The Ahmaud Arbery situation is a fervent reminder of what it means to be black in some parts of America. Not all parts. I grew up in different states and different scenarios of blackness that morphed as the years passed. I grew up in New York City during the time of the Central Park 5 and Bernard Getz where it was absolutely open season on black males. I grew up knowing that being black meant I needed to behave a particular way in scenarios with the law and even a particular way in public in order to avoid being seen as a criminal and, frankly, to avoid being shot dead on suspicion on doing stuff.
I survived that. I didn’t rebel. I didn’t get mad about it. I lived in a period of acceptance not unlike the slaves long ago who largely accepted their circumstances because those were the only circumstances they knew. It was how things were when I was a kid, and I was a kid who was taught to respect how things were. I grew out of that. I learned to get mad. I fell into the September 29th movement at Iowa State and learned about racial rage. I believed after a while that things were getting better. But were they?
Trumpism is about racism, plain and simple. It is a reaction to ‘things getting better’ and a concerted effort to scapegoat brown people and a subornation of cronyism. It reminds me that things have not changes all that much when you look deep down. The good has risen to the surface but the deepest waters are still cold with discrimination and power that belongs to those who are not like me. It isn’t going away any time soon. More brown people have to be in power and many more brown people will die before it changes for good.
Some Thoughts:
- Once I really get going in the writing it is all good stuff. Not in the sense of what I write is gold, but in the sense that once I start I get on a roll and want to create more and more material.