How to Be Black (6 page)

The U.S. Propaganda Machine: A Middle School Paper

T
he blackness-bolstering Ankobia rites-of-passage experience had strong effects on my perspective and behavior at Sidwell. As initiates, my fellow
karanding
and I were expected to behave almost like fraternity brothers away from the Saturday sessions. Every day we were required to wear a leather medallion featuring a red, black, and green pattern. This medallion served to physically remind me of the Saturday lessons even while I peeled bar mitzvah invitations from the inside of my school locker across town. Given the popularity of Afrocentric hip-hop at the time—groups like Brand Nubian and Poor Righteous Teachers were exploding then—no one at Sidwell thought much of my adornment. But on occasion, the Ankobia perspective would find its way into my school activities.

In high school, as head of the Black Student Union, I helped write a report to the board of trustees on the status of life for students of color. We documented cases of discriminatory applications of discipline, and called for more black faculty and a more diverse curriculum. We titled it “The Students of Color Report.” We were very original. But well before I channeled my blackness into approved campus political activity and congressional commission–style documents, the Ankobia experience dramatically influenced my academic work. Such was the case in March of 1991.

I was in the eighth grade and had a paper due for my English class. I cannot recall the specific assignment, but I'm sure the paper I submitted missed the teacher's expectations by a wide margin. Using Microsoft Word on Windows version 3.0, I wrote the paper as if it were a major speech I planned to deliver to all black people in the United States. I printed it out on my dot-matrix printer, and on March 9, 1991, handed over the following 1,100-word address:
*

The Destruction of Afrikans : The U.S. Propaganda Machine

I am here today, my Afrikan brothers and sisters, to speak on a very serious problem of our people. We are in a state of emergency, and headed downward fast.

I am here today, my Afrikan brothers and sisters, first, to make you aware of the problem, and second, to help you deal with and try to solve it.

As many of you know, we have been hit by a serious epidemic, this epidemic is ( at least in this country ) is the destruction of our people, by our people. One can rarely miss a day without hearing about some black man killing another black man, or some black husband murdering his wife for trying to divorce him. And while we hear daily reports of blacks being killed, the whites, sometimes subconsciously are shaking hands and patting each other on the back for a job well done. Some people may say: “Well. why don't you just tell them to stop!” Now, I thank those people for their input; but I have one thing to say about that suggestion: it's not that easy! As Marcus Garvey once said: “The best offense you can use against the Negro is disorganization.”

Well, Mr. Garvey had a point there.

Now, my brothers and sisters, I will tell you ways that. the white man has led our people into this epidemic. If you want to go way back:

It all started when the Europeans invaded our rich, prosperous motherland, and robbed her of her people. At the time of the slave trade, there were Africans who sold their own people for beads and jewelry. This was the beginning of our self destruction.

Another possibility is found by looking at the brutal times of slavery. During slavery some of the brutalities were earthshaking and unfathomable. We were treated as livestock, whipped like horses, chained like animals, and auctioned like estate, not to mention the treatment, and raping of our women. Families were separated, and we were made to abandon our native languages, and made to erase our beautiful culture, and made ignorant. During all these years, the tension was building up to one day reach a climax or peak. Well, my brothers and sisters, we have reached dooms day. Now you would hope that we would take out our hostilities on the whites, after all they did put us in this situation. But no, we were made so ignorant that we're taking it out on ourselves, OURSELVES!?

And yet, my brothers and sisters, another time the white man had forced us into this epidemic was the time after slavery, when he displayed his demonic evil self even more. After slavery we were fooled more, and made even more ignorant. I come to this conclusion because they told us we were free ( “they” being the white man ). They fooled us into believing that we were free and equal to them. Most of us did not know much about freedom, except that which we limitedly heard about the “north.” Being in such the state that we were, anyone could say we were free and we would believe it. because we didn't even know what freedom was. This was and is one of many ways that the white man has taken advantage of our naiveté.

The fourth and final way that the white man has forced us into this deadly virus of self-destruction is by way of what is known as the “U.S. Propaganda Machine.”

First, let's begin with a definition of propaganda; as defined by Marcus Garvey:

“ . . . organized methods used to control the world is the thing known and called ‘PROPAGANDA.'

Propaganda has done more to defeat the good intentions of races and nations than even open warfare.

