You Got Anything Stronger?

by Gabrielle Union

  This is not even a complete list from a new genre of snuff films, Black pain monetized as content to be consumed. News outlets almost apologize if there is not a supply of video of a killing or beating, and in those cases they compensate with descriptions of these horrific murders again and again. Or they show “final moments caught on film”—surveillance footage of the minutes leading up to the “deadly stop” or “police incident.” The person is at a convenience store or walking home, the kind of normal, everyday things that the victims of the lynchings Ida B. Wells covered might have been doing when they were made an example of.

  As news outlets and social media users attract viewers and clicks with the promise of death—and local news stations run YouTube ads with the clips—I have to ask: Is this for information? Or titillation? They are obviously showing people our pain because they don’t think viewers will turn away. There is an undeniable consumer base to watch our deaths. Take the video of Jacob Blake, the twenty-nine-year-old father of six who was shot in the back seven times on August 23, 2020, in Kenosha, Wisconsin. The initial cell phone video went viral, but his attempted murder was packaged and repackaged again and again as news. I’ve watched so many “versions” of Mr. Blake’s story, and took note of the individual slants of news agencies.

  And then I noticed something, first in a CBS This Morning package on the shooting. Someone in the comments posted a time stamp of the exact moment shots are fired into Mr. Blake’s back. I noticed this in another video, this one of Deon Kay, newly nineteen years old, in Washington, D.C.

  “Can someone give me the time stamp?” a viewer asked in a comment. Another death watcher quickly gave him the exact moment young Mr. Kay is shot in the chest and begins to bleed out.

  Get to the moment that matters. Get to the money shot of our death. The distribution of our pain is clickbait. Attention must be paid to our murders, but without real accountability the murder loop will just continue, one death indistinguishable from another.

  Did I used to think that if people saw how we were treated in the streets, there would be some recognition of our humanity? Yes, I did. I retweeted these images of our pain and death with the hope that I would reach somebody who didn’t get it. Even though I knew better, I kept the door open for just a sliver of hope for people to give a shit about us. It never felt worth it in the end, but it was that hope that made me do it. Maybe this murder, even though there have been countless murders on a loop. But maybe this one, given this set of circumstances . . .

  I don’t have that impulse any more. There will always be an excuse for the brutalization of our bodies. Always. It is what Ida B. Wells witnessed: that lynching—and the past’s version of going viral with details in newspapers—was how segregation standards and practices were enforced once Black people were “free.” Police-led violence and the unending loop of murder footage are just the modern spin. For all the talk of how cell phones have transformed civil rights, there are very few cases where a cop caught on camera is convicted of murder or assault. Perhaps they are indicted, but by the time they get off, there have likely been six new murders. Even on April 21, 2021, when a jury delivered a just verdict—not to be confused with justice—against Minneapolis police officer Derek Chauvin for the murder of George Floyd, within minutes news sites advertised the promise of a new video. This one was of a Columbus, Ohio, police officer firing four shots at sixteen-year-old Ma’Khia Bryant to kill her.

  There’s about as much justice delivered as there was when Wells covered the ways Black death was turned into entertainment. In her time, people gathered for highly produced, broad-daylight events with the kids in tow. It was the big show. Wells describes parents holding children up high so they could get a better look. Now kids just have YouTube.

  Still, Black people are told that allowing people to watch our bodies being desecrated on repeat serves some higher purpose of enlightenment. The enlightenment of white people, that is, because Black people certainly don’t need to be convinced of our humanity. But the pulling of heartstrings with an arresting visual has worked before, right? We are told the fable that white northerners were “moved to action” in the summer of 1963 when they turned on the news to see footage of Bull Connor’s dogs rending the flesh of Black children. It was part of King’s plan, we are told, to prick the sleepy consciences of white America.

  That was the audience that mattered. Not the Black viewers, who felt rage not just at what they saw on-screen but in their lives. People in the North also faced constant public harassment and the strangled opportunities of employment, housing, and education. It was the lived experiences of Black people that led to uprisings all over America, not just the Deep South. Los Angeles; Wichita; Nashville; Omaha; Chicago; Cincinnati; Cleveland; Louisville; Minneapolis; Newark; Harlem; Detroit; Washington, D.C.; Cambridge, Maryland; Rochester, New York; Chester, Pennsylvania . . . That rage didn’t come from what they saw on-screen in a faraway place, but in their daily lives. There is no place, east, west, north, or south that is free of anti-Blackness and a propping up of white supremacy. That magical land does not exist.

  That’s not the narrative we are fed. The story we are told starts on May 3, 1963, in Birmingham, Alabama, when a photographer caught a shot of a German shepherd lunging to bite what is captioned usually as “a young Black boy,” and rarely is the “B” capitalized. He is actually Walter Gadsden, then a tenth grader, but for history’s purposes he is just a Black boy.

