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NY Times Op-Ed, May 31, 2020, 10:56 a.m. ET
Chris Cooper Is My Brother. Here’s Why I Posted His Video.
We grew up in a family of activists. I wanted everyone to see his calm
bravery.
By Melody Cooper
Ms. Cooper is a playwright and a film, TV and comic book writer. She is
the sister of Christian Cooper.
I grew up in a family of activists and my parents were teachers. They
raised me and my brother, Chris, to never shy from fighting injustice.
From police brutality, to the war in Iraq, to climate change, we’ve
lifted our voices in protest. So when I saw Chris’s video of his recent
encounter with a white woman named Amy Cooper (no relation) in New
York’s Central Park, it was surreal that he had captured on his
cellphone the kind of racism we had always railed against. All of a
sudden, I became one of the hundreds of black women who have watched a
video of a loved one being accosted.
Fortunately for Chris, the situation remained verbal. For far too many
black families, the result has been fatal; I do not watch those videos.
I consider them an extended form of terrorism against the black
community. I refuse to subject myself to the psychic, spiritual and
emotional pain of watching them. With my brother, I got to see a black
man survive what could have become a deadly situation. That was a relief
and a cause for celebration for millions of people.
But as I replayed the video several times, I felt more and more uneasy
and angry, until an overwhelming fear swept over me. My mind conjured up
rapid images of police officers arriving and shooting first, or throwing
Chris down and then beating and choking him. My brother. When I posted
the video on Twitter, I didn’t yet know about George Floyd, whose
killing last Monday by a police officer has prompted protests across the
country, but I knew about Emmett Till. I knew I wanted to make sure that
Amy Cooper would not have the chance to weaponize her racism against
anyone else. She could have gotten my brother hurt or killed. I wanted
my brother’s calm bravery, in the face of a threatening and cowardly
act, to be seen. I wanted to shine a light not just on one person, but
on the systemic problem of deep racism in this country that encourages
her kind of behavior.
Racism affects all black people — men, women, boys, girls, gay,
straight, nonbinary — no matter their state of employment or where or if
they went to college. I have no doubt that if the police had showed up
in the Ramble, a wooded area of the park where Chris had gone bird
watching, my brother’s Ivy League degree and impressive résumé would not
have protected him. Yet the Good Negro narrative has long allowed white
people to feel comfortable speaking out against the mistreatment of
particular black people: “He is just like us.” “She is a good one.”
Every black person subjected to this kind of hatred needs recognition,
justice and support.
I asked my brother for permission to post the video on Twitter, and I
didn’t expect more than 100 responses since it was Memorial Day. I was
shocked it struck such a chord. The post has now garnered more than 40
million views and hundreds of thousands of likes from all over the
world. In the responses, I saw anger and calls for social action, as
well as expressions of joy that my brother had not been harmed, at least
not physically.
When I’ve checked in with him over the past few days as we’ve fielded
interviews and messages, I’ve asked “Are you, OK? How are you feeling?”
Because even though he walked away, and even though I’m relieved, there
still has been a toll. We felt it even before the incident with Amy
Cooper. Every time we walk out of our door, we have cause to worry. My
brother worries when he sneaks through the trees to catch a glimpse of a
beautiful warbler. I worry when I check in late to an Airbnb, and every
time my son gets in the car. Others wonder if a trip to the corner store
or gas station might result in a phone call that will end their lives.
So many of us in cities and towns across America are done with having to
wonder if we’ll be put at risk by our mere existence.
While my brother and I condemn the death threats that have been made
against Amy Cooper, demanding some form of accountability is one of the
few ways we can create a deterrent that can lead to real change.
We live in a country where a white person breaking rules feels confident
and comfortable calling the police to threaten a black person doing
nothing wrong. This has to stop, whether through more discussion to
raise awareness of the issue, or better enforcement of laws against
false 911 reports.
Lots of people keep asking me what they can do. We all have a chance to
step off the sidelines, to speak up, to take action and to shine a
blinding light on the racism lurking in so many corners of our society.
We need to fight together wisely, boldly and unflinchingly, while
staying aware that our passion and actions can and will be used against
us. But we must not stop. This is the time. It will not be easy. It will
often be messy, but it must be done.
If you’re an ally, what can you do? Stand with us. Bear witness.
Continue the discussion and support legal action. Refuse to accept
racism in your midst, even in small ways — call out a cruel joke or rude
behavior. Be brave and challenge it all. You can transform your own
world through how you teach your children, and how you speak to your
neighbors and co-workers. It is up to you, not to a leader nor any
single protest or petition. Your everyday commitment is what will start
to bring the change you want to see. Start small, step forward and let
your action join with others’ to become a rising tide that cannot be
stopped.
I have early memories of my dad’s booming voice singing protest songs
while he was on a march and pushing me in a stroller. Decades later,
Chris and I were on an anti-stop-and-frisk march in Manhattan with our
dad, Francis Cooper, who was then in his 70s. He and Chris were arrested
for peacefully demonstrating. As my brother tells it, in the jail cell
with dozens of other black men, my dad’s beautiful tenor powerfully led
them in a protest song that rang out through the jail.
My parents both passed away recently, and I am devoted to carrying on
their inspirational legacy with my own children. Through social media,
in my writing and filmmaking, and at protests, I will continue to push
for justice for people like George Floyd and Breonna Taylor, as well as
those whose ordeals have yet to be told.
_________________________________________________________
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