The Mystals Are Invited

Years ago, I went to a panel discussion held by Above the Law and set next to Elie Mystal’s wife. Christine. She was great. Funny, smart, delightful, and far more fun than Elie. Not that Elie isn’t fun. He is. Not only is he one of the funniest guys I know, but comes up with these zingers that just leave me rolling on the floor.

Back when Elie was at ATL, and ATL still had comments, some of the jerks would beat on him mercilessly. He told he was tough enough to take it, but it pissed me off and I said so. I thought enough of Elie that back when I was doing Cross for Fault Lines, he was one of my targets. I liked Elie before it was cool.

And after Elie had kids, I invited Elie and family to come to Casa de SJ for a day of fun, pool, food, perhaps even a beverage with alcohol. He told me he would let me know. But he didn’t. I asked again, and he put me off. Eventually, maybe a year later, he finally told me “no thanks.”

One of Elie issues was that he set himself up to be the “black friend” to white guys, and I assume I was one of the latter. It was a Catch-22 problem, as we were friends, and he was black, and I was white, and short of not being friends, there really wasn’t any way to change the situation. In a sense, I hoped that our being friends before this was a sticking point might mean that I got a pass on the “black friend” problem, but maybe not. Maybe I wasn’t a good enough friend, or maybe I never stood a chance.

Over the past year, I have, of course, still had to interact with white people on Zoom or watch them on television or worry about whether they would succeed in reelecting a white-supremacist president. But white people aren’t in my face all of the time. I can, more or less, only deal with whiteness when I want to. Their cops aren’t hunting me when I drive through my neighborhood; their hang-ups aren’t bothering me (or threatening me) when I’m just trying to do some shopping.

That’s because I haven’t been driving or shopping in person. White people haven’t improved; I’ve just been able to limit my exposure to them. I’ve turned my house into Wakanda: a technically advanced, globally isolated home base from which I can pick and choose when and how often to interact with white people.

Was I being “in his face” when I invited him and the family over to swim? Maybe. Maybe his reluctance was a hint and my persistence was my failure to take it. I’m just used to someone saying yes or no, so I took his “maybe” at face value.

To be clear, it’s not that most or even many of my interactions with white people are “bad”; it’s that I’m able to choose when to expose myself to interactions with potentially bad white people. That choice is a privilege I’ve never really had until this past year.

Elie seems a bit angry these days. Maybe it’s shaking off the post-Trump jitters. Maybe he was always angry but covered it better. But when he’s ready to come out again in the world where people of different skin colors, races, eye shapes, haircuts and body parts are, he’s still invited with the family to Casa de SJ. That choice is still his privilege. I won’t press him again, and I can’t change my race or his so the whole “black friend” gig that he’s no longer willing to suffer could still weigh on his decision.

But Elie, you’re still invited. If you want to, call me. The privilege is all yours, pal. And if not, it’s cool.