African American men are accustomed to irate sisters putting their hands on their hips, swaying their heads, and rolling their eyes. But a White Walmart cashier’s imitation of that cultural paradigm in response to a comment I made last week almost sparked a ‘cuss out’ of epic proportions.
Not only because her reaction to our conversation was disrespectful given that she was an employee with ‘no business in our business,’ but was also consistent with the movement re-energized by Donald Trump to ‘take back America’ through historical lies and claims of ethnic superiority.
For background, I was at a Walmart in Baraboo, WI, to purchase a few snacks to offset the high prices at the Wisconsin Dells ($6 for a bottle of water at the Kalahari Resort).
While standing in line with my wife, I noticed a Native American behind me was wearing a ‘cartouche,’ the ‘Egyptian amulet’ that contains Hieroglyphic messages.
Applauding her choice of jewelry, I asked its content, at which point she proudly declared it contained her husband’s name on its front and her name on the back.
I revealed mine had my late son’s name inscribed, which I explained was appropriate because the amulet was initially reserved for Kemetic ‘kings.’ I have traced my bloodline to Rameses III. (Yeah, I’m royalty.)
Where is Kemet? She asked?
“It’s what the original inhabitants of the nation now called Egypt called their country. It means land of the blacks,'” I explained.
To the curious look on her face, I posited, what we call a cartouche, is actually a ‘Shenu,’ which means to encircle.
The French invaders under Napoleon called it a cartouche because it was shaped like their rifle bullets. “Cartouche means bullet.”
At this point, I noticed the White cashier listening intently to our conversation instead of finalizing the sale of the person standing before her.
As I spoke, the cashier’s expression morphed from curiosity to anger.
“We’re not taught the truth about how Europeans colonized much of Africa, murdered our people, and took credit for our mastery of science, math, and medicine,” I declared boldly.
‘Monotheism came out of Kemet, and the Greeks and Romans studied at the feet of our ancestors! They then claimed our achievements as their own. They change the names of our countries—in this case Egypt for Kemet.”
In the case of Kemet, Napoleon even blasted off the broad noses of the Kemet king statutes (the Sphinx[s]) to claim them as being European.
By now, the cashier was turning another color, rolling her eyes, and was on the verge of a conniption.
Amused by her reactions and that of the White man she was serving, I added, “Just like they killed most of your ancestors, stole your land, and made you aliens in your own country.”
The Native sister was intently interested in my comments and nodded in agreement.
To be honest, the reactions of the cashier sparked my antagonistic rant. The look of disgust on her face sparked my diatribe.
Twisting the ‘dagger,’ I asserted it wasn’t until 1879 that a lawsuit, initiated by Chief Standing Bear, settled the argument that Indigenous Americans were human beings.
The Native sister thanked me for the information and said she would look up my historical revelations, which I explained were in stark contrast to what she was probably taught in government schools.
The cashier’s jaws were tight as I paid for my items. Adding to her angst was my polite comment, “How are you doing today, ma’am?’
I know she wanted to explode—probably call me out of my name.
She was lucky, as my wife, who had drifted off, had returned. My wife is less ‘tolerant’ than I and left (white) corporate America partly because of confrontations with its ‘plantation owners.’
Honestly, my incendiary comments were directed not solely toward the cashier but to every ‘white winger’ in North America.
Truth is truth, and it’s battle we are waging today, as information becomes more readily available and access to alternative chronologies is presented. As a result, the walls of apartheid are crumbling.
Behind the cloud of ‘His-story’ is a bright ray of truth.
But that’s tomorrow. Or in the next century. Those of us with the information will continue to strip away the lies and blasphemies.
The fact that I felt the need to ‘carry’ in that northwest resort city spoke volumes about my concerns—fears—of white aggression, an offshoot of the false claims of ‘Manifest Destiny’ and White superiority.
In fact, throughout my three-day stay, I made a point of wearing my veteran’s baseball cap and, on one day, a unique Vietnam Veterans jacket.
I did so not to express pride in serving a country that treated me and mine as second-class citizens, but because a veteran’s ID is a shield. It’s a get-out-of-jail-free card and helps to temporarily tame the most racists of ‘rural terrorists.’
If you’ve ever visited Wisconsin Dells (and it’s worth a visit), you will notice that many residents are Native Americans. The handful of Black folks you see are migrants, including many Africans, who work at the resorts over the summer months.
There are also many Hispanic workers.
