Omar, my boy, writes


​So I’ve been trying to get this off my chest the right way (TRANSLATION: the not-too-harsh, the indirect, the don’t-ruffle-feathers, the keep-eyes-off-me way) and that’s not going to work this time. 
This needs to be said from an unapologetic and present awareness of my blackness and the lifetime of injustices black men and women experience.
Racism still exists in America and it’s bigger than the bigoted cop that fears for their pure, white life because the black male form frightens her or a black woman’s voice challenges his white entitlement. 
Where’s the racism? It thrives in the way we can be awarded the same education that our white peers receive and told that we won’t get into the same colleges and are discouraged from applying. The logic being that our grades aren’t strong enough, but the reality is our higher GPAs don’t compare to your family riches. 
Where’s the racism? It breeds in the way your children find it ok to crowd our space, inspect our hair and question our livelihood as though we are their living experiment. Your ability to laugh it off as a joke, doesn’t distract from your blatant disrespect of our heritage. 
Where’s the racism? It’s employed in your hiring practices. Our employment is much bigger than appeasing your diversity dollar quota. In fact, hiring people of color when you don’t believe in them is a greater hinderance and injustice. Your favor costs us time and money. Time because we could be applying and working where our talents and assets are received and welcomed. Money because we have to work four times as hard for a third of the cost.
Where’s the racism? It relaxes in your silence and your security. The way you greet us daily with a passive hello, gripping your bag tighter and a dedicated decision to be unaware our plights. Our hunting season is headline news, more critical to life than the new Kim K selfie or celebrity divorce. We know you idolize them, but you interact with us. 
Where’s the racism? It’s edified by our ability to build your country, fight your wars, raise your children and still be seen as second-class citizens. We begin to build homes and communities for ourselves with your scraps and you cross our thresholds with your drugs. 
Where’s the racism? It’s guarded by that one black friend that is constantly vouching that you’re “one of the good guys.” He’s still that kid happy to be welcome in your home, but not realizing that eating on the couch while the family dines at the table isn’t the same thing. 
The racism is still here and never left. What’s changed is my ability to still believe you’ll get better. You don’t want to. You’re perfectly content being an arrogant asshole that smirks in my face and calls me out my name in private. You’re that friend that can’t see beyond your insecurities to see that I’m hurting and being murdered. You’ve had your time to complain and be consoled, but it’s my time to make an uproar and fight for my life!
And fear me, you’d be wise to. We’re seeking revenge and not with your lives, but with everything that was given to us by God – human rights, intellectual property, our bodies, and our smiles.

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