The summer of 2009 was an interesting one for race in America.
Between Pat Buchanan being his usual batshit crazy self, the Sonia Sotomayor confirmation, a Philadelphia swimming club kicking a bunch of young black kids out due to their “changing the complexion” of the pool, and a host of other wacky nonsense I was fairly sure we were living in some of the worst times in the last few years of race. It would take some sort of powerfully magical spell cast upon America for it to become more racialized than things were last year.
Then came summer 2010.
I don’t know where to begin.
I honestly have spent most of this summer baffled, confused and insulted by virtually all race-related events/scandals. I’m constantly being told (on the Internet and by Fox News) that I (and most minorities and liberals) am somehow making everything about race. Due to my apparently progressive views I obviously want to demonize working-class whites.
“It’s not about race!”
Well, fine. You’ve convinced me, guys. It’s not about race. It’s about idiots. Idiots who want to ignore race and history in America. If it was simply about race we could talk about it. We could have this much-requested “national conversation on race with America” so that we could enlighten and move forward. We could share our differences in order to truly see how we are the same and have similar needs, wants and desires.
But it’s not about race.
It’s about a lack of understanding of how America’s incredibly fucked-up history has affected its people. It’s about praising the Founding Fathers as the pinnacle of political thought although they participated in one of American history’s greatest travesties, i.e., slavery. Tim Wise gave a speech at July’s Netroots Nation where he told the story of a poor white man who wrote him complaining that Wise doesn’t talk about the hardships for poor white America. He claimed that Tim Wise, who is an outspoken author and orator on race in America, seems to only focus on the black struggle and that Mr. Wise himself had forgotten about him and other struggling white Americans.
Tim then alerted him that maybe he should care about the black struggle as well. If it wasn’t for the racializing of public programs that would help him and other struggling whites in times of need perhaps there would be more help for all poor folks. Maybe if the term “welfare” wasn’t connected to brown skin then politicians wouldn’t campaign on policies that require leaving so many of the nation’s poor to fend for themselves in a country that is built for the haves, not the have nots.
But it’s not about race.
See? I’m totally going along with this thought process now! It’s not about race. It’s about horrendous politics. It’s about capitalizing on the fear of “other” whether that other be race, nationality or religion. It’s about Americans being delusional in how everyday life plays out. It’s about being completely oblivious to those who don’t have your life experiences. This isn’t a race thing. This is a failure to acknowledge the worst of our society’s actions and their systemic effect.
First, I have to wake up every morning and say a minimum of 68 “The White Man Is Evil” meditations, which is then immediately followed by my morning run (I have to be in shape … for the revolution). I take wide strides while listening intently to my Farrakhan and Rev. Wright mixtape. (Yes, there’s a mixtape.) Then I come home and sing Negro spirituals to remind myself that slavery happened. That way, when I run into white people (which I try not to, but it happens … like scurvy), I can be at maximum rage level and can scream at them for all the ills that are within the black community.
Some of you are thinking to yourself, “I knew it.” And to that special, very stupid group I say “calm the ‘eff down.”
People think I’m way more angry than I actually am. Am I annoyed at 95 percent of race and political news that I come across? Absolutely. But I’m not an angry militant. I’m just … observant. (Black Truth #7) I’m not looking for things to be pissed off about. I have never woken up in the morning and thought, “Ya know what I want? To complain about racism. MAN, that would be awesome.”
I much prefer to do silly things. I was slightly obsessive over my Kill/Death ratio on the XBox 360 game “Modern Warfare 2″ (I still suck.) I’m a big fan of the TV show “Chuck,” and I’ve threatened to throw my television out of the window if “Lost” ends badly. (Fool me once, shame on “Battlestar Galactica.” Fool me twice…) I enjoy regular old crap way more than discussing race. Of the top three things that I want to do in a day, discussing race and politics is never in the mix. Know what makes me happy?
Brunch.
Yes. I brunch (verb). I love the look of confusion on people’s faces (black or white) when I first tell them that. (It’s almost as if you can see their eyes saying “Does he know he’s a 6-foot, 200+ pound Negro? You guys don’t do that.”) (Black Truth #6)
But it’s true. Salmon carpaccio, a medium rare cheeseburger, and a mimosa at 2 in the afternoon is what I like to call “perfect.” I often mix my bursts of outrage on Twitter with random boasts of Brunching Hard. To some this is really confusing. You can’t rage against the machine and then immediately post a ridiculous boast of brunching aptitude with a Twitpic of food! KEEP YOUR PRIORITIES IN ORDER.
Nonsense.
To stay embroiled continuously in debate over the deep-rooted issues in this country is to say, “I don’t want to laugh unironically, ever.” I can’t sign up for that. I tell people who read my posts that they’ll have to absorb some hip-hop references, geektastic mentions, and some brunch bragging to deal me. I’ve even taken it to another level. I recorded the following video as an ode to my brunch love. A bit of hometown pride mixed into one of the silliest yet most enjoyable things I’ve produced to date. Please take a look at the official music video of “We Brunch Hard.” I hope you enjoy it.
Now if you will excuse me, I have to go stare menacingly at white babies.
