through education we give life and energy to our students. We spend time and develop deep relationships with our populations. We hope that they will be able to go into the world and find their path to a long and fulfilling life. We pray that we will send them into a world that will not shoot them down or allow them to be consumed by the prison industrial complex. This was my hope and prayer for Mario when he walked out my class after earning a B+. I knew it would not be an easy path, but I sent that positive energy into the universe for him, like I do for all of my students, that he would find his way. One of the saddest parts of this story is that Mario was actually on his way. He may have made a few missteps but he was much closer to his path than ever before, until that afternoon on Dec. 2 when SFPD officers determined a short black man who may have been holding a knife was a mortal threat. They pulled triggers and extinguished more than a life, it was a dream shared by Mario and his mother. It was a hope and a prayer of many teachers who had helped Mario achieve his goal of a high school diploma. It was the love of family members and friends that was snuffed out all because ten officers could not find a way to arrest a man who was walking away without using lethal force. If officers in Colorado Springs, Colorado, can figure out a non-violent arrest technique after two civilians and one of their own have been shot and killed by a suspect armed with an assault rifle, then SFPD, which supposedly resides in one of the most "progressive" and "diverse" cities in the nation, should be able to figure a way to do that as well. As I said in the poem titled “A Poem for Mario”
"this shouldn't be a eulogy keynote.
I should be standing, smiling right beside him,
watching him walk off with his diploma a brighter future on the horizon.
But you and I are left to think of what might have been."
Mario should not be dead. He should not be another name added to the long list of hashtags that serve as indictments of America for devaluing the black life. This is precisely why so many yell out #BlackLivesMatter. We yell but America turns a deaf ear to our protest and slaughter. We will keep yelling, and we will honor those we've lost. Like Mario, I too am a black man, and what many of us know too well, the brother Karega Bailey said, "Truth is, we're all just one bullet away from being a hashtag." This is because the Mayor Ed Lee, Chief of Police Greg Suhr, and other higher-ups will parry and deflect using language like procedure and better training. They talk of arming SFPD with tasers and possibly more de-escalation techniques. These "changes" may or may not occur, and in the interim officers and civilians are still on the street.
What we have to confront is the fact that we do ourselves a serious disservice when we believe a person is infallible due to their profession. The commonality between police, teachers, and doctors is that they are all human, and it is because of this fact that they are fallible. Humans are an incredible species. We are capable of tremendous greatness while at the same time equally capable of mass destruction. Humans are also affected by their environment; we inherit and learn the prejudices, biases, fears, and stereotypes of our culture. We don't shed these by putting on a suit and tie, lab coat, or a uniform and badge. We have to acknowledge that there are good, mediocre, and bad cops, just like there are good, mediocre, and bad teachers and doctors or any other profession. If a teacher is not performing their job according to standards and state law, they can be stripped of their license to teach. If a doctor violates their Hippocratic Oath and harms patients, there is a mechanism to deal with such violations. Hence, the concept of malpractice. Doctors can be stripped of their ability to practice, as well as other forms of punishment. Why is that important? Because doctors carry a patient's health, and oftentimes life, in their hands. Their mistakes can literally mean life or death for a patient. Mistakes of police officers can be just as fatal, but law enforcement is cloaked in a shroud of invincibility and instead of blame being placed on the person(s) who violated, blame is often shifted to the victim, especially if they are black. This prevents the system from ever having to hold itself accountable for wrongdoings because the system finds ways to excuse the behavior.
Mario and I both belong to the most stereotyped and feared group of people in American society. We are adorned in that black hue that causes some to cross the street when they see one of us approaching. We are decorated in the color that makes one who sees me dressed in jeans, a Black Panther Party hoodie and a red, black and green snapback hat assume I'm a thug or gang affiliated instead of a celebrated educator, artist, author with multiple degrees, and a master’s in education. We are presumed guilty and viewed as violent threats because our humanity is not the first thing seen, the stereotypes of the black life hijack first encounters and impressions. This is partly why black people are the most likely to be arrested with force or found on the other end of a police bullet. I am a man. I am a human being. Mario was a man and a human being. All humans regardless of color, creed,
language, religion, age, sex, political affiliation, or sexual orientation deserve justice.
