President Donald Trump is a Terrorist

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President Donald Trump is a terrorist.  His hateful and uninformed rhetoric and action have uncovered and emboldened a contemporary surge of racism.  It is undergirded by a unique religious fervor that unrelentingly induces violence against black and brown communities in the name of the god of “America first.”

 

On Sunday, September 24th, Trump called for a boycott of the NFL if protesting players who “disrespect our flag and country,” are not fired or suspended.  This, of course, came on the heels of his stump speech for Senator Luther Strange on Friday, that turned into an all-out attack on African American NFL players who silently protest disproportionate state-sponsored violence against black men during the national anthem by sitting or kneeling.

 

Without referencing any one player by name, Trump exhorted the Huntsville, Alabama, crowd to an audible frenzy by asking them in his embarrassingly ungrammatical fashion if they would “love to see one of these NFL owners, when somebody disrespects our flag, to say, get that son of a bitch off the field right now, he’s fired.”

 

Whether or not one supports the NFL players who nonviolently exercise their Constitutional right to protest is not the issue.  In fact, in light of the persistent silence that shrouds the relatively high incidence of violence against women, most especially domestic violence, perpetuated by NFL players, many black women, while supportive, have also challenged the moral legitimacy of the players’ protests and the more general calls for a public protest of the NFL.

 

In my book, Toward a Womanist Ethic of Incarnation, I examine the inconsistency of promoting racial justice while sidelining gender justice in ways that further subordinate black women, a longstanding dilemma that has fragmented the movement for black freedom in the US.  Nevertheless, Trump’s verbal tirade against African American NFL players and their mothers reveals the rhetorical texture of his terror that facilitates violence against communities of color across the gender spectrum in significant ways.

 

In the first place, his antagonistic comments that are based on political disagreement insinuate the viability of physical confrontation.  He engages in profane name-calling while explicitly gesturing for the economic disfranchisement of black NFL players through job loss. The fact of the matter is that political disagreement that intimates the reasonability of ad hominem verbal assault, economic and social disfranchisement, and physical confrontation with the potential of death, is a problem. Especially when such political disagreement arises from data that demonstrates that black people are disproportionately incarcerated, victimized by police brutality, and killed by state-sponsored and state-sanctioned violence.

 

To be sure, some will maintain that Trump is not a dangerous racist, but is merely showing his concern for the white working class.  Not only does this line of reasoning dismiss the reality that the American “working class” comes in all colors, but also that Trump is not president of the white working class but of the United States of America.  Similarly, it dismisses the fact that Trump’s most recent diatribe in Huntsville merely scratches the surface of the racist violence that he has stoked and provoked.

 

We don’t have to reach back to Trump’s implicit call for the death of five black children in 1989 New York to prove this point.  We don’t have to engage his well-documented practices of housing discrimination against blacks.  We don’t even have to reckon with the first-person testimonies of his former employees and others who corroborate his racist, sexist, and classist practices that have destroyed American lives in order to know that Trump is dangerous.

 

More recent evidence does the work for us. While pardoning Joe Arpaio, the former sheriff of Arizona’s Maricopa County, who was the hands and face of punitive anti-brown immigration policies and at the forefront of the birther movement, Trump called him “an American patriot.” He staunchly defended neo-Nazis and white supremacists protesting on behalf of the confederate traitor Robert E. Lee, while blaming “both sides” for the deadly violence in Charlottesville. During the campaign, a young black woman, Shiya Nwanguma, was physically assaulted – pushed, shoved, and called racial epithets – at a Trump rally, while he exhorted the mob-like crowd to “get them out of here.”

 

All of these acts of terrorism and so much more, most terrifyingly, have occurred with the religious fervor of so-called patriotism that has nothing at all to do with Islam. Contrary to the language and images that underscore the prevalence of Islamophobia in the US, terrorism is not inherently linked to black and brown Muslim bodies. In fact, when terrorism is understood as an unlawful exercise of violence and intimidation against civilians to produce political aims, it is reasonable and necessary to contend with the face of terror living in our own White House.

 

Such terror has everything to do with the fanaticism that accompanies the worship of the American god of whiteness and white supremacy. This god was erected on bastardized promised land theology that makes sense of the contemporary nostalgia for making America, that “land flowing with milk and honey,” great again. This god formerly ordained the genocide of Native Americans, sanctified the slavocracy, and consecrated Jim Crow. Today, it calls for those who actively disavow its tenets – who will not kneel at its altar, wave its flag, or sing its star-spangled hymns – to be brutalized by physical, social, economic, psychological, and spiritual violence.

 

This is terror; and Donald Trump is the man, literally, calling the shots.

 

 

Originally posted here in The Huffington Post.

