The Afronista Rants #21: You’re American, Get Over It

I think I have written about this before, this weird desire of ours to label everything. In honour of black history month (I guess), there was an article on Yahoo about how some blacks in America preferred not to be called African-American. Even though I count myself in their numbers, I no longer get annoyed when some white person (or even another black person) refers to me as African-American. I figure they’re confused, I’m confused, we’re all confused, so let’s just call the whole thing off.

He's wondering why they don't have Anglo-Scots-Dutch-German-Russian-Irish-American History Month.

After slavery and the Civil Rights movement, black people are like, what the hell are we? White people are like, what do we call them without sounding all racist? Quite obviously you’re only allowed to use n-word if you’re not black, but they don’t have that option on those little forms at the Census Bureau. Even though the National Association for the Advancement of Coloured People uses the term “coloured,” I’d be a little bit miffed if someone referred to me as coloured. That sounds a little too 1963 for me. One woman said that the term “African-American” made it sound like all black people are descended from slaves. I think I agree with this a little bit. Some people agree that it just sounds too ridiculous in these efforts to be as politically correct as possible.

I have disliked the term African-American for a number of reasons. First, most white people do not refer to themselves as European-American. They’re not even white-American. They’re either white, or American. So why can’t I be either black or American? Secondly, Africa refers to a very large place with dozens of countries and ethnicities. Many people going around calling themselves African-American don’t even know what part of Africa their ancestors came from. Lastly, not all brown people (coloured people, black people, whatever) are African. One of my BFFs is Haitian and Jamaican. She is just as brown as I am but I would not call her African-American since her family is from the Caribbean. Referring to her as black makes more sense because she actually is.

Worf is a proud Klingon-American

I also ask myself what to do black people in England or France, or other European countries call themselves. Are they African-British, African-French? Idris Elba is British, but Denzel Washington is African-American. Do you see the distinction?

Some say that we refer to ourselves as white and black to distinguish one from another, but then I ask this question: in countries where almost everyone looks the same, how do they distinguish themselves? For example, police in America are quick to ask, “Was the suspect white or black?” What do the police in Japan ask, since 99% of the population looks the same (as far as skin tone, hair colour, eye colour, etc.).

I'll take Negro for $2000, Alex.

I have known many African people who have come to America and they do not refer to themselves as African-American. They are quick to identify precisely what country they came from (Nigerian, Kenyan, Ethiopian, etc). Most get offended if you mistake them for some other country or just try to lump them all into one group. I think it’s because they actually know where they came from.

I also have a problem that some American “African-Americans” don’t have any real desire to go to Africa or know anything about it other than what they show in the media. How can you claim something you’re not even interested in?

Read the article here.

The Afronista Rants #17: Uh, Oh, Black People Running!

I randomly started running last June.  I had a vague idea that I liked running ever since basic training but the concept of running for fun (as opposed to fitness and health) was bizarre to me.  After doing a couple of races with the Lunkheads, I decided that I really liked it and I wanted to get better at it.

Months later, I have now invested in my new sport.  I have purchased fancy running clothes, expensive running shoes, and all the gadgets to help me keep track of my progress.  The bottom line is that when I get out on the street for a little joggy-jog, I look like someone who runs.  Just like everyone else.

So how come when I go running, I elicit strange reactions?  What are you talking about, you ask?

Last week, I went for a run around Centennial Park.  It’s this place in Howard County with a man-made lake surrounded by a 2.6 mile long paved trail.  The trail is conducive to jogging, walking and biking.  There are many people out here jogging, walking and biking.  There are no shops and businesses.  There are no residential areas along the trail.  There are no cars.  It is strictly for jogging, walking and biking.  I am out there jogging, like the other hundred people out there, on a fine spring afternoon.

I am wearing running clothes:  my fancy new lycra pants and wick-away top, with these brand-spanking-new expensive ass running shoes.  I got my headphones on and I got this fancy, cool watch that keeps track of calories burned.  I am out there getting my exercise on….like everybody else.

If you don’t know proper trail etiquette, let me tell you real quick.  If you are running, you pass on the left.  If you’re walking, you stay to the right.  If you hear a bike behind you, you move quickly to the right so the biker can pass.  Very simple.  It seems to be an unspoken rule wherever I go.  So, I’m out there running, feeling all good and there is an older white lady walking way up ahead of me.  She is walking kind of slow, but this trail, it is quite wide.  Wide enough for several runners or walkers to stand abreast.  It is not a little narrow passageway.

So, I’m running and this white lady is in front of me and as I get closer, she heard me.  She started to move over to the right but then she turned around and the look on her face as she saw me approach.  She gasped.  Gasped.  This deep breath, like it was gonna be her death gasp, or something.  And she jumped off the trail into the grassy area, backed up into a tree, clutching at its bark as if it would save her from unseen terror.  She was in sheer and utter fright.  She was so scary looking that I got scared and I turned around to look behind me.  I was afraid that she had seen a gigantic black bear running after me.  (Not that I think there are any bears in this part of Maryland).  But seriously, her reaction was so dramatic that I thought something was truly happening.

Nobody was behind me.  Nothing was behind me.  There was only me, a black girl wearing running clothes,  running on a trail that is designed for running.

As I passed this woman, I was completely baffled.  She stared hard after me.  I could not figure out what her problem was.  Was she in shock that I was running?  Why?  I had no idea.  It wasn’t until a mile later that it dawned on me.

I am a black person running after a white person.  Oh, I must be about to rob her, because that must be the only reason a black person is running.  Wait a minute.  There are several reasons a black person is running.  We’re either running from the law, running to rob someone or running to get some chicken.  How did I forget that?  Black people do not dress up in fancy running clothes and then go for a run on a trail that is designed for running.  Only white people do that…. and skinny Asian women.  For a black person to do something like that, there must be some ulterior motive.

I must have spent all these hundreds of dollars on fancy running gear so I can case the running trails looking for white women to rob, because white people always go running with their riches hidden in their pockets.

As this occurred to me, I was so dumbfounded that I actually slowed down to a walk.  The white lady was way behind me and I could no longer see her, but if I had, I might have run back up to her and punched her in the face.  I can’t run for fun?  I can’t run to get my health on?

It is truly amazing what goes through people’s minds.  I mean, you should have seen this lady’s face.  She was scared to death, like the Ghost of Christmas Past had just come up on her.  If she had been carrying a purse, she would have clutched it to her chest.  This lady was so scared she was about to jump up in the damn tree, all because she saw a black person running up on her.

And you can’t say that maybe I just startled her or something.  No, this is a place that is designed for physical activity.  It’s a loop and there were literally hundreds of other people out there running, walking and biking.  Did she jump out of her skin when the two white women who had passed me, caught up to her?  No, she didn’t.  It was only until I came up did she almost have a damn heart attack.

That is okay, lady.  I don’t want your diamonds or pearls.  I just want to get my physical fitness on.  I am out here like all the white people, working on my cardiovascular system.  I am not here for your purse (that is probably under the seat in the car, since nobody runs with a purse).  I am not here to rob or molest you.  I just want to jog, like everybody else.

In case you did not know, black people do run… and it’s not always from the law.  So please get over yourself.

