More Skepticism, AKA We're Serving Up Shame for Breakfast

Well, in my last post I went crazy on why a bunch of white people would take an African American History class. Let me just state for the record that I don't think it's a BAD thing they're taking the class, just curious and mild speculation.

Un/fortunately depending on how you look at it, it's become a sort of joke with the people I've told. And let's be frank, it is kind of funny that there are more blacks in my Anthropology class than my African American history. Again, really the racial make-up, shall we say, of the school is skewed. So, really, whatever. Get them hours and make them grades I say. I don't care how and neither do they.

I will, however, tell you a story of...I don't know what this is called. Ignorance? Misguided attempt at ____? Ehhh.

Anyway, over breakfast I was hanging with two white male friends of mine--and I do like these guys mind you--and the subject of the class came up. Again we speculated why a bunch of white folks would be in a black history class.

J came up with something I think is approaching that elusive concept of "white guilt". He says, and I paraphrase, that black people are over slavery but white people are still feeling bad about it.

Almost a valid assumption. The part that makes it invalid, to me, is that black people are NOT "over slavery". You can say that some are, and that's fine. And then there are some that aren't and still look at that painful time in our history. The other part that makes it invalid is black history is NOT just about slavery. There were many things that African Americans did in this country before, during, and after slavery, and obviously STILL continue to do. So to make the assumption that there was nothing before we came to this country is wrong, wrong, wrong.

Now...here's a weird incident. I don't know how we got into this but D, the other guy, got on making the black pride fist. He continually asked me how to make it, and J did as well...but a quick side eye shot him down. D, however, was persistent, and to my horror I realized he was dead serious.

At this point I'm cold and rather angry that I had to get up in 5 F degree weather for 2 damn classes, so...perhaps I did snap a bit. You may ask why, exactly, I was horrified that this young man was asking me how to do the black pride fist. Well, horrified is a strong word, maybe...amazed.

He asked me thumb in or thumb out. What the fuck.



Okay. The black pride fist...is just that. A goddamn fist. As for why he was asking me I have no idea, probably so he can go make a mockery of it elsewhere. He was genuinely interested and I kind of regret that I had to get all Black Panther on his ass, but...yeah. It's a fist. Sorry it's not the more complicated terrorist fist jab that you think it is.

Also, J mentioned that his black friends let him call them "nigga" and I do not. Yeah, I have higher expectations than that. Sorry again.

Mind you, most of this was in good fun so it wasn't like I was standing on the table choking them with my purple tichel. But...yeah, I hate my friends sometimes. I'm sure they hate me too.

Okay, if I don't take a break from all this race talk I will go insane and actually go out and frost bite some fools.