Before I tell you what happened....

I will go to court this week to face the violent white man stranger who punched me in the face a year ago. He is pleading "not guilty" and the d.a. is going ahead with the trial.

Here is the piece I wrote after he battered me:

Before I tell you what happened, I have to tell you who I am

I am a strong womon, a womon who does not cower, a womon who confronts bigotry

Before I tell you what he did, I have to tell you how I stand in the world

I stand tall on Mother Earth, her black richness absorbed thru my feet, (my feet rooted in her black richness) my being flowing from the womyn who came before me, the womyn who are here, the womyn who are to come

Before I tell you the story of violence, I have to tell you the story of survival

I am daughter, granddaughter of survivors of the Holocaust; I am the survivor of the isms: racism, sexism, anti-lesbianism; I am the survivor of my husband’s violence

Before I tell you the story of my husband’s violence, I have to tell you how I ended it

His angry footfalls booming warning up the outside stairs; my baby, three weeks old, whisked off hidden in the bedroom closet, begging her not to cry; the square, aluminum-clad electric frying pan filled with steaming sloppy joes, the red arrow purposely being twisted from warm to high.

Before I tell you what he did, I have to tell you how I would not allow it to happen

I face him, no longer pregnant, my very being now directed from protecting the life inside me to protecting me … 43 years ago

Before I tell you what happened today, I have to tell you who I have become

I am a womon who does not allow men to touch me, let alone to make me weak

I am a womon who calmly, with fear morphing into courage, faces white violence, male violence, all violence; a womon who watches for, challenges, dissipates, undermines even, violence

I am a womon who chooses to be me in the world, despite the pervasive hovering dominance of white & male violence

Before I tell you what the violent white male stranger did today, I have to tell you what my violent husband did then

He swept my wooden broom resting in the corner next to the metal garbage can, into his huge, angry hands, advancing towards my back as I slip the plug out of the frying pan and with my two determined hands, grab the handle and whorl around to sling our now boiling dinner, his favorite meal, at my seething husband.

I am a womon whose 19 years old self, no longer pregnant, defends herself with scorching hamburger bits and blistering blood red sauce, slung, not onto the advancing fuming face of the man brandishing my broom, but at the last second, diverted to fly millimeters left of his head.

But it is enough, the hot pungent mixture grazing an ear, splattering a U.S. Air Force uniformed shoulder, to splat sizzling into kitchen corners and onto the garbage can, not even slightly burning his body, but it is enough to lower his hands, to halt his hostile advance mid-step as he looks at me in shock when words fly with our dinner, you ..can ...not ..hurt ..me ..anymore.

I am a womon who does not allow men to hurt her; a womon who knows self-defense; a womon who puts circles of protection around herself, her child, her home.

Yet when the white male stranger stormed on his path toward me today, I did not even see his fist let alone fathom his calm willingness to casually haul off and punch me.

I wish I would have, after failing to block his blow, thought to stick out my foot and trip him smashing his face into concrete as he smoothly, safely, continued passed me into his house. I have amazing reflexes, but they failed me today.

I wish I would have jumped on his huge back and pummeled his round, balding head as he steadily marched across the sidewalk and then up the stairs into his house.

The police, when they arrive, assume he is my boyfriend/fiancée/husband/ex-intimate partner, my “other half” they say – assaulted once again, this time by a white male face infused with kind smiles and violent weapons.

“What did I do to provoke him” – this officer knows a million ways how to ask that question without using those words; my thinly disguised distain silences him:

·         ???My provoking dress: I’m wearing hot pink, “DISARM, DISARM, DISARM” boldly written in black magic marker on my tee shirt, front and back.

·         ???Lesbian provoking interracial provoking ‘couple’: black womonfriend, white me?

·         ???My provoking stance: I do not cower when he jumps out his car to threaten me, I do not lower my eyes and tremble when he bullies me, I do not remain silent when he shouts at me

·         ???CODE provoking pink: has he seen me on the news protesting marines, war, killing?

The officer ‘arrests’ him: i.e. he gets a piece of paper with an ‘order’ to appear at the jail…at his convenience…to be finger printed, photographed, given court date.

He punches a womon he doesn’t know & gets to get processed “at his convenience”; I get arrested protesting military recruiting of our youth, I get arrested attempting to protect our youth from the war machine, I get handcuffed & hauled off in the back of a police car to be detained in a jail cell after being photographed, fingerprinted, thoroughly searched, questioned, and info recorded.

Assaulted once again by a system that protects and values white male violence much more than my well-being.

Since I’ve told you what happened, I have to tell you how I stand:

I stand tall on Mother Earth, her black richness absorbed thru my feet, (my feet rooted in her black richness) my being flowing from the womyn who came before me, the womyn who are here, the womyn who are to come