Nigger!

 

“Slave owners and not slaves wrote the accounts of plantation life.”

My Great Uncle lived in Mississippi and West Virginia, born into a family of African and Cherokee heritage. He grew up in the Jim Crow South knowing the brutality of racism. He told me once about an experience he had when preparing for a trip while still living in Mississippi. He packed his bags one morning and went to the train station to take a trip to see his future wife. When he got there, he went to go buy his ticket. When he walked up to the ticket agent, the ticket agent told him in a stern voice, “This side is for whites, Nigger! You need to walk around to the other side of the building. That’s the colored side!”

So my Great Uncle picked up his bags, and proceeded to walk all the way around the building to the other side to purchase his ticket. When he arrived at the ticket booth, he found that the ticket window was pulled down. On that side of the building the ticket booth window was made of wood, so you could not see through it in order to peer inside. When the ticket agent slid the window up to open it, my uncle was surprised to find that the agent from the white-only side was the same agent for the blacks-only side.

The agent just turned his chair around in order to make the transaction with my uncle. “What a silly idea racism was”, me uncle thought, “because it forces people to act silly and not use their common sense.” He also saw that the Jim Crow system wasn’t cost effective because it wasted people’s time. He figured black people would eventually grow tired of waiting for service and rebel against this futile system as they did with slavery. I guess he thought that whoever thought up the idea of race and “White Supremacy” must have been playing a practical joke on everybody.

The jokester never thought in his wildest dreams that people would eventually take the joke seriously; that they would actually start believing that they were superior to other people. That incident made my uncle realize for the first time that white people rich or poor could take advantage of “white privilege.” That experience at the station would scar my uncle for the rest of his life.

That is when the “Boogy Man” showed his face for the first time. That is when I realized that the fear I saw in the eyes of my relatives was the fear of the loss of hope at the hands of the Beast. And the Beast would haunt me like it haunted them for the rest of my days. No matter how fast I ran, the Beast would always catch up to me. I would shiver in the darkness and try to point my finger at the other niggers around me to try and throw the Beast off my scent. I would lighten my skin with Porcelana Cream and straighten my hair so that the Beast would not recognize me. But what I did not realize at the time was that I was only running from my own reflection in the mirror.

Click the link below, to read my Amazon book, “BEAST: THE DECONSTRUCTION OF CHARLES SONNY LISTON” , and leave a review. Thank you https://rb.gy/khwhzn

 

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