“You know it was an illusion.

And you know why you know that my friend?” he asked, more as a statement rather than a question. “You know it because you remember it.” 

“I remember it?” I asked, with half my mind in the room listening to what he was saying, while the other half was running back into the past searching for answers. 

In the meantime, C. Wright continued as he twisted the knife. 

“You remember that during this feel-good moment, the racist American government, by deliberate calculation, was set on destroying our communities employing a secret and systematic plan of pouring illegal drugs at suddenly affordable prices for the first time into our community.

This they did after wiping out the social programs and job opportunities that characterized the early 1970s. As a result, by the late 1970s, the youth of our community were left hanging on the streets, especially in urban areas, with nothing to do. Bringing back any memories?” he asks, sarcastically.

I added that I indeed remembered those events. I had read books about it, but more importantly, I had seen the video footage of the documentaries that included some of the eyewitnesses and main players of this diabolical scheme. Will C. continued to dig deeper with the knife.

“The government then smuggled boat loads of cheap guns into our community,” he said. “In the end, our community was left with excessive unemployment, overrun with illicit drugs, and flooded with guns. What happened next should surprise no one.

The stage had been set for what would look like senseless internal fighting within our community that continues until now. And to make a long story short, on top of all that,” he chuckled with a look of disgust on his face, “we were being fed the ludicrous idea that racism had ended. How’s that for an American dream?” he said with obvious anger. 

As C. Wright spoke, I was reminded of just how devastating this period had been on our community, despite the happy-go-lucky image that we were all bombarded with at the time and since.  I said, “C. Wright, it’s a bleak picture you’ve describe of that time period.”

“You said that like you don’t believe it. Is that right?” he asked in a defensive tone.

“No, I think it’s very accurate. In fact,” I replied, “as you were speaking, I recalled family members and friends whose lives were cut short because of the abundance of cocaine that suddenly became plentiful in our community at the time. So, to answer your question, I can personally vouch for the accuracy of your statements.”

“It’s good to hear that we have some agreement,” he said. “Now, to finish this up, and I promise to be brief. I think it’s important that you and your listeners get the whole picture so you can understand where the misunderstanding of racism occurs today.”

“Okay, I’m all ears,” I said.

“Under all that muck,” he said, 

 “under that grand illusion,

we raised two generations of youths who only have a vague and fragmented idea of the racist past —hence the illusion of inclusion. Because we bought into the notion that we were more visible in the media, we also believed that we were more accepted and included. Consequently, the new generations that we raised grew up believing that everyone in the society was racially equal and that everyone, including us, had as much chance at “the good life” as anyone else.”

“Some of us did achieve that ‘good life’ as you call it. Didn’t we?” I asked.

“We did, for sure. And the key being that there is ‘some of us.’ You’re right on that point,” he replied. “But we must remember that it is white people who control the images we see of ourselves and of them in this society. And as long as we allow them to be the image makers, they will control how we see ourselves; good, bad or indifferent. And during this period—the illusion of inclusion era— they made sure that we saw what looked like evidence of this inclusion by giving us small, but regular, doses of it to maintain the effect.”

“What do you mean?” I asked curious. “What’s the point.”

“For example,” he said, “they would select some of our more talented people and put them on their television shows, in their movies, and in their magazines. They would show us living in their neighborhoods. We would see black sports and entertainment celebrities living the same high life as some whites. We saw their lavish “cribs”, fancy homes, and flashy cars. We still see variations of this in some form or the other in the media today. The thing is, 

 it was all part of the white people show.”

“The white people show? I said, befuddled by the concept. 

“Yeah, the white people show,” he said, not missing a beat. 

“The white people show?” I asked again intrigued, perplexed, and slowly thinking about the idea. I wondered about the concept. Will C. had unwittingly piqued my interest. I wanted to know more about this view that he was trying to explain. 

 “I don’t want to take you off topic, Will C., but tell me more about this white people show concept,” I asked. 

“Okay. Just for a moment,” he agreed. “It’s really rather self-evident when you realize it’s what we live and experience all day every day in practically every part of our lives.”

“You gotta tell me more,” I said feeling a little lost.

“Sure, but keep up,” he joked. 

“It’s where you have a show,” he explained, “that’s all about white people. It’s stories about white people, all kinds of stories, stories about their families, their trials and tribulations, their worries and concerns, their triumphs, their defeats, their problems, their love lives, their children, their adventurers, all of the above and more. Think of it this way, and you can test this out for yourself. Turn on your television set, for instance, and what do you see? More accurately, who do you see?” he asked with a directness that almost stunned me.

