Orenthal James Simpson aka OJ aka The Juice is Loose is a cockroach in the form of a human being. Whenever we think we are done with OJ, here he comes, slicing and dicing his way back to our throats and social media timelines. A couple of days ago, he signed up on Twitter and has been “cutting” up ever since joining the social media platform. His continued search for relevance comes at an opportune time because around this time, 25 years ago, OJ “allegedly” killed two people followed by running off on the plug twice in the form of a 2-hour police chase. In hindsight, this 2-hour slow car getaway should’ve been the first sign that maybe he “killed dem white folks” but our blackness, at the time, wouldn’t allow it. We wouldn’t believe any other motive other than the system set up OJ because of his race. The same system that allowed for countless black bodies to be beaten and killed without any accountability or justice. OJ, through the years, has been a bit of a sore spot for black folks. Supporting OJ twenty-five years ago is like waking up today with a hangover, $400 pulled from the ATM machine, and laying next to a person you thought looked like an angel sent from heaven the night before only to realize their physical appearance was similar to a demon sent by Lucifer. And not the attractive, lure you into lustful sin demon. No, the ugly, I’ll eat your face demon.
Twenty-five years later, OJ’s actions, confession books and interviews, TV shows and documentaries reminded us and informed others that OJ never gave a fuck about black folks or the plight of black people, in general. By the time OJ “allegedly” committed the murders, he was so white, he made Carlton Banks look like Nat Turner. And no, not the Carlton who stood up to the Frat dude in college. I’m talking about the Carlton who was laughably ignorant as to how police officers treat young black men in nice cars when him and Will Smith were unlawfully arrested and thrown in jail, only to be graced by a delightful show-tunes cover from one of their fellow jail mates. OJ lived in Ronald Reagan, Caucasian heaven, where he was accepted through the “Uncle Ruckus Initiative.” White golfing buddies, a white wife, white coworkers and white side-chicks. The Magnus Opus of his whiteness is revealed on “American Crime Story: The People v. OJ” when he proclaimed, “I’m not Black! I’M OJ!” Now, did he really say that? I don’t know, but based on circumstantial evidence, we can assume he did. Honestly, science has not created a sophisticated enough tool to accurately measure how large his whiteness really grew, but we can all reasonably conclude it broke records.
If blackness were a currency, it’s reasonable to conclude that spending an inordinate amount on OJ was a bad investment. However, at the time, it was deemed safe investment because of all the corruption done by the judicial system to black people. Like, if they set up DeMarcus from Watts, why not set up Orenthal from Beverly Hills? Little did we know, OJ loved white folks more than white folks loved, well, white folks. The idea of blackness being a currency is ridiculous on its face, but if we were to entertain the idea, I would imagine that some black folks, like an Angela Davis would be the Bill Gates of allocated blackness, while others, like Clarence Thomas would be so broke with blackness that they would have to borrow currency from 50 Cent (good luck with that shit). If blackness had physical currency in the form of dollar bills, I could imagine the face on our 20-dollar bill being Samuel L. “Mother-Fuckin snakes on the plane” Jackson and not that racist, genocidal maniac, Andrew Jackson. And like money, we would be calculated as to how we spend our currency.
Any hypothetical currency spent on OJ was a bad investment, no denying that. At this point, it would be like investing in Lehman Brothers in 2008. This OJ investment should remind us that every issue which involves black person isn’t necessarily a black issue. Simply because certain people share the color of our skin, doesn’t mean they automatically are deposited these 20-dollar Samuel L. “Mother-Fuckin snakes on the plane” Jacksons. Think about it like this, if Stacy Dash gets charged with a double murder tomorrow, am I supposed to waste my blackness on her simple ass?
I think not.
But because blackness is something that is not meant for allocation, I implore us to separate OJ the person from OJ the symbol. OJ, the person is an “alleged” murder who probably deserves life in prison with no possibility of parole unless he can successfully recite “Lift Every Voice and Sing” word for word. However, OJ the symbol is a reminder of the pain and suffering black folks have endured at the hands of the justice system generation after generation. Suffering because of both the mistreatment done to our black bodies and the lack of accountability once those same suffering black bodies seek justice. The Central Park Five still suffer from PTSD while George Zimmerman happily walks free (I didn’t try to rhyme just then, but…BARS). OJ, both unfortunately and fortunately, happened to benefit from the sacrifices made by others. Those sacrifices were the driving force behind getting that big headed bastard off a double murder charge. OJ the person is a joke. And OJ the symbol is justice.
What a weird intersection OJ and his big ass head reside in.