Let Me Be Black In Peace

What we miss when we talk about social change

My new roommate, Zach, sat on the couch across from me, his hair braided into twists draping over his forehead. As we halfheartedly played Super Smash Bros, I asked how the past few months have been since I saw him in March. He responded graciously, saying he’s grateful for a stable job and friends during the extended quarantine. I explained how being unemployed is rough, but at least I’m not pressured to socialize, especially at a time like this. After some silence, I added, “I’d hate to be the token in the room, answering awkward questions and smiling like everything’s fine.” He laughed, but his eyes never left the screen.

My last comment was a subtle invitation. A signal that the coast is clear--that we could drop our customer service voices, let our guards down, and lounge on the couch without fear of social sentencing. I knew he understood me, but why wouldn’t he affirm me? I needed him to resonate with my feeling of uncertainty. Affirm my feeling that trepidation pervades every conversation, that everyone in the world is walking on glass. But, at the same time, I hoped he wouldn’t say anything. The truth is there’s tranquility in ignorance. To never acknowledge is never to have experienced, and sometimes it’s easier to pretend. 

I finally asked, “Is it just me, or has it been strange at all with friends or coworkers these last few months? You know, with like, being Black?” He put down the controller and turned to face me. “Bro, you’re telling me. It’s been insane. Definitely been a weird couple of months.”

Zach and I resemble each other in many ways but live very separate lives. He has morning calls on Zoom; I have writing time alone on the couch. He’s from a military family, and I’m from a family of immigrants. He works for a large corporation, and I’m an independent contractor and a freelance writer. Even though our day-to-day is nothing alike, we, being Black men, means we share the same story. We have a common foundation that shapes our personality, our potential, and our perspectives. However, people tend to forget we can think for ourselves. Although our lives are an extension of that same shared story, we’re individuals with our own identities. We’re free to find our own ending.

The past few months have felt strange because we diagnosed disease in our country--and while many people are eager for a cure, there are no signs we’re close to developing one. At both the individual and corporate levels, we see millions of dollars poured into Black-led initiatives. One step forward. At the same time, we see police officers shoot an unarmed Jacob Blake in the back seven times. We see a white teenager, an active member of a militia, shoot and kill multiple civilians, yet receive no immediate repudiation from law enforcement. Two steps back. 

That ‘weird’ feeling within Zach is the same feeling of uncertainty within all of us. How do we know we’re actually progressing? What are we supposed to be feeling? The truth is long-form change takes generations to settle in, and we have to accept that we won’t live to see the vision actualized. There are genuine efforts to begin healing by plenty of activists and massive support all over the world. The siren call for change was received by many, but the orders administered afterward remain unclear. Millions of people are scrambling for answers to a problem that has never been solved—money invested in solutions that, at best, only alleviate the pain from the symptoms. The truth is no one knows how to move forward. I hear the clamoring for progress, and I believe them to be sincere, but what can I expect?

“How’s it been weird for you, Zach?” I asked. He responded, “I haven’t wanted to talk to anyone about it. I don’t even bother to bring it up, but every day I feel as if I have to. Like it’s my responsibility to address the current events and ease the tension in the room.” Minutes ago, we were playing video games, and now were exchanging stories like we just returned home from war. We find a similar theme in our stories: We want to just be us. And the thing is, I have a hunch that you want the same thing too. Experts and politicians claim that we’re already progressing, but there is no universal way to measure change. The truth is, those same experts aren’t playing Super Smash Bros with us. They’re not even in the same room. I look at Zach to better understand myself. We assess the efficacy of change by the impact it has on our day-to-day reality. How can you tell the medicine is working but by the testimony of the patient?

Conservative thinker William F. Buckley once said, “There is no instant cure for the race problem in America, and anyone who tells you that there is a charlatan and ultimately a boring man—a boring man precisely because he is then speaking in the kind of abstractions that do not relate to the human experience.” For the past few months, we’ve been preoccupied with massive protests and global measures of progress. We’ve been strategizing how best to defund the police and how to win elections we think will save us. We propose calculated solutions to an abstract problem. Meanwhile, our day-to-day remains the same. So when I look at the racial condition that infiltrates my life like a virus, I have no choice but to hope I can create my own remedy. 

I seek a remedy that grants me eye contact instead of the dozen diverted eyes I receive daily. I want the treatment that allows me to feel the warmth of my hoodie without becoming a suspicious person giving police officers a reason to search. We seek a solution that will enable Black people to be just that: Black people. I want an answer that truly makes us all feel equal, but I’ve known for far too long there is no dose of medicine strong enough for that.

We need to work backward from our end goal. If racism vanished tomorrow, what would be the final result? Oddly enough, the end goal we crave was articulated in our founding. “Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” The real American Dream. The freedom to be an individual and pursue your destiny is the magical ending that breaks the curse of prejudice. The privilege of writing your own history would no longer belong to a lone shade of color but to all those gifted with life. How we reach utopia, for that, I am uncertain. All I know is that for Zach and me, it’s been a weird couple of months. I could only imagine its been a weird couple of months for you too.