Uncle Tom's Guide to Not Being Another Trayvon Martin

By Leroy Douresseaux
April 4, 2012 - 10:22

How Not to Get a Stand-Your-Ground Cap Popped in Your Skittles-Eating, Hoodie-Wearing Ass While Drinking Your Tea Juice in the White Hood

(I live in a rural area so that’s why I’m saying): I was in town recently, and I saw an African-American woman and a teenage boy, whom I presumed to be her son, taking advantage of a break in the traffic to cross the street. The boy, probably in his early teens, was wearing a dark grey hoodie (or hooded sweater) with the hood over his head. The skinny, small-framed boy looked like E.T. all wrapped up in that slightly too-large-for-him hoodie. And he was playfully walking backwards next to his mother.

The first thing I thought when I saw the boy in his hoodie was, “That li’l nigga is gonna get shot.” Someone will think his playfulness is really a bizarre pre-carjacking ritual and will shoot him for fear that the kid will steal his Mazda.

I had that thought because of Trayvon Martin, the 17-year-old, African-American teen recently shot and murdered in Sanford, Florida by a racist bully masquerading as a neighbor watch-jester… I mean, neighborhood watchman. If you need an overview of the incident, The New York Times News Service via Truthout.org published this article: http://truth-out.org/news/item/8006-justice-department-investigating-florida-killing-after-outcry

But officer, some of my best victims… I mean, best friends are black.

The night that Trayvon was shot and killed the contents of his jacket pockets were harmless. Honestly, there are only two people I know that can make something dangerous from a bag of Skittles, a bottle of Arizona tea, and a cell phone, Reed Richards and MacGyver. And they’re both fictional characters.

Trayvon drew the attention of the man who murdered him by looking a certain way. The way Trayvon looked marked him as “up to no good.” Trayvon’s death has taught me something I didn’t know. Apparently, black parents have “the talk” with their sons. It is through this talk by which these parents inform their black sons that some people will never like or trust them just because of their physical appearance. Some of these people should be there to help or to protect young black men, as they do everyone else. Instead, these white devils… I mean, Caucasian Americans may actually choose to hurt young black men. Apparently, black parents have to train their sons to walk and to act in a way that does not threaten white people, especially the ones inclined to feel threatened by (ominous music cue) black men. The burden of the stereotypes that SOME white people have will fall on the black sons, so it is up to young black men to reassure frightened whiteys… I mean, people of European extraction that feel ill at ease in the presence of homeys, bangers, and guys who make their organized sports more entertaining than it would be without them.

Well, you know, I should do my part. I consider myself to be a fairly assimilated Negro. I’ve certainly spent many years as an Uncle Tom and/or house Negro. My success in the larger mainstream (White) world has not come easily. There was trial and tribulation. I’ve been physically and mentally abused by enough white men to qualify as a third Judd sister, but I moved on up – though not quite to a deluxe apartment in the sky. So like Geraldo Rivera, I offer these tidbits to protect future Trayvon Martins from future McTaco the Crime Dogs.

DITCH THE HOODIES – EMBRACE SEE-THROUGH PLASTIC:
Apparently, many public schools require students to use book bags and backpacks made of clear, see-through plastic. Young black men, teenagers and 20-somethings need to start wearing clothes made of clear, see-through plastic. They should not wear regular underwear such as t-shirts, boxers, and briefs, but may wear the venerable thong ta-thong, thong, thong.

That will allow the Fatty Gonzalez’s of the world to make sure that a black male’s junk in his trunks is really… well, his junk in his trunks and not an Arizona-tea-can dirty bomb. Sure, that will leave black males who are teenaged minors vulnerable to voyeurs, assorted sexual deviants, rogue Catholic priests, and Stewie Griffin. However, they can choose life objectified or be shot by a white or non-black dude with a paranoid hard-on for black guys who might look suspicious because they possess a semi-automatic bag of colorful candy.