Propaganda is a method or medium used by organized peoples to convert others against their will.

We of the Negro race are suffering more than any other race in the world from propaganda—Propaganda to destroy our hopes, our ambitions our confidence . . .” and eventually ourselves.

America has come up with different techniques to keep us down, from segregation to prejudice, there's always been something new. In a way things were better during and immediately following slavery, because at least then whites told you what they thought. But now racism is more virulent. Now whites say we are equal, and pat us on the shoulder, and eat with us, and act all goody goody. They even allow us in their government to show us how equal we are. But under that Kentucky cotton coating there is still the feeling, solid as the Rockies that we are inferior. Back then there was absolutely no way we could argue against a white man's word, we weren't even allowed to “fight.” Nowadays we're allowed to speak in their courts and they occasionally let us win, just to show us that we're equal. That's like letting us fight but they have the weapon, and one out of a hundred times we can knock the weapon out of their hand and get a good punch in to knock them out; The problem was just stated, we're just knocking them out, when we need to kill them.

The “U.S. Propaganda Machine” has three major outlets into the Afrikan community. They are the church, the school, and the mass media.

The church is part of the “Propaganda Machine” through its teaching of a white Jesus. Some, if even a few people know of Africa's greatness as having the first trace of civilization. But if people knew that and the fact that the Bible says Adam was the first, logic would tell you that Adam was African.

The schools are involved in the Propaganda Machine through their teaching, or should I say their nonteaching of African and African-American history. Considering Afrikan's great contribution to this country's wealth, not only in slave labor but in inventions such as the signal light and in medicine. The least this country could do is give us an “honorable mention.”

Third, mass media is involved by means of its portrayal of whites as superior. Since the beginning of television whites held the foreground. They were shown on horseback shooting down “uncivilized” Indians and taming the “cannibalistic and wild” ways of Africans. And when we finally were on the television, it was as a negative depiction. They did not show us as the “first,” they did not show us as the geniuses we were, nor did they show our great heritage. The only thing they could find were our “backwards and primitive” ways. The mass media has played an extensive role in the destruction of our people.

Lastly, my Afrikan brothers and sisters I have something to tell you. Beware of the white man; I'm not saying to be scared of him or to cut off communication, but beware, because when we realize that we should not be fighting each other, the tide will turn.

I was thirteen years old when I wrote that and handed it in to my English teacher. If a middle school student turned in such a document today, he would immediately be sent to a counselor or detention facility, but this was pre-Columbine 1991. The number one song on the
Billboard
charts was the upbeat
Someday
by Mariah Carey, and the top television show was
Cheers
. It was a happier time.

After class the next day, my teacher pulled me aside to discuss my manifesto. “You would never have written this if I weren't black, would you?” he asked. I responded, “Absolutely
not
, and I trust you to keep my secret!”

The White Student Union

S
ometimes white people just like to ask questions. They don't mean anything by it. There are no judgments in it. They just want to know, and what's wrong with asking questions?

My mother returned from the Sidwell Friends parents association meeting livid. They had been discussing the prom and how it would be financed, and one of the parents (a white parent) had offhandedly asked, “Well, doesn't the Black Student Union have a lot of money?”

See, she was just asking a question!

Indeed the Black Student Union did have “a lot of money,” which we raised through one massive, heavily coordinated, expensively secured annual dance party known as The BSU Go-Go.
*
Exactly what those funds had to do with the prom was unclear to my mother, and the inference that the BSU would somehow cover the costs of this school-wide event offended her. However, that parent didn't directly demand the money. She was just asking a question.

Sidwell was a school populated in part by the children of Washington's liberal elite. There were lawyers and senators and lobbyists and White House administration officials among the parent class. Being loyal NPR listeners and Clinton voters, many of these parents thought they were incapable of even a hint of racism. They voted for Bill Clinton! He was the first “black president.” Their children had black friends! So they felt insulated from even the possibility that they might display racist tendencies.

Fortunately, the treasury of the Black Student Union was not pilfered by the creative financing concepts of this particular parent, but “questions” challenging the legitimacy of black communities were a regular occurrence.

