White and Very Afraid

Let’s workshop this poem about a world of pervasive fear and self-censorship among white individuals desperate to avoid making any racial misstep, knowing the fallout that could result if they fail to

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White and Very Afraid

Welcome to our world where—heartened by media reminders of how much and how long their ancestors lived in fear (Hollywood depictions of Middle-Passage bodies sardined in suffocating cargo holds of piss-shit-vomit brine only to be anchored into the implosive depths of the Atlantic if a life of slavery were not in their cards, or of grainy black-and-white footage of white women dumping ketchup on their lye-relaxed heads as they sit at segregated diner counters, or of cops hosing them away like roaches for the chase of German shepherds); heartened by constant doom-and-gloom news splices that drumbeat within us all an irresistible feeling that they live in more fear today than ever before—blacks can bask, in sleep-tight conscience, in the cheap feeling of power that results from seeing whitey afraid:

afraid to raise evidence against or contradict a black person’s opinions or “lived experience,” lest they be pilloried as “gaslighters trying to control the narrative” and for having a “slave-master complex” and a sense of “colonial entitlement” that perhaps “no sensitivity trainings could ever cure”;

afraid to offer constructive criticism on work performance or to enforce basic workplace policies (especially about hygiene and attire), lest they be accused of targeting BIPOC individuals and perpetuating a hostile work environment;

afraid to broach any “black topics,” lest they be labeled “appropriators” or “gate-stormers” or “lane-violators” or other humiliating face spritzes from the ally-training bottle;

afraid to celebrate cultural traditions that are deemed predominantly white, lest they be accused of promoting a “monocultural” agenda and disregarding the “rich tapestry of multiculturalism";

afraid to express approval for merit-based or colorblind evaluations in any context, lest they be accused of “ignoring the historical and ongoing barriers that prevent equal opportunity and access”;

afraid to participate in celebrations or expressions of patriotism (especially ones that involve use of “the violence-provoking American flag”), lest they be condemned for “glorifying a history of colonization and oppression” or “blindly celebrating a nation built on the backs of slaves”;

afraid to set an agenda at the beginning of a Zoom meeting, lest they be charged with “white-speak” and—were they to make the reckless move of defending the importance of setting an agenda—with “whitesplaining”;

afraid to doze off from their hypervigilant racial tip toe and simply exist as their authentic selves, lest they be slammed as bigots or deplorables and then stripped of their careers and reputations in the blink of an online cancellation mob;

afraid to mention that they have black friends or family, lest they be denounced for “tokenizing beautiful Black Kings and Queens and using them as tools” (in this case, as “a psychic shield from the truth that no white fails to be complicit in white supremacy”);

afraid to call the police on or testify against their black rapist, lest they be vilified for perpetuating the stereotype of black hyperviolence and becoming complicit in the “black-inmate industrial complex" despite enjoying “the white privilege of moving beyond their trauma by seeing an expensive therapist”;

afraid to publicly enjoy or share their love for jazz or blues or hip hop, lest they be described (described, of course, almost always by white people) as “just another white fuck fetishizing black pain and resilience”;

afraid to display family photos at work that show participation in outdoor activities like hiking or camping or swimming, lest they be censured for (a) “flaunting their privileged access to nature that historically excluded people of color” or for (b) “making black people feel bad by reminding them of things they struggle with (whether out of fear or trauma or health conditions)”;

afraid to tell friends and family and coworkers they are moving because of the crime in the city, lest they be labeled just another “blackphobe” gearing up for “white flight” (white flight that will only result in further decay, further decay blamed not on niggative attitudes going unchecked but entirely on the fact that “gov only be carin n shit when yt folk around”);

afraid to hold up three fingers at a backyard barbecue (even if it is just a signal for their wife to bring out three more beers), lest they be prepared for their TikToking guests (ever filming) to take this as “the universal symbol of white power still appearing in business logos as American as apple pie” (WWE, Walmart, Werner freight trucks, and—accompanied by the telling image of our globe covered in white paint, and decades later in a blood red perhaps indicative of white blood purity if not of black genocide—Sherwin-Williams, of course);

afraid to paint the cheeks of their 9-year-old kid with that glare-reduction grease their favorite football players use often to aesthetic effect, lest they be ready to see their whole family barraged with hate mail—predominantly by whites, especially the sort of whites woke enough to self-immolate—that will no doubt reach into rape-and-death-threat territories (territories clearly colored by double-penetration race-porn fantasies) if the white child is unlucky enough to wear a Native headdress on top of the “blackface” (thereby “doubling up on a virulent racism clearly taught inside the home”);

afraid to move their kids at least to a new table at Chuck E. Cheese to get away from the twerk-filled 10-year-old birthday bash, lest they be called out for “policing black joy” and “imposing puritanical white standards on innocent expressions of cultural celebration” and for “str8 up snitchin on dey own bigot azz.”

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