Friday, February 28, 2014

On Being A Less Terrible Whiteperson

Recently, an Alabama veteran hired KKK hitmen to kill his neighbor.
"He allegedly told an undercover agent that “I want this man hung from a tree like he is an animal. I want his penis cut off and I want him cut. You’re a hunting man right? I want him hung from a tree and gutted.” 
Post-racial America, ladies and gents.


Anyone who attempts to convince you that racism is dead, or isn't an overwhelming problem anymore should not be trusted or taken seriously. They are insane, detached from reality, and are viewing the world through a privilege-stained lens with their heads securely installed up their asses.

Anyone who believes, despite stories like this and the dozens that drip down my social media timelines daily, that "we're all the same" and that talking about race only exacerbates the problem, in my Black ass opinion, is to be viewed as a threat. You are a danger to my sanity and, as news reports show daily, my ability to make it through the day unmurdered.

That's not real life. That's not what my daily life tells me. That's not what the daily experiences of people who look like me signifies.

A reader sent me a lengthy email essentially telling me that, while my writing is enjoyable enough, my speaking so frequently on race and highlighting the bad in the world does nothing to improve things. He felt that I need to focus on the latest advancements in race relations (as if it's an iPhone update) and look for the good in people. Because it's "awkward and paints you as aggressive and pessimistic."


Your categorizing me, or us, as aggressive means as much to me as the price of high grade pussy in downtown Los Angeles on any given day. So with that said:

Fuck you and fuck that shit from the bottom of my Nigger ass heart.

I'm a good person. I know good people. I love myself. I love, look out for, and look for the good in my people and that's enough for me. But you? You're a threat. And fuck your need for a pat on the back for having a Black friend or liking Black titties.

I don't believe in babysitting the emotions of bigots.

I don't believe in skirting difficult conversations or opting for a rosier view of things when every single Chocolate Wonder I know is intimately familiar with your 50 Shades of Bullshit.

I don't believe in sweeping my gripes under the rug or tucking in my concerns because it makes you uncomfortable, or because perhaps you personally have never lynched a man and therefore consider yourself a "good person," ESPECIALLY when we are never ever ever ever ever ever ever afforded that same consideration. We scream until we're hoarse that we are worthy of love and respect and look where that has gotten us.

Racism isn't my problem to fix. I can call you people out on your fuckshit day in and day out, correct you at every turn, hit you with #WellActually at every instance of White Misinformation, White Fear Mongering and White Terribleness, and it's still ultimately up to you, Horrible Whiteperson, to do better. It's up to you to separate yourself from the supremacy, the delusion, that insatiable need for victimization and desire to be oppressed (finally!!) and try to be a slightly less abysmal fucking human being. That, and it's up to you to take responsibility for the Mileys and other White Niggers whose ancestor-shaming antics we are forced to suffer.

Don't police my anger.

Don't tell me that things are better. For every colorblind optimist with an octaroon great grandbaby there are a metric fucktonne of Zimmerman apologists, kindhearted bigots and nice old White Grandmas who peel off a piece of their weekly Bingo winnings for faceless African babies with distended bellies yet believe in their heart of hearts that a White man was justified in robbing a Black child of his future adulthood by firing into a car because he felt sassed. Fuck you, ya hear?

Your skinfolk still, in 2014, bust nuts while fantasizing of cutting off our Black ears and Black dicks as souvenirs when you feel your Little Shop of White Horrors is under attack. Just because I can call a White woman out on her awful personhood and not immediately fear for my life doesn't mean that MLK's naïve ass dream of Katie and Keisha joining hands in chicken-eating harmony is a reality.

A Black figurehead in the White House of the United States of America does little to affect the daily lives of Black girls who may one day seek help and be greeted with a bullet to her dome. A Beyoncé and an Oprah don't mean much for the thousands of Black and brown children affected when 50 schools were shuttered in Chicago. It's not about a lack of hard work. A handful of successes don't offset the strife of the dark masses. It's bigger than our individual efforts.

Basically: save your anecdotes. Spare me your tales of that one time when you fucked a Black guy and propelled humanity forward. That does little for me and the terror people who look like me face at the hands of people who look like you.

Don't preach to the dark masses about your plight and a perceived encroachment upon your superiority rights.

Don't preach to the dark masses about our threatening sagging pants or our incriminating hoodies or our frightening thug music or our usage of THE N-WORD or any other thing that is, from your enlightened view as Oppressor, impeding our collective advancement or marking us as killable.

That lip flapping is better directed at you cohorts. They are who need words of encouragement from Benevolent Whitepersons such as yourself.

There's a reason I don't have an opinion on things like womb decoration or anti-aging techniques for the modern White woman's skin in frigid Midwestern climates: It has absolutely nothing to do with me. My opinion is not necessary or valid and adds nothing to the conversation. Most importantly, I don't know shit about it. As my good friend Michael Arceneaux said recently:

This may come as a shock to you, but there are instances, places, rooms, countries, and debates where you and your opinion are not welcome. Pro tip: Black life is one of those things.

Now, go stop your children from shooting up my niece's high school and learn your motherfucking place.

But you don't have to listen to me.

Read "The Worst of White Folks" by Kiese Laymon
Read "No Words Available" by Jamilah Lemieux
Read "How To Be a White Person On Halloween" by Rembert Browne
Read "The history white people need to learn" by Mary-Alice Daniel

Do better.

Black and wonderfully,

Alexander Hardy

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