I Had Consumed A Lot Of American

There Were People Thrice Her Size On The Trenton Platform And She Looked Admiringly At One Of Them, A Woman In A Very Short Skirt. She Thought Nothing Of Slender Legs Shown Off In Miniskirts--it Was Safe And Easy, After All, To Display Legs Of Which The World Approved--but The Fat Woman's Act Was About The Quiet Conviction That One Shared Only With Oneself, A Sense Of Rightness That Others Failed To See.

Dear Non-american Black, When You Make The Choice To Come To America, You Become Black. Stop Arguing. Stop Saying I'm Jamaican Or I'm Ghanaian. America Doesn't Care.

Richard Exhaled. It Was Like Somebody Sprinkling Pepper On His Wound: Thousands Of Biafrans Were Dead, And This Man Wanted To Know If There Was Anything New About One Dead White Man. Richard Would Write About This, The Rule Of Western Journalism: One Hundred Dead Black People Equal To One Dead White Person.

Stories Can Break The Dignity Of A People, But Stories Can Also Repair That Broken Dignity.

In America, Racism Exists But Racists Are All Gone. Racists Belong To The Past. Racists Are The Thin-lipped Mean White People In The Movies About The Civil Rights Era. Here's The Thing: The Manifestation Of Racism Has Changed But The Language Has Not. So If You Haven't Lynched Somebody Then You Can't Be Called A Racist. If You're Not A Bloodsucking Monster, Then You Can't Be Called A Racist. Somebody Has To Be Able To Say That Racists Are Not Monsters.