A girl once had a man thrust his penis down her throat. It came so suddenly, unexpected and unwanted that she tried to embrace it in order to make the offense seem less than what it was. She was in love with the man behind the penis. They had just shared one of the most beautiful moments in life. They had shared a bath and he bathed her in the most fragile pieces of his thoughts. As her skin wrinkled from the hours spent in water, her heart wrinkled from soaking up his fragility.
He climbed out and thrust his penis down her throat and she gagged and the fragility became her.
Today I saw a group of black students sitting in a small, dispersed circle. They had a microphone, but it was really just a nuisance creating crackling that numbed the voice trying to speak up. One young man was saying, “And therefore,” crack.
“And therefore,” he repeated. “Therefore we cannot be racist. When condemned under the laws of a white Western world we cannot be racist.” Crack.
A girl took the mic, and behind her I saw two or three white students passing by shaking their heads. They had heard what he had said. They had heard the crackling and they saw the two or three red berets. They didn’t mind it though.
Listening has a few synonyms. Notice. Pay attention. Heed. Observe. Watch. Mark. Mind.
Minding something gives it an extra layer of meaning. Minding is: not simply hearing. Caring. Thinking about it. Actively participating in discussion, even if you do not say a word.
Here’s what happened after the girl’s bath: she stood up, dried her soaked up body and minded. It took her a long time to listen past the action of what he (the man behind the penis) had done. Have you heard that actions talk? If she had only heard what the action said, she would’ve been filled with anger today. She would’ve said it was colonisation. He had taken the sympathy her body wanted to portray hostage. It was selfish, in order to satisfy his own fragility.
But she minded the action. She listened to the action in her head over and over again and finally realised that the action said this: I want to portray love. I’m fragile and empty after allowing you to bathe in my soul’s deepest holes. I want to have a moment of pleasure, intimacy. Where you comfort me. I want love.
She listened and minded so much that she realised: this was an act of love. How sad that he can only portray love through force. How sad that his idea of love is to take hostage. She doesn’t feel anger. She feels pity.
If the white students were to turn around today, they would’ve seen that the black students were not the man behind the penis trying to take, take, take. They were sitting in the bath, sharing their deepest of fragile thoughts attempting to move to a place where they can be comforted with someone who minds. If the white students had stopped to mind for a few minutes, they would’ve minded that black students felt that their world was alien: a colourless foreign world wherein pigment is taken hostage. If the white students minded, they would’ve realised that they are the man behind the penis taking hostage the comfort they think they deserve.
I pity the white, for they do not mind that they do not mind love.