Emergence
This was written on June 18th, 2020 . My wife and I had just returned from a local Black Lives Matter protest, and was the catalyst of my literary reawakening.
This was the worst birthday I’ve had. No, it was great to celebrate it with my family over ice-cream cake, but this is the worst I’ve ever felt. I’ve just been going through all of this shit. I wanted to better focus my thoughts and ideas, but the more I tried to focus the harder it was to think. I’m angry. I’m so fucking angry, as so many of you are. It’s said that the best catharsis is writing it down, so let’s see where this rabbit hole takes me. Strap in, because as George Carlin would say, “I call this free-floating hostility”.
This is long overdue. I should have done this weeks ago.
You may not like what I have to say.
I have a beautiful black wife, and we have two biracial angels. If you have a problem with this, you can get the fuck out. BYE FELICIA! I’m done. I’m fucking serious. I don’t have time for your bullshit. Grow the fuck up and come back when you’re ready to have a conversation.
I’ve been watching “8:46” everyday for a week now. If you haven’t seen it yet, what the fuck are you doing reading this?
There’s a huge problem in this country. For once, more and more people can see it for what it is, but it definitely didn’t start with the MURDER of George Floyd, or Eric Garner, or Tamir Rice; or the injustice of Breonna Taylor, or Botham Jean, or any other countless names that have accumulated over FOUR HUNDRED YEARS of subjugation, of terror, of feeling 3/5 whole; but when you’re married to a black woman (or man, whatever your preference, Happy belated Loving Day), every time this happens is a nuclear strike. Every time you pray it’s the last time. It’s the last time she has that look on her face, that quiet space she keeps to herself, a place she doesn’t share and doesn’t speak. There’s no comfort to offer. There’s only a faint hope that when she comes out, that maybe, just maybe, she’ll want to talk about it.
When these horrors become happenstance, every day is a tragedy. There’s nothing to celebrate. Rayshard Brooks celebrated his daughter’s birthday the day he was murdered. There are no more birthdays for her.
White privilege is real. GET OVER IT WHITE PEOPLE! I was born with a cleft lip and palette. I’ve been teased and tormented and terrorized from the first day I set foot in a school. All because I look and speak differently than everyone else. It still happens, and I’m 40. But this next part is true: The most spat upon and tormented white guy has it 1000 times better than any minority in this country. I can buy a house with no problems. I can walk into a store and shop without raising an eyebrow. I can get pulled over by the police AND NOT WORRY ABOUT GETTING SHOT OR KILLED FOR NO FUCKING REASON OTHER THAN THE COLOR OF MY SKIN. You think that’s not privilege? I’ve got a bridge for sale.
While we’re on the subject, white people: IT’S NOT THE RESPONSIBILITY OF YOUR BLACK FRIENDS TO EDUCATE YOU ON RACISM. Don’t you think they have enough going on than to ease your white-guilt? The internet is literally at your fucking fingertips. Google is your friend. Google Black Wall Street. Google why Breonna Taylor’s incident report released by the police is nearly blank. Google why no one has even been charged. Google redlining. Google John Crawford. Google the Tulsa Massacre. And while you’re at it, Google Maya Angelou and get some culture.
Here’s a list of things you can’t do while black:
- Be a mayor and walk into a bank and cash a check
- Sell loose cigarettes in Staten Island
- Jog while black
- Jog while black and famous
- Fall asleep in YOUR OWN BED
- Eat ice-cream on YOUR OWN COUCH
- Pick up a b.b. gun in Walmart
- Fall asleep in your car
- Wear a hoodie at night
And for fucks sake, given the history of this country, there’s NO REASON WHATSOEVER, that a black man, hanging from a tree should be ruled a suicide. There’s been three men and one woman lynched, over the past three weeks. And not one suspect is in custody. Ri-fuckin-iddle me this.
I can’t be silent about this anymore. I refuse. Silence is complacence. And good people shouldn’t have to live this way. Raise your voice. It has power. It has strength. If you never use it, you’ll never know how.
