All I Have Are Candles · 9:09pm Jun 4th, 2020
“The world is dark, and light is precious.
Come closer, dear reader.
You must trust me.
I am telling you a story.”
― Kate DiCamillo, The Tale of Desperaux
In 2015, I was pulled over for a speeding ticket. Nothing happened, aside from a fine from the speed trap. Later that day, I told my parents what happened. They listened and there was a long pause. My dad looked at me a moment and asked, "Are you okay?" He said it slowly and gently. The way one approaches mourners after a funeral.
I'd been shaken and terrified since I saw the lights in my rearview mirror and I stayed that way hours after the patrol car drove away. I was a nervous wreck. "Yeah," I said. "I'm okay."
We all knew why I wouldn't be okay. Nobody said it, but we knew. Of course we did. I don't know what it's like to see lights in your mirror and not wonder "Am I going to die today?" I don't know what it's like to mention that you got pulled over and the gut response is "Are you okay?" I expect it must be nice.
I'm not angry. I wish, a little, that I was. There's strength in anger. There is force, movement, action, change. There's an inherent hope in anger, because in movement there is change and in change there is progress and in progress there is hope. Or at the very least, catharsis.
But I'm not angry. I'm sad. I'm tired and I'm sad and I don't... I don't understand. I know how we got here, I know why we got here, but I don't understand.
I don't understand why they hate us so much.
I think this is something all black people go through in waves and stages. You know the world you've inherited, you know the insidious hold of white supremacy, but that's the thing about structural inequality and racism. When you live in a building, you don't see the scaffolding, you don't see the frayed wiring, and you don't see the old rusted pipes. But you know there's mold in the walls. You know the water never runs right. You know the lights flicker and go out for no reason. But you've been living in the building so long you learn to live with it. Maybe you start to think it's natural for the lights to flicker and everyone's pipes rattle. Maybe you don't look a too hard at the cracks in the ceiling because you know it may all come crashing down on you. Besides, it's not like you can move out. It's the only building you have.
And you know it won't be your fault if (or when) the building finally falls on you. You also know when they find your body crushed under the rubble, and though they may express some modicum of pity they'll find a way to blame you anyway. They always do.
I'm glad people read and enjoy my stories. But sometimes I can't help but think that if I was in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong police officer, I'd be in the ground right now. And the same people who read my work will shrug and say I deserved it. I don't know what to do about that.
And I don't understand.
I don't have an essay for you. I don't have wisdom and I don't have insight. I don't have any witty or incendiary quips or slogans. I barely even have a coherent building metaphor. As I said, I'm very tired.
All I have, dear readers, is a little story. I wrote it for my final exam in fairytales and folklore course, in which we retold a fairytale. I chose The Brennan Town Musicians: a story about a band of animals, mistreated and forgotten, making their way in the world with their music. it resulted in a beast fable about the African American Great Migration, a time in which people sought to escape the brutal racism of southern states by looking for opportunity up north where the racism was at least nice enough to wear a tie sometimes.
And so, I present to you The Harlem Club Musicians. It's an old candle and it's melting on the sides and I don't know if it'll keep you warm. But it's a story, and stories are light.
For now, that's all I can do.
Ever so many vibes, PP.
I don't know what I could ever add to what you wrote, as I haven't been in such a position and it would feel disingenuous to add to a feeling I have never had.
But I'm glad I can read what you wrote and that you're here to write it.
Epilogue because i forgot to add it before whups:
"Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten."
I suspect the last thing you need right now is another white guy saying how much he caaaaaaaarrrrrres.
But the shit I have seen lately, I can't allow to stand.
All I can offer are Internet hugs and gratitude that you're here.
5276274
Let me tell you, it's miles better than the alternative. It's crushing to learn one of our own did something so terrible, but the litany of blogs responding to it is sincerely heartening.
5276239
*vibes back, muffled vaporwave gently playing in the background*
5276280
Glad you're here too, man. c:
I read an article back in the 00's about a man who was shot by a police officer during a traffic stop because he -- the driver -- was deaf and attempting to use sign language. He was unable to communicate with the officer at all, and the officer in turn took his life because he wasn't following orders.
