It seems we lose the game
Before we even start to play
Who made these rules?
(From Lauren Hill’s Everything is Everything)
As a child, I loved to get my hands on playdoh. My sister and I spent what seemed like hours crafting creature from the colorful stuff. While she focused on animals and food items, I preferred people, or some likeness thereof, considering our ages. In no time I’d have rows of humanoid creatures, standing sitting and configured in all sorts of ways. It was totally up to me where they were placed, what I had them doing, and what their specific roles were in my game. It was my game because I made them. From the clump of clay, I crafted each one in the image I desired. I gave them names, classifications, and specific roles. They were mine. As time wore on an I began to tire of the game, I took the game to another level and would have them fight and destroy each other. Sometimes the colors mixed due to my smashing them together. Head’s would be off, an eyeball here, an arm or two over there until I was done. At which point I pressed them back into a ball of nothing and jammed the mass back into their containers. There they would remain until I felt like playing again.
Recently, I had the honor of visiting the National Memorial for Peace and Justice and The Legacy Museum in Montgomery, Alabama. I used that word honor very carefully in this case. It was respectfully presented, beautifully laid out, provocatively inspiring and horrific on so many levels. The most horrific part is that it’s still in play. ALABAMA GODDAMN! The south may be where the stain is most visible but the entire quilt is dirty as hell. In the discussions I had while there and since, the most common question was “How could people do…to other humans?” Precisely for he same reason I treated the clay as I did as a child. I owned it. It was for my use. I made the little creatures and destroyed them at will. So, The african, The indigenous people were systematically broken, socially and in some cases genetically engineered for the exploitive purposes of those who enslaved them. The modern African-American, negro, nigger, is an american original; created right on this continent for the purpose of perpetual servitude to those who perceive themselves to be white. When the created objects get out of line, they are pressed back into place or obliterated all together. That’s the nature of the game, one those who are conceived as black/brown were never meant to win. When do things begin to change, really change rather than modify? When those who are conceived as black realize it’s not their game to win and they activate the part of them that could not be wiped out. It’s in there buried beneath generations of social conditioning and system rewiring. They must override, sweep, and rewrite the programming based on the original schematic; systematically root out the virus of white indigence and reconnect to the real Divine source. The bastardized one you were hijacked with will only lead you back to the same position, generation after generation in perpetual oppression and the victim of sanctioned terrorism… to be continued.
Notes of A Native Son 