When people like me, they like me “in spite of my color.” When they dislike me; they point out that it isn’t because of my color. Either way, I am locked in to the infernal circle.
Introducing someone as a “Negro poet with a University degree” or again, quite simply, the expression, “a great black poet.” These ready-made phrases, which seem in a common-sense way to fill a need-or have a hidden subtlety, a permanent rub.
I, the man of color, want only this: That the tool never possess the man. That the enslavement of man by man cease forever. That is, of one by another. That it be possible for me to discover and to love man, wherever he may be.”
A man who has a language consequently possesses the world expressed and implied by that language.
Black Skin, White Masks, Peau Noire, masques Blancs