I got to thinking this morning about myths and lies. On a day where we celebrate a well-crafted myth, we should be taking a look at rewritten history. We should be questioning what we were always told, what we accepted so readily because it didn't clash with our most basic beliefs.
My great-grandmother, Tennessee Brown, is listed on the Cherokee scrolls. I often wonder how she felt about Thanksgiving and people who celebrate it. It's beyond me now..that we ever believed the lie. Why would we break bread with people who take our land, burn down our village, rape our women and kill our people? People who exploited our beliefs that people were honorable, kept their word. People who exploited our lack of education and knowledge of the world.
Grams would probably say, "What a bunch of bull honkey". I mean, who else but the truly ignorant would believe that? Bull poop, it is.
Sometimes people are so desperate to believe in something, they believe in anything.
Another issue I have squashed down for a long time rose up in my chest. A lump formed in my throat.
"Tell it. You know it's time."
For the last five years I have wrestled with bringing to light information that would change everything in my mom's case. This information was not shared because, it wasn't nearly as important as my testimony to the powers that be. My mother's reputation, throroughly destroyed, was not of concern to the prosecuting attorney. It was up to us to fix it. Unfortunately, people in my family were scared.
My mother was murdered before she could testify about a crime she had witnessed. She trusted that she was safe, that the law would protect her. She had no idea until it was too late that she was in danger.
While out playing pool with her brother, mama witnessed a stabbing. The accused was recently out of prison. Rodney often played pool at the same bar and other bars as the accused. Rodney was also an associate of the accused.
This is how it goes. See if you can get your brain to follow.
"Man, I really don't want to go back to jail, but this bitch is gonna do me in."
"Do I know her?"
"It's that JoAnn chick. You know, white, huge butt, heavyset, long dark hair, kinda pretty. Plays pool her with her brother sometimes."
"I went on a few dates with her some months back. She didn't tell me why, but she stopped talking to me."
Hmm..
Rodney has a history of burglury, robbery and theft. He's served time in prison for murder. He has multiple other offenses on his rap sheet. He owes the accused some sort of favor for an issue he helped Rodney with before.
Rodney offers to make this problem go away for him.
He had it all mapped out in his head.
My mother was a soft, trusting and docile creature. Everyone who ever knew her said she was a bit green, way too trusting but very kind. She hardly ever picked up on ill-intentions until it was too late. Often she was taken for a ride, taken advantage of. Still, she trusted.
Mama obviously thought she'd never see Rodney again. However, if I know my mama, she would not turn away a friend in need, or a guy she had dated, unless he'd really hurt her. For all she knew, the whole short term dating with Rodney was just a blip.
The night mama was murdered, it appeared that someone tried to enter the transom over the door.
I don't think that worked.
The front door didn't show signs of force.
That means, mama let the person in. She had been eating a meal with a steak knife, a knife that would later be used on all of us.
Regardless, Rodney obviously underestimated my mother. The women in my family are strong, are fighters. As much as we are soft, we can be angered. When it comes to our babies, we turn into rabid bitches. We will die to protect the ones we love.
Mama put up a valiant fight. Eight of her natural nails were found scattered around the scene.
I don't think Rodney originally intended to kill us girls. Mama was an issue that he thought he could easily silence. I mean, the man had kids. However, the thought of going to prison for a long time, a sentence he could not easily plead down to because of homophobia or alcohol, was too much to bear. He didn't need witnesses.
It was intoxicating, that murder. To overpower a woman, to show her who was boss, was awesome. The kids..ah..he checked out. I only know that because he had a blank expression, an eerily calm lack of emotion and he stabbed me over and over. And to slice a 4 year old's throat was inconceivable. To think, he compartmentalized this as it happened. It was placed in a neat little box covered in blood in the back of his brain.
That's what career criminals do.
This is why people like him can lie so well. On one hand, he is a sociopath. A charming liar, a convincing liar. He is partly convincing because he has squashed down the truth so deep that it's not readily accessible. He believes his own lies. He has lied for so long that he believes it, and he is able to do so because the thought of freedom is so intoxicating, so within reach. Oh, he has moments where he thinks about me, thinks about the truth. He knows what he has done to me is wrong, but he has lied for so long to those closest to him, to those that would help him get freedom, that he can't back down now.
A well-cobbled lie is still a lie. I've learned that people will continue to believe the lie even in light of a damning truth, because they are too weak, too lazy, too proud and too simple to admit they were deceived. They are more concerned with preserving this sense of self, this sense of knowing even if it's held together with a waxy, sticky web of snot.
