“Cuz He’s black.” is a spoken word poem written and originally performed by Javon Johnson at the 2013 National Poetry Slam in Boston. The poem and it’s themes, which are extremely relevent in 2015, were born out of a conversation with his four year old nephew.

Johnson commented that the boy instinctively hid from police cars! Wanting to help his nephew was hard for Johnson. Of course he wanted to reassure the boy there was nothing to fear but in the current climate of police violence that seems to be extreme towards non-whites he knew this simply was not true. The boy probably had the right for his fear!

Now in 2015 the poem has been given a breath of life after Huffington Post multimedia fellow Ji Sub Jeong created a short film to go alongside the poem.

The poem looks at the fear of a child towards the police before he can even read,the dangers of just being black! It names many young people lost to police violence and talks about his fear for the future todays black youth have to face.

Powerful words indeed.

The video and full poem can be seen below.

‘cuz he’s black.

Cuz He's Black from Ji Sub Jeong on Vimeo.

So I’m driving down the street with my 4-year-old nephew. He, knocking back a juice box, me, a Snapple, today y’all we are doing manly shit. I love watching the way his mind works. He asks a million questions.

Uncle, why is the sky blue?
Uncle, how do cars go?
Uncle, why don’t dogs talk?
Uncle, uncle, uncle, he asks, Uncle, uncle, uncle, he asks, Uncle uncle uncle, as if his voice box is a warped record.

I try my best to answer every question, I do. I say it’s because the way the sun lights up the outer space. It’s because engines make the wheels go. It’s because their minds aren’t quite like ours. I say Yes. No. No. Yes. No. Yes. No. I don’t know. Who knows? Maybe. We laugh.

He smiles at me, looks out the window, spots a cop car, drops his seat and says, “Oh man, Uncle, 5-0, we gotta hide.” I’ll be honest. I’m not happy with the way we raise our black boys. Don’t like the fact that he learned to hide from the cops well before he knew how to read. Angrier that his survival depends more on his ability to deal with the “authorities” than it does his own literacy.

“Get up,” I yell at him. “In this car, in this family, we are not afraid of the law.” I wonder if he can hear the uncertainty in my voice. Is today the day he learns that uncle is willing to lie to him, that I am more human than hero? We both know the truth is far more complex than do not hide. We both know too many black boys who disappeared. Names lost. Know too many Trayvon Martins, Oscar Grants, and Abner Louimas, know too many Sean Bells and Amadou Diallos. Know too well that we are the hard-boiled sons of Emmett Till.

Still, we both know it’s not about whether or not the shooter is racist, it’s about how poor black boys are treated as problems well before we are treated as people. Black boys in this country cannot afford to play cops and robbers if we’re always considered the latter, don’t have the luxury of playing war when we’re already in one. Where I’m from, seeing cop cars drive down the street feels a lot like low-flying planes in New York City. Where I’m from, routine traffic stops are more like mine fields, any wrong move could very well mean your life. And how do I look my nephew in his apple face and tell him to be strong when we both know black boys are murdered every day, simply for standing up for themselves?

I take him by the hand, I say be strong. I say be smart. Be kind, and polite. Know your laws. Be aware of how quickly your hands move to pocket for wallet or ID, be more aware of how quickly the officer’s hand moves to holster, for gun. Be black. Be a boy and have fun, because this world will force you to become a man far more quickly than you’ll ever have the need to. He lets go of my hand.

“But Uncle,” he asks, “Uncle, what happens if the cop is really mean?” And, it scares me to know that he, like so many black boys, is getting ready for a war I can’t prepare him for.

Image Sam D