There's an African proverb that goes,

"The lion's story will never be known

as long as the hunter
is the one to tell it."

More than a racial conversation,

we need a racial literacy

to decode the racial politics
of racial threat in America.

The key to this literacy
is a forgotten truth,

that the more that we understand

that our cultural diffences
represent the power to heal

the centuries of racial discrimination,

dehumanization and illness.

Both of my parents were African-American.

My father was born in southern Delaware,

my mother, north Philadelphia,

and these two places are as different
from each other as east is from west,

as New York City is
from Montgomery, Alabama.

My father's way of dealing
with racial conflict

was to have my brother Brian,
my sister Christie and I in church

would seem like 24 hours a day,

seven days a week.

If anybody bothered us because
of the color of our skin,

he believed that you should pray for them

knowing that God
would get them back in the end.

You could say that his racial
coping approach was spiritual --

for later one,

one day,

like Martin Luther King.

My mother's coping approach
was a little different.

She was a --

you could say,

more relational.

Right now, like in your face --

right now.

More like Malcolm X.

She was raised from neighborhoods
in which there was racial violence

and segregation

where she was chased out of neighborhoods

and she exacted violence
to chase others out of hers.

When she came to southern Delaware,

she thought she had come
to a foreign country.

She didn't understand anybody.

Particularly the few black and brown folks

who were physically deferential

and verbally deferential
in the presence of whites.

Now my mother,

when she wanted to go somewhere,

we walked.

She didn't care what you thought.

And she pissed a lot of people off
with her cultural style.

Before we get into the supermarket,

she would give us "the talk."

"Don't ask for nothing,

don't touch nothing.

Do you understand what I'm saying to you?

I don't care if all the other children
are climbing the walls.

They're not my children.

Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

In three-part harmony:

"Yes, Mom."

Before we'd get into the supermarket,

that talk was all we needed.

Now, how many of you ever got that talk?

How many of you ever give that talk?

(Laughter)

How many of you ever give that talk today?

My mother didn't give us the talk
because she was worried about money

or reputation

or us misbehaving.

We never misbehaved.

We were too scared.

We were in church 24 hours a day,

seven days a week.

(Laughter)

She gave us that talk to remind us

that some people in the world
would interpret us as misbehaving

just by being black.

Not every parent has to worry
about their children being misjudged

because of the color of their skin

just by breathing.

So we get into the supermarket,

and people look at us --

stare at us as if we just stole something.

Every now and then,

a salesperson would do something
or say something

because they were pissed
with our cultural style,

and it would usually happen
at the conveyor belt.

And the worst thing they could do
was to throw our food into the bag.

And when that happened,

it was on.

My mother began
to tell them who they were,

who their family was,

where to go,

how fast to get there.

(Laughter)

If you haven't been
cursed out by my mother,

you haven't lived.

(Laughter)

The person would be on the floor,

writhing in utter decay and decomposition,

whimpering in a pool of racial shame.

(Laughter)

Now, both my parents were Christians.

The difference is my father prayed
before a racial conflict

and my mother prayed after.

(Laughter)

There is a time,

if you use both of their strategies,

if you use them in the right time
and the right way,

but it's never a time,

right?

There's a time for conciliation,

there's a time for confrontation,

but it's never a time to freeze up
like a deer in the headlights,

and it's never a time to lash out
in heedless, thoughtless anger.

The lesson in this is

that when it comes to racial relations,

sometimes we've got to know
how to pray, think through,

process, prepare,

and other times we've got to know
how to push, how to do something,

and I'm afraid that neither
of these two skills --

preparing,

pushing --

are prevalent in our society today.

If you look at the neuroscience research

which says that when
we are racially threatened,

our brains go on lockdown

and we de-humanize black
and brown people,

our brains imagine that children
and adults are older than they really are,

larger than they really are,

and closer than they really are.

When we're at our worst,

we convince themselves that they don't
deserve affection or protection.

At the Racial Empowerment Collaborative,

we know that some of the most
scariest moments are racial encounters.

Some of the most scariest moments
that people will ever face.

If you look at the police enounters

that have led to some wrongful deaths

of mostly Native Americans
and African-Americans in this country,

they've lasted about two minutes.

Within 60 seconds,

our brains go on lockdown.

And when we're unprepared,

we overreact.

At best, we shut down.

At worst, we shoot first

and ask no questions.

Imagine if we could reduce
the intensity of threat

within those 60 seconds,

and keep our brains
from going on lockdown.

Imagine how many children
would get to come home from school,

of 7-11,

without getting expelled or shot.

Imagine how many mothers
and fathers wouldn't have to cry.

Racial socialization can help young people
negotiate 60-second encounters,

but it's going to take more than a chat.

It requires a racial literacy.

Now how do parents
have these conversations,

and what is a racial literacy?

Thank you for asking.

(Laughter)

A racial literacy involves
the ability to read,

recast

and resolve a racially
stressful encounter.

Reading involves recognizing
when a racial moment happens

and noticing our stress reactions to it.

