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I’m Tired of Having to Be an ‘Asset’ to My Race
A lifetime of being a ‘good Black’ is wearing me down
Two weeks ago, my husband and I moved from New York City to Kingston, New York. As relocations upstate from Manhattan go, ours was a relatively smooth one, but it was still riddled with hiccups.
It was smooth in the sense that loading up, driving two hours, and unpacking was fairly easy. We hired movers to do all the heavy lifting, and we bought a used SUV the day before to get us from the Lower East Side to the Hudson Valley and around our new town.
The hiccups were mostly set in motion by a bit of negligence on my part. For example, I wouldn’t recommend losing your wallet less than a week before a big move. It makes paying for services and a car rather tricky. Zelle’s strict $2,000-a-day limit on money transfers did us no favors either.
My husband says we did well, and in hindsight, I somewhat agree. Still, I wish the payment processes had gone more smoothly, if only in my head. As we haggled with number crunchers, coming up with creative ways to pay without the benefit of credit or debit cards, one thought ran through my mind on a continuous loop. Please, dear God, don’t let them think they’re dealing with a Black person who can’t — or won’t — pay.
I’m not sure if anyone saw me as that Black person, even for a moment. But considering the default impression so many White people have of Black people, it’s sometimes hard to keep the mind from going there. I’ve spent my entire life fielding wary looks from White people and being told by some — both directly and in not so many words — that I’m a “good Black,” as if the rest of us are expected not to be good.
I recognize it as relief, mostly because, my writing aside, I don’t serve as a constant reminder of all the ways the system has failed Black people. I’m one of the lucky ones who, in many ways, beat the system. I managed to get a good education and become a financially secure adult with no prison record to stand in…
