There is a Black mystique present in America. We’ve victimize the Black race to the extent I fear for my own safety in my ‘safe’ (predominantly white) West LA neighborhood. The Americanized Black mystique gives cause for the average American to unconsciously consider me as a danger, a threat, someone in which is not innocent. Many may not think much of this and I understand because when they walk home they do not witness the fear of others. When they consider taking trash out in the middle of the night, they don’t have to seek the lightest colored jacket as to stray from a dark hoodie or dark jacket that would give leeway for others to assume the worst. Basically, each time I venture out of my apartment I need to consider ‘Am I doing a good job to make sure others I may encounter feel safe’. Knowing that if I make them feel safe, the safer I will be.
Thought — I wonder what a life would be like without having to looking over my shoulder? #desiredpriviledgeIwillneverhave
This is a reality. This is my reality. Not one I make comments on based off media solely. Commentary based on real life issues I personally face daily due to the color of my skin. And it pains me when those who can’t understand my plight, tell me to get over it or question the presence of racism or consider me to aimlessly complaining as if it’s just a fad Black people get caught up in to hear themselves gripe. There is a blissfulness to naivety I will have no such luxury of ever knowing. So at the very least, I just ask for my plight to be recognized and accepted as reality. First step to fixing a problem, is America (all of America) sympathizing with the fact that we have one.