Osama Rahman

I want to go on the record and explain why I had the worst #Blackout Tuesday in history. Yes, I saw the hashtag on my socials. But no one had taken the time to explain what it really meant. From where I am standing, #Blackout Tuesday was something like my favourites -- #Blackout Thursdays and #Blackout Birthdays.

Turns out I gravely misread the channeling of the outrage.

Don’t get me wrong, though. I understand the most nuanced points of the latest discussion on racism. I am well-versed in the culture, even if I do say so myself. I know all about the pigs in the blue. I have heard NWA’s 1988 release on this matter a total of 17 times. I consider 2Pacalypse Now one of my favourite albums.

My favourite movie? Denzel Washington. Yes, exactly. Denzel Freaking Washington. Favourite Actor? Robert Downey Jr, but only in Tropic Thunder. Am I getting my point across?

So, yes, while I did not quite grasp what the hashtag expected me to do -- thanks corporates for coming into the game too late -- I was thoroughly aware of the reality I was living in.

And after my embarrassing faux-pas, I picked up pace. I got more engaged in the protests. Petitions, posts, song lyrics, what have you. But then, out came the WOKE. You know, those who always point out how everything I am doing is wrong? Hey, if you feel about this, you must feel about this. You don’t like American policies then why do you even eat ice-cream. People like that. Folks who say those things.

So, now there I was, head dulled heavy from last night’s misunderstanding, now being made to feel miserable for trying to partake in something which is apparently connected to every other damn thing in the universe.

Apparently, I can’t use all the trending hashtags because of that one time when I posted the China Covid-19 joke. But, let’s be honest, I am very “with it”. Yesterday, when my friend asked me to get on Skype with him, I even came back with a witty “Everyone uses Zoom now, welcome to 20-20”. I also know you can scroll on your laptop if you use three-fingers on the mouse-pad thingy.

Why was I being made to feel that I was hijacking a movement for my own gains? What do I even have to gain from all this? But I was made to feel this way. At one point, I even decided to change it up and asked why we needed violent protests. I honestly felt, given the large number of moderates -- the worst of the bunch by the way -- a pacifist opinion would earn me major brownie points.

Boy, was I wrong. Apparently, protests are the most effective way to bring about widespread changes. Now, bear with me, at this point I am seething. My head still hurts and I am dehydrated. So what do I do in the most cranky of all states?

I take up another moral position: “WHAT ABOUT THE RMG WORKERS PROTESTS WHEN THEY BREAK CARS”.

And then. From 453 friends to 429.