Extreme Madness
BY CLARENCE BARR, II
Extremist. We see them all the time don’t we? Whether they’re strapping bombs to themselves and running into buildings, condemning someone to Hell for not believing in a particular god or sleeping outside of stores for days to be one of the very first to own a certain product, these are the people who are known to take their passions to the next level.
This is not to say that they’re all bat-crazy lunatics. But I don’t think it’s a stretch to suggest that they’re just a little bit more over-the-top than the rest of us. And recently I realized that I’ve been having conversations with one on a daily basis.
I guess I should have recognized him from the moment we met. The permanent furrow between the eyebrows. The cold stare. The unruly grey beard protruding from coal black skin.
His exterior was a warning sign that I may have come in contact with some kind of hybrid mixture of Nat Turner radicalization and rattlesnake meanness. Both of them bonded together by a personality as prickly as a cactus.
After our first few conversations I nicknamed him “The Angriest, Blackest, Black Man Who Ever Lived.” It was a title he would eventually embrace with pride.
I called him angry because I didn’t think he could find anything in life he didn’t hate besides President Barack Obama, the book, Standing By the Scratch Line and Lebron James. Then again, depending how well James plays in the last two games of the NBA finals, “The Angriest” may be crossing him out as I write this. But that’s an entirely different story.
I have to admit, most of the time I understand his gripes. His hatred for the trend of tight fitting men’s clothing. His despising of people using the N-word in his presence. And his outright loathing of buffoonery in Black people. Although we’re from two different generations, those are things that register with me also.
But like I said, he’s an extremist. So there are times when he makes comments that are so cringe worthy that I have to remind myself that he’s entitled to his opinion.
Like the time he wondered out loud why people continued to pray to Jesus for help even though he couldn’t get himself off the cross. His words not mine. Or the time he actually said that, “the only way to help us (Blacks) out of the mess we’re in is to exterminate all those young dumb muth—— who don’t have enough sense to keep their pants on their asses.” The disturbing part is that he didn’t crack a smile or laugh in either instance.
To me, this was extremism in its rawest form. And what I learned after our many conversations is that what makes individuals like him seem so radical is the fact that they just don’t care.
They are not bound by political correctness. While the rest of us hold our beliefs under wraps, they throw theirs in the face of all who dare to believe or think otherwise.
It is not so much that people have a problem with what they say, the problem comes for most us when we realize they have the courage to say it. And the scariest thing we have face at that point is the prospect of what we’ll begin to think of ourselves if, somewhere deep inside, we actually start to agree.
Anyone wanting to contact Clarence Barr can reach him at: Clarence Barr, II, 43110-018; P. O. Box 7007; Marianna, FL 32447-7007. Reality On Ice is © by the Florida Sentinel Bulletin Publishing Company.