The Afronista Rants #16: Negro Mountain!

This morning my co-worker asked me if I would like to take a vacation with him.  Knowing that he was joking, I said, “Yeah, sure, where we going?”  He says, “Negro Mountain.”  I thought he was joking so I busted out laughing.  Where the hell is Negro Mountain?  Why is a mountain named Negro?  Are you even serious?

Turns out, he was quite serious.  There truly is a place called Negro Mountain, and it’s right here on the MD/PA border.  As with most anything, there’s a story behind the naming of Negro Mountain.  After doing some investigation, I have discovered that nobody can actually agree on precisely why the mountain is named Negro Mountain.  There’s urban rural legend about a slave (or a freeman, in another version) named Nemesis.  In some tales, his name is Goliath, indicating that he is big… and black.  Somehow, they are always big and black.  No slave is ever described as normal sized.  Anyway, Nemesis (or Goliath) was travelling with some white people when they were attacked by Native Americans.  He was killed defending his white masters, and Massa decided to name the mountain after him.  There’s also a story about Nemesis being in the military during the French-Indian War.  He was killed during a battle and his commander named the mountain after him because of his bravery.

So, whether he was Nemesis or Goliath, a free man or a slave, in the military or just passing through, there’s a slight problem with all of the stories:  They all say they named the mountain after him.  Only they didn’t.  Either his name was Nemesis or Goliath… or Jim Bob or Takahashi… his name wasn’t Negro.  I imagine that in those days he was probably referred to as negro, and several other degrading terms, but that wasn’t his name.  So the mountain wasn’t named after him, or anybody for that matter.  Why didn’t they name the mountain Nemesis Mountain or Mt. Goliath?  Why Negro, though?  It’s just a little weird.

At any rate, some lawmakers have decided that it’s just too stupid to have a mountain named Negro and there’s some legislation pending to change the name.  As much as I am annoyed that whoever named the mountain decided to call it Negro, I think it should stand.  There’s a lot of reasons for this.  One, if this is the urban rural legend, than that’s the story of how it “really” happened.  You can’t go back into the past and change it.  Two, as much as we all hate to look back on that awful time of slavery (whites and blacks), once again, you can’t go back into the past and change it.  Whether we like it or not, it’s part of our history.  We need to learn from it and move on.  Black folk were referred to as Negro, nigger, blackie, coloured, etc and that’s just how it is.  I ain’t saying it’s right or wrong, or condoning or condemning.  It is simply the way things were.  Third, I want them to keep the name Negro Mountain as a reminder of our more foolish days.  It’s very easy to pretend things did not happen.  You cannot change history simply by renaming the mountain to something else.  I also think there’s a limit on political correctness.  After all the NAACP is for coloured people but if a white person called a black person coloured, there’d be a fight.

If Negro Mountain is renamed, then we will forget the story that is associated with its outrageous name.  I know some of us black folk are very delicate and we are easily offended, but I think we should just be happy that we have something named for one of our own.  Nemesis, Goliath, Negro, whoever you were, thanks for your bravery and for giving us something to talk about.

Lawmakers did try to change the name back in the 1990s to Black Hero Mountain, but it failed.

To be fair, there is also a Polish Mountain in Maryland that these legislators would also like to be renamed.  It is believed that Polish Mountain was probably Polished Mountain and then somewhere along the way the name got lost.

But what about the White Mountains?  Is it an innocent name?  Or something more sinister?  Something to think about.

The Afronista Rants #15: It’s Just Hair!

For some strange reason I joined some Facebook group called “Black Girl with Long Hair.”  I’m not sure why I joined because I don’t like joining Facebook groups, but I think my initial motivation may have been to get hair care tips. I’m really into proper hair upkeep and having the healthiest hair possible.  I’ve always had an issue with breakage and split ends , but since I joined this group and this other forum (Long Hair Care Forum) I found last year, I’ve really discovered some new techniques to combat this problem I’ve always had.

So, anyway, since joining these hair care forums, I’ve discovered something else.  There seems to be a huge division between black women who have natural hair and black women who have permed hair.  I didn’t even know it was that serious.  In my personal life, I don’t really know that many women who are natural.  My mother is natural.  My sister is permed.  Most of my aunts are permed, and only go natural when they chop all their hair off to “start over.”  My three friends who are natural are only natural because they cut their hair down all the way to the quick but as soon their hair starts growing again, they perm it.  Everybody else I know is permed.

Apparently there is this huge debate on what is best for black women:  permed or natural.  On these hair care forums, all the natural women are talking about how being natural is healthiest, it’s the most beautiful and it’s what God intended us to be.  The natural women are like Nazis, turning their nose up at women are addicted to “creamy crack.”  All the permed women who desire to become natural, talk about things like “the journey” they are on to become natural, kicking the addiction to “creamy crack,” their self image and how others will perceive them if they decide to become natural.  Permed women on these forums talk about others’ acceptance and rejection of their preferred hair style.

Last night, while goofing off on Facebook, I came across an article about the “intolerance” of women who are natural.  I think now we’re just taking things a bit too far.  Is it really that serious?  Here, all along I thought it was just hair, something that we funk around with in the mirror to make ourselves look more attractive to the opposite sex.  I did not know it was such a reflection of one’s inner soul.  I did not know it was a political statement.  I did not know it was a defining characteristic of black women.

I’m natural because I’ve always been natural and I’m lazy.  When I was a child, my mother permed my hair occasionally but I used to whine and cry when it was time for me to get touch ups.  I did not like the weird burning sensation.  I hated the smell.  Instead of getting my hair washed I wanted to sit around and watch cartoons.  My mother gave up on me and concentrated on my sister who did not seem to mind as much as I did.  My sister and I do have different grains of hair, but we both have very long, very thick hair that would take my mother an hour or more to braid every Sunday night.  Since my sister seemed to like getting permed, that would give my mother plenty of time to chase me around the house, whoop me and force me to sit down so I could get my hair braided for school.  All through middle school and high school, I wore my hair braided because it was easiest and I didn’t have to deal with anybody poking around in my sensitive head.

My mother did keep our hair neat, but she did not know much about hair care.  She permed my sister’s hair and greased us down with Blue Magic, so much that we looked like pieces of chicken frying underneath the hot tropical sun on the island we grew up on.  When I went to college, it was suggested by a friend that I should perm my hair but I balked at how expensive the salon was.  I was a broke college student and this charlatan in a muumuu wanted $49.95 so she could slap some goop on my head to make my hair straight.  I told my friend that I didn’t feel the need to have my hair straight.  “What’s the difference?  It looks okay the way it is.”  I was still wearing my hair in braids but when I picked the braids out, I would just walk around with my hair all over the place, looking crazy.  Because I was such a brat growing up, I never learned how to take care of my own hair.  I don’t know how to braid.  I couldn’t even wash it properly until well into my 20s.  Sad, but true.  My friend said, “Well, at least moisturise the crap,” and handed me a bottle of Pink Oil Moisturizer.  I switched from grease to pink goop and thought I was doing something.

