Identifying as Black, or having a conscious awareness of one’s Black identity, involves always holding a version of oneself that conflicts with society’s perception of Blackness. This concept was unfamiliar to me growing up in Haiti, the first independent Black republic in the Western Hemisphere, where I did not yet possess the awareness of Blackness that I later gained as a nine-year-old immigrant to America. Consequently, I struggle as a Black immigrant with knowing when to capitalize the ‘B’ in “Black,” not due to a lack of understanding English grammar, but because of the complexities of racial identity.

Receiving my first published book of poems, Higher Ground, my father praised me for mastering the English language and admired my ability to manipulate it to convey various meanings. While he viewed this as a significant achievement, I did not see it as a compliment. I did not want to be recognized solely for my eloquence in depicting the Black experience in America, even though my father, an immigrant, grasped the essence of my work to some extent. One of my poems, which refers to Rodney King’s resilience in the face of police brutality, reflects the ongoing struggle of Black individuals to rise above systemic oppression and obstacles.

Americans seem fixated on controlling and policing Black bodies, employing standard tactics to subjugate and shame us. Through my poetry and in considering the work of others like Nicole Sealey, I aim to uncover and challenge the falsehoods perpetuated about the Black experience. From the Trayvon Martin case to the Ferguson police department’s injustices, it is evident that the law in America serves to protect a specific narrative and demographic, while overlooking the truth of the Black struggle. Just as Sealey excavates the Justice Department’s originally commissioned investigation into the law enforcement practices of Ferguson in The Ferguson Report: an Erasure, I strive to expose the systemic biases and oppressive practices that persist in American society in my own book, American Scapegoat.

Mirrors, as reflections of truth, are avoided in a nation that struggles with accountability for its actions. The reluctance to acknowledge the Black experience leads to the scapegoating of marginalized communities, perpetuating a cycle of erasure and denial of history. In American Scapegoat and a poem titled “American Myth,” I surmise that there is a “manual” that is seemingly referenced due to the consistent manner in which the scapegoating occurs, one written to deliberately shame us and turn us into

the foul things of night-

mare, barbarians in need

of lashing, marauders

to be always kept

in the glare of pistols

In the case of Trayvon Martin, which this section of the poem addresses, having a hood and a deliberate smile was enough suspicion for him to be followed, confronted, as if he had stolen the joy that was in him. His 17-year-old black body had to be policed and needed to be kept in check by an armed 28-year-old man, who said he was scared for his life and had to defend himself. And the jury agreed. He was even acquitted of the lesser charge of manslaughter, which most commonly occurs when someone is provoked to commit homicide. In this case, if Zimmerman did fear for his life and felt provoked by Trayvon Martin, he at least should’ve been found guilty of that charge. But this is not about the law or standing one’s ground but how the law is enforced, and who the law is meant to protect. In the words of composer Richard Danielpour, when we talk about the Black experience in America: “This is the way America has existed since its inception. There is the official story, there is the press release, and then there’s the truth.”

James Baldwin’s wisdom about the avoidance of truthful mirrors rings true and loud, as Sealey’s work challenges us to confront the uncomfortable truths embedded in our history and society. In the way that American Scapegoat grapples with the whitewashing of American history in favor of a more favorable narrative, Sealey’s collection engages the reader in the act of restoration by dealing with the whiteouts of American history. Through bold storytelling and a refusal to shy away from uncomfortable truths, Sealey’s work serves as a mirror to reflect the stark realities of American society.

In Sealey’s The Ferguson Report: an Erasure, you are not able to prevent the truth from surfacing due to the way she summons the bones buried within the original report. Although the original report and this collection do not ignore the incident where Mike Brown was shot and killed by a police officer, resulting in a cry for justice across the nation, there were some gruesome things uncovered about policing in Ferguson that showed how serious the problem was, reminiscent of how the Rodney King incident unveiled the brutal law enforcement practices of the Los Angeles Police Department. The investigation concluded that the police, court, and city officials unconstitutionally targeted the Black residents of Ferguson, resulting in more arrests, and steeper fines and sentences that were often significantly inconsistent with the nature of a violation. To unearth the truth Sealey had to implement the process of erasure herself, almost like scratching off pieces of whiteout to uncover the text that lies beneath.

