"Why I must speak out about racial discrimination" | Frederick Edwards Jr. | TEDxNDSU

"Let's talk about what's in my mind during this negative time." Frederick Edwards Jr. expresses his concern about modern-day racial discrimination and how it has affected so many lives - including his own. Tune in to listen to his experiences of struggle and resiliency as a person fighting against discrimination.

Frederick Edwards Jr. is a motivational spoken-word artist from North Minneapolis. The things he has seen speak through him with the energy he provides. He is passionate about helping others find their inner greatness and potential. He's spoken with hundreds of college, high school, and middle school students, and provides testimonies of stories of struggle and resiliency. With nine brothers and sisters, Fred is the 10th and last child. His mother had a .0001% chance of becoming pregnant after her 9th child. Fred was that .0001%.

This talk was given at a TEDx event using the TED conference format but independently organized by a local community. Learn more at https://www.ted.com/tedx

Let's talk about it.

Let's talk about my testimony.

Let's talk about those thoughts
that keep my mind

in this negative terminal.

I've lost 45 friends to gun violence.

Let's talk about those nights.

Let's talk about that pain.
Are you listening?

You can't hear me.

You can't hear my pain.

You can't make me
make myself feel better.

And I learned at a young age
it was never about the cheddar.

So many friends in prison because of it,

and I can't even swallow my pride
and write them a letter.

Let's talk about why my people
want to be so flashy

and gain so much self-indulgence.

See, I'm not blaming you all.

But you told me I was a criminal
before I knew what jail was.

You told me I was "less than"
before I could add or subtract.

Let's talk about those days
at my friends house hearing,

"Why is this nigger in my house?"

Let's talk about my first best friend

having to stop hanging out
with me in fifth grade

because "hanging out with black kids
will lead him to trouble."

Let's talk about how I have
to take my hands out of my pockets

before I go into any store,
just so I want be convicted of suspicion.

Let's talk about how I have
to walk across the street

if I see a woman on the same side
of the street as me

in fear that she is in fear.

Let's talk about the accidental macing
that happened to me

when I sneezed walking past a woman,

and maybe she was trying to bless me,

but the only substitute
she had for holy water was mace.

Let's talk about this illusion -

this confusion.

You don't know me, but you can define me?

My people are lost,

and I am still trying to find me.

I want to talk to you about why
you have these irrational fears,

but you don't want to talk about it.

In high school, I was given
the opportunity to share my story.

In the basement of Washburn High School
in a little room painted in all black

would be where I found out
about black box theater.

A woman by the name of Crystal Spring

took away our phones
and told us to write poems.

She told us to create stories.

She gave us the opportunity
to get up in front of hundreds of people,

touring to different schools in Minnesota.

But the most critical thing
that I could take from our class

was this banner stretching the walls.

"A voice for the voiceless," it said.

That has now become my purpose.

My purpose is to be a voice for those
affected by racial discrimination

by talking about the experiences
I have gone through,

to challenge the audience's thoughts
on the reality of ethnicity

and the effects of racial discrimination,

knowing that it is possible to fix
the wounds of evilness.

Even with my experiences,

I still believe that it is possible to end
individual and systematic discrimination.

But if we are not willing
to change our minds,

we are not being critical thinkers.

I want you to know

that I am your brother,

I am your son,

I am that kid that lives next door,

and you don't have to prove to me
that you aren't racist.

I am someone who is going to love you
regardless of if you love me or not.

With that being said,
you have a great responsibility.

There are some things we need to see
stopped, transformed, and reformed.

Racial discrimination is not
about what white people are doing wrong.

Black people discriminate
against other black people,

and other ethnicities have prejudices

and discriminate
against black people as well.

We must all help break the barriers

of individual and systemic
racial discrimination

that has long been upheld
because of white supremacy.

With that being said,
white guilt doesn't save lives.

Stop having this false pity for me.

Stop teaching your children
to not see color.

I understand it protects you
from not seeming racist,

but not seeing color only
invalidates my experiences as a black man.

If you don't see color,

look at the obvious disparities
in my community:

the educational disparities,
the economic opportunities,

our neighborhoods,
and our work conditions.

And the most frustrating part about it all

is when people fail
to look at my experiences

and ask questions like:

"Hasn't racism changed?"

Racism has changed.

As my mother would say,
"Racism is now sugarcoated."

Because now I can work with you,
but you don't have to approve of my life.

Now I can go to school with you,
play football with you,

but you can never take me
home to your family.

When I mention my favorite foods,

you remind me of how
you've never heard of it.

When I tell you that I
am from North Minneapolis,

you ask me how
it is to live in the ghetto.

I can see the spiral

of non-intentional, unconscious,
racially-talked, media-reinforced

racial ideologies you have towards me.

And I don't believe
that all the prejudices

you have towards me
are completely your fault.

Black people are constantly perceived
on television as criminals,

dangerous, thugs,
entertainers, or athletes.

We are perceived to be lower achievers,

rebellious, disrespectful,
violent, and loud,

but most of all, a fear to our nation.

These ideologies were used
in the slavery and Jim Crow times

as propaganda to help America see
black people as inferior, and it worked.

And it is still working.

Even now as a black man is shot dead

and killed in New York City
by a white man,

all they seem to mention is how
nicely dressed the white man is,

but bring up the black man's
criminal record.

I want you to know that even though
you have these prejudices towards me,

and you might use the movies or the media
for your reason to justify why,

I want you to know
I genuinely have love for you.

Because although
racism didn't start with us,

it can end with us.

We are reminded that black men
should be more obedient,

and maybe they wouldn't die
from police brutality.

What picture are they painting you?

What picture are they painting you?

We are in historical times, and a lot
of historical things are impeding you,

but as my neighbor, I must tell you

that my neighborhood history
is far unlike yours.

I've lived in North Minneapolis
most of my entire life.

I've seen boys play basketball
from sunup to sundown,

I've seen girls sit outside
and get their hairdos,

I've seen boys and girls bike around
from streetlight to streetlight,

but you know what?

It was the drug dealers who bought
all the kids on the block ice cream,

it was the gangbangers
who made sure you got home safe,

it was the unfit mothers
who let children stay at their houses

when they didn't have houses of their own,

and it was the graffiti-filled parks
that made us into our own superheroes.

I concluded that my life was regular -

the things going on in my community
happened in every community.

I would soon realize how falsified
this information was.

Drug raids were my normal.

Only two kids being allowed

to go into a corner store
at one time was my normal.

Being one of the few kids on the block
who knew his father was my normal.

There was a five-year-old boy shot
and killed a block away from my house

while he was sleeping.

Now, that wasn't normal, but it happened.

Even as I moved over
to south side of Minneapolis,

I'd soon realize that there
was a lot of similarities

that the neighborhoods
that I have lived in had.

So I have a question for you:

If this was my normal,
why wasn't this your normal?

Was this the normal that
Martin Luther King dreamed for his nation?

So I'm asking you today
to use my experiences.

I have an African proverb
and I will leave you with this:

"If you stand on a man's back,
you can see further and reach higher."

Can you all stand on my back,

using my experiences to speak up

and be a voice for the voiceless?

God Bless.