For the Love of Race (A Satire)

By W. F. Twyman, Jr.

                                                                                                                                     

               “Damn, girl, where is your head?” charged Shaniqua Jackson. Shaniqua was frustrated with Carmen Delgado on race. Carmen bedeviled Shaniqua. The two had dated for the past several months but Shaniqua grew tired of explaining to other black students that Carmen was “cool.” “Why are you sitting at the Hispanic Table?”

               “My Mom is Tejana, you know,” replied Carmen as she dug her fork listlessly into her salad. She didn’t want to have this conversation with her girlfriend.

               “Are we in Mexico? No. We’re here in God-D--- New Hampshire. One drop of black blood makes you Black, Carmen! Read the room!”

               The two sat in the dining room of the most august New England boarding school in America, St. Paul’s School. Established in the year 1856 as a school for boys, St. Paul’s was now preeminent among the favored spaces for education of the American Elite. The school sat on 2000 acres of lush land. Wooded trails, ponds and the Turkey River combined to create a sense of, shall we say, privilege. Although the overwhelming majority of students were legacy enrollees who could pay full freight of $170,000 per year, a minority like Shaniqua were accepted through the A Better Chance (ABC) program. ABC paid all costs for ABC students, including Shaniqua.

               “Didn’t your father write the book on race and racism?

               “No, that was my grandfather. And that was a long time ago. I never knew my grandfather,” Carmen said glumly. “Look, I love you Shaniqua. You…complete me. Let’s not do this now.”

               “And wasn’t your grandfather the President of Hampton?”

               “No, the school was Howard. And that was my great-grandfather. Look, why are we having this conversation. Can’t we enjoy our time together today and not argue?” Carmen was a mind and, while the energy from Shaniqua’s urban, single-parent childhood intrigued Carmen, Carmen was raised to respect precision of thought and discipline of the mind as well. Shaniqua was losing favor in Carmen’s mind.  

               Carmen reached out her hand and palmed Shaniqua’s chocolate-colored face underneath her braids. “You’re mi bebe from the hood mi amor.” Carmen wanted this moment to last, not the argument but the affection and attention. Shaniqua removed Carmen’s hand and stared into Carmen’s eyes.

               “You know what they say about you, Carmen, at the ABC table. They say you think you’re white, that you are acting white. They question whether you are down with black people. You don’t sound like black people. You don’t code switch. Spanglish doesn’t make you Black. You don’t read the room! And I’m tired of covering for you!”

               “You know, they can go to hell! They should say it to my face. But they won’t because they are cowards!”

               “I don’t know if I can date someone who is a fake black!”

               “How dare you! I’m a fake black? You’re a fake student. Does your Dad write a check every year for $170,000? What was your ISEE score?”

               And that was the end of Carmen’s relationship with Shaniqua. Shaniqua overturned her plate of food onto Carmen’s lap. “You’re a damn Uncle Tom! What did I ever see in you?” Students looked around to see what the commotion was all about. Shaniqua stormed out of the Dining Room.

               The ABC students stood up as one and applauded. Carmen gave them the middle finger.

=========

In profound despair are great intellectual movements born.

The year was 2046. The place, St. Paul’s School in Concord, New Hampshire. The characters of this story, Carmen Delgado and her close friend, Nelson Aldrich. All things are possible…in The Twilight Zone.

The drama in the Dining Room drove Carmen to despair. She had lost her girlfriend and over what? Race. The pettiness of it all caused Carmen to think about the evils of racial boxes. Why were trans gender people able to be gender fluid? Why couldn’t Carmen be race fluid? The daughter of an Old Black American Family Dad (Harvard Law School professor) and a Tejana attorney Mom, Carmen could not let go of the illogic of it all. Why should gender offer individuals more freedom and creative expression than race? Close to tears as she cleaned off her lap, Carmen experienced what we might call an epiphany, a Road to Damascus moment.

The energy of trans was a Human Rights movement. That was it! That was the equation. That was the trap door out of a haunted present. Carmen had a Human Right to self-identify however she liked. The next great Human Rights campaign was to latch the trans racial movement onto the trans gender movement. And away we go!!!

Carmen removed herself from the racial identity of Christmas past that haunted the Dining Room. In her mind, she said good-bye to the Black Table, the ABC Table, the Hispanic Table – any table that marginalized Carmen’s creative expression of her unique personhood and humanity. Carmen paced around campus for hours mapping out the meaning of trans racialism. One day, school children in the 2070s would study those hours of Carmen’s walk around the St. Paul’s campus as we study the Road to Damascus in Christian scripture.

The birth of a new way of understanding came to Carmen as she paced about the four ponds and along Turkey River and back again. A new world of being came into existence.

=========

[Text messages on Friday morning]

Carmen: Nelson, I have an idea. We can let go of a haunted past.

Nelson: Have you been drinking? Put down that vodka/smile.

Carmen: I’m serious as a heart attack. We can end race!

Nelson: I heard about Shaniqua. Are you ok? [Frown icon]

Carmen: F--- Shaniqua. Come to my dorm room at 8:00 tomorrow morning. Bring bagels, some breakfast tacos and smoothies. We have a lot of work to do. Bueno Bye.

