The Weight of Being a (Young and Successful) Black Male

(BY EDWARD WILLIAMS: SOURCE) It was Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. that most notably stated, “all progress is precarious and the solution of one problem brings us face to face with another problem.” I had never contemplated my personal success as precarious progress, or that my success to this point could bring any non-materialistic problems, but I now find myself, like many of my fellow successful, young, black men, in a moment of crisis.

Before I dive into what exactly this 21st century identity crisis is, what it is caused by, and what it ultimately means, I need to get some preliminaries out of the way to open some critical minds. First, this article is not intended to be braggadocious, I will discuss some of my personal success as I explicate this issue, but I will also share the success of several other young black men that I am close with. Neither their stories of success nor mine are expressed from a place of haughtiness, but instead from a place of humility. I fear that it is out of concern for being perceived as arrogant or out of touch that this side of the young black male’s story is so rarely told.

Next, this article is not intended to complain about success. I recognize that success is usually not a word associated with black men and I spend most of my article writing time trying to shed light on the crisis in our inner city schools. It is not lost on me that most young black men will never be in a position to engage in the dialogue that I am about to embark on, because their potential success has been stifled.

Finally, I recognize that much of what I will discuss at length not only applies to successful young black men, but also to successful young black women, and young successful minorities generally. I have consciously chosen to focus on the young black male success crisis because I understand it best first hand. It would be disingenuous of me to attempt to articulate the myriad of different pressures that other minorities or women experience as they climb the ladder of success. Therefore, for risk of speaking on that which I know little about, I have chosen not to explore those topics, but I hope that my fellow successful young minority colleagues and female colleagues will soon treat us with their own version of this crisis.

Now that preliminaries are out of the way, let’s get down to the issue; what exactly is the young successful black male’s 21st century identity crisis?

What is the crisis?

At first glance, these seem like the types of questions that every twenty-something year old with boundless potential and opportunities are asking themselves. But when coupled with the pressure of constantly being an anomaly, these questions take on a different level of intensity. Young, successful black men in our society are just as easily defined by their accolades as by their status as an outlier. 

For me, like many other young, successful black men, the reality of being outside of the mainstream started very early in life. I was no more than nine years old when the path of divergence started. Having transferred from a black Christian private school, where I had been a student from daycare to second grade, to a local public school, I was initially placed in a remedial third grade classroom, despite the fact that my records demonstrated I was doing work several years ahead of my peer group. Because my parents have been and continue to be my strongest advocates, they pressed the administration to put me in a classroom where I would not be bored and the work would actually be challenging. A few weeks into the school year, I was transferred into a more rigorous third grade classroom, where I was still bored and probably not the least talkative student. Again due to my parent’s pressure, I was tested for the school’s gifted program and admitted.

This point was the beginning of an academic path that would lead me to my present day success. In the gifted curriculum, I was the only black male. I formed my friends from my peer group, mostly white females, and matriculated with this group of peers up to high school. The academic impact is best illustrated by the progression of math courses I took through the end of high school. In middle school, I took pre-algebra, algebra I, and geometry, while all of the other black males in the school took two years of general math, finishing middle school with pre-algebra. In high school, I took algebra II, advanced trigonometry, advanced placement (AP) calculus, and by my senior year the school created a new math course called analysis taught by a local university professor, for me and a group of classmates, none of whom were black men, who had opted not to spend our senior year at the local college. On the other hand, the majority of my black male peers finished high school having matriculated through trigonometry.

All of my classes were predominated with white and Asian students, even at my 97% African-American, inner city high school, where I was in a magnet program (school within a school). The feeling of being an anomaly was my normal. Desiring to be surrounded by other brilliant African-American minds, I decided to attend Howard University. I achieved academically and otherwise, and met some of what I am convinced are the best minds in our generation. I left the haven, that alumni affectionately call the Mecca, because of its centrality for the black community since its inception, and joined Teach For America. I taught third grade in inner city Atlanta, where I came face to face with the students who were not in my classes as I matriculated from K - 12th grade. My students were educationally deprived and living in economically deprived communities.

Teaching was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life, and also some of the most meaningful work I have done to this point. I finished my Teach For America commitment and reluctantly left the classroom to attend the Georgetown University Law Center, where I am presently a 2L. I did well my first year in law school, where there were no more than fifteen black men in my 1L class of nearly 600, and now every possible opportunity one might imagine is open to me. This is the beginning of my crisis.

