Tagged: Ferguson

Dennis O’Neil: A Midsummer Night’s Disaster

Fantastic FourIf, as T.S. Eliot would have us believe, April is the cruelest month, what’s the other month that beings with A? Is August the ecch-est month? Here in our little baliwick – and yeah, I’m talking pop culture – there’s not a lot happening. The Baltimore comic convention isn’t until late September, and I can’t help wondering what effect, if any, the violence earlier this year will have on the show. None, I hope. I’ve always liked Baltimore.

Note: this does not mean that I wish civic unrest on towns I don’t like. Or any towns, period. It’s a cause for some uneasy notice in our house, this violence, because Marifran grew up in Ferguson when it was just another St. Louis bedroom community. This is the town, a bit west of St. Louis, where I picked up cute little Marifran McFarland for the Friday night movie ritual and returned her to her waiting father at midnight or thereabouts. Good Catholic kids – you weren’t going to catch us staying out till the wee hours. (Well, not then, and not in each other’s company.) So Marifran lived in Ferguson and it was, generally, a peaceful haven for middle class families.

Now? There was, one year ago, the shooting of an unarmed black kid by a white officer that precipitated riots and then, after an interval of apparent quiet, more unrest. The Ferguson news in the morning papers is not good.

But we were discussing ecchy August as it pertains to pop culture, weren’t we?  What else…? Movies? We’ve been dilatory theater goers of late, and I don’t exactly know why. It’s not like August – or July or June before it – has been egregiously busy. Fact is, thing’s have been kind of lazy. If its true that to get something done you should give it to a busy person, stay away from our door.

Not that we’ve been entirely remiss is our moviegoing. We did see Mr. Holmes, the story of the world’s greatest detective when he’s old and failing, and it was terrific. But the splashier entertainments, full of grandiose feats and explosions – you know: superheroes… those we’ve missed, at lest so far. We’ll probably catch Ant Man tomorrow. But chances are that The Fantastic 4 will have to find room on our television screen when it gets that far.

Bombed, didn’t it? Box office worse than The Green Hornet, which is nobody’s idea of filmic greatness. Reed and Sue and Ben and Johnny seem to be cinematically cursed. The two FF movies released in 2005 qnd 2007 did no better than okay and the FF movie before those never got to theaters. I have seen it and barely remember anything about it other than a general badness, One rumor, which I tend to believe, says that it was never intended for audiences, that it was hastily slammed together to satisfy a legal requirement. But what excuse can there be for later failures?

Let’s blame August.

Dennis O’Neil: Cop Shows, Reality Blows

I call them “cop shows” or, if I’m feeling a bit cutesy, “badge operas.” A screenwriting acquaintance says they’re “procedurals.” But never mind the label: by whatever name, they’re what constitutes most of the bread-and-butter television programming and you probably don’t have to go further than your nearest remote to find one.

There will be a pseudo family of protagonists – police, doctors, lawyers, feds, the occasional fire fighter or paramedic – and these people will be presented with a problem, usually one that involves injury done to an innocent party, and, using their skills and wit and such facilities as are provided to them, they will solve the problem. Usually, but not always, there is a happy ending appended to the story and once in a very great while, things end badly.

But don’t hold your breath waiting for that episode. Usually, by the rolling of the end credits, righteousness and harmony have been restored, justice has been done. The message, which we get over and over and over and over again, is that the system works to assure that the good guys win. Those good guys may have their quirks and eccentricities, but they’ve got each others’ backs and they will get the job done!

Do you believe that? Do I? Well, no, not consciously. That’s not the message real life has delivered. But it is the message that we hear every day, constantly. And I suspect that it registers with most people, at least subliminally, and we are cheery and optimistic enough to hit the mall and, you know, buy happy-making stuff.

Many of the world’s religions have been offering similar palliatives for centuries. No matter how wretched your life is, be patient and do what we say and eventually you’ll go to the Big Rock Candy Mountain.

But procedurals aren’t all that television provides. Lately, if you’ve surfed your way onto a news channel, you’ve seen images of fire and chaos and violence. That little town outside St. Louis – Ferguson, is it? And a couple of hundred miles or so south of where I’m sitting, a favorite city, Baltimore. Riots and looting and pain and terror. None of it scripted.

More to come? Almost certainly.

Maybe something can be done. But…the situation isn’t really that bad, is it? Oh, that business in Ferguson and Baltimore and maybe a few other locales here and there, now and then – that’s certainly disturbing. But fundamentally, everything’s okay. Nothing broke that won’t be fixed.

Now, what’s on tonight? Law and Order SVU? One of the CSI shows? Oh, and Bones. Bones is always good.

 

Michael Davis: Without A Doubt

My beloved New York City had, until recently, a law on the books known as “Stop and Frisk.” In a nutshell, it meant if a police officer suspects, for any reason, that you may be up to no good, they can detain and search you. Guess who the majority of people being stopped are?

