Undercover in White America: Why Black Rage is Conscious, Justified, and Long Overdue

The logic of Black rebellion is lost on much of the privileged white population and the corporate media, which perceive Black rage as irrational. However, the Black response to white supremacy “is not ‘senseless’ or ‘visceral’; it is the product of a life full of experiences that have tried to beat them down to their knees.”

“I wanted revenge on those racist bullies who had joyfully traumatized a pair of 9-year-old boys walking to the store.”

On a crisp, Fall evening in 1992, while I was a freshman at a SUNY (State University of New York) school, the campus erupted after a white, male student assaulted a black, female student. Being an associate of the African American Student Union Body Association (AASUBA) at the time, I attended an emergency meeting that was called in order to discuss the incident and consider potential responses. The meeting ensued, but there was little discussion. Instead, the room was a hotbed of rage. As one of only two white students among over fifty members and associates, some of the fury was directed at me, literally. I understood why; because I felt the rage myself.

As an 18-year-old overflowing with testosterone-ridden angst, I wanted to find the perpetrator and exact justice on him and anyone else who stood by him. I didn't care to hear an explanation. I had already spent years "undercover in white America," where I had been privy to the ignorant hatefulness and pervasive racism that filled casual interactions in living rooms and at dinner tables. It was ugly. It was nauseating. I had seen enough in my life – as well as during my few months on campus – to convince me this assault had to be racially motivated. I didn't need questions asked and answered. Deep down, I already knew. And the fact that this man had targeted a woman only made it that more infuriating.

Had an outsider witnessed what took place in that small conference room, as the few suggestions for a calm and calculated response were quickly drowned out by thundering and profanity-laced calls for violence, they would have likely disregarded or minimized it as "senseless" and "visceral" rage. As I stood there, consumed by the moment, feeling the blood boiling in my veins as my entire body was shaking, my own reaction seemed visceral. I could have nearly fooled myself. But I didn't; and it wasn't. Rather, it was the consummation of a series of life events that had left bubbles of emotional fury within me, all of which had been waiting to boil over. As I stood there with my fists clenched, memories flooded my brain.

I immediately recalled the time when my best friend and I were randomly targeted and bullied by a pack of strangers as we walked to the store. The pushing and shoving we experienced were bad enough; however, those physical acts were dwarfed by a slew of racial epithets that were thrown at my friend (who happened to be Black), each one making my gut wrench as I observed the callous and almost entertaining nature in which they were delivered as my friend's eyes swelled with tears. We were 9 years old. The bullies were much older. We were far outnumbered and much too scared to even consider retaliating. Instead, we both cried as the pack walked away in a celebratory zeal. I would come to realize much later on that this interaction probably was not as random as I had once thought.

“It was the consummation of a series of life events that had left bubbles of emotional fury within me, all of which had been waiting to boil over.”

I recalled the nights I had stayed up late, as an intensely curious 12-year-old, watching a PBS documentary called Eyes on the Prize. I remembered the trance I found myself in while watching Martin Luther King, Jr.'s powerful oratories. I recalled the delightful pride that coursed through my body as I watched Malcolm X put television personalities and interviewers in their place. But, mostly, I thought of the rage that consumed me while I watched rabid racists – both civilian and police – abuse, intimidate, and humiliate Black folks. This rage became internalized as I could not help but see the pack of bullies who had confronted me and my friend years earlier.

I recalled an incident that had occurred only a few months prior, as friends and I were pulled over in a parking lot by two police cars that had come to a screeching halt in front of us. As the three officers exited the vehicles nervously with weapons drawn, the five of us in the car simultaneously instructed one another to show our hands in a feverish instinct of self-preservation. We had done nothing wrong, but that didn't matter. The officers proceeded to order us from the car, inspect the car, and question us. Eventually, we were allowed to leave – with only an explanation that "someone had made a complaint." Two of the passengers in the car that night were Black. There is no question in my mind that had we all been white, the incident would have never taken place. Had we all been white, those guns would have never left their respective holsters. And had we all been Black, and this had occurred in St. Louis – or any metropolitan area in the U.S. for that matter – one or all of us may have been shot dead that night, with no explanation or recourse to follow.

I recalled stories my mother had just recently shared with me regarding the underlying racism she experienced at her workplace, much of which she suspected was directed at her son (me) and his best friend – the pair that often stopped in to visit her. Racist pictures being pinned up on display in the break room; the whispers of racist jokes being delivered as she walked by; the stares of ridicule and intimidation that she caught from time to time – all products of a reactionary and racist judgment of something as innocent as her son's friendship with another boy. This was in the late-1980s, not the 1960s.

