He awoke to brightness. Not of sunlight, but of a room well-lit like an examination room. One where any hint of shadow or less than perfect illumination might cast doubt on a critical diagnosis or medical procedure.
A few blinks of his eyelids, shorter between each one, allowed his eyes to focus. He sat up in a bed he had no recollection of ever having lain down in. In the room near the bed stood a metal table, an empty chair nearest to him, and across the table another chair, this one occupied by a man. The man smiled in a way that gave no hint of malice.
“Welcome. How do you feel?” said the man.
“I…I feel okay…except my mind is foggy.”
“You’re in a place of safety. When you’re ready, you’re welcome to join me at the table.”
After a few moments and with some difficulty due to his wobbly legs, the man in the bed took the empty chair. He immediately noticed his hands and arms were much darker than the other man. A white man. He’s a white man.
The white man must’ve read his mind and let out a friendly laugh. “Yes, our skin colors are quite different.”
The black man examined his hands and forearms, then looked around the room. Mirrors. Are there any mirrors? The room’s white walls held no mirrors. “Is my whole body this color?”
The white man smiled again. “Yes. Except for the palms of your hands, which I see you’ve already noticed, and the soles of your feet.” The black man looked down and saw that he wore socks; and for a moment he thought of taking these off to check.
“If you want to verify, go ahead. Take your time.”
A cacophony of jumbled thoughts swirled in the black man’s head, none of which made sense, and he tried to push these aside and focus. He left the socks untouched. “Where am I? Who are you?”
“All very good and reasonable questions under the circumstances,” said the white man. “As I said, you’re in a place of safety—I’ll get into that in greater detail later, if you’ll pardon me the delay. I’m Thomas. I’m a historian. I’d like to ask you a few questions. Can you remember your name?”
The black man dropped his eyes. There was both confusion and frustration on his face. A few seconds passed and he looked up. “No.”
The white man nodded. “That’s normal. Your mind is getting itself in focus. It’s best we go slow at first. Is that okay?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember what happened?”
This time the answer came without hesitation, a look flashed on the black man’s face, like he’d been slapped: “I was at…at a building of some sort…with others, many others. I can’t remember the city. We were outside. Then sudden darkness…a brief silent darkness of an instant. Then I woke up here.”
“That is a good recollection. Oftentimes, the most recent memory comes back first. It can be startling.”
The black man shook his head. “The image…it was as if it leaped into my mind. Yet, I can’t remember my name.”
“Like I said, it’s not unusual for someone in your situation not to recall his name at first. What I’d like to do is go over some things that have happened since you were at that building. It was actually quite a while ago, as I’ll also explain later.” The black man nodded an obvious assent.
The white man continued. “The place you’re from has millions of people who have your skin color and millions that have my skin color. There are many shades within each of these two colors, but the basic categories that I’d like to discuss are black and white. Does that surprise you?”
The black man knew immediately it was no surprise at all, glad for another snippet of recollection. “No. I recall…it’s still cloudy in my mind…that it was important to a lot of people and…and I tried to get them to not think of it as being so important.”
The white man nodded. “Yes. You gave a remarkable speech on that very topic. The gist of it was that people should be judged based on their character as a person rather than the color of their skin.”
The black man nodded. “That seems very sensible. I said that?”
“You did.” The white man gave the black man time to think. It was obvious he was slowly getting his wits back.
The black man sat up a little straighter in the chair. “It’s starting to come back to me. There were a lot of…things which compelled me to give that speech. Terrible deeds and injustices over many years. The people who look like me wanted to be treated in the same manner as the people who…I’m sorry…who look like you.”
“No offense taken. What you just said is a good summary of our understanding of what you hoped would happen, a world in which the color of a person’s skin was irrelevant.”
Again, the white man paused. This time the silence lasted for several minutes before the black man said, “Did the speech make a difference?”
The white man steepled his hands on the table, not in a manner of supplication but of solemnity. “By any rational assessment, yes. Many people of all races accept your basic premise that people be judged by their character rather than immutable traits over which they have no control—skin color for example. I’d like to go over things which eventually came to pass after it went…well, went dark for you.”
