Or Debunking the Fallacy of White Supremacy
I’ve come to understand that there are certain Black people who believe that white men have super powers, supposedly genetically-inherited, superior intellectual mind-control techniques that they use to oppress people of color around the globe. If I understand their assertions correctly, they believe that white men are capable of controlling the minds of brown people universally and conversely no one is able to get into their minds, no one is able to control them because everyone else is under their spell, hypnotized by their . . . whiteness I guess. Their whiteness is theoretically impenetrable and renders mere people of color helpless to combat their evil machinations. It seems that this small faction of Black people believe that white men possess genetic predisposition to rule the world and, oddly enough and quite contradictorily, they believe that it is the secret mission of white men to become Black, or at least commandeer Blackness because they feel jealous of it. I’m led to believe that they accomplish their mission with their superior intellect, secret societies, and agendas passed down from white brethren to white brethren to intricately know the minds of Black folks and to beat us at our own game. I’m here to say that NOTHING could be further from the truth.
Dr. Frances Cress Welsing http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frances_Cress_Welsing is the preeminent black scholar of these types of assertions. If she is not the originator of them, she certainly is the benchmark Black people use to quote and or paraphrase their “white supermen” theories. I think it should also be noted here that the vast and overwhelming majority of Black people believe completely differently than the above-mentioned theories. Sadly, most Black people believe in the fallacy of white supremacy but they don’t have a clue that they do. Most Black people say color doesn’t matter and sign on hook, line, and sinker for any cliché that white people cast at them. Most Black people wouldn’t know how to question the status quo if you paid them. That’s not because we are inherently stupid, it’s a byproduct of our enslavement where we were taught not to question white people or anything they tell us. People of color have to believe in the fallacy of white supremacy, lest you get those pesky minorities who try to buck the system and talk about racism and the inherent privileges white people have simply by virtue of their skin color.
First, let’s break it down and establish some truths in these fallacious white supremacist concepts. There is UNQUESTIONABLY a fallacy of white supremacy that dictates, rules, and poisons the entire world. It seems that the smallest population of people have been able to order, control, dominate, oppress, and manipulate the earth’s resources so that they control and “own” damn near everything. I say the fallacy of white supremacy implicitly because it is nothing more than illusion. It’s a fallacy that they are superior, it’s not a fallacy that they have been able to take their inflated belief in self and transform that into global domination. Does average white Joe or Sally believe that they are better than people of color? Yes, that’s how the game is perpetuated. Average white Joe or Sally has to believe that history started with their arrival on the planet, that white people are the originators of the arts and sciences. They have to believe that whites made every technological advancement. If they don’t sign on for the belief that whites were smarter, stronger, more capable, more civilized, more refined, more god-like than any other people, then the whole house of cards starts to fall. Average Joe and Sally White has to believe that there is something inherent about them that makes them better, that makes them more deserving of peace, justice, and liberty than anyone else on the planet. God is a white man thus white men have to be given more insight, more leadership ability, more spiritual stuff, right? The air white people breathe has to be more sacred, the land they live on has to be more consecrated, more blessed, more protected than anyone else’s land. Greece has to be the birthplace of the humanities, Columbus has to be the greatest explorer, Shakespeare has to be the best composer, Rocky has to be the best fighter, Jesus has to have blue eyes and blonde hair, and white people have to believe that to be true from the time they are born in order for the fallacy of white supremacy to thrive. White has to be right or the entire fallacy of white supremacy crumbles like a crunchy taco shell on Cinco de Mayo at an all you can eat Mexican buffet.
Ever watch the news right after some white person has gone on a killing spree and killed everyone they could? The neighbors all say the same thing. “Oh, he was so nice. You just don’t think something like that can happen in this neighborhood.” That, dear ladies and gentlemen, is the fallacy of white supremacy at work. It is the belief that crime only happens in Black/Latino neighborhoods. It’s the belief that Psycho Joe, as everyone in the neighborhood calls him, is a good ole boy regardless of the fact that he kills the neighborhood cats and drinks their blood because he has white blood. You see, whiteness equals good in this society. It’s what children are taught in school, it’s what’s reflected in the media, it’s the thread that’s woven into the very fabric of how the perceptions of how the world is viewed. White men who get to decide what is and what isn’t racist comes purely from the fallacy of white supremacy. It’s the notion that they don’t have to consider anyone else’s experience or perspective because what they see, and think, and believe has to be right.
Are there secret societies that have been formed to keep people of color oppressed? Yes. Do those men have super abilities, do they have access to mind control techniques that keep people of color hypnotized in order to exact their plans of global domination? Not exactly. What those secret societies posses are members who are egotistical and greedy and intent on keeping their illegitimate power. Their ego is born from this belief that white men are special, that they have rights and privileges no one else is deserving of. Their ego is what drives them to steal, rape, kill, and oppress. Their ego makes them narcissistic bastards who sit around and try to figure out ways to control the money and power so that it doesn’t get into the hands of brown, yellow, or (what’s left of) red people. It is nothing more than their ego that makes white men think that they have more inherent value than anyone else that has created this false sense of superiority. Their ego is greater than most white men but it’s certainly not genetic and it’s not indication that they want to be Black or have a need to oppress people because they feel insecure because they lack melanin.
