There’s a scene in Medicine for Melancholy — Micah asks Jo to describe herself in one word, and she says it’s impossible; people are way too complex to be summarized down to a single word.
“Me? I’m a black man.” Micah says. “That’s how I see the world. That’s how the world sees me. But if I have to choose one, I’m black before I’m a man. So, therefore, I am black.”
The first time I saw the film, that scene stayed with me for several days. There was this internal conflict in me: On one hand, I am (read: want to be) like Jo, post-racial, someone who believes that race isn’t the central part of my (or anyone else’s) identity; on the other hand, everything Micah said in the film made perfect sense to me.
“Think about it. Everything about being indie is all tied to not being black.” - Micah.
A couple of months ago while I was out swing dancing, I bumped into this dame I knew from the Internet but had never met in person. We got talking, very soon we started laughing, and somewhere along the way, I threatened her — jokingly. She laughed, and then said that she better complies because,
“I know you guys are predisposed to violence”
Which I took to mean us, men. Because I’m a man; men are stereotypically violent.
Ah! Black. Oops! My mistake.
I told my friend’s girlfriend that I dance Lindy Hop, and she immediately assumed that I’m a good dancer; told me about all the good black folk she danced with in Paris.
Because I’m black before I’m a man.
My colleagues at the gym are envious that I don’t have to work out as hard because I have “good genes”.
Because I’m black before I’m a man.
Earlier today, this guy I know was telling me about a video he saw of a genocide — some ethnic cleaning type shit in some country somewhere in Africa, and about the horrific things he saw, he said —
“Black people are just so evil, don’t you think?”
Whenever I hear things like that, my black heart breaks into a thousand little black pieces. It makes me want to reach out and hold the guy by the neck, raise him up to the skies and shout at the top of my lungs —
“HAVE YOU HEARD OF THE CRUSADES?!”
“WHAT ABOUT THE HOLOCAUST?!”
And then punch him in the face.
Because I’m black before I’m a man.
jacobvanloon
2087
yousharknotpass
turnnoffyourmind
theartofmadeline
germansingergirl
jbbartram-illu