I, Donviti, Declare Racism Dead

I watched Selma the other day. It was awful. I cried for the negroes. Why couldn’t they just listen to George Wallace, the FBI and LBJ? Why couldn’t they wait to vote while we waged war in Vietnam for those people’s freedoms, I’ll never understand. But I’m glad it happened when it did so we as a nation could move on from that horrendous week in our history. It truly was an awful week. At least as it appeared from the safety of my basement on my 55” Panasonic Plasma with surround dolby 7.1 Bose speakers. It was frightening watching those negroes fight for their rights. I even saw flashes of the Confederate flag being shown. Actual photos from that awful week. I can’t imagine how those white people must have felt, only being able to wave their symbol of freedom and defenseless to those “activists”!

So why is racism dead Donviti? And why do you get to declare it?

Well it’s been dead for a while now, regardless of what some agitators want to believe. I want to share an actual hand to god, rabbit’s foot, eagle feather or whatever item you feel I need to swear upon for its authenticity, as a real life racist story. Brace yourself: I’m going to use the n word, but it’s going to prove to you that racism is dead. And, it will do so matter-of-factly that you will totz agree with me that, in fact I am right, it is dead. Which by result will in fact mean Obama plays the race card.

Story:

When I was 20, I visited my Grandparents in Jackson, Mississippi. I was stationed for my “A” school in Meridian, MS. My aunt picked me up from the base and drove me back to Jackson. I stayed with my grandparents. My school was during what I learned to be the literal dog days of summer. When it’s so hot, dogs find shade anywhere they can to escape the oppressive humidity ridden heat. Getting away for the weekend into a place with reliable and working air conditioning was welcomed as was seeing my grandparents which I would see maybe only once a year, if not less because they were getting older and couldn’t travel as easily.

My grandmother made me fried chicken the Friday night I arrived for dinner. My granddad and I wrapped up our dinner. He got up to head for the living room to watch tv. Personally I had no idea what the heck we were going to do after dinner. They didn’t drink, and there wasn’t any family party going on. I was just visiting for the weekend. Nothing spectacular. I do remember it was just about the end of basketball season, but I was pretty sure they didn’t watch sports. They are an hour behind down there so Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy were on during the 6 o’clock hour not 7pm like the east coast. My grandmother was always reading books. She (again true story) was one of the first women in Mississippi to obtain her master’s degree. She’d tell me the story how she’d pick cotton next to blacks. How she had shoes with cardboard in them. How her daddy was a preacher and they were so poor.

After dinner my granddad and I were sitting around fumbling through the stations. I honestly don’t remember what we all did that weekend, but I remember this part like it was yesterday. My grandmother half in the kitchen and half in the living room calling out to my grandfather and saying, “Earl?! Why don’t you take Donviti to the mall and go watch the niggers”

I shit you not. I SHIT YOU NOT! I was fresh out of Boot Camp. I had never, EVER, I MEAN EVER heard my grandmother curse nor did I freaking know she was racist. Holy shit, if I had coffee I would have done my best Danny Kaye impression. MY GRANDMOTHER JUST USED THE N WORD! ARE YOU KIDDING ME!!!!!

And guess what we did? We got in the big ass Lincoln and went to the mall and watched “them”. It was THE SINGLE MOST SURREAL moment of my life. Sitting near the food court area of the Jackson Mall and people watching. But not just people watching. Black people watching. I don’t remember what my grandfather said or did. It wasn’t anything outlandish, only the normal “look at that one” type conversation. Feel free to picture a 6’2” white haired, brill cream slicked, a slim wirey build, wearing a short sleeve cotton blend shirt, with oyster shell buttons, tucked into black slacks, with a black belt and unassuming typical black shoes all enveloped with that dreamy slow, slow southern drawl. God I loved that accent. So endearing.

We got home sometime around 7pm I imagine, by grandmother then by that time had cleaned up dinner and was on the couch. She let me thumb through the tv channels. They had basketball on. I honestly am really fuzzy on who was playing. It was the NBA. Normally I pride myself on these details but I just don’t remember. What I do remember is my grandmother then saying she’d like to watch basketball. “Those niggers are so athletic”

HOLY FUCKING SHIT! Up until this point of my life I had never known anyone in my family to utter this word. I may have heard it from Richard Pryor on a record. Seen him or Eddie Murphy say it, but not a loved one. My grandmother was racist. Twice in the same day! Not one time up until that point had I heard this type of talk. So care free. The worlds tumbled out of her mouth like warm clothes in a full dryer.

So, why is this important? How does this mean racism is dead? What the hell does this have to do with Selma? Well I’ll tell you. This is going to be a little like common core math, but so be it.

Selma was in 1965. 1965 was 50 years ago. Life expectancy of racists is 70.5 years of age. Fact. Anyone participating in Selma or any other racist type event like lynching, bombing churches, or shooting up black congregation members with an automatic did not happen after Selma. People that lived through Selma were 20 years of age or older. They did not have children to pass their racist ways on to, and if they would have, Selma would have taught them the error of their ways and immediately taught them to love all people. Now, if all people in Selma and by extension all racists in 1965 were 20 years of age, as I already stated they had to be (Fact) then that means they would now be 75+ years of age. So Racism is dead. Math. Fact. Period.

My grandparents were racist. They are dead. They were around 40 when Selma occurred. So what gives Donviti! You just said all racists where 20 back then. Aha! They lived no more than 40 years after Selma. Since racism is dead I should also mention that racists over the age of 20 at the time of Selma then died within 40 years of that horrible week. Yes, they did however live past 70, but they didn’t live past the 40 year mark for any and all racists not 20 years of age.

Look, I know it’s confusing. But just know that based on the movie I saw and this simple math (apologies to Manchester Orchestra) that racism is clearly dead. The movie ended with LBJ giving the Negroes voting rights. Ergo, racism died. Also, my grandparents, god rest their racist souls, have passed on to the lily white cotton fields in the sky. We already know that racists only live to 70.5. No racists under the age of 20 existed. The rare exception that there were in fact any Racists over the age of 20 they only lived a maximum of 40 years. Lastly most importantly, racism wasn’t and isn’t passed on to children, like blue eyes or baldness.

So Listen, we don’t have to relive the nastiness anymore. It’s gone. Forgotten. And doesn’t need to be brought up again. Ever. I, Donviti, Delcare Racism Dead after Watching Selma and realizing that negroes were allowed to vote legally in 1965.

Over… fact.