“Now I know what my purpose is. My purpose is to go back to Texas. My purpose is to stop all social injustice in the South.”—Sandra Bland
Those are the words that Sandra Bland told her mother before traveling from Chicago to Prairie View, Texas’ A & M University, her alma mater, for a job interview. She secured what her family described as her dream job and she was supposed to begin working at Student Outreach at the University. This dream was shattered on July 10th, 2015 when Sandra was assaulted (as you can see in the police dash cam video) and then suspiciously died in a Prairie View jail three days later. This all resulted from not signaling a lane change. Her heartbreaking death was ruled a suicide by hanging but friends, family, and the several discrepancies in her case show us that we still do not know #WhatHappenedtoSandraBland.
When first reading the opening quote, I could not help but notice the similarities between myself and Sandra—both of us, twenty-something women of color activists returning to Texas to study/work in higher education and to help stop social injustice in the South. Sandra Bland used social media as a platform to address social injustices; including videos she called “Sandy Speaks.” Her position on issues ranging from systemic racism to police brutality strongly reflect my own.
My experience returning to Texas goes something like this. I was actually born in South Texas and grew up in middle Tennessee where I became an activist when I was 18. Spreading social justice has become my mission since then. After High School, many folks I knew moved to more progressive coastal cities but I remember thinking how important it was to continue fighting for social justice in a geographic area where it is desperately needed, the Southern United States.
When moving back to Texas for graduate school, I saw it as an opportunity to reclaim and redefine my space in the South. This move was judged by folks who did not find it particularly “cool” to live in Texas. They held a stereotypical view of Texas that only encompassed the awful legislation here which obviously does not reflect the beliefs of all Texans. The truth is that racist capitalist patriarchy exists everywhere in the U.S., including more “liberal” cities where the cost of rent has skyrocketed no thanks to gentrification.
When returning to Texas or Tejas, I viewed it as returning to the indigenous land where my family lives. Texas is where so many marginalized folks call home. Sandra planned to make it her home. While she was returning to Texas (the place where she had attended college) and I was returning to Texas (the place where I was born), I still conclude that Sandra and I’s mission to return to Texas was a similar one. We both knew that our radical presence was needed in order to help change the conservatism which negatively impacts millions of lives here. Sandra and her family just never anticipated that one of those lives affected would be hers.
So let us paint a picture here—two individuals with similar life trajectories—twenty-something women of color activists returning to Texas on a mission to help stop social injustice in the South. Knowing our similarities, the big question on my mind that led me to write this is, “Could what happened to Sandra Bland have happened to me?”
The reality is that it is not as likely and part of this is due to my light skin privilege. Though I identify as Xicana, I am lighter-skinned than many of my BIPOC kinsfolk. Believing that I would most likely not have been murdered by the police is not saying that Xicanas do not experience police violence—it is saying that yes some do but not nearly as much as our Afro-Latinx, Black, and darker-skinned Indigenous, Arab, and Asian counterparts do.
My acknowledgment of my light skin privilege was not reflected upon in depth until the day I was pulled over in North Texas about five months after Sandra Bland was, just a few hours north of Prairie View. When I was pulled over, I was driving with an expired license on my way to an important county meeting that I was attending in place of my boss. As I pulled over, I was in a panic—I was sweating, breathing hard, and my heart was beating a mile a minute. The only thing going through my mind was that I was going to be arrested because my license was expired. This would mean that my mugshot could appear on the local PD’s twitter (yes they do this) and this would not bode well for me if my social work coworkers or God forbid my boss saw.
The cop explained that I was pulled over because my tail light was out. After providing him with my expired license (illegal to do) and my registration the cop returned to his car for a few minutes which felt like an eternity. The officer returned and explained that he could have fined me on at least 5 different counts, including driving with a broken tail light, driving without a Texas license, and driving with an expired license. He explained that he would let me go with a warning, and to watch out because other cops would not be as lenient as him.