Nelson: [Thumbs up icon]

=========

Saturday morning @ 8:00 a.m.

History records this day as one of the most important days in racial memory.

At 8:05 a.m., Nelson arrived late to Carmen’s dorm room. Carmen pulled Nelson into her room and hung up a Do Not disturb sign on her door knob.

“You’re manic right now, right? Must take your medication,” joked Nelson.

Nelson looked around the room. There were papers, books, reports, articles and essays everywhere – the floor, the desk, the bed, even the window sill.

“What we do today could change the world,” declared Carmen. “Are you with me?”

“What…are…you…talking about? I have squash practice at 11:00 a.m.”

“No, you don’t. What we do this weekend will have more meaning and purpose than anything you may do in your life, including squash practice at 11:00!” declared Carmen.

“Tell my coach that story….,” challenged Nelson.

“Sit down and listen to me,” ordered Carmen. Nelson sat down. To be honest, Nelson found Carmen attractive. She was racially ambiguous in appearance, a pleasant shade of light brown with long dark hair and dark eyes, eyes that drew one in. A natural born intellectual, Carmen had an alluring habit of twisting her hair when lost in thought. But right now, Carmen was on fire with some notion. Nelson would listen and then he would leave for his squash practice at 11:00.

=========

“Why are people trans?” began Carmen. Nelson was spreading cream cheese on his cinnamon raisin bagel. The answer was obvious to Nelson but he played along.

“Because gender is fluid and we are assigned gender at birth,” volleyed Nelson. “Assigned gender may not align with the inner person’s sense of gender.” Nelson took a bite out of his bagel. His mind was on his squash racket, not Carmen.

“Gender must align with one’s inner sense of gender and this is the case for race as well. Race must align with one’s inner sense of race identity. This is the human rights movement of our time!” proclaimed Carmen.

“This is your earth shattering idea?” asked Nelson. “Wasn’t this idea tried thirty years ago? There was Rachel Dolezal who was seen as a fake and a fraud.”

“She had to lie about it. She was ahead of her time and she lied about her inner sense of self. If we bring trans racialism into the world, no one will have to lie again. No one should lie about their racial identity.”

“I remember there was an outbreak of fake Hispanics and Native Americans,” mused Nelson.

“Once again, those professors were forced to lie. Trans racialism means one can tell one’s racial truth and be accepted. We jettison our haunted present and bring forth more truth into the world!” Carmen was twirling her long, black hair as if to channel her racing excitement.

“What about power? I am not an expert on race but didn’t Professor Rebecca Tuvel make the same argument in the 2010s and she was slammed because she didn’t realize race is about power?”

“Nelson, that was nearly thirty years ago. In the year 2046, no racial group is holding any other racial group down. The racial group holding me down would be other blacks like Shaniqua but it is a class thing, not a race thing. Power is now removed from the equation.”

Carmen had Nelson’s attention. He took another bite of his bagel. “This is like a pitch before angel investors.”

“And you’re my first angel investor,” said Carmen. “The pitch is just beginning.” Carmen twisted her hair over and over again.

“I want you to watch this You Tube video from twenty-three years ago, Why Are People Trans? By Lily Alexandre,” said Carmen as she reached for her favorite breakfast taco from La Tejana Taqueria.   

=========

Noon

“Well, so much for squash practice,” lamented Nelson.

“Here, catch this book,” Carman said as she tossed Nelson a book, Acting White: The Ironic Legacy of Desegregation by Stuart Buck. “Harvard Law Review guy who writes about ‘Acting White.’ Nelson, it is all made up! Just made up out of thin air!!!”

“But what is your plan Carmen? Even if race is all made up today, what’s the plan to turn things around? You and I are only two people.” Nelson flipped the pages of Acting White.

“We hijack the trans energy and bring that energy to race,” Carmen said.

“Interesting that Yale University Press published Acting White, not Harvard University Press,” observed Nelson.

“Focus, Nelson, focus. We have to write up a concrete action plan. We’re pitching a big business plan,” said Carmen. Carmen again twisted her defenseless long hair.

“Let’s start with a founding document for our eyes only. That’s how its done in the world of venture capital,” affirmed Nelson.

“Bring those Silicon Valley skills to the table! I love it!” Carmen enthused.

“So, our aim is to fasten the trans racial movement as a fuel rocket onto the Space Shuttle of gender.”

“What was the Space Shuttle? Oh, never mind,” said Carmen.

“The purpose of this document is to…we need a concrete, vivid purpose,” Nelson counseled.

“To set forth a strategy for advancing Trans Racial Rights across the U.S. and the Western World,” offered Carmen, “with a specific focus on the young.” 

“Hand me that article again about trans racialism by Tuvel…” said Nelson. “And let’s order food. We’re going to be here a while.”

Carmen placed an order for cheeseburgers, fries and bottled water for two.

=========

 4:00 p.m.

“What is a Black? What is a Tejana? What is a White? It could be anything and everything,” reasoned Carmen. “We have to embed those questions into Trans Racial Identity ideology,” said Carmen. Carmen twisted her long dark hair again.

