A few weeks ago, in this post, I wrote:

...in my case, anonymity has been all too easy to maintain. My name is all over the blog and SC... and yet I remain ultimately anonymous. Hell, I practically ensured my anonymity when I posted my photo and actually met folks in public. The simple fact of the matter is that, for me, I will always be more anonymous to people who have seen my face and/or met me in person than I will be to those who know nothing about me at all save what I've written.

And now for the explanation.

On Monday, the Anonymous Blogger posted a joke from his standup comedy routine last Friday. The joke begins with a contention that the PC term "African-American" is too long, and then Bob proceeds to demonstrate that fact with a scenario that involves him spotting an "African-American" guy about to be hit by a bus and attempting to warn him -- but unsuccessfully, as he is unable to get the words "Hey you! The African-American guy!" out before the man is run down. Apparently the joke was well-received on Friday, and on Monday the majority of those who commented on the entry found it to be amusing as well. I was one of the few who didn't.

Of course, if you saw someone about to be run over by a bus, you wouldn't call out to him in that manner. You might shout, "HEY YOU!" or something along those lines, but you probably wouldn't single him out with respect to his skin color. For the sake of "humor," of course, the joke ignores that fact -- but there's more than a little truth in this depiction of an individual being run over because someone else feels that it is more important to make reference to the color of his skin than a number of other things that might better cause the guy in the road to realize, "OH! He's talking to me."

Whether you realize it or not, terms like "black" and "African-American" are never simply aesthetic descriptors. The terms inherently carry with them assumptions about a person's cultural background, interests, behavior, manner of speaking, sexual proclivity, political views, and so forth. If these terms were simply intended to describe skin color, they would hardly receive the emphasis that they presently enjoy.

But when people see me, whether for the first time or for the five hundredth, they will always think of me as "black" or "African-American" -- and all of the associations that come with it. I cannot even recall the countless number of times that people have described me as "a black version" of such-and-such or told me that I remind them of so-and-so "...if he were black." The very fact that they mention that above all other things -- as opposed to mentioning that so-and-so is six feet tall, or that such-and-such speaks with a British accent, or that this person who is so much like me doesn't run a wacky humor website or hold an undergraduate degree in Philosophy from Yale -- goes to show how much import they place on the color of my skin -- and I submit that they wouldn't feel the need to mention the color of my skin at all if it didn't mean something else to them.

I have expressed disappointment about this fact in the past -- that no matter how long I know a person, it seems that that person will always view me as an extension of my apparent "race and culture" -- and have always been met with responses that it is unreasonable of me to expect people to do otherwise. And with all of the emphasis placed on "race" in today's culture and the insistence that by honoring stereotypes one is not doing a disservice to another person but is, instead, showing respect for that person's individuality, with the rise of racialized organizations and the championing of "diversity," perhaps they were right. My father once told me that no matter how many terms might better express who I am, the one that people will always place at the top of their lists -- the only one that will ultimately mean anything to people at all -- is the term "black". I think maybe he was right.

So that, then, is why I am fairly certain that no one will ever be able to really know me. Perhaps no one will never even attempt to. Why bother, when everything one needs to know about me is broadcasted by the color of my skin? Of course, this is hardly an accurate or even remotely expressive descriptor of Wes -- which is why, ultimately, I will always remain anonymous. I place no emphasis on dating because I have no hope of meeting persons who actually care about me. How could they, when they can never know me? And children? The truth of the matter is that unless the "racial" descriptor is accurate -- and its associations actually do say something significant about that person -- to be born with brown skin is to be condemned to live a life in which one will always be ignored, marginalized, overlooked, mistreated, stereotyped, and ultimately forsaken. This is a fate I would not wish on my worst enemy, and certainly not on my own child. So I will never have children. Moreover, I fault my parents for deciding to bring me into this world at all, for apparently they knew what the outcome would be. But then, it is apparent that they did not expect me to be as I am -- as my mother pointed out by constantly criticizing my interests and behavior with such comments as, "How many black people do you see doing that?" and "Your ass is black -- act like it!"

This is why I do not find Bob's joke funny in the least and, as I noted in his comments section, I think that perhaps the "African-American" guy in his scenario was better off being crushed beneath the wheels of the bus.