They’ve finally saved you a seat. On your face: a smile so great it stretches to capacity reaching capitalist right and left of you. They finally smile back at you, so happy that you’re there. They know how photogenic integration is. Your seat made of oak and affirmative action. They know when his people see him on the news, they’ll be proud and forgetful. They’ll be too proud to remember that they are hungry. Too proud to be poor anymore because pride is edible and rent reimbursed with representation.
You’re at the table now and before you open your mouth to get a word out, they hold your tongue with one hand, pat your back with the other, and insist on gradualism. Months float by, just as your presence, at that round, inclusive table. Your anger grows, but you’ve found that there is simply nothing more relaxing than reminding yourself of the racial barriers you’ve burst through.
When in actuality, they opened the door at just the convenient moment. A strategically applied moment that savors symbolic luxury at the expense of substantive justice. And you’ve always thought it was weird for you to have broken barriers and nothing be broken. Everything is running smoothly, actually. You always thought that your presence would invite anger, but there is only political content to be received. It is almost as if this was all planned out. It is almost as if you are some type of diversity hire, in some type of diversity story in a book about nothing.
But “No, that’s crazy,” you’ve convinced yourself. Meanwhile, there’s a gathering, you and your colleagues share drinks. No, not you, you’re not there because no one could remember to invite you. But since you are not there, there is no sense in holding back jokes at the expense of an absent guest of honor: “Remember when he broke those barriers,” they say as they jokingly toast to diversity.

Jason Mason, 19-year-old student blogger
https://www.nothingsandsomethings.com/