Growing up, I didn't always understand why my parents made me follow the rules that they did. Like, why did I really have to mow the lawn? Why was homework really that important? Why couldn't I put jelly beans in my oatmeal?
在成長的路上,我一直不懂, 為什麼爸媽老要我聽他們的話。 比如說為什麼我一定要去除草? 寫作業有這麼重要嗎? 為什麼我不能把雷根糖放進燕麥裡?
My childhood was abound with questions like this. Normal things about being a kid and realizing that sometimes, it was best to listen to my parents even when I didn't exactly understand why. And it's not that they didn't want me to think critically. Their parenting always sought to reconcile the tension between having my siblings and I understand the realities of the world, while ensuring that we never accepted the status quo as inevitable.
我的童年充斥這類疑問。 關於當小孩的種種, 然後認識到:有時候, 聽父母的話準沒錯, 哪怕不知道為什麼。 不是他們不想讓我獨立思考。 他們的教育在天平兩端拉扯: 一方面要讓孩子了解社會現況;
I came to realize that this, in and of itself,
但又不希望我們輕易接受現狀。
was a very purposeful form of education. One of my favorite educators, Brazilian author and scholar Paulo Freire, speaks quite explicitly about the need for education to be used as a tool for critical awakening and shared humanity. In his most famous book, "Pedagogy of the Oppressed," he states, "No one can be authentically human while he prevents others from being so."
我漸漸了解這種教育本身, 是非常有深度的教育方式。 一位我最愛的教育專家, 巴西作家兼學者保羅弗雷勒, 清楚闡明了教育的必要, 作為啟發批判性思維、共享人性的工具。 在他的名作《受壓迫者教育學》中, 他說:「一個人如果不懂得尊重他人, 就稱不上真正的人。」
I've been thinking a lot about this lately, this idea of humanity, and specifically, who in this world is afforded the privilege of being perceived as fully human. Over the course of the past several months, the world has watched as unarmed black men, and women, have had their lives taken at the hands of police and vigilante. These events and all that has transpired after them have brought me back to my own childhood and the decisions that my parents made about raising a black boy in America that growing up, I didn't always understand in the way that I do now.
我最近一直在想這句話, 這個關於人性的概念。 特別是那些有條件、 可以有尊嚴活著的人。 在過去幾個月, 新聞報導手無寸鐵的黑人男女 被警察和自以為替天行道的人殺害。 這些事件和後續的發展, 讓我想到我的童年, 和我爸媽當時選擇的 在美國養育黑人小孩的方式。 我小時候不知道他們為什麼這樣, 但我現在終於理解了他們。
I think of how hard it must have been, how profoundly unfair it must have felt for them to feel like they had to strip away parts of my childhood just so that I could come home at night.
我可以想像那有多難, 會感到多麼不捨、不公平, 當他們要剝奪我童年的一部份—— 只為了讓我每天平安回家。
For example, I think of how one night, when I was around 12 years old, on an overnight field trip to another city, my friends and I bought Super Soakers and turned the hotel parking lot into our own water-filled battle zone. We hid behind cars, running through the darkness that lay between the streetlights, boundless laughter ubiquitous across the pavement. But within 10 minutes, my father came outside, grabbed me by my forearm and led me into our room with an unfamiliar grip. Before I could say anything, tell him how foolish he had made me look in front of my friends, he derided me for being so naive. Looked me in the eye, fear consuming his face, and said, "Son, I'm sorry, but you can't act the same as your white friends. You can't pretend to shoot guns. You can't run around in the dark. You can't hide behind anything other than your own teeth."
比如說有一天晚上, 我12歲,在另一個城市旅行。 我和我朋友買了水槍, 然後把飯店停車場變成溼答答的戰場。 我們躲在車子後, 在街燈和夜色之間穿梭, 我們的笑聲傳遍整條大街。 但不到十分鐘, 我爸衝出來,抓住我的手臂, 極其反常地把我拖回房間。 我還來不及開口, 怪他讓我在同學面前丟臉, 他就罵我怎麼這麼天真。 他看著我的雙眼, 恐懼爬上他的臉龐, 然後說:「兒子,對不起, 但你不能跟你的白人朋友一樣。 你不能假裝射擊手槍, 你不能在暗處亂跑。 你全身上下可以躲起來的只有牙齒。」
I know now how scared he must have been, how easily I could have fallen into the empty of the night, that some man would mistake this water for a good reason to wash all of this away.