  The photo of young Mr. Gadsden’s assault appeared in the New York Times the next day, getting the attention of President John F. Kennedy. As King put it a week later, “When that picture went all over Asia and Africa and England and France, Mr. Kennedy said, ‘Bobby, you better get your assistant down there and look into this matter. It’s a dangerous situation for our image abroad.’” King wasn’t naïve (and I do appreciate the humor of his saying it would be an assistant sent to Birmingham). Any change would not be about witnessing harm to Black people, but the feared harm to the image of white America. What a network or streaming service today might call a brand.

  But what did Walter Gadsden feel when he saw that picture? In 1993, Diane McWhorter contacted Mr. Gadsden for a Washington Post article, “The Moment That Made a Movement,” about the thirtieth anniversary of the photograph’s publication. Throughout the article, McWhorter, the white author of a Pulitzer Prize–winning account of the civil rights movement, Carry Me Home, centers the photograph’s appeal to white consciences. She does not mention Mr. Gadsden until midway through the article, after she quotes Taylor Branch—another white historian who won a Pulitzer for a civil rights book—talking about what the image meant to “the American mind.” When she does say his name, the first thing McWhorter points out is that Walter Gadsden was there because he “had been playing hooky even before the demonstrations made truancy honorable.” (McWhorter is kinder to the dogs: “They were already celebrities. The top canine, Rebel, performed before civic groups and school kids all over town.”) McWhorter takes pains to downplay the trauma, saying the dogs were only out for “a short half hour,” amounting to “a few dog bites.”

  At the end of the article, McWhorter relates finding the phone number of Gadsden, who at that point, 1993, would have been about my age. “I dialed it,” she writes, “anticipating a hometown reunion of sorts.” McWhorter was disappointed with his response to reminiscing. “With a cold apprehension, Walter Gadsden told me he did not want to ‘become involved’ in my story and politely hung up.”

  I can’t know his motives, but I know that at my age you get tired of bullshit. I can guess that he didn’t want to become involved in her story about “a few dog bites” because his agency had been removed from the story from the beginning. He was just there, a Black boy. A Black body. Like all the others that would come after him, their names and stories bleeding together until they too are virtually anonymous.

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  “The very frequent inquiry made after my lectures by interested friends is ‘Wha
t can I do to help the cause?’” Ida B. Wells writes at the end of The Red Record. “The answer always is: ‘Tell the world the facts.’”

  I have questioned the intent of people here who have repeatedly used Blackness for their own ends, so let me be clear that my own intention is to tell the world the facts. I’m offering honest critique to people who should be open to that if they really are about “doing the work” and being change agents. In the same way that I need to be read for filth sometimes if I just refuse to own how my actions might be hurtful.

  We need to make people fear doing racist things more than they worry about being held accountable. People have been getting off easy, and this is how 125 years passes and Ida B. Wells’s words still ring true. People delete evidence of their racism from TV history so it won’t tarnish their legacy and brand. They do a half-ass apology later for the blackfishing post that gets them the reach and impressions to attract sponsors. They run footage of us getting slaughtered and left lying in the street and say it’s for our own good. And it all continues.

  There is no Men in Black moment where we can erase everything that we are subjected to. But there can be real accountability. We can create new standards and practices based on a desire to make amends. We can invite people in power to step aside so that those who do not look like them will be in the space to make decisions. We can stop rewarding people who have proven they don’t care about us with passes to do further harm to us.

  Yes, caring is exhausting. To be Black, or to be a non-Black person who gives a shit, will wear you the fuck out. But if you really want to be about that life, that’s what has to happen.

  These are the facts. Tell it to the world.

  21

  Oh, One More Thing

  I need a moment with you before we say goodbye.

  We have been on the journey of this book together. In a perfect world, this is the time when I would hand you a cliché and call it a map. “Go off and soar!” Or “Dive into vulnerability!” But you and I know better. How can you soar with a broken wing, and your soul barely fed? How can you leap headfirst into being vulnerable when you’ve had to protect yourself from real harm for years?

  It starts within ourselves, with radical self-awareness and truth. Create a space in your mind to process your experiences and ask yourself, How the fuck did I get here?

  Four years ago, I asked myself that, and I realized that I had been led to where I was by fear. Not just led—fear had motivated, inspired, and controlled my life for decades. Fear is a tool that has its place: it will keep you alive if you are in real danger, but if you live with it day to day it will eventually deaden your soul. Instead of moving from fear, I began, slowly, to extend myself grace, a combination of mercy and love we are deserving of simply because we exist. Because this grace was from me, and for me, I was not dependent on another person for it. It was limitless, and living in that state of grace I have been able to explore vulnerability. I’ve tried to show that here in this book. Not as a guide for you, but as a companion.

  In my mind, I see vulnerability as a body of water. An ocean, a lake, a river, whatever you see, it is yours. I am not saying you have to immediately dive in as soon as you finish this book. We can move slowly along its banks. Test it out and see how it feels. We’ll let the waves of transparency wash our skin to cleanse us, until, as we go along, we can dip in a little more.

  You can go as slow as you want, but we will be moving forward. When we cut our feet on sharp objects hidden in the muck by the water, we won’t hide the pain for fear of being judged. We’ll tend to the wound, and refuse to blame our skin for not hardening into numbness.

