On Byron, Jim Crow, and Identities

To all the Black people married to or in long-term relationships with people of pallor, especially Black men, I offer a piece of advice: never love any person or any concept of power and privilege more than you love your people and your identities.

I’m married to a person of pallor. We've been together for almost 16 years. I love her deeply. She is arguably my favorite person in the world. But I could never love her if it was at the behest of my blackness. I could never be with her if our relationship were built on distorting the historical oppression of my people to keep her comfortable with my existence. I have never had to minimize or suppress myself for her. I have watched her learn, unlearn, grow, and stand up against hatred, bigotry, and anti-blackness. That's what any relationship with a person of pallor should be if you're a Black person living in white supremacy.

Any other form of relationship with whiteness poses you and yours a clear and present danger.

Contrary to “popular belief” (”popular belief” meaning melanated folx who seek to curry favor within white supremacist ideology), let me tell you that there are no perks you'll receive from oppressing your people and yourself for the oppressors. The oppressors will never truly accept all of you. They will offer you no safety, defense, power, or privilege in exchange for your services. They will discard you when you no longer serve their purposes and no longer help them look acceptable and community-minded. That's not just speculation - that is history. Undistorted. Clear. Easy to see, established patterns of history with over 400 years of precedents.

To my Black people, I don’t know what self-hatred and generational trauma you carry in your bodies, but I wish you peace, healing, and a better connection with the value of who you are and what your people truly represent. I wish for you to find a love that doesn't have to be tethered to your identities but respects and uplifts them. Love who you love, but always love you and yours first.

Because when you're done acting like a rodent with a built-in bandit mask and the oppressors discard yo’ ass because you no longer serve a purpose, there ain't gonna be no one there who looks like you to help you get back home.

Pepperidge Farms remembers.

[Image description: a picture of U.S. State Representative Byron Donalds speaking to a crowd.]

Image description: a picture of U.S. State Representative Byron Donalds speaking to a crowd.

Connecting Awesome People Podcast Appearance!

Image Description: An encircled picture of HR consultant Pharoah Bolding can be seen on a striped background. The words “Featured in today’s episode” are above the encircled picture in green and white. To the upper-right of the encircled picture in a blue and white circle. In the circle is a white silhouette of a microphone. Under the microphone is Pharoah’s name in green and white letters.

Hey, y'all! I'm on this week's episode of Cinder's Connecting Awesome People podcast! We get real and candid about the trauma of being Black, melanated, and intersectional in the workplace. We also talk about HR and DEI. And, if you know me or follow my work, you already know this wasn't some "baby gloves" conversation.

You can find the podcast on Apple Podcasts and Spotify!

Spotify:
https://open.spotify.com/episode/57osaWxRCNIFHEWGegukLX?si=JOonioSyQKGNSWzuJVC38A

Apple Podcasts:
https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/connecting-awesome-people/id1728583997

[Image Description: An encircled picture of HR consultant Pharoah Bolding can be seen on a striped background. The words “Featured in today’s episode” are above the encircled picture in green and white. To the upper-right of the encircled picture in a blue and white circle. In the circle is a white silhouette of a microphone. Under the microphone is Pharoah’s name in green and white letters.]

On Tamir's 21st Birthday

Image description: a picture of a 12-year-old Tamir Rice. He is smiling at the camera while throwing up a peace sign. The sun from a nearby window gives his soft brown skin a glow.

TW: discussion around police-involved shootings, murder, anti-Blackness, and racism.

Tamir Rice should be 21 years old today.

Tamir should be celebrating with friends and family, with a long weekend to do so.

But Tamir is not here today.

Tamir is not here today because, at the age of 12, he was murdered by a police officer who had been deemed emotionally unstable and unfit for duty by Independence, Ohio’s police department but lied about this to get a job with the Cleveland Police Department.

Tamir is not here today because he was murdered by a Cleveland police officer who never received a background check when he applied for the Cleveland Police Force.

Tamir’s family received no justice for his murder because a jury believed the officer who murdered Tamir was justified in his actions. After all, Tamir had an airsoft pistol that looked real, and there was no way the officer could know the difference.

Meanwhile, white mass shooters on murder sprees get lengthy negotiations, gentle trips to the police station and Burger King, and so much benefit of the doubt and so many excuses for their actions that it’s blatantly apparent whose lives don't matter.

Tamir should be celebrating the benchmark of adulthood.

But Tamir isn't with us today.

[Image description: a picture of a 12-year-old Tamir Rice. He is smiling at the camera while throwing up a peace sign. The sun from a nearby window gives his soft brown skin a glow.]

On Bus Stops, Kylie Minogue, and Distance

As I was transferring buses on my commute to work this morning, I walked up to the stop for my second bus, where a white woman was waiting for the next leg of her trip. As I came to a stop, I sat on a bus bench about six to eight feet from where she was standing. As soon as I sat down, she immediately moved out of the space and stood on the other side of the LED sign showing the bus arrival times.

She put 10 feet and a wall between us.

And all I did was sit down at a bus stop while waiting for my bus.

Maybe she moved because I smiled at her as I approached the stop, which I unconsciously do all the time. After all, I’m friendly, but I know how people view big Black men in overwhelmingly white cities like Portland, so I try to exude an aura of "not dangerous" to minimize the unspoken fear factor I evidently add to the pot of by existing.

Maybe she moved because of my pink headphones and Singin’ in the Rain t-shirt.

Maybe she moved because my laptop bag, adorned with patches of Alfred Hitchcock, Mario, Luigi, Spider-Man, Chibi nigiri, and musubi, offended her.

Or maybe she moved because she’s racist and full of stereotypes and anti-Black rhetoric to the point where she felt the big Black guy boppin’ to Kylie Minogue posed a clear and present danger to her safety.

All I did was sit at a bus stop while waiting for my bus.

These moments happen to me all the time. I know that one misconstrued smile or glance, or a moment that I’m seen as an invader of some white person’s space, could be the difference between me getting to work on time and never going to work again. And I know that all I can do in these moments is hope that a higher power has my back because even when a Black man does the right things to protect himself, he’s still a potential bullet shelter or convict.

And all I did was sit down at a bus stop while waiting for my bus.

I got to work on time. So, there’s that.