The black man could feel the fog in his head clearing, slowly but steadily, a rising sun burning through an all-encompassing night mist. He saw a large crowd gathered in front of him…in…in a place called Washington, D.C. He couldn’t quite make out the words he was saying, but he could see in the faces of the crowd nearest him that he was making an important connection with them, eyes given hope. “Yes. I’d like to know.”
“Very well. Eventually, a black man was elected President of the United States and then reelected.”
The black man’s eyes widened. “Oh, mercy. How many years after the speech did that happen?”
The white man paused a few moments, then said, “Forty-five.”
The black man did some calculations in his head. “But that means…”
The white man knew from experience that these timeline discrepancies caused distress during the initial interview—except for those oblivious to this, which were usually boring interviews and yielded little information of value, certainly nothing justifying a paper. “Try not to think about that, just yet. Let me share more details with you. Please let me know if the pace is too fast or too slow.”
Though obviously troubled by the time lag, the black man gave a silent assent.
“Many large cities in the United States have or have had black mayors, largely black city councils, and the police chiefs of these cities are often black. Many of these black public servants are also female.”
The black man’s voice raised, strong in the manner the white man recalled from the planet’s archives. “Praise the Lord. I can’t believe that day came to pass. And our Negro sisters, too.” He thought of standing in jubilation, but his legs trembled in unsteadiness. “May I ask which cities have elected a Negro mayor?”
“New York…Chicago…Los Angeles…Baltimore—”
“My goodness, those are the great cities of this land.”
“Many cities in the South, also.”
“The South?” His voice immediately became subdued in astonishment, becoming almost a whisper.
The look of incredulity made the white man smile again and he said, “Atlanta and Birmingham, for example.” The black man’s face suddenly looked as if a dizzy spell came over him. “I’m sorry, would you like to lie down for a while?”
The black man raised a hand. “No…no…go ahead, I’m alright.”
The white man continued. “Several years after the first black president, a dark-skinned female became Vice President of the United States, though some people disputed if she actually is black.”
A puzzled look came to the black man’s face. “Seems an odd thing to dispute. I’ve heard of disputes about whether or not someone is white. The odious one drop rule, as they call it.”
The white man shrugged. “It does indeed seem odd. She wasn’t exactly trying to pass in the way meant by that term. The time came when people—white people—were caught trying to pass as being black. Quite a few well-publicized scandals resulted, in fact.”
The black man’s eyes widened in shock. “Blessed Jesus, white people wanting to be black? I didn’t think I’d ever see that day.”
The white man nodded. “We found that remarkable, especially since it was coupled at the same time with claims that things were never worse for black people. Definitely a paradox.”
“But you said there was a black president, and then a dark-skinned woman became Vice President. I’d assume there were extensive improvements in the Negro’s lot if this happened. How could things be horrible for black people if we reached the political mountain top?”
The white man paused in thought before answering. “My area of expertise is historical incongruity—and this situation is a particularly perplexing example of it. We believe a black person born in your time or earlier would’ve rejoiced—from the mountain top, you yourself might’ve said, if I may be so forward as to speculate on that—in celebration of the remarkable racial progress in the United States.”
The black man said, “I’m sorry for interrupting your recitation. What you’ve told me so far gladdens my heart more than I can say. Please continue, if there is indeed more to tell me.”
“Indeed, there’s much more: Both of the major political parties—it’s still Democrats and Republicans—have had respected black candidates vie to be their presidential nominee, including winning the nomination and becoming president, as I’ve mentioned.”
“I’m gladdened to hear the Democrats cast aside their bigotry. I assume it was a black Republican who ascended to that highest of office.”
“Uh, no. The first black president was a Democrat.”
“Praise Jesus, that the wicked can at last cast darkness from their heart.”
“There’s much more,” said the white man. “In addition, a white president appointed black Secretaries of State, one of whom was a black female. There has been a black Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and black Cabinet heads. In a particularly remarkable case, a black pediatric neurosurgeon was appointed head of the Department of Housing—”
“Praise the Lord, once again, he must be a hero to black folks everywhere.” The look on the white man’s face immediately threw cold water on the black man’s jubilation; like there was bad news to share and he didn’t know how to do it.
