To my Sandra

I’m married to a Sandra Bland; a black woman: unafraid to speak her mind, unafraid of the consequences. It’s one of the things I love most about her. While I sometimes search for minutes (or hours) for the exact right word to say and the exact right tone to say precisely the right thing, she often lives in the freedom of the moment; espousing quick-witted retorts and barbs before I’ve even had a chance to process. That is part of the beauty of a black woman. What outsiders perceive as “sass” or “having too much mouth”, we appreciate as a survival tactic, a necessity that developed in the task of drawing attention to the mistreatment, often of black men who can be beaten, jailed or killed for just being perceived as a threat. The black woman and her “mouth” have often acted as a shield for us; a protective first layer, sheltering us from the world.

You’ll hear the black mother say to her black son: “get your ass in this house before I come out there and drag it in here for you” (translation: I love you and it's getting dark/unsafe outside and I want you in here safe with me). The black wife snaps to her black husband: “You told me you were gonna be home an hour ago, where the hell are you at?” (translation: I miss you and I was worried when you didn't come home when you said you would). It is but the same roar that a mother bear utters when surrounded by predators as she tries to protect her baby cub. The black mother/wife is the protector often because the black man has been stripped of the ability to be.

            A Sandra Bland has no patience for the wasting of her time. I know because I am married to a Sandra Bland. Between her own job, mothering our children, checking in on the phone with her grandmother/mother, finding my car keys, wallet, left running shoe, flash drive with my latest research paper, making dinner, checking homework, driving the kids to swim practice, making lunches, ironing clothes, giving baths, vacuuming the floor, taking a shower and managing her hair, her time is of the essence. So you’ll have to excuse her, Mr. Officer, if her “attitude” isn’t sunshine and show tunes when she’s pulled over on a bullshit traffic violation in the middle of her busy day. Again, I’m married to a Sandra Bland; she doesn't put up with people who waist her time or treat her beneath her standards, whether they’re wearing a badge or not.

            It has become clear to me over the course of my 30-plus years that I, as a black man, have become a target to some. There is no such thing as a “minor” legal infraction for me. I am well aware that while the law books say that I have the right to ask an officer why I am being detained, the laws of reality tell me to shut my mouth and stay in my place. Historically this is where my Sandra Bland has stood in for me, acting as a mouthpiece because both old Jim Crow and new Jim Crow have rendered me mouthless. But what I had not realized (or maybe more truthfully, had willingly ignored) is that new Jim Crow, just like old Jim Crow doesn't want to hear from Sandra either. The warning signs were quite clear: she is never acknowledged for her intellectual prowess despite the fact that there are more black women enrolled in college today than any other singular group (including white men).  She is called a man for her body (see Serena Williams) despite being the real life African Aphrodite. She is paid nearly the least for her work (far worse than her white counterparts) despite regularly taking on more tasks than others and often being better educated than them. She is labeled as the “welfare queen” eating up hard earned tax dollars despite the fact that middle-aged white women make up a larger percentage of welfare recipients and the fact that black women are the fastest growing group of entrepreneurs in the country.  At the moment when she should be the most revered, the most praised and the most beloved, she is instead the most stripped apart, the most devalued, the most unloved.

            The fallacy of it all is that we, black America, want so desperately to believe in the ideals written in the constitution: that “All Men” (and in turn all women) are created equal. But literally as the ink on the constitution dried, our “forefathers” including Mr. Monticello himself, Thomas Jefferson, violated the words they wrote as he (and men like him) rolled around with the black women they enslaved as their playthings to be discarded when done being of use. This hypocrisy remained during old Jim Crow as black women would be raped, lynched and set a blaze by the local police officers who happened to be dressed in white robes for the local fraternal organization.  Today, “laws” prevent black women from being singled out exclusively for their race, so instead “laws” provide over zealous officers the vague leeway needed to transgress our Sandras legally when their “aggressive tone” offends the saintly ears of those in uniform.  

            For years our Sandras have busted their butts, sometimes single-handedly duct-taping black families together as both poor individual choices and systemic pitfalls sought to keep black men locked away like animals. They have achieved in the face of adversity and have refused to be stepped on along the way. They have in many ways, saved what is left of the black community, even when the community itself has seemingly been seconds away from implosion. It is our responsibility as black men to now return the favor.

            When I married my Sandra, I promised her two things: to provide for her and protect her. That’s it. No big house, no cruises across the Mediterranean. Two simple promises: protect her physically, mentally and spiritually and provide for her physically (house, food etc.) but more importantly mentally and emotionally. I take those two things very seriously and I am willing to sacrifice my body to uphold those vows. This is not some brash act of bravado, some symbolic chest thumping of manhood. It is simply a declaration to any man, uniformed or not, white, black, green or blue, who attempts to violate my Sandra. There will be no need for cameras, no need for depositions. It will not be tolerated. Again, I do not pretend to be a man to strike fear in the hearts of others. I only profess to be a man of my word. I am proud to be married to a Sandra Bland for she is the backbone of my entire existence, her sassy mouth included, and I refuse to let my Sandra(s) continue to be violated.