The exact contours of my story do not parallel every young successful black male’s life, for some their path diverged in high school or college, for others they did not feel like an anomaly until they took their first job after school, and still for some the crisis has yet to make itself apparent. By way of example, I have several black male friends who recently graduated from law school and are trying to figure out what their impact will be with their newly attained degree. At the same time, I have black male colleagues who work at major Wall Street firms and are now trying to figure out where they should be spending their time and energy. Yet, despite the differences, the common threads of educational attainment, exceptionalism, and ambition are apparent. And now many of us have realized that we are in a metaphorical no-man’s land, where no one can guide us or point the way.

We are now forced to make it up as we go along and for many of us this is a nerve-wracking reality. Up to this point, we simply did the next logical thing, graduated from high school, went to college, took a career-oriented job track where we would be an associate for a few years before trying to move up, or went to professional school where we would pass the requisite exams and enter our professional careers. But now that we are here, where there is no next logical step, simply a vast number of opportunities, many of us find ourselves trying to answer the larger questions of life, like what I am supposed to do while I am alive, in order to gain a sense of direction. 

Over the last 200 years of American history, there has been one African-American male President, one African-American male Attorney General, one African-American male Secretary of State, and two African-American male Supreme Court Justices. There is currently one African-American male governor, there have only been four in American History. Five (0.83%) of the Fortune 500 CEOs are African-American men. Approximately 1% of all law firm partners are African-American men. There has been one African-American male Surgeon General in American history. And fewer than six percent of all high-ranking military officers are African-American.

All of these statistics are an attempt to paint the picture that these laudable successes reinforce the crisis. The rarity of these accomplishments sends the message to similarly aspiring black men that getting into these positions comes with no guidebook, nor general path. Some might suggest that for many of the positions I cited there is no general path for anyone because so few people ever rise to those levels of success. However, this critique misses the point. For each position I named, there is a more or less common route, but those routes have not applied to African-American men who attained those positions.

For example, most presidents are governors before running for president, Obama was a U.S. senator. Most Supreme Court justices appointed directly from a seat as a court of appeals judges prior to becoming a justice, Thurgood Marshall was a solicitor general at the time of his appointment.

If I were a white male and I wanted to be a Fortune 500 CEO, it would make the most sense for me to get my undergraduate degree and possibly my MBA from Harvard, Stanford, U. Penn., or Columbia, which account for over 25% of all Fortune 500 CEOs. However, of the five black male Fortune 500 CEOs, three of the five went to one of the four named schools at some point, but the low sampling size makes it insufficient to call it a pattern, or even more, a potential path. For the white male CEO aspirant, the patterns is set, go to one of these schools and then have a one in four chance of being CEO. For the black male CEO aspirant, going to one of these four schools is probably a good idea, but in no way dispositive of increasing your likelihood of achieving your goal.

Before delving into suggestions for how young, successful black men should deal with the crisis, I want to deal with an issue that some who are reading this article closely may have noticed: I have purposefully avoided discussing industries where successful black men predominate; this was not a mistake.

When many Americans think of successful black men, besides President Obama, most think about NBA stars, NFL stars, black actors and music moguls. I have avoided these industries because more often than not, despite the fame and wealth of these black men, their team owners, record label owners, production companies, and movie studios are attaining more wealth. In fact, the dearth of black men in the ultimate decision-making positions in these industries simply reinforces the crisis previously articulated. If you consider athletes, actors, and musicians pay as a percentage of their respective company owners’ profits, they start to look a lot more like mid-level associates in large firms far away from the CEO suite. 

Civil Rights March: The One Part Of It That No One Remembers

BY EDWARD WILLIAMS (SOURCE)

Martin Luther King would have been dismayed by the graph above, showing that 15% of all Americans live below the poverty line. But it seems that because most Americans have only listened to the last five minutes of Dr. King’s 15-minute “I Have A Dream” speech, we have missed the fact that the March on Washington was formally titled the “March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom.” To be sure, the "freedom" aspect of the march was captured in the rhythmic “I have a dream” cadence, but the "jobs" aspect of the march requires a full listening not only of Dr. King’s speech, but of Bayard Rustin’s recitation of the demands that the march leaders took to President John F. Kennedy immediately after the march concluded. March on Washington demands 7 through 10 were as follows:

7. A massive federal program to train and place all unemployed workers, Negro and white, on meaningful and dignified jobs at decent wages.

8. A national minimum wage act that will give all Americans a decent standard of living. (Government surveys show that anything less than $2.00 an hour fails to do this.)

9. A broadened Fair Labor Standards Act to include all areas of employment which are presently excluded.

10. A federal Fair Employment Practices Act barring discrimination by federal, state, and municipal governments, and by employers, contractors, employment agencies, and trade unions.

