Who Let Dem Dawgs Out?

One would assume that I am ready to bash the brothas. C’mon! I can’t do that. I won’t do that. After all, I am a brotha. And we carry enough blame for our people and this country. You can always blame it on the Black guy. Perhaps, you should know that I am my brother’s keeper. I don’t mind making a correction. We should check one another, for it is impossible for us to love ourselves or our people while posturing with indifference. Rap (not Hip Hop) has pocketed the baton from think thanks designed to destroy any efforts of deprogramming a people suffering from post traumatic slave syndrome.
The public would assume that Black men are irresponsible due to silly and unpolished entertainers with no regard for the community. Somehow, most believe that no one will see them as role models when they are actually begging for attention. Someone is watching and being influenced by learned idiosyncrasies.
What role does our woman play in uplifting our children and our men in need – our families? Has our woman abandoned us? What do we need for her to affirm her love for family? It is evident that our children suffer without the man, but our women have not neglected their responsibilities entirely. Yet, the presence of the man is necessary. And obviously, the suggestions of society that promote disloyalty, neglect, promiscuity and deceit should be dismissed by Black men.

Don't Trash It, Paint It White

As a boy I knew how to look at a white woman and what not to say. Public schooling made certain that my exposure to anglos, via the female, instilled respect for authority. And authority was usually white.
I quickly learned that there existed differences in the treatment of whites versus everybody else. I also learned that white stuff was prettier, colder, hotter, nicer, smarter and of course… more uncouth. So, taking advantage of Black folks was easy. Besides, in those days most negroes would denounce anything black before disagreeing with anything white because that in a sense was like denying their Lord. Therefore, when it came to questioning anyone resembling their lord – abuse was all good. In the negro’s mind one argument with authority could prevent entrance into heaven.
Every television minute and magazine cover seemed to bring something to the heavily melaninated mind that made self-hatred inevitable. Surprisingly, my generation has birthed children that overlook history or our story and openly admit their preference or infatuation for today’s snow bunny. Some clowns rap about anticipating little anglo girls becoming of age. Obviously, a waste of studio time. Even if it does sell. Lips, hips, and big asses on white girls are deemed more attractive to the programmed negro mind. The idea of extensions, weave, wigs or clip-ons never enter the negro’s mind, because white folks have “good hair”. And of course, negroes gladly accept less than qualified anglo women to mother and educate Black children. And even in the case of no children, negroes send out a message that suggests the Black woman is not beautiful enough, smart enough or worthy of the Black man’s love.
Sure, the anglo woman has changed anatomically and we do have a Black president, but better choices can be made in terms of love, preservation of legacy and the future of our communities. Negroes continue talks of civil rights and the movement, but it is apparent that most have trashed any inkling of familial traditions and heritage to support and love the worst of their master’s flock. This is progression? Wow! TV has done a job on us! C’mon, you can do better.

For the Love of Amerika

When I was a kid… I recited the pledge of allegiance as if it was written for me. Hell, it was, seemingly, the right thing to do. As I began to age, the pledge and the Lord’s Prayer carried less of a priority as I began to scrutinize their significance. Of course, I had learned of court cases, viewed footage of dogs attacking people who looked like me, read of marches and bombings, feared dudes in white sheets, dreamt of being a firefighter, imagined myself scoring a touchdown for the Dallas Cowboys and eaten hotdogs like they’d make me stronger. Yeah, I did some Amerikan stuff. Ironically, Amerika never noticed me. Not the essence of who I am. Because Amerika and Justice were never blind. I had been raised to appreciate oppression, suppression, and aggression. Strange, it is, that I had been brainwashed to accept abuse. Had I given it any thought - I would have never believed that loving Amerika was necessary, because I realized that Amerika didn’t love me the way she loved those recognized as Amerikans. After all, they were her children.
Now - I am different. I have been in the bowels of Amerika. I have given service to Amerika. I have allowed Amerika to miseducate me. I have given almost half of my earnings to Amerika. I have shown much love to Amerika. Amerika has overlooked my sacrifices and abused me verbally and physically. I have been her scapegoat. I have been the burden of her lover. To think that I have endured any hell that Amerika has offered me is reason enough to not love Amerika. Am I attracted to someone who doesn’t love me?
Yeah, I am here in Amerika. And truly, I could be anywhere other than here. My love and loyalty could wander. I assume that Amerika doesn’t love me. Damn! Why did it take so long for me to realize that she is nothing like my mother? Amerika is never satisfied. I just can’t do enough. Why am I confused when Mother Afrika taught me so much? I guess compassion blinded me. I will not mistreat Amerika, but she must know that I love Afrika - unlike I could ever love her.

What Do Women Really Want?

Here we go, again! I live in Atlanta – Black Hollywood, so to speak. It’s normal to hear women, calling in to radio stations, complaining about the lack of heterosexual, Black men. Naturally, Atlanta has its share of straight brothas. Let’s be real! Not every brotha is bi-sexual, gay, on the down low or a homo thug. Moreover, not every brotha has got game. Some exercise truth, reciprocity, peace, righteousness… the real stuff. There are some serious, single, educated, focused, determined brothas looking for a woman who hasn’t been corrupted by soap opera images or media chosen hunks. Mind you, just as every brotha is not gay, not every sista is hot or desirable. Yeah, Atlanta has a plethora of women by numbers and appearance, but once one applies the methods of choosing a woman the way that women choose men, we learn that a many women are just as disqualified as the brothas they are conditioned to berate.
What do women really want? Is it financial security? And if so, why do they seek out a thug type when the man who sacrifices and provides falls short in bed? Why must men step it up when women seem to perfect lying (about anything), feigning (about feelings), reserving (emotions), and saving the best of themselves for the lottery guy she has been convinced to believe will appear. Sadly, the guy she chooses - is what she deserves at that time.
Yeah, I’m listening. Speak up!