Black and Latinos. Or, as they are known to NYC cops, niggers and spics.

A New York State Of Mind. Nov. 1, 2012 Michael Davis World

I forgot that I’ve written about this racist bullshit law before. (Stop and Frisk) NYC is going to appeal the court ruling. Of cause they are, because NYC is run by a bunch of racist motherfuckers. The law has done nothing to curb crime, and the vast majority of people stopped are young black men. What’s funny is the vast majority of people found with weapons were white guys.

Seriously. Check the stats.

I Read The News Today, Oh Boy, Aug. 16, 2013 Michael Davis World

What happens when I don’t take my meds and voicing my ire on Facebook is not enough? What happens when I’ve had enough of seeing Unarmed Black men choked because They Were Black? What happens when I realize that I don’t eat skittles anymore because it just reminds me of an unarmed Black Child Killed Because He Was Black?

The Middleman Aug. 15, 2014 ComicMix

My life is not my own. It belongs to any cop having a bad day. Any D.A. wanting to get an uppity nigger, regardless of proof. My life belongs to any white racist punk ass bitch drunk in a bar or any racist coward with a gun who hates hoodies.

Like I said, why not cut out the middleman out and kill myself?

The Middleman Revised Aug. 15, 2014 Bleeding Cool

Despite the often-racist policies of City Hall and its Choke-An-Unarmed-Black-Man-to-Death police force, NYC will always be my home.

The Great New York Con Oct. 29. 2014 ComicMix

No resistance, whatsoever. None. Nada. He made No Move to resist while they were choking him nor did he make any aggressive move Before they threw him to the ground. While on the ground he repeated, “I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.” His death was Ruled a homicide by the Medical Examiner.

Oh, did I mention the choke hold the officer applied was illegal? That’s right,

NYPD Forbids the use of that particular way of restraining someone.

Why? Because, it may cause severe injury or death. Watch the video on line; don’t take my word for ANY of this.

So, with none of this in dispute, it’s clear to me the officer will not have to stand trial.

Why? He was an unarmed black man.

Duh.

My Facebook Status in response to: New York bracing for grand jury decision in police chokehold case. Dec. 1, 2014 2 days before the Eric Garner Grand Jury announcement. Yahoo News (AFP)

As if there was any doubt.

My Facebook Status in response to: Grand jury declines to indict officer in chokehold death of Eric Garner. Dec. 3, 2014 day of the Eric Garner Grand Jury announcement. (PIX)

No. No doubt at all. Those are just a few of thousands of words, in dozens of articles, I’ve written about race over the years. Most have been rants about how black men are targets nearly all have forecasted the trend of killing unarmed black men will continue.

My Facebook status on Dec. 1 if this year, wasn’t my reaction upon hearing the cop who shot Mr. Garner was free to live his life. I let everyone know two days before there was no doubt he would walk. No black person I spoke to beforehand thought the cop would get indicted.

Not a one. My Facebook post described the overwhelming evidence against this man. The tape was clear as day, this man was guilty as sin and I wanted it on the record I knew that cop would walk.

He walked.

Perhaps, for some, who believe I often play the ‘black card,’ my foreseeing this outcome with such certainty, would demonstrate to them racism does indeed exist in the age of Obama.

Not only does it exists it targets black man.

That’s the reality of black men in America. No, it does not happen to everyone, however, if you are not black but know someone who is black, they know someone it happened too, if not them.

I guarantee it.

I knew the cop would go free, but I wondered what explanation would the ‘man’ give when asked how that conclusion was reached. I would concede whatever bullshit reasons those fucking murderers on Staten Island gave for taking his life if they explained just one thing to me.

I’d accept, agree and explain why regarding the following:

Murderers: He should not have resisted.

I agree. His hands were up while stepping back. Clearly he was readying his Black Panda Strike.

Murderers: He was really fat.

Yep! Thousands of fat people die from choking every year. Mama Cass allegedly choked on a sandwich! She was Fat. Simple changes in his lifestyle, drinking more water, exercise, avoiding being Black. If he only did the latter, I’m sure he’d be alive today…and thinner.

Murderers: He should have not been breaking the law.

On this I could not agree more! This man’s crime, selling cigarettes is the reason this country is going to hell. Put him down. Put him down like the animal he and that other unarmed black fat kid shot in Ferguson were. I mean what is it with these fat black kids? The kid shot in Ferguson committed the second worst crime known to man, shoplifting.

Our police officers put themselves on the front line every. Let’s not forget that! Remember the confused young man whom shot all those people at a Batman screening? My God that poor misguided young man had enough firepower to start a war. The police managed to secure him without firing a shot! Now that young man can get the help he needs.

