like billions of others, in august of 1984, i spent a good portion of my time glued to the tv watching the olympics. i was too young (five years old) to really comprehend many of the sporting events taking place, but since they seemed to involve lots of running and jumping and swimming and throwing and sh*t, i was hooked.

to my dismay, though, i noticed a common theme amongst the majority of the participants, a theme that disturbed me the more and more i watched. after a couple days of this, i’d grown fed up and gathered all the gumption a five year old could possibly muster, approached my dad and asked,

“do i hafta be white to play in the olympics?“

now obviously, in hindsight, the 29 year old champ knows that the men and women taking place in the olympics that year spanned all countries, cultures, and races, and creeds, but my five year old eyes weren’t lying. i knew what i saw, and i saw (what seemed like) 10 white athletes to every “other”, and i needed to know why and how that was possible.

along with the fact that it showed my parents they were raising an extremely weird peculiar and neurotic child, this story also signifies the first time i can recall being racially aware. since then, from an eight year old champ feeling sad because he realized that each of his crushes at school were light-skinned and that he was possibly colorstruck (true story. like i said, i was an odd child and sh*t, lol), to a teenage champ reading “race” and the “autobio of malcolm x” during commercials while i was watching the lakers or the bulls, the concept of race in general (and my “blackness” in particular) has been an obsession.

as i’ve grown older, this obsession has morphed into the form of a columbo-esque racial irritator, poking my unusually large head and nose around to attempt to debunk as many myths and “truths” as possible. yet, despite the number of generally (and lazily) assumed “facts” i’ve discussed, debated, and eventually discounted, theres one answer that has continually eluded me, an answer to a question that will become more and more relevant the further we go into the 21st century…

…is there a shared “black american experience?”

on the surface, this question seems at best, shortsightedly naive, and at worst, f*cking ignorant. despite the myriad nuances we possess as a community, its thought to be common knowledge that theres a shared experience we all participate in, a general consensus of commonalities that transcend status, class, and location, and anybody suggesting otherwise is either an idiot, ignorant, or intentionally inciteful.

thing is, what exactly does the black experience mean? in today’s america, where class distinctions are beginning to take full precedence over racial ones, how is the “universal black experience” determined?

i know it can’t be defined by our struggle with racism, because in today’s america, for every black american who’s had to face racial adversity, there exists those (read: “me“) who honestly can’t name one instance in their personal lives where being black became an obstacle (yup. you read that correctly. i’m a 29 year old black man who can honestly say that he’s never had to face any typical of unambiguous racial discrimination. ***knocking on wood***)

you can say that we’re linked through our hypertension soul food and baptist/methodist churches, but many southern whites hold these institutions just as dear as we do and many bougie northern blacks wouldn’t know soul food from sole’ so we can’t claim sole ownership (although, in the case of soul food, we could have claimed “finders keepers“, but its a bit too late for that now).

i guess you can note the unique way we move and express ourselves through music as the one thing that links us all, but if this is it, if the only shared experience is thats completely unique to us is limited to our rhythm and swagger, then, ummm, our experience definitely needs more people

hmmm…with all this being said, my question to you is…

…is there an all-encompassing, all-unifying “black experience“…or has this term become obsolete?

***before we answer these questions, lets rewind back to 1984 to see how my dad answered the question from the five year old champ***

“no, you don’t hafta be white, champ.”

i remember my dad remarking, while we were watching what had to be a particularly unattractive russian gymnastic team

“but, to be on that team, it seems like you’d hafta be ugly”

—the champ