Wax and Gold
The Root
They call it racism when my skin is profiled.
But the water my ancestors crossed was deep, and I do not know its name.
They call it antisemitism when the Semite is targeted.
But the Semite speaks Amharic, Hebrew, Arabic and all three run in my blood.
I hear the moans of my ancestors.
Some crossed the Red Sea. Some crossed the Middle Passage and are still at the bottom. Some steered both shores.
The Ethiopian is Semite. I may be. I may not be.
Etymology runs deeper than the tongue.
They have a word for this hatred: antisemitism.
The word was invented for a very deep wound, but the root is older than the wound.
They have a word for this hatred towards me: racism.
But racism does not ask what language my grandmother prayed in.
The word was invented for a ghastly history.
But history is not a single thread. It braids >
The Red Sea. The Atlantic.
Both waters. Both blood.
But only one root was given a word.
So I stand with the African.
We are discriminated against.
But the words assigned to us
do not hold the same weight.
Wax
I am discriminated against. That much is seen.
Gold
The gold beneath is this:
The Ethiopian is Semite. I may be. I may not be.
But we all bleed red.
And the words we are given
do not hold the same weight.
