On: The Old Lady and Colin K.

The Old Lady and Colin K.

Colleen Rogers

Tomorrow is the Superbowl Sunday, and I am still angry.  For two years running, politics have still “colorized” this national event. Here’s my offering on this piece of American Pie, as it’s lovingly served by someone who could be your Granny.  You’re are free to opt out of dessert if you are not boycotting tomorrow's game, or if you are in unequivocal support of Colin K.’s stance and are not interested in having another slice on this issue.  If you decide to keep reading, I sincerely appreciate your time at my table. 

I am a 62 year old White lady.  My father was a Navy man, and my brother-in-law is a cop, so you can probably see where I am going with this preface.  I taught in a Black (if that is still p.c.) High school in the southern suburbs of Chicago for 21 years before my retirement in 2015.  I was not blessed with children of my own, so my students have been literally everything to me.  My feelings for and support of them have never wavered.  I have joyfully followed them post-graduation on Facebook.  I have watched the gender reveal of their children, seen them as they go off for a tour of duty in the military, and jumped for joy to see screenshots of their college acceptance letters.  That all changed when Colin K.’s protests began.  I have been blocked.  Beloved students who sat in my classroom five days a week for nine months have disavowed me for being “racist”.  To say that this was a shock, deeply hurtful, and a lesson for me would be an understatement.  Evidently, you see, I am considered a “casual” racist by some of the students I loved.  

I am not sure exactly when it happened, but it is definitely a direct result of me expressing my opinions online about Colin K. and his protests.  When Colin K. began sitting on the bench, wearing the Pig socks, and kneeling on the field, I truly took his protests to be “attention seeking antics” similar to those of any class clown.  To me, he was the student who keeps pushing the perimeters of acceptable conduct until he ultimately is expelled from school.  Metaphorically, this is exactly what happened to Colin K.  

My beliefs about Colin K., whose future with the NFL at that point was somewhat dicey, was that he was attempting to generate a “cult of personality”.   He hoped to assure that his dismissal would be proactively questioned had he become a fan favorite.  Any empathy I might have had for his cause was negligible at this juncture because, for me, the methodology he used to grandstand for the purpose of raising awareness overshadowed his message.

Like many football fans, I could not understand why Colin would pick his job site to protest a personal social cause in front of what were essentially his bosses’ clients.  Ostentatiously, Colin’s conduct cut the recognition of his protests’ goals  off “at the knee” and effectively curtailed his objectives.  On Facebook, I expressed my true distaste for Colin’s behavior.  Expecting to hear an empathetic, well-considered debate over issues concerning coordinating your medium with your message, I instead was met with a barrage of Black Power rage.  Assuredly, I must be racist for not understanding precisely why Colin, at a football game, would be protesting the violence shown by law enforcement toward essentially 200 Black youth.  I had minimal knowledge even of the protest’s issues, but I could clearly see the boulder rolling downhill.  The glaring sun of racial miscommunication suddenly burned my retinas.  At that moment,  I realized that the flagrant disparity between expected conduct and blatant racism may likely be the cause for what has now become a frightening precipice for racial chaos.  

My take was that, when I go to events for leisure, I do not expect to see any disruptions.  As an older White woman, I anticipate an orchestrated protocol.  I expect a certain order, tradition, and sequence of “mandates”.  It provides a sense of comfort, even at a boisterous sporting event.  As working class moments of leisure are limited, diversionary “tactics” to draw any immediate, unwilling attention to social justice issues are sure to be met with resistance.  Even if there is measurable sympathy for the cause of another race, this is a high level intrusion.

While in-your-face disobedience has always been a necessary trail toward the recognition of injustices for the Black community, it is not fully acknowledged in a gathered time and place of leisure “procured” by another race.  "Jumping the broom" into precious moments of free time, in a space primarily occupied by “someone different”, is a sure-fire catalyst for discord.  I suspect that diametrically opposed views on life, not racism, may be partially the cause for our current tour of discord.  For instance, some of us sit quietly in church in worshipful prayer, while others lead shouting Gospel fests.  Some of us see the flag as an honorable remembrance of our fathers who’ve served, while others see the flag as a symbol of a repressive history.

         What I have learned from Colin K. is this…our racial divide may be something that will more likely require “polite containment”, remaining a dismissal failure long after earnest Civil Rights marches.  We steadily hold firm little realization of the issues for racial division in our own country. We hold even less willingness to have civilized discourse on these issues without hurling racial epithets.  We are continuing to display middle school re-activism in broaching any race-related issue.  So, I suppose, at this point, I remain labeled an unhappy and accidentally “casual racist”.  The rapport I had hoped to continue to share with my former students has to start all over, with long marches of deeply trenched hope.