White people truly despise Black people. Not all White people, but the reservoir of hate for us that seems peculiar to Caucasian tribes is ever present in our lives, from Jim Crow to James Crow, Esq. And in the end, it directs the flow of Western Civilization. We keep hoping for signs that it’s not true. But we can’t find them.
Michael Jackson said it so artistically: “All I want to say is that they don’t really care about us.” No matter. Street corners, cell blocks, Starbucks, Yale, AirBnB, Ferguson, Waffle House, White House — they don’t really care about us.
My only confusion is, why don’t all our “woke” Black folks recognize this reality and stop trying to be the leaders of the futile attempt to lead our people to integrate into this White man’s house that’s on fire?
Oh, life continues to get better for the few of us who get to display their God-given talents. Their success, despite overwhelming odds, entertains and distracts the rest of us. “See. If we just hold on a little longer. Give them a little more time…”
Meanwhile, this Trump Revolution/Reagan Revolution/Goldwater Revolution is succeeding in freezing the United States in a modern “Twilight Zone”/”Back to the Future” land in which everyone in this country and around the world — from Pyongyang to Tehran — goes along with the notion that “White privilege/American exceptionalism is the norm — get used to it, darkies.”
So at prestigious Yale University, this White lady with multiple advanced degrees is a self-appointed posse of one, who feels it’s her duty (more than once) to call the police to report the “suspicious” presence of a Black person in her dorm. Wow. All the dorms, at all the colleges, in the entire world should have a devoted Mensa-member, Big Bang-deputy like that woman making it safe for White folks to get advanced degrees.
So you live in a ritzy neighborhood and there’s this AirBnB on the corner, and you notice three Black females taking luggage out to a car. You panic. You call the cops. Never mind that the trio is removing suitcases, not flat-screen TVs and computers or other valuables. Never mind that these supposed perpetrators are women, not the picture of your typical burglar. But they are all Black, so that’s reason enough to call The Fuzz.
So you work at Starbucks, Waffle House, Nordstrom or any number of other retail joints which have quickly established a separate canon for addressing customers based on race. Black folks get the most harassment, the worst service. Not everywhere, of course, but the pattern, the hatred persists, generation after generation, trailer park to trailer park, campus to campus, fraternity to fraternity, Black faces to nooses.
For no good reason, the hatred persists, and is now increasing. Intolerance is growing. Black people holding on, holding on. “It’s gon’ git better.” It never gets better, except for that precious few.
Individuals among us have ascended to every imaginable height in every conceivable field, including two-term president of the United States! We have nothing to prove to the wicked masters of this society. We do not need their permission or sanction. Count me among the Black folks who want a destiny separate from the future that is in store for the White-America-dominated world.
If indeed individuals, people, nations, reap what they sow, then White America’s harvest will be bitter. And I personally want a destiny for myself (and for all Black people for that matter) that is separate from that which is destined for Donald J. Trump’s White America. And even as the Trump Revolution delivers benefits to his tribe, Black folks are told in every Starbucks, Waffle House, AirBnB, Yale University dorm, college frat house, and anywhere else you can think of, that “They don’t really care about us.” But we had better never stop caring about them and their well-being. That would be unpatriotic.
I realize that not all White people are monsters, devils. But their “Dark Angels” always seem to rule, even during the moments in their history when their “Better Angels” have been dominant. So, I’m unhitching my star.