“One would certainly think so, but this occurred at the time when black people who didn’t fully adopt what one might call, a certain orthodoxy, were attacked mercilessly.”
The black man sadly shook his head. “Oh, Lord Jesus, is it the Klan; are they still around and working their vile mischief?”
The white man exhaled before continuing. “Oh, my goodness, how do I put this. It wasn’t the Klan. They’re pretty much an impotent group these days.”
“Praise that,” said the black man. “But then who was it? A black pediatric neurosurgeon; I don’t know exactly what that is, but it sounds profoundly important. I’d assume such would be an inspiration to all black people, that the Negro can reach the highest levels of achievement we’ve so long desired.”
“Yes…um. We, too, assumed such a thing would be a great milestone; but others, for want of a better term, I’ll use the common pejorative: social justice warriors, or SJWs; they thought otherwise.”
Though he prided himself of being a man of peace—yes, he now remembered that clearly—the black man felt anger well up, which he struggled to keep under control. “Who are these people? If they’re not the Klan, are they Nazis or something akin to that?”
“Oh, the SJWs love to accuse others of that very thing, being Nazis or Klansmen. They’ve for all intents and purposes trivialized those terms into insipidity, though they often use similar tactics; for example, they’re big on silencing opinion and ideas they don’t like—the methods they employ are comically inane, but nonetheless effective. But if you ask them, they fancy themselves the champion of the black race, at least those black men, black women, and black tra—”
The white man hesitated, giving himself time to collect his own thoughts. The black man found this confusing, but gave the other man the courtesy of a silent wait. Finally, the white man continued. “The SJWs consider themselves compassionate and just, if you ask them; though our psychologists describe their mental condition as pathological self-sanctimony.”
The black man’s voice strengthened further, taking on a cadence which the interviewer recognized from the newsreels: “Sanctimony is how one masks the false pride which the Devil instills in men’s hearts. A false pride of narcissism and self-aggrandizement. A false pride that leads to nefarious deeds which are contrary to the wishes of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.”
“I’d love to have an interview with Jesus, like this one I’m having with you.”
“Oh, that I would witness such a discussion with the Lord. That I would hear from him directly his love and wisdom.”
“I’ve got more. There exists a large black middle class in America. There are black billionaires and many black millionaires. Black CEOs of large companies, black university administrators and professors, and not just at historically black colleges.”
“Oh, my goodness,” said the black man.
“Black students can attend any school or university. Some states passed laws prohibiting using race as a basis for university admissions, including California, where this effort was spearheaded by a black man.”
“Oh my, what a wonderful thing. He must be a hero to black people everywhere. That these steps to a colorblind society move ever forward.”
“Well…uh…the SJWs, who are largely white I might add, accused him of being what they call an Uncle Tom, even a racist.”
The black man shook his head vigorously. “I don’t understand how such a thing can be considered racist.”
“It is puzzling. One of my colleagues calls this conundrum, intellectual self-immolation. It may become a separate area of study, even though I’ve argued it’s merely a subcategory of historical incongruity.”
The black man ignored the academic considerations. “What about in the South? Is the Negro still discouraged from attending the great universities in the South?”
“No. In fact, black student athletes are recruited from far and wide, and worshipped as gods by both white and black students.”
The black man shook his head forcefully. “There should be no false idols, sayeth the Lord.”
“Yes, that’s an issue worthy of its own separate study. There are black television shows, watched by people of all races; likewise, black entertainers and comedians. Interracial dating and marriage are fairly common. There are black astronauts, black airline pilots, black commanders of naval vessels. A form of music started in the black community is called rap. White kids emulated it. It also became very popular in Korea and Japan.”
“Oh, my word. That seems like a wonderful thing, folks sharing cultures.”
“Yes, you would think so.”
“Oh, is that a problem, also?”
“Yes. The SJWs claim it’s cultural appropriation. For example, they aggressively went after a white lady in Oregon who opened a burrito restaurant. Their claim is that only people of Mexican descent can make and sell Mexican food.”