On that Fall night in 1992, as news of this assault spread through campus, those recollections in me boiled over. I wanted revenge. I wanted revenge on those racist bullies who had joyfully traumatized a pair of 9-year-old boys walking to the store. I wanted revenge on those racist southerners who had brazenly spilled food on the heads of Black students sitting at the Greensboro Woolworth's lunch counter. I wanted revenge on the Chicago racist who hurled a rock at Dr. King, hitting him on the head. I wanted revenge on Bull Connor and his sadistic police forces that attacked courageous and non-violent protesters with dogs and high-powered water hoses. I wanted revenge on those cops who recklessly pulled their guns on a car full of teenagers that were doing no wrong. I wanted revenge on my mother's coworkers for subjecting her to their hateful ignorance. This was my chance to exact that revenge, in one fell swoop.

“I am allowed the privilege to hide in my white skin, protected from any real consequences.”

The white man who had chosen to assault a black woman on campus that night was the physical embodiment of this ugly history that filled me with rage. It was not "visceral." It was not "senseless." It was long overdue. Yet, it was merely the product of a series of observations and experiences made and lived by a white male growing up in a mostly-white, small town. Over the course of 18 years, these experiences had been few and far between, yet still forged a conscious anger in me. One can easily presume that these experiences which shaped my rage are hardly comparable to those lived by Black Americans on a daily basis, for years at a time, at an intense rate, and of which have a real impact on the course of a life. Despite the rage that fills me, I still have the option to choose to ignore it, or at the very least tuck it aside from time to time. I am allowed the privilege to hide in my white skin, protected from any real consequences. My experiences do not prevent me from getting a job or suitable apartment. They do not attract unfair treatment from police, judges, and juries. They do not restrict opportunities and resources. And they do not draw suspicious stares, the sound of car doors locking as I walk by, or the constant harassment of store employees.

I am still "undercover in White America." Citizens in Ferguson, Missouri are not. And their rage is not "senseless" or "visceral"; it is the product of a life full of experiences that have tried to beat them down to their knees; that have attempted to "keep them in their place"; that have yearned to make them feel inferior; that have fought to dehumanize them, their families, and their children. Like most Black Americans, their collective rage is conscious, justified, and long overdue.

Colin Jenkins is an interdisciplinary researcher and writer with a B.A. in Historical Studies and M.A. in Social Policy. He is founder, editor and Social Economics Department chair at the Hampton Institute, and has been published on Truthout, Common Dreams, Dissident Voice, Black Agenda Report, Popular Resistance, and in Z Magazine. His academic work includes concentrations in Community & Government, African American Studies, and Political Economy, with focuses on Marxian and Anarchist analyses. He is the author of A Fatal Agenda: The Social, Economic and Democratic Consequences of Neoliberalism; and has a second book, The Dusk of Democracy: America's Failed Experiment with Self-Determination, scheduled for publication in 2014.

” you smell it with your soul”

That is among one of the biggest BS lines I have ever heard. I do not doubt that even in this day and age there are white people that don’t like blacks. However, to say that you can “smell” racists is silly. Perhaps you perceive through non verbal communication that some whites are uncomfortable around you. I believe that may be true. But to rely on such a subjective standard as “smelling with your soul” you open yourself up to misperceptions. Misperceptions such as projecting your fears ad insecurities. misperceptions such as believing their disapproval of you is always racial. Perhaps they dislike what you said. Perhaps they dislike your clothes, or your cologne/perfume. perhaps simply you caught them at a bad moment in their day. To automatically assume this perceived discomfort is racial does both them and you a disservice. I have had females and all kinds of minorities as co workers and supervisors. I have learned to take all of them at their value. Some are smart, some are stupid. Some are mean, some are nice.Some are different things at different times. But they are what they are and their race , ethnicity or gender have nothing to do with it.I always try to be nice at first, but I’m very simple: you get what you give. treat me nice, that’s what you get. Treat me poorly- guess what you got coming. Perhaps some white people are clueless when it comes to racism from other whites. But perhaps the “guilty until proved innocent” perception of racism by some blacks towards whites is clueless sometimes as well?

“Colin Jenkins is an interdisciplinary researcher and writer with a B.A. in Historical Studies and M.A. in Social Policy...”blah, blah, blah.

This a-hole’s list of credentials is UNIMPRESSIVE, as I am CERTAIN he would FAIL “The Black History Test”.

http://www.nbra.info/DYK-HistoryTest

I was just going to say, why isn’t this guy undercover in Compton?
I used to visit my white grandparents there. They barely made it out alive after the blacks took over. They were robbed many times. They were reluctant to give up their home. When my grandfather was beaten nearly to death his children pitched in and bought them a house in Orange County.
This white guy could not walk down any street in Compton and live.
I think a black could walk down most any white neighborhood street without fear.

