"We, if only seen as a ‘casing’ or a vessel cannot change, as a thinking individual we can cause enormous changes. We just have to be tolerant of the differences and learn from history. Remember history was written in more than Black and White."
If we are honest we will accept the fact, tension in the world boils down to the color of a person’s skin, ridiculousness. We can do all, be all, live in the White House and in the end, those of us who are Black, continue to be seen as blight. Maybe it's because some never bother to get to know the true person, they only look at skin tone.
In the history book Beads on a String-America’s Racially Intertwined Biographical History chapter three is titled Voices of Change it begins with this quote:
“There are, it may be, so many kinds of voices in the world, and none of them are without signification.” 1 Corinthians 14:10 and has a section dedicated to activism and the people who stepped out to confront the injustices directed at people of specific ethnicity.
As the author I started the chapter with a small bit of history pertaining to members of my family. These members (father and cousin) fought and succeeded in the desegregation of what is now Lamar University in Beaumont, Texas. How many of us cannot find a single member of our family who has participated in the formation of history? It doesn’t matter the color of your skin or your belief system we have all voiced and accomplished a change. We are all significant.
This belief is the reason I wrote Beads on a String-America's Racially Intertwined Biographical History.View Beads' Pins
This post was originally titled Dressing the Part and shared on with Literary Lunes Publications as my view of Black History Month.
With the removal of the warm, thick hooded coat of January’s obscurity, we exit the first month of the year and step into the blatant exposure of February’s stark cold reality. Where scars of old are unceremoniously ripped open, let to bleed and reawaken hurt and pain, all in the guise of history, recognition and celebration.
February, the only month of the year I have no choice, but to dress the part and look at myself as being more than just another human. In February I am no longer a common American or a mere woman. I am reminded I am different. I am a Black American.
This difference which in actual fact goes no deeper than the upper level of pigmentation of the skin, has been the determining factor of life and death. Success and failure love and hate.
I like to think of myself as a very free thinking open minded person. Never see myself as a color nor do I feel as if I should slot myself as a particular race…until someone or some event points it out.
In February, the event is Black History Month. In February I pull on my best Baptist Church Lady clothes, slap on the big hat, hold my head up high, poke out my chest and look down on the peons as I sit and watch the lives and deaths of my ancestors being exposed to the world. And I want to cry. I hurt for the ancestors of those who committed those crimes. I cry for the newer generation who do not follow the hateful discrimination of their family members. How disappointed they must be in their forefathers. How tired they must be of having to relive this year after year. I know I am. I’m tired of being seen as a color. I just want to be known for who I am.
I sometimes wonder if Black Americans fight a losing battle for equalization because the battle is not against ‘us’ per say, but against a sense of shame. Shame for an action is hard to wipe away. You can apologize for wrongs which have been done but as long as the object of shame is seen, the shame is still there and eventually shame is substituted with anger and irritation and the object becomes a victim again. As long as we (Black people) have been in America you would assume we would now be an integral part of her structure. We shouldn’t have to be paraded in front of the world one month, no, a mere 28 days, out of a year.
We shouldn’t have to repeatedly shove the atrocities committed to our ancestors in the faces of all. These things are facts of history and should be taught to our children on the daily as are all aspects of things that have occurred in America.
Though we strive to be like our White counterparts, accepted unconditionally we are still fighting to be tolerated. I call this ridiculousness. In order to tolerate someone or something we have to step out of our comfort zone. The hardest thing in man’s mind is to be tolerant of another or to keep an open mind. We judge without thought because something or someone is different. As an author of color I have to confess the trepidation I felt when having my books published. The doubts I harbor have nothing to do with my ability as a writer, but in the willingness of the non-colored world to accept my writings. To read the words and see people who live through the same kind of situations and handle things in the same way as any breathing individual. We don’t all gang bang, use drugs, or live the baby-mama drama. I laugh now at my wish to keep my face and bio off the back covers. Life is not fair nor is it equal in its praises or recognition. Humans are a selfish entity believing we are better than another because of our race, religion or sexual orientation. The fight for racial and social equalization continues and will continue as long as man breathes. Our unification should grow because of our differences and if we are honest with ourselves we would accept the fact our differences are only skin deep. In religion, anyone can choose which path to follow. In education, we can all go as far as we choose. In jobs or professionalism, whether or not to be a parent, or who to marry all are conscious choices.
We, if only seen as a ‘casing’ or a vessel cannot change, as a thinking individual we can cause enormous changes. We just have to be tolerant of the differences and learn from history. Remember history was written in more than Black and White.
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