From where did this warped sense of self originate? How did white people first come to believe that they had dominion over the colored people of the planet? I have no earthly idea. I can’t even begin to speculate. I do know that it has infected every country, every place white people have been for thousands of years. What I can do, however, is tell you how the fallacy of white supremacy has been able to flourish and metastasize in this country over the last 400 years. There’s no magic to it, there’s no genetics involved, there’s no secret societal agenda, it’s pure psychology. Understanding the mind and how it works holds the key to understanding how and why white people in this country have been able to dictate and dominate the minds of people of color for over four centuries.
Europeans saw the beautiful brown bodies of the indigenous people of the land that is now known as Africa and believed that they were inferior savages. They assumed they themselves were inherently superior and that is was their right to capture, kill, kidnap, enslave, and own those people. That belief, what they thought was truth and knowledge and undisputable fact, is what created the system of racial slavery in the US that has been unequaled in the world before or since. They believed that their skin was better, their hair was better, their features were more attractive; they believed that their language, arts, customs, religion, and practices had more validity than anything Africans could contribute. They had a deep-seated need to control and subjugate and veritably crush the wills of those people of color.
Africans who were enslaved, those who survived the middle passage were and transportation to the United States were emotionally, psychologically, spiritually healthy people. They were capable of making choices and decisions on their own, forming their own opinions, knowing what it was to be a human being outside of their enslavement. Slaves born in this country, those who never knew freedom, were never privileged enough to know anything other than what the system of slavery taught them. Slaves born into they system believed from birth that whites were superior, that Blacks were inferior, and that anything and everything that was good was white. Every black child born into slavery learned the same lessons, that white was right and that black was equivalent to evil.
Conversely, every white child born in this country was the beneficiary of being born in a system that told them that every thing about their life, their world, their entire existence that they were superior to anyone with color. (Rather, anything, because they didn’t see slaves as humans) The prevalence of racism and the systems, laws, and beliefs enacted during slavery set the stage for every white child to not only believe they were superior but it was validated (at least in their minds) because anything and everything of accomplishment was achieved by white people.
Fast forward and the beliefs held by the children of slave owners and the children of white people in general, whether they owned slaves or not, have been passed down from generation to generation. The key instruments in building a child’s self esteem are to shower them with praise and reinforce to them that they have an inherent worth. Having books, and TV shows and movies that show children people that look like them builds a sense of self. Reading children stories where all the heroes are white perpetuates the fallacy of white supremacy. Teaching children that God in heaven looks like them validates that white is the baseline, the standard by which everything else has to be measured. White children, never having read a book about Black people, never having heard a story of African accomplishment, never conceiving that anyone other than white people contributed anything to society will grow up with an inherited and false sense of superiority. White children never have to wait until the one night of the week when the “white shows” are on, they never have to wait for the white movie to come out. They have access to centuries of images of themselves that show them in a positive and healthy light. So while Blacks have inherited and passed down a slave mentality (even though we don’t acknowledge or admit it) whites have passed down a slave master mentality.
Slave master mentality is the mindset of white people who have never once had to question that people like them have been the masters of finance, industry, medicine and the arts. Slave master mentality is the mindset of people who have never once in their lives felt that their skin color was a liability, something that they had to denounce in order to be accepted. Slave master mentality is the belief systems passed down from generation to generation that allows white people to accept that the final authority, the last word, the law from on high is going to come from a person who looks like them. It’s that diseased sense of self, that inflated super ego that has created Rush Limbaugh and Bill O’Reilly, Sarah Palin and George W. Bush. It’s what lead Pat Buchanan to say, and moreover BELIEVE, that this country was built by white men. It’s that isolation from a world where people of color are equal, that inocular vision which creates the ego of white people who think that it’s okay to be racist, that they can say whatever they want, to whomever they want, without repercussion, without censure because they have a birthright to do so. The fallacy of white supremacy is perpetuated on the beliefs of white men who think that they have more right to money, power, and control than anyone else.
While I recognize and acknowledge that the pervasive and overwhelming mindset of white people in this society, EVEN those who claim to not have a racist bone in their body, is based on the fallacy of white supremacy, it is just that . . . a fallacy. White people are not truly superior, they have no super ability to understand the minds of people of color and mastermind techniques to keep us oppressed. What keeps us oppressed is our inability to understand and comprehend our history, our inability to be introspective and examine our dysfunctions and their origins, and our fear of admitting that we might be flawed (through no fault of our own mind you). It is far easier for us to worship a blonde haired, blue eyed Jesus than to change the belief that we’ve learned from childhood, passed down to us from our parents, and their parents and their parents before them that black is ugly and bad. What keeps them in power is their belief that they are superior. They believe it so they behave in ways that reflect their beliefs. They start wars, they dictate and manipulate, they work diligently to keep people of color from taking their power or from becoming equal because what’s been taught to them by their parents, what their great grandparents taught their grandparents is that white people have more value. Even if the message isn’t overt, even if the message doesn’t come from behind the percale softness of a poly-cotton white sheet, the result is the same. Any white child born in this society has been the beneficiary of an educational, medical, judicial, legal, and social system that has placed whiteness on a pedestal, as an entity deserving of worship and praise. When white people try to silence any discussion of racism, it’s because they believe that they have a right to say what’s valid, what’s true, what’s right in the world, that no other experience other than their own has weight. They see the world through white colored glasses. In that world, everything comes back to the fact that they have been validated, reinforced, and reminded every single solitary day of their lives that white people are great. They’ve never once had to live in a time or place where white people are not seen as the origin of everything good in the world.