Have you ever walked into a large, upscale department store and have the security guard follow you all the way through the store? I have. Or let’s say you’re driving a nice car that you bought and paid for, minding your own business, and you get stopped by a cop for no reason. And the first question he asks you is “Who’s car is this?” That’s happened to me twice.
Most white people are just normal, decent folks. But there are still Snakes out there who hate me for the color of my skin.

I’m sorry those things happened to you. Have you ever had people say to your face that you need to go on a diet or why do you eat so much? Have you ever had people, male & female, look down their noses at you or ignore you because you’re overweight? Even customer service and sales people who were hired to serve you. BTW, there’s a reason the loss prevention folks followed you and not me. Do you know what that is?

so prevalent the writer had to go back to 1992 to get the anecdote. “Filled with rage”
Yes, yes, we white folks was so filled with rage here in our small town after the murder of a 77 Year old man at a grocery store Mothers Day Morning that we, that we.....went Hmmmn while watching tv news that night.
No one marched, no one hung nooses at the jail, not one stupid SOB has done anything except wait for the next black on white hate crime in out town.And talk sports.

>>Should white people be allowed to defend themselves against “Black Rage?”<<

Here is a novel idea...”white rage”.

Bout time whites start stopping the whole PC white guilt thang.

This black rage poppy-cock has gone on way too long. I remember all this back when I was in Junior high school.

Gangs of blacks beating up, robbing, spitting on white kids.

Enough is enough.

The author asserts that “Black Rage is Conscious, Justified, and Long Overdue” but never presents a case for why “rage” is USEFUL. That would require admitting that it is a strategy of extortion through terrorism. The events he cites might have occurred, but he cherishes, fondles and polishes them because his game is to nourish and foment anger. You might expect a college professor to see how self-defeating the rage game has been, and that generalizing guilt onto all members of a racial group because some do evil things, is the essence of bigotry. Instead he revels in irrationality — which actually tells us a lot.

Maybe he is sincere, and thinks it is clever to bring blacks into the anarchist-communist model. Or maybe as a white Marxist chair of the “Social Economics” department at a traditionally black college, he enjoys a good living from exploiting black angst.

These black rage/white privilege idiots think they are the only people on earth who’ve ever suffered anything. They really believe the police only bother black people.

Two examples from my life that mirror this guy’s complaints. As seniors in high school we drove with some girls to view the city from an overlook. The cops stopped us and harassed us for not being in our own towns. When I got out of the car one of the cops pulled his gun on me.

When I was about 9 (just like this guy) a group of black kids armed with sticks with nails “kidnapped” and robbed us. I tricked them into taking us back to my home, where my older brother ran them off.

Stuff happens to everybody.

So, professor, you're tired of this and tired of that? I got news for you. I'm tired of a lot of crap too. We all know what it is. And your "black rage" card is expired. It's our turn now.

F your rage. F your culture. F your tragic past and your angst and your inchoate hatred. The injustices you mention pale beside the systematic murder or whites by blacks, the intimidation and harassment whites suffer every time they walk by a gang of sag-assed hood rats hanging out in front of the local crack house. And every time a white man picks up his paycheck that's 20 percent lighter than it should be because he's paying the rent for people who hate him, he's got a right to rage too. The trouble is, if he dares to express it, he's a "racist" or a "hater."

Tough. It's time it's said. Take your phony outrage and your feeble justifications and pawn them for a case of Colt 45. But don't come around my neighborhood looking for sympathy or another handout.

I lived in Richmond, Virginia at the Sans Souci Apartments, in the 80’s, i.e, the hood, I was the only white guy I ever saw. (geez, and me, without a Dodgers hat)

Have you ever had someone dump trash at your apartment door, or some gangsta tell you that they are going to cap you while riding the bus, or have gangsta’s shoot the pizza delivery guy in a gang initiation, or watch, look- outs with pagers from your living room window, have a half a dozen police cars with swirling lights in the parking lot when you come home from work on a regular basis, or have someone killed on the stairway which leads up to the second floor or have the music so loud you had to sleep in your car in the parking lot. Or be the only white on a bus, and have the black gentleman in front of you, pause and fart in your face.

Yet. I met some wonderful, smart, compassionate people who happened to be black. Looking back, I was lucky to escape that situation, but others who lived there, and hated that culture, could not escape because their color, cautioned anyone with a brain, that they lived in a prison of a failed culture.

I would be enraged too, but enraged at the racial culture guards who perpetuate racial hatred, and claim, everything is whitey’s fault.

Many whites will wait for a new day, but we will not wait forever.

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