Dear guy in the bar last night,
It's always someone peripheral to my life who springs the Black Superpower on me. It's never a friend. We can be conversing about anything, really, when young black acquaintances like yourself will correct me on what white people really think. This always stuns me. It's rather like correcting me on the pronunciation of my own name.
"The H in John is not silent," I hear.
You see racism everywhere, and not without good reason. Had I dealt with racism, overt and subtle, every day of my life, that would be my predisposition too. Yet even that bit o' critical thought is challenged. Like all white people, you tell me, I think racism isn't a problem anymore. And then you'll pointedly disprove an argument I never made. And when I correct you on what I think, I'm told I'll "never get it."
Infuriating. And counter-productive.
Now you tell me that I think that Obama's election proves that racism no longer exists in this country. I know this because you correct this misperception. The argument you just put in my mouth is utterly asinine, you harp, and on this we can agree. But no, you remind me: I'll never get it. No white person could.
Is it too audacious to hope that at this moment in history, we can drop the pretense of mind-reading and actually listen to one another? I'll give you plenty of material about which you can criticize me. Lots of dumb ideas spew out of my mouth. I really don't need yours, too.