So in order for white people, the few elites who do have global power and control, to remain in power, for them to maintain the status quo, people of color have to be complicit in their agenda. There has to be a population of Black people who believe that there are white men who possess super-human, secret Echelon infrastructure powers to control and dominate people of color. Once we accept that the fallacy of white supremacy is based on nothing more than the narcissistic, self-centered and childlike behaviors of men with inflated egos who have the same flaws, weaknesses, and vulnerabilities as everyone else, then and only then can we start restructuring a world where everyone is equal. Donald Rumsfeld and Dick Cheney can no longer be secret society masterminds but they are little boys who were told over and over that the Lone Ranger was good and that the injuns were bad. They cease to be keepers of keys to sacred texts that were created in ancient times to mesmerize the people of color around the globe to goose step to their tune of supremacy. It is in truth and understanding that we see them as individuals who were told that God was a white man and that they were literally created in his image and likeness. Left unchecked, the ego can be a dangerous tool. Understanding that illusion is the key to our liberation. The fallacy of white supremacy can be dismantled and destroyed with knowledge of self, re-writing our stories to include people of color, and dismantling the notion that white men are somehow in possession of tools that will allow them to control us. Every human being has the ability within them to crush the inflated ego of self and shine the light of truth, justice, and peace on the shadows of injustice that have plagued the world.
Copyright 2009 Scottie Lowe of AfroerotiK
Showing posts with label opinion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label opinion. Show all posts
Monday, July 27, 2009
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Is it a Question of LOVE?
I was asked to answer the following questions on love because, supposedly, I’m a thinker. Here are the questions and my responses.
1. What is love (to you)?
Love is a feeling, an emotion, a state of being where you care for someone else’s well-being, you care about their feelings, you want to make them happy, see them happy, you don’t mind sacrificing for them.
2. What is IN love (to you)? I don’t differentiate the terms love and in love simply because I don’t think there’s any quantifiable way to define how much one loves another person. We use the words love for family and friends and people we don’t want to have sex with and we use the words in love for someone to whom we are romantically attracted. I don’t love the little boy I baby-sit for any more or less than I once loved his father. Most people would get upset if I were to say that I was in love with a child but my level of emotion, concern, and the depth of my feelings is on par with the love I’ve felt for grown men. I want to see him smile, I look forward to seeing him, I miss him when he’s not here, I think of things to do for him that will make him happy. Those are the exact same things I once felt for his father. Because I have no sexual feelings for him, society says I’m not “in love” with him. I say society needs to separate romantic love from “other” love because we are so sexually repressed, because we don’t teach people how to love, only what it is to be loved. I LOVE my sister and I don’t think I’ve seen her more than a half a dozen times in my life. I still remember the first time I laid eyes on her, she was a grown woman . The feeling of wanting her to be happy and healthy, of wanting to protect her . . . it still brings tears to my eyes. I’m in love with her. My love for her is active and growing and alive.
3. Have you or anyone you know, mistaken LOVE for IN LOVE? If the assumption is that being “in love” is somehow real and true and that to only “love” someone means that the love is superficial or doesn’t have as much substance or validity as being “in love” then I reject the terms. I have fallen in love with men who I’ve later been repulsed by. I’ve loved men who have not deserved my love. I’ve loved men who have fooled me into thinking they were someone that they were not. I love men whom I once cared for deeply but have no romantic feelings for currently. Love can grow and evolve, the depth of one’s feelings can change and transform. Love is real. The baggage we apply to it is what makes it appear false.
4. Is conditional love natural or can it be inherited? I think conditional love is a manifestation of selfishness. Conditional love is only loving someone if they love you a certain way, if they only fulfill your needs in a way that is pleasing to you. That is a creation of a society that teaches people to love themselves, to only look out for number one. I think we teach our children conditional love by beating them, by withholding love from them when they misbehave, by not showing them healthy examples of love. I think conditional love is a sickness we’ve inherited from a society that is spiritually bereft.
5. Why is love so complicated when it suppose to be the most simplest of all acts and feelings? We live in a society of fear. We fear that if we love someone and we don’t get that love returned, that we have to hurt them back. We live in a society that teaches us how to be loved, to enjoy the feelings of someone treating us special but we don’t learn how to make someone else feel special. Love is complicated because we are taught models of love from our mothers and fathers, who most often were not together, who fought, who didn’t love each other, and who brought a whole host of other emotional issues to the table when they did. Love is difficult because it leaves us vulnerable and that is scary. Love is difficult because it takes work. Love is difficult because we fall in love with money and looks and superficial things that have nothing to do with true emotion and feeling. It’s hard to find love because first we need to love ourselves, and to do that, we have to take the bandage off our emotional wounds and really heal them and that hurts.
6. Is 'material' love a bad thing? If yes, then how can we 'de-love' it? If by material love, you mean love of things, I think that is purely a manifestation of Eurocentrism. Almost all indigenous, brown people loved the land, they loved their people, and they loved the Creator more than they loved things before the influence of Europeans. The importance of things, outside trinkets, stuff, money, belongings that give people a false sense of worth seems to stem from the people who think that they can take land, kidnap and kill people, steal possessions as their god-given right. The only way I can imagine to de-love material things is to see ourselves as truly spiritual beings, the way God intended us to be. If God is love, then all we are is love. If love is truth, then material things are the lie.
