So last weekend I was travelling on a train minding my own business, on my way to see Do The Right Thing at the Kino Cinema on Collins Street. They were celebrating 30 years of being open in Melbourne, and so were showing 80s and 90s films, and offering tickets at 1987 prices, as well as $1 popcorn, so you know I was down. I was excited, I was running a little late, and also, I noticed that I couldn’t see that well. And so the eye saga began.
Anger for me is a funny sort of thing. I haven’t always been able to express it, identify it or even understand it. I have undoubtedly felt its effects; the sneaky way it erupts in my too-pointed sentences, or festers in my stoic silences. Yes I am familiar with it but I haven’t always embraced it, which I think most of us could do more of.
Lately I’ve been considering how I fit in. Or more accurately, how my blackness fits in with the whiteness I have grown accustomed to being surrounded by. My experience for the most part has been positive, and any aggressions I have faced would have been nuanced and almost unnoticeable to my previously untrained eyes. Still though, I’ve been thinking about it.
I know what you’re thinking; oh no, not another rant about race. If you’re thinking this, according to the film I watched last night, it means that you’re a racist. OK, so it’s really not that simple and that film (Dear White People) was actually a tongue-in-cheek, humorous but also very real depiction of the issue of race today. At least amongst America’s youth anyway.