The Peaceful Negro and the Insanity of Racism

For all intents and purposes, I hope for this blog to take a perspective on racial relations that has yet to be discussed that all may feel but none may talk about.

As a black man, I experience a certain type of racism (I understand that every non-white person does to an extent). The pathologies that African Americans develop as a result of racism has a profound effect on how we interact with unknown white Americans, especially in formal settings. An experience I recently had opened my eyes to a few things.

I enjoy playing basketball. On this one day in particular, I was coming from work and before going to a basketball gym I decided to stop at this bank to deposit this check. It had been a check I received quite a long time ago and finally decided to do something with it. Anyways, as with most days I dress professionally—I wear slacks and button down shirts every day.

The bank has quite a significant distance from the entrance to the teller’s counter—approximately 20 yards. As soon as I walk in I notice how all eyes lock in on me, and I am receiving a hard stare for approximately 2 or 3 seconds before some greets me. They welcome me to the bank while looking at my profile more-so than my face. As I continued to the teller’s desk I mentioned that I am going to deposit the check. I have never been to this bank before, so none of the tellers recognize me, I get that.

What is frustrating is that their suspicion has distracted them from being courteous, which is very important for local banks, which this bank happens to be. Instead of looking at me in the eyes when I arrive at the counter I notice them looking at my lips, my hair and my brow. And after looking at my ID extensively and getting a superior to check the validity of the check that happens to also be a check from the same bank, they finally deposit the check and I exit the store.

While the experience itself is not horrific, my intention is to make this a larger caricature of an everyday experience for black males around the country. Those criminally persecuted for being black, while significant, are in the minority; the vast majority of black men (I’d argue 99%) experience the nuances of racism. It’s the most routine experiences with racism that create insanity. The particulars of my story are what make it pertinent.

Before I walk into the bank, I am aware of how I will be perceived. And that’s the thing about the pathology of racism with many African Americans; many of us feel as if there are things that we personally can do to decrease our chances of being treated poorly. What is even crazier is that African Americans are sympathetic to whites who criminalize us on sight. I certainly was. I was thinking “how I could I blame her for being suspect of me? After all the things she’s seen on TV and how we allow ourselves to be portrayed, I would be suspicious if a strange black man walked into my bank too.” I even double checked my appearance in the window’s reflection. I wear glasses and I am between haircuts so I am not the freshest I could be up top, and I am between shaves too, but I have already mentioned how I am dressed. I was trying to disarm her perceptions.

It does not stop at appearances, either. There are certain mannerisms that black men develop in order to become less threatening to others in hopes of being treated a little more fairly. In this instance, a mannerism I often use is lightening the pitch of my voice. I take much of the base out of it and insert what I perceive to a less aggressive, more accommodating voice. I smile more than I normally would, I hand gesture less and create more small talk than normal as well. These are not conscious adaptations. These are psychological mannerism changes I make whenever I encounter whites (or those in position to afford me opportunities). All of these things are happening whilst I deposit a damn check.

And despite all of my efforts to put myself in the mind of this white woman, despite my inclination to be accommodating to her own stupid ass assumptions about who I might be and what I might do, I still received no different treatment. I might as well have gone inside the bank with loud headphones, chewing gum, skittles and a hoodie. To make matters worse, I had even told my friend-who had been wearing a hoodie and sweatpants- to remain in my car as I went into the bank. At that moment, as she avoids eye contact and excessive investigation of a check that belongs to the bank, I almost snapped. I began to wish that I was indeed there to rob the store. I longed to become the nightmare she assumed I was.

I felt foolish in the end. I felt like an Uncle Tom, a “bitch” (as my friends would just call it), a sell-out and a disgrace. All of my own racial maneuvering was supposed to make this as easy an experience as possible even though I was ready for the worst. I went through this entire mental process in hopes that I would be treated like anyone else.

I began to get angrier because I experience things like this every day. For the most part, however, black men have come to expect racial profiling and coded dehumanation as part of the norm. It is one of the things you learn to accept and adapt. I further got to thinking: how much of my personality is a response to that type of racism? Are there things that I do- even around my black friends- that are internalized from experiences with white people that I have forgotten to code-switch from? How much of this bullshit is actually a functional part of my personality?

You begin to feel foolish for accepting these kinds of things in the first place. You begin feeling foolish for taking this type of routine treatment in stride. But feel powerless because you feel that all of your worldly desires and opportunities are dependent upon taking racism as if it was a talent you list on a resume.

As I exited that bank, I had never been more driven to scare the shit out of some white folk. I am 6’3” 170 pounds. I am lanky with small hands and feet and I wear nothing but snug dress clothes. In my community, I am one the least threatening brothers you will find. Yet in another context, all these dress clothes, smiles and bowties makes you scary. I left feeling angry, menacing, and maniacal. And once again, Powerless, because I realized the following:

Fear is the one power we have over white people. Nevertheless, it is a power they give us. Aint that black folk in America? Even when we try to change the variable, they control the experiment.