7. Is there really such a thing as self-love? (take your time on this one) I have to wonder why this question was posed as such. It seems to indicate that self-love is perhaps fictional or delusional. Self-love is not needing validation from someone or something else, it is holding yourself to a higher standard than others around you would. Self-love is making sure you don’t put yourself in harmful, dysfunctional situations. Self-love is very real. It is knowing yourself, your triggers, your weaknesses, it’s knowing everything about yourself, the good and the bad, and being comfortable in your own skin.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Untreated Wounds
Haunted Past and Untreated Wounds
There’s a man. He has a terrible secret. His shame and pain haunt him. His secret eats at his very soul; it has shaped his consciousness and the way he views life and he’s formed his identity around his unhealed wounds. When he was a young man, someone stole his innocence. He was sexually violated. He has hidden his secret and he’s denied it. He’s tried to suppress his memories and he’s even convinced himself after all these years that it didn’t happen. He says to himself, “I should have fought harder, it couldn’t have happened. In fact, it didn’t happen at all.” However, the pain is still deep inside. The thoughts plague him and everyone one of his relationships has been affected. He lashes out, he tries to hurt people, he keeps himself closed off, he lies. He refuses to address his past and he can’t figure out why his life isn’t happy, why he can’t seem to cope like other people can.
There’s a woman. She suffered so much abuse, so much daily terror, she internalized it as natural. Her sexuality is wrapped up in feeling like an object, in feeling used and abused. She’s never known her body to be hers, since she was a toddler. She’s never experienced autonomy nor pleasure unless it was at the hands of others molesting her body and raping her of her dignity and self-respect. She is so numb inside she doesn’t even know what pain feels like. Pain and abuse have become her pleasure. She can’t even perceive of a healthy relationship and is drawn to relationships that reflect her painful life as validation that everyone is meant to hurt her. She has no reason to deny her past, however, because it’s all she knows, it’s all she can conceive of so she has no point of reference for anything else. She gets outraged and lashes out at individuals who try to suggest to her that she needs to deal with the pain and the abuse. To her, everyone else is fucked up for not seeing things through her lens of hate, pain, and abuse.
She’s different that the other woman that was sexually assaulted as a child. This young lady only had it happen once or twice. She doesn’t think about it, she only has vague memories that come once in a while. She tells herself it was no big deal because it wasn’t like it was a stranger, it was someone she knew, maybe even someone she was attracted to. Every man that she’s had to fight off, that wouldn’t take no for an answer she justified it by saying it was her fault for sending out the wrong signals. Her relationships with men have been cyclical; she tries to form healthy relationships but she ends up with men that only want her for sex or who don’t take the time to really get to know her as a person. Her identity is wrapped up in being attractive to men; she needs to feel beautiful to feel whole. Tired of having men use her for sex, she decides that she’s going to beat them at their own game. She decides that she’s going to be the sexual aggressor, that she’s going to get hers and fuck anybody else, literally and figuratively, that stands in between her and her pleasure. She tries desperately to use men, but only ends up used again because her feelings get in the way.
Is there any wonder we can’t heal our relationships? We have been violated, abused, used, raped, and we never discuss it. We don’t heal from the sexual devastation that has shaped our personalities. We can’t heal unless we talk about it, and sometimes, that’s not even enough. Our subconscious mind, the mind that exists beyond our waking thoughts, is so used to the pain, that it’s made adjustments in our personalities where the pain becomes normal. The deep, oozing, weeping, puss-filled emotional sores from our sexual past haunt us and the cycle can’t end. The violated are going on to violate, the abused are become abusers, of themselves and the people in their spheres. What, short of a miracle, will heal these haunted pasts and untreated wounds?
There’s a man. He has a terrible secret. His shame and pain haunt him. His secret eats at his very soul; it has shaped his consciousness and the way he views life and he’s formed his identity around his unhealed wounds. When he was a young man, someone stole his innocence. He was sexually violated. He has hidden his secret and he’s denied it. He’s tried to suppress his memories and he’s even convinced himself after all these years that it didn’t happen. He says to himself, “I should have fought harder, it couldn’t have happened. In fact, it didn’t happen at all.” However, the pain is still deep inside. The thoughts plague him and everyone one of his relationships has been affected. He lashes out, he tries to hurt people, he keeps himself closed off, he lies. He refuses to address his past and he can’t figure out why his life isn’t happy, why he can’t seem to cope like other people can.
There’s a woman. She suffered so much abuse, so much daily terror, she internalized it as natural. Her sexuality is wrapped up in feeling like an object, in feeling used and abused. She’s never known her body to be hers, since she was a toddler. She’s never experienced autonomy nor pleasure unless it was at the hands of others molesting her body and raping her of her dignity and self-respect. She is so numb inside she doesn’t even know what pain feels like. Pain and abuse have become her pleasure. She can’t even perceive of a healthy relationship and is drawn to relationships that reflect her painful life as validation that everyone is meant to hurt her. She has no reason to deny her past, however, because it’s all she knows, it’s all she can conceive of so she has no point of reference for anything else. She gets outraged and lashes out at individuals who try to suggest to her that she needs to deal with the pain and the abuse. To her, everyone else is fucked up for not seeing things through her lens of hate, pain, and abuse.
She’s different that the other woman that was sexually assaulted as a child. This young lady only had it happen once or twice. She doesn’t think about it, she only has vague memories that come once in a while. She tells herself it was no big deal because it wasn’t like it was a stranger, it was someone she knew, maybe even someone she was attracted to. Every man that she’s had to fight off, that wouldn’t take no for an answer she justified it by saying it was her fault for sending out the wrong signals. Her relationships with men have been cyclical; she tries to form healthy relationships but she ends up with men that only want her for sex or who don’t take the time to really get to know her as a person. Her identity is wrapped up in being attractive to men; she needs to feel beautiful to feel whole. Tired of having men use her for sex, she decides that she’s going to beat them at their own game. She decides that she’s going to be the sexual aggressor, that she’s going to get hers and fuck anybody else, literally and figuratively, that stands in between her and her pleasure. She tries desperately to use men, but only ends up used again because her feelings get in the way.
