This is one of those poems that is beautiful, in skill and expression, but tragic, in message. And it is happening as we speak. Ms. Bynum shared this link with me, and I think it is up to us to be aware. Pray for these affected souls.
As I mentioned before, I am both an advocate for Black History Month, as well as a critic of its current efforts. I asked my 12 year old niece if she had learned anything about the history of African-Americans that she didn't already know. She responded with a quick 'no'. So I gave her a name: P.B.S. Pinchback. She had no clue who he was. I gave her another name: Hiram Revels. Again, she had no clue who he was. Discouraged, I told her to go look them up and tell me what she found out.
This is the discouraging truth about BHM. We toss out a few names, feel really good about ourselves because we've done our parts, and then forget for the next 11 months. Well, I for one am different. And I want to tackle some serious issues, creating much needed dialogue (which interestingly enough, the spell checker is telling me is spelled wrong. Go figure!)
Before I continue, let me say that this is racially motivated, and therefore might seem biased. While I am far from biased, I see things first as a black man. Meaning there are experiences and stories behind my views when it comes to race. I love white people just as I love my own, and hopefully my opinions will not make anyone think otherwise. If there is any confusion, feel free to send me a message: therarepoet@yahoo.com. Okay, that's enough disclaimer, back to the matter at hand.
Today, I want to discuss black love, or more aptly the love between a black woman and black man. It seems to be under great debate as of late, so heavily fueled is the myth that black love is dead. I despise those people who think this way, preach this rhetoric, or accept this notion without further debate. Tell me that black love is dead, I'm going to tell you to open your eyes. It's there, but we refuse to see it.
So why do we fail to see it? Because the negative issues of a few have created this stigma that makes it seem like most black women would be better off with white men and, likewise, that most black men would be happier with white women. Let's examine this a bit.
In a society where dating outside one's race has become more common practice than say 50 years ago, I hear tons of commentary from black men and women on why they would never do it, or feel that it is their only option. Personally I feel that anytime you place limitations on something, you leave it limited. But while I myself am an open person, who believes a person who makes you happy and fulfilled should be who you seek, regardless of race, my ideal mate has always been a black woman. I love everything that she is. Beautiful. Intelligent. Voluptuous. Soulful. Creative. Strong. Opinionated. Real. And while there are plenty of white women who fit this category, few of them have been able to relate to me like a black woman can. And I'm one of the rare black men, who has constantly been exposed to a large number of people from different races. In elementary school, I was consistently one of a handful of black children in my class. In high school, I was one of those kids who bounced among all racial and social divides, although the cool kids rarely talked to me, whether black or white. College, or the shortened stint that I did, was a veritable rainbow, although the purple and green people only seemed to come out when we were getting high. My point is that this is different from most black men.
The average black male grew up in an all black neighborhood, went to a predominantly black school, and socialized with nearly all, or mostly black people. And yet, these are the ones who we often see with a white woman at their side. The first question most people ask is why. This irritates me a little, even though I have found myself falling prey to the need to ask, because we rarely question why two people are together unless we feel it doesn't make sense. Nothing seems to cause stares and questioning quicker than a white woman attached to a black man. Just check this reaction, to get a sense of the drama caused, coming from Diary of a Tired Black Man, a film by Tim Alexander, released in 2009:
Word to the wise: Unless it's your wife, don't take any woman with you to pick up your child from the mother's house. What the hell does she need to be with you for? It is asking for unnecessary drama.
Let me begin by saying, I have not seen Diary of a Tired Black Man, but I at least commend Tim Alexander for opening the dialogue (there goes the spell checker again...lol). From this clip, I have to make a few points:
1. No she didn't say 'get my hayer did.' *Shaking my motherfucking head....yes, motherfucking!!* Is this stereotypical bantering necessary? And while I am well aware that it was done in jest (and I know as black folks, we joke more about our stereotypes than others do), but to me, it distracts from the film. Plus, there are always the ignorant few who are unaware of the jest intended, and now assume that black women use incorrect grammar and sit around talking about Patrón. Or maybe I'm overreacting.
2. While it adds an interesting element to the film, I'm a little bit dismayed that this male character appears to be African. Don't get me wrong: I fully embrace my African roots, but there is a displacement factor involved with the African-American man that I think is more relevant to the story of the 'tired black man". There are cultural distinctions that make African men different, and therefore affect how they relate to African-American women. (As a side note, while I was writing this I began thinking here about how some Africans, who have lived in this country for decades as citizens, must feel when they are separated from the African-American community. Found this interesting article on the subject: African-American Becomes a Term for Debate) Side Note: Upon further investigation, I discovered the actor portraying the character 'James' is Haitian-born Jimmy Jean-Louis of Heroes fame. So different nationality, same problem.
3. I'm wondering if there would have been so much anger or debate had 'James' been with a black woman. My instincts say yes, because the characters portrayed are obviously bitter, but the conversation would have made absolutely no sense had it been:
"Tell me that ain't James rolling up with a black girl!!"
