Your White Knee On My Black Neck
Your white knee is on my black neck each and every moment of every day of my precious, productive, and relevant life. I’ve come to know this reality — my “black reality” — over the course of my maturation process. I shudder at the thought of there being a time when I was a black boy unaware of this knee on my neck. To breathe was as simple and inviting as my Mother’s love. Of course, those were the days of childhood and blissful innocence. My immediate environment — societal space — seemed so nurturing, unbiased, loving, benevolent and protective. However, time would usher in my black reality — providing an awakening rooted in racism, bigotry, hate, dehumanization, irreverence, deprivation and inequality. Minneapolis has served as yet another tragic and inexcusable example (as if we needed another one) of the blatant disregard and devaluing of black human life. I have white people — yes, all of you, to thank for it.
The white knee on my black neck is that one piece of jewelry that is tarnish proof; devoid of degradational qualities to ensure perpetual strength by its owners. It’s a welcome mat of sorts to my black reality; sucking the life out of me one heartbeat, one breath at a time. I’m gasping now — the chain is heavy and unrelenting in its work. What’s interesting about this phenomenon is that it’s a piece of jewelry leveraged and utilized by many who claim ignorance or a lack of culpability to its harmful, oftentimes lethal, consequences. I didn’t even ask for it, but extraordinarily, it is forever on my neck as a reminder of my place in this world — regardless of my accomplishment, class, education, financial and physical health, talent, white wife or partner and/or contributions to this world.
I am disgusted beyond imagination. I am disheartened beyond white human understanding. I weep for the plethora of lost souls who were killed, lynched, burned, hosed down, mutilated, castrated, raped, exploited, and pillaged just because they were not white. No they were black, brown, milk chocolate, and other beautiful shades of African Diaspora. My white bosses and colleagues will never know the struggle, the weight, the constant and persistent feeling that knocks the wind out of me with each step forward I take; let alone backwards should I be human enough to make a mistake. My white teachers and classmates were limited at best to see the knee on my neck, as I stood wanting of free air to breathe — the kind of air that willingly soothes your heart and lungs and reminds you that you are safe and in good health. It gets demonstratively more difficult the more you strive to be the best you can be; the more you compete with those white boys who don’t want to lose their “supposed” birth right to a capable, viable colored man. No sir! That’s a no…no…! Like a good, well-behaved masochist, I don’t fold. I continue to forge into the tilted and stacked pathway of injustice, impropriety, and inequality. I owe it to my ancestors; my forgotten brethren; and history’s black pioneers, saviors, pastors and abolitionists who provide me with my center — the hallowed foundation that holds me up in spite of the white knee on my black neck.
I live depleted as a black man, not just in America, but worldwide, as the tentacles of moral turpitude and racism know no bounds; everywhere is eminent domain. However, I persevere, George Floyd. I won’t let them win, Ahmaud Arbery. I’ll overpower them with a level of grace, forgiveness, benevolence and love that only my God is capable of molding, Oscar Grant III. I will not yield to subservience, indignity, and pure malice, because I owe it to you, Trayvon Martin. I will not acquiesce to predilections of the majority that are meant to subjugate me; make me think I’m less than and not worthy of human deference and promotion.
Solely by the Grace of God do I wake up every morning to the vituperative nature of things for my black reality; white knee on my black neck as sure as the Earth is round. I am exhausted, but I will stay my course, and the course of so many of my brothers (young and old) and will not be denied what are my unalienable rights as a black man until the day I no longer draw breath on my own accord. On that day your white knee on my black neck will be no longer, and, hopefully, the bliss you seem to get from it will be extinguished forever more.
