This week, the boo-thang of one of my historic acquaintances asked me what Barack Obama did for me during his presidency. Was President Obama supposed to shower me with gifts because him and I were both Black? I never mentioned anything about Obama. In fact, for one Black man to insinuate that another Black man voted for President Obama is translation for, ‘Black people are supposed to fix their own social and economic issues and the Black president failed at helping you people do that.” If President Obama was supposed to do something for me as a Black man, then what did that mean for him as a Black man? That’s right—nothing, because he was swallowing that orange Trumpkin’ pie.
Why was a Black man who voted for Donald Trump asking me what Obama had done for me? Did he forget that his skin was as dark as mine? Or did his upbringing and adoption by a white family lead him on a journey of confusion and slow death? Does this young auto-tuned rapper only enjoy Black culture? Partaking in the magic of blackness while ignorantly strengthening our struggle? The Black rapper who helped host Maine’s so-called Hip-Hop Summit? The one who fantasizes of marrying a Black woman who is partially white (the historic acquaintance) and who lives with Black people? This sounds like the second American horror film of Get Out by Jordan Peele if you ask me.
This Black dude who supposedly spoke about how much he loved me to some of my Black friends happens to be in love with Donald Trump’s agenda for America. Think about that! When I hear a Black man telling me that he loves me and that he voted for Trump, my eyes become all squinty and my brain immediately explodes into vapor. This Black dude also happens to be adopted by white parents who also voted for Trump, perhaps influencing him to be like-minded with other Trump minions. The same Black man who voted for Trump, knowing that Donald doesn’t care about Black people, seems to enjoy lingering around Black folks until we start discussing our political views. He didn’t like that I called him out on his support for Trump in a group of Black people who proclaim that Black Lives Matter, yet who also embraces everything about his presence.
I prefer not to surround myself with Black people who are skilled in straddling the fence of whiteness; one minute at the dinner table with their white parents cheering on Trump and the next, having bonfires with Black people talking about the water crisis in Flint, Michigan, or how children being separated from their mothers is just sickening. I personally do not feel safe around Black people like him who smile in my face and then steps foot into the voting booth to help Trump “make America great again.” He has learned the ropes of white supremacy most likely because he was adopted into it. He has stored away inside of him the secrets of whiteness while he uses his black skin as a resource for gaining social support. It’s been said that “Everyone wants to be Black until it’s time to be Black.” When it’s time to talk about the Black struggle and how whiteness is so rooted in the oppression of Black people, not many white folks want to get involved. They typically love the way we dress, our “accents,” our hair, our food and many other things about being Black, but refuse to listen and confront Black history, which truly is American history.
All I’m saying is that the Holy Bible in which I believe says to throw off everything that hinders me. This Black man is way past being a hindrance to me but has rather become a threat. We know what happens to white men who don’t get their way, after so many years of having everything catered to them. They get angry much like Brett Kavanaugh did. But, what happens to the Black man who has never gotten his way; who isn’t even aware of a way to go? Who has whiteness trapped beneath his dark skin, protecting him from the challenges that Black people face daily? Essentially, we have a white man trapped in a Black body, having no clue how to navigate such royalty. Kanye West isn’t the only Black person sleeping in a coffin full of psychological disorders and who needs to wake up. They are our neighbors, those who live down the street and who are even sometimes the friends of those we’re friends with—Black friends.
People can do what they want to do, but I don’t play these kinds of games; it’s that simple. I am starting to realize that I have several acquaintances who are also peers of other Trump-huggers. What can I do about it? Nothing. I believe in everyone being able to make their own decisions when capable of doing so. But, what I am not required to do is to chill with these people. I am not mandated to fit people like this into my schedule when loneliness strikes their ignorance. Because I am a Christian, I do not need to love these people simply because Christ has loved me. I do not believe that. God has loved me because I had been lost and broken. But when you have folks who are well aware of their decisions and how they impact Black people directly, that is not brokenness. There is nothing contrite about Trump or his disciples and I refuse to pass out my valuable pearls to pigs who I know will trample all over them.
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