Just the other day some 12-year old black child was shot three seconds after the police rolled up. He was in a playground, playing with a toy gun. What else could the police do? Park their car a safe distance away and, using that for a shield, speak to the child through a loud speaker, which every police car has for reasons just like that?

No, absolutely not!

Someone may have shown up at the empty playground and if the child had a real gun no doubt would have been killed.

Again I’d concede every bullshit point to the murdering bastards of Staten Island, say one. His death was ruled a homicide by the Medical Examiner.

The Staten Island Medical Examiner.

Just on the basis of that, the Grand Jury should have ordered those cops to trial. Funny, no one addressed that during any of the post press conferences.

Those police officers murdered that man. Eric Gardner was murdered and the world knows it. How can anyone look at that tape and tell me how does this man deserve to die?

All he did was raise voice in frustration, telling the officers he did not feel like being harassed and choose not to be someone’s bitch that day. If this had happened to a white guy, Y E A H R I G H T, it would be the funny story he’d be telling at his company Christmas party. It would be a joke.

Well, the joke’s on Eric Gardner. He’s dead.

Some months ago I wrote an article about cutting out the middleman, “middleman” being the officer who’s going to put a bullet in my head if I dare to look at him the wrong way one day.  Why don’t I just put a bullet in my own fucking head because any fucking white cop can decide I’m the wrong nigger in the wrong fucking place at the wrong time.

More than one of my friends thought I was going to commit suicide. I’d just lost my mother she was everything to me the last of my family consequently, I’m now all-alone in the world.

At my annual dinner at the San Diego Comic Con last July, I broke down in front of some of the biggest names in entertainment, sports and finance, when that thought hit me while welcoming my guests. Trust me, you have not lived until you’re crying like a little girl and Neyo gets up and hands you a handkerchief.

This has been the best professional year of my life and the worse, absolute worse year of my life personally. So it’s fair to say my mental state is not one where a confrontation with a police officer because I’m just not in the mood to be treated like my fucking name is Toby is out of the question.

That’s fair to say but what’s blatantly unfair is ending up dead because I know my rights and the day I decide to practice them by not remembering my place, I’m choked or shot to death.

This is appalling beyond measure and as you can see from the new shootings almost every day of unarmed black boys and men, it’s common. Those on the far right no longer have to wonder why so many black people hate the police. It’s simple; many Black people hate the police for the same reason Americans hate terrorists.

They are killing our young men for no other reason than they feel they have a right to do so. They don’t, and America is letting them know it as I write this.

Dwayne McDuffie, Denys Cowan, Derek Dingle and I created Milestone to give young kids of color heroes that looked like them. The police were represented as heroes and role models and they are; just not where poor black kids live. Not where I grew up. I don’t live in the hood anymore but still feel the same way about police and with good reason. Since I’ve been living in my nice house on my nice hill, I’ve been stopped repeatedly and arrested once.

I don’t hate the police. I fear the police. This is not North Korea; no American should hate or fear the police except criminals. In guess that does mean I’m allowed, technically, I am a criminal, having taken a plea deal, rather than go to court on a charge, even with videotape evidence of my innocence.

That’s how much I fear the police and the courts. I still can’t bring myself to hate the police because I’m too smart to paint all police with one brush. It would appear that although I hold out hope that things will get better, as a black man, I feel it’s best for me to hold on to my fear and I will.

I don’t hate the police but without a doubt, some police hate me.

Because of that, in America today, I can’t breathe.

Michael Davis: The Middleman

mlk480dotearthDamn, it’s 1963 all over again in Missouri.

The police are using tear gas and billy clubs to control a group of peaceful protestors. All that’s missing is German Shepards and fire hoses but hey, rubber bullets more than make up for that.

I often wonder seriously, once so seriously, someone asked me to “Please stay here,” if I should take a gun and just end me before LAPD does.

The ‘here’ she was referring to was Earth.

Bet that fucked you up.

A bit over a year ago, in a restaurant two drunken white people thought they could use me as a punching bag.

They attacked me.

They hit me.

They were two, I was one.

I defended myself, they punked out.

I was the one arrested.

There is videotape evidence of my innocence.

I took a plea deal on the criminal charge.

W H Y?

Why would The Master Of The Universe take a plea deal when he has the resources and media reach to clearly win this bullshit case in court? Because, as Master Of The Universe I’m invincible as a Black man in Los Angeles I’m a fucking nigger, a less than human target waiting to be shot down like a dog in the fucking street.

My case should have NEVER had gotten ANYWHERE near a court.  It should have been dismissed the moment the tape and the 20 or so eyewitness backed my story. It wasn’t. So what’s MOTU to do? Get the FUCK out, as quickly and quietly as possible, that’s what.

White America, when a big mouth, well connected, uppity motherfucker who’s CLEARLY IN THE RIGHT AND IT’S ALL ON TAPE, won’t even chance a day in court because he thinks the system is racist, THE SYSTEM IS FUCKING RACIST.

