Stop Being Black � Taxicab Depressions

Stop Being Black � Taxicab Depressions





Another night I was driving Dante home again, talking politics and
current events, and somehow race got injected into the discussion,
though I don’t recall the context. Dante said to me, “What are you,
man?”


I wasn’t sure what he meant, and I said, “A taxi driver?”


“No, man… what are you?”


I still wasn’t following him. “A conservative?”


“No, man, what ARE you?”


I thought for a moment and I said, “An American? A father? A husband?
A taxpayer? An artist?” Dante was shaking his head. “I dunno what you
are asking. What are you?”


Dante said, “I’m a black man.”


I was a little taken aback… Dante seemed truly surprised that I
didn’t self-identify by race. I said, “So fucking what? We are both men…
we are both Americans… why would you lock yourself in a prison of skin?
Why do you view the world through the prism of skin color? Why would
you let something that superficial stand in the way of making a better
life for you and your babies? You talk like you have some physical
disability, like you were born without legs or something. Black men have
risen to the top of every field in America… why not you? Does your
black skin somehow prevent you from being Head Chef, or even owning your
own restaurant, if you work for it? Tell me you don’t really believe
that bullshit, Dante…”


Dante just said something like, “I don’t know, man…” but he seemed
very thoughtful as he got out of the car. I don’t think a white man had
ever spoken to him like that before. I regret that I haven’t seen Dante
since… I hope he landed a better job, and that’s why I don’t see him
anymore.


After he got out of the car, I asked myself, Why don’t you self-identify as a white man?


And the response came to me almost instantaneously: Because I wasn’t raised that way.


Racism is a learned behavior.