Love and Hip Hop Atlanta and Why the Show is so Great

There has been much conversation and negative publicity about the fresh new reality series on VH1, Love and Hip Hop Atlanta. I have read articles and have had many conversations with individuals who have called for the series to be cancelled, have indicted the moral sense of those who choose to watch the show, and have seen those lament the show for its supposed lack of quality. Most importantly though, it appears that the largest beef with the show is how it portrays African American women; and how the show proves so many stereotypes “true.” Those who choose the view the show these ways are doing exactly that: choosing. There is enough beauty about the show, intentional or accidental, to validate watching the show and keep on the air. In fact, there is enough depth in the show to have a fond appreciation with how frank and disturbing the show can be because that is what reality shows are supposed to be.

I can understand the detractions of those opposed to the show, however. I can empathize with those who protest the show for the way it portrays African Americans. But should we consider to ignore  semi-accurate portrayals of the black community, just because they portray us in a “negative” light? Additionally, are we truly convinced that the difference between one getting a job is whether they watch Love and Hip Hop? The people who have such dispositions to African Americans are likely due to a lack of exposure to us. No show will validate our intelligence or aptitude; the narrative has already been painted and will persist whether the show exists or not. No show can make the perception of African Americans worse other than the easily corruptible African Americans who watch the show and have no relationships or personal narratives akin to the characters on the show. In other words, get over what the show is implying about blacks and pay more attention to the lived-world away from the television and inquire what that portrait is suggesting instead.

Back to love and hip hop. But what is truly overlooked is the legitimacy of the experiences of the main characters in the show. If we choose to look beyond the colloquialisms (I know some will not be able to), I see a show quite resemblant to what actually goes on in the lives of all relationships. However, if we ever had to apply them to a specific demographic, I would agree some of these details can be particular to the black experience.

Take Stevie J, for example. He is an apparently talented and motivated musician that often uses his own machismo, male insecurity, naiivete and power to subordinate women with relatively low-senses of self-esteem or worth, even to a point where it is puzzling. How does a strong, professional black woman fall into such a stronghold from this apparently worthless debilitating man? Moreover, she has a long-lasting relationship with him that has been filled with deceit and disappointment, all of which she is willing to put up with just to be in a relationship with the father of her child. Do her experiences fall on an empty narrative?

What makes the show different from other reality shows featuring black women is that the show is less about their experiences in relation to men, but more about the direct impact that these men seem to have on the trajectory of their lives. We have seen women cry over men who are not worth crying over, have endless banter over continuing relationships with men who are disingenuous, and we even see how the women occasionally enable the men to continue such behavior. On the other end, we notice how the men intentionally devise schemes to keep women at bay without being too distant, just within reach to grab them when their insecurities tell them their grip is slipping.

We even are given a mother figure on the show that is unaware of the ways in which she has apparently raised a non-committal son, and her continued mettling in his affairs prevents him from being actively assertive and definitive on his terms. The show is filled with men willing to play with these ladies emotions on a whim without it appearing to phase them one bit. And while some may argue it is offensive to the stereotype, it is certainly not out of a vacuous narrative, if you come from the type of environments that seem to foster these relationships every day.

In fact, the pains and ills of relationships for black women is the very reason why so many of our precious female r&b artists are prevalent. Your favorite Mary J song has already scripted the experiences of some of the characters. The narrative resonates. And while some of you may want to pretend that verbally abusive men are not torturing the psyche of our women with demeaning statements and lack of emotional support, perhaps you come from a candy-coated personal background where all the black women you know were carefully cradled by their black lovers. I am not making paint-stroke arguments that suggest this is the case for all black men and women, as it will apply to those outside that demographic. However, I come from an upbringing where this is an active feature. Other races might go through it, but it is certainly something African American women are less afraid about confronting publicly.

Perhaps many of you are upset by the narrative that black women seem to overlook or disregard the “good” men while appearing to have undying love for the men that mistreat them. Once again, is the issue that it portrays black women negatively or is it that the narrative is disingenuous? The show is amazing because it forces us the face the often brutal realities of experiences that we either do not want to admit exists or would much rather overlook.

Maybe you are yearning for something that portrays blacks in a “positive” (A.K.A.  acceptable to whites) light so much that we are quick dismiss something new, even if, after actually setting aside obvious bias brings some depth to the negative. In this show, the main characters appear to have answers as to why they are so fragmented. Their experiences with each other can be as destructive as they are uplifting. Or did viewers simply choose to overlook the tendency of the women in the show to solve personal disputes through conversation, or overlook the clear support system many of the young ladies had from each other.

Perhaps we can lament them for allowing their lives to be recorded, but I am certainly appreciative of it. It is just as painful to watch (for how true it is) as it is funny. And that is just the tip of the iceberg. The true beauty of the show is that it appears as if the bad guys wins.

As much as you may indict Stevie J and his character, he appears to have no problem getting women in his life, many of whom he will put through the same destructive drama. There are no resolutions—no police officer comes to arrest him for his wrong-doings, he does not get beat up by his baby-mamas brother or uncles, and appears to receive no negative karma or feel no remorse for anything he has done. He has essentially accepted that this is who he is. He will continue his reign of destruction of the female psyche, just like so many men out there will continue to do despite being confronted by the pain they continue to cause in our communities. It is not pretty to see sometimes, I agree, but I would be damned if I did not a healthy cast of brothers who think destructively like that.

