One thing that hounds me to my core, is the irony of these people asking why we have to make everything about race. Why we are so inclined to play the victim.
Centuries of this particular group of people inventing an elaborate way to stratify the world, having economic, social, political, juridical implications, resulting in the rampant inequality in our society today.
They gorge themselves freely on all the privileges afforded to them through their own ancestor’s creation of the social construct of race, and then, they fix their mouths to ask us why we focus on race. Almost pitifully, as though we are the ones perpetuating a problem that they claimed was safely locked away in the past.
As though the past of slavery, colonisation and apartheid exists in its own parallel universe, as though our new and improved universe has no relation to it whatsoever.
They sit there and talk about how colorblind they are, after their ancestors drilled the lens of color into our psyches. Theirs were left untouched apparently. Being unable to see color rendered them immune to their well-established superiority, and in denial of our well-established inferiority. Tear the world apart racially to make yourselves the most dominant and most comfortable, grant your subjects their hard-fought freedom, then continue to casually reap the fruits of your labour while insisting that you no longer see race.
After they have worked our forefathers to death to build the streets on which they walk, the buildings in which they sit, the pedestal from which they look down on us and ask why so downtrodden.
They wonder why we need handouts. Why we feel like “the world” owes us something.
While scrolling on their phones made by the material bubbling plentiful in the lands that they continue to rape, shamelessly, the rape they refuse to publicly denounce.
Why we need handouts, huh? After we have been the working class for as long as their own history chooses to remember, after we worked against our will for years, unpaid, unappreciated and hated, in lands we were forced to adopt, in lands which after we toiled and farmed and built from the very ground up, were then told they owed us nothing. Nothing at all.
They wonder why we are so lazy, why we have no work ethic, after we slaved for the sake of their comfort,farming, cooking, cleaning, washing, mending, fetching, nursing,raising. So that they could sit around and drink tea and marvel at their own dominance and construct a new society where their full-grown children can ask us without the slightest bit of irony, why we can’t seem to fend for ourselves.
The question is, why can’t you fend for yourselves? Could you have slaved for yourselves? Could you have been the backbone of your own country? Could you exist without a false sense of superiority buffering you at every turn? Could you ever be in our shoes and learn to resist the urge that springs forth like a mad cat every time apathy masked as ignorance rears its oblivious little head?