I wouldn’t get my hair pressed.  I didn’t want to blow dry my hair after washing it.  I didn’t want to spend $50 getting a perm.  I didn’t want to try and perm it myself because I …. just didn’t want to.  I didn’t want to do anything but get up and go on my way and that’s why I’m natural.  I’m not black power.  I’m not making a statement.  I don’t think anything about my hair except that it looks fine the way it is.

So when I read about black women taking a journey to switch from permed to natural, I wonder, “What journey is this?”  Is it really that serious that you have to psych yourself up mentally just to switch your hairstyle?  So you no longer like straight hair.  Now you want curly hair.  What is the big deal?  Get curly hair if that’s what you want to do.  A woman on Facebook told me that the journey came from going against what society thinks is beautiful.

*blank stare*

…going against what society thinks is beautiful. Well, in case you didn’t get the memo, whether a black woman’s hair is straight or permed, society doesn’t really think she’s beautiful.  You don’t see very many black women, permed or natural on magazine covers.  Okay, yeah, Halle Berry every time she makes a new movie and Oprah whenever she gains more weight, but that’s pretty much it.  What society are you talking about?  Black society?  Hmm, I guess.  From reading these forums I do see that permed women are awful defensive about their straight hair.  I guess they see that curly kinky hair is unprofessional, unbecoming, un-whatever.  But to the black women who want to have natural hair, do you really take other people’s opinion into that much consideration whenever you decide to do something?  Were you on a journey when you decided to stop wearing the J. Lo boot?  Are you on a journey when you decide to put on that hot pink Wet’n'Wild lip gloss?  Whenever you wake up in the morning and put on some outrageous outfit, are you on a journey?

When I get dressed in the morning, I don’t think about anything except is this shirt going to hide my belly fat and are these shoes going to hurt my feet, despite how insanely cute they are.  I don’t think about any political statements I might be making.  If I have a meeting, I take the time to actually comb my hair.  I don’t run to the flat iron to appear more… whatever it is you’re supposed to appear when you have straight hair.

For the women who perm their hair, do you really, really in your heart of hearts feel more acceptable in society?  Most of the time, people can’t even get past your skin colour.  You can be assured that they haven’t given a thought to your hair.  Racists don’t exclude you because you have thin, flat hair.  I’m not even sure where anybody got that idea.  Yeah, I’m aware that historically, black women permed their hair to make them appear more white, but news flash, your black ass skin is a dead giveaway, forget about your hair.

I guess I just don’t get it.  I guess it’s because I grew up in all white neighbourhoods and people seem to treat me however they want to treat me because they want to and not because of my hairstyle.  I guess it’s because I really don’t give a damn about anybody’s opinion on what I should look like.  I guess it’s because I’m not trying to define myself by outward trappings.  What if you were bald, what would you be then?  Nothing?

My personal opinions on permed and natural hair is that there are advantages and disadvantages to both.  Perming seems counterproductive to good hair health.  Some girls look great with flat, straight hair.  They have the facial features and shape to pull it off.  But some women who perm their hair don’t take proper care of it.  Pouring chemicals on your head without a true knowledge of what you’re doing is damaging.  That’s a disadvantage.

The disadvantage of natural hair is that it also takes proper care to manage it.  You can’t just walk around like bed head all day.  You need to trim it, comb it, for God’s sake to make it look presentable.  If you’re like me and you don’t know how to braid or what type of brush to use, you could end up looking like a big ole mess.  That’s a disadvantage.  Natural women need to realise that just because you’re natural, doesn’t mean you’re automatically healthy.  I’ve seen plenty of natural girls walking around with broke off edges, split ends and dry matted hair.  Not cute!

I think whatever you decide to do to your hair, make sure it’s in the best health it can be. Maintain it.  Wear it.  Love it.  Be happy with it.  If you want to have permed hair, perm your hair.  Perm it until it falls out.  If you want to have natural hair, keep it natural and walk around like bed head all day.  If you want extensions, get extensions.  If you want to wear wigs, wear wigs.  Do what you want!  Do what makes you feel happy so when you look in the mirror you are pleased with the result.  Stop being overly concerned about what other people think of you.  Stop trying to decide if you fit into society’s idea of beauty, because if you really wanted to be society’s “beautiful” you need to lose about 100 pounds (no matter how big or small you currently are), slap on several layers of make up and walk around in pointy-toed heels and miniskirts and only then will you be beautiful according to society.

How you wear your hair is not a definition of your inner self.  If your hair is not healthy (permed or not), you do not have good hair.  You are not better than anybody because you have natural hair.  You are not more acceptable because you have permed hair.  There is no journey when changing hairstyles.  Hair is not to be debated.  Permed women are not Israeli and natural women are not Palestinian.  Hair is not the Gaza Strip.

It’s just hair!

The Afronista Rants #14: Sorry, Niggers

Not that I listen to the Dr. Laura Schlessinger Show, or that I’ve even heard of her in the first place, but I just happened to be trolling CNN when I came across an article about her giving a public apology for using the word “nigger” in her show several times.  Now the black community is about to crucify this white woman over her poor selection of words.  Al Sharpton, King of the Black Folk, described the incident as “despicable.”  The Guilty White are embarrassed and apologetic.  The Black Masses are up in arms.

Me?  I’m just shaking my head.  I’m not really upset with Dr. Laura Schlessinger, whoever the hell she is.  She’s just imitating what she hears in the streets everyday, more than likely.  Or maybe she really does feel all black people are just a bunch of niggers.  Who knows?  Since many of us refer to each other as “nigger” how is she able to determine which of us is a nigger and which one of us isn’t?  Everyday black people, not all but many, call each other nigger like it’s nothing.  You hear it in rap music all day long.  Black people come up to each other and greet each other, “What’s up, my nigger,” all the time.  So what is the problem if Dr. Laura Schlessinger tosses it about a few times in her radio talk show?  She is just another confused white woman, trying to figure out what to call us:  black, African-American or nigger?

Is it because black people feel like they somehow have ownership of this word?  Is it that mentality where it was once so offensive and so demeaning, that we’ll just now take the word over and give it a whole new twist?  I was once told that there was a fundamental difference between the word “nigger” and “nigga.”  When I hear rap music and black people greeting each other with this word, they are saying “nigga” not “nigger,” according to this guy who felt the need to enlighten me.  Nigger is that bad word you aren’t supposed to use.  Nigga is something else entirely.  That doesn’t make much sense to me, but if black people want to go on that, then who am I to say anything against it?  *eyeroll*  What the hell do I know?

All of this began when Dr. Schlessinger received a phone call from a black woman who was married to a white man.  The black woman said she loved her husband but she was tired of his family saying what she considered to be racist things about her.  The woman gave a few examples and Dr. Schlessinger said she didn’t find anything particularly racist about what the family was supposedly saying.  Then the black woman asked about the usage of the word “nigger,” to which Dr. Schlessinger replied,

“black guys use it all the time. Turn on HBO, listen to a black comic, and all you hear is nigger, nigger, nigger.”

The caller (the black woman) became upset that Dr. Schlessinger continued to use the word several more times and the two ended up in an argument.  Dr. Schlessinger then told the woman that if she was so hypersensitive she should not have married outside her race.

