My Autumn Affair: A Letter to Black History Month.


Dear BHM,

I thought it best to bring this up once you had left and to been seen in another year. After all, a talk between two passionate people is better placed in a time of reflection.

I’ll say this, I love everything you stand for. I appreciate everything you reveal to me but I can’t bare with the reality of how necessary you are and the debris that you leave behind. I’m ashamed to say it, you remind me that I am human.

You do something special to me…so I give thanks that our journey of experiences only lasts these thirty-one days. The world I define myself in cannot endure what you represent and know, alongside your uncompromising and relenting desire to enlighten. Life is sometimes simpler in the dark, I guess you rationalise it as a disservice if you did otherwise.

You have to understand it is exhausting, better yet infuriating, the constant revelations that show me I have been brought up on lies. So at the beginning of every November, I rebuild the crumbling foundations of understanding I once stood upon with new supporting beams, courtesy of you.

Like I said, you remind me that I am human, and this thing we call life is designed for new experiences. I’ve come to understand it as an adventure to experience the breadth of our human capabilities. Anything less is a waste and a passed down disadvantage… We live so the next can learn. That’s why the non-disclosure of our experiences is a direct stifling of our growth, the opportunity to develop, the opportunity to discover the undiscovered, not the already transpired… finding their finishing line so we can call it a starting line.

I see that now.

the-adversary-projects20“Testaments” Scenario (

It’s only one day since you have been gone but I can make the comparison that a lifetime’s worth of experiences and emotions can be acquired within my days with you. Together we have exhumed the black experience buried in colonial soil and I curse you for what you have caused. The slow reveal of  ingrained self-hate brewed within my parents without their knowledge. Formulated to create a self-devaluation of the Non-European. Forgive the soiling of this paper with my tears, as I sit here powerless, all I can do is feel pity for them. Even if they are to be made aware, I fear it is too late for them to change their ways.

I’m tired of the word black, I’m offended by the words ‘Coloured’, ‘Nigga’, ‘Nigger’, ‘Negro’ ‘Melanin-ial’ or ‘Person of Melanin’. Fatigued by the view that the pride of African identity only exists in the past, inspiring the development of Roman and Greek excellence with no reference to their sample. I’m tired…I have no solutions for you, no better principles of practice but not naive enough to make Rodney King a prophet because I know those who can make a difference are the ones who sincerely do not feel the burn of the friction between communities, so I stay vigilant, I prepare, I arm myself ready for warfare; intellectually, physically and economically.  

I am aware.

All my white friends fear the egg shells they will need to walk on so their Facebook profiles enter a period of hibernation. Metaphorically posting  “Away, be back in 30 days” . While my African / non-caucasian associates suddenly become outfitted with megaphones and develop aristocratic posture.

I love how we can finally get along, but ashamed by how we disperse and return to our self-loathing short sighted descendants to excellence for the remainder of the year.

My feelings towards you remain polarised, despising my need of you, despite my desire for you. Eagerly awaiting your departure while longing for you to stay. Yet I am not sure I can endure the continuing disruption to the world that makes sense to me.


BHM – Black History Month

Written by:

The Adversary.



Words by Christopher Lutterodt-Quarcoo.