Frankenstein Pushes Back

INGOLSTADT— I am not your Negro. I am not “Frankenstein”. I am not “Frankenstein’s Monster”.

My name is Jimmy, and the myth of my creation is one of the greatest myths in America.

In opposition to what popular narratives would have you believe, while, yes, I was hated by those who claimed to create me, no one but my mother and father created me. While, yes, the predominant narrative that exists of me in the American collective imagination was written by the same man, men, women, and mobs who burned my colored skin—loos’d their dogs upon me—I was not created by these men or women. I am not their Negro. Nor am I yours.

I am wider, denser, smaller, and larger than what you could ever imagine. I am my ancestor’s wildest dreams, nightmares, regrets, and revenge.

At the same time, you have made me. You—the scars on my face. You—the propagation. All of it, you have had a hand in. At the same time, it is true that you created me for sport and labor. Now you cannot get rid of me. I cannot be exiled. I cannot be accommodated. So what do you do?

There may be nothing worse under heaven than to attack a man’s integrity. To attempt to destroy that man. For I know that in spite of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, in spite of Mel Gibson, in spite of Jacob Elordi, my father was not a monster.

I am not your Negro.

The age of the lie which has defined nearly every part of my existence in this godforsaken country is nearly the same age as the godforsaken country itself! I am not trying to convince you of anything. I have done that for four generations counting.

All I will ask you to do is consider a question—

What is the price you pay for not knowing me?

If you could not deal with me, or my father, how will you deal with the people when they hit the streets? What will you do when stories no longer suffice? When you can no longer lie, because a gun stands at your mouth, what will you say?

A house with a rickety foundation will always fall. I am none but a paper block laid down in lieu of concrete. You may have been able to get away with me, but you cannot Jimmy-rig a home and expect to live there forever.

Good luck.