I thought about it for a quick second or two and said, “I think you want me to say white people, right?” I asked, not convinced. But before he could respond, I added, “I agree that what you’ve said might have been true years ago, but when you turn on a television these days, you see a wide range of diverse people. Wouldn’t you agree?” I asked.

“Is that what you see? Is that really what you see?” he asked incredulous. It made me second guess what I was certain of only a few moments ago. 

“Yeah, for the most part,” I said stumbling over the words. “I mean, I see all kinds of people black, white, yellow and brown. And I see them in commercials, sit-coms, news shows, and other programs.”

C. Wright challenged me and said, “Do you really see diversity or do you see what appears to be variety. Remember, it’s all under the control of a racist/white supremacist system. I mean, yeah, sure, I agree that you may see more diverse peoples relative to what you would have seen maybe thirty or forty years ago for example. “But,” he said with an abrupt stop, “it’s still the white people show.” 

“Don’t you think it’s a little racist to say that, C. Wright?” I asked feeling uncomfortable.

“No. Of course not!” he said almost yelling. “How can you even say that given what we’ve been talking about. I’m offended. It’s not racist at all. Just because I’m talking about racial issues does not make it racist. You sound like white people with that nonsense,” he said, clearly agitated by my statement. And by the way, you can’t be a “little racist.” Either you’re racist or you’re not. 

 It’s like being pregnant. 

Either you are or you’re not.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” I said apologetically. He waved his hand as if dismissing me and said, “Let me get back to my point.”

“The only difference between what was seen on television thirty or forty years ago and now is that there are a few black, brown, and yellow people thrown in the mix to feed the illusion of inclusion.” 

He paused for effect. Then with a slow and measured voice, he said, “They are still running the show from the board rooms to the banks. They decided what is shown, when it’s shown, who is shown or not shown, how they are shown, and how long they are shown.”

As the profundity of what he had just said was sinking in, the reality of it startled me. I responded, “I have to say, C. Wright, that I find this to be very fascinating, but I don’t want to lose track of the conversation we have at hand. Can we put this on the back burner, so to speak, and revisit it at another time?

“Absolutely, I agree,” he replied. “But let me end it by saying that I don’t want to leave you with the impression that the white people show is just something you see on television and in movies. It’s everywhere in real life, too.” 

 “So where were we?” I asked.

Without missing a beat, C. Wright, continued, “I was explaining how our last two generations grew up under the illusion of inclusion.” 

“Okay, yes, that’s right,” I agreed.

 “The bubble of that illusion,” he began, 

“has been slowly bursting over the last 10-15 years.”

“But what about the presidency of Barack Obama?” I asked. “Didn’t that serve as proof of our inclusion?”

“In a way it did, but in another way, it hastened the collapse of the bubble,” C. Wright said.

“How so?” I asked. “I’m not following you.”

“It woke up the racists,” he said glibly. But then quickly added, “Let me rephrase that,” trying to think of a better way to convey his thought. “I don’t want to be too dogmatic on this point, but I think it has some merit. It appears that many of the racist elements in this country had a temporary lapse in judgement.” 

“In what sense?” I asked. “Do you mean they had a change of heart?” 

“No, not at all,” he said. “It’s been more like an intermission.”

An intermission?” I asked. “In what way?”

“A large enough number of them,” he resumed, “were willing to take a chance on voting one of our people into the presidency. They were hoping it would further deepen the illusion of inclusion. By electing him, it made our people feel more included than ever before since we stepped foot on this soil, and it helped usher in the notion of a post-racial society.”

“But isn’t that idea of a post-racial society spoken of by white people in the media?” I asked. “I mean few, with rare exception, of our people buy into that fantasy.”

“You’re absolutely right,” C. Wright responded. “The idea of the country being post-racial is as you say, ‘a fantasy’ in the minds of mostly white people and a few misguided souls of our people. But regarding the election of President Obama, as a result, our people got a glimpse of how we might break down the doors of racial discrimination and gain real power, at least politically. But the more radical racists, that is to say the conservatives (who by default are usually racist) and many liberal racists, thought his presidency was too much, and so they reversed course.”

“Reversed course?” I exclaimed in disbelief. “Isn’t that an understatement?” I couldn’t hide my cynicism. “It seems that with the selection of Donald Trump as president, the country lurched seventy years into the past. Don’t you think?”

“That’s exactly what I had in mind,” he confirmed. “But I argue that what Trump and his supporters represent is a course correction of racism/white supremacy. It was necessary for them to reassert their supremacy. It appears to me that the powers that be underestimated the positive impact Obama’s presidency would have on our people directly and to a lesser degree on some of their own people. This was a threat to racism/white supremacy, and consequently, it had to be derailed immediately, deliberately and brazenly.”

