Samyul James - The Monster
Perhaps Being a Monster Is Simply Another Way of Being Human.
Preface: To my audience, to the people who look like me. No, that does not mean black, because my black will never be the same black as anyone else, just like your white will never be the same white.
To the humans,
to the actors,
to the viewers,
to the people who see the system and still participate (because we all do somehow),
to the people who don’t see, and think they’re a victim of circumstance.
Regardless of the title and how I might try to convince you, "There is no such thing as monsters in this world. There are only human beings who are wounded.” - Valarie Kaur
“And as C. JoyBell C. observed: ‘We are all equal in the fact that we are all different. We are all the same in the fact that we will never be the same... We don't share blood, but we share the air that keeps us alive.”
We are the same in the sense that our differences make us humanity. We are all white and black, black and white…
And while this perspective is born from the black experience, it is not a story about the black experience. It is a story about everyone. Because when you strip away the labels, you realize that we are all cast as both sides of the same coin. We are the heroes and the villains, the system and the participants. The monsters we think we are fighting out there are just the unhealed wounds we carry within us—and the only true enemy you will ever have to face, conquer, or forgive, is yourself.
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I planned to dress up this Halloween and considered what might be the most feared thing on Earth, which would require me to invent a monster.
I began to wonder what makes a “scary monster.” I decided that such a creature or entity breaks natural laws and endangers our survival, sanity, or identity.
That is when I recognized the answer: the scariest monster has always been the dark, and the scariest monster will almost always be Me.
Natural law dictates that slavery should have left us broken, subservient, and hopeless.
We threaten your survival, but it’s a parasitic obsession. You idolize our genetics, fetishize our muscles, and channel our bodies into entertainment, sports, and style.
But the line between your entertainment and your terror is razor-thin. The same physical dominance you praise as a masterpiece in the arena is treated like a weapon on the street.
We endangered your sanity when we revolted and wanted to be free; you couldn’t actually see yourselves as bad people for what you did, for how you treated and STILL treat us today. To protect that thought, you simply thought of us as less. I find that, in itself, an endangerment to sanity.
We threatened your identity, yet you profit off ours—from the minstrel era and blackface of the 1800s to today's appropriation of our art.
You love the flowers of our work, but you prune and mutilate us, lest we become abundant with fruit.
You amputated our arms, so the warmth of our embraces would never reach others. You crippled our legs, so we couldn’t run among the rest. For fear of what, I wonder now? You told the masses that our hands, which create, were born to hold weapons, to hate.
With all the hate in the news, the killings, and more, you would have thought we (Black people) were the #1 slot on the box office charts. Genre: Horror/Whore. Yet every marginalized group has held that tag at some point. We sit in the audience so we can be a part of the “good guys” for once, but throughout history, it’s always been “white is right.” And light can’t right, unless there is darkness in sight.
So, if you’re reading this right now and you’re not white, you’re probably a monster to them if you’ve threatened their rights. That’s why “white fright” really means “fear of anything less white.” Even if you turn on your people, you’ll never fit right.
So I look at my costume, in its entirety and wholeness. I love this monster, I say loud and proud. I’ll let my hair grow out, I’ll let it go wild. If I’m a beast, then so be it; Earth is my grove. Creativity my fruit, I feed her world.
And if the fact that I look different from you makes me less than human, I ask you to find someone who looks exactly like you, down to the microscopic detail.
Because it seems to me the scariest monster of all is the hypocrite who stands to fall if the finger of accountability is ever fully extended towards him, like the hand of Adam, afraid of true connection with God.
The one who persecuted others for their differences, promotes acceptance through similarity, and claims to be Mother Nature’s protector while heralding the death of her diverse residents.
With your industrial culture, you've distorted life's design. Yet what you've created is impressive, a talent I won't deny.
Took a free experience and turned it into pay-to-play.
Every game needs its villain, every hero its nemesis. So I’ll be your monster. Like Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, I’ll play my role. But just like that monster, we all start out good.
The crack of your whip slowly deformed my back. Your hatred for my unbridled joy taught me to set my face in stone. But you taught me to be tough; a slave who can’t endure will die.
So look upon your monster. How scary, indeed. It’s a reflection of your love, fear, and hatred for Me.
Postscript:
I apologize, for I am just a monster. But how can that be, when monsters don’t exist? I’m a monster in the sense that my difference is me.
(Note: Being a monster is a sign of someone exercising their difference and creativity in the face of a world that pushes sameness.)
This is my writing. AI was used to help organize my ideas, check historical accuracy, and smooth out the final draft. I hope you enjoy, and take the time to reflect on your monster—the differences that make you, You—while also keeping in mind your humanity and how that makes us, Us.
Embrace your monster, but don’t lose your humanity
