« John Bowe on Modern Slavery in America | Main | Factotum »
November 05, 2007
Black Man, Whatcha Got to Lose
Short fiction. Some ignorant people accused me of racism for this piece and I withdrew it from publication because I didn't want controversy at the time. The truth is afican american communities are exploited by white slum lords and others who condemn afican americans for their own impoverishment. I am trying to expose this hypocrisy. So, I am republishing this story. Take a long look before you call somebody else racist for exposing exploitation, and actually read the piece before you level charges of racism.
"Whatcha got to lose?" the social worker, a white man in his fifties, shouted at the young man as he was being taken away in handcuffs between two policeman. "Whatcha doin' for your people? What any y'all doin' fer yer people? Y'all sittin' in jail. If ya wanna fight fer somethin', fight fer yer people, and not fer rich white people and their wars so they can get richer."
"You tell me where I can get a job and make money. Shit, the white people own everything. How you gonna fight that?"
"By not helpin' them get richer. Yer better off workin' at Macdonalds part time and helpin' out yer mama 'stead a goin' ta jail."
"I make more money in one hour than I would in a week at Macdonalds, man."
"Yeh, before you go off to jail and sit there for years. Man, you gonna be an old man and ain't gonna have a dime 'cause you spent all yer life in prison. Man, then you gonna die and yer life ain't mattered a goddamn. Man, doncha know yer the future? Twenty-five percent of all young black men sittin' in jail. Instead, you could be tellin' the world you're alive, you need a job, you need an education, you need recognition. "
"Fuck that shit. You don't know what yer talkin' 'bout, old man."
"Look around you. Do you like what you see?"
The man looked over at the two burly white policemen with their guns. The crumbling concrete, the stinking exhaust, the rat infested allies. Women and children in second hand clothing. Across the street a woman was at her little boy to drop a used condom. On the corner was a liquor store with bars on the windows. All the broken down cars he had looked at for years were still there. Houses hadn't been painted for years. An eviction notice was tacked to the door of his grandmother's house that morning. He turned back to the preacher.
"Don't matter to me if I go to jail or not."