I have seen this time and time again. Beautiful black women becoming irate when a black man shows up with a white woman at his side. The sad part is, it doesn't even have to be an appealing black man. She might not even want his sorry ass, but the fact that he has the audacity to show up with a white woman is immediately seen as disrespectful. He immediately becomes the 'weak ass nigga' for not finding himself a strong black woman. He is accused of going to this white woman, who none of these black women personally know, because she is weaker, sexually submissive, and more willing to accept his shit. To me this is, this is complete lunacy. Why can't they just be attracted to each other and compatible? Why can't she be strong as well, and see him as her ideal man?
I'll tell you why. Because too often, the relationships between black men and white women that we do see are the ones that involve some trifling black man who embraces the 'weak ass nigga' mentality coupled with some white woman trying her damnedest to emulate some ghetto ass fantasy woman she believes will keep her trifling black man happy. And this becomes embedded, as ingrained in our minds like those images of slave masters raising whips. It is what is forced into thought EVERY time we see a white woman with a black man. And sometimes, it is clearly not the case.
4. Is it just me, or did 'James' seem to waste a lot of breath explaining that all of the time he had known 'Tonya', he had never been with or been attracted to a white woman. WTF?!? Is this like saying before he wasn't really into it, but then one day it just suddenly happened? To me this is either bad writing, or extremely clever writing, showing the reality that even black men who find themselves with white women feel like there is some need to explain it. Because since a few days before forever, this has been generally viewed by society as the greatest taboo. Slaves were put to death for it. Black men during the post-slavery era have been murdered, tortured, hanged, beaten, and burned for even the mere idea of it. It is still too often frowned upon across both races, with a large portion of black women I've talked to preferring a black man be gay than be with a white woman. Hell, even when speaking amongst other black men, there is this tendency to overplay the sexual nature of white women in order to gain acceptance for being involved with one. Even though this character makes some great points throughout this clip, I immediately lose a bit of respect for him here, because even he feels like he has to justify who he's with. It's like admitting that he's not really attracted to or interested in being with this woman, but he'll settle for it, over the drama of being with a black woman. Isn't that opinion just as biased and foolish as those of the women he's addressing?
5. My 'no this bitch didn't' moment came with the character 'Joy'. The one in the green shirt. This smirking ass, 'oh no that is fucked up' head shaking chick, has the nerve to be so upset that 'James' has a white woman, but she's with a white man. WTF?!? I despise using the word 'bitch' but feel that sometimes, it serves a purpose. 'Joy' is a bitch!!
Which prompts me to examine one of the biggest double-standards in the African-American community today. When a black man is with a white woman, it is seen as vile. He is trifling and the white woman is labeled a whore. But when a black woman is with a white woman, it is immediately downplayed. She had no other choice. Black men don't treat her right, so this is what she had to do to be happy. Even though their reasoning is the same, the black man who steps out on his race is vile and the black woman is a victim. Sounds like a double standard to me!! I think this is one reason that all those black men do journey over to the white side (sounds like a bad title for a stage play, right?). Because too many black women claim there are no good black men left, condemn them for going to white women, but then immediately get defensive when they find themselves with white men.
I think this video, from AtlantaSistah pretty much sums things up, as far as my opinion on this double standard:
This seems to be the general consensus. A white man treats a black woman better than a black man does. I am so upset by this idiotic line of thinking. As she said in the video, maybe it's because black women approach or offer themselves to white men in a different manner. This is open to discussion.
Diary of a Tired Black Man is not without merit. Like I said, I haven't seen this film yet, but I am well that the premise for it has been one echoed throughout the black male community for some time. Perhaps this is why black love appears to be M.I.A. If all the black women are claiming anger and all the black men are professed to be too tired to deal with this anger, there in lies the problem. Communication has always been the key to any love relationship. Talk. Listen. Learn. Then talk some more.
I have seen far too many happy black couples to believe in my heart that black love is dead. I just feel like we focus on the negatives more than the positives, and the media fuels this. Why are their more films entitled Diary of the Happy Black Couple?
Because our mindsets make this seem like fantasy. And this is the greatest tragedy of all.
Been working on some interesting and thought provoking writing for the last few hours (probably should be sleeping, but oh well....room for that later, right?). But I did pause for some music.
I think I've probably used this song for far too many things....lol. And yet, Caleb Followill's voice is so uniquely groove-inspiring that I can't help but throw most of their songs on repeat.
"I got a friend...shows me all the good times, tells me I look better....chews me up, and spits me out....and then walks my ass home....sings a song.....when I'm gone...gone...goooo ooo oone.."
To all you who can relate: tequila chugging, falling down to your knees but getting back up to take another swig, still dancing to the rhythm of the song that played half an hour ago, nearly getting into a fight because you bumped a guy trying not to spill your latest shot, head laying against the cool spot of the porcelain toilet praying, waking up with a splitting headache, but still feeling like there's no better feeling in the world.