One such question revolved around the informal institution of black kids eating together in the cafeteria. I'm going to let you in on a secret: growing black children like to eat. In a majority-white school, they are often friends with other black people. This has been known to result in black kids eating together at the same table. While this terrorist cell–like activity is a perceived clear and present danger to some in the non-black community, the agenda at most of these nefarious, exclusive gatherings consisted of talking about classes, flirting, making fun of each other, and, oh, plotting the downfall of White America—but only on every third Tuesday.

Preparing to inherit the rights and privileges of their race later in life, many white students were put off by the unspoken exclusivity of “the black table.” Due to our limited camouflage abilities—most of us still wore the dark skin into which we were born—“the black table” visually stood out in ways gatherings of other groups (the A/V kids, football players, or Future Corporate Douchebags of America) might not have. In addition, the Civil Rights Movement was over, so what's with the sit-in-looking gathering? This confusion and offense led to a question: Why do all the black kids sit at the same lunch table?

The best answer exists itself in the form of a question: Why do all the
white
students sit together at the same tables? No one ever asked that, because such seating arrangements were “normal.” You don't question ten tables of nearly all white children dining. You question the one or two with nearly all black children dining.

Questions implying that a black student group should not be able to control its money or that forced desegregation at cafeteria tables might be needed were notable among the set of White People Questions I experienced at Sidwell. However, my favorite by far was the following:

Why don't we have a White Student Union?

I remember the student who asked this. She was confused by the existence of “students of color” meetings and the Black Student Union. The idea that there were official organizations, sanctioned by the school, based around racial identity, was offensive and wrong, and so she just “asked a question,” which was: “Why don't we have a White Student Union?”

My mind immediately flashed to previous iterations of “white student unions”: white citizens' councils, Ku Klux Klan rallies, and Dave Matthews Band concerts, but she didn't mean anything so sinister. She simply didn't get why white students were not allowed to self-identify by race and gather regularly, in a semi-exclusive fashion, for the advancement of their interests.

No one told her that the entire school was essentially a White Student Union.

How to Be The Black Friend

S
o far, I've painted a picture of myself as this tiny, hard-core, militant black kid, and in truth I was that way, but I wasn't
only
that way. As with all children, I was trying on points of view and personalities, imitating what I saw around me, and figuring out just what “being myself” actually meant. I carried the banner of black justice as loudly as I waved the flags of pop culture, adolescent crushes, genuine friendliness, and a desire to be liked by the people around me. The first two years at Sidwell, seventh and eighth grades, were the toughest period of cultural adjustment, but as with all exposure to new languages, immersion worked, and over time, I felt as at home on the sidelines of a field hockey match as I did in a West African drum circle.

After seventh grade, my mother decided to move us off of Newton Street in DC. She had fought the good fight against the steady takeover of our neighborhood by drug dealers and users, and she was losing. We all were. I recall her returning one evening from a peace vigil organized by St. Stephen's Episcopal church across the street. Some of the young hustlers thought it would be fun to egg the candle-wielding activists and demonstrate who was really in charge, so when my mother returned, she was covered in egg.

Another morning, I looked through our front window only to notice that a bullet had pierced two panes of the triple-paned glass. The shot came from a BB gun, but the fact that it wasn't a real gun didn't make my mother feel any better. Through all of this, I was generally as happy as could be. The occasional police raid, mass brawl, and steady drug traffic didn't bother me too much. It felt normal, and that is probably what frightened my mother the most. So she moved us out to Takoma Park, Maryland, to a single-family home with a massive deck and even more massive front yard. With long, extracurricular-heavy school days, a one-hour public transit commute on both ends, and limited time in my new friendless neighborhood, my social life was increasingly defined by Sidwell, which meant I had white friends! I had black friends, too, but the numbers made
not
having white friends nearly impossible, and these friendships offered new opportunities to share my blackness with others, not always voluntarily.

It began with my hair. White schoolmates would look at my afro, then shout excitedly, “Is that your real hair?” and “That is so cool!” and “Can I touch it?” all the while
reaching
to touch it regardless of what answer was percolating from my mind to my mouth in response to their perfunctory inquiry. If I did not know you, the answer was simply, “No!” accompanied by a gracefully evasive maneuver to avoid unsanctioned hand-to-hair contact. But if we were friends, I would offer a detailed response. I would patiently explain that it was rude to just touch someone's hair without permission; that black people, especially, have a history of white people exerting their privilege over black bodies, extending from uninvited head-rubbing to far worse transgressions; that it was disgusting, considering how many people don't wash their hands after using the restroom. Now armed with inside information, these white friends of mine were more respectful of my perspective and sometimes explained the logic to their own white friends on their own initiative!
*

Hair was just the beginning. First at Sidwell, then later at Harvard and in various workplaces, I learned just how important and powerful the role of black-friend-to-white-people could be. Now, I'm going to share some of those valuable lessons with you.

