What’s good, Medium?
10/26/2016
Joel Leon.’s “Black Scribes Matter: A Theme Song”
Peace comes in a brown bag nigga, and where are all the Niggers now? They are all voting or looting or fighting or progressing or dieting or loc’ing or jailing or dying or braving or praying or burying or recording death or being deadly or running or hands up or I didn’t do nothing wrong. The Niggers have died and went to another place with unending fried chicken and Soul Train lines and crack bushels and poverty shacks and shelters filled with fire and pregnant welfare card users dipping uterus in the shit you are so scared of us you have painted us, placated fears. The Niggers are buying guns, picking up pens, upending stories in media conclaves, contrived and continued by the disproportionate few who still believe a Trump is an accident. He was born, not of a contrition of the heart, but of the merits of the earth embued with the same cotton tweed brown fingers pricked and picked the gin for. Priced the plots of land, now held with gang signs and paper maché wire; we are the ancestors of the Klan, apparitions of the lost ankles and scarred wrists, wrinkled by time and overseer lash.
Liz Morgan’s heartbreaking poem “Why I was late today, and will probably always be late as a black woman”
My father begged me to never take the bus
And like 1950 something
All the negroes are sitting at the back of this one
Coincidence, I am sure
But one of us negroes is drunk and loud and vulgar
He boasts about his time in jail
And this negro throws the other N word around like a Jim Crow boomerang
And I feel my skin get hot
All that melanin
Absorbing the sun but
Still reflecting off each other
It’s blinding such that we become indistinguishable to others
And I fear that the beige ears and blue eyes in front of me are thinking we are all drunk and loud and vulgar
My brown eyes catch the brown eyes of the sister next to me as we confide in each other
Our silent shame
We know they hate him
I think they hate us
I start to hate myself
And I too hate him for making me hate myself again
Jared A. Walker on Trump, white populism and “political correctness.”
How can one honestly explain the disenchantment of the white working class without addressing the fact that their previous enchantment was built on the bedrock of white supremacy? That in the very real America which is the subject of their nostalgia, it was always a certainty that regardless of how little they had compared to the white elites they have now come to loathe, they would always be better than niggers.
An indispensable element of the alienation of the white working class, and an indispensable element of their gravitation towards Trump is his clear acknowledgment of the fact that they believe this particular promise was broken.
White elites were the ones who struck this deal with the white working class nearly two and a half centuries ago, and they have — under great duress — welshed on the bargain. Trump recognizes this, and that is why he so dutifully hurls invective at the “other” whether they be black, Latino or Muslim. When Trump says that “protestors realize there are no consequences to protesting anymore” and that “in the good old days this didn’t happen…because they used to treat them very, very rough” he is inviting white working class voters to wax nostalgic about the America of vicious beatings on the Edmund Pettus Bridge, the America of Red Summerand the America of the Tulsa pogrom.”
