The question
is why. Why have I been complicit in the idea that this non-stop attack against
people who look like me does not affect me? The answer is fairly simple. It
does not benefit me to call out the injustice of the world to people who are on
my side. These are people who see me as removed from the issues that face
people of color in this country. That is my fault. It makes those around me
feel better about themselves and allows them the comfort of knowing that at
least I don’t feel the constant crush of racism, oppression and inequality. Of
course, none of that is true. I feel it every minute of every day.
I wish I
could say that because I have surrounded myself with people who have no
interest or concern with the color of my skin that my life has been untouched
by unavoidable and invasive effect of bigotry. I appreciate and rejoice in the
bubble of people that I have created to shield me from the world.
Unfortunately, we can’t live in that bubble. None of us have the ability to
lock ourselves away and only deal with the people who care about us. Being
treated like a criminal by the police or being passed over for consideration
for promotion because of the color of my skin is just part of my experience. I
have locked those things away and kept my feelings hidden from my friends and
loved ones because I thought it would do them no good to be aware of them. I
was self-censoring my own life and feelings in order to protect those around me
from my truth.
There have
been times when I’ve tried to have honest conversations about this truth, but
it was usually met with a particular sort of denial. As if realization of the
truth would destroy that persons understanding of the world as they knew it. It
couldn’t possibly be true that there’s a double standard at work in the world.
That would mean everything that I have, and everything that I believe in has
been built on a lie. But if it took me a lifetime to be able to say it, I can
understand the reticence that people have in believing it.
People have
asked me many times why I never had children. When I was younger, I would say
that I just didn’t have the patience for it. But the truth was then as it is
now that I would never do this to someone else. To be a young black male in
this country and know that you stand a better chance of being incarcerated than
you do of graduating college is mind numbing and soul crushing. That is the
truth that being black in America and frankly all over the world that we have
to live with. That is the truth that is taken for granted and dismissed by so
many who do not happen the share the genetic marker of color. The fact that we
as a society have taken for granted the disenfranchisement and disillusionment
of an entire race of people, will forever be our undying shame. It should not take
the filmed murder of black people for people to realize the issues that face an
entire subset of the population. It should not take the daily protests and
clashes with the authorities to realize what has been the daily suffering of an
entire race of people.
I stand
guilty of having been a part of the charade. Before all of this years’
upheaval, I am very sure you could have taken a survey of my friends and loved
ones and found that very few of them would have said that any of this affected
my day to day life. I fielded multiple calls and emails from friends asking me
what they could do or say to be an ally. Also asking if they had ever done or
said anything to me that was insensitive. I know why they reached out to me.
They reached out to me because I always made it okay and easy to be my friend.
I never brought up the day to day anguish that I felt. I never brought up the hundreds
of ways I’ve been made to feel diminished. I must admit that there are days
when I just feel defeated. There are days that I just want to give up and I
many ways I think I have. I know there’s no change coming. I know there’s no defeating the systematic racism in this country and across the world. I know
that there’s a target forever on my back. I can’t fight it. People just want to know when their lives can
get back to being comfortable, so that they can ignore any issues that might
interrupt their weekend barbeques and football games. It is a distraction to
them. Nothing more and nothing less.
In the end, I accept responsibility for my part in this charade. I accept that I have given aid and comfort when I perhaps should have been more truthful. I also accept that fact that I would not have made any difference. And perhaps giving aid and comfort to those I love and care for has been worth it. I don’t know, but I’ve reached a point of exhaustion. I’ve denied these feelings for decades, but there is a psychic toll to pay. You can put on a happy face or grin and bear it, but you do have to answer to yourself at some point. I guess I’ve reached that point. It is sobering to look in the mirror and find yourself lacking.