Had this been me I would have been more annoyed that she castigated me on marrying outside my race.  I would not have been upset by the constant use of the word nigger, because she is correct in some aspects.  Many black rappers, black comedians, and black people in general use the word like it’s nothing.  I’m sure, as I outlined above, that their reasons are different, but it’s still a usage of a word that many people find derogatory.  I’m not just talking about the Educated Black or the Guilty White, most people just don’t want to hear the word because they are reminded of a time that we’d all just rather forget.  It’s a senseless word, no matter how you use it.  Dr. Schlessinger shouldn’t use it and neither should Jay-Z or Chris Rock or the kid up on the block.

If you don’t want anybody to call you a nigger, don’t let anybody call you a nigger.  Don’t promote the usage of the word.  I know it would be a stretch to get people to stop buying rap music that contains the word “nigger,” but if you want to get upset by it, get upset by all usage of the word.  Don’t just jump on white people when they use the word.  I would feel foolish if I told a white person not to call me nigger when I let my friends call me nigger or ride around in the car with music shouting, “nigger, nigger, nigger,” all day long.  The first thing this white person is going to say is, “Well, you let your friends call you nigger.”  What am I supposed to say in response, “They are my friends, so it’s okay?”  No, it’s not okay.  I’m not a nigger, so you can’t call me one and neither can my friends.  You can’t punch me in the face and neither can any of my friends.

If you want to try to play the argument that there is a difference between nigga and nigger then you are just stupid and there’s no coming back from that.  I am not a nigga or nigger or any other deviation of the word.  Snoop Dogg can’t call me one.  My sister can’t call me one.  My best friend can’t call me one.  And neither can Dr. Laura Schlessinger.

We don’t have ownership of the word like we think we do.  We sound ignorant and foolish as we stand up on the corner with the “nigger” this, “nigger” that.  I know this does not apply to most of the black population, just a few suckers who got rope-a-doped into thinking they are owed something.  Every time you use the word or condone usage of the word in any shape or form you are just knocking yourself back a decade or two.

I tell my little cousin all the time that he needs to treat himself like he wants other people to treat him.  If you treat yourself like an asshole other people are going to treat you like an asshole.  If you treat yourself like a nigger then other people will treat you like a nigger.

The Afronista Rants #9: How ‘Bout Get a Freakin’ Life!?

Last night, I was wasting my life away on Facebook, searching through people’s status updates, looking for something interesting, when my cousin updated her status to read:

Okay, I’ve been single for a month and I’m bored.  Should I go back to my last boyfriend who is not even interesting?  Should I be with someone that aggravates me, or should I stay single for a little while and see where it takes me?

That was not an exact quote, but you get the idea.  Before I go any further, let me give you some background information on my cousin.  We’ll call her Edna (I couldn’t think of anything better, sorry).  Edna is 29 years old.  She has four (I think it might be five though) children by multiple baby fathers.  I believe there are three baby fathers.  Two of the children are juniors, like Dan, Jr. and Kevin, Jr.  I am not sure if Edna has a high school diploma.  I would err on the side that she does not.  Edna hasn’t had a job in quite some time, in fact, she has not been able to hold down a regular job ever in her entire life.  Edna does not have any money or any savings to speak of in case something happens to her.  Who knows who will take care of Edna’s kids.  They would probably have to go into the system.  Most of the children’s fathers are no longer in her life, but I am told that they occasionally make an appearance.

Edna once got upset with my sister and I because she felt we were doing un-Christian like things.  My sister posted on her Facebook that she was taking her child to the mall for Hallowe’en and Edna made a nasty comment about people who “claim to be Christians” but are involved in pagan activities like Hallowe’en.  Two days after this comment, Edna wrote that she couldn’t wait for some party because she was going to be wasted. I wrote her a note that she should read a little more and do some research before making blanket, nonsensical statements.  If you think present-day Hallowe’en is pagan, so is Christmas and Easter, but we won’t go into that subject right now.

That is Edna, my cousin.

So she says that she is bored and wants to go back to her ex-boyfriend because she doesn’t have anything better to do with her time.  Seriously?  Seriously.  This is precisely what is wrong with the state of many black women today.  No, not ALL black women, but a lot of black women who just don’t seem to have it together.  Why is Edna so obsessed with having a boyfriend?  She is so bored that she would rather go back to someone that aggravates her?  If you’re so bored, Edna, why don’t you go get a fucking job?  It is amazing how working eight hours a day will help while away the time.  And look, at the end of the day, you actually get something for your troubles which is far more than you’ll get after dealing with someone who aggravates you for eight hours.

Edna, why don’t you go get your GED and set an example for your children?  Your oldest child is the same age you were when you had her.  Don’t you think it’s time to correct the mistakes you made?  Why don’t you try doing something for yourself for a change?  Stop thinking that you need a penis in your life in order to be mildly entertained.  Black women everywhere, educated or not, fall into this trap that a man is supposed to fix something.  The man is supposed to somehow give you substance and value.  Has anybody ever thought about adding their own value?  Something that nobody can take away from you once you’ve earned it?  Once you earn your GED, Edna, it’s yours.  Nobody can take it from you.  Not like the apartment you were shacked up in with your last boyfriend, that you had to leave when you two stopped dealing with each other.

If you got a job, you can get your OWN apartment and it wouldn’t have to be a section 8 HUD home either.  It could be a nice place where your kids can play outside and it would be YOURS, so when you come home at night, there’s nobody there except the people that you want to be there and if someone is there that you don’t want to be there, you can put them out, because it’s your place.  That’s something you can do with your time:  go get your own shit!

Edna and I don’t really talk much.  We did not grow up together.  I was living in an another country, cramming for one of the most important tests of my life while she was giving birth to her first kid.  By the time she had her second kid, I was gone to college.  I was at work when she had her third and fourth kid, and I was at the bank when she had her fifth kid.  When we first met each other, I think I was about 22 years old.  Any fool could see that our worlds were on opposite ends of the universe.  Edna, like ALL of my female cousins, has multiple children.  None of my female cousins are married, or ever were married.  One time we were at a family event and Edna said to me, “So when are you having a kid?”

Uhm, never.

They all just laugh, like, oh it’s so cute.

No seriously.  I’m not really planning on having any kids.  Even at that young age, I knew that having a kid wasn’t for me.  I do understand that things happen, but I plan for them not to happen.  I got other things on my mind then popping out a baby every year.

Edna says, “Everybody says they don’t want kids, but shit happens and then you end up with five of them.”

Well, maybe you do, because you don’t have anything better to do with your time, but that doesn’t happen to me.  Back then, I was either at work or at school or walking to work or school (since I didn’t have a car) or falling down exhausted in bed after getting home from work or school.  Who had time to get pregnant?  Obviously, Edna did.

Maybe back then, Edna was too foolish to realise what a mistake she’d made, but now, when she’s about to be 30 freakin’ years old, it’s time to face facts.  All this time that Edna is goofing off on Facebook, she could be earning her GED!  Yes, you can do that shit online now through an accredited community college.  They make it so easy, even a caveman can do it.  What is wrong with these young black girls?

