How centuries of privilege, excuses, and contradictions continue to shield the guilty from truth

Once the smoke clears and centuries of abuse are no longer tolerated, accountability must follow. When the reflection less are finally forced to face themselves, scientists, historians, and everyday people should want to study not only their deeds but also the systems of deceit they built against humanity.

I am still baffled at how quickly two completely different, and completely ridiculous, judgements can come from the same person – with the only difference being the color of skin. Sunscreen has a way of lightening even the most obvious of crimes.

Imagine this: a “sunscreen member” jumps into a lion’s den, taunts the lion, and receives the predictable lesson of bites and claw marks. Who gets the sympathy? Not the lion, but the one who provoked danger. The sympathy donors applaud recklessness, draping it in caution tape and excuses.

Meanwhile, in the very same society, if an unleashed dog attacks an innocent person – or another dog – the blame somehow flips onto the victim. Suddenly, we hear the magical incantation: “it was an accident.”

This is the club of contradictions – the sunscreen club. They cry when a man who openly despised empathy and condoned public violence is not universally mourned. They dismiss centuries of immoral laws that gave them a head start in wealth and power. And yet, they boldly question the qualifications of Black men and women who rise into leadership, all while protecting their own with silence.

“A Black man or woman must accomplish twice as much, carry credentials twice as heavy, and gather experience far beyond what is required – just to be considered for the same job a sunscreen member can obtain with a fraction of the qualifications.”

Often, that same sunscreen member receives double the pay, faster promotions, and greater protection when mistakes are made. Meanwhile, the permanent tan community finds itself more quickly fired, often for frivolous reasons, and left without the excuses that flow endlessly from the sunscreen well of sympathy.

That well never runs dry. Not when crimes are clear. Not when evidence is undeniable. Especially not when the victims belong to the permanent tan community.

” For centuries, police departments, medical examiners, prosecutors, and government officials have claimed that Black men and women lynched and hung from trees were simply ‘suicides,’ no foul play suspected.”

From legal Chattle Slavery through today, this grotesque lie has been maintained. Every person who has ever participated in these cover-ups belongs under a jail – including the lap dogs who look like me but serve the sunscreen hatred club instead of truth.

And let’s be clear: the sunscreen community has a remarkable way of forgiving its own for the most despicable crimes committed against one another – while demanding life itself be taken “off the books” when the tables are turned. What kind of human spirit can live with such a double standard – mercy for themselves, cruelty for everyone else?

The hypocrisy doesn’t stop there. Black Death is ridiculed with ease, dismissed, or excused away. Yet if the permanent tan community chooses not to mourn a man who spewed vitriol against minorities, suddenly we are called heartless. The same sunscreen club that worships a reality television president – one who celebrated American hatred for anyone outside their ranks – can cry foul when others won’t honor their chosen idols.

It’s apparently acceptable for him to disrespect the military, mock disabled people, degrade prisoners of war, insult impoverished nations, blocking the investigation in a detrimental child sex trafficking ring where he was a participant along with his close friend(s), including bragging about sexually assaulting women, and even being on camera telling a ten-year-old child, “In ten years I’ll be dating you.” These factual events cause no outrage in the sunscreen community. But the moment anyone dares to speak on the truths? That’s considered despicable.

“How much stock should I buy in chapstick because your lips have to be hanging on by a thread. One more scrupulous lie and half the country’s lips might spontaneously combust.”

Respect, for them, is demanded but never reciprocated. Olympic medals may not be won in sprinting, but in the art of lying to the public and oneself – gold, silver, and bronze belong to them every time.

To those who will take this as an insult: I write with love for humanity. My aim is not to tear down but to expose, to bridge communication and awareness. The permanent-tan community has shown the world, time and again, that we are a caring and welcoming people. Yes, frustration exists and is warranted. Yes, some act out – but always within their own neighborhoods and not the people responsible for holding them there. Neighbor vs. neighbor just like every other group on earth. Except, of course, the sunscreen community, whose reach is global, whose appetite for “more” never ends.

They seem to be the only people in the world for whom enough is never enough. The message is always the same: “We like what you’ve accomplished, so we’re coming to take that too – or destroy it.”

Why so much hatred when you already have so much? We try to mind our own business, yet shadows still find their way into our peace. We don’t call the police on you, hoping for a death sentence. We don’t leash your kids, treating them like animals. We don’t stop you for driving a decent car. We don’t bring you onto national broadcasts to demean you. We don’t believe you’re a criminal or vagrant because you don’t use wash clothes or lotion. We don’t ask you to go back to the country you or your family ran away from because their you were considered a criminal or mediocre. We don’t sit in elected seats demanding the public to kiss our rings while drafting laws to damage your community.

You do.

So when the smoke settles, let the microscope be turned inward. Let’s trace this hateful spirit back to its roots. Because at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter your age, gender, or birthplace: if you know you don’t want something done to you, then it’s wrong – point, blank, period.

“It wasn’t me.” In Shaggy’s voice

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