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Green and No Going Back
I have traveled a long road since I grew up in a 100% segregated community in Hampton, Virginia. We call ourselves African-American, but my people are not Africans. We really are not even if it is “politically incorrect” to say so. For better or for worse (and a lot of times it’s for the worse), my people are as American as apple pie. When I left the East Coast in 1998 I drove across this vast nation all the way to San Francisco. I drove across Massachusetts, New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming, Utah, Nevada, and California. I took plenty of time to observe what was going on, reading local papers, and talking to all kinds of folks. I am deeply troubled that America — the country my ancestors built and fought for — has too much inequality, ugliness, pollution, and violence.
All my life I have been told that African-Americans like me should stop thinking so much about racism. We are told over and over to forget about slavery; forget about segregation; forget those who died in my lifetime just to secure the right to vote. Pompous hypocrites who hated Martin Luther King and everything he stood for self-righteously throw his noble words in our faces:
“I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.”
Very well. I have judged Republicans and Democrats by the content of their character.
I reject them both.
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