An expression of incredulity and heartbreak set itself on the black man’s face. “What does that even mean? We’re all God’s children, after all. Would they have the Negro in America dressed in animal skins with a bone through his nose so that he does not appropriate the white man’s ways? Would they have us worship the animal spirits and tribal gods of Africa rather than God Almighty?”
“They also get upset about the use of the word Negro. They use African-American or Person of Color.”
“African-American? I will not have my people dragged back to Africa by their clever word-smithing.”
“Some of these things it pains me to share with you, but I want to be upfront.”
“I appreciate that. Please don’t let my reactions dissuade you. Go on.”
“Black people from Africa and the Caribbean want to move here, and we have many immigrants from those parts of the world.”
“That the foreign Negro would voluntarily come to America on his own volition rather than draped in chains is surely a momentous reflection on the progress made, that ours is at last a fair and just society to all its citizens. That must reflect well on us as a people.”
“I agree. Unfortunately, the SJWs disregard this phenomenon and sometimes accuse these black immigrants of trying to act white or being white supremacists.”
“Blacks accused of being white supremacists? These notions seem illogical.”
“We’re trying to sort this out ourselves. Hence, this research. Acting white is a derogatory term used by some in the black community, which means to work and study hard and do one’s best to advance in life.”
“How is that controversial? Dear Jesus, the opposite of that attitude is poisonous to any people, especially the Negro.”
“Undoubtably. People use your name to ask that very question, such as when some of these perverse notions grossly contradict the message of the great speech you gave that day in Washington, D.C.”
“I do not want to appear bereft of humility, but if my name is brought forth in defense of these ideas, may I ask what is the reaction of those you call SJWs?”
“The ones who quote your speech are accused of…of being racist.”
The black man sagged back in his chair, shaking his head dejectedly. “From what you’ve shared with me, I gather staggering progress has been made getting the Negro to the promised land of equality and fairness. Yet all this seems rife with unfathomable contradictions, backsliding, and incongruity (to use your word), that makes me think the Devil himself is involved.”
“Well along those lines, I should also tell you a federal holiday was created in your name. There was certainly resistance at first to this holiday, but most people believe in their hearts that your words and deeds were noble and good.”
“Oh, my goodness. I sought nor want such an honor. A black man honored in the same way as George Washington, the Father of Our Country, or Abraham Lincoln, our Great Emancipator.”
The white man squirmed slightly in his chair. “Uh, about that. A school district in San Francisco proposed removing Abraham Lincoln’s name from a school. They claim he’s racist.”
The black man became visibly angry. “Do these people not hear themselves speak? Do they expect Godly perfection in mortal man? Do they intend to judge what is within men’s hearts, a task reserved exclusively for our Creator? Do they ignore manifest deeds of goodness which may be but one part of the flawed character inherent to all men?”
The white man sighed. “They do indeed. You should also know that the Emancipator statue in Boston was removed. The SJWs said it was racist.”
The anger remained set on the black man’s face. “That statue was paid for by freed slaves grateful to the very man who freed them. It sounds as if the Negro is once again to be made separate from his fellow Americans, treated in vastly different ways because of the color of his skin.”
The white man nodded. “That is what we found interesting during our study of this history. By any measure, tremendous progress has been made regarding race relations in America, and, yet, it led to a time when a very vocal minority of people, largely white SJWs, became obsessed with race and other identifiers, and managed to have a disproportionate influence on public discourse and policy. We remain puzzled about the bizarre irrationality they apply to seemingly everything. For example, SJWs—many of whom are white—insisted rioters be allowed to loot and burn down black communities with impunity if the crimes were allegedly done to fight against racism.”
The anger on the black man’s face traded itself for an abysmally deep dejection. “It seems everything I hoped for has us back to a place where, though the Negro may be far better off materially, and he is integrated into society like never before, including at the highest levels of government, academia, and business, the color of his skin is all that really matters.”
The white man debated whether to continue. The obvious pain on the black man’s face felt like his own pain at revealing these cruel truths. “The holiday in your honor was recently rescinded.”
“Did they finally realize I prefer unpretentiousness and want no such honor?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then why?”
“It is because of the speech you gave that day long ago. The SJWs…they claim you’re a racist.”
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