Upon glancing at my own complexion, you might not guess that I am the offspring of such a light-skinned black woman. If Harry Reid had met her at the right time he might have tried to get her to run for office. (Dead horse? Still-a-beating.) My mother really doesn’t have any traces of a Negro dialect (We all know what he meant) although, on occasion, I’ll hear her try to replicate one and it’s tremendously funny. She sounds pretty much exactly the same as she does normally, but when she’s getting “black” she’ll add a “girl” or “chile” to the mix. There was an incident when I was child when my mom was forced to curse someone out and she started her diatribe with “You, sir, are an asshole.” Hilarity and amazingly placed F words ensued.
Joyce Elaine White is a handful and has very strong opinions. Such strong opinions that I took them to be facts.
Facts about blackness.
I remember one particular trip to the barbershop when I was 9 years old. My mom explained to the barber what style she thought would be best suited for her young Nubian prince (Yes. She absolutely, with zero hint of sarcasm, referred to me as that.) The barber upon examining my hair said, “Aww, he got that good hair.” My mother didn’t respond at all. After we left the barbershop she pulled me aside and explained to me, in no uncertain terms, that the barber, who I thought had complimented me, was terribly misguided. She wanted me to know that there wasn’t any such thing as “good hair.” What he meant was that my hair was closer to straight, more like my white teachers at school. “This does not make your hair ‘better’ than people with curlier hair. That’s how black people’s hair is naturally.”
And that was that.
I didn’t consider the concept again for years. Joyce Elaine White’s explanation as to why the barber had said what he said and then why he was wrong made perfect sense. As an adult, when I found out that people still classified types of hair like that, and used it in order to put others or themselves down, I was dumbfounded. It’s the ’00s and people are still conforming to such antiquated thought processes? Next thing you know someone will come along and tell me that I “talk white” or something.
And it has happened. Numerous times.
I’ve heard it from blacks, whites, Asians and Hispanics. I sound “white.” When pressed on what they mean by such a statement I’ve heard every thing from “Black people don’t talk like that” to “No, no, no, I’m just sayin’ you sound smart.”
It’s the 21st century, folks.
I’m always shaking my head and gasping at what I deem to be an incredible amount of ignorance shown when categorizing folks. I judge because I’m constantly pondering “who thinks like this? Who still doesn’t know that these ideas are not OK?” Hence the idea behind me writing “13 Black Truths.” In an attempt to create a conversation (and also to head off any super-ignorant shit people might think it reasonable to say to me) I’ve compiled 13 things that I sort of take for granted as being widely accepted and yet, in the year 2010, they still cause debate. The latest “This Week in Blackness (Mini Edition)” lays them out.
And no, it’s not because my neighbors think it’s a GRAND idea to pace right over my bedroom at 3 in the morning. (Note: If my neighbors happen to be reading this, I do request that you stop. I own a samurai sword. #Truestory) I’m tired because there’s only but so much outrage I can have in a seven-day period. I know, I know; I’m a black male and it’s a well-known fact that we are terribly angry and quite scary. (Grrrrrr! See? You were terrified.) With the myriad of ridiculousness going on in American politics and race, it’s at the point that I can’t even muster the energy to scare white women on the NYC subway.
And really, what type of life is that to live?
So far this year I’ve barely made it to 10 a.m. EST each day before I have a mild conniption. If the morning news shows happen to fail me in causing a daily panic (forget what they’re reporting on, just their ineptitude in the actual reporting is enough to raise my blood pressure) I am sure to receive a “Tweet” quoting some idiot in a position of influence that is guaranteed to have me muttering to myself. (Yes, muttering IS an attractive quality in a person … is what I tell myself.) By the end of the week I’m in some sort of rageless catatonic state; I’m able to converse with people, but it’s probably way more about brunch (I really like brunch) than anything of substance. I’ll occasionally have someone e-mail toward the end of my seven-day indignance wear-down cycle with something completely rageworthy and I have little to offer. No snarky commentary. No camaraderie in our FIGHT against the powers that be … stupid. I just gloss over it and hope that I get another chance to see it when I’ve had my “Oh, Hell naw …” tanks refilled.
There’s a saying: “If you’re not outraged, you’re not paying attention.” Well, what if you were paying attention. So much so that you’ve plum run out of that outrage we were just talking about. Is there a Walmart for outrage? Somewhere I can pick up a huge 50-pack of “pissed off” to supplement my own naturally occurring anger? Perhaps I need to see a doctor on the matter. Otherwise I might be seen as someone who enjoys rants on Haiti’s pact with the devil simply because I didn’t throw a punch at my laptop when I saw the Pat Robertson clip.
Luckily “This Week in Blackness” is written and shot toward the beginning of my cycle. Take a look and enjoy.
The Brooklyn Comedy Company is proud to partner with Salon to bring you Season 3 of “This Week in Blackness,” or TWIBtv. Most weeks we’ll only bring you one episode, but this was a spectacular week in blackness, featuring lots of Michael Steele news, much ado about Negro and, finally, Professor Michael Eric Dyson stepping in it, again. Plus, it’s Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s holiday. So here are three episodes to start the season.
You can find seasons 1 and 2 here. Tell us what you think in comments, or follow me on Twitter here.
Elon James White on "This Week in Blackness" 
