Pen Pals: Letter 1/ Response

Dear Bryant,

I'm so sorry it has taken me so long to respond to your e-mail.  I've been in England for the past week.  I'm gonna try to answer your questions with an experience I had on the plane from Liverpool to Berlin:  Two rows from my seat I could see a man (he's white) flirting with a girl (also white) who he obviously didn't know.  Watching the two of them saddened me, not because I wanted him to flirt with me, but because I knew he would never even give it a thought.  In his mind, I’m probably not beautiful.  In his mind, I’m the perpetual foreigner, the individual that represents the outside that continues to invade his world.  Knowing this, even while he may not consciously understand it himself, is what sometimes makes this trip a difficult one. 

Being in Europe, mother of America and the origin of whiteness can sometimes be very uncomfortable.  Walking down the street I can see people staring at my hair, my skin, my nose right through to my very soul, unnerving me as though they were forcing the clothes right off me.  Sometimes, this makes me feel embarrassed, other times angry, that they don’t see me, but only my blackness.  Over the past two months, I’ve come to realize just how displaced we black people, African-Americans/Negros/whatever actually are.  In Europe and even in America, no matter how large our population swells we will always be foreigners forever marked by the hyphen that divides us from a true citizenship. 

And the saddest part is that it wouldn’t be any better in Africa.  I don’t speak any African languages; know any African customs, hell I don’t even know which part of the continent I come from!  Not to mention the fact that my skin tone alone would brand me as inauthentic. 

I know that these are some heavy and distressing thoughts, but I’m telling you because no one else could understand.  I’m the only black person in my program and there are some days when I don’t even see any other black people at all.  I need to know that I’m not going crazy, that we do exist, that we do have a home, that we at least love ourselves even when the rest of the world refuses to even see us.

I hope this answered your questions.  If not, to put it shortly: The day I realized I was black was a sad one.  It was sad because someone else forced me to see my blackness and it was a negative experience that for a long time shaped the way I saw myself.  If I had realized my blackness for myself through my own eyes, then maybe it would have been a more positive experience. 

I’m really happy for you Bryant.  I hope the things you say you want aren’t just meaningless words.  I really do believe in your strength as a leader, a friend and a man. 

Thanks,

Shannon