By Juste J

I wake up every day and I start my race talk with America, b. I have had this running “dialogue” since I was a child and here I am, a man, a husband, a son, a brother, a uncle, a friend and still I talk to America about my race.  I’m talking to my neighbors: are my pants too low? Is my hat too low?  What do they think of me going to work in jeans and sneakers?

I’m talking to America, asking her to judge me based on how I act towards others and not on racists’ notions of who and what they allege me to be. I walk out my front door and see other people going to work and I try to blend in; I ask myself, “Am I walking too slowly behind this woman? Maybe I should speed up and pass her so she doesn’t think I’m following her, or think I want what’s in her purse.”

I get to the train station and go down the stairs, I’m saying, “Yooo, I’m just going to work, I want to mind my own business, do my own thing.” And when I see the cops in the station I’m thinking, “Damn will today be my day to get stopped and have my bag searched?” Because I’ve never seen any white adult commuter’s bag checked (maybe it’s happened, but I have never seen it).

I stand in the doorway of the #2 or #5 train, saying to America, “Yes, I am reading a book, dressed as I am. I’m smart, literate and on my way to work; I don’t want any problems, just like you.” I move out of the way to let people on and off; mindful of how I stand so that I am non-threatening. This is the talk I have every fucking morning with America.

When I get to work and something crazy happens, I am careful that I don’t appear to be the angry Black man racist caricature that America believes me to be. You see America, I have been having this “dialogue” about race for a long fucking time and to no fucking avail. I am done with it, I want no part of it; I have nothing else to say.

America, you let me talk and paid no attention to what I was saying and now, after all this time, I am to believe that you want to sit down and converse with me, in an honest and trusting fashion? Nahhh b, fuck you, I am no longer in the business of trying to prove my worth or my humanity to you, America. It is what the fuck it is. I am angry but more than that I am fed up. So I am not going to pretend to be interested in what you have to say to me because you have ignored me for all my life.

When you see me, in my sneakers, in my low-hanging jeans and a hat that leaves my eyes barely visible, when I do not get out of the way unless you say excuse me, when I keep my Brooklyn bop as I walk these streets, as I refuse to walk any faster to make you feel safer, know that I am done trying to have you see me as your equal. Because I know now that I cannot change your views about me, America. I get that now. So do not bring your baggage, your post-racial nonsensical beliefs, your favorite rap albums, or your sneaker collection, to my front door.

I want no part of your fantasy world, because the world I live in keeps reminding me that I am less than. I want no parts of this race “dialogue” we are supposed to be having; miss me with that entire shit. And to be clear, when I say America, I mean you, white racist America. Get your act together, seek out some psychiatric help and maybe then we can sit down and have an honest and productive talk. I ain’t holding my breath though. I ain’t holding my breath at all.