Riding Dirty
I woke up to Breakfast Television on CP24 this past Monday morning as I do everyday. I enjoy this time before I leave the house to get to school/work. All at once I’m hit with traffic reports, weather reports, and any events going on in the city in the morning. It has become a comforting part of my morning routine. My TV is even programmed to shut off right at 8 am when I’m supposed to be out the door. If I wake up on time I get to hear Deana and Kevin play out the quirky relationship that they have, which beats the loud buzzing my alarm clock gives off if CP24 hasn’t done its job in keeping me up.
This Monday morning was a little different than all the other days though. I usually leave my house by 8 am before the nightly is being reported, but today I slept longer than usual. I guess I was supposed to do that on this day.
The news anchor, which is just the messenger really, proceeded to describe the events of two males (Oliver Martin and Dylan Ellis) that were shot to death on Richmond St (not in the entertainment district) on June 13th at 12:00 am. Another death on another T.Dot corner I thought.
While I have not misplaced my feelings of sympathy for the families, and I can’t even imagine what the parents must be feeling like, still my mood immediately switched when the wrap up of the evidence was given. I became annoyed, hurt and pissed off. Two things that the reporter matter-of-factly highlighted stuck out in my mind. One being that the victims were innocent and therefore the motive(s) were unknown. In other words, it wasn’t gang related.
SIDENOTE: I learned that if you read between the lines you have a better chance of getting the whole story.
At this point I was only hearing the “news”, not watching it. So when I turned to look at the victims I understood why that conclusion was drawn regardless of what a “thorough” investigation had to say. Martin and Ellis were from the right side of town.
After the reporter continued to stress that there were no known suspects and no evidence leading to one she did make it our business to know some very grounding breaking information. Even though Toronto police have no idea who the shooter is witnesses do recall seeing a black man flee the scene on a mountain bike. This is where my second beef comes in. I stopped getting ready and considered myself late at this point. I looked at the screen, and reality sank in as the mothers read pleas urging the killer to come forward at a press conference. The reality is…you can be doing anything anywhere, but if your pace is quicker than a walk near a shooting and you’re a black man; you’re a suspect.
You could be oblivious to the whole thing because all you could hear was the music bumpin’ through your iPod and it was only the oncoming traffic that made you switch gears. Don’t pedal too fast boy, you’re a suspect.
I watched the mothers cry, like any mother should over their lost souls, and I felt for them. But the pain I felt for my own people clouded my vision. All I could see was the extinction rates going up. Black men and women are running scarce. No green peace organization could ever hope to replenish the drought. Then I thought about the voices I was hearing and the ones I never heard. I tried to dig deep in my memory for a time black mothers stood behind a podium with a dozen reporters ready to hear their cries. No instance came to mind. Where is their opportunity? How come the whole GTA was not put on pause to view a black mother’s anguish? I felt sad and neglected. The true feelings of my people’s marginalization began to festor. I could feel the edge of the cliff where black faces reside. The wind enticing me to take a step and fall back.
In two minutes all black men in the GTA had been put on alert. Don’t go bike riding. Don’t even admit to knowing how to ride one. Just like that everyone in Toronto was told, ‘look, another black boy has committed another selfish and heinous act’. What’s worse is the victims became the innocent and unprovoking kind (however valid), while black men were further sealed as the treacherous predators that walk around gun happy just itching for someone to shoot. Regardless of who the killer turns out to be, the picture has been painted and the story has been written. The plot thickens. True or false; presumptions have been affirmed way before possible has been made.
The anchor said a black man was seen fleeing the scene. So I looked ‘flee’ up in the dictionary to see if she was using it wrong. ‘Flee‘ means to run away, as from danger or pursuers. She had made a mistake. The way she used this term implyed much more than it meant. Can anybody ever dare to fathom the possibility that a black man on a bike may have been fleeing the scene because he heard shots and feared HIS life? No viable description, no step closer to a sketched out description. Just a flimsy attempt at throwing hope a grieving mothers way. If he was fleeing the scene he must have been involved. Black men don’t flee anything but responsibility right? That’s why no elaboration is necessary, we all knew what she meant, but how many Torontonians know the difference between guesstimations and facts? Not enough.
My message to you: don’t let your black male friends ride bikes for the next month or so; they might fit the description. I can only pray the next black mother who loses a child due to an act of violence gets her time behind the podium and not just at the end of the driveway with her house clothes on. Just because we’re black doesn’t mean we’re used to, or okay with our people being shot down.
Holla if you hear me.