National

Cleveland, on the Brink

Published

9 years ago

June 6, 2015

Demonstrators block Public Square Tuesday, Nov. 25, 2014, in Cleveland, during a protest over the weekend police shooting of Tamir Rice. The 12-year-old was fatally shot by a Cleveland police officer Saturday after he reportedly pulled a replica gun at the city park. (AP Photo/Tony Dejak)

Jamil Smith, THE NEW REPUBLIC

CLEVELAND (The New Republic) — Before last week, the last time I’d been home to Cleveland, Ohio was in December of 2014. When I drove into town, I didn’t head to the East Side, where I grew up, and I postponed meeting up with my father downtown before we headed to Quicken Loans Arena for that night’sCavaliers game. I didn’t even tell him where I was going. Instead I made a beeline for Cudell Commons on the West Side, where a pair of police cruiser tire tracks, three weeks old, were frozen into the park’s muddy grass. Steps in front of where they ended, a grey stone park table sat adorned with toys, ballcaps, a hula-hoop, and a sports jersey—a beautiful memorial for a dead child. A small black frame in the center of the table read, in stickered letters under the glass: “Tamir Rice / You Are Black Gold.”

A few days earlier that December, the Department of Justice demanded the city reform its abusive, unconstitutional policing tactics. Mayor Frank Jackson handed the investigation into Tamir Rice’s death over to the Cuyahoga County sheriff’s office just after New Year’s Day. It took more than five months for that sheriff, Clifford Pinkney, to provide a single public update on the investigation into the two officers involved. It is still ongoing. Not a day after the sheriff spoke did we learn that the slain 12-year-old’s body—preserved all this time in case investigators needed another look—had finally been cremated.

Last Saturday, six months to the day after Tamir’s death, I was in Cleveland again. I’d come home to give an awards ceremony speech a couple days earlier at my high school to a group of young black men and boys, grades 3 through 12. I talked about how they find themselves fighting a reputation they never earned, many of them regarded as “endangered species” and “at risk” through no fault of their own. Those descriptions, I told them, could lead them to believe in the scarcity of black excellence. “We are abundant and plentiful,” I said, gesturing at the stage of young black scholars behind me and to the audience in front of me. “Don’t let anyone tell you different.” I mentioned to them that I’d written about Tamir, but given how young some of the students were, I didn’t really tell them how much I fear for them.

I thought about them as I sat with my father watching television that Saturday morning, watching Judge John O’Donnell maundering about in legalese for a good half hour until he arrived at his sadly predictable conclusion: Michael Brelo, a Cleveland police officer who shot two unarmed black suspects in 2012, was “not guilty.”

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OP-ED: The Illusion of Allyship. White Women, Your Yard Signs Mean Nothing to Me

NNPA NEWSWIRE – “The blue bracelets are something White women are wearing so others can see that they didn’t vote for Trump,” says Liberal Lisa from Oklahoma on X. Chile, bye. These bracelets are hollow symbols, empty gestures that mean nothing to me. An accessory to claim distance from Trump’s legacy is superficial comfort, while the choice to not stand with us in the voting booth is far more profound.

Published

2 weeks ago

November 9, 2024

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Political yard signs can symbolize intentions and allegiance. But this year, they’ve also symbolized betrayal. During this general election, Black women were led to believe that more White women would stand with us. Exit polls, however, told a different story. Despite overwhelming displays of support, more White women still chose to vote for the convicted felon, reality TV star, and rapist. White women answered the call but left us hanging at the polls.

A Familiar Disappointment

I live in DeKalb County, Georgia, and the abundance of Harris-Walz yard signs could’ve fooled me. But I’ve seen this before, back when Stacey Abrams ran for governor. White women showed up, put up signs, attended rallies, knocked on doors, and phone-banked. Yet, when it came time to vote, they let us down—not once but twice. I’ve been here for over 15 years, and if there’s one thing I know, it’s that political signs are symbols without weight.

In every election, I’ve talked with White women. Most aren’t the primary earners in their families and vote along party lines, aligning with the preferences of their fathers and husbands. These conversations reveal a reluctance to break from tradition, even when their votes affect women and certainly when their votes impact the lives of people who look like me.

The Illusion of Solidarity—Symbols Are Not Enough

On social media, I’m seeing White women posting pictures of blue bracelets to “prove” they didn’t vote for Trump. “The blue bracelets are something White women are wearing so others can see that they didn’t vote for Trump,” says Liberal Lisa from Oklahoma on X. Chile, bye. These bracelets are hollow symbols, empty gestures that mean nothing to me. An accessory to claim distance from Trump’s legacy is superficial comfort, while the choice to not stand with us in the voting booth is far more profound.

I’ve seen Black Lives Matter signs and black squares posted on Instagram to “prove” support for Black people, but we now know that was a lie, too. Will those same people who claimed Black lives mattered now take down their Harris-Walz signs and show their true selves?

Navigating these truths is a daily struggle for me—professionally and socially. White women often misuse their privilege, supporting us only when it’s convenient. Seeing overqualified Black women sabotaged or abandoned by White women at critical moments is a constant emotional challenge. It’s exhausting to live with this reality, especially when solidarity seems like something they pick up and discard at will.

One clever campaign ad from Harris-Walz that spoke directly to White women. “Your Vote, Your Choice” emphasized that their vote was private—independent of their household situation. Another was from Olivia Howell Dreizen, the “Vote Without Fear” campaign, which empowered women to consider the greater impact of their choices. But it seems many still couldn’t choose the roadmap to freedom—even when it was handed to them.

A Call for Action Beyond Words

White women, I want to believe you care, but actions speak louder than yard signs, bracelets, or Instagram posts. Show up in our communities, advocate in your workplaces, and stand up to dismantle the structures that uphold white supremacy. Only through real action will we know where you stand.

If you choose not to act, we see you—and we know exactly where you stand. Good luck these next four years.

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of BlackPressUSA.com or the National Newspaper Publishers Association.