Walking While Black: Coming To Grips With Racial Identity

Tomy Wilkerson opens his heart and our eyes to the struggle and fight of racial identity...

“I realized that every informed man with whom I had spoken, in the intimate freedom of the colored bond, had acknowledged a double problem for the Negro. First, the discrimination against him. Second, and almost more grievous, his discrimination against himself; his contempt for the blackness that he associates with his suffering; his willingness to sabotage his fellow Negroes because they are part of the blackness he has found so painful” (Black Like Me by John Howard Griffin, page 42).

Every time I speak about the Black community, or issues within the Black community, lexicons of emotions overwhelm me. Not only am I upset about the stereotypes placed upon us, but also I’m angry with us for accepting them. Even deeper than that, I’m furious we even allow these stereotypes to become boxes we find our comfort in; little prisons for us all to live in. The issue within my heart was so complex, there was nothing else I could do but feel upset. I later came to realize it all stemmed out of a deep sense of wanting to belong, to be accepted. Because I grew up in a household that never discussed race, and a small Christian school that didn’t discuss it either, when I was younger I never thought about the differences between people.  But once my eyes were opened to the racial divide that existed, I couldn’t get my mind off of it.                          

My parents were always afraid I would get into trouble or end up hanging out with the wrong people, so from the very beginning they kept me busy once school got out. I used to go to day care; I’d spend the night at a friend’s house, I even began playing sports for the local Boys & Girls Club. However, I noticed something weird. There would always be Black kids hanging out in front of the establishment - maybe a boy would be eating chips or would be chasing after a girl with a snack, but my parents told me not to hang out with them. And I think I privately began to develop a fear of them. 

For the most part, I was a good kid in elementary school. Every once in a while I slipped and I would have to stay in for recess. One day I was acting up in class and my teacher made me stay in from break. Encompassing me were the usual suspects - the ones who were always in trouble; the ones who’d been in trouble since the first day of school. One of these kids was a Black boy named Kevin. I was never sure what he did to be in trouble, but every time I saw him he was getting kicked out of class for something. One time he dropped a pencil and got sent out class. For some reason, he took a strong interest in me and began talking to me. Of course, talking wasn’t allowed and, of course, he got sent out of class. But this time it was different it seemed, because this time he said something I’ll never forget: it’s because I’m Black, isn’t it? I knew he was in trouble because he broke the rules, but once I saw the teacher’s lack of response, I began to wonder. Did race have something to do with it? Furthermore, did the teacher see me as one of them? Being Black became associated with being in trouble

The first time I heard the words “you’re not Black” was in a predominately Black Vacation Bible School but the phrase followed me for all my life. Because I didn’t sag my pants, listened to NSYNC instead of Ludacris, and earned decent grades, I was labeled as an “Oreo” by the time I was in the sixth grade. Later I would be called “the Whitest Black kid ever” by a variety of kids. I think my all time favorite was when white kids would call me “the nicest Black kid they’d ever met.” Even though I laughed when those remarks were made, I didn’t realize the segregation that was taking place. I was too White for the Black kids, but no matter how white I may have been perceived, I was too Black for the White kids. In high school, it made things very difficult. I would go to parties with my White friends, look around the room to find only White people, and feel like the outcast. The second a Black girl walked into the party, I wanted to talk to her. It felt like she’d been placed there for me. But once I spoke, she wasn’t interested. She wanted the stereotype and I couldn’t deliver. In fact, this happened with almost every Black girl I talked to. The worst was when I would take interest in a girl who wasn’t Black and I’d have to ask around if she was interested in Black guys. I don’t know what was worse, when she did and I wasn’t “Black enough” for her or when she wasn’t and I knew I didn’t stand a chance even though I was “different” from every other Black person anyone had ever met.

