What’s scarier than a racist that calls out “nigger” or “coon” viciously? The racist who’s night you save by being the “token blacky”. I pose two disappointments for the eager audience at a non-black party: no weed and no freestyle. Still I manage to be the life of the party, dougieing on every song, judging rap skills, and—check this out—having big lips. Although I get a lot more love at these parties, I can’t help but realize how socially destructive they are. What’s really under all this amusement is a non-black majority (usually White) taking delight in my abnormality.
My locks prove the idea that potheads are not consistent with standards of whiteness. At every shindig, the potheads pick me out, almost certain that I have ganja on me. Even if they ask a question, it is declarative like, “I know you got weed right?” Really now? You know because I’m Black and very generally resemble Bob Marley? Gee, thanks for giving my race props for their agriculture, as if that stereotype is something I should be proud of. It’s bigger than that though; any possible relations or conversations that I can have are limited to the supply of illegal herbs. How about “I know you’re passing that Organic Chemistry test right?” Indeed this is modernity, but the politics have not changed beyond the days of chattel slavery; who we are (Black folks) continues to be crafted by the race that has more institutional and media power. Other white people are asked last, for the pothead, who left his/her crew at home, as marijuana possession is not normal within White culture.
So stereotyping… what else? Another pattern of the Black minority interacting at a non-Black party deals with the classic fantasy of Africa. The same lustful wishes that support “rent-a-dread” businesses in Jamaica rush through minds at the frat house. One night a girl told me that I had “PLLs”, like she had said nothing disrespectful. Simultaneous with her verbal observation, she looked at the other, lighter Black kid; seemed like she waited to get us close enough to express her passion for our exotic trait, big lips. Speaking from a society that largely thinks big lips are ugly (quite a coincidence, as White people dominantly have thin lips), this young lady found our lips beautiful because of their suggestive utility. Dreams of having oral sex with Africa’s finest caused a quake in her body, evolving into the outburst. Yeah the music is blasting, and it only relaxes the guard protecting the vulnerability to becoming an object. Parties permit playing with oddly (in the sense that they are defined as abnormal) aesthetic pieces of humyns. And race regulates the activity.
Back to why these loving people raise more caution. Skinheads and Tea Party extremist are loud enough to be identified, as racists specifically, and dealt with. It’s the subtle racist that supports the virtual reality of a society that has learned all it can from the evils of racism; that swears to God, herself, that race is not even a consideration in our daily interactions. You can shrug off the arguments I have presented as small, but you will missing the point. Ordinary social cues with a potent dash of racism expose the foundational concept of an absence of a Black mind. Hence, Obama is the response to the continuing prison industrial complex, Jodi Weis’ immorality, and so on. To our political leaders we see nothing that is true; an aware Black person is abnormal.