I Have Questions For Those Light Of Skin And Dark Of Heart

What is one to do, born into a world that has already prejudged a person according to color? What does one do as a boy confronted with bitter anger and cursing, a child called monkey, big lips, ugly, ape, Buckwheat? A child told that he has no soul?

What does one do, growing up trying to believe in life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, and finding it does not exist for some because of the color of their skin? When people assume that you are a gang banger, a dope runner, a juvenile delinquent because you are of color?

What does a man of color do when our society says “all men are created equal,” never realizing that we have aspirations and dreams, never realizing that I could be a doctor, lawyer, judge or just a nice human being with a kind and generous heart?

I want to walk the streets with my head held high because I am proud of who I am, not asking for any handouts, not asking for charity, just expecting to be treated like a man and be given the same opportunities as others. Wanting not to be hired as a quota, or for the color of my skin, but on the merit of my resume, my work experience. Not wanting to kill, steal or destroy, but just to be able to live in peace and make a decent living for my family.

What does one do when you try to communicate your feelings and are told that you could get killed right here in Spokane for being outspoken - yet change will not come if one does not speak out about the injustices that are done to people of color?

What does one do when your baby comes home in tears, crying because other children will not play with her because they have been told she is not good enough, and yet you tell your beautiful Nubian Queen that she is somebody, that she is special and that she is a child of God created in “His” image, that she can be and do anything, just like other children?

What does one do when you worry about your son, who is bright and intelligent and lives in this city of Spokane that is showing prejudice and bias because they do not like the way your son dresses or walks or talks, never realizing that he is a good student in school, that he is a young man of compassion who cares for others whether they are black or white?

What does one do, when there has been a vicious, brutal killing by another man of color who has taken the lives of two beautiful intelligent young women, and now people will begin to think that every other man of color is, quote, DANGEROUS?

What does a man do, when you have served your country for 20 years, gone to Vietnam, fought for this country, only to come back and be told that you are not good enough, because you know that they are looking at the color of your skin?

Tell me, what does one do after 400 years of turmoil, when, generations later, we are still being persecuted for being people of color?

What does one do day after day, resume after resume, cover letter after cover letter, knowing that you are just as qualified as the next man or woman, only to have the letter “N” marked in the corner of your paper, to let others know that you are a person of color.

Why? Can you tell me why? When the employment people on good old Arthur Street sit in their nice, comfortable chairs, with their secure jobs, leaning back, looking at you as if you were some stupid individual who has just walked off the streets and said: “Hey, give me a job. I don’t have any qualifications, but I know you can get me a job.” But I have the experience. I have the skills, the abilities and, yes, I can get the job done. So where is the job?

What does one do? When you walk to business place after business place and people scowl as if they could rip your face for daring to enter, ignoring you when you ask for an application because you have seen an ad for employment in the Spokesman-Review. When they look at you and say, “We just filled that position,” and you find out later that they are still accepting applications.

What does one do when you have to look at your family day after day, month after mouth and feel as if you have failed them in some way or another, and they see the hurt in your eyes and the frustration and the pain of trying to keep your chin up and a smile on your face and laughter in your voice, knowing that there is so much pain, and even at times anger, that you want to explode in your pain, that you want to scream and say: “Hey! People, I am here, and I am not going anywhere. I have every right to live here in Spokane!”

What does one do?

I am truly looking for an answer here, right here in the good old city of Spokane, Wash.

xxxx