I know the major difference between Edna and I is our parental influence.  Edna’s mother was not a strong presence in her life like my mother was.  Edna’s father is nowhere to be found.  I had a father who was on me every five seconds if I even pretended like I was slacking off.  Having a baby in high school, dropping out of school, not going to college, not having a job:  those were not options for me.  Those were all off-limits and if you don’t like it, get the hell out this house and don’t come back here.  It really is all about having a strong parental influence in your life when you’re growing up.  That is something that is lacking in the black community, strong parental influence.  Actually, that’s beginning to lack in all segments of American society, but it is an on-going problem for blacks that seems to be getting worse.  In addition to the standard dead-beat dad, more and more black mothers are dropping the ball, leaving these kids to turn out like Edna.

The parent is largely responsible for the children, but afterwards, when you’re grown, you have to start taking personal responsibility, something that a lot of black women don’t do.  Everything is always someone else’s fault.  Edna says that if she didn’t have all those kids she would be doing this, that and the other.  But “someone got me pregnant,” she says.  Someone got you pregnant?  Oh, I’m sorry, did you trip and fall in the hallway somewhere and somehow some sperm just fell inside you?  Because I’m sure that’s not how it happened.  She can’t get a job because the system is designed to work against her.  Maybe there is some truth to that, but somewhere, somehow, someone is making it.  No reason why you can’t at least TRY!

Okay, Edna, you have four, five kids.  They’re here to stay and there’s nothing to be done about that, but there’s plenty to be done about everything else.  If you’re so fucking bored, I challenge you to actually do something about your own life.  Get educated.  If you’re daunted by going back to school, how about educating yourself?  Go to the library and get a fucking book and read the shit, instead of wasting your life in front of Maury Povich everyday.  You might actually learn something.  If you think you can’t hold down a job, how about doing some volunteer work at the church, since you’re so Christian.  If your life is so boring that you’re actually contemplating going back to some loser for lack of anything better to do, you should probably just kill yourself because you really are nothing but a waste of space.

You are everything they think we are:  an uneducated, roach breeder good for nothing but being some man’s cum dumpster.

I am certainly not speaking to every black woman out there, just the ones who are like Edna, who seem to think a dick is more important than self-preservation.  I’m not saying that men are all evil and you should be single forever, not by a long shot, but if there are serious gaps in your life, a man should be the least of your concerns.  Fix your priorities, black women, and get a freakin’ life.

The Afronista Rants #7: Sorry, MLK, the War Ain’t Over Yet

Today is Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. day.

Today is Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. day.

I would say it again, but you get the point.  So, my question is, what precisely does that mean?  I got a day off, thanks to Congress, because some people rallied together and thought we should have the day off.  We celebrate a lot of white people, why not this guy who gave some speeches and got killed for his efforts?  That’s their argument, not mine; I’m just trying to give you the basic premise.

At any rate, today my aunt posed a question “do white people celebrate MLK day like black people do.”  My response was, “black people celebrate MLK day?”  Oh, really?  Yeah, there’s some parades and stuff, but they have parades for anything these days.  How precisely do you celebrate MLK day?  Do we stand around and talk about the meaning of being black and oppressed?  What do we do?  Somebody let me know because I might feel like celebrating.

I told my aunt that today is just like any other day.  This is one of those partial holidays, where some people get it and some people don’t.  Those that get the day off are glad they don’t have to succumb to Monday morning blues.  MLK day is just like any other “holiday” we have where people only “celebrate” half-heartedly.  I told my aunt to look at how Christmas is celebrated in this country and she would get her answer.  If supposed Christians hardly give a damn about the alleged birth of Jesus Christ, the Saviour of mankind, why would anybody give a damn about a black man who got shot 40 years ago?

At any rate, I hate this day more than any other holiday that we have.  It’s so phony to me.  All my black friends on Twitter and Facebook are posting their “I’m black and proud” posts, most of them have had to do with President Obama and how cool it is we have a black president.  There’s lot of posts talking about our freedom and how we’ve won against the oppressors and whatever else.  I’m sure that’s all wonderful and everything, but seriously… what precisely do you think you’ve won?  How free are you exactly?  Where did you get these idiotic ideals?  Are you even on the same planet as I am?

NEWS FLASH:  THE WAR AIN’T OVER YET!

We might have won a battle, a major battle, but the war is not over yet.  And just in case you didn’t know, much like the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, there has been a total shift in focus:  we no longer fight The Man; we’re fighting ourselves.

I do not think we’ve made a significant victory in the war against racism and oppression.  Sure, legally, we’re not allowed to discriminate and all that jazz, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t happen.  Does it make it any less criminal just because we can’t see it?  But I won’t even turn this into a black versus white charade.  Let’s talk about black versus black.  We’re our own worst enemy.  We oppress ourselves far greater than the white man ever could.

Talking white, acting white, Uncle Tom, etc. all these things that black people say to other black people to make them feel guilty for succeeding in what they have decided is a white world.  Why not just be happy that somebody is successful at something, anything?  Why alienate your own kind because you can’t play the game, failed the game, or don’t even know there’s a game going on?

Black people segregate themselves far worse than the Jim Crow laws.  How many black people would never consider dating outside their race?  Black people won’t even listen to “other people’s” music because they “didn’t grow up around it” (whatever that means).  And the reason they didn’t grow up around it is because black people sit in their own crummy neighbourhoods generation after generation without a thought in the world to moving out to something better.  Just because you were born and raised in the hood doesn’t mean you have to stay in the hood.  With each new generation there is less and less determination to try and do something with oneself.

Black people want to be rappers and football players like other black people who supposedly have made it.  Never mind the fact that the chances of becoming such is slim to none.  So when you can’t be a rapper or a sports star, what is there left to do?  Black men don’t think of college.  They take the easy way out.  Drugs on the corner, sold to their own black brothers and sisters.  And when they get locked up, it’s the white man’s fault.  “They’re keeping us down.”

Oh, are they?  I don’t recall seeing any white people parading through your hood with a gun to your head forcing you to have hopeless dreams of celebrity.  They didn’t force you not to think of your own future.  They didn’t force you to start selling drugs, your ass, your mother’s pearls to make ends meet.  They don’t even force you to stay in your ghetto trashy neighbourhood, the one you call home.  You did that on your own because “that’s all you know.”  You didn’t even dare to dream of something else.  Because you’re afraid of being “too white.”  If being successful, comfortable and in charge of one ownself is being white, then what is being black?  Being a loser?

That’s what we say to ourselves day in and day out.  And when January 20 (or the closest Monday) rolls around, these same fools get up on a soap box and talk about how far we’ve come.  “Look, we got ourselves a black president.  Ain’t we proud, mammy?”

You can’t even spell president.  Out of every thing to be counted that is important in the United States, black people come up last.  Is this how you honour Martin Luther King’s legacy?  By being a race of illiterate drug dealers and video hoes?  Is this how you want to follow up President Obama’s presidency?  We have a black president now, but when will the next one be?  Who’s following in his footsteps?  Who’s inspired by this?

As long as we continue to oppress ourselves, this “holiday” is utterly meaningless.  You got your right to vote (that you only utilised just recently).  You got your right to drink from the white water fountain.  You got your right to ride in front of the bus.  You got your right to attend college (which you only  use some of the time, and maybe if it’s so you can play pro sports).  You got your right to whatever is out there that’s available to everybody else, but you haven’t gone out there to get it.  I guess you thought that right along with the reparations, somebody was gonna come knocking on your door to hand you your due.

