Category : Diary/Journal

Sub Category : N/A

A story I wrote on the spot and in disappointment 
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When I picked up the CD from the “new release” section at Target, impulsively buying an album I swore I would never buy, I had no idea that would be a turning point in my life. A moment that defined my teenage years. A moment that awoke my conscious self, helping me realize that life was not a fairytale. People suffered. Men and women, who shared my pigmentation, faced issues and problems that crippled their subconscious. 
I bought the CD with saved up lunch money. Instead of eating the terrible cafeteria food, I choose to live off of hot cheetos and lemonade than the rubberlike pizza or bland chicken nuggets that didn't taste or look real. 
The plastic around the box felt like it was glued on. I took me awhile to unwrap it-so long that we had walked to the car and drove to the mall before I finally ripped off the plastic and shoved it into the bag. My mom and sisters were in the mall now and I climbed into the first sat, nearly breaking my neck as I tumbled forward. I vividly remember popping the album into the CD player in my mom’s Pathfinder and intently listened as the first beat started. 
“Drug dealing just to get high, stacking money until it gets sky high.”
I listened to that entire album proud as hell and more in awe with each track-most of the time through my headphones instead of blasting from my mom’s car like I wanted. My skin glistened as he talked for me...about me. To me, in that moment filled with pride and joy, Kanye felt like a superhero. He was someone who fought for me. Even though I didn't fully understand what he spoke about, his conviction spoke volumes and told me that this was needed. As I grew older, the bars and lines that went over my head, were shots to the chest, knocking the air out of me. He stood on the frontline in the war against racism and inequality in hope that boys and girls that looked like me could grow up without being ashamed of the color of their skin or living in fear because of it. 
Sadly, it is not 2004 anymore. College Dropout is 14 years old and Kanye West is a husk of the activist that I perceived him. 2004 is gone. It is now 2018. Kanye no longer stands on national TV proclaiming the President of the United States is indifferent about the plight of black people. Instead, he interweaves harmony and speech, mimicking a Baptist preacher as he praise Donald J Trump, our fear mongering, bully for a president. 
Over the past two years, I have watched Trump mock war heroes, women, the disabled. I watched him demonize Mexican Americans, stating most are thieves, rapists and murderers while easing his base that “some" are good people. I watched him attack any and everyone who oppose his train of thought or actions. I watched him approach situations with an opened bias, refusing to fact find to reach a solution. I watched him talk down to alleged victims and praise alleged offenders. No, I am not asking him to believe what I want him to believe. I want my president to be unbiased, sensitive to delicate situations, and impartial. At the very least, diplomatic. (To me) Trump has drawn a line in the sand to establish two groups: those with him and those against him. At heart, he is a separationist and segregationist. If you do not fall in line, than you are an enemy. As a black man, I do not believe Trump actually cares or see me. 
Kanye parading the MAGA on instagram wasn't surprising or an issue although I fought the urge to cry. “This nigga" was my first thought. “What the fuck,” was my second. I wondered how could the man who once rapped “I get down for my grandfather who took my momma
Made her sit in that seat where white folks ain't want us to eat
At the tender age of 6 she was arrested for the sit in
And with that in my blood I was born to be different,” stand next to a man who berate the same cause he once represented. If Bush hates black people for his lack of action after Katrina, how does Trump not hate us? This terrifying and vomit inducing image played in my head, repeatedly-an officer stands over Colin Kaepernick’s lifeless corpse as Donald Trump laughs and Kanye stands on the sidewalk. He wears a MAGA, holding a sign reading “Love, Colin.”
Back in the real world, Kanye spoke about the power of love. I went from angry to sad to confused back to angry. He asked the offended, the scared, the hopeless, the oppressed, to open their arms and learn to love while never directing that same sentiment to Donald Trump. 
I associated his conquest to spread love as victim blaming at the least and oppressive at the most. Either way, when I heard him say those words, I felt demeaned and forgotten. The same protest he believed in and perpetuated, he condemned while standing at the sidelines of a fight he was needed in. I couldn't comprehend, why he was asking those who felt as if they experienced injustice to silence their voices in the name of love. 
I used to believe Kanye was my hero, but now I am afraid of him. I am afraid how he uses his voice, his influence, his image to help spread ignorance and hatred. 
This isn't me saying Kanye cannot like Trump or about how Trump is bad. Oh no, this is merely a story that involves politics. This is a story about a young man who realized that superheroes don't exist at 29 years old.