I saw injured Iraqi citizens on a documentary presented by HBO. While twisting hair and talking on the phone, I watched as a man and his wife were loaded into an ambulance. Both husband and wife were crying out in disbelief because the injuries they had sustained were caused by other Iraqi citizens. Since I was multitasking, clearly understanding what was happening and why was utterly futile. However, this I remember: the husband shouted repeatedly "Iraqi! Brothers! Brothers did this!" and his wife: "How can this be? Our brothers! How can it be? We are brothers!"
Immediately, I thought of the criminal acts that take place in American streets. In the black community, it is often called "Black-on-Black Crime" when an African American kills, robs, or in any other way hurts his black brother (or sister). We say that it's a shame, and that we need to lift each other up and stick together instead of gunning each other down in the streets or stabbing each other in the back. And it IS a shame, and we DO need to stick together. But, it has always bothered me that, for many people, black skin automatically equates with unity. Indeed, it was necessary in order to survive the institution of slavery, and more acutely, the institution of racialization. We are still trying to survive racialization. Yet, no matter how hard we try, we are not always the same and we are not always going to think, react, or feel the same. Though the reasons for us coming together as a homogenized group are clear, it is difficult and problematic because at the root, we are all different.
"Africa is a continent, not a country," I explained to one of my students in a feeble attempt at a Nigerian accent. They had asked if my accent was African after I told them that it was not Jamaican. Then one of them asked me how long it took me to learn to speak normal English instead of Nigerian. I told them that I wasn't from Nigeria, and that Nigerians don't speak Nigerian; that they have different languages and dialects belonging to various groups: prominently Igbo, Yoruba, and Haussa Fulani. "How did you learn to talk like that then?" they asked. "I listen to my friends."
It is easy for me to believe that of all the slaves that ever lived in the South, some of them did not actively want to be free. Some of them did not want to run and escape. Some of them believed that through hard work and doing everything that they were told, they would achieve freedom. These slaves would undoubtedly be labeled Uncle Tom's by today's standards, although this is an inaccurate nomenclature (reread Uncle Tom's Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe to get a proper understanding of Uncle Tom). Nevertheless, this is what these people believed, whether it helped or hurt them in the long run. Sometimes, when people don't think the way we think, we call them stupid and foolish, but it's just different. Sometimes, we know this variance of thought will cost them everything - our heart subconsciously goes out to them and we tell them they are wrong so that the can see the light, and be helped or coaxed into doing it our way. Sometimes, our way is wrong and we're too stubborn to see it. I thought of this because I recently saw some old enimies of mine. I was telling a friend how, though I spoke, they acted as though I wasn't even there. The friend and I laughed at how these people were hanging on to petty squabbles that had happened years ago, but then I asked myself after I hung up the phone, "Am I hanging on, too? Because if I'm not, why do I feel the need to get someone else to criticize them with me?" I realized that I am still bothered by the nonsense that occurred so long ago, mostly because I don't understand it; partially because they won't let me get past it.
Araminta Ross, better known as Harriet Tubman, encountered similar problems on the famous Underground Railroad, but since people's lives were at stake, she didn't fool around and wallow in mess. Doubters always had the option to not go on the train, but once they were on there was no turning back. She meant what she said, and she carried a shotgun as persuasion. Those who wanted to turn around, could accept death from the end of its barrel. Because Tubman's train was so successful at leading people to the promised land, many called her "Moses". Funny thing about Moses, he was just as hot tempered. In Exodus, when Moses came down from Mount Sinai and saw that the people had made a golden calf to worship in his absence, he broke the tablets of God's law, assembled those who were on the Lord's side (the Levites) and told them to kill everyone else who was worshiping the calf. "'Let every man kill his brother, every man his companion, and every man his neighbor,' [and] the sons of Levi did according to the word of Moses" (Exodus 32:27-28).
I find that we may personally hold on to things when we want to be accepted or included, not always because we are envious or spiteful. When we are stubborn and cannot listen to one another to try to understand a different point of view, we make premature yet lasting judgements that weigh us down in fermenting ignorance. In this way, we end up straddling the fence because we cannot stand firm in what we believe and waver in the doubt of another's disbelief at the same time. I love black people - I doubt that will ever change, but in the words of a famous (comedian, I believe it was): "All my skinfolk ain't my kinfolk." I'm moving on whether they like it or not.
This Black History Month: If at first you don't agree...SHAKE the haters.
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