Powerlessness

            It’s funny how my past constantly ensnares my consciousness.

            When I was 17 years old, I was having dinner with my then best friend’s family. My hometown is overwhelmingly white and middle class. We were discussing the ‘achievement gap,’ a hot topic at the time. Black students at my high school were not achieving at the same rate as their white counterparts. In my early adulthood, I have come to see such metrics as a testament to the failures of the educational system, rather than any failure on the part of Black students.

            But, I digress. As the conversation went on, I tried to point out to my friend’s parents that Black people in this country have been systematically oppressed since slavery. She then looked me in the eyes and said, “Well, if you compare a Black person in the American ghetto to an African person, who do you think is better off?”

            What I should have done is smacked that melanin-lacking racist in her mouth. But being that she was my best friend’s mother I took a breath and clumsily explained that the continent of Africa had been colonized by Europe. My knowledge of African history was at the time minimal (a testament to my white-washed history education). Still, I knew that what she had said was wrong on many levels. She actually denied that any African country had ever been colonized, until her husband kindly let her know that she was wrong.

            Clearly, this woman was a racist and an idiot. The fact that she could look me in my face and tell me that for all of the rape, lashings, beatings and dehumanization my ancestors went through that my people and I were somehow ‘better off’ is a testament to her deep running pathological racism. Unfortunately, as time went on, it became clear that my best friend was not immune either.

            I have since cut off ties with that family. However, this memory still stings. I think I have finally pinpointed the reason. This woman who was so obviously virulently racist was a doctor, a respected member of the community. In other words, she had power. And even in the supposedly liberal community I lived in, she was allowed to thrive.

            I think this memory is indicative of my current psychological plight. Now that I am old enough to truly see my life’s narrative for what it is, I realize that I am a small speck of brown in an ignorant but powerful mass of white. And there is nothing more dangerous than an ignorant and powerful majority. Just living feels very much akin to swimming upstream.

            But at the same time, I hope that facing injustices, no matter how micro or macro, has made me a more understanding and compassionate person. For, truth be told, I cannot say that I have never been in the wrong, that I have never hurt another person. As I begin to find the others who feel like I do about this world I hope to learn how to be sensitive to historical traumas and how to be a just person, not only in rhetoric but in action. And that is all I have to bolster me against the unending tide of injustice that I struggle against everyday.

            It’s easy to get lost in the past. Shit’ll make you feel powerless real quick. I can’t tell you how many times I have beat up on myself with a whole slew of ‘should’ve could’ve would’ve’ scenarios. Many of them have to do with past experiences of racism that I wish I had stood up to more effectively, or recognized more quickly. Some of them have to do with scenarios where I fucked up, where I was on the side of wrong. But I am learning to let go. And in learning to let go I am moving forward. And Goddess knows there are many mistakes to come. But when the do come I know I will meet them with grace. And that gives me hope.