It is certainly a cringe-worthy show, and maybe you are turned off by the extra-ness, that, every show on air seems to have. However, once you look past that mandatory aspect of the show, inherent between the story lines are significant, imperative, and meaningful discourses on the experiences many of us have in relationships. Perhaps we are so appalled by it because our personal narrative is not too distant from it; inciting fears of self-indictment. 

Turn all the singers into lawyers and strippers into investment bankers and business moguls, I promise the experiences would be the same, the only thing that would change, maybe, is the dialect.

But once again, I CHOSE to see the wonder in the show. We as black people should stop being so self-protective when watching the experiences of other blacks. If you cannot find some solid lessons watching the show, maybe you should read more or choose to find the beauty about the black experience for better or worse. It is good sometimes to embrace the bad.  

Red Tails Review: A torn critic.

I have always been one to boast a refined ability to discern good art. From music to paintings to films, being able to decipher the good and bad has given me a pretty good referral reputation. Red Tails, the new George Lucas- produced movie that features the experiences of the Tuskegee Airmen in World War II is a must-see for various reasons. However, like many African American-centered movies that are not about relationships or gangsters, Red Tails has been under a siege of scrutiny. The movie has provoked worthwhile conversation on the screenplay, plot, acting and script.

Movies like this are interesting for several reasons. The movie is divisive because of what it might represent image-wise. Red Tails goes through the same evaluation process in the critical black mind as does hip-hop, Spike Lee, or Tyler Perry. We have always been fixated on the image of African Americans represented through our art. Hidden in these movies are also unintentional insights on the intellectual and character potential of African-Americans, a defense of the relevance of things particular to African Americans, and the universality of our experiences in the dominant human narrative (plainly stated, how can white people relate?). Every “black” movie is subtly and unknowingly interrogated by these questions.

Then, every now and again, the African American artist continually creates literature, music, films, and art that force us to re-evaluate those questions. Despite our desires to place the traditional standards of evaluation, our artists conspire to make the hardline statement “it’s a black thing.” Why I am torn over Red Tails is because I am unsure if this is one of those works.

Fact is, I am almost helpless to impose onto the movie my previous experiences of WWII movies. I came into this movie looking to have an experience that would make me altogether despise the existence of war like the horrid scenes of Pearl Harbor and Saving Private Ryan. I came into this movie expecting to cringe at the site of black men working tirelessly to prove themselves to this country time and time again. I came into this movie looking for a combination of action, tears, triumph, and its impact on family- all traditional components of war movies and the general things that come to mind when we consider the realities of war.

Reality is, however, that the father on Jason’s Lyric left me more sympathetic to the realities of war than did Red Tails. While the commander’s father is mentioned, the non-existence of family in this film, in addition to the comical emphasis of “black Jesus” were features in the movie that troubled me. Perhaps a deeper religious emphasis in the film, maybe a flashback or two that allows us to identify with the characters a bit more, possibly suggesting that our characters had something to fight for like family, loved ones, racial pride and not their own individual competitiveness were things that discouraged me in the movie.

The problem is that our characters vacuously appear into the thrusts of WWII. And while perhaps a “white” movie could get away with that (which they rarely ever try to), a “black” movie can never get away by isolating its characters into a space. This not only makes the movie more believable, it adds a depth to the plot and characters that was very needed in the movie, and it did not require much work. If 15 minutes-worth of flashbacks from various characters, or some other method to display the main characters history had been devised, it would have done much for the movie. I found myself adding suggestions to the movie and trying to justify the reasons these things were not present. A dilemma that only a black movie can have me go through.

On the other hand, maybe our producers were not concerned with those details. Maybe they only cared about giving Negro children and teenagers something to watch when their history class goes over WWII. Maybe they just desired to make this a novel movie the black community could be proud of and outsiders just have the choice to embrace it. Perhaps their target audience did not care for the extraneous backdrop to the movie. Maybe they just want to inform people of the Tuskegee Airmen. Maybe they will leave the enthralling emotionally-charged, developed plot to the next filmmaker who desires to take it to the next level.

It is quite reasonable to just be concerned about giving this country some black WWII heroes their just media exposure. We deserve one, we’ve earned it. Maybe they intentionally downplayed the atrocities of war to portray fearless black men, who were confident in their abilities even in the most unfamiliar and intimidating of circumstances. Maybe they thought departing from the traditional media features of black culture would have prevented black youth from being enthusiastic about the movie. Maybe they intended to make taking on a warship with an old plane feel like an alley-oop. Maybe the directors knew exactly what they were doing. And that the boring, tear-jerking, gore-filled film about war was exactly what they were trying to avoid making. What if this was one of those moments where they were standing right against the standards of evaluation, screaming proudly, “it’s a black thing.”

Keep that in mind. Or, you’ll think the movie was ass.