Everyone has value.

Yeah right.

Nice sermon, bumper sticker and uplifting message just not for Black men. In the eyes of some law enforcement my value is nothing. I can be taken out at anytime in anyplace, if I don’t ‘act right.’

So, as to avoid living my life in fear, having to stay inside battling bouts of horrible insomnia debilitating migraines fueled by thoughts that she’s not here (she’s gone hell, they’re all gone) why not simply pull the trigger of the gun I’ve held to my head many times?

What happens if I simply cannot deal with my inner demons inside my home anymore?  I know full well if I go outside and don’t ‘act right’ there’s a chance a real chance I could be shot in the back.

So, why not cut out the middleman and shot myself?

What happens when I don’t take my meds and voicing my ire on Facebook is not enough? What happens when I’ve had enough of seeing UNARMED Black men choked because THEY WERE BLACK? What happens when I realize that I don’t eat skittles anymore because it just reminds me of an unarmed BLACK CHILD KILLED BECAUSE HE WAS BLACK?

What happens when another unarmed Black man is shot down like a dog in the street in Los Angeles and that event underscores the horrible place my life over the last 12 months has become?

What happens when she’s not there to tell me, to stay here?

I’ll tell you what happens.

I leave my home in the upscale white neighborhood I live in. It’s 3am in the morning and because I STILL cannot sleep I drive to Ralph’s supermarket to shop. I’m stopped by the police often and this night I’ll be stopped again.

But this time, I’m depressed.

This time I’m not kissing the ass of the motherfuckering racist cop who’s stopped me before. This time I say the absolute wrong thing.

“I did nothing. I’m not showing you any ID. I’d like you to call your supervisor when he arrives I’ll show him.”

This will not stand. I know this. He repeats his command to show my license and I repeat what I said. He orders me to get out of the car. I make no move, my hands are on the steering wheel, and my interior lights are on. “I’ve done nothing.”

He screams for me to exit the vehicle.

For, what I know is the last time, I say ‘no.’

He grabs me through the windshield I refuse to let go of the steering wheel. Instead I close my eyes and say goodbye to all my friends.

Then, like every lazy comic book writer will someday write, my life flashes in front of my eyes.

And I wonder.

I wonder what Comicmix will write about me. I wonder if Bleeding Cool will do a tribute. I wonder if I’m big enough to have my obituary in the New York Times like Dwayne.  I wonder if Denys will ever forgive me for the lie I told him when he asked was I okay. I hope he’s okay. If Denys couldn’t save me, no one could. I wonder if James knows he’s going to rule the comic world; Danielle, the entertainment world; Jasmine the music world and Tatiana?

Tatiana the entire world.

I wonder if Stradford knows just how much his friendship means to me.

I wonder if the ‘Mikes’ Gold, Grell, Baron and Raub know the same. I wonder if Maggie will cry a lot, if Missy and Kai will also. I wonder if Steve and Josh will both wear a Yankee hat to an Orioles game in my honor.

Then I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I said hurtful things to Darlene.

I’m sorry I didn’t try harder to reach Brett. Brett, once my son in every way but blood, who still wants nothing to do with me.  I’m sorry I let Sheila’s call go to voicemail right before I left my home and hope she will forgive me.  I’m sorry I could not get my hands on those animals who hurt Paige.

I’m sorry couldn’t find the words to say to my Kitty.

I’m aware of a loud ‘bang’ then…

Then I’m happy.

I’m happy I saw my brother Lee again. I’m happy Lucy came back into my life I think of her little girls and I’m even happier. I’m happy because my Amber will find a way to make me smile no matter where I am, alive or dead.  I’m happy that with any luck I’ll see my family again.

I’m lucky. God let’s me in…just barely.

My mother, my sister, my grandmother and great grandmother wait for me. Some of my other family is there also. Joy joins my happiness as I see Kim Yale, Linda Gold, Carol Kalish and the man I wished was my real father, Don Thompson.

My A& D brothers, Chris Cumberbatch and Freddy Jones give me a smile.

I realize at the end, I don’t hate my haters. They helped make me. At least that’s what Dwayne McDuffie says when he, Robert Washington, Malcolm Jones III and I sit down to create a comic book…

So I ask again, here, today during yet another bout with my depression why not spare my friends, the pain of a trial where the outcome will most likely be not guilty and put a bullet in my head?

My life is not my own. It belongs to any cop having a bad day. Any D.A. wanting to get a uppity nigger, regardless and spite of proof. My life belongs to any white racist punk ass bitch drunk in a bar or any racist coward with a gun who hates hoodies.

Like I said, why not cut out the middleman out and kill myself?

Today, it’s because I promised my beloved Jean I wouldn’t.

Tomorrow?

I don’t know.

I’m just fucking glad I don’t live in Missouri.

But I do live in L.A.