Black Lives Matter, justice for Mario Woods, end police brutality, and criminalize the actions of those who violate their sworn oath to protect and serve and instead terrorize, maim, and kill because all deserve justice.
Aftermath, Thoughts, and Reflections
This work has been a cathartic exercise for me. I know some people will read this collection and they will label me a hate monger, a racist, and maybe some other stuff I'm not even familiar with. They are free to do that, and I'm free to own my response, which is no concern at all. My reality has shown me very clear lessons about the black experience in America and I do everything in my power to take heed to those lessons. It does not matter what America chooses to label you, the genetic marker of black skin in America is damning enough. I can be the most nonviolent church going black Republican pacifist or the most revolutionary pro-black big Afro-wearing, fist in the air waving, gun-toting Black Panther reincarnate; in the mind and eye of America we are all the same. This country refuses to see us as anything other than a nigger. I can be in a suit in the Oval Office or sagging my pants in West Oakland; I can be a medical doctor or an academic with multiple degrees and distinctions, but to the America power structure I am still a nigger. The perceived threat of the nigger is real to the American psyche, regardless of how it is dressed up or down. Label me what you will, I know who I am, and your attempt at falsely labeling me will not change who I know myself to be and what I feel I must do as Tyson Amir, a black boy in America.
America has a blueprint for me and refuses to see me outside of that schematic. The labels come with the territory. In fact, the labels are already there regardless of whether I stand up and fight back. I don't fight for the people who choose to label me out of fear and ignorance, and therefore I don't care about their opinions. I know who I am, and I refuse to submit to the ill-conceived labels they attempt to superimpose on me. My parents and my community took great care in making sure that I would know who I am, and it does not matter what they do; I'll never lose that understanding. Their ignorance and fear might result in my untimely demise but we know that's a risk every black person faces stepping outside their door any day of their life.
These words and this critique of America is not about hating white people. I know I don't hate human beings. I hate the actions of certain human beings. I hate systems of inequity that are predicated on false pretenses of color bias. I hate what America has done and continues to do to black people. As well its treatment of the indigenous natives here in the Americas. I hate it all. And I have every right to hate those things. I do not buy into the fallacy of the American dream; it's a false reality that is only possible because of the tremendous amount of death, destruction, barbarism, and unspeakable crimes against humanity America has perpetrated to create it. My ancestors are part of those bodies stolen and exploited to build America. My bloodline has served as witness to the making of this "dream." For them and for my sanity I cannot accept America as it is and for what it has done. My family has witnessed generations of exploitation and oppression here in America. This work is for them and for those who are living right now who do not accept America as is. This is for those who will not settle for anything less than freedom and equality for all.
Struggle is essential for survival in America if you are a person of color, especially if you are black. This society takes aim at all aspects of black life. We are under attack mentally, physically, spiritually, legally, culturally, and socially. Fighting back against this system is the only way for us to preserve our dignity and sanity. If you do not challenge the system, you will succumb to its dictates. It will engulf all aspects of who you are. We cannot accept that as our fate. This country has already taken so much from us; we will not allow it to take our hearts, minds, and souls. This is why I say this work is cathartic because it has allowed me to use a new medium to give voice to long-held thoughts and feelings. I use my music and poetry as vehicles to express various viewpoints but developing a compendium such as this has been a different labor. This body of work is an entirely new approach that has allowed me to present these ideas in what I hope is a more cohesive but potent fashion.
The idea came to me to collect my writings, which I view as commentaries on the black experience, while I was abroad. I have very close friends who have published bodies of work: Ise Lyfe’s Pistols & Prayers, my brother Amir Sulaiman’s, Love, Gnosis & other Suicide Attempts, Adisa Banjoko's Lyrical Swords and Bobby, Bruce & The Bronx. I too wanted to enter the realm of poetic author but I wanted to do something more. Ever since I found my voice as an artist, I've been writing the black experience. It's the experience that I know best, and my pen writes most effectively when it knows the subject matter well. My entire catalog is filled with various episodes of black life. I'm thankful that I have been blessed with a pen that knows how to speak to my people; it's one of the things I feel I do best as a writer.
