Op-ed: US Capitol riots, MLK Jr. Day remind us there are still two Americas

Race

By JASON CAMPBELL CHICAGO TRIBUNE |JAN 15, 2021

Unlike many other Black residents of Washington, D.C., I had the luxury of visiting the U.S. Capitol building as a child. I walked within the red ropes side by side with my mostly white middle-school classmates — wearing a long-sleeve button-down shirt and slacks — knowing that because I am Black I could find myself in trouble for something as simple as speaking too loudly.

As an adult, I watched Jan. 6 as that same Capitol — the seat of our democracy — was stormed by an angry, predominantly white pro-Trump mob determined to stop a joint session of Congress set to certify the presidential election results. They destroyed property, assaulted journalists and condemned anyone on their destructive path. Images and videos showed many police officers at best unprepared and at worst unwilling to stop the attack.

Why does society tolerate different expectations for Black men? How can anyone deny that there are two Americas? And yet, many do.

I read a quote from a fellow Black male physician on Twitter, “We’re not asking you to shoot them like you shoot us, we’re asking you to NOT shoot us like you don’t shoot them …”

Eight months ago, George Floyd was murdered under the knee of a Minneapolis police officer. Black Lives Matter supporters and others filled the streets in protest over the summer. Yet, since the murder of George Floyd, police in American cities continue to murder unarmed and nonviolent Black men. In contrast, how can one explain the docile handling of those insurrectionists at the Capitol except as the latest and starkest evidence of America’s oldest and most vile double standard. As Americans, we can no longer ignore the threat of white nationalism and white supremacy.

To understand this monumental occasion, we must retrace our steps in history. The federal government relied heavily on enslaved labor to ensure the nation’s new capital city could receive Congress when it moved to the District of Columbiafrom Philadelphia in 1800. Enslaved Black laborers — rented from their owners — were involved in almost every stage of the building’s construction. Now, as we’ve seen through the footage from Jan. 6, the Capitol employs Black men who wear police uniforms and maintenance uniforms. From building the Capitol to cleaning the debris left behind to protecting those inside, Black men continue to put the very nation that too often forgets about them on their shoulders.

As another Martin Luther King Jr. Day approaches Monday, his words reverberate as loudly now as they ever have — “The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.”

Eugene Goodman — a Capitol Police officer — faced challenge and controversy directly when he put himself in harm’s way and utilized a measured response toward the mostly white assailants. His nonviolent actions likely prevented the mob from entering the Senate chambers. His actions likely saved lives. This is what we, as Black men, also deserve in our interactions with police officers.

The more important question, though, is how do we move forward now as a nation? We must focus not only on the people storming the Capitol but on the policies that have made two Americas possible. We must work to undo the laws and practices that enshrine inequality in this country.

For decades, our nation has confined its focus on Black history to the shortest month, February, as Black History Month. This past year has forced us to confront and acknowledge our nation’s Black history month after month — a discussion we all must keep up to move forward.

Growing up a Black man in America: Why our souls are on fire

Race

June 1, 2020 at 2:19 pm, Special to The Seattle Times

I was 7 years old when my mother yelled at me, “Stop. Listen. Stop. If you don’t start listening to me, then you’re going to get yourself killed one day. Because the cops will only say stop once.”

Like many young boys of color, the only thought I had in that moment was for my mother to release me from her tight grip and allow me to continue on my way. Many years later, many shootings later and many deaths later related to police brutality, America is at a tipping point. The souls of men of color are on fire much like the buildings and streets of America. America’s truest colors are showing, and it is a frightening sight.

In 2016, I sat in one of the largest football stadiums in the country. As the national anthem began playing, Colin Kaepernick was mocked for kneeling peacefully against police brutality only moments before the same men applauded the Black athletes whom Kaepernick symbolized. Yet another example of how being a Black man in America can feel as though our actions are continually viewed as incorrect. Protest peacefully? Wrong. Protest with violence? Wrong. On the athletic field, we are viewed as equals, but in society this bar of equality has been fractured and, some might argue, destroyed.

When and how does inaction change to action and listening result in transformation? I sit with the rage of my Black community, and I march with the nonviolent protesters. I write with no distinct answer, but there exists a perpetual myth that halts the conversation of progress: Only certain Black men become the result of such police brutality. I assure you that what has occurred with George Floyd or Ahmaud Arbery can happen to me or any male with my skin complexion. Understand, we as Black men are not given the benefit of the doubt. When I leave my home, I do not walk around with a sign that reads, “Dr. Campbell, former student-athlete at Emory University, Graduate & Former President of The Ohio State University College of Medicine student body, M.D., M.S.”

I am just another Black man.

In 2011 — as a recent graduate of Emory University and AmeriCorps member — I had just dropped my girlfriend off at her home in northeast Washington, D.C. I was driving my mother’s Lexus sedan when I fell asleep at a red light — exhausted from a 60-hour week of service. Five seconds later, I awoke. I lightly pressed my foot on the gas pedal and began advancing through the red light a moment before it turned green. As I recognized my error so too did the police officer in his car. Understandably, he pulled me over. It is what happened next that puzzled me. An Asian-American officer approached me. I was wearing a Ralph Lauren jacket, button-downed collared shirt and slacks. I provided him my ID and registration. He ran the plates. I explained it was my mother’s car, and then he asked, “Do you have any weapons in the car?”