Black people today, particularly young black people, need to realise that you haven’t won shit.  The war is not over; in fact, it’s just getting started.  Hate to say it, but you’re losing this one.  And once it’s gone, it’s gone.

Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. had a dream.  Where is yours?

The Afronista Rants #5: What Precisely is Kwanzaa Anyway?

The holiday season, which usually runs from Thanksgiving until New Year’s, is usually bombarded with the pagan-derived antics of the Christians and the more solemn rituals of the Jews.  Of course, you also have your heathen commerical presence with the devil-worshipping Santa Claus and Black Friday ad posters beckoning God-fearing people to their doom.

In these trying times where religion is fighting an endless, pointless war with evil’s henchman, otherwise known as Wal-Mart and Best Buy, one struggles how to best converse with someone without offending them or *gasp* being politically incorrect.  Should I say Merry Christmas?  Or is it Happy Holidays?  You never know what to say and it winds up being awkward and senseless.

Depending on where you are in the country, things will be different.  In the South, it’s Merry Christmas, no questions asked.  They’re all God-fearing Christians down there; likewise in the Midwest.  It’s only in the heathen big cities do you have a problem, and of course, the hairy-legged, bra-burning, hippies out west are more of the Happy Holidays sort.  What I don’t notice is the Happy Kwanzaa crowd.  Where are these people?

Every year I see a vague semblance of this holiday, like a spectre in the night.  I do not precisely know what it is.  Being black, perhaps this is shameful, but then as I give this matter further thought I realise that none of my black friends, as black as they are, seem to celebrate the mysterious holiday of Kwanzaa.  What is this Kwanzaa, anyway?  One year my aunt sent me a Christmas card in the mail with a Kwanzaa stamp on it.  I was 22 and I thought, “What the hell is this?”

According to my internet search, Kwanzaa is a weeklong celebration honouring universal African heritage and culture.  You light some candles, you have a party and give some gifts from Boxing Day to New Year’s Day.  Sounds an awful lot like Chanukah, but what do I know?  As I read further, I see that this holiday was invented in the sixties, so it is not a long standing tradition, barely 40 years old.  This guy, this Ron Karenga, created it to be a specifically African American holiday, to “give blacks an opportunity to celebrate themselves and history, rather than simply imitate the practise of the dominant society.”

Well, that’s just the most moronic thing I’ve ever heard.  Given that it was created in the sixties during the Civil Rights movement speaks volumes.  This, in my view, is another one of those things that black people invent to further segregate and alienate themselves from the white society they view as the oppressor, which is, as I’ve always said, one of the worst things we can possibly do as a race.  I promise I won’t beat that dead horse any further.

Let’s give blacks an opportunity to celebrate themselves and history, rather than simply imitate the practise of the dominant society.  Sorry to say that most blacks don’t know their own history.  Will Kwanzaa give them an opportunity to do so?  I sincerely doubt it.  Let’s have a holiday to celebrate being black, but if white people had a holiday to celebrate being white, black people would shit themselves at the injustice of it all.  (And don’t say Saint Patrick’s Day because it is not a celebration of being white, morons.)  Let’s have a holiday to celebrate being black and put it directly during the Judeo-Christian-Pagan holidays so black people don’t have to imitate the practise of the dominant society.

Does anybody else notice what a ridiculous statement this is?  Hello… most black people have very strong Christian roots.  You go south and all the black people are Southern Baptists.  In fact, while it is conceivable, how many black people do you know that aren’t Christian.  You will find your Black Muslims in the big cities, but for the most part, they’re all Christian. So you’re basically telling people to forgo their faith in favour of some secular garbage that celebrates the furtherance of segregation and racism.

So there’s something called the seven principles of blackness:  Unity, Self-Determination, Collective Work and Responsibility, Cooperative Economics, Purpose, Creativity, and Faith.  These are not bad principles at all, but why do they have to be the seven principles of blackness?  Why can they not be seven principles that all people should have?  This sounds just like the movement from which this “holiday” sprang:  black power and a seclusionary society.

To me, Kwanzaa sounds like some made up crap that black people invented to make themselves feel like they have something special, something of their own.  The sad part is, this “holiday” is so self-centered that it purposely excludes other groups of people, large groups of other people, making it impossible to celebrate in this day and age without looking like a racist jackass.  If I invited my white friends over a Kwanzaa celebration and then went on about the seven principles of blackness, I wouldn’t make them feel very much at home.  Thirty years after Ron Karenga made that outrageous statement, he now says that Kwanzaa can be celebrated by all races and it is not a celebration to divert people from their religion and religious holidays.  “Kwanzaa is not a substitute for anything.  In fact, it offers a clear and self-conscious option, and chance to make a proactive choice, a self-affirming and positive choice as distinct from a reactive one.”

What does that even mean?  I doubt even he knows.

There are varying statistics on precisely how many black people celebrate this nonsense.  Some say that 28 million people celebrate it.  Others say 12 million or 30 million.  Based solely on observation of what is around me and absolutely no scientific evidence at all, I find these numbers to be an exaggeration.  I do not know anybody who celebrates Kwanzaa.  I do not know anybody who knows anybody that celebrates Kwanzaa.  Where are these 12-30 million people?  Let me know because I want to see a Kwanzaa celebration.  I want to see what these people do, how they live, who they are.  I would like to see more so that I can make more than just basic generalisations on what I think I know.

At any rate, as I do not celebrate anything that purposely sets black people off from society, I abhor the very idea of Kwanzaa.  If I were Christian I would be offended at the dates chosen for this celebration.  It really seems like they were trying to get black people to not celebrate Christmas.  I’m also perturbed by the fact that many of the rituals in Kwanzaa look like Jewish traditions, but yet this was supposed to celebrate Africanism as a whole.

This is not a good look.

The Afronista Rants #4: Why Hip Hop Is Dead To Me

Several weekends ago, a girlfriend of mine celebrated her 25th birthday by getting all us girls up on a road a weekend trip to New York City.  There we glammed around like we had money in limousines, staying in four star hotels, sitting in VIP sections, and having dinner at $100 a plate steakhouses.  It was a very fabulous weekend, and I’m glad my girlfriend celebrated her birthday in style. 

I definitely loved sleeping my life away in a hotel where they leave little mints on your pillow top mattress.  Of course, I liked being handed into a stretch limo so I could be carried to my night on the town.  Naturally, my $75 lamb chop dinner topped off with profiteroles in chocolate sauce was top notch.  Here’s what I could have done without:  the night at the hip hop club.

Since it was her birthday, it’s her choice.  I also did not want to complain because nobody likes to have crybabies tagging along when you’re trying to have fun.  But look, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again:  hip hop is so dead to me.  Why is that, you ask?  I could easily turn this into a 50 page research paper, but who has the time for that, and you wouldn’t read it anyway.  I’ll try to sum up the best I can.