FIGHTING FOR AMY: BULLIES, BATHROOMS, AND VIOLENCE AGAINST BLACK GIRLS

Prince died last week, but so did somebody’s princess.

On Thursday morning, April 21st, Amy Inita Joyner-Francis, 16, was jumped by at least three girls in a bathroom at Howard High School of Technology in Wilmington, Delaware. Reports indicate that Amy purportedly went into the bathroom to “talk it out” with her peers who were angry with her over an unnamed boy.  A fight ensued. When the fight was over one of the girls allegedly slammed Amy’s head into the bathroom sink. Amy was airlifted in critical condition to the A.I. Dupont Children’s Hospital where she was later pronounced dead.

 

I was especially bothered by Amy’s story, because I remember what happened to me when I was in the 10th grade.  On my way home from school one afternoon in the spring of 1996, a group of about twenty girls and boys from another school in the neighborhood followed me home while cursing and taunting me.  They wanted to fight – or at least to see one – over a boy who I barely knew.

 

While they shouted things like, “I hope you feel like fighting today” and “we’re gonna slice your face” (it was 1990s New York when slicing faces was the thing to do, I guess), I knew that if I stopped to fight the one girl that they would eventually all jump in – including the boys – and I would be seriously hurt.  I was no punk, but I was certainly no dummy. So I kept walking and made the split decision to go to my neighbor’s house across the street rather than try to make it to my own.

 

I used my neighbor’s phone to call my mother who was at work.  By that time, the mob of high school kids had grown with spectators and was perched outside my neighbor’s house waiting for me to come out.  They were begging for a fight – and they wanted to fight me, they wanted to cut me, they wanted to hurt me.

 

I remember it like it was yesterday. It seems like I was still telling my mother (who was across town at work) what was happening over the phone when I saw, while looking out the window, her car screech to a halt in the middle of the street.  She jumped out of the car in her white lab coat amidst this group of angry kids and began shouting at the top of her lungs, “Who’s going to cut my daughter?” before randomly pointing to each person and asking in her bold Brooklynese, “YOU, gonna cut my daughter?”

 

I knew this was not going to end well. But I ran out of my neighbor’s house anyway, and me and my mother fought all of those girls (and some of the boys too) – wildin’ out in the middle of the street – on a spring afternoon in ’96.

 

I lived to tell the story.

 

Twenty years later, as a preacher, a pastor, and a professor, I certainly do not recount this day with ease or great pride.  But Amy’s tragedy has urged me to recall what I know for myself about the reality of violence perpetrated against black girls and women. That is, that all too often there is a man or boy at the center of it.

 

Amy lost her life to bullies in a bathroom over a boy. She was brutalized and killed by and among other girls who will likely lose a portion of their lives to a prison industrial complex that disproportionately incarcerates women who have, for many different reasons, taken “the hit,” literally, for a man.

 

My thoughts on bullies and bathrooms this week are further complicated by North Carolina’s recent passing ofHB2, its lawful hatred of transgender persons, and its accompanying distorted reflections on fictitious threats against women in public restrooms.

 

If only the moral consolation of conservative cis-hetero (in public) so-called Christian manhood might be displaced by Amy’s story, so as to make room for understanding that the greatest threat against women and girls is not the proximity of trans gender identities, but the intransience of patriarchy and its concomitant misogyny; both of which are so insidious that they authorize the control and destruction of women, not only under the gaze of men in the byways of the world, but even in the girls’ bathroom at school.

 

Patriarchy and misogyny are weapons of mass destruction that kill and self-cannabalize women and girls.

 

For those of us left behind to mourn Amy and to reflect on the social realities that induce violence against black girls, these days the memory of my mother daring to fight for me is instructive.  Despite the roadblock of respectability, my mother’s intention was to protect me from harm, to bring me home in one piece, to defend my right to live, to insist that I not be afraid, and to affirm that she was on my side. Regardless.

 

Years later, I came to learn that the same girls my mother defended me against brought their own daughters to her community practice for their primary medical care.  My mother recalled that although they could not look her in the eye, she cared for their daughters as if they were her own.

 

The truth is that we don’t want to have to fight.  Some of us don’t believe in fighting.  And it would be something if we lived in a world where we didn’t have to.  But in this world, littered as it is with patriarchy, misogyny, and racism so intense that it compels women and girls to hate themselves, even to death, somebody ought to know how… to fight for our girls in our schools, our churches, our homes, and even in these mean streets.

 

Their lives depend on it.

 

 

Eboni Marshall Turman is an expert in US theological liberalisms and African American religions.  She teaches at Duke Divinity School and is an ordained minister in the National Baptist Convention, USA, Inc. She is the author of Toward a Womanist Ethic of Incarnation: Black Bodies, the Black Church, and the Council of Chalcedon (Palgrave Macmillan, 2013).  Follow her on Twitter @ebonithoughts.