Anything to avoid having to apologize to the victim.
I've never had anyone admit to being wrong about what's been done to me. With the exception of family, a few friends and some of the public who has an actual functioning ability to discern, many have been swept up in a wave of stupidity. They continue to sow the seeds of ignorance, because it feels good to work together, work for something. They don't care that I have had to deal with seeing my mother defiled. They don't care that I have steadily been subject to questions on credibility.
These same people will tell you that children don't lie. They often speak of molested and abused children who testify about being hurt and violated. Kid's don't lie, right?
Why is it perfectly understood, immediately understood, that a molestation of abuse victim, a child, who comes forward, is exposing their pain because it hurts, it happened? It's true, that this child was exploited and overpowered, and that someone must pay.
I am not due the same respect? The same trust?
Why?
Because I survived a brutal homicide? Yes, I was traumatized. Yes, when I was trying to die, I made up a name so they'd let me sleep. Yes, I tired of talking about this over and over, and sometimes I checked out. Sometimes I said yes because I was sick and tired of Rodney's asshole attornies asking me the same questions a million different ways to confuse me.
Demonize me all you want. However, the FACTS, the truth, stands on it's own. The major facts have never changed, and I stick to it because it's what I experienced.
Now, I have always said that a person cannot make a good judgment without all the facts. These facts are telling, and the issue is, Rodney's people have not shared this with you. Why? They only share information that cast doubt on my credibility. They only share information that makes my mother look like a whore. Check out how little they speak about his prior crimes. How they omit or downplay that Rodney killed a man with a hammer and dumped his body in the river. See if they discuss that he drove around in the man's car for a few days..
They won't.
Cold-hearted, at the very least.
Now, I have given you information. If you want, research it yourself.
Next, I want you to think about the fact that you may have aligned with a master manipulator, who delights in all the media attention, and adores the fact that he gets cards in the mail, interviews and an adoring set of groupies who have no more sense than someone who has been lobotomized.
The Michael Brown case has been personal to me from the beginning. Yes, I have spoken for years about racism, inequality. I have spoken at length about how critical the public is when the person hasn't been perfect, doesn't have the right skin tone.
I despise the fact that people leap on certain cases like piranhas. I hate that the public speculates on the life of the dead without regard to the fact that eventually, their loved ones will see it. They perpetuate untruths to feed their own prejudice and fear.
My mother was a good woman. She had us in church four days a week. She loved to sing gospel, and she adored playing the piano and accordian. Despite being disabled, mama was a nurturing mother. She did the best she could, even though she was broke, disabled and lacked an education. She was taught from a young age to find a man to care for you and your children, so she dated. She kept a record of it too, because she had a feeling that she should.
She loved to play pool. She often went with her brother to do so. She rarely drank.
Somehow, she was portrayed as a barfly.
All of this came back to haunt her, and still does. I invite all of you who have dated people before settling down to sit all the way down and shut up. I invite all of you to consider that you may have dated people who were total degenerates before realizing that you were choosing people who weren't good enough for you. I invite you to consider that a record is a good idea. I invite you to sit and really think about the fact that you have been blaming the victim for a solid 30 plus years, and being the mindless lackeys of a sociopath. Good job.
Now, next time you want to make assumptions, please go ahead and look in the mirror. Is your life perfect? Do you need work? Maybe you have someone in your family who is sort of a mess. If they died heinously, would you be as nice as I have when you discover some overzealous asshole talking shit on your loved one online?
I didn't think so.
Like Brown's family knows, it hurts like hell. Even if our family member made mistakes, we still love them, they are a part of us. It doesn't make them any less dead if something they did, like stealing a damn cigarello, or witnessing a crime, lead to their death.
It doesn't make the person who killed them a saint.
Please use your damn brains. Stop blaming the victim. Understand that by crucifying only one party, you are perpetuating a terrible myth: victims somehow deserve their fate.
And you wonder why people distrust the law. You wonder why people hesitate to talk about what they have seen. People know that talking can get you killed.
Do I need to draw you a picture?
Wake up people..before it happens to you.
Lastly, it's been stated by the clueless that I was coached. I'm not sure if people just love to dismiss the obvious, but if I was coached, all my facts, all my details would have been consistent throughout. I had an excellent memory and was an advanced student. If I was so gullible to be coached, there would not have been three trials before a conviction was reached. PERIOD.
Now, go enjoy your damn turkey.
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