I’m not a huge fan of hip hop/rap/R&B music for a lot of reasons.  Hip hop and rap music can be acceptable for a night at the club, but it’s not really music that I would listen to hanging around the house, or cruising down the highway.  Most of it makes absolutely no sense to me and I don’t have an emotional connection to it.  Since I didn’t grow up in the hood looking for a purse to snatch, I have trouble understanding and feeling what the artist wants to me feel.  I don’t know any round-the-way girls.  I didn’t know people who did drugs until I was like 19 and then I was so surprised that I wouldn’t believe it, even though it had been going on under my nose since I was 12.

And even for the rappers who aren’t rapping thug life, I still can’t understand it.  Bling, bling, shaking my ass for a dollar, getting trashed and all those themes are only amusing for about 15 minutes and afterwards, I’m left with a sordid taste in my mouth, similar to what you feel like after a round of cheap liquor. 

I like a lot of old school R&B music and I get that from my parents.  My parents were into Sade, Whitney (before her intervention), Aretha Franklin and stuff like that.  My dad also liked funk, but I never got into that.  He was open-minded and listened to anything on the radio that “had a decent beat.”  My mom likes Prince, Gerald Levert, Luther and stuff like that.

Nowadays, the R&B singers don’t sing very well in my opinion.  I am a singer myself, and no, obviously, I’m not good enough to make it anywhere, and maybe that’s how I can pick’em out.  It takes one to know one.  Keyshia Cole, Mario, and whoever else, they don’t really sing very well.  They have very limited musical ability other than the fact that they can carry a note, however, their songs are trite and meaningless.  There’s no emotional depth to their music.  When I listen to their songs, I don’t get that feeling like, “Yeah, I know how you feel.”  Even if it’s an emotion I’ve never felt before, sometimes an artist can really convey his feelings and somehow I can become connected. 

There’s a song by Evanescence that’s really powerful to me.  I’m not precisely sure what it is she’s singing about, but I think it might be some childhood abuse.  I’ve never been abused, so obviously I don’t know how that feels but the lyrics were so deep that for a moment I felt like I was the one who had been abused and I felt the same rage she did.  That’s important to me in music:  lyrics and depth.  Another good example of this is Lauryn Hill’s Zion (Joy of My World).  I don’t have a kid, but the song is really beautiful and emotional.  I actually gave some thought to her situation:  have a kid and possibly mess up my career or have a kid and embrace the moment.  In addition to the talent of the artist, you have to consider the total picture.  You can’t just be another pretty face or a hot set of balls.

Singers like Beyonce and Rihanna, etc, what are they?  Are they pop stars?  Are they R&B stars?  I don’t know where they fit, and it doesn’t even matter anyway because, although Beyonce can carry a note, she is dry and lifeless to me.  There are about two or three songs from her where I feel like she was singing from the heart, but those songs were the “shake your ass” type of songs, and not really R&B.  What am I supposed to get out of our music? 

Going back to hip hop and rap, they’ll never redeem themselves in my eyes.  Every year, the music just gets worse and worse.  The whole scene is perpetuated by sex, drugs, crime and violence, and it was painfully evident that night in New York City.

We went to this club called Imperial, which advertised itself as a high-quality club.  The club was not a total dive.  It wasn’t some hole in the wall dump where I had to shank somebody just for image sake.  At any rate, we spent quite a few hundreds on a VIP section, revealing ourselves to be ladies of some means.  We were all dressed to the nines, and none of us were slutty in nature.  There wasn’t ass and titties falling out all over the place. 

When we arrived they checked our names; yes, we’re on the VIP list and then I was subjected to a very invasive pat-down security check.  I feel like the bouncer should have cooked me breakfast after all that fluffing and rubbing and lifting.  Oh, but ALL clubs are worried about safety.  Yeah, I’m sure they are and there’s no denying it.  But who primarily goes to hip hop clubs?  Minorities.  Who’s responsible for the abominably high crime rate in some urban areas?  Minorities.  It’s the sad truth. Yeah, white people shoot up schools and kill their wives in bizarre murder/suicide rituals, but black people bank each other in clubs, on the way to clubs, at the Denny’s after the clubs and on the corner while you’re waiting for a cab from the club. 

It’s no wonder there’s such a propensity for violence when all night long you’ve been listening to Lil Jon’s Up in the Club and Crime Mob’s Knuck If You Buck, two songs which pretty much glorify beating the shit out of someone or shooting them in the face.  So it is really no wonder the bouncer has to strip search us to make sure these girls won’t be tusslin’ (from Knuck If You Buck). 

After being fondled by the very obviously gay female bouncer, we go into the club.  At first it was quite nice and I was prepared to forget about that scene at the door.  As the hours wore on, the club got more crowded.  Then the sluts showed up.  Why is it that no one is sexy anymore?  Why are all the women whores?  I’m a fan of mini skirts.  I like high heels.  I wear shirts that make my boobs look bigger.  But all at once?  I feel like a street walker.  It can only be one, just so there’s something left to the imagination.

All the “getting drunk in the club” songs came on, because that’s apparently the new thing.  Blame it on the alcohol.  Whatever.  Along with She Got a Donkey, it was like carte blanch to be the biggest whore possible.  I do happen to like the song (when I’m in the club) and I will dance to it, but I won’t let you grind on me, and I won’t take my pants off so you can see my donkey either.  Which is precisely what a large number of women proceeded to do.  There was a cage, like a go-go dancer cage, and women were lined up to get up there and shake their ass over everybody.  Most of the girls who went up there were barely dressed in the first place, but there were a few who obviously felt they were overdressed, so they left the cage, took some clothes off and went back up there without bras, panties, pants, whateves.

It was so scummy that I was almost embarrassed.  I’ve been to strip clubs before; I know what to expect.  If I go to a strip club I can’t be upset that I see little brown holes.  But if I go to a regular club can I at least hope that everybody will have their clothes on?  Or is that too much to ask?

Nowadays, when I go to hip hop clubs I don’t dance with guys anymore because it’s hard to set boundaries in a place like that.  I just want to dance, have a good time, smile and flirt and don’t call me tomorrow.  However, if you don’t let a guy stick his hand up your skirt, you might as well put a sign on your forehead that says, “STUCK UP HOE.”  I don’t want to dry-fuck you on the dance floor.  But that’s what they expect and if you try to tell them it’s too much, they get mad.  Most just wander off and find some other less self-respecting harlot, but sometimes they have a few choice words to say.  That night a guy told me I was a “stanky bitchy anyway” because I wouldn’t let him rub his sausage on my ass cheeks. 

But once again, the hip hop scene is mired in this style because that’s what you see in the videos.  If the rappers aren’t rapping about the Trap, they’re talking about licking coochie till their lips get gooey (from Get Loose).  Anybody not in line with this method of thinking is an alien. 

This is not precisely to say that white clubs don’t have their fair share of problems.  You go into some of these rave joints and there’s candy kids rolling off X and underage chicks giving handjobs in the men’s bathroom.  Every culture has its problem, but as I am a lover of so many different music styles, I’ve been in an embarrassingly large amount of clubs from one end of the country to the other.  I will say that in every hip hop club I’ve been in, I’ve been groped, fondled and damn near molested by the bouncers and patrons.  I’ve seen fights.  I’ve even been thrown out of a club because I was mistaken for another girl.  I was calmly sitting in a corner wishing for death because my friends were having a great time and I wasn’t when a bouncer came up to me and jacked me up out of my seat.  He pretty much carried me to the door and asked me to leave because he “saw me get into it with another girl by the bathroom.”  I didn’t even try to argue.  I just stood outside for about an hour waiting on my friends.

