Hi. We meet again. Its Friday night and my turn up is officially retired so I am instead turned all the way down, enjoying some quiet time. The other 2 pieces of my heart decided to give me a break so I'm left to own thoughts. I owe you lovely people a deep apology for being so inconsistent on the blog. No excuses, just pure laziness.
This morning as I was talking to Chetoria about the rape discussion surrounding Nate Parker, I briefly mentioned to her that I am sometimes confused by who I am. I am full of melanin. I am in every sense of the words, a proud black woman. I love my people from a deep, emotional place because I know our fight, I feel the weight. We walk a different walk, collectively, than any other race of people. Yet we're here, pushing our way through college, through corporate America, through grief, all while defending why we deserve a right to live and work in peace. All while defending why our black lives matter. I am a huge supporter of all things black, especially businesses. When i can buy from a black owned company, I do because I know that money is going to a family that looks like mine, that has struggles similar to mine, living in a world not created for them, for us.
I am also a woman who loves all things womanly. I love how our bodies produce beautiful gifts. I love how our bodies create the right nutrients to nurture and feed these gifts. I love that I was born into this amazingly strong sisterhood that connects me to women all over the world. Womanhood is a universal language only shared from one woman to another. But being a woman comes with a lot. A month or so ago, I was in this group on Facebook. The group was about local politics but often, the conversation switched gears which was refreshing. During a debate about Nate Parker, in which the originator of the post tried to make rape a racial thing instead of misogyny issue, I was called a hoe. Pause. I was called a dirty garden tool by a man, a black man, because he could not handle my tone. I snapped back because my mother didn't raise a hoe, she raised a woman. Respecting me doesn't come with options. You will do it or we will have a problem. The owner of the group, another black man, didn't once come on the post to "check" this disrespectful human. A few guys chimed in on my behalf but I was appalled. Truly disgusted that a black man, one who can barely leave his front porch without running the risk of getting killed, a black man who I will proudly fight for any day of the week, would descend so low to degrade a woman. One guy, after I made a fuss about it, told me that's what I get for arguing with a man.
Eventually I was kicked out the group for something unrelated but that has led me here. In 2016, I am learning that women are only as good as their last filtered selfie or back shot. Everyday I am reminded that my worth, my desires, my body, all that I am, means absolutely nothing to the men in this country. Nate Parker raped a woman. He was let off based on a technicality. The victim eventually killed herself. Nate Parker goes on to become a successful director and actor. The victim killed herself. Nate Parker has dismissed his actions as those of a teen. The victim killed herself. Nate Parker has said he will not apologize for the rape. The victim has killed herself.
I love being black but I don't love what this struggle has done to our black men. I love being a woman but I don't love what this struggle to own my own body, has done to me. Its not all bad because on any given day, I will boldly advocate for both struggles. I've been in a lot of debates about race, religion, politics and many other subjects but I find that I am most disrespected by black men. When I disagree, I am called angry. When I respond in a non passive tone, I am called bitter. As I stated above, I've been called outside of my name by a black man. I don't necessarily fault the man as much as I fault this male chauvinistic system that dominates the world. They are conditioned to believe that when a woman doesn't agree, she is the problem. They have been conditioned to question consent and if it's even neccessary.
So how can I, a black woman, fight for my brothers when I'm not sure if they'll boldly fight for me. It's so disheartening to me.
Chime in, have any of you ever felt like this? Have any of you felt like you were fighting against your own brothers and sisters to defend another cause? How did you handle it?
"I will not change the rhythm of my heartbeat to accommodate men who do not understand her song. She sounds beautiful and deserves to be heard."-Worthy, taken from page 21 of Love in my Language by Alexandra Elle