It is an awkward diversity, given the fact that a large percentage of the year-long residents are obviously Republicans, right-wingers, and evangelicals who believe Donald Trump was sent by God to restore order and bring back the past.
Despite the smiles and hospitality of merchants, it is hard to feel totally at ease if you’re an African American, one of conscience who possess a grasp of ‘true history’ dating back to the beginning.
That fact was crystalized when we dove 20 miles outside the city for a fish-fry at a ‘bar restaurant.’ All of the Whites stared as if we were aliens. It wasn’t until I took off my veteran’s jacket and waved it around like a flag of truce that they returned to their meals.
The staff, however, was very accepting and kind.
The older I get, the less I tolerate racism, apartheid, and ‘His-story.’
While I have grown from animosity toward the entire ethnicity to select subcultures, I continue to see Klansmen behind every fifth tree, freshly tied nooses hanging at their branches.
My ‘vanilla daughter-in-law’ epitomizes a non-racial, truly caring example of what Caucasians should be. I’ve grown to love her dearly, as she and her family provide hope that one day—long after my death—there will come a time when people realize the dream of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. of a colorblind society.
Before her, I was privileged to see behind political affiliation to the souls of mankind.
Charlie Sykes, for whom I shared two decades of life, was among the conservatives who could see beyond race through the veil of an empowering agenda. Observing the world through the prisms he provided, I learned there are as many good people on both sides of the wall, as there are racists.
I learned to see the world through the prisms of color, exclusive of black and white.
But, as I said, we’re not there yet.
On Mother’s Day, my sister, my pastor, and her minister husband (who also wears his veteran’s gear in his township near West Bend) stopped by to play cards.
(For the record, we veterans returned from six down to win the next 10 games of Bid Wist. But I’m not bragging.)
My sister and her husband needed a glass of wine to calm their nerves from an experience a day earlier when they were confronted by blatant racism while shopping at a grocery store in West Bend.
It was telling that my saintly sister described West Bend as one of the most racist communities she has visited.
I could understand her rationale.
When this paper started, we arranged with a West Bend printer to print the MCJ. I was told that one White supervisor refused to work with us, believing we were some inferior species whose station in life was to work for them, versus the other way around.
The publisher, however, quickly put him in place, and before we moved on to a local printer, the supervisor had a different impression of the team.
On several occasions, however, we were fortunate to escape racist encounters in West Bend, including once when a waitress spat in our food and then called the police when we confronted her and her red-neck customers.
Fortunately, we made it to the expressway before the mobs showed up.
I have dedicated my life to educating our tribe, challenging racism, and disputing the lies of ‘His-story.’
With 40 years of study and observation, I have earned the right, responsibility, and respect required to be heard.
And given I have more days behind me than in front of me, I have grown less tolerant of what Black men have to confront when we venture outside the ‘safety’ ofthe ‘urban plantation.’
Thus, at every opportunity, Iseek to educate, throw rocks atthe walls of apartheid, to critiqueand expose the falsehood of whiteness and race in general.
And frankly, I don’t care if mytask offends a White cashier inBaraboo or a racist waitress inWest Bend. Or the president ofthe United States (the previousone, not the current one).
I hold on to the reality that alarge percentage of those whoselives revolve around a concept ofracial/ethnic superiority, or ‘divine mandate,’ are dying out andbeing replaced by ‘people’ whosee themselves as patterns in aquilt, as Rev. Jesse Jackson oncedeclared.
Slowly, the generation that follows mine has access to information that unequivocally reveals the so-called racial paradigm asan illusion. There is but one raceand those of vanilla complexionare linked to the same chain thatstarted with a Black woman inAfrica (Ethiopia) three millionyears ago.
Nonetheless, I also understandwhy those on the right, the terrorist, bigots, and racists, want tomaintain the status quo.
I have watched in awe as theyhave used the theory of CriticalRace Theory as a catch-all tomaintain the lies of ‘His-story.’
The bottle cap that keeps mydisdain from boiling over is myunderstanding of why they dowhat they do. Knowing theirstrategy provides an opportunityto counterattack.
I also posit that most are victims of a disease as deadly ascancer. It’s a man-made disease,similar to COVID-19, created bythe 5% to maintain control overthe 95, to keep us separate, atodds, and unorganized.
Life will be harmonious whenwe reach the point of droppingthe concept of race or ethnicity.When the world understandsthere is but one race, conceived inthe womb of the world, in a virginappropriately referred to as theMotherland.
Hotep.
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