BE LIKE MIKE…AEL JACKSON
Remember the Michael Jordan advertising campaign, “Be Like Mike.” I say be like Michael Jackson. The King of Pop once had an afro and he certainly wasn’t a light-skinned brother. As it turned out, his voice was rather deep, although we know him for his soft-speaking voice. Through the miracle of plastic surgery and a cleverly-conceived public persona, Michael became the ultimate, non-threatening Negroid. Light-skinned, soft voice, and long, flowing locks instead of an afro, Michael became safe (if not childproof) for Caucasian consumption.

I’ve found that being a padowan to MJ can work. Now, pay heed to these simple to follow instructions on being “Like Mike.”

Part 1: The Voice
All you brothers and homies with those Barry White and Laurence Fishburne voices need to go high, not low. My portly stature often leads Caucasians who don’t know me to have a tendency to view me with suspicion. However, as soon as they hear my soft, gay-like voice, they feel more comfortable. Sure, some may think of me as being a bit too sweet, but better to have sugar in the tank (gay) than a cap in the ass (dead). Instead of seeing me as a threat to harm them or their precious private property, cautious Caucasians hear my voice and only see me as someone who will serve them pie (and not that nasty kind of pie Minnie served in The Help). So don’t use that booming voice when a Prince-ly falsetto will do.

Part 2: Bleach
Too black, too proud… too dead. Let’s go back to the days of the brown bag test. Let’s go back to the days of bleaching and creams and emulsions that took the edge off coal-black complexions. Let’s go back to the days when my paternal grandfather practically made himself bald using corrosive concoctions to straighten his kinky hair. Let’s be as gray as the King of Pop – gray skin, not gray hoodie.

Part 3: Swish it
Dear young black men, that loping, threatening gait will get you shot. Please, no hipster striding and “jivey” strutting. You must not do anything to indicate to a white male or non-black Hispanic male who is threatened by you that you are indeed a bolt of virile black manhood.

Michael’s moonwalk is okay, but I find a good old swish in your step will save the day… and your black ass. I once worked at a job that required me to make deliveries where I often encountered groups of hostile, working class-type white guys standing around – either on break or waiting for instructions to dig a ditch or fix something. As I passed by, I always got the dirtiest looks from them.

However, rather than strut like a black cock-of-the-walk, I put a sway in my step that suggested I might like to have a cock while I walked. Sure, those white men might have mocked me as a sissy, but I didn’t threaten them. Instead of yelling “Get a rope,” when they saw me, they were more likely to yell, “Shakira! Shakira!” My hips don’t lie, indeed.

THE WAY OF THE GENIAL SMILE
Sullen is so 15 minutes ago. The chip on the shoulder is so Reagan 80s. The militant scowl is so… well, it dates closer to “Mad Men” era America. I found that my white coworkers really didn’t like it when I frowned or was moody or depressed, but they loved my wide, toothy grin. Most of them often said how my smile lit up a room, although my apparently luminescent teeth haven’t really helped me cut down on my light bill. I guess that there were times when I was skinning and grinning so much that I resembled a baby grand piano.

Young brothers, when a white man confronts you and turns on what I call “the White authority voice,” he doesn’t want you to answer his demanding question with a demanding question. Nod your head and smile like you have rigor mortis lest he makes rigor mortis set in for real. It doesn’t matter if you are a respected intellectual and college professor and he’s just some cop who burst into your house. Make the white cop feel as if he is the king of what is actually your castle. Even if you are in the right, Bill O’Reilly will still say the white cop was in the right. Grin, grin your way out of trouble. So when the burly neighborhood watchman demands, “What are you doing here?” Skin and grin, skin and grin! Your life might depend on how well you can Sambo-smile.

Well, this old Tom hopes that his paltry advice will be able to save even a few of you young black men. I know that much of my sagacious knowledge seems to require self-emasculation, but I assure you that I offer it with the best intentions. It probably is in the tradition of “better dead than red.” From time to time, I’ll offer my sage house nigra wisdom in the hope that I can make the world safer for black youth who like hoodies, sugary tea, and candy.

Last Updated: August 31, 2023 - 08:12

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