Being Black

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

What's it like being black in America?

What’s it like being Black in America?

It’s your heart skipping a beat every time you drive past a police cruiser because even though you’re doing nothing wrong, you know that could be your last drive.

It’s not wanting kids of your own because you know you’d be bringing an innocent child into a world where they are a threat from the time they let out their first cries.

It’s having to keep your truth silent because your white employers “don’t want controversy.”

It’s realizing that as a coach hearing the deafening silence of your students’ parents on issues you face, that they never cared about you, just what you could do for their kids.

It’s growing up ignorant of the horrors that your country committed against your people post-slavery because history is written by those in power.

It’s having white people gaslight you your entire life for being afraid to stay out late nights.

What’s it like being Black in America?

It’s seeing people that look like you beaten and murdered in broad daylight what seems like every other week by people who are supposed to protect us. When you see it, at first you’re angry, but then the hopelessness sets in because you remember your place. That no matter how successful you become, no matter how much money you make, no matter how many people you help, you’re just another nigga


Submitted: May 31, 2020

© Copyright 2021 Anthony Quest. All rights reserved.

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Comments

Jobe Rubens

Living like this must cause you a great deal of anxiety. A lot of tension in the YouEss at the moment. We know what recently happened. Only adds fuel to the fire - no wonder there's been riots. History repeating itself because the karma of the past wasn't properly addressed. I went to London once for an audition. After a whole day of drama workshops, I needed to get the train back to the southwest where I lived. I didn't know my way around. I needed to get to Paddington Station. I asked a guy to help me. He was black. His name was Mark. He actually went with me, making sure I got to where I needed to be. He was the kindest person I ever met.

Sun, May 31st, 2020 7:57pm

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