As we reflect on and commemorate the 1963 March on Washington, I have only one request: that we actually accomplish the goals of the original March on Washington. If we truly want to commemorate and honor the legacy of that movement, we should be pushing for a living wage bill, for federal employment of the unemployed to rebuild broken infrastructure, and an employment non-discrimination act that protects all Americans, including LGBT Americans. These demands are not new, but we have failed to see them become reality because, as Dr. King stated himself (see the video below), “it costs.”

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The work that lay ahead of those participating in the 1963 March on Washington still lies ahead of us. When President Obama steps to the microphone Wednesday, it is not likely that he will be rolling out the next "Great Society" program or "War on Poverty." This brings me to a brief quarrel I have with the 50th Anniversary organizers and President Obama's symbolic positioning in the place of Dr. King.

When Dr. King finished his speech, the leaders of the march went to the White House to meet with President Kennedy to make their demands. But after President Obama concludes his speech, who exactly is he supposed to carry the demands from the march to? The short answer is himself — and that represents one of the problems of this year's march. As long as the black community continues to treat President Obama as the actualization of Dr. King's dream, Dr. King's dream will continue to get small enough for Obama to represent, rather than President Obama being challenged to become big enough to press towards the dream.

My quarrel aside, the United States has yet to make a serious legislative effort at reducing poverty and the cycle of poverty in nearly 50 years, and that is the true tragedy of this 50-year celebration of the March on Washington.

Jordan Davis Was Killed Because of America's Fear of Young Black Men

BY EDWARD WILLAMS (SOURCE)

In November 2012, Michael Dunn, a 47-year-old white male stopped at a local gas station in Jacksonville, Fla. with his then-fiancée. When he pulled up at the gas station parking lot, he parked next to a car full of young, black male teens playing loud music. In the backseat of the car of teens was Jordan Davis, a 17-year-old from Marietta, Ga.

Dunn apparently asked the teens to turn down their music. A verbal altercation ensued between Dunn and Davis. According to Dunn, Davis pulled out some object that appeared to be a shotgun. Dunn pulled his 9mm gun out of his glove compartment and fired eight or nine times into the car full of young teens. Jordan Davis was killed. Police never found any gun or object that Davis could possibly have used that Dunn would have mistaken for a gun.

Dunn left the scene of the shooting, went back to his hotel with his fiancée and ordered pizza. He never called the police.

Based on these facts, why couldn't a diverse jury find Dunn guilty of murder (rather than attempted murder)? The answer is simple: The law of self-defense in Florida does not require an individual to flee to avoid using lethal force. And, at least two Florida juries have interpreted the law to mean that anytime a young black male is present, the "reasonable fear" requirement (that allows a person to use lethal force) is satisfied.

On the first issue, the requirement to flee, if possible, is one that was embedded into the law of self-defense when it was developed centuries ago, except in certain circumstances, namely when in defense of one's own home. To law students, this is known as the castle doctrine, with the underlying idea being that a person has a right to defend his or her castle/home/property. Florida and several other states have extended the castle doctrine far beyond its initial use and have effectively made it permissible for an individual to defend herself instead of fleeing in any and every circumstance. This is slightly different from the "Stand Your Ground" law, but only as a matter of procedure.

Neither Michael Dunn nor George Zimmerman used the Florida "Stand Your Ground" law, in that they did not request a special pre-trial hearing by the judge to determine if they actually stood their ground according to the law. Dunn and Zimmerman used the stand your ground principle that changed the dynamics of self-defense law in Florida. It is this shift in principle that makes it okay for Dunn to raise a self-defense claim when he could have simply pulled out of the parking lot, and for Zimmerman to raise a self-defense claim when he could have simply stayed in his vehicle as told by officers.

The second fundamental issue is even more disturbing. It is not based on an actual shift in law as enacted by the Florida state legislature, but rather is based on an interpretation of "reasonable apprehension" that brings to bear all of the fears of young black men that are inculcated into society through media, "news" and political fearmongering.

The question before the jury was whether it was reasonable for Dunn to fear for his life when he thought he saw something that could have been a gun (although no gun was recovered and no object similar to a gun could be found) coming through the back window of a car filled with four young black men listening to loud "thug" music or "rap crap?" For some members of the jury, the answer to this question was "yes," and for others the answer was "no."

When jury members start to do television interviews, I would not be surprised if we find that it was the non-white jurors who answered "no" and the white jurors that answered "yes." But why am I making this racial? Isn't this just playing into the same ol' racial infighting that we should be past in a post-racial America? My answer is no. Why? Because if four white teens bumping rock music had pulled up to Dunn, I believe that regardless of a phantom gun, those four kids would still be alive today. And, if one of them had been killed, a jury would have found Dunn's apprehension unreasonable.

