It's Almost Funny How Sunday Becomes Monday
I am having an ongoing experience with which I am not entirely sure what to do. With a bit of naivete, admittedly, I wanted an experience to some degree outside of my blackness. Escaping America and its history, and my history, I wanted an experience that had nothing to do with the color of my skin. I recognize that unlesss I am dealing with the blind and essentially uncultured, it is an impossibility. Still, is it wrong to want something that all of my white friends take for granted; something that many of the white people I meet seem to not notice working in their lives?
Here I sit in pretty much the same place as the last two early Monday mornings: awake after having started my evening at a party on the beach and following the experience where it led me. The first Sunday I met my new Polish friends and the last two weekends I have found myself dancing at afterparties until the music stopped. Let me just point out here that evenings that begin with beach parties in Barcelona are great things indeed; and if the beach party was the end of the evening it would be great too. So far I am loving my Sundays. The thing which is dificult is the way that racism works here. Because I am a dark skinned man people assume that I am one of the number of African immigrants here. 'Are you from Senegal?' 'Are you from Ghana?' 'Are you from Nigeria' To which I answer, 'no, los Estados Unidos.' For the people who would bother to ask where I'm from, the fact that I'm from the US is a door opener. But there are a number of people for whom my blackness is enough. It doesn't matter where I'm from exactly, they just see me and assume the worst. I think the oddest part of this for me is that it has been somewhat less positive when I have been assertive and reached out than when I have just chilled and met the people who cross my path. I want to be this open somewhat assertive man reaching out to people. It works about 50% of the time, maybe less.
Coming from the US I should be used to it, but it's still no less disconcerting. To some degree it's a bit more so. I have my escape valve in a sense. If I go to the door of a club and get grief, like I did earlier this week, a mix of bad Spanish and good English changes a situation, at least temporarily. However it doesn't change the fact that I don't get those little free club invites unless I'm with whites, or the fact that I, and pretty much every African who just wants to dance has to deal with a degree of unnecessary shit. I recognize that it is a part of life, I have known it for a long time, but I guess that I'm tired of it. The result here is that I'm willing to confront it in a way that is not just, "ah, fuck you." I ask a number of clarifying questions. Perhaps it's because I think I'm in love with this city and my slowly growing life. Perhaps it's because it amuses me a little to go off in English and have the guy look at me completely clueless, or perhaps I'm a little less invested in the why-- it's not my country, all I want to do is dance. Regardless I think a lot and this subject has so far been somewhat inescapable.
Here I sit in pretty much the same place as the last two early Monday mornings: awake after having started my evening at a party on the beach and following the experience where it led me. The first Sunday I met my new Polish friends and the last two weekends I have found myself dancing at afterparties until the music stopped. Let me just point out here that evenings that begin with beach parties in Barcelona are great things indeed; and if the beach party was the end of the evening it would be great too. So far I am loving my Sundays. The thing which is dificult is the way that racism works here. Because I am a dark skinned man people assume that I am one of the number of African immigrants here. 'Are you from Senegal?' 'Are you from Ghana?' 'Are you from Nigeria' To which I answer, 'no, los Estados Unidos.' For the people who would bother to ask where I'm from, the fact that I'm from the US is a door opener. But there are a number of people for whom my blackness is enough. It doesn't matter where I'm from exactly, they just see me and assume the worst. I think the oddest part of this for me is that it has been somewhat less positive when I have been assertive and reached out than when I have just chilled and met the people who cross my path. I want to be this open somewhat assertive man reaching out to people. It works about 50% of the time, maybe less.
Coming from the US I should be used to it, but it's still no less disconcerting. To some degree it's a bit more so. I have my escape valve in a sense. If I go to the door of a club and get grief, like I did earlier this week, a mix of bad Spanish and good English changes a situation, at least temporarily. However it doesn't change the fact that I don't get those little free club invites unless I'm with whites, or the fact that I, and pretty much every African who just wants to dance has to deal with a degree of unnecessary shit. I recognize that it is a part of life, I have known it for a long time, but I guess that I'm tired of it. The result here is that I'm willing to confront it in a way that is not just, "ah, fuck you." I ask a number of clarifying questions. Perhaps it's because I think I'm in love with this city and my slowly growing life. Perhaps it's because it amuses me a little to go off in English and have the guy look at me completely clueless, or perhaps I'm a little less invested in the why-- it's not my country, all I want to do is dance. Regardless I think a lot and this subject has so far been somewhat inescapable.
posted by brotherbeat at
10:34 PM
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