Is there any wonder we can’t heal our relationships? We have been violated, abused, used, raped, and we never discuss it. We don’t heal from the sexual devastation that has shaped our personalities. We can’t heal unless we talk about it, and sometimes, that’s not even enough. Our subconscious mind, the mind that exists beyond our waking thoughts, is so used to the pain, that it’s made adjustments in our personalities where the pain becomes normal. The deep, oozing, weeping, puss-filled emotional sores from our sexual past haunt us and the cycle can’t end. The violated are going on to violate, the abused are become abusers, of themselves and the people in their spheres. What, short of a miracle, will heal these haunted pasts and untreated wounds?
Sunday, May 31, 2009
The Priory of Zion
If the historical figure known as Jesus actually existed and was married and fathered a child, his bloodline would be Black African, not French. If the Holy Grail is Black and female, the overwhelming need for white men to sexually submit to Black women seems to have mind-numbing theological implications.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Slave Hair
I remember when I had slave hair. I call it slave hair because not only is it the hair that slaves where told was more beautiful than their own, natural, nappy hair, but I was also enslaved to it. I couldn't go outside when it was raining, I couldn't go swimming, I couldn't have sex with a man right after I got it done, I couldn't scratch my scalp right before I was going to get my six week reapplication of deadly chemicals, I had to live my life around making sure my naps didn't show.
I had all the arguments against relaxed hair PERFECTED. I would argue with any woman who suggested that my straight hair was anything other than a mere styling option. I convinced myself that I was right and that any woman that even suggested that relaxed hair was some sort of Eurocentric standard of beauty was insane.
I was the same as all the women who rationalize their self-hatred, who condemn me, and who defend their slave hair.
Then, I evolved. I grew. I got strong. I put aside the memories of my grandmother telling me that nappy hair was ugly. I rejected the comments, jokes, and taunts of little boys telling me that my natural hair wasn't pretty like white girls. At the time, I was becoming more spiritually aware, I stopped eating meat, I was becoming healthier all around. I was still holding on to my slave hair. I was terrified that if I let go of my slave hair, that I'd be ugly. I was horrified that if I let go of my slave hair, that I'd never get a job, I'd never get a man, that the world would look at me as something less than human and certainly not beautiful. Then one day, I woke up and I realized that history is prologue. I accepted that my natural, nappy hair was my birthright, that I could be beautiful with the hair that God intended me to have, without chemicals, without the messages that every little Black girl gets beaten into them that tells her to be ashamed of her natural hair. It was only then that I became liberated from my slave hair. It was only then that I became free.
I had all the arguments against relaxed hair PERFECTED. I would argue with any woman who suggested that my straight hair was anything other than a mere styling option. I convinced myself that I was right and that any woman that even suggested that relaxed hair was some sort of Eurocentric standard of beauty was insane.
I was the same as all the women who rationalize their self-hatred, who condemn me, and who defend their slave hair.
Then, I evolved. I grew. I got strong. I put aside the memories of my grandmother telling me that nappy hair was ugly. I rejected the comments, jokes, and taunts of little boys telling me that my natural hair wasn't pretty like white girls. At the time, I was becoming more spiritually aware, I stopped eating meat, I was becoming healthier all around. I was still holding on to my slave hair. I was terrified that if I let go of my slave hair, that I'd be ugly. I was horrified that if I let go of my slave hair, that I'd never get a job, I'd never get a man, that the world would look at me as something less than human and certainly not beautiful. Then one day, I woke up and I realized that history is prologue. I accepted that my natural, nappy hair was my birthright, that I could be beautiful with the hair that God intended me to have, without chemicals, without the messages that every little Black girl gets beaten into them that tells her to be ashamed of her natural hair. It was only then that I became liberated from my slave hair. It was only then that I became free.
Saturday, May 09, 2009
It’s Mating Season
Goddamnit, I want to have sex! It’s Spring and I am in heat. It’s not even so much that I’m horny. To me, being horny is when you are distracted by the physical sensation of wanting to have sex. That’s not at all what I feel. I want to have sex with my entire mind, body, and soul. I want to experience intimacy. I want the release of an INTENSE orgasm and kissing and foreplay and all the stuff that goes along with sex that I’m sure I’ve forgotten all about. I want to experience some new and improved sex where I re-learn everything I’ve every been taught and move to a level transcendent love-making. I’m so desperate to be penetrated that I’ve lowered my standards and I’m willing to have sex with the next half way decent guy that wants me. All I’m looking for is a summer lover who can be monogamous, who is the tiniest bit introspective, and who is willing to take a chance on being with me. He can be the poster child for Heterosexual Digest, a delegate for the Republican National Committee, he can be a deacon in the church, and he can even . . . be white. You know what? I can’t even find a man who meets my lowered standards.
Everybody gets in my ass that my standards are too high, that I’m too negative, that there are LOTS of great men out there and that I’m somehow at fault for not attracting them. It is my contention, and has been for some time now, that the standards that the Black community sets for good Black men is soooooooooo incredibly low, that any brotha with a job, a car, and who lives on his own is considered a good man. Hell, I know more than a few Black men who don’t have two of the three and they are still considered good Black men because they are reasonably attractive and have a college education.