The Ferguson Report calls for us to notice what is seemingly unnoticeable, asking us to actively look closer by opening ourselves up to the opportunity of seeing, instead of avoiding the discomfort that comes with witnessing. In doing so, Sealey makes it unlikely for us to claim ignorance when “reluctance” becomes a more accurate description, which, as she writes, is a way of “ensuring a number / of revisions, alternate endings, / exact dates, as appropriate.” This brings to mind an echo in my own American Scapegoat: “History’s not dumb / but pathological” and it is the American way to “favor ghosts & legacy over second-comings.”

In a manner of speaking, time passes and things change, but a lot of it remains the same as if no time has passed at all. Emmett Till and Trayvon Martin are part of a continuum and so are Rodney King and Abner Louima, a Haitian American brutally beaten, sexually assaulted and raped by New York City Police Officers, an incident far too gruesome to describe in detail. And then there’s Eric Garner’s and George Floyd’s suffocations echoing the litany of public lynchings from a not too distant past. The danger here is when we assert the past as a person, labeling history with a capital H, as Sealey and I both do, then these incidents only happened because of the specific individuals involved, rather than as the result of a systemically violent and oppressive rule of law that disproportionately affects Black life in America. So when she writes,

History,

temperamental as it’s sold,

wishes to remain anonymous

in nature, name, and potential

consequence

it is to say that a nation can commission and print an investigative report which provides proof about racism or predatory discrimination against its Black citizens, without consequence, or any lasting consequence. Out of the many volumes of reports commissioned, this says a lot about a nation when it has an extreme difficulty with facing itself in the mirror.

One of the questions that both our collections interrogate is one that deals with absolution. Who absolves the nation when there is no lasting consequence? There is an implied or inherent system, a spiritual component of sorts, that allows for forgiveness without repentance; it is often an “unfortunate situation.” This is a point echoed not just in the title of American Scapegoat, but in poems like “American Sermon (Elegy for Breonna Taylor)” where I write

every person on their knees

ain’t praying & every ending

to a prayer is a lie about

in whose name one offers

supplication — if any at all.

There is often the tendency to double down instead of outright humbling oneself to ask for forgiveness. It is this reluctance that continues to erode the level of trust that one has in their government to be equally protected under the law. Consider how this plays out when “get on your knees” becomes a forceful call to prayer, which would imply there is a sort of religious ritual being performed, where pray easily turns to prey, an interrogation Sealey and I both conduct. At the heart of this ritual is an inherent sacrifice, itself a muddled mess, because sacrifice is both something one offers and something one is subjected to without consent. When Sealey writes, “Stop! Hands where I can see! / a boy pretends to prey. His mark,” there is the audacity of a statement used so often it has become a cliche. The victim plays the most significant role in their own victimization; as if being prey is a choice.

There is also the fraught narrative that often follows, which implies that if one cooperates then no harm will come to them. This is where the facts cannot be disputed but it almost doesn’t seem to matter. The realities of being stopped by the police is riddled with a corrupted system of enforcement where a wallet or a shadow or cellphone are assumed to be a gun because of documented evidence of racial bias. Whether in a car, in the comfort of one’s own house or backyard, or while walking, running, or standing on a sidewalk, the Black experience in America is one that comes with the elusiveness of being carefree. And, as Dr. Shauna M. Morgan writes in her poem “Riposte XIV: The [new] administration of justice and description of the laws” from her chapbook Fear of Dogs & Other Animals, “We are not free. / We are not safe. / They will kill us anyway.”

It’s my hope The Ferguson Report: an Erasure, my own collection, and others written by other Caribbean-born and Black American authors, shed light on the deep-rooted challenges faced by Black individuals in America. These collections challenge the notion of freedom as a given right, emphasizing the importance of being carefree in a society plagued by systems of oppression. The testimonies within these works cannot be ignored, prompting us to reflect on the role of legislation and law enforcement in perpetuating white supremacy. As we navigate our collective conscience, the focus shifts from disputes to action and resilience in the face of systemic injustice.

Some of Us Keep Dying: A Reflection on “The Ferguson Report” was originally published in ANMLY on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.