我現在才知道他當時有多害怕、 我離死亡的距離又有多近。 會不會有人把水槍射出的水, 誤認為子彈而傷害我。
These are the sorts of messages I've been inundated with my entire life: Always keep your hands where they can see them, don't move too quickly, take off your hood when the sun goes down. My parents raised me and my siblings in an armor of advice, an ocean of alarm bells so someone wouldn't steal the breath from our lungs, so that they wouldn't make a memory of this skin. So that we could be kids, not casket or concrete. And it's not because they thought it would make us better than anyone else it's simply because they wanted to keep us alive.
這些影響了我往後的行為: 永遠讓別人看得見雙手、 不要走太快、 太陽下山就把帽子拿掉。 我的父母將一條條建議 穿在我們身上, 滿滿的警告就為了讓我們活著, 不會為膚色付出慘痛代價, 繼續當他們的孩子, 而不是棺材或墓碑。 這樣做不是想讓我們過得比別人更好, 單純只想讓我們平安活著。
All of my black friends were raised with the same message, the talk, given to us when we became old enough to be mistaken for a nail ready to be hammered to the ground, when people made our melanin synonymous with something to be feared.
我的黑人朋友都在這種告誡中長大, 當我們長得夠大, 當我們自衛的拳頭, 可能變成被追打的理由, 當我們的膚色, 成為別人眼中的恐懼。
But what does it do to a child to grow up knowing that you cannot simply be a child? That the whims of adolescence are too dangerous for your breath, that you cannot simply be curious, that you are not afforded the luxury of making a mistake, that someone's implicit bias might be the reason you don't wake up in the morning.
但這對孩子有什麼影響? 當你不能像個普通孩子 一樣單純地長大, 青春期的胡思亂想會害死你, 所以不能太好奇; 你沒有本錢犯錯, 別人的思想有偏差, 可能會害你用生命付出代價。
But this cannot be what defines us. Because we have parents who raised us to understand that our bodies weren't meant for the backside of a bullet, but for flying kites and jumping rope, and laughing until our stomachs burst. We had teachers who taught us how to raise our hands in class, and not just to signal surrender, and that the only thing we should give up is the idea that we aren't worthy of this world. So when we say that black lives matter, it's not because others don't, it's simply because we must affirm that we are worthy of existing without fear, when so many things tell us we are not. I want to live in a world where my son will not be presumed guilty the moment he is born, where a toy in his hand isn't mistaken for anything other than a toy.
但膚色不代表我們的全部。 父母仍然想讓我們知道, 我們的身體不是用來當彈靶的, 而應該去放風箏、跳跳繩、 開心地笑到肚子抽痛。 上課時,老師教我們的是舉手發言, 而不是舉手投降。 我們唯一該放棄的, 是「我們不配活著」的這種想法。 我們說黑人的生命很重要, 不代表別的人種不重要, 只是想確認: 我們應當無所畏懼地活著。 ——哪怕種種跡象都在否定我們。 我想活在一個 我兒子不會一出生 就揹著罪惡感的世界。 他手裡拿的玩具就是玩具, 不會被誤認為別的什麼東西。
And I refuse to accept that we can't build this world into something new, some place where a child's name doesn't have to be written on a t-shirt, or a tombstone, where the value of someone's life isn't determined by anything other than the fact that they had lungs, a place where every single one of us can breathe.
我不相信這種新世界 是我們無法達到的。 一定有某個世界,可以讓孩子的姓名, 不再被印在T恤或墓碑上給人懷念; 每個人生命的價值 不只是單純地呼吸、活著, 而是可以活出自我的世界。
Thank you.
謝謝!
(Applause)
(掌聲)