If there are so many good Black men out there, where the hell are they? Where are the men who are introspective? Where are the men who aren’t passive aggressive? Where are the men with integrity and honor and who can tell the truth even when they know that they are going to suffer negative consequences? Where are the men who are able to commit to monogamous relationships? Where are the men who aren’t intimidated by a strong, independent woman? Where are the men who are willing to show their fears and insecurities and don’t see their manhood in inches? Where are the brothas who won’t run at the first sign of trouble in a relationship and who know how to communicate their feelings in a way that doesn’t project their insecurities? Show me the Black men who don’t put their feelings first and who don’t see sex as recreation and view their penis as something that gives them some sort of undeserved right to control and dominate women? Every Black man that I’ve met who even comes close is either married or gay. I contend it is exponentially easier for a brotha to find a good black woman, meaning one who brings the exact same things to the table that he does, than it is for a sista to find her equal if she worked on her issues.
I KNOW, I KNOW, every Black man reading this is going to scream that he’s a good Black man. Unfortunately, the problem with that is this . . . Black mothers don’t teach their sons to have integrity, to be introspective, to form relationships with women that aren’t based on getting their needs met first. Black society doesn’t teach Black men to work out there problems, to deal with their issues and hurts, it doesn’t reinforce to brothas that truth is better than lying. So, while every brotha THINKS they are God’s gift to women because they meet the Black communities low standards, they’ve never once thought about what it means to really be introspective. I bet five bucks most Black men can’t even define the word introspective correctly, let alone have they done the emotional healing needed to be introspective. You can’t put something into practice if you’ve never been shown how.
I KNOW, I KNOW, every Black woman reading this is going to scream that I’m being too harsh, that there are plenty good Black men, that all I have to do is wait, and pray, and work on myself, and put positive vibes out into the universe and stand on my head in the full moon in a month with R in it. It’s always my fault why I haven’t found a partner. Black men are never to blame, making sure the standards for Black men remain soooooo low that anyone who doesn’t have a criminal record is considered a good man. Don’t worry, we can always make concessions for those who do have criminal records so they don’t feel ostracized and they can be included in the good Black man category as well.
Where are the Black women who are frustrated, sick, and tired of being alone that can say that Black men aren’t being pushed to be better human beings and partners? Where are the Black men who can concede that they have no fucking clue how to heal their emotional scars? Yeah, I’m sure there are a few select men who meet my standards of good Black men somewhere on the planet but they are few and fucking far between.
Copyright 2009 Scottie Lowe
Everybody gets in my ass that my standards are too high, that I’m too negative, that there are LOTS of great men out there and that I’m somehow at fault for not attracting them. It is my contention, and has been for some time now, that the standards that the Black community sets for good Black men is soooooooooo incredibly low, that any brotha with a job, a car, and who lives on his own is considered a good man. Hell, I know more than a few Black men who don’t have two of the three and they are still considered good Black men because they are reasonably attractive and have a college education.
If there are so many good Black men out there, where the hell are they? Where are the men who are introspective? Where are the men who aren’t passive aggressive? Where are the men with integrity and honor and who can tell the truth even when they know that they are going to suffer negative consequences? Where are the men who are able to commit to monogamous relationships? Where are the men who aren’t intimidated by a strong, independent woman? Where are the men who are willing to show their fears and insecurities and don’t see their manhood in inches? Where are the brothas who won’t run at the first sign of trouble in a relationship and who know how to communicate their feelings in a way that doesn’t project their insecurities? Show me the Black men who don’t put their feelings first and who don’t see sex as recreation and view their penis as something that gives them some sort of undeserved right to control and dominate women? Every Black man that I’ve met who even comes close is either married or gay. I contend it is exponentially easier for a brotha to find a good black woman, meaning one who brings the exact same things to the table that he does, than it is for a sista to find her equal if she worked on her issues.
I KNOW, I KNOW, every Black man reading this is going to scream that he’s a good Black man. Unfortunately, the problem with that is this . . . Black mothers don’t teach their sons to have integrity, to be introspective, to form relationships with women that aren’t based on getting their needs met first. Black society doesn’t teach Black men to work out there problems, to deal with their issues and hurts, it doesn’t reinforce to brothas that truth is better than lying. So, while every brotha THINKS they are God’s gift to women because they meet the Black communities low standards, they’ve never once thought about what it means to really be introspective. I bet five bucks most Black men can’t even define the word introspective correctly, let alone have they done the emotional healing needed to be introspective. You can’t put something into practice if you’ve never been shown how.
I KNOW, I KNOW, every Black woman reading this is going to scream that I’m being too harsh, that there are plenty good Black men, that all I have to do is wait, and pray, and work on myself, and put positive vibes out into the universe and stand on my head in the full moon in a month with R in it. It’s always my fault why I haven’t found a partner. Black men are never to blame, making sure the standards for Black men remain soooooo low that anyone who doesn’t have a criminal record is considered a good man. Don’t worry, we can always make concessions for those who do have criminal records so they don’t feel ostracized and they can be included in the good Black man category as well.
Where are the Black women who are frustrated, sick, and tired of being alone that can say that Black men aren’t being pushed to be better human beings and partners? Where are the Black men who can concede that they have no fucking clue how to heal their emotional scars? Yeah, I’m sure there are a few select men who meet my standards of good Black men somewhere on the planet but they are few and fucking far between.