You are about to learn how to be The Black Friend.

Move through this chapter with the weight of America's history and future upon your shoulders, and treat the lesson with the same respect you might reserve for an original copy of the Constitution or perhaps Bob Hope's DNA. The Black Friend is that important to the United States.

The Black Friend has value to all non-black Americans but especially white Americans. By having a Black Friend, white Americans automatically inoculate themselves against most charges of racism and capture some of the rebellious spirit that has made this country what it is. They become cooler by association.

Here's how all these benefits might play out in one setting. First, a white person brings her Black Friend to a party, adding instant cultural credibility to the event. There may be a little extra buzz in the room. Second, that white person has more latitude to speak ignorance of a racial nature by invoking the fact that she “has a black friend.” Innocence-by-association is a powerful defensive tactic. Depending on the type of household she is from, it may be forbidden or at least frowned upon to go hanging around with black folks. So the white person who brings her Black Friend home can enjoy the added benefit of rebelling against her parents. The Black Friend is a cultural Swiss Army knife for many white Americans, able to perform several functions of both a stylistic and practical nature.

While The Black Friend's value to White America is long established and readily apparent upon slight reflection, it's The Black Friend's value to
Black
America that is truly underappreciated. Yes, The Black Friend is the best friend of Black America.

First, The Black Friend is a key intelligence asset, like a CIA operative, both transmitting and receiving valuable information that continually helps prevent a race war by increasing understanding, lowering tensions, and offering diplomatic back channels.

A well-trained Black Friend can learn the ways of White America without hyperbole or judgment but instead based on actual lived experiences. For example, a good Black Friend can see the artistic merit in Nirvana's “Smells Like Teen Spirit” rather than dismiss it as simply “a bunch of white people music.” A truly insightful Black Friend may even see the song as essentially hip-hop in nature, if one were to really think about it with an open mind.
*

This same Black Friend can also explain the line between curiosity and an accidental hate crime, say, by telling her white friends that it is not okay to just go up to a black person and touch her hair.

By acting as a buffer and a sounding board between worlds, The Black Friend can prevent misunderstandings from escalating into an all-out conflagration, and all black people benefit from these quiet acts of diplomacy, not just those who serve as Black Friends. The irony is that many in the black community look with derision upon those of their number who serve as Black Friends. Truly exceptional Black Friends are treated as traitors to their race, told they aren't “black enough,” and called Oreos and sellouts. If you are the type of person to instantly judge a black person seemingly enjoying himself in the company of a group of white people, think twice before you judge. He just might be on a mission!

If only Black America knew the sacrifices Black Friends make every single day to preserve the peace, we would erect monuments and memorials in their honor. We would call for a moment of silence during the BET Awards, or better yet, replace the awards with a three-hour moment of silence for our too-silent defenders and advocates.

During the Cold War, U.S. and Russian leaders installed a special direct communications device that came to be known as the “red telephone.” They would use it to talk to each other in secret, explaining military movements and other actions that could be misinterpreted as acts of war. Black Friends are our red telephones. They are our covert agents. They are interracial code breakers, and in the Cold War, we had a name for the men and women on both sides of the conflict performing these functions. They saved lives every day with no expectation of recognition except by the few who knew their true names. We called them heroes. That's what Black Friends are: heroes. America's heroes.

Your Black Friend Tool Set

Now that you grasp the importance of this role, here are some key traits and assets you must possess to serve as a good Black Friend.

Cultural authenticity

You won't be of much value to black people or anyone else if you don't maintain a cultural connection to black experiences. Like a reporter who clings to the newsroom rather than step outside and actually walk his beat, you will lose your effectiveness. In a practical sense, this means you need to maintain a baseline level of black cultural currency by being familiar with at least some of the history of black people, of trends in black entertainment—this goes for music, film, sports, et cetera—as well as language and style. You don't need to overdo it by trying to be “too black,” but if you're not seen as black enough, no one will buy your story, and you won't get the inside access that makes your role so valuable.

