“You Have My Permission to Wear a Hoodie Every Day”
Photo by Joe Newman
Editor’s note: When Rasha Hamid heard about the death of Trayvon Martin, she thought immediately of her own son, Jibreel, and wrote him this poem. She provides this context:
I am a teacher, currently living and teaching in Khartoum, Sudan. Before coming to Sudan two and a half years ago, I taught in East Harlem and Hamilton Heights, New York City for 12 years. Through my teaching, I hope to make the world a better, safer, more equitable place. To this end, I have many conversations with my students about fairness, equality, justice and activism in its many forms.
I wrote this poem after having conversations with my ten-year-old son, Jibreel, about Trayvon Martin and realizing it was time for me to talk to him about racial profiling. He has, of course, experienced racial profiling, but I hadn't yet felt compelled to talk to him about it in such explicit terms.
I
remember
when
you wrapped
a
brass paper fastener
around
your chubby finger
Look,
Mommy,
You
said
I’m
the Brown Human!
I’m
a superhero!
And
yesterday
After
we read about Trayvon
You
said,
It
must be scary
for
a 17 year old
to
have a man with a gun
following
him
people
listening all around
while
he screamed
for
help
no one
helped him
if
I was standing
behind
the guy
with
the gun
I
would go up
and
take the gun from him
quietly
like I come down from handstands
You know?
and I think,
Stay a superhero
Survive
You
will need all of your
powers
To stay alive
Because
when
you walk
down
the street
No
one will know
that
you know
if
you add
28
and 82
you
get 110
and
if you add 110 and 011
which
is like 11
you
get 121
and
that’s a palindrome
And
you know
that
if you add 1 brown boy
wearing
1 hoodie
and
1 crazy man
and
1 gun
and
1 bullet
in certain places
you
get
this
terrible feeling
of
sorrow
and
bubbling of fear
that
pushes tears
from
your eyes
When you walk down the street
No
one will know
you
carry a map of the world in your head
and
the blood of three continents
in
your veins
that
at ten,
you
plan out where you will live
when
you grow up
by
where you might not get
racially
profiled
If
everyone is brown,
mommy,
then
they won’t think
brown
people are bad
When I am afraid,
I
want to say,
after
pressing my lips
against
the diminishing roundness
of
your soft brown cheek,
Stay
safe.
Keep
your hands out of your pockets,
my
love,
Don’t
travel with
3
Musketeers bars
or
Skittles
or
cans of iced tea
Don’t
wear hoodies
nor
carry
a
wallet
Nor
drive a car
Nor
walk down the street
While
wearing
your
brownness
Someone may feel threatened
Shuffle,
my son,
Cower,
Speak
quietly and with great restraint
When
they say
Liberty
and justice for all
They’re
not talking about you
Your
very humanity is
tenuous
Suspended
by a fragile thread
But I tell him instead
Trayvon
did nothing wrong.
Being
brown is not wrong.
Going
to the store is not wrong.
Wearing
a hoodie is not wrong.
You
have my permission
to
wear a hoodie
every
day
if
you like
Some
will fear you
for
your brown skin
and
your brilliance
and
your boldness
But
stand up
for
what’s right
If
you are afraid
Speak
up anyway
And
if there is a time
You
need to be quiet
and
hide the fire inside you
Repress
your screams of
“It’s
not fair!”
To
keep yourself safe
That’s
all right, too.
And
when you are safe,
SPEAK
UP AGAIN.
As
a wise man once said,
The
only thing necessary
for
the triumph of evil
is
that good men do nothing
So
do
something
Speak
up
Sing
out
Walk
tall
Be
free
And
love
love
love
For
the fierceness
With
which you love
is
your greatest
superpower
And
as you once said,
my
wise child
Love
is the strongest thing
Nothing
can break it
And you,
are love.
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