Recasting involves taking mindfulness

and reducing my tsunami
interpretation of this moment

and reducing it to a mountain
climbing experience --

one that is from impossible situation

to one that is much more
doable and challenging.

Resolving a racially stressful
encounter involves

being able to make a healthy decision

that is not and underreaction
where I pretend that didn't bother me,

or an overreaction where
I exaggerate the moment.

Now we can teach parents and children
how to read, recast and resolve

using a minfulness strategy we call

calculate, locate, communicate,
breath and exhale.

Stay with me.

Calculate asks,

"What feeling am I having right now

and how intense is it
on a scale of one to 10?"

Locate asks, "Where
in my body do I feel it?"

And be specific,

like the Native American girl at a Chicago
fifth grade school said to me,

"I feel angry at a 9 because
I'm the only Native American,

and I can feel it in my stomach,

like a bunch of butterflies
are fighting with each other,

so much so that they fly up
into my throat and choke me."

The more detailed you can be,

the easier it is to reduce that spot.

Communicate asks,

"What self-talk and what images
are coming in my mind?"

And if you really want help,

try breathing in and exhaling slowly.

And with the help of my many colleagues
at the Racial Empowerment Collaborative,

we use in the moment,

stress-reduction in several
research and therapy projects.

One project is when we use basketball
to help youth manage their emotions

during 60-second eruptions on the court.

Another project,

with the help of my colleagues
Loretta and John Jumont,

we leverage the cultural style
of African-American barbershops,

where we train black barbers
to be health educators in two areas:

one, to safely reduce the sexual risk
in their partner relationships,

and the other,

to stop retaliation violence.

The cool part is the barbers use
their cultural style

to deliver this health education
to 18-24-year-old men

while they're cutting their hair.

Another project is where
we teach teachers

how to read, recast and resolve
stressful moments in the classroom.

And a final project in which we teach
parents and their children separately

to understand their racial traumas
before we bring them together

to problem-solve daily microaggressions.

Now, racially literate conversations
with our children can be healing,

but it takes practice.

And I know some of you are saying,

"Practice?

Practice?

We're talking about practice?"

Yes, we are talking about practice.

I have two sons.

My oldest, Brian, is 26,

and my youngest, Julian, is 12.

And we do not have time
to talk about how that happened.

(Laughter)

But ...

when I think of them,

they are still babies to me,

and I worry every day
that the world will misjudge them.

In August of 2013,

Julian, who was eight at the time,
were folding laundry,

which in and of itself
is such a rare occurrence,

I should have known something
strange was going to happen.

On the TV were Trayvon Martin's parents,

and they were crying

because of the acquittal
of George Zimmerman,

and Julian was glued to the TV.

He had a thousand questions
and I was not prepared.

He wanted to know why.

"Why would a grown man
stalk and hunt down and kill

and unarmed 17-year-old boy?"

And I did not know what to say.

The best thing that could
come out of my mouth was,

"Julian,

sometimes in this world

there are people who look down
on black and brown people

and do not treat them --

and children, too --

do not treat them as human."

He interpreted the whole situation as sad.

(Recording) It's sad.

We don't care.

You're not our kind.

(Howard) Yes.

It's like ..

we're .. we're ..

We're better than you ...

(Howard) Yes.

And there's nothing
you can do about that.

And if you scare me,
or something like that,

I will shoot you
because I'm scared of you.

(Howard) Exactly.

But if somebody's stalking you --

(Julian) It's not the same
for everyone else --

(Howard) It's not always the same, no.

You gotta be careful --

(Julian) Yeah because people
can disrespect you.

(Howard) Exactly.

(Julian) And thank that you're,

eh,

You don't --

you don't look --

you don't look like you're --

it's like they're saying
that 'You don't look right,

so I guess I have the right
to disrespect you.'

(Howard) Yeah, and that's what we call,

we call that racism.

And we call that racism, Julian,

and yes, some people --

other people can wear a hoodie
and nothing happens to them,

but you and Trayvon might,

and that's why --

that's why Daddy wants you to be safe,

(Recording) And that's why --

(Julian) So you mean like --

when you said 'other people' --

you mean, like if Trayvon was a white,

umm, that he wouldn't be
disrespected like that.

Yes, Julian, Daddy meant white people
when I said, 'other people,' all right?

But there was a way in which
I was so awkard in the beginning,

but once I started getting
my rhythm and my groove,

I started talking about stereotypes

and issued o f discrimination,

and just when I was getting my groove on,

Julian interrupted me.

(HS)...that you're dangerous

or that you're criminal
because you're black,

and you're a child or a boy,

that is wrong.

It doesn't matter who does it.

(Julian) And, Dad,
I need to stop you there.

(HS) What?

(Julian) Remember when ...

(HS) So he interrupts me

to tell me a story about
when he was raciall threatened

at a swimming pool with a friend

by two grown white men,

which his mother confirmed.

And I felt happy that he
was able to talk about it.

It felt like he was getting it.

We moved from the sadness
of Trayvon's parents,

and started talking about
George Zimmerman's parents

which I read in a magazine,

condoned the stalking of Trayvon.

And Julian's reaction to me was priceless.

It made me feel like he was getting it.