Fight for what You want but Quit talking about it
Joe walks into the headquarters of a multinational company for a job interview. His steps are sure, his smile bright; thanks to months of preparation. He's got a good feeling about this.
In the lobby, he finds two white men holding files similar to his. They wear the same confident, prepared look as him. They're seated, waiting. The sight makes his confidence lose wind like a punctured balloon.
Suddenly, the room feels too hot. His eyes start to twitch. Sure, he'd expected competition but not in this... colour.
The men stand up to introduce themselves and shake hands with him. He's so sure they are taking the chance to size him up so he does same, his response curt. When he takes his seat at the far end of the couch, his smile has been replaced by a glare.
He's the last to enter the interview room. There he meets a panel of three - two black men and one white. The sight makes him perk up a bit. Home advantage. It doesn't do much for his confidence, though.
While answering the questions, he tries to imagine what the white guys had said and how he can beat that. He punctuates his replies with "As a Nigerian..."
In his trepidation, he misses the confused glances his interviewers send each other. The nervous, rambling person before them is a far cry from the one his resume and performance in the pre-tests had promised them.
He doesn't get the job.
"I never stood a chance", he complains bitterly to his pals. "When there were white guys there? I'm sure even the Naija men chose them. That's how we black people are. We never support our own"
His pals all nod in agreement. Cruel, unfair world.
The Underdog Syndrome.
The average black man thinks his colour is a beacon calling on all and sundry to come dump their prejudices on him. In a crowd, he expects to be the one picked on. When it doesn't happen, he believes it's a miracle. There's a God. Let's kumbaya now, brothers.
He walks about, constantly on the defensive. Seeking validation. I am black. Black is beautiful. Black and proud. When he's not too busy whining about the injustices of racism to get up and do something about it, he's weighed down by the thoughts of his imagined inadequacies.
A writer, while debating a comparison between Chinua Achebe and G.R.R Martin, however illogical it may seem, would be to quick to drag in the race card. Reducing the brilliance of the two writers to a petty Black versus White squabble. "You people think George is better only because he's western. Typical Africans. Never supporting their own. Wah wah wah..."
Another would claim that Nollywood is what it is because Nigerians would rather patronize the western movie industry. God forbid that we rise up and create innovations that can compete with those of our western counterparts. We're tottering toddlers forever. Comfortable in our amateurishness.
In the movie Hidden Figures, Dorothy says to Mary "I'm not gonna sit here all day and listen to you complain about the way things are. Petition the court. Fight for what you want but quit talking about it". This was a clear case of segregation. Of constantly "moving the finish line whenever the blacks got a chance to get ahead". Yet Mary walked into a white man's court, said her piece and got her due.
Back here, we stay blaming God. He's a whitie, afterall.
There are currently seven British-Nigerians in the British Parliament. I imagine they got the positions by reminding everyone that they are black and proud. The world's never going to be fair but we can either move on and make our mark like those before us or stay bitching about real and imagined injustices.
Selah.
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