Copyright 2009 Scottie Lowe
Monday, May 04, 2009
Made for Me
Made for Me
If I could have a man created specifically for me, with all the things I desire in a partner, I would ask for a man who took my breath away every time I saw him. He would be tall and brown and ooze integrity and character from every pore in his being. He would be wise beyond his years and his words would be carefully chosen each time he spoke and they would flow like honey from his lips.
If I could have a man created specifically for me, he would consider Africa his cultural and spiritual homeland and be willing to shed the belief systems that we have incorporated during slavery for a more holistic way of living. He would be driven to fulfill his purpose in life and single minded in his dedication to a cause that is holy, righteous, and good. He will meditate every morning and he would pray with me every night. Of course, he will be able to cry on my shoulder and ask for support because he has come face to face with the demons that have kept men from evolving emotionally and he will have a commitment to redefining himself anew. He will listen first and then speak, he will not internalize every comment as criticism, and he will apologize when he’s done something wrong.
My perfect man will live off of a plant based diet, practice a spiritual system other than Christianity, and he will be openly bisexual. He will have been in an intimate relationship with another man and loved him. He will be comfortable with his sexuality not being tied to ridiculous roles that define him. He will be a patient and attentive lover who will be willing to please and pamper me with the knowledge that I will only return the favor tenfold.
He will be an amazing father to our children, patient, loving, and kind. He will be an excellent example for them to follow and raise them up to be discerning, compassionate, logical, and most of all brilliant. He will not show favoritism to our sons and he will be capable of twisting the locs in our daughter’s hair. He will be willing to educate our children at home and take equal responsibility in doing so.
He would never be intimidated by my intellect, potential, or my activism and he would support me and my efforts with words of encouragement and praise. He would put other’s needs above his wants and we will travel the world in search of truth. He will know the first and third verses of the Negro National Anthem and he will stand up when it’s being sung without being told. He will never use the word nigger, nigga, or any phonetic or derivative spelling thereof out of reverence and respect for our ancestors.
I want my perfect man to be equal parts creative and intelligent, equal parts spiritual and carnal. Make him open-minded, tolerant of people’s differences, and as far left as he can get politically without falling off the scale and ending up in jail at Guantanmo Bay. I want him to be an avid reader and lover of jazz, art, real theater (not Medea plays) and capable of articulating why the current brand of hip-hop is misogynist and offensive to not only women but to men as well.
His commitment to our relationship will be beyond compare. My perfect man would prioritize and sacrifice in order for us to continually grow. Ahh, my perfect lover would hold me in his arms at night and kiss my forehead and whisper, “I love you,” and make me feel as if everything was right with the world.
If I could have a man created specifically for me, with all the things I desire in a partner, I would ask for a man who took my breath away every time I saw him. He would be tall and brown and ooze integrity and character from every pore in his being. He would be wise beyond his years and his words would be carefully chosen each time he spoke and they would flow like honey from his lips.
If I could have a man created specifically for me, he would consider Africa his cultural and spiritual homeland and be willing to shed the belief systems that we have incorporated during slavery for a more holistic way of living. He would be driven to fulfill his purpose in life and single minded in his dedication to a cause that is holy, righteous, and good. He will meditate every morning and he would pray with me every night. Of course, he will be able to cry on my shoulder and ask for support because he has come face to face with the demons that have kept men from evolving emotionally and he will have a commitment to redefining himself anew. He will listen first and then speak, he will not internalize every comment as criticism, and he will apologize when he’s done something wrong.
My perfect man will live off of a plant based diet, practice a spiritual system other than Christianity, and he will be openly bisexual. He will have been in an intimate relationship with another man and loved him. He will be comfortable with his sexuality not being tied to ridiculous roles that define him. He will be a patient and attentive lover who will be willing to please and pamper me with the knowledge that I will only return the favor tenfold.
He will be an amazing father to our children, patient, loving, and kind. He will be an excellent example for them to follow and raise them up to be discerning, compassionate, logical, and most of all brilliant. He will not show favoritism to our sons and he will be capable of twisting the locs in our daughter’s hair. He will be willing to educate our children at home and take equal responsibility in doing so.
He would never be intimidated by my intellect, potential, or my activism and he would support me and my efforts with words of encouragement and praise. He would put other’s needs above his wants and we will travel the world in search of truth. He will know the first and third verses of the Negro National Anthem and he will stand up when it’s being sung without being told. He will never use the word nigger, nigga, or any phonetic or derivative spelling thereof out of reverence and respect for our ancestors.
I want my perfect man to be equal parts creative and intelligent, equal parts spiritual and carnal. Make him open-minded, tolerant of people’s differences, and as far left as he can get politically without falling off the scale and ending up in jail at Guantanmo Bay. I want him to be an avid reader and lover of jazz, art, real theater (not Medea plays) and capable of articulating why the current brand of hip-hop is misogynist and offensive to not only women but to men as well.
His commitment to our relationship will be beyond compare. My perfect man would prioritize and sacrifice in order for us to continually grow. Ahh, my perfect lover would hold me in his arms at night and kiss my forehead and whisper, “I love you,” and make me feel as if everything was right with the world.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
What am I to do?
It’s Spring. The weather is getting warmer, everything is coming back to life, the flowers are in bloom, it’s time for planting and new beginnings. It’s time to form new relationships. It’s time for romance and passion and sensuality; it’s time for eroticism and love. I want all of those things. I want flirt and kiss and . . . I want to have sex. I want to have more than sex, I want mind-blowing, brain-numbing, hot, sweaty, intense love-making. I want to have sex for so long I’m dehydrated and exhausted. I want to fuck the sheets off the bed and annoy the neighbors. I want someone to share my bed with, someone I will go out to dinner with and leave early because we can’t wait to rip each other’s clothes off.
