I keep having this dream where
the white man isn’t angry
the black man entered
the white house.
When I wake up, the white man
has stolen everything.
I tell my neighbors but they don’t believe me
because he’s a white man wearing a red hat
and says he owns a bible.
They tell me he is our president and I don’t believe them
because I remember voting with my nephew
on my hip, his chubby fingers reaching for the ballot
while telling myself:
I’m with her because he’s with me.
I keep having this dream, America,
and you keep building more doors
for white men to enter our houses.
Originally published in Drunk Monkeys’ special “The Year of Trump” issue, which can be found here.
I’m a lower-middle-class American, but I breached the middle class. I’m behind on my bills and I usually can’t afford to add guacamole to my dinner, but I have what I need. I had a decent enough high school education and earned myself small scholarships to get me through two years of college, with additional help from financial aid, because I was poor.
I worked full-time while going to college full-time, to enter adulthood where I then worked two jobs amounting to nearly 60 hours a week for five or so years, so I would not be poor. It’s very hard in this country to not be poor.
I was lucky. Not everyone has had the same breaks as me, not that I’ve had it easy. But I was able to find work and take care of myself. Jobs aren’t always available to everyone who looks for one. I had to settle and work jobs I had no interest in, but still…I had work.
We, the lower and middle class citizens, support those above us, which does not make sense. It also keeps us from advancing. The top one-tenth percent own about as much wealth as the bottom 90 percent. Why are we responsible for keeping them afloat, when we’re largely ignored or ridiculed by them for our positions in society? Contrary to what some believe, not everyone on government assistance is a bum; they’re often forced to get assistance because they were forced out of what they had or could have had by a rigged system.
Last night I attended the Bernie Sanders rally in Birmingham, Alabama. I went to support a candidate who is tired of the haves taking advantage of the have-nots. He spoke and we listened. I drove home with my palms tingling; they felt raw against my steering wheel – from clapping. I couldn’t sleep last night. His words were bouncing around in my head and I suddenly felt more pride in being American than I ever have. We’re part of a political revolution; we’re part of a historic time in this country – a time in which one man is gradually convincing more and more of us that this is our country, that we have a say. He’s asking us to join him in this revolution. I’m in.
Be part of history.
Take back your country.