Because I'm Black

I didn’t realize I had a heart for people until I was daydreaming about speaking on their behalf. Sitting on my bed, having my normal daydream of being on a talk show, I listened to the words of my heart and felt the emotion behind them. I don’t remember the subject matter I chose for this particular daydream, but I remember being moved to tears. I wasn’t acting. I wasn’t trying to make myself emotional. I just was. I was flabbergasted as to where it came from. But now that I think about it, I know from where it stems. I’ve seen it all my life.

Black Americans are tired. You can see it in how we live, and how it’s insinuated in our language. We are tired – tired of being some of the most influential people on this planet, only to be unrecognized when the prosperity rains down. We are tired of trying our hardest to not be labeled negatively, only to be labeled negatively. We built nations, created genres of music, dominated athletics, and created some of the most innovative technology. Yet, we are still seen as criminals, infantile, violent, toys, and tools.

As much as I want to blame America for how we look, we only contribute to the image. I’ve watched our Black movies, listened to our Black music, observed our Black art, and lived in our Black communities. We are violent, ignorant, lustful, and we are surrendering. We’ve fought for the right to exist predating 1776 and still we have racists creating policies to restrict our advancement. We are forced to watch people benefit without even knowing it while we see ourselves struggle for scraps at the table that is “supposed” to involve equal opportunity.

It doesn’t matter which table you pick, we are disadvantaged in each subject. Education, politics, business, art, technology, welfare, medication, or housing requires a fight for every morsel we get. We throw massive celebrations for accolades other races expect to receive. To this day, we are still seeing “first African American to”. The major Civil Rights movement “ended” 50 years ago.

How long have we been fighting? Yet, we are still hearing first African American this and first African American that. Most of us can’t even tell you more than five cities in Africa, yet we are denied the right to the identity that is Black. It’s no wonder we’re giving up.

If majority America will only see us a certain way, why not play the role? Why not always be the thug bragging about guns, violence, and drugs? Why not be the single mom or the abandoning dad? Why not get in where we’re expected to fit in? We aren’t pestered as much when we do so. I just wish we weren’t so shortsighted.

No one attempts to keep terrible workers as slaves. We can outwork anyone on this earth. No one prevents stupid people from reading books. We are some of the most intelligent people on this earth. They don’t try to restrict the rights of weak individuals. We are one of the most powerful groups on this earth. We are more than we have let ourselves be degraded into, but we’re tired.

Do you know how conflicting it is to see your brother surrender when the fight is still winnable? We’ve been harassed so much that we’ve simply resolved to keep our heads down and stay out of trouble. Still, prisons fill with our flesh and blood, our cuffed and dead bodies are used as propaganda for gun control and police leadership, and our men and women are exploited by media. How satanic it is to be told they record us to raise awareness when they actually paint pictures of who they want us to be.

The media shows our women alone, bitter, angry, hyper sexual, manipulative, and unruly. Our men are unfaithful, violent, murderous, drugged, abusive, uncivilized, and angry. Is art imitating life, or is it trying to create a silhouette? Are the media reporting current events, or are they trying to create a narrative? How many times has one of us been unjustly murdered, only for the media to turn around and depict us as criminals and shady characters? How many times do we air out our dirty laundry for people to mock and degrade us? We are viewed as a collective, and we have collectively forgotten that.

I nearly despise what Black America has become. We think of ourselves as Christ, humbly serving the majority while not being recognized for the gods we are. Instead, we are truly Nebuchadnezzar, who once had the Lord on our side but turned to our wickedness for guidance and were surrendered to animalistic minds and dethroned… but even King Nebuchadnezzar came back to his senses. How I wish Black people would do the same.

The fight has not changed, only the tools of war. We are not chained as slaves; we are imprisoned as “criminals”. We are not beaten with whips; we are stifled with poor employment opportunities and limited access to education by poverty. We are not bought and sold on a slave market; we are bought and sold by athletic departments. And just like slaves told Black men and women desiring freedom to stay quiet, so are lazy, weak, and defeated Blacks telling others to not be so ambitious.

Do we know what we are doing when we say we are Black Kings and Black Queens? Do we know what authority we speak over ourselves? Why do these titles hardly translate into identity? We beat slavers, oppressors, drug dealers, racists, haters, warriors, naysayers, imposters, betrayers, and politicians alike. Each Black breath is the evidence of a war won. We should be royalty, but instead, we are animals.

We kill our children through abortions because they inconvenience us after we chose to have sex. We consume drugs to avoid problems, adding more problems and deep-seeded mental, emotional, and physical scars along with addictions. We willingly break the law knowing we are being targeted by the prison system. We celebrate the weakening of our men by applauding homosexuality and spotlighting absent fathers more than we recognize present fathers and well-rounded men. We allow people to fetishize our women through art. We don’t take care of them. We force them to take care of themselves and many have fallen into brokenness. When will we wake up?

I, by no means, am doing better than anyone else. I am a part of the collective. I am at fault just as any other. I want to uplift. I want to encourage. I want to fix our image. It is why I chastise the drunkards, the drug addicts, the sex addicts, the negligent parents, the cheaters, the liars, the ignorant, and lazy. It is why I fight against abortion, homosexuality, atheism, witchcraft, hyper sexuality, drug dealing, thievery, and corruption. I see our greatness covered up by much ignorance and immorality, and our unwillingness to clean it up is even less appealing.

While my idea of a better Black America is not your idea of a better Black America, we can agree that there is a better Black America. We can agree that we have not given our best. We can agree that there is more awesomeness within us than we’ve allowed to show. My only question is what are you doing to paint a better picture for Black America? Are you holding any of your friends and family accountable for tainting our image? Have you repented and returned to the God of those old negro spiritual songs? If you aren’t doing something, perhaps now is the time to start.

With respect,

Dario

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