Sat. Jan 25th, 2020


A Blog For Curious Melanated Minds

The Pain of Being a Conscious Black Man in America

I think it’s safe to assume that everyone in the known universe, at some point in time, feels pain of some kind. I can’t speak for everyone in the known universe, but I can speak for myself. Perhaps my pain isn’t too different from the pain other black men feel, in America, and everywhere else as well.

As a youth, I would consider my “pain” normal in comparison to everyone else. We all have tough times, family problems, school problems etc. It wasn’t until I realized that indeed “life wasn’t fair” that I began to enter the realm of serious pain.

When I learned that black people were once captured by caucasians and brought to America to endure 400 + long years of brutal servitude and ruthless violence I felt the pain.

When in school those very same people who committed those atrocities against black people (the founding fathers, war generals, business men etc.) were regarded in high esteem like heroes by the school teachers and America in general, I felt the pain.

When my teachers told me that I should not forget the murder of 6 million jews because it is a crime against humanity, but I should forget about an estimated 20 million blacks took from Africa, and I should forget millions died in transit to America, and millions died at the hands of the cruelest humans earth has ever witnessed, I felt the pain.

When my black children or when I hear other people’s children, affected by America’s racist propaganda, express consciously or unconsciously they don’t want to be black anymore because being black is terrible and scary , and that they’d rather be white because it’s better, I feel the pain.

When every black man that I looked to as a brilliant, strong, bold inspiration to become a courageous man was murdered by the same people that brought blacks to America in chains, I felt the pain.

When my parents were too afraid to stand up to the racist, capitalistic, imperialistic America and told me that I need to work twice as hard as white people and not give them any trouble, I felt the pain.

When I go into a bookstore owned by a worldwide company, where seemingly millions of books are on display, but when I look to find any books with black authors I’m disappointed to find a pathetic section of maybe 25 books, I feel the pain.

When day after day, black men are murdered in the street by the same institutions that proclaim to uphold truth and justice, I felt the pain.

When I read the history of black people around the world and realize we are essentially at the root of every civilization world wide, we were the kings and queens of the earth, but now we are just “niggas”, I felt the pain.

When my cries are ignored and my tears are invisible to the world, I feel the pain.

When I realized that all my friends and associates were paralyzed by fear of the global white supremacist and would kill each other over a dollar, but would let the white supremacist “slide” after hundreds if not thousands of years of genocide against black people, I felt the pain.

When I’m told in America to never forget 9/11, to never forget the Vietnam War, to never forget the Civil War, to never forget the “founding fathers” who murdered indigenous people to “create a nation founded on justice and liberty”, but to forget that black people were NEVER considered as a human being in America, I feel the pain.

When I realized that chattel slavery never ended, it just transformed into the prison industrial complex, I felt the pain.

When as I black man I can’t get a humane level of respect from the world, or even my own people for that matter, I feel the pain.

When I call my woman a queen, but I can not spoil her with royal gifts or a royal lifestyle and she looks at me like less then a man because the white man (and sell-out black men) can treat their woman to whatever she wants, while I do whatever I can, I feel the pain.

As a black man in America I feel the pain. Maybe you do too. Or maybe I’m the only one……Peace.