By William J. Jackson
Dear Barack Hussein Obama.
Folks locking their doors when you walk by is nothing.
Getting mistaking for a parking valet is nothing.
Let’s isolate your story about being mistaken for a parking valet.
Just being mistaken for one shows that you were at a restaurant that fancy in the first place, dude.
Your black existence is not at all like ours.
Starting with your conception.
The black side of your bloodline isn’t even connected to that whole transatlantic thing that went down a while ago.
Then, you grew up in Hawaii.where you were sent to a private school.
You left the island to come to the continent to go to college.
Microaggressions are annoying as shit and build resentment.
That said. In your lifetime of over half a century, you’ve experienced far fewer than those of us who weren’t privileged to be conceived and born into your relatively privileged existence and are just around half your age.
What you do when you tell these weak ass stories, is you’re telling the generally uniformed public a very soft, sanitized side of white supremacy.
You are sending them to bed with sweet dreams of a nice world that doesn’t exist.
You are using your bully pulpit to drown out the voices of us who could pay a bill with what you spent on your meal at the restaurant where you were mistaken as a valet.
Yes.. If you had a son, he would look like Trayvon.
He would also be in the white house with armed guards where the Zimmermans of the world can’t get to him.
The best thing you can do the next time you get near a microphone is pass it to one of us.
That is if you’re not afraid of what we might say.