Ever since, I have felt that fear of headlights in the rear view.
And I know black and Latin Americans feel it so much deeper and so much longer.
Take care of yourself.
5276581
If I'm being totally honest, I'm more scared of being arrested than being shot to death. Partly because after an exceptionally shitty few minutes I don't need to worry about anything anymore, but mostly because I'm terrified of getting in trouble and the prison system is a life-ruining nightmare.
Luckily for me: A) I talk and look like the "right" kind of black person*, B) I'm a woman with no zero poker face whatsoever and visibly look like I'm about to cry, C) my local police force isn't a dystopian hellscape and a far cry from the NYPD, just moneygrubbers with speed traps, and D) by luck two-thirds of the only times I've been pulled over I had a white friend with me in the car. I don't know how much that helped, but I know it sure didn't hurt.
*Pretty sure this is also how I ended up being picked first for jury duty, now that I think about it.
5276680
I fear death. I hear there are worse things. D:
At least I can say my local PD probably isn't a dystopian hellscape either. They were being friendly with protesters outside the police station the other day. So that's two down...
5276680
I absolutely feel this. I am the most stereotypical Aryan-looking person on the planet, and from what I saw happen to me--when I got sucked incredibly briefly into the prison system and treated awfully over a mental health issue--I got off easy and it still fucks me up a little to this day. Cops will beat the shit out of you given the chance. They'll lie and destroy evidence to make the case slightly more in their favor, and when they're found out, it'll be brushed over like it was a simple and understandable mistake. And the whole initial arresting incident was escalated by them to begin with! I can't imagine what that situation would have been like if I were a person of color who didn't have the means to make himself all gussied up for court and afford bail so he wasn't forced to sit in jail awaiting trail (and I barely did at the time!), although I did get to see many times a brief glimpse of how others who the American System isn't implicitly built to benefit were treated every time I went to the courthouse. It's fucked and it makes me furious. The police are not your friends. And it didn't get that way by accident. As they are now, it is best to stay as far away from them as possible.
- no, definitely not!
I really don't know what to say. I was thinking about you (because I recalled some of your earlier posts) in the light of latest events in USA ... Glad to see you alive! But I have no big idea how to change this building (metaphor) of abusive behavior .. :/ Thanks for linked story, I'll read it, but may be unable to write much about it (not really reviewer).
I really don't know if saying anything will help anypony ...this is not just empty phrase for me. Myself is, well, white (and from Russia) so I have no idea if something like ' we are ponies of color!!' will be accepted by actual .... ponies (of non-white color). At least you can always point out ponies NOT into just watching their loved to be killed - they kick back.
re: Harlem club Musicians.
yeah .... new computers and new (hyped) 'star'ships may be - but human thing still fells and acts quite like old one .....
Good luck to you and yours; I'm glad we have you and hope that keeps up, and I'm sorry our system is at a point where a uniform that should signal protection instead gives you a fully justified sense of fear.
And I enjoyed the candle; thank you. :)
From far away I can't offer you anything more than listen to your story and be angry at the injustice. I wish I could do more than that and speak up.
You don't have to be on the front lines to make a difference and there's strength in surviving.
Thank you for sharing. The world's better with you in it, Patches.
It seems whole deviantart.com 403'ed at least for some of us in Russia ..... (date
Пн июн 8 16:03:21 MSK 2020). Hopefully ti will be back. Right now some googlecache works. I saved it (and Cactus Nocturne) just in case ....
EDIT: nevermind, it was proxy configuration error in my browser.
So glad that you're still around; and that you're not up here, 'cause our police force IS a dystopian hellscape. I'd say I'd love to meet you at EFNW, but not sure how safe it's going to be by then, all things considered.
Take care of yourself and stay as safe as you can. (Really liked "The Silver Standard".)
Oh Patch...you're wonderful. And The Silver Standard has always been one of my favorite fics. You are loved my friend. I'm a DM away if you need someone to talk to. I may not fully understand, but I will try my best.
I'm sorry this is the world we live in. I hope we can make a better one.