Black

Have you heard the news friend? The good, good news? That Jesus was white and they shot Oscar Grant to commemorate the birth of Martin Luther King Jr.? Have you heard? That sound like africanized bees buzzing, zip zang zinging around your head, that sweet sound of helicopters of reporters running off at the mouth and neighbors shouting "What’s going on?", and young black folk crying, that’s the sound of democracy. That’s freedom bells ringing. We thought we were coming out of the Dark, but now we find ourselves tumbling in a free fall, looking to kiss the deepest darkest most depraved depths of the human soul. We find ourselves outside, because we’ve always been outside under the Great White Glory of America, we find ourselves outside and we loose ourselves out side in a great anguished howl, in a roar, in an apocalyptic disco brightened by searchlights and the blue and green glow of cell phones. The good, good news. The news that there is one right, the right to might and that supremacy is to be found in the color of your skin, which corresponds to your rank and contrasts nicely with the midnight hue of your baton and your Glock. You are right because you are white. Jesus is white and god is white and the virgin is white and when good niggers die, they turn white and go up to heaven, but bad niggers, the ones that RESIST ARREST, THE ONES WHO RUN AMUCK, RIOTERS, they meet a tar baby at the crossroads and she grabs them by the arms and swallows em up and shits them straight into the devils mouth. That’s right, the devil eats rioters for breakfast, and meanwhile Jesus likes his corn flakes with just a touch of half and half to make that white, white milk even creamier.
Friends, the day of judgement has come and we’re all going home, I tell you, I have heard the call. We are all going to sit in our cars and do nothing while innocent black men are gunned down in BART stations and we’ll wait for the mob to come and flip us over and set us on fire. Sure we’ll suffer a little, but then we’ll join Jesus for breakfast, and he’ll say: "It hurt a little when I was crucified, but lands! It was worth it to save all you pretty white folk from eternal damnation." I like strawberries on my corn flakes and that’s the truth. I tell you one thing, I won’t miss them in heaven because I never did meet a colored person that I liked, no, no, white’s just so pretty.
I buy my daughters coloring books, but I’ll die before I give them crayons or a paint set. There’s nothing worse than watching young Americans mix their colors. We ought to organize a RALLY, yes, a good Christian get together where we can burn all the crayons, just melt them right down so that our children don’t grow up thinking it’s okay to be colored, or have anything to do with anything that is colored. Yes, I heard, I heard all right. I heard the great big happy, happy birthday we wished Dr. King. Take your peaceful protest Martin and trot back into the kitchen to fetch Jesus another pint of half and half, he’s worked up quite an appetite this morning making sure that the bullets fired at white soldiers make a U-turn and land right between the eyes of democracy hating Arabs. Bring him a carafe of orange juice while you’re at it, bending the trajectory of a bullet to answer the prayers of a fat, pasty, potato salad making mamma is thirsty work.
The ones outside, the ones we left behind, the dark ones, the ones running through the night screaming for justice, let them eat cake. Let them weigh the heart of the man that pulled the trigger against the weight of a feather and watch the filthy thing tip the scale and slide off the table into a crocodile’s smiling mouth. They have distilled the tears that croc cries each time that she sups into an electrolyte enhanced elixir which is bottled and sold to the privileged so that they can shake their heads at the TV screen and then shed a few tears themselves.
We thought we had left the dark behind us. We weighed our heart in the fall and it was light as a feather. We made a black man our man, our face, and we all wept together, black and white and yellow and brown, we all cried crystal clear tear drops. And now I hear the sirens wailing. RESISTING ARREST! RESISTING ARREST. Yes, I heard the news. I heard it. Jesus was white and liked to eat wonder bread with mayo and provolone and they shot Oscar Grant dead, shot him where everyone could see, to start the new year off with a BANG! They sent us all a message; that they were right and he was the wrong, wrong, wrong color. So I’m sorry Dr. King, I really am. It’s your birthday and the man that did the shooting is walking free as a blue bird, and we turned some cars over and lit some fires and it did no good and I’m sorry. I hope they give you the day off up there, and maybe a little birthday cake too, (chocolate’s out of the question, I’m sure) We will take the day off , and we’ll play video games and drink beers and then Tuesday we’ll all assume our usual positions. The mighty will crack their whips and preach their right, and the good news will spread once again.