I don’t know how to start this. I don’t want to sound angry but I am. Yes, something I have no control over I let get to me. I’ve held this in for a long time and I’m finally going to preach my opinion on it.

I am a young man of African decent who lives in the United States in college in pursuit of the “American Dream”. I am an American and I am tired of being treated as the scum of my country because they have decided to label being black as the most distasteful thing on this planet. I AM NOT MY SKIN COLOR! I am a man and it hurts me to know that in 2014, 150 years out of slavery, 50 years out of the Civil Rights Act that this country still quietly has a distaste and disgust for Blacks here. Why are we still judged by the color of our skin? Why have you put us all into a bubble of being mindless, thuggish, unproductive members of society? This country has single handedly destroyed the self-confidence of a group of people and driven them blind and blame them for it.

As a black child I remember being in class full of white students and our teacher talking about us being all immigrants and no one being originally from here. She was wrong, I’m sure there were a group of Natives that lived in the Americas before a certain group came along but that’s neither here nor there. She went on to go and ask individually in turn each student where their ancestors originated. As all of my classmates took turns answering I sat there at the age of 11 in utter confusion because I didn’t know whom I was or where my ancestors were from; it was a numbing thought.

The white children in class blurted out their heritage with pride:

“Scottish!”

“Irish!”

“Italian!”

“German!”

“French!”

“Greek!”

I sat there scared for my turn because I didn’t know what would come out of my mouth. I didn’t know what to say. “Virginian?” No, that wasn’t an acceptable answer. “Somewhere in Africa?” No she would surely ask where in Africa. Before I knew it her eyes fell upon me followed by the entire class’ eyes upon me. I grew cold inside. I didn’t know what to do or say. I was embarrassed and ashamed for not knowing, not having any record of myself. My shame turned to anger and my anger turned to sadness and as the class looked upon me I began to weep right there in my desk in the middle of the class. I could feel my teacher’s eyes looking at me as I looked down at my desk, tears plopping onto the finished wood. She asked me why I was crying. “I have no heritage.” I mumbled out through a faint voice and finishing sobs. “Of course you do Roman, where are your ancestors originated from?” I sat and thought about what I had learned about my people’s torment in this country for about fifteen seconds and in that moment my anger came back and I said something that had me sent to the office. I let my knowledge speak; knowledge few white students especially within the walls of my school and most staff probably fully ignored from their reaction.

I remember it almost to verbatim to this day: “I only know one side of my family which is my mother’s. My father does drugs, runs the streets and I haven’t seen him in years if it were up to my mother I probably would never see him again. But to answer your question Ms. (insert name here) I am an ancestor of Africans captured, enslaved, and shipped over here to plant and pick your crops, build your economy, build your capital, build your America, and conform to your religion. I have no knowledge of anything before that. Property wasn’t documented nor did it come through Ellis Island. If possible you could see if your ancestors kept documents on their cattle. They did own a few slaves I’m guessing considering your family roots trace back to colonial America (she had bragged a lot of this earlier). If I were to guess my heritage and background, I would believe it would be somewhere off the coast of West Africa. Possibly in the present day Ivory Coast, Ghana, or Liberia.”

My teacher looked at me as if I said something wrong. Something out of line. Something taboo. By the look in their eyes I knew I had just shell shocked a bunch of fifth graders. Sadly in the 21st century, I’m sure most of their parents had never really gone over the darker side of America. The blood, sweat, and tears behind this magnificent empire we all live in. My teacher swiftly pointed to the door. I picked up my belongings and walked out. Later, in the principal’s office I talked with my teacher and hashed things out. I faked an apology but in truth I wasn’t sorry for what I said for I felt it was the truth. I wouldn’t expect you to believe an 11 year old thought this way. Most children at this age have an unformed opinion on life but not me. I was becoming aware more and more each day I lived of the social pressure, the reality of the lack of morality, and the dark dichotomy placed on blacks. I saw it everyday. White privilege surrounded me and we as blacks were looked at as peasants not openly out loud but an unspoken understanding or belief that we were inferior and they (being whites) were the “societal just” for lack of better words.

Trying to get white people to believe that there is blatant racism in our America today is like pulling teeth. They can’t accept that it is here. They will agree that their ancestors were wrong for slavery and if you are lucky the segregation, but modern day racism? Nah, that is a thing of the past. Racism is over. My favorite excuse for the end of racism is that we have a black President. The fact that you have to mention that the President is in fact part-black alone as a basis proves it is still alive although I will admit it isn’t a loud bark it has gone underground. If you look at the geographical standpoint of our nation it is highly segregated. As one of my favorite people Cornel West describes it, we have been separated into “vanilla suburbs and chocolate cities”. This leads to separate schools, which is a whole different topic to speak on in the unequal educational opportunity in our country that creates greater privileges for whites. I will rant on that soon.

The point I am trying to get across is why do things have to be this way. Why is it that I have had white girlfriends and have been told I wasn’t good enough based alone on the color of my skin by their parents numerous times before they have ever met me? Is my skin color so significant that it doesn’t matter what type of character I have? Why must people be like this in a country that is supposedly built on blind justice, freedom, and equality for all? Some may argue these are the way things are but are they the way things have to be? We can change things today not tomorrow. Women please don’t think when I walk pass you I want to steal your purse because I don’t or lock your car door when I walk past it because you are afraid I want to break in and do God knows what to you. Please don’t assume that we are all crooks, womanizers, and irresponsible with finances. The media paints a dark picture of us as black men and while most won’t admit it, tends to leave us feeling even more insecure and rejected than we already were. I don’t ask that you say all black people are good people because in truth no whole group of any color is good and we shouldn’t be judged on that. Judge my character and my actions. I can’t control the next man’s actions only my own. I am an individual with my own thoughts and opinions. Not a color.

I have been R.C.L. aka Mann