Black in AmeriKKKa, My experiences with systematic racism Vol.1
Being a Black man in America can be a hellish experience that I wouldn't wish on my enemies. We are systematically targeted by law enforcement, under-served by the public education system, and seen as expendable in all venues except entertainment and sports. In 2016 we are on track to have more Black folks killed by police than any year since slavery, at least 194 so far this year, and it has been that way for a few years now. America as a whole seems to still see us second class citizens.
I was born in Milwaukee, Wisconsin on Dec. 10th 1993 to Mark Campbell, a 32 year old Black man and Denise Reed, a 19 year old Mizrahi and White woman. For those of you unaware, Milwaukee is the most segregated city in the United States. I lived two separate lives. I had my white family that lived on Milwaukee's south side, and my Black family who lived in the Garden Holmes neighborhood on Milwaukee's north side.
Here I was trapped between worlds feeling as if I did not belong to either, just floating in between. It wasn't until I was 5 that I truly began to grasp the situation. I was as fair skinned as a mixed child could be. This caused issues in my Black "world," because I didn't look like my cousins and siblings. I didn't feel as if I was one of them. I felt even more lost in the white sphere, I couldn't relate. The only thing I felt similar to my white family and peers was a lack of melanin.
I knew my mom's family did not care for my father. I also knew it wasn't just because of habits he had, it was deeper than that. I was okay, because complexion-wise I "fit" the mold they wanted me to. My hair was kept short, if not I had an afro. I felt as if I was being forced to appear "white."
We moved to Huber Heights, Ohio on 9/11/01. One hell of a day to be moving. I once again was in "white" environment, and felt like I needed to "play the part." All of the friends I made where white. Huber Heights was commonly referred to by me and my few non-white friends as Huber whites.
This new strange place was where I truly first experienced pure racism. What I mean by that is a deep seated hatred just because I was Black. I had a teacher in second grade, at LaMendola Elem. School, her name was Mrs. Elash. Well Mrs. Elash asked her second grade class to draw a picture of their families. Nothing out of the ordinary with that. It is an age appropriate assignment for 6 and 7 year olds.
Well, I drew my family. I have 5 siblings on my dad's side and at the time 3 living grandparents. So I drew them and this teacher told me to "stop telling stories, and draw my 'real' family." I was destroyed. She called me a liar in front of everyone.
Well it just so happened that my Dad's Grandmother, brother, and father were all in town at the time. We all went up to the school, and the school was shocked. This teacher told my dad, she assumed I was lying because I am so light colored.
As Elementary school continued, I had more experiences with racism. Miniscule things like friends parents calling me a "mulatto" to actually being told that "niggers steal", and large things like not being allowed inside the home of one of my friends.
Middle school came, and so did a growing interest in the opposite sex. My dad is black and my mom is "white," so I didn't think dating anyone was a problem. I didn't understand that some parents would take issue with me dating their daughters simply because of my heritage. I realized at this point what racism was, just not its full extent.
( 2008, my 8th grade year of school )
I can remember one girl in particular. I really cared about her, well as much as a 13 year old boy can. She told me her dad didn't like black people but "I was okay." This was basically because she could hide my blackness. I had a fade at the time, baby faced and fair-skinned from winter when I met her. I felt deeply angered. How am I "okay," but my father isn't? Why should I fake being white to date a white girl?
This was a common narrative throughout school. Blacks were bad, but I somehow was okay.
In 8th grade I converted to RasTafrian, and developed a merger of my Jewish believes and my newly found African ones. I grew dreadlocks and became heavily invested in African culture and customs. This was an evolution in the making since birth, but it came to a head around 14. This was around the same time I learned of my paternal grandfathers' role in the Civil Rights movement in Milwaukee. The fact that he marched with Father Groppi and others, it filled me with such a sense of pride that this attitude to "fight the system" and stand up was in my DNA.
( 2011)
Throughout high school at Wayne, I became more and more of a polarizing figure. I was unapologetic in my blackness. I wore dashikis to school at least once a week. I made Wayne honor my religious beliefs and allow me to wear a tam everyday. This wasn't to gain notoriety. It was my way of saying "Fuck you" to everyone who ever made me feel less than what I am, an Unapologetic Afrikan trapped in Amerikkka.
( 2014 My Paternal Grandfather and I at his barbershop, Monk's Barbershop in Milwaukee, WI. )
Look out for Vol. 2 where I will go into my entrance into activism in 2010. Thank you for reading.
(Article by Jaimes Campbell)