Dear Token Black Man: You Don’t Have to Play Safe for White People
Yes, you. The one in all of the photographs.
Look, I get it.
For as long as I can remember, in many of my childhood and adult circles of friends, I have been the only Black guy. Just yesterday, I scrolled through my timelines, as I’m sure you may have done during this age of heightened racial and social tensions. It reminded me that my Blackness is now weaponized, visible, and no longer in the comfortable hiding place where some parts of our society have deemed it less threatening, less intimidating, and less Black.
When I was younger, I was the only kid out of a group of Black kids allowed to attend a Southern Baptist church’s field trip event because I was essentially told that I was one of the “good ones.” That same year, my best friend’s mom — who was as racist as one could get — reminded me that I was one of the “good ones,” so I had nothing to worry about.
1986 in the South. Oh, the good old days.
Even as a 10-year-old back then, the tone of my voice was deemed proper, safe for the White folks around me. At the time, I felt like I was between a typical 10-year-old kid and a future threatening, angry Black teenager, fighting for his identity. This “comfort” zone, as I would learn later in life…
