Debut Post - Don't Abuse the Black Cap
Most people are familiar with the term "thinking cap." It's a metaphor that kindergarten teachers use to force their kids to stop dreaming and starting focusing on the lesson. Four- and five-year-olds have the thinking cap impressed upon them. It is implied that once you place your thinking cap onto your head, it alters your state of consciousness so that you can think in an educationally appropriate manner. And kids put it on with little resistance. Because they know that paying attention to the teacher's objective is more valuable than what's on their mind in that given moment. Sometimes, Black people have to put on their Black cap during conversations. This garment, when placed onto a Black person's head, alters their state of consciousness so that they can use social justice jargon, put everything into a Black social justice perspective, and ultimately play the role of the woke Black friend. I reiterate, the benefits of putting on the cap take priority over what the person is dealing with at that point in time.
I like to believe that every Black person in our country has a Black cap. Some don their Black cap in response to a big controversial event. Some wear theirs only in the presence of other Black people; some do in front of White people. And there are the few who wear their Black cap no matter the situation and will only put it to rest before going to bed.
The Black cap can also be slanted, attached at the belt loop, even stuffed into one's pocket.
Those who wear theirs for most of the day usually have a thick skull (No shade, just tea). Needless to say, there are some people who are more resistant to challenges, be them physical or emotional. We say that people who have a thick skull have a good sense of tolerance because they do not often get phased by obstacles that may come up on the day-to-day. Ask either of my older sisters, and they will testify that as a kid I had the thinnest, apple peel-type skull. I used to be so sensitive that almost anything upsetting would shake me to the core. I once cried because I had to eat a sandwich with the end piece of bread. Anyway, I developed a fairly thick skull after years and years of being roasted by my "friends," teachers, and dear family members.
So it's no wonder that by my teen years I was stone cold enough to enter the online world. People started to enjoy the way that I reacted to problematic events in the socialverse. That's one of the reasons that today a lot of non-Black people approach me to have conversations about race.
But sometimes I get tired of wearing my Black cap. I can only have racially-focused discussions for a finite amount of time before I get exhausted. Blackness is a trait that prescribes much of my personality, but I always have to return to what makes me unique later in the day.
Why is wearing the Black cap exhausting? For a multitude of reasons. But primarily, the more you concentrate on the state of the Black community, the more angry you will become at how slowly society is moving toward addressing our issues. The Black experience can be depressing, frustrating, desensitizing, etc. And if you dwell on it for too long it can take a toll on one's mental health. Lemmetellya, there are times when I have to go days on end without wearing my Black cap simply so I could heal from my residual frustration.
Every now and then, I'll be talking to a non-Black acquaintance, shooting the breeze (not literally—I don't condone any type of violence enacted on any breeze whatsoever) and they'll bring up a racial topic... while I'm bare-headed! In my head I'm thinking ~Okay, it's time to put dat Black cap back on and slay something insightful boi~ And my voluntary effort to put my Black cap on may lead to some healthy discourse. In the end, that person might learn more about society from a Black perspective because of it. But then once I take the cap back off I have to go through my self care routines again to protect my mental state. It can get tiring.
Now, the moment I just described happens differently depending on who I'm interacting with. If I'm talking to a close friend and I have to go through this process, it's not as much of a burden as when it's with a near-stranger.
People who know nothing about who I am as an individual will force me to put on my Black cap. And when I'm thrust into this situation I have little choice as to whether or not I will engage in the process. If I tell them "Go ask some other Black person cause you're obvi a leech who likes to suck on Black people's political ideas just to feed your own intellectual hunger," that person at the very least will get their feelings hurt. I don't want strangers to feel like they can't ask for knowledge. But it's almost as if my social prowess is being exploited without any attempt made to understand my other perspectives (i.e. I'm also queer, middle-class, and male),
If your question is, how do I talk about race with someone if I can't tell whether or not they're wearing their Black cap? 1) Get to know them as a person. Try establishing a connection with them so they will be more comfortable opening up about their experiences as a minority. Just know that this takes time to achieve and involves working your social muscles. 2) Don't bombard them with questions that dig into their life. You don't ask about past relationships on the first date, so why would you ask about someone's trauma early in the conversation? Start at the surface so you don't overwhelm them. If you make someone your friend before you make them your black friend, it's a recipe for a delicious multiracial friendship-cake.
