They claim we’re just playing the victim, as if our lives are some sort of performance. They suggest that being a victim is less complicated than being the offender, as if America’s history absolves anyone who shares our skin color from responsibility.
They accuse us of “pulling the race card,” as if we can simply showcase it to gain access to a secret society of suffering. They treat pain like it’s a luxury item, as though trauma is merely a means to fuel our existence. They forget that we’ve been running on empty for generations.
They insist we should be grateful and stop our complaints, as if what we’ve received was given out of sheer generosity. They misunderstand that being half-free doesn’t equate to being free at all, and that half-safety is merely a façade. They believe our endurance somehow excuses their lack of accountability.
They argue there are multiple perspectives, as if our grief is a mere debate. They treat the image of a Black child in the street as an abstract concept, forgetting that there’s only one side to losing a child. They overlook our pain for our youth forced to navigate a perilous world and our elders who face the harsh realities of life and death. They imply there’s a right way to endure suffering.
They tell us that change takes time, as if the urgency of four centuries ago has vanished. They believe another generation can bear this weight, as if we can simply sit idle while time drags on. They act as though we have nothing better to do than wait for change to emerge.
They claim that it’s undeniable now, as if our churches burning and our bodies marked by violence are just eye-catching headlines. They see Black death as a punctuation mark to their arguments, forgetting that they define themselves by their reactions—or their apathy.
They state this isn’t their America, as if it ever belonged to anyone else. They think they can detach themselves from the legacy of their ancestors, unaware that their privilege is built on our struggles and our blood. They rewrite history to suit their comfort.
They say they are different, expressing apologies on behalf of all white individuals, as if that absolves them. They believe acknowledging guilt serves some greater good, overlooking the fact that our fight is not meant to elicit their feelings of discomfort.
They chant against white supremacy, yet they don’t realize their consumption of our culture only reinforces their entitlement. They label our neighborhoods as “sketchy” until they can claim them as “up-and-coming,” all while failing to recognize their role in our displacement.
They express disdain for being white, falsely believing self-criticism will change their identity. They think that guilt offers some form of redemption, as if our struggle revolves around their emotional journey.
Now they say it’s time to listen to us, as if the past wasn’t filled with their indifference.
And so I reiterate what my ancestors once shared and what my peers echo today. I declare my anger, my fear, my exhaustion, and my desire for more. I assert my humanity, my lack of safety, and my concern for everyone around me. I cut through their distractions, making them feel compelled to respond.
They strive to provide meaningful engagement, but ultimately revert to predictable responses, satisfied as they close their devices and let life continue.
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In summary, this piece explores the misconceptions surrounding race and identity, highlighting the repeated phrases and attitudes that diminish the real struggles faced by marginalized communities. It underscores the importance of understanding history, acknowledging pain, and recognizing the need for genuine dialogue.