I am Rachel Jeantel

I teared up yesterday as I watched Rachel Jeantel testify.   But I don’t think I was really weeping for Rachel.  I think I cried because I saw from the outside how others very different from me, perceive me (thru the "Rachel lens"), and I felt deeply what that frustration meant.  I teared up because I'm 30 years older than Rachel, and I understand fully at age 49 there are still people who can't comprehend why I won't perm my hair and, therefore, like Rachel presume I’m militant.   I teared up because I'm 30 years older than Rachel, with a B.A., MPA, and JD, and there are still folk who won't understand me when I speak and, therefore, like Rachel think I'm unintelligent.   I teared up because I'm 30 years older than Rachel, and there are still folk who won’t understand my levels of emotion can span beyond simply catatonic or mad and, therefore, like Rachel perceive my exasperation as anger (you know … the mad Black woman).

I teared up because I'm a mom and I wanted nothing more than to fly or drive or walk to Florida and help this young lady, because I understand they don't see her.   Because we don't see that this young woman who speaks three languages is far wiser than the idiot defense attorney who can't tell a knock, knock joke without fumbling.   Because my sisters on the web criticize Rachel even though they suffer these same indignities on their jobs, but can afford to hire Attorney Tracie to fix them.   Because she embodies all that is complex and brave and beautiful about all women of color. 

 

Because I am Rachel Jeantel.