I wanted this compilation to be something different; I wanted it to be more than just poems and verses. I wanted people to be able to really feel the visceral emotions behind each word in the pieces. I do not know how it happened but I realized fairly early on that I have been selected by the Higher Power, my people, or a combination of both to carry the stories of those before me and with me. The pain, trauma, hurt, fight, love, anger, and hate is very real, and it needs to be articulated in a very real fashion. That is why it appears so real on the page. The readers needed to know what birthed all of this. The words represent the experiences of my people: they are not random events; they are not matter of sheer coincidence. These stories needed to be told, and I'm here to tell it.
I felt explaining some of the context that produced the poems would be a good start to creating this work. I am an artist, writer, poet, and emcee, but I am a freedom fighter first. Every story, word, or phrase is carefully chosen to impart the revolutionary truths that drive me. I wanted to make sure that the pain, heartache, trauma, tension, fear, and struggle that spawned these words was fully articulated. This is what gave me impetus to write, and it was then that I knew this would be my first published work.
The formula of poems and verses, stream of thought reflections and quotes, along with new commentary made me feel I could combine multiple elements in a creative way with relevant contemporary analysis for the benefit of the people. The literature my brothers and sisters create in the guise of music, spoken word, and hip-hop is extremely poignant and valuable, and I wanted to elevate the art form by presenting it in this way. My generation and the generations to come are transfixed by the power of hip-hop music. It has literally taken over the world. Something poor black kids did to express themselves through the pain of their existence is now the most powerful form of media on the planet. This makes it the most powerful medium for communication and education on the planet.
We, who are practitioners of the craft, know it because we learned in the hallowed halls of hip-hop. Be it for better or worse, anybody who considers themselves a hip-hop/rap fan has been changed by the art form. Hip-hop carries deep inside of it the power to inform, and if practiced with the meticulousness of a master alchemist, it wields the power to reform. The world is no longer the same as what it was before hip-hop. We as a people speak and think differently. All because of what some young black kids in the Bronx decided to do in the late ’70s. In forty-some odd years, hip-hop has revolutionized the world, and its cultural artifacts can be recognized globally.
I've had the opportunity to perform hip-hop music in several countries throughout the world, many of which have been non-English speaking, and I've been well received everywhere because hip-hop is its own language. Hip-hop is power and when that power is in the hands of those who seek to bring about great change, hip-hop can become revolution.
As an institution, it has traversed a circuitous route to where it is. Money is a powerful narcotic, and hip-hop, like any other institution in the history of mankind
is not immune to being co-opted by it for the pursuit of profit. This is where we find the majority of mainstream and underground hip-hop today. The corporate interests’ pursuit of profit has led the business of hip-hop to artificially Darwinize its species to self-select "artists" who are more "marketable" from a capitalistic viewpoint. Hence, the preponderance of certain archetypes in the industry. It is what it is. That's the business of music. However, the power in hip-hop is still present, although, somewhat latent at times.
Hip-Hop and Appropriation
A necessary point on hip-hop must be made. My opinion on this issue might be a minority one, but it needs to be said. Hip-hop was birthed out of the pangs and throes of the black experience, which makes hip-hop a precious cultural artifact that belongs to the black experience. This is ours. It belongs to us and only us. We share our cultural inheritance with others in the world, but our sharing does not mean that we are giving you ownership. We are the owners of our culture. This is our art and our expression. It's big, bold, beautiful, and black just like we are.
If you know your history, then you know some of what transpired in order for us to witness the birth of hip-hop in our time. Hip-hop is triumph in the face of tragedy. The tragedy began when our mothers or fathers were captured in their homeland to be enslaved. The tempo of the beat began to quicken on Goree Island at the door of no return. Hip-hop began to form its signature boom when our ancestors who were stolen from their homes survived the middle passage only to reemerge in strange lands to toil their lives away. We began to lament the loss of our homeland, language, culture, religions, and families. The lamentation often took the form of song, which we used to articulate our pain. The bap is a direct result of our ancestors having to watch their fellow brothers and sisters choose death on slave ships by jumping overboard instead of life as a slave. The merging of the boom with the bap happened in the soul of a mother or father contemplating taking the life of their child because they'd rather see them dead then harmed by slavery and white greed. The soul of hip-hop is fortified by all who held dreams of freedom while confined to slave plantations.