Before I conclude this, remember that my experiences and identity are my own, and I do not speak on behalf of all of my Black kin.
I like to believe that every Black person in our country has a Black cap. Some don their Black cap in response to a big controversial event. Some wear theirs only in the presence of other Black people; some do in front of White people. And there are the few who wear their Black cap no matter the situation and will only put it to rest before going to bed.
The Black cap can also be slanted, attached at the belt loop, even stuffed into one's pocket.
Those who wear theirs for most of the day usually have a thick skull (No shade, just tea). Needless to say, there are some people who are more resistant to challenges, be them physical or emotional. We say that people who have a thick skull have a good sense of tolerance because they do not often get phased by obstacles that may come up on the day-to-day. Ask either of my older sisters, and they will testify that as a kid I had the thinnest, apple peel-type skull. I used to be so sensitive that almost anything upsetting would shake me to the core. I once cried because I had to eat a sandwich with the end piece of bread. Anyway, I developed a fairly thick skull after years and years of being roasted by my "friends," teachers, and dear family members.
So it's no wonder that by my teen years I was stone cold enough to enter the online world. People started to enjoy the way that I reacted to problematic events in the socialverse. That's one of the reasons that today a lot of non-Black people approach me to have conversations about race.
But sometimes I get tired of wearing my Black cap. I can only have racially-focused discussions for a finite amount of time before I get exhausted. Blackness is a trait that prescribes much of my personality, but I always have to return to what makes me unique later in the day.
Why is wearing the Black cap exhausting? For a multitude of reasons. But primarily, the more you concentrate on the state of the Black community, the more angry you will become at how slowly society is moving toward addressing our issues. The Black experience can be depressing, frustrating, desensitizing, etc. And if you dwell on it for too long it can take a toll on one's mental health. Lemmetellya, there are times when I have to go days on end without wearing my Black cap simply so I could heal from my residual frustration.
Every now and then, I'll be talking to a non-Black acquaintance, shooting the breeze (not literally—I don't condone any type of violence enacted on any breeze whatsoever) and they'll bring up a racial topic... while I'm bare-headed! In my head I'm thinking ~Okay, it's time to put dat Black cap back on and slay something insightful boi~ And my voluntary effort to put my Black cap on may lead to some healthy discourse. In the end, that person might learn more about society from a Black perspective because of it. But then once I take the cap back off I have to go through my self care routines again to protect my mental state. It can get tiring.
Now, the moment I just described happens differently depending on who I'm interacting with. If I'm talking to a close friend and I have to go through this process, it's not as much of a burden as when it's with a near-stranger.
People who know nothing about who I am as an individual will force me to put on my Black cap. And when I'm thrust into this situation I have little choice as to whether or not I will engage in the process. If I tell them "Go ask some other Black person cause you're obvi a leech who likes to suck on Black people's political ideas just to feed your own intellectual hunger," that person at the very least will get their feelings hurt. I don't want strangers to feel like they can't ask for knowledge. But it's almost as if my social prowess is being exploited without any attempt made to understand my other perspectives (i.e. I'm also queer, middle-class, and male),
If your question is, how do I talk about race with someone if I can't tell whether or not they're wearing their Black cap? 1) Get to know them as a person. Try establishing a connection with them so they will be more comfortable opening up about their experiences as a minority. Just know that this takes time to achieve and involves working your social muscles. 2) Don't bombard them with questions that dig into their life. You don't ask about past relationships on the first date, so why would you ask about someone's trauma early in the conversation? Start at the surface so you don't overwhelm them. If you make someone your friend before you make them your black friend, it's a recipe for a delicious multiracial friendship-cake.
Before I conclude this, remember that my experiences and identity are my own, and I do not speak on behalf of all of my Black kin.
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