“Right, those questions must be as outdated as the question What Is A Woman?” replied Nelson. “The matter is not settled.”

Carmen slapped her hands and did a little Latin dance of eureka with Nelson. Her vision was taking form.

“Like the Critical Race Theory professors, including my esteemed grandfather (may his memory be blessed), we embed Trans Racial Identity into the law. We start with the law. I have street credentials among black law professors. Those are my people,” said Carmen.

“So, I see where you’re going. First, make sure that we train law professors in the ideology,” wrote Nelson.

“Second, we must secure funding sources for our work,” said Carmen.

“Silicon Valley is my home. I can rustle up funds from trans foundations and billionaires,” said Nelson.

“Third, we must hammer home that trans racialism is a Human Right like any other human right,” proposed Carmen. “We use the language of human rights advocacy.”

“I’m there with you,” assured Nelson as he wrote down the third principle into the document.

“Fourth, we must deploy the slur transphobic as a slur at every opportunity. If a law professor objects to trans racialism, that law professor is transphobic. If a grandparent is concerned about loss of their grandchild’s racial soul, that grandparent is transphobic. Novels, essays, and books must be screened for transphobia. Sensitivity readers are trained on the micro aggressions of transphobia.

“Next point,” asked Nelson.

“Fifth, we use our contacts in the media to provide a barrage of human interest stories on trans racialism. Whenever a cisracial turns on social media, I want that person to see transracials. When a cisracial checks their newsfeed, I want headlines about trans racials. When a cisracial talks trash about a transracial, I want the wrath of God to descend upon the head of that transphobe.”

“Did I say you are an evil genius?” joked Nelson. “Do we have contacts and connections in the media and publishing?

“Grant is an heir to the Elon Musk empire. Archer is a grandson of Mark Zuckerberg. And isn’t Sarah related to that old-time personality on television, Tucker Carlson? We need to reach out to and caucus with Grant, Archer and Sarah,” said Carmen.

“Check,” replied Nelson.

“Sixth, we must focus on the children. We must deploy trans racial teaching materials in the elementary schools. We should have a separate arm devoted to flooding children’s literature with trans racial stories. And, this is important; we will need to infiltrate teaching and education colleges with devotees. Maybe, retain a law professor who will write a treatise The Pedagogy of the Trans Racial. I will work my contacts at Harvard Law.”

Nelson was furiously reducing each insight and intuition to keyboard. Carmen was in a creative flow for the ages. And her rich, dark hair was twisted over and over again.

8:00 p.m.

“Something light for dinner?” asked Carmen. “We’re on a roll here.”

“Let’s do sushi,” replied Nelson.

“Number 20, we must refuse to debate cis racials anytime and all the time. Our cis racial society is rotten through and through. We are imposing dogma. Debate and discussion can only weaken our merger and acquisition of trans energy. The idea is it should be impossible to question trans racialism,” theorized Carmen. “My Dad used to talk about mergers and acquisitions law at the dinner table.”  

“What are we bringing into creation, Carmen?”                                                   

“A future where no one is ever called an Uncle Tom or a fake Black again. Ever!” declared Carmen.

Midnight

“Number 30, we need an A+ listing of outside lobby groups throughout the U.S. and the U.K. as allies. Let’s create a listing of the top 100 lobbyists and they will flood the halls of government with arguments for trans racialism. We are creating a norm. And creating a norm is like storming the beaches of Normandy. Our forces should be overwhelming the worlds of public policy, academia, and public discourse,” envisioned Carmen.

“How can we avoid exposure of our strategy?” asked Nelson.

“Only you and I will ever know of the existence of this document,” answered Carmen. Nelson was not convinced but it was midnight and he was running on fumes. It had been a long, long day.

4:00 a.m.

“Number 48, we target young politicians. The young are most open to revolutionary ideas. Once the young are on board, they will influence young politicians. In turn, the senior politicians will take their lead from the young as older types wouldn’t really get it. They are invested in the one-drop rule of race. We are turning their world upside down,” yawned Carmen.

“Let’s call it a day, morning, whatever,” Nelson said through a long yawn.

“Bueno Bye,” Carmen said as she opened her door for Nelson.  

Conclusion: As Nelson walked away into the early morning New Hampshire air, Carmen felt transcendent. She felt more herself than ever before. She no longer felt misaligned in a world of racial boxes. Carmen cared not about Shaniqua or the ABC bullies or the Black Table or any table. Her calling in life summoned Carmen to rest and she slept the day away on Sunday.

Nelson woke up mid-day and realized Carmen had slipped a little red book into his back pack. The book was an inheritance to Carmen from her grandfather. The title of the book – Legal Education and the Reproduction of Hierarchy: A Polemic Against the System by Harvard Law School Professor Duncan Kennedy (Afar Cambridge, 1983).*

 *…the premise of this strategy is that we should go as far as possible toward the total dismantling of the existing system. The idea is that our society is rotten through and through…The demand is for a new society. Page 105

[The Twilight Zone Closing Credits: Any state, any entity, any ideology that fails to recognize the worth, the dignity, the rights of man, that state is obsolete. The Obsolete Man, Season 3, Episode 29, June 2, 1961]