Cotton

Cotton: (n) a plant with soft, white, downy hairs

It’s not cotton’s fault.

Cotton is not to blame.

But honestly, I can’t hear the word “cotton” without thinking about slavery.

I know—I’m weird.

It doesn’t keep me from wearing a cotton t-shirt or cotton socks. But cotton was a crop that was so difficult to pick, and grew in such a hot climate, that a funny wisdom on words that begin with a C
bunch of white people who couldn’t withstand the process, decided to abandon their entire moral code and respect for humanity and bring in black folks from Africa, convincing themselves that these souls were little more than apes—so that the damn stuff could be gathered and turned into a profit.

The world wanted cotton and the South didn’t want to pick it. So rather than finding a better way to do it or creating a living wage for those unemployed white Southerners who might be willing to consider pursuing the occupation, it seemed logical in the minds of those from that era to enslave a race of people to promote a crop.

Black people picking cotton.

The activity was the origin the racist statement, “You must be out of your cotton-pickin’ mind.”

That would have been considered a double insult: first, that you were relegated to picking cotton, and second, that you were as hapless as they insisted Africans were.

Even in the South today, when driving along, seeing these strange fields full of the white blooms, it crosses my mind: who’s picking this stuff now?

And then, to my horror, I drive a little piece up the road and see black brothers and sisters wearing loose-fitting clothes and head scarves, still plucking the crop from the field. Even though they now receive a wage for doing so, the sight is almost too frightening to perceive.

Like it or not, certain things become tainted.

I’ll never be able to see an old movie that shows the Twin Towers of New York in the background without tearing up.

I’ll never be able to view a Confederate flag without remembering the arrogance and ignorance that punished a race of people and imprisoned them into forced labor.

And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at a cotton field without being reminded of the atrocity that was brought about in our country by white people picking a white crop to undergird their white privilege while subjugating black hands to do so.


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Backlash

Backlash (n) a strong and adverse reaction by a large number of people, especially to a social or political development.

“Racism is back.”Dictionary B

That’s what I heard somebody say in a news report yesterday.

You see, racism never goes away because of two simple problems:

  1. Human beings are marred by the need to be better than someone else.
  2. Since this is true, no one will let you be better than them.

Thus racism.

So racism is a backlash against failing to deal with your own insecurities. If you are able to admit where you are uncertain about your own abilities and start a vigil of effort to improve your situation, you are much too busy to worry about the color of skin, the curve of a nose or the slant of an eye.

But if you feel that the definition of fairness is, “I should be fine the way I am,” then you will look for ways to diminish your competition in order to adequately uplift your mediocrity.

Here’s the truth: the white plantation owners couldn’t get their family, children and friends to bear the heat of the day to pick a cotton crop. Call it laziness or poor genetic engineering.

So they created a whole philosophy around the inferiority of the black man because of the inability to take care of their own business.

Then they punished the black man because he did the work they were unable to achieve and survived the punishment without striking back and killing them.

So what am I saying?

Racism is jealousy hidden behind superiority. “We just can’t get it done.”

It is the backlash we levy against an innocent party.

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