You take a look at me and there is no doubt that I'm a black man. I'm brown skinned, freckle faced and definitely black. My ancestry is African, off the Atlantic Ocean right off the boat in the Cape Fear River... and up the road into the Slave Trade Market building in Fayetteville, North Carolina! There is some Choctaw Native American in my blood... and of course, there is white blood in me, too!
Because of the trauma of my early years growing up in frighteningly racist Brunswick County, North Carolina, I have a mind that always wrestles with my inherent hatred of the way I was treated by white people in my youth, and my desire to not hate white people. One day the hatred has me at 45%... and that day I might write a rant about a social injustice, or something like that. Most of the time, that hatred is at 5%... and then I am a normal person who has a lot of control over my fingers on my keyboard.
When a Negro became the President of the United States of America, and 50% of the goddamn white people in this country went ape shit crazy... I realized that the racism of my past is just as strong, and more sophisticated, than it was in my youth -- in the KKK ruled back woods of North Carolina!
Today, a white man would have to be certifiable to walk up to me and spit in my face and call me Nigger! I just might be able to beat a murder conviction today, if I strangled him with my bare hands. When I was a kid... white people, men and women, often spit on me and my grandfather when we were out together... and called us Niggers right to our fucking faces! And, what the hell could we do about it in deep down coastal North Carolina where the Negros stayed to themselves to avoid trouble with the white law, and the white law stayed away from the Niggers to avoid having to beat them... and HANG THEM!
Fucked-up psychology, goddamn it -- that is the term of my days. How in the hell do I fight the anger, and hatred in my soul, when I watch the bat shit racial craziness spinning around me every day! I wish to the sky above that Barack Obama could walk up to Eric Cantor, for example, jack him up by his collar and yell a hearty -- "FUCK YOU, CRACKER!" -- to his face. And you better know this, people, Obama has thought such thoughts when he has to face the blatant, disrespectful racism from his underlings. Believe it!
I live in Northern Virginia. I can walk out my door today, go the seven miles to the Dulles Town Center Mall in Sterling Virginia to walk the mall... and not see another Negro in the mall, drive to the Walmart up the street, see five black people working in the store and another four stray blacks among the sea of whiteness... probably living the same experiment I am, drive back home, by way of Subway, and realize again that, like most of America, most white people barely have contact with a Nigger -- so why all the goddamn hatred from their perspective?
Oh, I know the answer to that question. Yea... I know!
What its like to be a Negro in my world? I just gave you a tiny taste of the bitterness. It tastes like shit, doesn't it!
Well, I'll finish this missive. Then, as white people expect of me, I'll again go forth into the community and interact with them as though Negroes did not have a history before January 1, 1863! And, I will continue to observe the wealthy, healthy white women of Northern Virginia squirm in their polished, right to work, Republican skin when we pass each other in the high end Reston Harris Teeter!
Just a taste of my world, 65% white America to my 12% Negro America!
RLJ
