Invisibility is paired with racism. Once I got here, they had insults waiting. The invisibility manifests in the fact that they don’t even know a black person could like punk. The racism illuminates the reality that, although I have that one thing in common with them, I am still an alien being. Maybe it’s because punk hasn’t been infiltrated by blacks for as long as some other forms of music, and they don’t know how to act around a black person who likes anything other than rap or R&B. Maybe all they know of black people are the stereotypes they’ve been force-fed by popular culture. You can’t turn on a TV today and see many black people doing anything but what white people think they’re supposed to. It’s like a caricature, and in all my encounters with people in the “scene,” they are operating off of this caricature – and I don’t fit it. They pay lip service to stopping racism yet it’s not racism when they say “a thousand black men at the bottom of the ocean is a good start” and then laugh. Saying “nigger” isn’t appropriate but nothing is said when I’m called, disparagingly, a Rastafarian because I have braids. Because we’re all fighting for the same cause, right? We all hate the government and we all love punk, and what does it matter that I feel isolated because I never see another black face and you’re constantly telling me I’m an aberration? This isn’t about “fuck punk.” It’s about fuck you and your racist attitudes. It’s about you waking up and realizing that you’re not some kind of revolutionary while you continue to support this institutionalized racism that has poisoned even your precious little punk rock community.