A combination of different things could have led to his leniency. I played the role of the stereotypical helpless girl. I had DMV forms next to me explaining that I was on the wait list for a driving test to have my license renewed. And I promised that I had not driven my car until that day and it was only to get my registration updated so that I could get my license renewed. Regardless, not even getting a slap on the wrist made me aware that this was an example of light skin privilege.
I was breaking 5 different traffic laws and I was let go yet Sandra was assaulted, arrested, and died in jail all as a result for failing to signal a lane change. I questioned whether or not I would have been ticketed if I was Black. Would I have been arrested if I was Black? Would I have died in jail a few days later if I was Black? Would I have been murdered if I was Black?
Light skin privilege is very real among many Xicanx and Latinx folks. In the midst of the Black Lives Matter movement, I have witnessed Latinx take a “what about us” stance regarding the racial profiling and discrimination against Latinx, particularly undocumented immigrants. We must remember that most undocumented folks who are deported are dark-skinned or Afro-Latinx. Yes, Black and brown folks are both systematically discriminated against, but for those of us who have lighter skin—we need to acknowledge our privilege and be reminded of something called colorism.
Colorism has been studied throughout history. It is prejudice or discrimination against individuals with a dark skin tone, typically among people of the same ethnic or racial group. A popular example of colorism is the brown paper bag test which was used as a measurement to determine whether a Black person could access certain privileges based off if their skin tone was lighter than a brown paper bag. This was practiced in the early 20th century but it is still used to this day in more invisible ways.
Colorism today causes lighter-skinned Latinx people to be treated better than those who are darker. Similarly, lighter-skinned Black people are treated better than those with darker hues. As Sandra was a relatively lighter-skinned Black woman, she could have had privileges afforded to her in other ways, but the injustice she experienced was caused because she was Black. This is why it’s important to examine how colorism is upheld not only within particular communities of color but between different racial groups. Even if she was a lighter-skinned Black person, Sandra Bland could not pass as white as many Latinx can.
Although lighter-skinned Latinx may deal with anti-Latinx racism, class struggles, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, etc. we are still closer to white proximity on the racial hierarchy. Lighter-skinned Latinx have the option to identify as white Hispanics even if we resist that label and identify as Latinx/Chicanx/Xicanx/Mestizx/Indigenous. We are still granted a set of unearned privileges that Afro-Latinx, Black, and other darker-skinned people of color are not afforded.
For lighter-skinned Latinx, a huge component of having light skin privilege is not realizing it exists. Skin complexion has the power to allow one to pass as white if needed and adapt to particular surroundings so we are not questioned. A few examples of my lighter skin privilege include:
-I am perceived as more innocent than my darker counterparts
-I do not suffer the intensity of racism that Afro-Latinx and Black people experience
-If a cop pulls me over, I may not be singled out because of my race
-I am more likely to be hired at a job and be paid more due to my lighter skin
-I am more likely to be seen by whites as intelligent compared to my darker counterparts
-I am recognized for my Latinidad in a way that not all Afro-Latinx are
-I have the agency to travel without being as closely scrutinized
Being ignorant of our privilege is not a criticism of our character. Instead, it is an opportunity for us to challenge colorism in order to challenge white supremacy itself. Recognizing our privilege and having a dialogue about it does not divide us. Rather, ignoring it does. I ask lighter skin Latinx and other light skin people of color to acknowledge their privilege so that we can take the necessary steps towards dismantling anti-Blackness, colorism, and all racial oppressions.
In our fight against racism and colorism, we must never let the beautiful Queen Sandra Bland ever be forgotten. Her life mattered and we must use our energy and passion to relentlessly continue to struggle for liberation. I believe that’s what Sandra would have wanted—for us to never give up. Through our activism, we must collectively resist the hetero racist capitalist patriarchy and create an alternative existence and better world for all of us. Sandra’s “Sandy Speaks” videos will continue to inspire us for generations and so will her memory. May your spirit live on and may you forever Rest in Power Queen.
Originally published in Muchacha Fanzine’s “POC Solidarity” issue.