Zane to Mother, Week 8



Dear Mother,

            I thought you’d be happy to know that I rescued Pinchy. I hadn’t seen him in years, but when I found out that he was in jail, and not only that but also about to be convicted for a murder he didn’t commit, I couldn’t very well just sit in New York and let him waste away until his imminent death, now could I? Being a journalist is hard work. To be honest, it’s harder than I could have ever imagined. If I thought that my work would lead to people’s death, especially people that I care about, then maybe I never would have pursued a career in this field. Yet these stories, and the atrocities of white violence against blacks in America, need to be told. And right now, it looks like I’m the one to tell them. When we were growing up, I knew that Papa saw something different in me than he saw in Pinchy. I used to wonder why that was. Now I feel like I finally realize it, and maybe I realized it some years ago. Papa treated me differently than Pinchy because I could pass for white, because he thought that maybe I would be able to have a greater mark on the world by being able to pass for white. While I’m thankful that passing allows me to uncover the horrors of what is done to our people, I also often wonder if being able to pass is a curse. Maybe life would be easier if I didn’t have to face what happens to blacks every day head-on. Maybe it would be easier if I could bide my time in New York carrying on like the rest of people in Harlem do, choosing to put the South out of my mind. Yet I don’t think I’m the type of person that can sit idly by while my fellow black men and women are killed. Maybe I’m also complaining for no reason. Because I am able to pass for white, I can enjoy the privileges of the white man that all of my fellow black men do not enjoy. I can see life as it would be if I were in power. Perhaps it even gives me a window to the white man’s soul, a window where I can see why whites are afraid of losing power. So deeply afraid of it that they’ll do anything to keep it. From my experience, it seems that fear can be the greatest driver of our actions—any and all of them. Will fear ever not drive us? Will fear ever not drive the white man to maintain his power, even to a deadly extent? I know these questions seem nearly impossible to answer, but they’re all I can think about. All I can try to wrap my mind around. All I can focus my work on.

Love always,
Zane

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