Ben Philippe - Sure, Ill Be Your Black Friend

To my father, Robert,
for Dream bigger and elsewhere.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a good white person of liberal leanings must be in want of a Black friendespecially when said good white person is in good fortune. (Rich people love a Black friend, but we will get to that later.)

Hi!

My name is Ben: Im your new Black friend. Like any good friend, I aim to always be here for you and your concerns, as problematic as they may occasionally be. Lets talk about our hopes and dreams, and feel free to ask me if I can swim. When youre slightly inebriated, you can go on to tell me how white privilege isnt a thing because your ex once cheated on you with one of your coworkers so how could your life ever be considered privileged? We will work through it all as buds, dont you worry.

Unless youre someone who has no interest in mixing with a coloredand lets face it, that tends to come with an aversion to books in the first placea Black friend provides a flattering filter to your life. Group photos, parties, social media. Having one is a point of pride youre not supposed to make too big a deal of but that others will notice around you. My quickstepping over to your table at the restaurant apologizing for running late will catch the eye and emphasize your ability to embrace someone who is different from you and truly celebrate diversity. I understand my societal power and will happily share it with you. Im the person you glance toward at a comedy show when a comedian says something racial and vaguely problematic. The air will fill with awkward tension until I givedecreethe first guffaw. Only then will the rest of the room feel confident enough to laugh. Now thats institutional power.

This will not be a superficial friendship, mind you! I would never do that to you. Trust me: this is so much deeper than a BLM sticker on the Volvo. You will come to learn a truly uncomfortable amount about me by reading this book. This will be the equivalent of making prolonged eye contact sitting pretzel-style across from one another and holding hands. Nude. This book is the stand-in for a dozen grabbed beers at our regular hole-in-the-wall and thousands of non sequitur text messages. What youre getting here is a Black friend with whom you can broach, pardon my franais, the good stuff. Politics. Religion. Sexuality. Race. The heavy topics.

After all, theres an intimacy to discussing these things with your friends, isnt there? These are the matters that fuel those late-night conversations after which two friends will either end up closer than ever or staring at each other from across a great divide, reconsidering everything that came before, no matter how many drinks theyve downed together. And if you are taking a chance here, as you dont normally think about race that much, dont worry: youre not the first person Ive come across who does not typically burden themselves with this topic. Youre here for the friendship first, and race second. Ive got you. What follows is more or less the written version of a few dozen beers grabbed at our local hangs, walks around the park, or subway rides heading in the same direction after an afternoon movie. Here lies an accumulation of stories, rants, tangents, arguments, and maybe even a few fights. If you are white, dont worry: youre not my first white friend. Ive socialized with enough white people to have developed a sixth sense for the looming threat of a game of Cards Against Humanity and Whole Foods wine after dinner. I low-key enjoy those these days.

Another reason why this might all be new, scary, dare I say titillating for you could be the old classic excuse that there just arent a lot of Black folks in your neck of the woods. This book might be your very first attempt at a Black friend, and thats fine! Friendships, like a good cruise ship murder, are defined by means, motive, and opportunity. Despite good intentions, you might simply not have had access to Black people to befriend until now.

For instance, a quick Wikipedia survey reveals that there are 1,216 African Americans in the town of Morgantown, West Virginia, which works out to about 4.1 percent of the towns population. And I completely buy that all of these people might happen to suck. Black people arent unicorns; some of us profoundly suck, just like any ethnic grouping under the sun. They might make for bad friends who bring toxicity into your life and whose social media presence infuriates you. Or, they might all live on the same side of town that you simply never venture intorace and class are incestuously linked in America... So, yes: it might not be your fault.

But, my new and maybe melanin-lacking friend, we have to be real with each other here, thats the deal. So, I also have to inform you not having many (or any) Friends of Color could also be the result of assumptions, prejudices, and internalized thought patterns. Im not talking down to you herea good friend should never do that. Im just saying that its important to admit our own biases when scoping the world for kinships, partners in crime, and emergency contacts.

I myself have a true xenophobic loathing for the French tourists who swarm New York City every year only to loudly complain about everything the city has to offer while riding the subway, thinking they are speaking secret, bitchy Dothraki no one around them could possibly decode.

Non, mais srieusement, les gars: allez chier. Les Qubcois sont gnralement corrects mais ciboire que vous tes agaants des fois les franais de souche. Rentrez donc chez-vous si vous allez chier sur lentiret de la culture Amricaine. [spit]

Quick sidebar: African American is kind of a misnomer in my case. Caribbean Canadian might be more geographically accurate? For one thing, Im one of those Black guys whose mother tongue is, as displayed above, French. As a result, I cant puff up my chest and retort, Im from America. I was born right here, you yokel! if a bearded man or red-cheeked white woman frowns at my accent with a Where you from, boy? Im from elsewhere. (The boy on the other hand, will still get you a well-earned invitation to go do something very unpleasant to your own body.)

Because of this wrinkle of having been born Haitian, raised Canadian, and having adopted America as my third home in adulthood, conversations both about and around race have always been a fixture of my life. My Blackness is what you might call a little scattered. It took me a while to get the hang of it. Lots of books were read, and Im still learning to this day. This can create complicated ripples around both white and Black people. Hell, I might make some egregious errors in this open friendship of ours. But, being Black is my default state. There is certainly no bravery or artistry to it. I dont power up a crystal, and there is no Sailor Moontype animation sequence: I only exist as Black. My skin is a blunt and obvious rock dropped into the lake of the world. Most of the time, I dont have to do the work of sorting it out, as someone or something in the world will take it upon themselves to tell me exactly what shape my Blackness should take and if Im doing it right or falling short. The world can be very good at doing that. So much so that I used to think that it was irrelevant to even concern myself with it at all.

That approach would work until the moment it didnt and awareness of my race suddenly filled the room. In the space of a conversation, I would find myself filled with Black thoughts, Black history, Black joy, and Black rage. Because race is one of those things that categorically does not matter between friends until it does. Until it becomes the most important thing in a room wherein every syllable feels like a potential misstep that might take down everyone in it. Hold your breath. Backpedal carefully. Look for a shift in tone. Hope for an exit.