Spoke to an older woman active in music who very much loves my singing. She told me people aren't respectful or better just because society is integrated by law. She recalled a time when a man ate the same food as her family, but he wasn't allowed/asked inside for dinner. She wanted to and had to go sit outside with him. She would take food to John [not saying his name] the nigger and they would sing songs together. The word wasn't disrespectful to her family, but he worked with them and he was black had to sit outside. Past the indoctrinated racism, she shared music with him. She loved him for the memories and for who he was. Much like how people love my singing but don't feel the need to define me as black. Art and music have a transcendent quality that helps remind people they are all the same. Souls within bodies that only reproduce cells enough to remain alive for what ends up being a VERY short time. Elevation and negation of race are somehow linked in our society. The majority of France's winning- Congrats!-football team is non-white people. They are still very much French, but the ambassador of France felt the need to fuss at Trevor Noah for congratulating them as also being victorious for Africa. Trevor Noah was born mixed race in Africa during Apartheid, when race mixing was illegal. "They are French." As if to say that washes away/forgives their brown skin. To some it may. There's backstory about France being upset about Nazis hiding out and being disgustingly xenophobic of non-white people. Take a breath and visualize me as a no-less chubby teen singing a classical song for my cousin. Her reaction? "If you put her behind a curtain, you would swear she was white."
Keep in mind she is light skinned and was shown from a young age that being light skinned is an advantage for a black person.
To be clear, I know good people don't all look the same, but are many in spite of the vitriolic rhetoric that would suggest there are no more kind people.
It’s forgettable- the number of times I was called a “fucking faggot” as a kid. As a former child of god, I wasn’t expected to know what those words meant. I was taught that repentance was vital to achieving everlasting life. My momma made me go to church every Sunday. I said my prayers as I was told. But I eventually learned that Catholicism was never my sanctuary. Christianity was never my safe-haven. God never stopped the cheap shots. He never once prevented the harassment or pure embarrassment that I felt from the words of my “kin in Christ.” Now, picture me- a helpless faggot, blinded by the incandescent lights of an old catholic church. I was home from college spending Spring Break in my former hellscape. So, naturally, my momma yet again made me go to church. This time, on a Wednesday. It was Ash Wednesday. When I was among the folks from home, I felt out of place. So much that I’d imagine camouflaging myself. Like saber-tooth in hiding. But the difference? I had a far mo...
Comments
Post a Comment