19 Things I Want to Make Clear About Living While Black
I am Lawrence. I am 24 years old. I am a designer and developer. I love anything that resembles math or science. I am highly extroverted. I am always listening to music (logged over 93k minutes on Spotify last year). I do not eat enough veggies. I have watched The Office upwards of 10 times through. I think my mom is a superhero. I want more than anything to use technology and design to leave this world a better place. I worry that I won’t have the time or opportunity to achieve that goal.
You know, normal people things.
Also, I am a black man. I am a human being.
Historically, and even in 2018, those last two facts are living contradictions, rendering all aforementioned traits irrelevant. It’s long been commonplace to reduce people, in all of their vast complexities, to a one-dimensional caricature. After someone is stripped of their humanity, empathy becomes impossible.
The following people, places, things, and situations I share with the intent of showing you a snapshot of what my life looks like through the lens of my black skin. I write this knowing that everyone jumps to conclusions, but by hearing this hopefully all future instances are met with a greater degree of friction.
Disclaimer: This narrative is representative of my perspective and mine alone. This is not meant to be a synopsis on black opinion (which brings me to my first point):
- Expecting me to be the spokesperson for all black people. Stop asking your black friend to speak on behalf of black people everywhere. Do you as a [your race] individual feel like you have a grasp on all of the intricacies of [your race] people?
- I’m too black and not black enough. Logically, I disagree with quantifying “blackness”; it’s a destructive concept which locks black people into negative stereotypes and stifles any meaningful conversation about race. Nonetheless, it’s still a feeling that creeps up on me from time to time.
- My hair. Look, don’t touch. Especially without the go ahead. Ask a pregnant woman how fond she is of unwelcomed stomach pats. It’s highly offensive. Our bodies are the only thing we truly own. Our bodies are have historically deemed inferior (e.g. property during slavery, 3/5th of a human) thus subject to being acted upon non-consensually.
- My knowledge of black culture and media. I do not know everything black. Even some things I should know. I haven’t seen Roots. Couldn’t tell you the name of any of Langston Hughes’ work. I haven’t listened to Notorious B.I.G.’s Life After Death straight through.
- Strangers asking me if I want to buy drugs or know where to find them. The assumption that any black person (particularly with dreads) would be attuned to the whereabouts of drugs in any vicinity is almost more laughably unrealistic than it is racist as hell.
- Disappearing in photos. Thanks for pointing out that you can barely see me I totally couldn’t tell.
- The n-word. Yes, I say it. I say considerably less in my predominantly white circles to avoid lecturing. So if I say the n-word around you, it means I’m comfortable enough with you to spare you the explanation as to why you can’t say it. It is not, however, an invitation for you to say it. Side-note: if it bothers you that you can’t say it, the author and journalist, Ta-Nehisi Coates, does an excellent job explaining why. Please read.
- Hyper-sexualization. Black men have a history of being wrongly seen as hyper-sexualized. As if dating weren’t hard enough, flirting is walking an extremely thin tight rope between being perceived as uninterested or hyper-sexualized. This narrative has continued in my head even in serious relationships, and creates undue internal friction when I go to show even minor acts of intimacy. I acknowledge that the line likely isn’t as fine as I portray, but I’ve found playing it extremely safe to be a better alternative.
- Angry black man. Luckily I’m an easy-going guy and seldom find myself angry at a specific person. But anger definitely has a place: it relays unmistakable urgency and passion for the idea that’s being conveyed. Unsurprisingly, the two times where I feel this tension the strongest is at work and discussing politics, both of which are high stakes. As a black man, you are quick to be written off as an “angry black man,” similar to how society still grossly equates women’s dispositions with their menstrual cycles.
- Police officers. On paper, I have zero reason to fear the police. I follow the law. I’m a cordial person. However, all it takes is one cop. I carry the realization that one cop could unjustly kill me or any number of my loved ones without consequence every single day. Accordingly, the only feelings I have for them are vehement distrust and resentment.
- I have to be careful in all settings. When all it takes is one person to report “suspicious behavior” — for no reason other than my black skin — and get the cops involved, I have to be hyper aware of how my actions can be perceived. My awareness is in overdrive in rural, suburban, government, retail, and entertainment spaces where I feel like I am being watched more closely.
- Being as non-threatening as possible. Especially around white women. Especially especially at night. I’ll preemptively cross the street, hang back, or make just enough noise so that they know where I am at all times.
- My nighttime behavior. Even more generally, my entire behavior changes if I’m alone at night. I turn my music down low enough to hear if someone says something to me — the last thing I want to do is ignore an order from an officer and give him a reason to shoot me. My hoodie’s hood is always down. I walk casually and intentionally to give no one the impression I have a hidden motive.
- Lack of and/or poor representation. Much less in any sort of positive light. I want black people to be seen as regular people, instead of drug users, criminals, slaves, servants, the first to die, violent, overtly “white,” the obvious token friend, meeting the white parents, or always angry (which is evidently a huge ask).
- Having something to prove. A prevalent mentality in the black community is that you have to work twice as hard to go half as far. My mom instilled in me a hunger for success at an early age. For a long time school wasn’t much of an issue for me, but when I hit any obstacles in my understanding, I locked myself away until I figured it out. I wish I could say it was entirely for personal fulfillment and naturally inquisitive nature, but realistically it was partially superficial, knowing that no one would give me the benefit of the doubt otherwise.
- Affirmative action. Feeding off of my last point, I was determined that no one was ever going to say I was a diversity hire. That being said, I resoundingly believe that having an array of diverse perspectives elevates the quality of your output. If for no other reason to believe in the power of a diverse workforce, you can avoid public blunders and subsequent disaster control. (*cough* Pepsi, H&M, Dove, Nivea *cough*) Fun fact: the largest beneficiary of affirmative action programs is white women. Source Source
- Introductions. It is common knowledge that first impressions are lasting. Every single time I meet someone new, I’m immediately fighting and uphill battle, attempting to distance myself from all implicit negative associations that come with my skin color. Every. Single. Time. Amplify that times ten for meeting parents, coworkers, employers, or any other authority figures.
- Disappointment with friends not addressing racism. I’ve talked to many friends about race. Unsurprisingly, I have numerous friends who knowingly have relatives who exhibit racist behavior. Most don’t address it or separate that part of them. I get why you wouldn’t bring it up, but failure to address this issue directly perpetuates an imbalanced system. Plain and simple. It cannot be expected to go away, it takes a loved one to explain to them why their beliefs are ill-informed and malicious.
These are all things that I consider on a near daily basis. Considering the handful of hours that I wrote this in, I know this is far from exhaustive. This reinforces a realization that I had not long before I decided to write this piece:
Living while black is tiring.
While that sounds disheartening — and admittedly I have days where the weight is too much to bear — I’ve grown to have such love and admiration for my people and those before me. The DNA of those who have persevered in dismal times runs through our veins. We carry with us the courage and resilience that fails to bend to a behemoth and systemically oppressive system, knowing that freedom for one is freedom for all. Even though this brand comes with enormous baggage, I carry it proudly, hoping that when I eventually have to hand it off it’s a little lighter than when I received it.
I’m one voice, one perspective. I’m eager to hear everyone else’s — black and other minorities’. I have optimism that open, honest, and non-judgmental dialogue can show us our numerous similarities, but importantly that our differences are what makes humanity rad. I’m a black, millennial, tech nerd and this is how I see the world. What do you see through your lens?
In one of my mindless Facebook scrolling sessions mid-article, I found this as by some divine coincidence: 7 things black people want their well-meaning white friends to know.
Let me know what you think! Stoked to hear your stories, feedback, and questions. ✌🏾💬💯