“What then would you say is the purpose of the election, which you called selection, of Trump?” I asked.

Without hesitation, C. Wright, responded, “It signaled the end of the illusion of inclusion.”

“In what way?” I asked almost wondering out loud.

Without missing a beat, Will C. replied, “It has forced our people to wake up to the realization that we are still fighting the same racist nightmare that our ancestors were fighting eighty, ninety, or a hundred years ago. The only difference is that the last two generations of our people now have to regroup mentally to fully come to grips with the illusion they grew up believing. They are burdened with the task of relearning the world as they knew it as well as their place in it.” 

We both were silent for a moment letting those words float around the room as they settled into our psyche. While we sat there, I was reminded of the words uttered by Yoda from the Star Wars movie series,

 “You must unlearn what you have learned.”

“So, you think nothing has changed?” I finally asked breaking the silence.

“What’s that saying?” he rhetorically asked. “The more things change, the more they stay the same?”

“Huh,” I said.

“There’s one other thing about these two generations that’s important,” he said.

“You mean those who grew up during the illusion of inclusion?” I asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “They have not only gulped down the false idea that we can all be racist, but they have also guzzled down the notion that we are also responsible for solving the problem of racism.”

 I had to think about this for a moment because I had to admit that up until now I had believed that same thing. I had, in C. Wright’s words, guzzled down the notion that we, our people—black people—were responsible for helping solve the problem of racism. I had done so without realizing I may have been duped. I asked myself why I had believed that idea especially given what I knew about our history and what had happened to us. Why would I think that me or any of our people would be responsible for solving the racism problem?

Looking at C. Wright, I knew that he could sense the internal struggle I was having. That didn’t make it any easier for me to admit having been wrong about it. As I was wrestling with these internal thoughts, C. Wright, said something that shook me back into reality.

“I suppose we’ve all been on a journey of sorts through this racist mess.” Then he asked, 

 “Can I admit something to you?” 

“Sure,” I said, curious at his sudden change of tone.

“I know it may seem like I’ve got all the answers to this stuff,” he began. “But believe it or not, I use to believe that I was personally responsible for racism, and that our people were responsible for solving the racism problem.” 

“Really?” I asked a little taken aback.

“Yep,” he replied. “I believed it hook, line, and sinker. And I also believed that we were racist.”

Surprised. I asked, “You did? What changed your mind?

“Well,” he said, “three things. One: when the definition of racism became clear to me, it cleared up a lot of confusion that I had accepted without questioning or critical thinking. Second, once I was clear about the definition, it caused other questions to come into focus. Questions that didn’t fit neatly into what I had been given to believe to be truth. And third, it just didn’t make sense.  

“What didn’t make sense?” I asked.

“It didn’t make sense that we, the victims of racism, could be equally racist and equally responsible for solving the problem of racism. Something about that went against every principle in the universe. But do you know what else I began to realize?

As I had listened intently, it began to dawn on me that what I was doing by agreeing that black people were racist and responsible for solving it, I, (we) was letting white people, who rarely even admit their guilt, off the hook without consequences for their actions. I had no idea what C. Wright was about to reveal, but I sensed that it was something that might be a game changer. 

“Based on what you’ve said,” I began, “as far as I can see, they still don’t admit guilt. And they try to make us seem as guilty as they are when they ask us to help solve the problem. But what is it that you realized?”

“That’s right. But do you know why we do that, brother?” he asked.

“I have no idea,” was my reply.

“It’s because we know that by agreeing with them, we will not have to deal with any backlash from them.”

 “You kinda lost me there, C. Wright.”

“You know what I mean or at least you should,” he said not believing my reaction. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. If we tell white people the truth about the meaning of racism and that they alone are responsible for it, they would try to destroy us. If we oppose the popular, and all too often notion of racism we, as a people, or a person for that matter, will suffer retaliation.”

The silence between us was booming. That silence stood as a blaring witness to the truth of what he was saying. And I knew it. And because I knew, I wanted to change the subject. Tell a joke. Look away from his eyes. Do something. Anything to break the tension that was engulfing me. But there was no way out. This was the rubber meeting the road. It was a moment of reckoning— judgement day. The cat had caught the proverbial mouse and the mouse knew there was no escape. It seemed like lifetimes passed in those few moments. 

C. Wright slowly turned his head and his gaze away from me for a moment. It appeared as if he was going to give me a break. But when he looked back at me again, with the stare of an assassin, I knew it wasn’t a reprieve. He wasn’t letting me off the hook. He was about to unleash truths that, in my heart, I had been running from for…seems like forever. And I wasn’t ready to hear it. But I could do nothing to stop what he was about to say.

He drew closer and, in a tone just above a whisper he said…