  We are superheroes because we bleed. We are great because we feel and we tell the truth, and in so doing we create community.

  We got this.

  Acknowledgments

  I want to thank everyone at Dey Street Books and HarperCollins Publishers for the care they put into this book. Thanks especially to my editor, Carrie Thornton, who has been incredibly supportive of me as a writer from the beginning. I am also indebted to Peter Kispert, Liate Stehlik, Ben Steinberg, Heidi Richter, Kendra Newton, Ploy Siripant, Andrea Molitor, Angela Boutin, Andy LeCount, and Christine Edwards.

  Kevin Carr O’Leary, thank you for being the other side of my brain, and for giving me a safe space to lead with all my vulnerabilities—the ones that I thought would be my undoing.

  I deeply appreciate my CAA Book Family. Thank you to Cait Hoyt, as well as Kate Childs and Mike Johnston. Thanks also to Chelsea Thomas and Meredith O’Sullivan at the Lede Company. I am grateful to Range Media Partners: David Bugliari, Chelsea McKinnies, and Paige Wandling. I also want to thank Holly Shakoor and Kian Gass.

  Thank you to Albert Lee for believing in me. You convinced me my story mattered and should be shared.

  I owe so much to Team Wade, who keeps the train on the tracks so D and I can follow my dreams and rest easy knowing our children and everything else are covered: Chantel Cohen, Richard Ingraham, Andrell McCants, Tracy Union, Ronnda Hamilton, Elijah Barreda, Valerie Arguello, Peton Johnson, Mayra Iglesias, Nuris Maritza Gutierrez, Edgar Prado, Nyesha Arrington, Brenda Larson, Xiomara Altamirano, Ayana McKnight, Maria Robles.

  The Shenanigans groupchat is a place of sacred trust and profane jokes. Thank you to Essence Atkins, Jason Bolden, Stacey Carter, Chantel Cohen, Daune Cummings, Adair Curtis, Lindsay Faulk, Corinne Kaplan, Kelley Lee, Nicole Lyn, Deirdre Maloney, and Larry Sims.

  Thomas Christos, Malika James, Larry Sims, Wankanya Hickson, thank you guys for keeping me sane and fly. Till the wheels fall off.

  D, thank you for loving me, supporting me, laughing with me, and going on Twitter rants to have my back.

  Thank you to my family for inspiring me to create work that makes them proud.

  This book would not be what it is without the trust built by the readers of We’re Going to Need More Wine. I remember each one of you from the last book tour, the days and nights together that we turned into revivals. I love you, and I am so happy to be with you again.

  About the Author

  GABRIELLE UNION is an actress, executive producer, activist, bestselling author, and most recently, a Time100 cover honoree. Union formed her production shingle, I’ll Have Another, in 2018 with the goal of telling stories that center marginalized communities with their specific point of views in an authentic manner. In August of 2020, she relaunched her haircare brand, Flawless by Gabrielle Union, for women with textured hair. The new and improved collection includes an array of options, affordably priced between four and ten dollars, that empowers consumers to customize a regimen specific to their texture and style preferences. Prior to relaunching Flawless, Union learned of the disparities in the food space and joined Bitsy’s as a cofounder with the goal of making healthy, allergen-friendly, school-safe snacks that are accessible and affordable for all families regardless of their socioeconomic or geographical status. Her first book, We’re Going to Need More Wine: Stories That Are Funny, Complicated and True, was released in 2017 and instantly became a New York Times bestseller. Union serves as a leader and advocate for inclusion in the entertainment industry. She is also a champion of breast health and combating sexual violence.

  Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.

  Also by Gabrielle Union

  WE’RE GOING TO NEED MORE WINE

  Copyright

  YOU GOT ANYTHING STRONGER? Copyright © 2021 by Gabrielle Union. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  Cover design
by Ploy Siripant

  Cover photograph by Texas Isaiah

  Illustration © valenty/stock.adobe.com

  FIRST EDITION

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Union, Gabrielle, author.

  Title: You got anything stronger? : stories / Gabrielle Union ; with Kevin Carr O’Leary.

  Description: First edition. | New York, NY : Dey Street, [2021]

  Identifiers: LCCN 2021020916 (print) | LCCN 2021020917 (ebook) | ISBN 9780062979933 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780063119710 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780063214705 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780062979940 (paperback) | ISBN 9780062979957 (ebook) | ISBN 9780062979964 | ISBN 9780063138674

  Subjects: LCSH: Union, Gabrielle. | African American actresses—Biography. | Motion picture actors and actresses—Biography. | Television actors and actresses—Biography. | Infertility, Female—Patients—United States—Biography. | Motion picture industry—United States—Anecdotes. | LCGFT: Autobiographies. | Essays.

  Classification: LCC PN2287.U55 A3 2021 (print) | LCC PN2287.U55 (ebook) | DDC 791.4302/8092 [B]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021020916

  LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021020917

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  Digital Edition SEPTEMBER 2021 ISBN: 978-0-06-297995-7