Comfort in the Opposition

Like a sheep in wolf’s clothing I stand by idly as you hunt my brethren. Unable to howl my protests in a voice that will carry to your ears. Instead I “baaa…” about your crimes in countless sermons to my fellow impostors. 

You see there is great comfort in my position. 

Here where I stand, always in opposition. 

To be a victim is a thankless job you know. But I must admit it’s potentially rewarding… that is if you play your cards right. If you find your choir to preach to.. Indeed your congregation will treat you well. They will affirm your message and declare solidarity with your victimhood.

“Fight the Power. Fuck The Man.”

We can chant together here… from our position.

Standing here in solidarity always in opposition.

But let’s be frank here. The world is a right mess. And I’d say with some confidence that it always been so. In fact there are enough oppressions on the table for each of us to have a nice healthy slice.. and perhaps some second-third-fourths-or fifths if you’re really hungry. It is easy to engulf yourself in the sea of the sheer misery that surrounds us. 

And we know this, I think. But it’s absolutely terrifying to take responsibility for our collective trajectory. To shift gears from consciousness to action.

We pacify ourselves with life’s simple pleasures. Pursuing a commercial happiness that despite the awful irony.. simply cannot materially exist. 

But you know that already don’t you?

It’s nothing new. And I mean I get it, I feel it too. That comfort we have here in our position.

Out here in our delusion, always in opposition.

So let me be frank.

I am black. In the most political sense. Don’t search the tones on my skin for something that you will not find.Black to me, now, means something so broad- yet so very specific. It is an aggressive assertion of my oppression. It is an identifier I declare loudly and proudly with ease to my fairer skinned brothers and sisters. In fact, I’m never blacker then when in the presence of the white man himself.

It’s easier. To have myself defined in response to him and all that he represents to me. In his company I feel taller, stronger and angrier. I can channel brother Malcom X’s sing-a-long speeches at the drop of a hat in the company of him.

And yet,

How I struggle to let this word leave my lips in the company of my darker skinned sisters and brothers. How I stutter and sweat as I raise my right fist in solidarity as I pledge my allegiance to our struggle. 

I feel so much like a sheep in wolf’s clothing. My awareness of privilege inconsistent and unreliable. My authenticity ever compromised and my intentions so easily exposed.

My consciousness feels somehow distorted as it develops. Surely I am an impostor? This must be the root of my guilt.  

After all I can feel that our world is in the Winter of it’s days.

And I know this.. but I still fly to where it’s warmer while many others can only walk.

So I continue to sit here typing on.. safely here from my position.

Carefully guarded.

Forever in opposition. 



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