The Gift of Stephen A. Smith

Apparently, people want Stephen A. Smith to run for president. But exactly who is "people"?

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“I know EWF technically uses congas,” I wrote. “But we (black people) call them ‘bongos.’ Plus – and I don’t know why – the word ‘bongos’ is objectively funnier than ‘conga drums.’”

This was my response to a seemingly insignificant detail that was flagged by fact-checkers during the first round of fact-checking for my book. The reply sparked a lengthy back-and-forth with my editor, who claimed it was important that every statement of fact was accurate in a history book. I, however, thought the editors and fact-checkers were being nitpicky about one offhand joke in a story about my family, American history and the Black people’s overwhelming dislike of President Ronald Reagan. We ultimately compromised by scrapping the word “bongos” and replacing it with the name of another, much funnier instrument. When the book was finished, the sentence read:

I spilled the beans about how I overheard her tell my mother a few weeks ago, “If Reagan is elected, he’ll send Black people back in the cotton fields.”

That sent my young mind spinning. I didn’t know how to pick cotton! Would I have to give up my dream of playing point guard for the Los Angeles Lakers and my future side hustle as a tambourine player in Earth, Wind & Fire to get a cotton-picking degree in picking cotton?

Since then, countless readers have brought up that story to me. For Black survivors of Republican Jesus’ war on drugs, crime and “welfare queens,” my story reflects their lingering hatred of Ronald Reagan. Some African-Americans see the tale as a parable about how the weaponization of white identity politics affects Black communities. To others, my childhood Reagan trauma illustrates how a political narrative can whitewash a racist politician into a historical hero.

White people also love this story.

Whenever I entertain company, visitors to my home invariably ask if I am a musician or a member of a gospel choir. When I respond that I’m not, they will usually ask a follow-up question. But, instead of explaining “identity politics,” Black voters and the mystery of why some words are funny, I’ll amuse myself by confusing them even more.

“I don’t know,” I’ll say with a shrug. “White people be giving me tambourines.”

This story is about Stephen A. Smith.