Physical authenticity

This is not about how you look. It's about how you act. Intellectual knowledge of black culture will only get you so far in your service. You must also be able to do black things. Ideally, you will be fairly competent in at least one of the following areas: rapping, dancing, grilling or frying meats, and running or other stereotypically black sports. If you can back up your mental knowledge of blackness with an occasional Moon (or Crip) Walk and a semiannual freestyle rhyme, your value is assured. Again, this is about appearances to maintain your cover.

A sense of humor

A good Black Friend doesn't take any remark or experience too seriously, but remember that balance is key. There is a risk associated with not taking things seriously enough. Your effectiveness depends on your ability to make non-black people feel comfortable. You can't go flying off the handle every time something potentially racist goes down. If you do that, you risk losing the privileged position of Black Friend and sliding into the much less useful role of Angry Negro (see “How to Be The Angry Negro”). Angry Negroes have a role in our society, but they have much less freedom of mobility, and this chapter is about the diplomatic art of Black Friendship, so let's stay true to that mission.

Just because you're an uncelebrated secret agent and diplomat doesn't mean you can't have fun. One entertaining way to keep your friends on their toes is to occasionally play the race card for fun. For example, if you're getting in the car with them and you end up being directed to the backseat, you can yell, “Why do I have to sit in the back? Is it because I'm black!?” They'll be nervous for a moment, but then you'll laugh, and they'll laugh, and oh, the fun times you can have being The Black Friend.

Patience

You're going to get a lot of questions. Many of them will be dumb. Most will be some variation on “Is this racist?” Maintain your cool, and focus on listening to your friends. When they ask, “Why don't more black people work hard like immigrants?” don't assume bad intentions on their part. Stop. Breathe. Think. What are they really saying with this question? They are doing a surface-level comparison. They see Group A and Group B. To them, both groups have experienced similar setbacks, but Group B doesn't seem to have made nearly as much progress as Group A in the recovery. This is not automatically racist. They're asking you because they trust you, because they
need
you to help them understand. If you scare them away, you encourage a troubling alternative. Instead of taking that seemingly dumb question to you, their trusted Black Friend, they will continue to live with their ignorance, which will eventually find its way into the news segments they produce at their television network jobs or into legislation they pass. A healthy amount of patience as The Black Friend can go a long way toward helping all black people in unseen ways.

Access to white people

You can't very well be a good Black Friend if you don't have access to non-black, and especially white, people. This should go without saying, but I can't tell you the number of black folks I've met who want nothing to do with white people and yet complain nonstop about how white people do this or white people think that. Be the change you want to see. Go make some white friends. If you don't know where to start, I recommend checking out
Stuff White People Like
, the website or book. It's all right there for the understanding.

 

This list is not exhaustive, but it's a representative sample of the set of tools you will need to perform your duties. If you carry these with you, you will make an excellent Black Friend and do your people, black, white, and otherwise, proud. There is just one more thing:
*

Beware Other Black People

As I've documented in the history of The Black Friend, many black people do not respect this role and many more don't even know we have blacks deployed in this fashion at all. That can make for some awkward interactions when you're with your white friends and come across this type of black person. Keep in mind, they mean no harm. They just don't understand the mission you're on, so remain calm, careful, and vigilant. There are ways to minimize the damage done by these potentially hostile inter-Negro interactions.

Always acknowledge other black people. If you are overly focused on your Black Friend duties, you might miss the presence of another black person.
They
will see
you
. They always see you. You stand out in your crowd, and they will test you, usually by catching your eye, then offering an upward or downward head nod. Depending on your gender, the test might stop at eye contact or progress to a polite smile. It's like in the movie
Avatar
*
when they say, “I see you.”

Your worst mistake here would be to see the other black person, let them see you seeing them, then fail to acknowledge them. You come across as too good for your own people, and you end up making things harder for yourself by creating or furthering a feeling of distrust, and without trust, we have nothing.

You also want to keep an active eye on the behavior of your white friends when other non–Black Friends are around. If you're doing your job, your white friends will be extremely comfortable and loose in your presence. This is generally a good thing, but it can lead to embarrassment if your white friends are dropping a lot of black slang, rap lyrics, or worst of all, the words “nigga” or “nigger.”