Hey Black People! Why don’t you guys GET OVER IT ALREADY!
I recently listened to a thought provoking Sunday Sermon at 1st Corinthians Baptist Church in Harlem, USA. The preacher was especially riled up! He exchanged his normal eloquent tone for a passionate, urgent and furious one. Pastor Calvin Waldron called the entire community to action. He employed his congregation to challenge the young people in our community, instead of avoiding them. As a single woman in the city, this is a scary thought for me. When I leave my building, there are about 6 young minority men just hanging out on the corner. They are smoking, yelling, cursing, playing loud music and basically being an overall nuisance. The guys have never physically accosted me nor threatened me but their presence is menacing.
As I started my 4 block walk home from Church, I purposely began to be more aware of the young minority men in my path. There were 9 very young boys walking around with no parental supervision. There were 23 grown men hanging out on corners, there were 12 drug addicts getting high in the park and of course, the same 6 men that hang out in front of my building. Keep in mind that I live on the fairly safe side of Harlem. The “6 men” called out to me as they normally do, “Hi, beautiful, how was church today?” This time, instead of smiling and nodding, I crossed the street and went over to them. As I approached fearlessly, they all stood at attention. I could tell that they were shocked that I acknowledged them and they were confused that was headed their way.
When I got in their space, I said, “Sup fellas, I’m Naja. Ya’ll speak to me all the time. I figured I should at least know your names”. They each introduced themselves and I gave each of them a firm handshake and looked each of them in the eye, respectfully. I acknowledged them as men. Not menaces. We chatted for a bit, they asked me about my Southern accent, they mentioned that they always see me working out, one even mentioned that if he ever saw me in trouble he would not hesitate to come to my aid. Another offered me a free bag of weed as a symbol of acceptance; I politely declined….maybe…
As I made my way back across the street, I stopped in my tracks, about faced and I asked them, “Why ya’ll n!gg@s always look so mad?” One answered aggressively, “We Black Men in America! This shit wasn’t built for us to succeed. It was built on the backs of our Ancestors. They don’t care if n!gg@s live or die!” I stood silent. I was a bit baffled that this dude on the corner could reach that deeply. I asked him, who “they” includes. His response was, “White people.” I chose to end the conversation there and go do some of my own exploring.
It’s seems that many of the pseudo-oppressed Blacks and minorities in America share a common discontent for White folk. I then googled Why Are Blacks Always So Angry. The majority of the people posing the question were Oblivious Whites and the majority of the responders were Angry Blacks. Sprinkle in some White Guilt, Black Panther-isms and a few Conservative Obama hating Republicans and it made for pretty interesting research. I have some very opinionated VERY close White friends, so in our own private debates, they have made the point that it’s about time we get over it. This is the general consensus!
The Emancipation Proclamation abolished Slavery and helped end it on June 19, 1865. Do you realize this was ONLY 147 years ago? African Slavery lasted 465 years in the USA. It will take an immense amount of work to undo over 400 years of mental, spiritual and physical oppression by Whites. For many years of my life, I could not understand why my White brethren fails to empathize with the struggle their people created. Then, I realized that I have played the role of an oppressor too.
I was raised in a fairly peaceful dual parent home. My Dad and Mom made sure my sister’s and I were afforded the best that they were equipped to give us. They made sure that we took ballet classes and they both came to every little cute dance recital. They picked us up and dropped us off at all of our extracurricular sports events. My Dad made sure I could drive by 16 and got me a car. They celebrated every birthday in grandiose fashion and when it was time to go to college and Graduate School, they rented a U-Haul, set up my dorm and hugged me goodbye. My parents did the best they could.
When I got to college, I met my suite mate, Rachel. Her father was a Senator and this girl was RICH! She didn’t even have a roommate, she drove an S-Type Jaguar, she had never heard of a FAFSA form, nor did she have to stand in that long Refund Check line. Her family traveled the globe. I did not have a passport yet. She would often mention that her Dad was a millionaire, so she did not mind footing the bill when we went out partying. I thought she was weak for having a therapist. I thought her life was so easy. I thought this girl had NO RIGHT TO COMPLAIN ABOUT ANYTHING IN THE WORLD, EVER! After all, she was born in the upper echelon of society. All of the trappings of success were right there in her grasp. In order to succeed, she only had to make average grades, not do drugs or successfully complete rehab and get her parent’s to invest in her hopes and dreams. I was a lil country Black girl that struggled and failed many times to fit in a White world. I could not empathize with her life, one she did not ask for. At that time, my mind had not been challenged enough to even try to see the world through a rich White Girl’s eyes. I was so blinded by resent and envy that, I saw her struggles as trivial and overly dramatic.
The minute, I decided not to empathize with her I became her oppressor.
It was not until I moved to New York City that I looked a pregnant crack head in the eyes and she told me her story. I’d never stepped foot in a Housing Project until I got here. I’d never dreamed that I’d have close friends that are real- life murderers, whores and illegal immigrants. These people are, by our society’s standpoint, the down trodden and undesirable human beings. I am proud to say that now, at this point in my life, I actually see them as Human Beings. I’ve been placed in some unorthodox situations, which have really opened my eyes to the world. I truly believe that my God stripped pieces of me away so that I could be vulnerable to hearing and feeling the struggles of those around and share them with you.
I can now look at those menacing boys on the corner and understand why they are so angry. White America and Uppity Negroes that were either never oppressed or that have overcome oppression can indirectly tell them to get over it. “If Barack can do it, you can do it”, they say. To them, I say, “It’s really not that damn simple!” Imagine that YOU are at the bottom of a deep well. It is dark and cold. You have no rope and you have no means to climb to the top in order to free yourself. You can only see a glimpse of sunlight many feet above your head. There is a stranger yelling for you to “Jump Higher, Try Harder!” This stranger may extend an arm, but you are so far out of one another’s grasp that their effort proves futile.
This is what being out of touch with the struggles of your fellow man is like. The proverbial gap is seemingly impossible to mend. If you can coach that man at the bottom of the well into building his own ladder, you are no longer the oppressor. If you can teach him how to meet you half way, and pull him up based on your own strength and experience, you are no longer the oppressor. If you can recall when you were at the bottom of that well, and make his journey to the light much easier, you are no longer the oppressor.
em·pa·thy
[em-puh-thee]
noun
1.the intellectual
