QUARANTINE LIFE: FICTIVE KINSHIP STRIKES AGAIN

Finding yourself in circles where you are "the only", or among the few, is a tricky place to be. 

You have to know why you’ve been chosen. 

Most job candidates (and even tokens) would prefer to think they’re actually qualified, valuable, wanted, respected, and not merely being used as a prop or a puppet. 

Remember how we used to revere Ben Carson? 

“We” had a brain surgeon! 

He was posted high up on every Black History Month bulletin board. We had to buy and read his book. Now we shake our heads when he speaks. Given his medical background, why is HE not the surgeon general? But I digress...

There just seems to be a pattern, in this administration, of appointing people who are compromised, unprincipled, unqualified, or yes men.

 
Black people, clearly, are not a monolith. 

There is no meeting place where we all convene to decide how we’re all going to think, and what we’re all going to support.

 

I’m a 60’s baby so I get why hearing “Big Mama” being uttered across a White House podium was offensive at most, and shocking at least.  He, however, didn’t understand what was between the lines of his words. He hadn’t considered all of the old school rules dictating what you don’t do when in the company of white folk. 

He probably was told, “They’ll listen to you.” because, of course, we supposedly don’t understand standard English. 

"Mother", "father", and "grandmother" apparently don’t have the same impact upon the smoking, drinking, salt pork-eating, diabetes-ridden sons and daughters of slaves and immigrants of color.

For as long as I can remember, we’ve been getting, and are still giving the “be twice as good” speeches, as we set out to prove we’re worthy to exist, and aren’t savages. 

Our elders taught us how to stay alive; 

how to play the game; 

to know when to turn it on, and when to turn it off. 

They taught out of fear and insecurity and personal experience.

 
We look to those in high places and public arenas to represent us all—and to avoid embarrassing and shaming us all. 

One blunder by one of us will mess it up for the rest of us, right? 

At some point, Uncle Tom, who was the intended hero in Stowe’s book, became the enemy. The “acceptable”, “good” Negro is either criticized for being uppity and thinking himself equal to white people, or ridiculed for “talking white” and thinking himself better than his own people. 

Our discernment is keen because of racism. 

Fictive kinship makes us sensitive to every move and word one of us makes. It’s akin to telling family business when company comes. 

The Surgeon General made an attempt at code switching, and it made some people cringe. Frankly, he lost me when he said 45 was healthier than himself. In this bizarre administration, kissing up seems to be a requirement. 

I think the young brother, like all of those surrounding 45, are just trying to keep their jobs. 

None of them ever look comfortable, or sound like they believe the words coming out of their own mouths.