Whateves.

I have been in white clubs that were raided by the police, but I’ve never been harassed or mistreated.  When I go to goth clubs, my favourite types of clubs, none of them have ever had any fights, shoot outs or any other acts of violence.  I’ve never even heard of any goth clubs being involved in stuff like that.  And people think we’re the weirdoes.  We don’t stab each other.

One time I commented in my blog my great distaste for hip hop clubs and someone snidely responded, “Why do you even go if you hate it so much?”  Well, it’s not like any of you are interested in partying ‘round my way since you “didn’t grow up on that type of music.”  I’m sorry that BET has you so brainwashed that you’re only capable of digesting the third grade rhymes of the current rap star and the pedantic rhythms of whatever R&B/pop star is out. 

You are so easily distracted by fat cellulite asses, rhinestone bling and lice-infested dreads that you have no idea of the intelligence that is being sucked out of our race one heinous video at a time. 

And before you start going on and on about that so-called intelligent underground rap, I’ll tell you that I don’t want a politico-history lesson in my music.  I don’t want to hear about the Mother Land.  Yes, there are so many issues to deal with it, but I don’t want to listen to rap music talking about the struggles of the hood and the tragic life of a young black man or a sister selling dope and overcrowded inner city schools. 

I want to be entertained, amused, loved.  I want to feel some emotion.  I want to have a good time.  I want to smile and laugh.  When I’m in the club, I want to party, not get wasted and end up face down/ass up in somebody’s bathroom.  I don’t want to army crawl out the club to avoid the spray of bullets.  I don’t want to end up in a body bag because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Why can’t our musicians understand that?  It’s because you haven’t told them how you felt.  They keep putting out this garbage because you keep buying it.  Their songs are in heavy rotation because you request the shit on the radio.  It won’t go away if you keep endorsing it, which is why I gave up on the industry a long time ago.  None of them can get a dollar out of me, since I feel like I’m throwing good money after bad.  I don’t buy any of their CDs (or anybody else’s for that matter) but I don’t endorse them as a whole.  I don’t attend concerts, or watch their videos on TV, or buy any products they endorse.  I’m only one person and I know I’m not making an impact, but it’s just my way of saying, “You’re dead to me.” 

The Afronista Rants #.05: Why Do I Get To Be Hyphenated?

How come if you’re not white you have to be a hyphenised something? Like, why am I stupidly referred to as an African-American? Why is the lady that cleans my house a Hispanic-American? Why is the girl who does my nails referred to as Asian even though she was born here and so were her parents and grandparents?

What am I talking about, you ask?

Okay, so, I was just on CNN.com and the question asks whether those that fit in the category would rather be called Latino or Hispanic. I only read about 10 responses, but the majority of them were like, “I would rather just be called American.” There were a few people who tried to incorrectly explain the difference between Hispanic and Latino, and then there was one guy who said he was Latino and some other girl who said she was Hispanic.

But, responses to surveys like these are usually lopsided because, if you think about it, who responds to CNN surveys? Moderately educated people who read a lot and pay attention to the news. Maria Vega, your average chola probably doesn’t log onto CNN everyday. Same with LeRoy Jackson from the corner, Gong Li from the nail shop and Bobbi Jo from the trailer park down the street.  I’m sure that sounds all very racist, but it’s true.

Several comments jumped out at me. Several people asked why do I have to either be a Hispanic-American or Latino-American? Why can’t I just be an American?

I’ve asked myself this question all the time. Why do I have to be an African-American? This term annoys me so much. It’s such a senseless ignorant term and so many people who use it don’t even realise it.

African-American. Just listen to the sound of it. AFRICAN-AMERICAN.

Half of us are still confused as to Africa’s state. It’s a continent, not a goddamn country. So to everyone going around calling themselves African-American, what are you trying to say? Are you trying to tell me where you and your people are from? If so, you still haven’t really told me. That doesn’t really identify you since there are so many damn tribes and countries in Africa. You can’t just lump them all together like they’re the same thing. What about the Egyptians and Algerians and Moroccans? They’re African nations too, but people who come here from those nations don’t refer to themselves as African-American.

Secondly, the vast majority of people who use this term are like 8th generation. I’m exaggerating, but seriously, look at it like this: unless you, your parents or your grandparents just got off the boat, you aren’t really [Insert name of African country here]-American. You’re an American, period, dot-com.

Moreover, some people who use this term don’t even know which tribes/countries of Africa their family has descended from. Yeah, yeah, I know our history is muddled because of the slave trade and all that, but if you really wanted to know you could try to find something. It would take a monumental effort and a whole lot of money, but you would find out something about your family’s history, at least enough to figure out the general region you came from.

Having said all that, why are people still using this ridiculous term? Even more, why do we have to be hyphenated anything?

The Hispanics and Latinos are asking themselves the same question. They’ve been here, their parents have been here and their grandparents have been here for years and years and years. All their children, even though they are named Jose, Maria and Julio, don’t speak a lick of Spanish, go to school in suburban Hartford, Connecticut, but they still have to be referred to as Latino or Hispanic.

First of all, just like we need clarification on “Africa,” we also need clarification on “Latino.”

All Hispanics are Latino, but not all Latinos are Hispanic. Latin/Latino refers to everything descended from the Latin language. Italian, French, Spanish, and Romanian are all Latino. Let’s not forget all the random side languages like Catalan and Bolognese. How come nobody is going around asking French-speaking Americans if they want to be called Latin-American?

Why aren’t white people referred to in the same way? Why aren’t they French-American? Irish-American? Scots-American? Welsh-American? Or whatever European Country They Came From-American?

Why do we have to be sub-categorised and white people don’t? And don’t think this is some kind of random racism, because we minorities started this crap up long before the white people did. Oh, we just had to make sure that they knew we’re from the Mother Land.

LIKE THEY CAN’T TELL JUST BY LOOKING AT US!!

White people are like, well, damn, nobody wants to be politically incorrect these days, so if you want to be African-American or whatever, we’ll call you that. Never mind how stupid it sounds.

I guess some of us feel like we need to have an identity when we really already have one, but for some reason or another we’re disconnected it from. Whether it’s by outside forces, or internal ones, some of us don’t feel like regular ole Americans.

Like I’ve said many times, I feel like racism and segregation are often perpetuated by our own stupidity, not necessarily white oppression. That doesn’t mean I don’t think some white people aren’t racist; I just happen to think that minorities segregate themselves by trying so hard to identify themselves as an entirely separate group.

Yeah, we are different. This much is obvious just by taking a look around, but if you were born here, immigrated here and want to live here forever and ever amen, and your parents were born here and so were your grandparents, you’re a GODDAMN AMERICAN and not a hyphenated anything.

That doesn’t mean forget about where your people came from and all your ancestral traditions. No, not by any means am I advocating this, but stop coming up with stupid labels to segregate yourselves and then start crying when you feel like nobody is including you.

You excluded yourself.