Half White Full Black: Brother from Another Borough

My name is Jared Roboz, best known as J-Rob. I was born and raised in Montreal/Chateauguay. I am a biracial Jew and was raised primarily by my Ashkenazi mother. I work under the pseudonym ‘Half White Full Black’ as this name perfectly encapsulates my racial identity. Although my proximity to whiteness comes with a certain amount of privilege, it does not protect me from the anti-Blackness and racism I encounter daily.

Throughout my childhood, my family moved around a lot. From LaSalle, the pseudo-suburban neighborhood in the South, best known to Black Montreal as “Texas,” to Verdun, Montreal’s grimey underbelly, now in the midst of being gentrified. We then moved to Little Burgundy, a neighbourhood once known as the Harlem of the North, due to its high concentration of Black folk, a bustling Jazz community, and being the home to the legendary night club Rockhead’s Paradise and Oscar Peterson.

I loved all these neighborhoods and these hoods loved me. Now, I am not going to lie and say that it was all sunshine and roses. There is, however, always beauty to be found — even in the darkness. Despite the impacts of oppression in the neighbourhoods in which I grew up, the communities were vibrant and supportive. In these neighbourhoods, you could not pass a person on the street without greeting them by name or at least giving them a nod. Block parties, court games, and cookouts were ritualized events, giving every community-member a sense of belonging and interconnectedness.

These communities, however, were not immune to police surveyorship and brutality. The cops were an ever-present force in my neighbourhoods, the night-time being the optimal time to make their rounds. Amongst my community, an unspoken protocol was adhered to: we ignored the cops and when questioned, feigned ignorance. Growing up, I was surrounded by death, incarceration, and individuals who lead dangerous lives. Despite this madness, I still felt safe and comfortable in these communities. Why? We looked each other in the eye and understood each other’s stories. To the outside world we were living statistics, in our world, we were faces and names. 

Throughout my childhood, my friends and I knew we did not live in the safest of neighbourhoods, but we knew what we were up against: simply said, it was us against the world. In an attempt to make people feel safe around me, I conditioned myself to be a model Black man. In order to avoid racist stereotyping and sentiments, I made an effort to appease white constructed societal standards. This took the form of me speaking differently, and acting in ways that I thought would make white people feel at ease around me. I am now aware that this internalized narrative is a ridiculous standard to place upon myself. In the age of the “Karen,” no amount of code switching can save you from that 9-1-1 call. Racism is not spawned by Black behaviour but white attitudes, teachings, and ingrained biases. Racism is everywhere though, even in the neighbourhoods that I love. Classism is a whole other beast. 

I recently made the move to the McGill Ghetto, otherwise known as the Milton Parc community. Thus far, living in the McGill Ghetto has been seemingly nice and convenient. Everything I need is in walking/biking distance, the architecture of the neighbourhood is beautiful, and due to its centrality, seeing friends in other neighborhoods is not a problem. There is, however, something that just feels off. In a way, due to my stark visibility as a Black man, I feel less safe living in the McGill Ghetto. This feeling can be equated to walking into a party where you know none of the guests. The people either try too hard or too little to make you comfortable. Their lackluster attempts to make me feel welcomed simply makes the whole experience feel awkward. 

In the McGill Ghetto, my difference not just as a Black man, but a Black man from a poor neighborhood, is emphasized. Alienation can take the form of individuals staring too hard, or trying, with every fibre of their being, to not stare at all. Or - when neighbours see me coming, they habitually turn up their hip-hop music, somehow proving their “allyship.” Blatant forms of racism also include individuals visibly tightening up their bodies as they pass me on the street, or simply crossing the street when I get closer. While these may seem like mundane and harmless behaviours for some, for me, this affirms my difference from the people in the McGill Ghetto, a difference they evidently feel as well. In my past neighbourhoods, my communities and I were classified by outsiders as a homogenous, invisible group of people. I am now the visible difference on the streets, this dichotomy is an omnipresent reality in a Black man’s life. 

The culture I grew up around is nowhere to be found in my new home, the McGill Ghetto. The language is foreign, but how do you learn to speak in a tongue that was never meant for you? A song that rings true to my situation is Kendrick Lamar’s “Institutionalized.” The lyrics in this song are about the internal struggle of trying to adjust to a world that was not built for you. In the fight against the many forms of oppression, class is one of the issues that we still are struggling to combat. The immaculate Uncle of hip-hop, Snoop Dogg, is featured on Lamar’s song. He raps: “You can take your boy out the hood but you can’t take the hood out the homie.” I cannot simply forget the trauma of being poor and the lessons I learned during my childhood. I also cannot control the perceptions of more privileged individuals who do not understand the struggles I encounter daily. The same systems that teach privileged individuals to fear oppressed peoples are the ones that marginalize the cries of the “unseen.” Thus far, my time in the McGill Ghetto has taught me that safety in some situations is a matter of perception. In my experience, integration is one of the best ways to fight ignorance. Hopefully, my time in the McGill Ghetto will not only be one of growth for my neighbours, but for myself as well. And if not, my lease is up in a year anyway.

J-Rob is a Black Jewish multidisciplinary artist from Montreal. He aims to amplify and unite the voices of the marginalized to dismantle white supremacy and the systems that uphold it. @halfwhitefullblack