Human Essay: When They Call You A Terrorist

 What They Call You and What You Call Yourself

As prevalent as it is in modern-day culture, the Black Lives Matter movement has consistently lacked a driving leader. The campaign is seen in marches and protests, articles and memoirs, but there has been an intentional effort to present the victims as the sole focus of the movement. Instead of a targetable leader, one that defines and details the group’s focus, the “BLM” community focuses on specific current stories, highlighting victims of the crimes they are fighting against. If anyone was to be defined as a leader of the movement, or at least a founder, Patrisse Khan-Cullors should be considered. In her memoir When They Call You A Terrorist, Cullors details her life and struggles, starting from witnessing racial divides in her Los Angeles neighborhood. Cullors consistently experienced new harm done under racial bias to both her and those she cared about. The world has been built and shifted to accommodate the majority, to provide aid to those who fit a certain description, and little else. This effect is seen in the lives of many marginalized groups, and modern society has often placed limits on the accessibility of stories that actively challenge oppressive groups. To be human within the reflection of Cullors’ memoir is to be influenced by and to influence the world around you.

The influence of the world on small children has been prevalent since the start of society as a whole, but the existence of normative systems and structures frequently harms small children attempting to grow and flourish in their own ways. When Cullors recounted her experiences of switching to a mostly-white school at twelve years old, she was hit with the realization that those around her would take note of her differences and use them as ways to pass judgment. Reflecting on her past, she explains how “[this time was when she] learned that being black and poor defined [her] more than being bright and hopeful and ready.” The influence of this one school experience isn’t to be undermined in the context of Cullors’ life, as it taught her the lesson many members of any minority will learn: there are times when you cannot help the stereotypes that precede you. No matter how hard an individual pushes, they will face situations where they cannot overcome the predefinition that others have assigned to them which strips them of their room for individuality. This textbook example of dehumanization is ever-present in daily life, but its effect on those able to be shaped by it is devastating.

Cullors’ identity is rooted in her race, as this book defines, but also in the separate factors that define her as “other.” One example of this is Cullors’ relationship with attraction, as she considers herself queer, and actively fights for the rights of LGBTQ people. Her identity is present, not only in the ways that society has defined her but also in the ways she has actively expressed love. While discussing her sexuality and relationships, Cullors mentions that “to outsiders… [the queer community’s] relationships may have seemed complex, odd, or even dangerous. But to [the community], they made sense. To [them], they were oxygen and still are…” This quote struck me as a reader, specifically a queer one. Though I don’t define my identity by it, and often don’t tell those around me, I acknowledge that my way of loving is seen as different from those around me. From my perspective, however, this is the most accurate statement on queer love that I’ve ever heard. Cullors’ gentle but firm way of writing leaves no room for argument, as oxygen cannot be taken without harm done. To queer people, our relationships matter because they are full of love, but also because they are hard to hide. Here, especially at SPU, I fear bringing my partner to open events or shows, having them on my floor, or introducing them to those I consider tentative friends. Our relationship is a lifeline, but the common experience of queer people is still present: you never know who might mind, what they might do, how they might express distaste toward a love they consider dangerous.

It is the responsibility of those outside marginalized groups to take note of their influence. Similar to the themes of many of the books we’ve read so far, Cullors’ story accentuates that a specific gain of one group often negatively impacts another. An example within her memoir of this is the treatment of her brother Monte within the prison system. In this case, a flawed system established by majority groups treats an individual who has done no harm with harm of their own, simply because he fits categories that they consider to be dangerous and violent. As a neurodivergent person, this treatment was sickening to read about, but it brought to light the intense discrimination against a neurological “other” in judicial systems. While the preservation of human rights is brought up frequently in the case of some prisoners, frequently white people, there is an avoidance of this topic when those with mental health conditions are displayed. It is the responsibility of people in power to not only provide equality in their delegation of human rights but to educate themselves on the varieties present within their systems of influence.

As people, we are consistently separated from those different than us. Wherever that difference may be found, we constantly shy away from the stories of others in favor of the familiar. Stories like Patrisse Khan-Cullors’ open our eyes to the effects of a society that may or may not favor us over marginalized groups. This memoir aided my understanding of both the Black Lives Matter Movement and queer expression in the black community. Cullors’ was raised influenced by the world, and grew to influence it. She turned the trouble of her childhood into empowerment for change. Stories of growth such as this are integral to the understanding of differences among humans, and the effects of strong empowerment never truly fade.