It never made sense to me. I’m sure Waka Flocka Flame was never told he wasn’t “Black enough.” I’m sure Flavor Flav is “Black enough” Why was that? If being Black is about discrimination, I’ve been there. I remember the first time I was racially profiled. I was sixteen years old and I was at a local concert some friends of mine were putting on. I left the venue for a bit because the band playing wasn’t very good and by the time I came back to the venue, police was waiting on me. “Someone called and told them I had a gun.” They took me outside the venue, patted me down, and found a cell phone in a leather case. I’ll never forget the humiliation in that moment. Some of my friends walked out to their car to lug equipment to the stage area. I called out for them to prove to the policeman I wasn’t a bad person, but either they didn’t hear me or they didn’t want to get involved. There’s nothing more embarrassing and emotionally scarring than getting treated like a criminal in front of your friends and people you admire. It wasn’t like I was being suspicious. I was wearing a hoodie with a guitar on the front, a shirt from a metal concert, and I mentioned the small town I was from. The cop gave me his badge number and name and apologized for what happened. To this day I don’t know if he ever really got a call. I’ve had mothers pull their daughters by their ears and slap them for dating me because I was Black.

                  

Bill Hybel’s of Willow Creek Church has a video where he discusses the inspiration behind visionaries. He talks at length about something called “the Popeye Moment.” Basically, Popeye loved something or someone (Olive Oil) and whenever something threatened that, he might’ve been relatively calm at first, but eventually came a point where he lost his temper. He would swallow his spinach and save the day. Hybels continues to illustrate how Moses had the same experience with the Hebrews and their oppression by the Egyptians. My moment came one day when I was out at dinner with friend of my father who does a lot of great work in a low-income neighborhood. He was telling about a girl we both knew, and knew had potential to do great things in her city, and how she began to take drugs; how she stopped working on her initiative to create a safer, more understanding neighborhood, and how she gave up on ever getting out of the ghetto. When my father’s friend confronted her, she used the same excuse Kevin used: it’s because I’m Black. I couldn’t take it anymore; I knew I wanted to do something related to improving the Black community.

                  

As I spent more time with Jesus, praying over what action I should take, he began to clarify my heart. While I was angry and frustrated with the Black community, it all stemmed out a radical sense of love I felt for them. I don’t hate Waka Flocka Flame. I hated the fact he has the potential to do so much more, but he’s settling for less. I hate the fact people think it’s cool to settle for less. After deeper analysis of my heart I realized the only reason why I was comfortable and found value in being Black was because Jesus showed me he made me that way for a reason. Furthermore, there are reasons why the Black community exists and they need to be reminded how valuable they are.

                  

We are God’s children and until we experience that, things will continue to transpire the way they do. But first that means our churches have got to do a better job. I believe the reason no one is being affected by the word is because of two things: 1) we’re not actually reading it or receiving and 2) when we do receive it, we get into something I like to call “keep it real” Christianity. We want to believe we’re Christians but continue to lead the same lifestyles we did before we knew Jesus. If any sort of growth with Jesus is going to happen, it’s going to come with obedience from knowing him. I’m calling all the Black community to a higher level of Christianity.

Some people believe it’s impossible, and maybe it is. Maybe the issues we have within our own culture are so complex and deeply embedded within us it will take a divine intervention to figure it out. Luckily, we serve a God who specializes in making the impossible happen; all the more reason to introduce Jesus into the equation.

                  

I believe that before any sort of racial reconciliation can happen, Black people must reconcile within our own racial dynamic. However, before we can achieve that, we must reconcile within ourselves and grow into a level where we can be mature. The only person I know that can radically change hearts and minds is Jesus Christ. My heart is to see the lives of Black men and women transformed by the love of Jesus. I’m talking about real Black men and women who are willing to lay down their lives for the sake of the gospel. My dream is to see Black men and women truly live out the gospel with no excuses. W.E.B. Du Bois believed in something called the “talented tenth” saying that for every ten Black men, one would become successful but it was his obligation to go back and get the other nine to where he is. I long to see the same thing happen with the gospel. The beauty of attending the University of Tampa is that we have so many different Black students from all over the world. We have a lot of Haitians, Caymanians, Trinidadians, African Americans, Jamaicans, etc. Imagine what it would be like if all of those students fell in love with Jesus to the point where they went back into their home countries and raised up communities who also loved Jesus and had their lives transformed by the gospel. And then those people would rise up leaders and before we know it, the Black community is revolutionized and if the Black community changes, I believe the world will notice. 

Tomy Wilkerson

Tomy Wilkerson is the founder of Black Campus Ministries at the University Of Tampa, and has raised numerous leaders in the black community which has established a family of students who identify with the struggle of race, and identity. He strives to give all African Americans the opportunity to experience Jesus. The passion and knowledge that Jesus has given him has made him one of the most influential leaders at U.T.