I’m both reading and writing again. I love reading and writing, ever since I was nine, and I can’t remember the exact moment when I started to become afraid to do it. I can’t remember exactly when I became too angry and frustrated to embrace it.
As I extend forth my hand (many times bitten and burned) to give fiction another chance, I find it very sad and admittedly infuriating that the absolute height of justice, freedom, and equality for Black people in the imaginations of other fiction writers and producers are represented by the Black bodies of anomalous political talking heads and the hypervisibility of interracial relationships. I’m talking about what I’m seeing, hearing, feeling, and reading.
Doing something trendy and taboo like the fist-pound or having a Black boyfriend, a few tokens hanging around in political positions and social outings is the future to them. Its just not how the future should be to me. They don’t imagine Black communities or Black children, with or without them. The only way we have any value to them is if Black peoples are part of their communities by assimilation and serve a purpose to them. Its like those days–one or more Blacks can’t be gathered without a white person present. Is a reality where Black liberation will never exist inconceivable or is it Black liberation itself that is beyond imagination for people?
Many people view this as a step forward, as progress. Look, there are Black people here. Look, I’m not Black and I’m dating/breeding with/on the job with/having sex with/friends with/marrying a Black person. Look, the president is Black. Look, we want to help you and let you into our communities (but just one or two of you). Look, I voted for Obama. Look, I’m not a racist, I said so on my blog. Look, I just prefer Asian and Latino women–nothing wrong with that. Look, what are you so angry about?
Look, we’re post-racial, so stop bringing up the past. But its not the past yet and I’m not picking a bone. This just is.
Its all an illusion for people who can afford to be deluded. But they really can’t, they just want to be. Racism ain’t gone nowhere, people have just become better at finding ways to convince you its not there. Even some white people are starting to admit it.
I can’t get with it, this veneer of post-racial America, a post-racial world, and post-racial fiction. Just because there’s a band-aid doesn’t mean there’s not festering wound underneath.