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The Undisputed Truth

The Bell Jar

April 30, 2008 | Tags: Sean Bell, Immortal Technique, police brutality, injustice

I had previously decided that I would remain quiet on this one, but in true Amanda-can-never-stay-silent-when-angry fashion, I have changed my mind.

First of all, for anyone that may not understand the title of this post, let me briefly explain. “The Bell Jar” is a novel by Sylvia Plath; a semiautobiographical piece that details the main character’s spiral downward into mental illness and details her subsequent treatment. The object in the title, “the bell jar”, is used as a metaphorical reference to the feeling of being trapped or stifled – as if being held captive under a literal bell jar. Feeling like you can’t breathe, feeling trapped, stuck, helpless. Shortly after the book was published, the author committed suicide. There is an obvious play in words that will become evident to you by the time you’re finished reading this.

This isn’t about Sylvia Plath though.

All this talk about Sean Bell, paired with the recent, beyond unfortunate acquittal of those behind his death, has had me thinking a lot about my old friend Aaron that I had mentioned a couple months ago. Admittedly, being half-Arab in a post-9/11 society and having to watch what my pure-blooded Palestinian side of my family (and friends, acquaintances, and strangers of Middle Eastern or South Asian descent) has had to deal with purely because of what they look like or the articles of clothing they wear that hint at their religious or ethnic backgrounds, has me thinking about racism issues in America rather frequently. Of course when Bell was shot, I thought that the fact that he was a black male living in our society may have had something to do with it.

Aaron is a reminder to me that the issue of police brutality and corruption within the police departments (not to mention the justice system as a whole) transcends race.

I’ve been thinking very seriously about this issue in the past 24 hours or so, and one thought keeps popping into my brain – think about a place like D.C. The place of my birth. A place I spend a fair amount of time in. A place where (as I also recently mentioned) citizens cannot carry firearms. A place where despite the fact that citizens cannot carry guns, the police can.

A place where 14-year-old DeOnte Rawlings was shot in the back of the head by two off duty D.C. police officers.

It pains me that while I write this, and I think about these things that have happened, I am watching the local 10pm news and they’re not speaking about this – they’re speaking about Jay-Z hating on the district. And I’m not even joking.

I’m beginning to stray from my point. The mass media will surely be addressed in a post to come, since they tend to disappoint me without fail. But in D.C., if you’re a cop, you put on that uniform and suddenly you’re good enough to carry a gun. Being involved with DX and coming into contact with many people who are at least minimally involved in the music industry has taught me a lot of things. One of these things is that a person is a person. No matter your occupation, no matter your age, your race, your religion, your level of income and the tax bracket you call home – you’re human, just like me. A rapper gets on stage and moves thousands of people with their words, but they can still face the same sort of problems that anybody else can. They have bad days, they have good ones; some make money, some don’t. They have girlfriend trouble, they get the flu, their cars break down. You get the point. Whether you’re a producer, a promoter, a lyricist, a DJ, we’re all human and we all need the same basic necessities to survive. The same sort of argument can be applied to a cop. A police officer is just as likely to be mentally unstable, to be prejudiced, to have a bad day and flip the fuck out as anybody who isn’t a cop. Who knows when a cop’s wife leaves him or something, and he’ll end up going as utterly crazy as the guy who shot up Virginia Tech? Yet with the uniform, despite who wears it, comes the gun.

I’m not going so far as to say that officers should be unarmed as they do their job. That’s unrealistic, ineffective, and just not going to happen. I just don’t always understand the instant superiority that people who claim “police officer” as an occupation are granted. Many praise officers because they “risk their lives and are in the line of fire on a daily basis”. Yes, this is true, and for those that take their job seriously and act righteously while exhibiting good judgment, this is something to be proud of and something that should surely be applauded. However, the same line of fire that they walk into with bulletproof vests, guns, tasers, pepper spray, nightsticks, tear gas, etc., many of us walk into everyday completely unarmed. We’re all at risk of being robbed at gunpoint, of being raped, of getting hit by a drunk driver. And when many of us, the citizens of the country not affiliated with law enforcement or positions of power in this country, meet our demise from a stray bullet or a wrong-place-wrong-time scenario, we are not sent off with 21-gun salutes, mile-long funeral processions, or memorials. Yet we are human, just like the people who exert superiority over us are as well. And yet for some reason, our lives, and our subsequent deaths, are not treated as equal.

