There’s a pervasive narrative that we’re merely playing the victim. As if our struggles are scripted, as if we have chosen these roles. It’s as if being a victim is preferable to being an offender. There’s a belief that America allows those who resemble us to escape accountability.
People often talk about us “pulling the race card,” suggesting we can simply flash it to gain access to a privileged space of suffering. They imply that our pain is a form of currency, that we can fuel our lives with it, when in reality, we have been navigating this empty tank for generations.
They urge us to be thankful and to cease our complaints, as if any progress we’ve made was granted out of goodwill. They seem to believe that being partially free is the same as being fully liberated, that a semblance of safety equates to real security. They act as though our resilience absolves them of their responsibilities.
They claim there are multiple perspectives, as if our grief somehow inflicts harm upon them. A Black child lying in the street becomes just another talking point. There’s a flawed notion that there are two sides to the tragedy of losing a child. They overlook the immense sorrow we feel for our youth trying to navigate this world, the pain of our elders facing their mortality.
They say that change doesn’t happen overnight, ignoring the urgency of our plight that has persisted for over four centuries. As if we can afford to wait for change, when we have lives to live and futures to secure. They repeat these phrases as if they haven’t been said before, as if we haven’t been listening.
They mention that at least it’s undeniable now, as if our churches burning and our bodies being harmed are mere cries for attention. They treat Black death as a punctuation mark in their discussions, weaponizing our suffering to define their own identities.
They claim that this isn’t the America they recognize. Yet, they forget that this history is rooted in their legacy. They seem to think they can disengage from a narrative that is built on our backs, that their privileges are not intertwined with our struggles.
They profess that they’re different from others, offering apologies on behalf of all white individuals. As if that somehow mitigates the systemic injustices we face. They act as though reparations are merely comments on online articles, as if we represent our entire races. The idea of forgiveness becomes a means of ensuring their safety, rather than a genuine act of atonement.
They rally against white supremacy, all the while engaging with our culture in ways that are ironic or mocking. They feel entitled to our spaces and our stories, often labeling our neighborhoods as “sketchy” until they can claim them for themselves. They’ve yet to reconcile their own roles in perpetuating these issues.
They express disdain for their whiteness, believing that self-deprecation will somehow absolve them. They confuse guilt with a call to action, as if our fight for justice is merely about how they feel about it.
Now, they say it’s time to listen to us, as if this moment is different from all the others. But the truth is, this has always been the time for listening.
So, I echo the sentiments of my ancestors and my contemporaries. I voice my anger, my fear, and my exhaustion. I demand more than what has been offered. I affirm my identity and acknowledge my fears for myself and my loved ones. I strive to break through the noise, hoping to elicit real engagement.
In response, they often resort to predictable remarks. Eventually, they close their devices, allowing the world to continue spinning, unchanged.
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Summary
This article addresses the misconceptions surrounding race and identity, highlighting the complexities of being viewed through a lens of victimhood, the trivialization of pain, and the urgency of systemic change. It emphasizes the importance of listening and understanding the depth of individual experiences while challenging the narratives that perpetuate misunderstanding.