Person About to Stunt Using Brown Skateboard (2019)
It’s like I don’t quite meet the criteria to be in this exclusive club; no matter what I do and what I face, there will always be someone who thinks I don’t belong.
BY CHRISTIAN COLLINGTON
IMAGE BY NIKET NIGDE/UNSPLASH.COM
There were ten of us, with most of the group being white, and I was the only Black guy. A couple of bike cops whistled at us to stop skating. We were about to go down a hill, but I picked up my board fast, because my mom taught me to always listen to the police. One of the bike cops whistled again as the rest of the team went down the hill. So I told everyone, “Off your wheels!”
I’m walking down the street, board in hand, and the other cop makes a beeline towards me and tells me to get off my board. I told him, “I’m already off. It’s not even on the ground,” and he asked for some form of identification. I questioned the officer, saying, “Why? I didn’t do anything wrong.”
It was a valid question, but I guess he didn’t like that response. The officer approached me aggressively, and as I turned around, he reached for the back of my shirt, grabbed it, twisted the neck, and threw me on a concrete bench. I was lying on my stomach in pain as I watched as the officer grabbed my skateboard, held it above his head like a trophy, and left.
My mind was shattered, broken, and my spirit was gone. I couldn’t believe that happened to me, and nothing happened to the rest of the team. No one got in trouble except me. I couldn’t skate for the rest of our session, not because I didn’t have a board, but because I felt like I didn’t belong. Everyone else tried to comfort me after that. I was thinking: why did it have to happen to me? I was only fourteen.
Was it my clothes? I didn’t realize wearing flannel and distressed denim can still paint me as a thug rather than an actual skater. It goes beyond the clothes I wear. It starts and stops at the colour of my skin. It’s frustrating to know that they mistreated me that day. I thought about giving up skateboarding, thinking it wasn’t worth all the trouble, but I realized giving up on skateboarding is shoving a part of who I am in a closet. I wanted to prove to others that I can be more than my skin colour as a skateboarder. The very next day I bought a new board. With renewed hope and a fire burning in my stomach, I was ready to continue.
I was always in awe of the skateboarding industry. As I grew older, I wanted to get into the sport. Though it was a harsh reality into how white colleagues take full advantage of their privilege. I was seventeen, and I was asked to be the talent for a low-budget skateboarding video. I was desperate to get a taste of the industry, so I agreed instantly. I didn’t care that I wasn’t getting paid. I was heading on a path toward my dreams. During the shoot, a white skateboarder asked me for approval to use the N-word. I was bewildered. I obviously said no, and I instantly took that up with the organizer of the shoot. That didn’t yield much because people referred to me using the N-word on numerous occasions. Others would say it regardless while travelling to different locations, brushing it off nonchalantly. I felt isolated and misunderstood. As arrogant as those people were, it showed me that there’s racism instilled within the skateboard industry. Some are very blunt with it and some are very low-key. I wanted to quit. It would’ve been easier to toss my skateboard in the nearest trash can, but surprisingly, I didn’t. I loved skateboarding, and my passion was what held that urge back.
The professional skateboarding industry treats people of colour as if they are lucky to be included. For example, Black skateboarders are tropes in skate videos by using hip-hop music. I thought that my favourite skateboard companies didn’t care about people like me. I’d look at magazines and not see a single Black skateboarder featured. I started to believe that I would never feel like a part of the industry, let alone the community. These companies get so many ideas from our culture; why can’t they support us? Why can’t they get behind us and have our backs?
With skateboarding groups, the minute a Black skateboarder starts rapping or doing something different, it’s like they blacklist them and disown them. It almost feels like they like rap music but hate it at the same time. I don’t mean that all Black skaters rap, but the companies try to segregate us a certain way. Looking back on being featured during that shoot, I thought about how many Black team managers, filmmakers, and photographers are involved in the industry, and I couldn’t think of many. When I think about white team managers, filmmakers, and photographers involved, it was easy. Tons of Black photographers and filmmakers are good—and probably even better—but they never got the same opportunity as their white counterparts. Everyone should be given a chance to make their mark.
When I go to skate parks, I usually feel like I’m being watched, and not in a good way. A lot of other skateboarders stare at me while I do my runs, as if I have my footing all wrong. Even though skateboarding is pretty alternative and has its scene, I feel like I’m on the outside looking in. It’s like I don’t quite meet the criteria to be in this exclusive club; no matter what I do and what I face, there will always be someone who thinks I don’t belong. It sucks to be an outcast in something that’s supposed to embrace the misunderstood and bring together different people. I guess that’s only in theory. It angers me to be so different, but the thing that I cling to is the love that I have for skateboarding.
My love for skateboarding urged me to get a new skateboard when my other one was taken away. It has motivated me to do more skateboarding videos and offer my creative input on the outlook of the video. I was able to stand up to those that used the N-word when they have no right to. My love for skateboarding got me to embrace my skin colour and use it as a superpower. It’s not only the skateboarder that I am, but the person I am as well.
Christian Collington is a third-year Journalism student at Humber College. His passion for writing began when he wrote songs for his band. In his spare time, he plays guitar, sings, and makes surrealist art.
Image: Niket Nigde/Unsplash.com
Edited for publication by Sydney Citro, as part of the Creative Book Publishing Program.
HLR Spotlight is a collaboration between the Faculty of Media & Creative Arts and the Faculty of Liberal Arts & Sciences and Innovative Learning at Humber College in Toronto, Ontario. This project is funded by Humber’s Office of Research & Innovation.