Gentle Hands: Moving Beyond Black and White
by BAR contributing editor Richard O'Connor
"It took this worn out, down at the heels western
Massachusetts hill town to purge any traces of whiteness I imagined I still
laid claim to."
She says I have gentle
hands. Lover's hands. I say polio hands. I thought it must have been my brain
that initially attracted her to me. And, the paintings, to be sure. I started
off our life together a simple Irish painter lad of the County Roscommon kind.
My eventual slide into blackness was of the rude awakening kind.
There were endless
discussions of politics, projection, Malcolm, Martin and the civil rights
movement. There was becoming officially, legally, a part of her family. There
was the big belly and then a daughter. There was a brown face and Afro hair
always in front of my eyes like a reflection in a mirror.
And, almost best of all,
there was that dinner party. In a sea of black faces, I was the one who
remembered it was Little Esther Phillips who recorded "What a Difference A Day
Makes" on CTI. Such astonished looks on
their umber faces, and the subtle nods as if to say "Yeah. The brotha's
alright."
In our 24 years together,
we've experienced a dozen towns in five states, a half dozen Caribbean islands,
and European adventures. It took this worn out, down at the heels western
Massachusetts hill town to purge any traces of whiteness I imagined I still
laid claim to.
"The knock on the door. âI'm Officer Brooks. The lady
next door says you were walking around exposing yourself.'"
The goat farm, a long
awaited 3-acre fantasy realized, an achievement. Only 3 weeks in this hick
town, this scenic neighborhood, this awful ramshackle house. Three weeks? The
knock on the door. "I'm Officer Brooks. The lady next door says you were
walking around exposing yourself." Breathe in. Breathe out.
"This is Mrs. Behilo's son
the fireman." He smirks. "She says you
were walking around exposing yourself." Time really does stand still, you know.
The whole world changed.
Officer Brooks stopped
talking. He just stared awhile. I could see the wheels turning around in his
head. He asks me "Do you walk at
all?" âBout damn time he noticed this
bright yellow wheelchair.
"No. I don't walk."
Officer Brooks, half my age,
says "I have perfect vision and I can't see that far. What is it, about 600
feet?" God Bless you Officer Brooks! And, God Bless your sainted mother, and
your mother's mother, and her mother for seven generations back!
"Yup. About 600 feet."
"They say black don't rub off. They're wrong."
In the liberal college town
we had just moved from, a very well educated, respectable Black man, a
professor I think he was, told me with sadness and a hint of shame in his voice
about hearing the clicking of car doors being locked from the inside as he
walked past them along the public sidewalk.
From gentle hands, lover's
hands, husband hands, father hands, polio hands, painter hands.... to indecent
exposure predator hands just as sudden as the clicking of a car door lock.
They say black don't rub
off. They're wrong. White people are the devil. Did I say that? I'm just light
skinned - and way too black to be living here.
Richard O'Connor can be contacted at nonametribe@earthlink.net.
Maryland has been enforcing harsher criminal laws, using the claim of a crime wave that does not exist. This crackdown funnels Black children into an incredibly draconian legal system. Now, there isâŚ
The rise of the data and technology industry plays a key role in the rapid deterioration of social and economic conditions in the U.S.
The contrast between the reception of Volodymyr Zelensky and Benjamin Netanyahu upon their visits to the White House was stark. This treatment seems to signal a shift in the Trump administration'sâŚ
It comes as no surprise that elements among the left continue to do the bidding of Western imperialist forces. The recent statement from the Ukrainian Solidarity Network exemplifies the left'sâŚ
In this weekâs segment, we learn about the continuing violence against Palestinians in Gaza and the West Bank, despite the ceasefire. But first, we discuss the NYPD gang database, which ensnaresâŚ
