Could I hate someone I’ve never known?
I don’t think so.
I don’t even want to know what that feels like. I’ve had a dislike for certain people and a distaste for certain things. I’ve even hated at certain times in my life. I hated my father... for a long time. Many years. Another story for another time. I hated my ex-girlfriend for a while, but I no longer do.
I don’t know if I’ve ever hated someone as much as I hated those two. Although I felt deeply wronged by those two, that hatred has dissipated. It wasn’t a hatred that ran so deep that it lasted generations and centuries. I don’t plan on teaching my offspring and their offspring to hate my father and my ex-girlfriend. I have nothing but love and admiration for those two, now. Well… for my dad, it’s not that much admiration; it’s a mixture of pity, displeasure, and sadness. Nevertheless, no hatred.
So then, the main event. The million-dollar question:
Why do you hate me?
Have you ever met me? Have you ever heard how funny I can be, or felt the depth of my generosity? Have you ever experienced my love? Have you ever been upset with me? Have you ever seen how petty and mean I can be? I promise you, I’m a good person—at least I try to be. I try to do the best that I can, despite the odds. Is it not enough that I—and people like me—was born with a disadvantage in life? We must be smarter, and better, just to appear to be equal. We must work harder at whatever, to be considered as people.
I’m stuck in my bed today because I feel defeated. I am unable to do anything productive right now because you have succeeded in interrupting my life. I’m overwhelmed with rage, sadness, uncertainty, pity, and anger towards you. Your hatred for me is crippling. By you, I don’t mean everyone that is white… or brown… or yellow… or green, or any particular color.
By you, I mean you that hate. I haven’t done anything to deserve the pain you seek to put me through. I served in your Army, I learned and perfected your language, I became a citizen of a once great nation, and I even bragged to people about being American because I was so proud. Never did I once think that almost 500 years later, you would look at me like I am the enemy. I’ve done nothing but love you, and all you have provided me with is hate. I don’t know what to do anymore, really. I just want one thing: please, tell me why you hate me so.
Also, why is that hatred overlooked and ignored by some of you, and some that aren’t you? Why are there people of color who don’t believe in the existence of that hatred? Why does it go ignored, undetected, seemingly inexperienced, and neglected? Is it taboo to bring it up? Let’s pretend it doesn’t exist? Pretend you don’t view me as a threat when I’m blinded, bleeding, pleading, and shackled at the wrists? Bound?
Why do you hate me?
