Dear White People

I'm 100% done with you.

You're done?

This was the moment?

If that's sugar, hundo P.

You don't sugar your grits?

No, I have working taste buds.

Wait, niggas are sugaring grits now?

Refined cane. What else?

Um, butter, salt, the occasional shrimp...

And brie!

Ooh, and a little Gruyere.

Heaven!

Salty grits are trash.

Co, for once, we agree.

I think this is actually the third time,

but I co-sign the narrative.

Look, y'all need to stop disrespecting grits

like they're Cream of Wheat.

I love Cream of Wheat.

People, we must not let

our breakfast choices divide us.

Ah, Armstrong-Parker.

You may have noticed there's something different

about Winchester's historically black

residence hall.

Watch closely.

1837.

Former slave quarters Armstrong Hall

and Parker House

combine to accommodate

Winchester's influx of ethnic students,

which, at the time, meant Irish and Italian.

They lived there until sometime after the 1920s,

when they graduated

to whiteness.

1965,

Armstrong-Parker House becomes the residence of choice

for a burgeoning community

of black students,

but not everyone approves,

especially one Donald Hancock,

a student who would become a wealthy benefactor

of right-wing politicians

and Winchester herself.

Two weeks ago,

a protest, led by

firebrand Samantha White,

ends when Troy Fairbanks

vandalizes Hancock Hall.

News of Troy's outburst spreads like wildfire,

as did an actual fire,

which coincidentally started at Davis House

around the same time.

These events were assumed to be

the result of rioting after the protest,

because, you know, black people were involved.

February 1968,

with violence in the South and Vietnam,

Martin Luther King

recants his "I Have A Dream" speech,

calling it naive.

As Jimmy Baldwin said on one occasion,

"What advantage is there

in being integrated into a burning house?"

Two weeks later,

he's assassinated.

A week ago,

as displaced residents of Davis House

relocate to Armstrong-Parker,

Dr. King's words scrape at Sam's subconscious.

- Ugh. - Real talk.

I use agave in mine.

Lower glycemic index and shit.

Right now, Sam finds solace

in a recent addition to A-P's breakfast menu.

It's the first time in a long time

that she's felt at home.

First day of school.

You ready?

Dear white people...

Dear white people,

welcome to Armstrong-Parker.

When encountering new and exotic hairstyles,

please keep your hands...

No more "don't touch my hair" quips, Jo.

It's hack.

Okay, well, how about

switch on the mic and just talk?

Or maybe we could brainstorm

to something a bit more up-tempo?

Or just...

wallow in existential melancholy.

What, is someone being micro-aggressed somewhere?

When does the constant drone of flip-flops

become background noise?

My misophonia is triggered as fuck.

Oh, misophonia?

She does braids out of Waller, right?

Look at you, making jokes.

It's a hearing condition,

and also a great name

for an Outkast album.

So shade came from reading.

Reading came first.

At least someone's enjoying this.

Bet they think she's kin to Beyoncé.

- Hello, ladies. - Hey, girl.

Bet she never corrects them.

You are being paranoid, my friend.

Nah, man, it's a coup, trust me.

Lionel..

You gotta follow these clues, man.

I know you see it, Sam.

See what?

This ain't a coincidence.

Lionel does all this digging

and finds out that these Hancock fuckers

want to integrate A-P,

and suddenly, there's a "fire"

at "Davis House."

That is not how air quotes work.

- Shut up. - Do you think

a bunch of rich donors

had nothing better to do

than set Davis House on fire

just to integrate A-P?

Man, you see it.

Is it just me, or are people staring at us?

Yo, Sam, you gotta talk about this

on Dear White People.

Or, you know, talk at all.

It's been a lot of strange tunes as of late.

Thank you for your feedback.

Exhale...

Now we're going to move to triangle pose to warrior...

Joelle, why is

spontaneous white yoga happening

where our study group should be?

A cultural import from Davis House.

Do you know what you look like?

It's okay. Let's just go to the courtyard.

Sam, you okay?

Yeah, good. I'll see you after.

There you go.

God, I fucking missed you.

Ditto.

Hey, girl! Whoa... wow, wow.

Wow, wow.

Bitch, am I supposed to think it was a ghost?

Bitch, I thought you was in study group.

Bitch, that was an hour ago. How are you not tired?

You gonna get that?

Okay, I know

you're not used to sharing a room,

but either you start putting socks on the door,

or lady-tickle yourself in the shower,

like everybody else.

We use a public shower.

People do that?

You do that?

I know you're not throwing stones from that glass house.

I'm barefoot in there.

Sam, are you okay?

You've been acting way more 13 Reasons Why than us'.

Proposal:

We agree to

never speak of this again

and I'll stuff the memory

deep into the recesses of my subconscious,

where my... brief but substantial

B2K phase is.

Wait, were you pre-bating?

Uh, what?

You know, when you

take care of yourself so you don't lose your mind

in the company of problematic dick?

I thought you were B2K-ing this.

And if I'm not mistaken,

you have a certain film class coming up

with a certain teacher's assistant.

Bitch, you was pre-bating.

Hey, you want to go for a... a run?

Like white girls in TV shows

when they need a visually interesting way

to deliver exposition?

Real people can't run and talk at the same time.

Oh, my God, were you trying to shut me up?

I thought our ancestors fought

so we didn't have to run for our lives.

Yeah, actually, it's hot as fuck.

Oh, shit.

We'll do the, um...

Hey, girls.

Still taking a break?

Come on, we can do this!

No?

No?

Oh, well, that's your thighs.

Hey, Reggie.

Reggie.