Slick, Twan, Tae and I travel together every chance we get.
An out-of-country or stateside trip doesn’t have a hard time finding us, and we sure don’t have a hard time finding one. We’re the perfect balance of personalities to travel together: Tae, the planner; Slick, the responsible one; Twan, the socialite; and me, the chameleon.
This past summer, we touched down in Charlotte, one of our favorite cities, to enjoy good vibes. And just how a vibe finds us, usually so does a debate.
“See that’s what’s wrong with Black people, can never make y’all minds up,” a sober Slick says.
“Man, shut up Dr. Umar Johnson,” Twan yells from the back seat.
We’ve been here before: Four Black men in a rental, with tequila, trap music and a whole disagreement brewing around politics.
“These two want to be Kamala and Trump so bad,” Tae says. We haven’t even made it to the club yet, and we are like a CNN panel debating who should be our next president.
It’s easy to assume that Black professional men like us will all vote the same. I mean, it’s a no-brainer, there’s a Black candidate running for office, a Black woman at that. But the truth is, for Black men, there’s a current divide. It is the reason why Democratic nominee Kamala Harris recently laid out an agenda for Black men and why former President Barack Obama slammed Black men for not rallying behind her. But why is there so much pressure to fall in line, when that’s exactly what Black men have always had to do in this country?
“He’s Kamala, I’m Trump bro,” Twan says, holding on to the back of both car seats laughing hysterically.
Slick, now serious, has problems with Twan’s choice: “That Turkey Leg Hut [meal] from our Houston trip must have you hallucinating my boy. Those Trump supporters will lynch ya ass at one of those rallies.”
“Bro, name one reason you’re voting for Kamala besides the fact that she’s Black,” Twan rebuts. “I’m not saying she’s bad, but she just doesn’t do it for me, I don’t care how much she giggles.”
The two exchange haymakers while I try to get a word in. Normally, one of us would’ve waved a flag by now, maybe even tried to convince each other to change their view, but this was different.
The 15th Amendment granted Black men the right to vote. But now, with divisive politics it feels like both parties are more interested in pushing their own agenda than actually speaking to our needs. A lot of Black men are understanding this dynamic this election.
“You mean to tell me you goin’ give a racist white man your vote? Your ancestors would be pissed at you,” Slick chimes in.
“FOH here bro, that race card won’t work on me this time. The whole government is crooked. Republicans and Democrats. At least Trump don’t hide his racism like Biden did,” Twan responds.
“Yeah typical Black man who forgets where he came from,” Slick goes on. “You just don’t want a woman in power and you hate to admit it Kevin Samuels.”
By now, making my point isn’t important. Not only are we two minutes away from the club, but both sides have legitimately argued their side. From jokes to hard facts, their quick entertaining bout helped me to better understand how close and divisive this presidential race really is.
Twan continues with the discussion: “I’ll take my chances like a parlay. Y’all out here voting for politicians because Obama and y’all favorite rappers said so.”
“You say that now, but wait until health care and student loans increase on ya ass, I bet you’ll vote for her then,” Slick said.
Between Slick’s Kamala defense and Twan’s unapologetic Trump support, and both sides digging deep, I sat in the back seat with an even more uncomfortable truth: The election was months away, and I was undecided. A truth, that if I’m honest, makes me feel ignorant, less Black and all around indifferent.
Tae, who’s been quiet, finally chimes in again, “Ain’t none of ‘em coming to the club with us or buying us drinks. Vote for who you want to vote for, don’t vote for clout!”
We all hysterically laugh it off and fade into a night of celebrating.
But the debate hasn’t faded. Months later, I still feel that damned if you do, damned if you don’t aura around the election. And most of that disconnect and uninterest stems from the fact that I know Black men will still be Black men in America before and after Nov. 5.
The other day in the barbershop the same debate broke out. My barber, who is a cryptocurrency fanatic and Trump supporter, debated another barber who is a Harris supporter. The rest of the barbers said they are letting the election burn, especially after Obama “talked to us like we are little kids” earlier this month in trying to persuade Black men to vote for Harris.
I hate that politics makes me feel this way, especially now, at this stage in my life. It’s what makes this election feel heavier than most. I’m not sold — not on Biden, not on Harris, and definitely not on Trump. What I do know is whoever I vote for will speak to my lived experience and not just expect my vote.
Black men like me are trying to figure out what we mean to this country. We made it out, right? We have the jobs, degrees and passports to prove it, but what about our Black men who have not? And when it comes to voting for a president, what about Black men whose lives aren’t touched by Harris’ polished speeches or Trump’s unfiltered rants? The ones who never leave the trenches. It’s not that some Black men are undecided this election, some are just not impressed.
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