I
am feeling really accomplished in my life today, really proud of myself. I started calling myself a writer back in
2003. I knew I had talent and I knew I
had something to say about race, sex, sexuality, and relationships but I was
scared to call myself a writer because all I had ever known was you had to get
a job and work for someone else until you were retired and half dead. Saying I was a writer was sort of like the
people who wait tables who call themselves actors. I knew I wanted people to hear what I had to
say about race and racism and the psychological diseases Black people inherited
from slavery and I knew I could get them to listen with the words that flew
from my fingertips on a keyboard. I knew
there was power in using erotica to get people to hear my messages. I just didn’t feel comfortable in my own skin
calling myself a writer. My family
certainly didn’t support me. They still
don’t. The only message of encouragement
I get are from people who have read my words over this strange thing called the
Internet and they have responded to my call.
For that, I am immensely proud.
When
I started this journey, when I created AfroerotiK, there were NO photographic images
of Black couples that weren't pornographic or artistic nudes. The two extremes that existed were either
gross and crass or contrived and not arousing.
I was the very first person to create true erotic images of Black
couples, stimulating images that showed emotion and depth, that showed passion
and intimacy, not just body parts, not weird poses that no one could ever
replicate. Today there are photographers
who have made their careers from creating erotic images of Black couples. I single-handedly opened that door. For that, I feel tremendously accomplished
and gratified.
When
I first started preaching from my soapbox about how detrimental it is to
emulate the slave master with this pathological need to have straight hair, to
put toxic chemicals on our scalps, next to our brains, to sew some Filipino
woman's or some poor, naked yak's hair on your head, wasn’t no one trying to
hear that. When I started out, I was adamant
about being PROUD and feeling beautiful with our own natural, nappy, wooly,
African hair, there were no other public figures as unapologetic as I was
saying anything similar. There was no such thing as the big chop. There were no websites for women to go to to
get support to transition from slave hair to natural hair. There wasn't even such a thing as YouTube
when I started preaching, let along videos teaching women different techniques
to wear their natural hair. There was
me, from my yahoo group, Black Planet, and MySpace, screaming from my computer
that it was way past time that Black women started loving our own natural hair,
the way God intended it to be. I got
hatred. I got personal attacks. Today, there is a community of Black women
embracing their natural hair. There
aren't enough today but at least I'm not the only person speaking out about it,
who refuse to back down because they know that it's detrimental to Black women
to find their beauty in the standards of our oppressors.
Ten
years ago, when I was relentless with my critique of Black men's emotional
maturity, when I was using my knowledge of consciousness to attack patriarchy
and sexism and misogyny, and I was really attacking the demons that created a
nation of Black men who trapped in unhealthy behaviors and who refused to
budge, my voice was the only voice. I
got death threats from Black men. I got
attacked and called everything but a child of God. Today, this very day, I got a message from a
young man.
“.
. . . I'm different now after reading that and I’m making
serious changes in my life.
I've chosen to practice abstinence from sexual activity for a
while. I’m incorporating yoga and meditation into my routine so that I can
purge my mind of the views I had of women. The objectification and lack of
intimacy was like a soul-eating cancer that must be starved and cut out and
replaced with that which is whole and pure. I'd rather be in solitude then
continue to see through those poisoned lenses.
I read in one of your posts that said we have to do better
and scouring the Internet for meaningless sex was one of the things I was
guilty of. So I instituted a hands-off policy. Off myself and anyone else if
it's not whole and good and mutual and with a spiritual foundation.”
Ten years ago, there weren’t more
than a handful of Black men who could have made those choices, let alone
articulated them so well. Today, I not
only get very few attacks on me from Black men, on my womanhood, I see more and
more introspective Black men, I see more and more Black men working on
themselves, trying to be better, trying to heal their emotional wounds. I see them trying to address the things that
I’ve been preaching about for more than a decade. It’s not a lot but the fact that I can see some
small change, I can feel a tiny shift in consciousness occurring. I’m certainly not the only voice that has
been calling for the necessity for Black men to take ownership of their
behaviors but I’ve been one of the few soldiers on the front lines, dodging the
bullets, getting hit by the shrapnel.
I’ve never backed down. I’ve never surrendered. I can’t think of anyone else off the top of
my head who has used their public platform to address Black men’s emotional
immaturity but I’m sure there are others.
But the message I got this morning from that beautiful, young, Black King
is validation enough that I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing. A new mother showing of her beautiful newborn
couldn’t be more proud than I am right now.
I started writing interracial
erotica because white people were reading my stories and they were learning
that Black people were more complex than the ghetto, stereotypical images that
they saw everywhere. I was teaching
white people what Afrocentric meant, that there were Blacks, groups and
communities of Blacks, who spoke in ways they had never heard, that our “superiority”
was not just in our oversized genitals or excellence at sports and
entertainment. Today, I have a huge
following of white supporters who have a vastly different take on race because
of my unapologetic stance, my unwillingness to back down, my fervent mission to
rid them of the fallacy of white supremacy that has been in place and
unquestioned for centuries. I’m clearly
not the only person who has been addressing racism. There are lots of other voices out here, some
louder than my own. But, I know that I have
been able to shift the perceptions of a significant portion of white people
with my work. I know that the handful of
people that I have been able to reach now question their beliefs and have had
to re-evaluate their biases based on the words that I have written. That makes me feel incredibly proud.
In my own personal life, I’m
surrounded by dysfunction. The stench of
it has permeated my very soul. I let it
consume me at times, but today, I am not.
Today, I’m rejoicing in the fact that I have been instrumental in
shifting the collective consciousness of people of African descent. Today, I’m celebrating the fact that I have
created a paradigmatic shift that is only going to grow and continue to
spread. I’ve known my mission for a very
long time. I was put on this earth to
create social change, to educate and enlighten, to lift the collective
consciousness of Africans born in AmeriKKKA, and to break the chains of mental
slavery. I’ve done that. I’m not finished. I have lots more work to do. There are new battles to be waged. The newest demon is the plague of young women
who think that degrading yourself is empowering. The next monster in line are the young people
who think that being respectable is a bad thing. I will slay those beasts with my words. I will not give up the fight. The war has not been won but today, I know
that I have won some significant battles.
I may not have the wealth, success, and fame of many of my “peers” but I
have a clear conscious in knowing that I have ONLY promoted, celebrated, and
championed what is true, righteous, and healthy in our evolution as a
people. I have never sold out. I’ve never compromised or lowered my
standards or my integrity.
So, going forward, I still have work to do. I know now that the outcome is assured. What
I must do is what I have done. Write. I can write about what I know
about and that's how the collective consciousness of Africans born in
America was formed. (I don't write about Africans on the continent even
though I have a tremendous and loving following there). I can write
about the dysfunctional and detrimental beliefs we have inherited from
white people. I can give models of what it means to be emotionally
mature, vulnerable, and to be AfroerotiK. To be AfroerotiK is to be
secure in your sexuality, to rid yourself of unhealthy views, to
redefine everything that we've been brainwashed to believe is true.
What other races do is not my concern. My only concern is to lift the
consciousness of MY people.
And for that, today, I am very proud
of myself.