We live in a nation that goes by “separation of church and state”, yet claims to be “one nation, under God”, so let me just throw something I’ve learned from studies of things ranging from Nietzche’s political theory to Daoist mystical tradition. When you vocalize a personal thought, the truth it holds vanishes for the person on the receiving end of the words. Such is the problem with language, and as a writer this is something that I struggle with rather frequently. I can experience something, and I can use every fancy or not-so-fancy word imaginable to be able to help you get a grip on what I experienced and understand the feeling I felt, but yet my experience is still nobody’s but my own. Words belong to everybody. There is no word to properly convey a true, deep feeling that was personal to you and nobody but you. I can say, “ice cream is cold”, but no word will ever cause you to feel the exact same cold that I felt as I ate the ice cream, nor can you simply eat the same ice cream and expect to feel the exact same thing that I felt. It’s a fairly abstract argument and one that is difficult to explain in one piece of writing. I don’t blame you if you’re not following me at this point. Certain truths are lost in words. Certain truths such as the pain a mother feels when she gets the call that her only son has been shot and killed. Certain truths such as a wife-to-be finding out that the man she loves will never take her hand in marriage.

I don’t know what it’s like to lose a son or a husband to violence that was a result of corruption and unjust motives. I’ve heard about it, I’ve seen people have to deal with it, but I’ll never understand their pain. And because of that inability to understand that pain, I also know that nobody else can feel that pain aside from those mothers and wives (or brothers, cousins, fathers, etc.). There is no judge, no officer that can feel that exact pain that Bell’s fiancé or mother feel, let alone begin to attempt to formulate a way to compensate for it (which has failed miserably. And that’s an understatement). All I know is that what is happening is wrong. And what’s even more wrong is how long this sort of thing has been going on. How many people have been lost or have severely suffered due to the same sort of problem?

“We hold these truths to be self evident, that all men are created equal.”

A simple, easily understood statement. We all get it. So why is it so hard to pull off?

Just some food for thought, that was partially inspired by some more food for thought that I came across from Harlem based rapper Immortal Technique. I strongly encourage you to read this in its entirety and participate.

http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendID=4010185&blogID=387386389

I’ll share with you a small portion of what I wrote in reply and sent in:

“Police brutality is an issue that must be approached in a unique manner. Unlike many problems in our society that arise from economic issues - crime in poverty stricken areas, marginalization, and even some of our approaches to foreign policy, money won't even begin to cure the disease which is corruption within our law enforcement and justice systems (and in most cases, money isn't solely sufficient to cure the problems that arise from a basic lack of money and resources anyway). The police departments of Northern Virginia certainly already have far more money than they need. Citizens of the area who choose to be aware of the sort of thing are constantly reminded of this fact due to the constant sound of their various helicopters in the air, the strong presence of their flawless, shiny, new cars all over the streets, and how quick the departments are to utilize the latest technology in their line of work. Yet, even with all of this equipment and all of the resources we have, nobody is guaranteed a feeling of safety. The problem lies within twisted, unjust minds that possess instruments capable of forcing death upon another human being.

A great start is to aim for reform of our justice system. The injustice that is the acquittal of the men behind the brutal killing of Sean Bell is a travesty in itself. However, in cases like this, justice is only achieved when a life has already been lost. The dilemma lies in finding a way to stop events like these before they happen. I am but one mind, a young one at that who still faces a long road of maturity ahead of me, but with the help of others via communication, unity, creativity, and a desire for positive change, a plausible solution can surely be found. It's the least I can do to honor the lives of those taken from us too soon.

In an era, which really isn't anything new but rather something that just keeps evolving, where discrimination is still present and where superiority is felt by particular people over others whether it be for reasons of race, religion, or class, we are far beyond the point where a change is desperately needed. As I see my relatives of Palestinian descent suffer overseas and stare death in the face in the form of weapons bought with American money, and as I see those same relatives come here only to be detained, excessively searched, and constantly publicly embarrassed, the need for change only becomes more and more evident in my eyes.

The time is not now, the time was centuries ago. And we have to put a stop to it before one more innocent life is lost.

With deepest sympathy for the family and friends of Sean Bell, and everyone else we've lost, as well as a desire for progression past the injustice that we must face on a daily basis living in one of the most powerful countries in the 21st century world, it is with the utmost sincerity and hope for the future that I am proud to sign my name at the end of this piece of writing that had to come about from nothing but pain and corruption."

It's a sad state of affairs that we're living in. The sun is shining, yet I feel like there's a cloud constantly hanging overhead that rains corruption and injustice all around me. Sean Bell was another victim trapped in the bell jar that is injustice. The bell jar that represents the inequality that constantly stifles not only much of the American population, but much of the world. The bell jar that took the form of fifty bullets and held him down until he was no longer breathing. The bell jar that people are still stuck under, wondering how to get out of, running out of time until they're the next victim.

The views and opinions expressed in this blog are those of the writer and not necessarily those of HipHopDX.com or Cheri Media Group.

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