“No,” I responded, calmly. “Mind if I check?,” he asked.

“Not at all,” I said as I stepped out of the vehicle. He dropped to one knee and looked under the car seat while reaching his arm as far as he could. He then stood up, handed me my ID back and wished me a good night. In reading this there will most certainly be a level of anger toward either my willingness or my inaction of combating his prejudice at the moment. However, a compliant voice then now allows for a provocative pen. I was alone, on a dark street in the middle of the night. It was the police officer and me.

I was just another Black man.

The concept of anti-racism has newly emerged through the weeds of complacency. This concept is the only way to move forward as a non-Black ally. The moving walkway of discrimination, prejudice and bigotry favors the racist and standing still places one in this jurisdiction of hatred. To antagonize their message, one must walk by actively fighting, disrupting and dispelling their racist tones — both overt and subtle.

In the book “The Fire Next Time,” James Baldwin wrote, “You were born into a society which spelled out with brutal clarity, and in as many ways as possible, that you were a worthless human being …”

When one watches the video of George Floyd on the ground with another man’s knee pressed into his neck, it is nearly impossible for these words not to haunt one with a distinct level of truth and accuracy. Irrelevant of profession or walk of life, we deserve an America that gives us the benefit of the doubt or at least an America that allows us to breathe.

Pay Collegiate Athletes If It Is Tied To Their Education: Former Black Student-Athlete Turned Physician Weighs In

Athletics, Race, Sports

There is a script I continue to watch unfold: A young African-American male heralded in college as an elite athlete raises large amounts of money for his university. He then leaves this Mt. Olympus-esque world prior to obtaining a degree for the dream of playing in the National Football League. A few years, seasons and many injuries later this same young man is 30 years old, financially unstable with little to count for his past triumphs but some old newspaper clippings, ESPN highlights found on YouTube and unending aches and pains in his joints. I propose that if the NCAA provides financial compensation under a strict framework of academic compliance and encouragement, multiple issues can be resolved. I am a 30-year-old African-American medical school graduate, a current resident physician, and a former division III track and field All-American.

In 2011, I graduated college and returned to my hometown of Washington D.C., while a savior was moving in from Waco, Texas. Robert Griffin III the former Baylor University QB—nicknamed RGIII—had just been drafted #2 overall by the Washington football team. Each Sunday he had the crowd roaring, game after game, night after night, under the lights and loudspeakers. He was the second most popular person in town next to then President Barack Obama. Years later, as RGIII and I—nearly identical in age—look into the future, divergent futures stare back at us as his career lights are dimming while mine are beginning to illuminate.

Recently, California Governor Gavin Newsome signed the Fair Pay to Play Act allowing collegiate players to be financially compensated for name recognition and to hire agents beginning in 2023. If one steps back, this bill can serve as an opportunity to embolden student-athletes to increase their academic focus for a more enriched future. The financial burden for some players and their families is evident and demands consideration. For many of these families, they send their sons to elite football powerhouses with the hope of winning a national title and the goal of one day playing in the National Football League changing their familial financial landscape. The Fair Pay to Play Act or any bill of this magnitude can be utilized to promote academic compliance through financial compensation. Enforcement of class attendance in conjunction with assignment completion would hold these players more accountable. I propose there be an allocated amount of money a player be eligible to receive on a weekly basis. Yet, missed classes or assignments would result in a weekly reduction or removal of the financial stipend. Daily, the notion of a student-athlete loses its values with certain sports as institutions refuse to hold their student-athletes accountable in the classroom as much as the coaches are holding them responsible on the athletic field.

In 2015, according to Tuscaloosa News, Alabama’s football program earned nearly $46.5 million for the school during their 2015 championship season. Shockingly, this number was nearly $7 million less than the year prior. In the same breath, the organization pushing vehemently to deny these young men the chance to profit from their dedication—the National Collegiate Athletic Association, or NCAA—averages nearly 1 billion dollars in revenue annually. These earnings come from exposure and marketing derived from competition and winning, from the coaches who recruit the talent, and from the talent who sacrifice their beings and future. Financial compensation based on academic compliance would allow the players to send money home to their families, to save money and most importantly to better invest in their futures through educational attainment.

I can no longer bear to see former student-athletes holding onto memories everyone else has forgotten not daring to dream of more for their futures. Most NFL players have finished their career by age 30 with no college degree, dismantling financial instability and lasting damage to their bodies. This has to change. There needs to be more retired NFL players becoming businessmen, news personalities, and even coaches. A bill of this nature can create this narrative for these current and future young men. The compass needs to be realigned moving from viewing athletics as the highest point of ones life to utilizing sports and academics to more lifelong achievements.

The importance of sports and athletic prowess is not in question but without a push for education, we are the hurt ones—the men of color.