This is a tough pill to swallow, but as a society, we have demonized young black men so much, for so long, that it is ingrained into our national psychology. It is easier for a jury to simply throw up their hands in irreconcilable disagreement than to find a middle-aged white man's fear of a young black man, in the absence of an actual weapon, unreasonable. I am frustrated by the fact that a jury has failed to hold accountable someone with the ability to do one simple thing: walk (or in this case, drive) away.

Dunn spoke to the teens first. He pulled out his gun, fired about eight shots into a car full of young teens, went to his hotel and ordered pizza instead of calling police, and for now, Dunn remains unaccountable for the murder of Jordan Davis.

So what now? How do we move forward? As I see it, there two options: one that is difficult but possible, and one that seems out-of-reach. First, we must push states like Florida to reinstate a common law definition of the castle doctrine, meaning that the only time you have a right not to flee, if possible, is when you are in your own home. Second, we must deprogram our society's fear of young black men. On the second issue, I welcome any and all suggestions, as I fear it may be an insurmountable task.

Here’s What I Say to My Fellow Black Gay Men (Video)

Dr. Vibe has a discussion with a member of the black gay community about the black community at-large, the gay rights movement, and the entire nation.

(SOURCE)

The National Top 100 Black Lawyers

(SOURCE)

Ed Williams assists clients with complex matters, including litigation, external or internal investigations, and strategic communications. His litigation practice focuses on litigation before appellate courts, including the US Supreme Court, and representing companies in government regulatory matters. His investigations practice has included matters ranging from internal problem-solving reviews to investigations in response to local, state or federal government agency action.

Mr. Williams’s recent matters include defending a municipal water agency in class action litigation, reviewing and providing recommendations to a local police department for the purpose of improving that locality’s policing practices, reviewing and providing recommendations regarding the diversity and inclusion practices for a financial services company, representing a government agency in litigation before the United States Supreme Court, and assisting a corporate client with responding to federal law enforcement subpoenas.

Mr. Williams has worked on a variety of complex civil and criminal matters both inside and outside of government, and has experience in every branch of the federal government. Mr. Williams served in the judicial branch as a judicial law clerk to two federal judges—the Honorable Patricia A. Millett, circuit judge on the US Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia Circuit, and the Honorable Richard W. Roberts, former chief judge of the US District Court for the District of Columbia. In the executive branch, Mr. Williams drafted briefs to various US courts of appeals as an extern in the US Department of Justice's Civil Appellate Division. In the legislative branch, Mr. Williams assisted with the nomination process of US federal judges and provided analysis on potential legislation as a law clerk on the US Senate Committee on the Judiciary under the chairmanship of Senator Patrick Leahy. Outside of government, Mr. Williams conducted analysis at a Washington DC–based public policy think tank and honed his legal skills at another DC law firm, where he worked on a variety of matters before federal government agencies.

Mr. Williams has a demonstrated commitment to public service and pro bono representation. In private practice, he has successfully represented a client before the US Court of Appeals for the Second Circuit on appeal of the client’s unlawful removal by the Board of Immigration Appeals; successfully represented a wrongfully convicted client in the Maryland Court of Special Appeals; served as co-counsel in Seth, et al. v. McDonough, a class action to improve conditions at the Prince George’s County Detention Center in light of the COVID-19 pandemic; represented a client on habeas appeal before the United States Court of Appeals for the Sixth Circuit; represented a Virginia school board in litigation defending its decision to terminate a teacher for discriminating against a transgender student; and drafted amici in a variety of cases, including in support of the petition for certiorari before the US Supreme Court in Buck v. Davis, against the Trump Administration’s anti-sanctuary city order before the Ninth Circuit in City and County of San Francisco v. Trump; and in support of veterans’ preference for government contracts with the US Department of Veterans Affairs before the Federal Circuit in PDS Consultants, Inc. v. United States. Prior to graduating from Georgetown Law, Mr. Williams served as a student attorney with the Community Justice Project, where he drafted model "Ban the Box" legislation for the District of Columbia and represented a client in an unemployment benefits dispute before the DC Office of Administrative Hearings. Immediately after completing his undergraduate degree at Howard University, he joined the Teach For America Corps in Atlanta, Georgia, where he served as a third-grade teacher in Atlanta Public Schools.

Professional Activities

Mr. Williams is an adjunct professor at Howard University School of Law and a supervising attorney for the Howard University Civil Rights Clinic.