YouTube screenshot via George Chidi

An irony of the pseudo-citizen status often bestowed on American Blacks is the fact that we're unquestionably and intrinsically American. We've been in America longer than America has been America and have been as vital to America's current success as any other group of people. And, despite numerous legal, social, economic, and spiritual attempts to prevent us from doing so, we've made our roots here. Planted our entire Black-ass ass on the couch, and put our entire Black-ass foot on the ottoman while our big-ass cup of "I'm American, bitch. Deal with it." sweet tea sits on the coffee table.

The roots are so deep and the Blackness so ubiquitous, so limitless, that it appears in places you might not expect it to be. And, for White supremacists, in places you don't want it to be. A family genealogy commissioned to prove the pureness of your lineage that actually ends up showing you have some suspiciously tanned fourth cousins and great aunts. A niece's prom date. A Hootie & the Blowfish song you rock out to in the morning, unaware that Hootie is a Black dude named "Darius" from Charleston. And, occasionally, your feet.

Adding insult to the unidentified White supremacist's injury is the fact that God is clearly (clearly!) playing games with him. Because there are maybe 37 people on Earth who actually own FUBU basketball sneakers. I know more people who own actual monkeys (one) than people who own FUBU sneakers (zero). (Does this person legally own the monkey? No! But the monkey is alive. At least it was the last time I saw it.) And for this guy to walk into a shoe store and mindlessly pick up a clothing item so unambiguously Black that even actual Black people are like "Yeah…FUBU is a bit too Black for me" is some Black-ass shit.


Damon Young is the editor-in-chief of VSB, a columnist for, and the author of What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Blacker (Ecco/HarperCollins)

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