Race-Baiter: Don’t You Have Anything Else to Talk About?

If only I would have known that being a poorly spoken, orange peel complexioned, unstable yt person would have granted me the right to slew absolute nonsense without consequence, I suppose I’d be changing up my skin care routine…definitely wouldn’t even have considered going to school at all. Maybe me talking about race would actually have some weight.  People would be so dazzled by my whiteness and wealth they wouldn’t mind so much because #45 can literally disparage an entire immigrant population as rapists and his voter base is just like:

“mArtHa, hE’s nOt TalKing aBoUT rAcE aT alL, rIgHT?”

“No, He’S jUst bEinG rEAl, JoE. I mEaN it cOulD bE anYoNE.  It JuSt hAppEnS tO bE tHoSe MeXicaNS.”

“YeA. JuSt MExicAns. No RaCE taLK. JuSt MexIcANs.”

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k, martha and joe.

I was labeled a race-baiter way back in high school because I clapped back when some kid said,”I think we should bring back the slave trade.”  Call me crazy.  Call me insane.  I thought it was out of line.  I still do.

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As I’ve gotten older, it hasn’t really gotten better.

Just before writing my last blog post,  My friend told me that in her anthro course centered on the concept of Whiteness,  a couple of her yt classmates said something along the lines of: “It’s really unfortunate that black people hold onto slavery like that, like its not helping them at all.  It’s just holding them back.”  When my friend told me this, it only served to fuel my fire at the time.

I spat out, “I like how they feel like us acknowledging slavery, is what’s holding us back…yep, that’s what it is.”

It’s like someone left historical shattered glass in the hallway and they’re personally offended because a few people took the time to even acknowledge the mess in the first place.


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IF yOu jusT WAlkEd oN lIkE eVErYoNE ElsE yOU WouLDn’T hAvE So mAnY iSsUes.  iT’s jUSt bRoKeN sHardS oF glAsS. I sORta fEeL liKe YUuR WaLKinG oN It oN puRpOSe. YoU sHoULd sToP dOiNG tHaT…

(throws an empty wine glass on the ground)

Yeah it would be nice if I could ignore the entire mess of being the child of an enslaved population/minority.  But it finds its way into my skin, my voice, and uhhhhhhhhhh anytime I’m trying to succeed.  L-O-L am I right?

I have been through a few unhealthy relationships, and if you’ve ever been gaslighted before, you’ll know that there’s been times where you actually end up questioning if the pain you felt was really that bad. You’re bold-face looking that person in the eye and they’re telling you how irrational you are and how misled you are and how you completely misunderstood everything.  You briefly wonder, “Maybe it didn’t really happen that way…maybe they’re whit–I mean, right. it wasn’t that terrible…am I simply being angry for no reason?”  I ask myself the last question a lot actually.  And sometimes when I happen to be in a room full of pale faces (and honestly, sometimes brown faces), I brace myself for that feeling again and again.

Am I angry for no reason?  I am not.  Whenever I talk about slavery or race or history for that matter, it isn’t because I like stepping on shards of glass in my free time. It’s because it’s not over.  It’s because I feel the lack of accountability in people, and I want someone to recognize…to confirm that they are seeing what I’m seeing.  It sucks to get racially gaslighted man. And yeah, I get pissed off sometimes because it  feels like I’m yelling into the void and that nobody really cares.  But here I am!

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