I want all of those things and sadly, they are all elusive. I can’t find a partner. I can’t find someone to even be my lover for a few months, someone whom I can trust and let down my guard with enough to be to satisfy my very carnal and very real desires. I need chemistry and attraction. I need someone who takes my breath away and who stimulates my mind. I want someone who wants me, all of me, not just my body but someone who can see me as more than a booty call. I don’t even mind a summer fling with some dark and mysterious stranger who has to leave for Sudan in September to fulfill his Doctors without Borders responsibilities. I want is man who isn’t terrified of me saying I love you and who understands the concept of intimacy and monogamy. I crave a man who knows how to seduce me, mmmmmm, and who knows how to whisper in my ear and get me wet. WHY, dear lord, is it so difficult for me to find connection?
I am in awe and wonder at the people who can go out and find a partner in no time at all. I know people who are the most dysfunctional, the most oblivious individuals possible who can get a new boy/girlfriend every year. I haven’t been in a relationship since Bush, Sr. was in office. Sad but true. I don’t know what to do. I want to have sex. I deserve that. I have to wonder what act of God would it take for me to find a lover. I’m trying not to be melancholy about it but the thought of spending the spring alone, celibate, is making me depressed.
I want all of those things and sadly, they are all elusive. I can’t find a partner. I can’t find someone to even be my lover for a few months, someone whom I can trust and let down my guard with enough to be to satisfy my very carnal and very real desires. I need chemistry and attraction. I need someone who takes my breath away and who stimulates my mind. I want someone who wants me, all of me, not just my body but someone who can see me as more than a booty call. I don’t even mind a summer fling with some dark and mysterious stranger who has to leave for Sudan in September to fulfill his Doctors without Borders responsibilities. I want is man who isn’t terrified of me saying I love you and who understands the concept of intimacy and monogamy. I crave a man who knows how to seduce me, mmmmmm, and who knows how to whisper in my ear and get me wet. WHY, dear lord, is it so difficult for me to find connection?
I am in awe and wonder at the people who can go out and find a partner in no time at all. I know people who are the most dysfunctional, the most oblivious individuals possible who can get a new boy/girlfriend every year. I haven’t been in a relationship since Bush, Sr. was in office. Sad but true. I don’t know what to do. I want to have sex. I deserve that. I have to wonder what act of God would it take for me to find a lover. I’m trying not to be melancholy about it but the thought of spending the spring alone, celibate, is making me depressed.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Anal Ramblings
I am to be counted among the women that love anal sex. I remember when I was a teen and I found my mom's collection of porn, I was fascinated with the pictures of anal sex. I don't know if that influenced my desire or was a premonition of my proclivities. When I got to college I was preoccupied with trying to make sense of my bisexuality so anal sex got put on the back burner for a while. When the urge hit me, it hit strong. I thought about it all the time and didn't really know what to do about it. I would try to wiggle and moan more when my boyfriend's fingers got close to that area but I never asked him to do anything. I don't even think I was bright enough to finger myself there at the time.
I asked my boyfriend at the time to try it. He wasn't interested; he kept saying, "that's gay, I don't want to try it." (It was the 80s, anal sex wasn’t popular back then) The very first time we tried it, I was on top and in control of everything. I went slowly, I think the curiosity kept me going more than anything. I was fascinated with wanting to feel it. It was uncomfortable, not painful. The discomfort didn't last long and it soon became a sensation like I'd never felt before. The only way I can describe it was it was like not being able to take a deep breath. It was pleasure in every pore of my body. The very first time I did it, it felt orgasmic. I didn't cum, I didn't even know how to cum at that point in my life. I got scared and stopped and my poor boyfriend at the time thought he had hurt me. We didn't do it for more than a year after that because he said he didn't like it but I wanted to feel it again. I started masturbating by myself at the time with something I'm sure was unsafe. If I remember correctly, it was some sort of arts and crafts glue stick.
After about a year, my boyfriend and I tried it again. I loved it even more. We would save it for special occasions and he took his time every time so by the time we got to it, I was like a crazy woman. When we broke up, he made me promise and swear that I wouldn't do it with anyone else ever again in life and I kept that promise for many, many years. Many years later, during what was the beginning of my life of sporadic celibacy, I would masturbate every day and stimulate myself anally. I couldn't cum without it. For a year I think I did it once a day. Then I went into my phase of not masturbating at all. Went through that for almost three years. Now, on the rare occasion that I have sex, I try to get my partner to finger or lick me there, but its so rare that I am with someone at all, and even then it's not someone that I can let down my guard with.
Few years back, if I wanted to masturbate, I would have fantasies about anal sex. I wouldn't penetrate or stimulate myself there, just think about it. I would watch anal sex porn almost exclusively. Now, I rarely masturbate at all, three or four times a year. I think about what it would be like but the sensation is so distant in my memory that it doesn't motivate me at all anymore. I love to fantasize about what it would be like when I find my twin flame and experiencing it with him, but the fantasy is more about seducing him, teasing him with the idea of it, making him crave my ass, more than about anal sex in particular.
I have used a strapon on men and I love it. It's not about power; it's about giving pleasure. There is something intensely erotic and intimate about seeing a lover in the throes of ecstasy. Hearing him moan and beg for more . . . that is SUCH a turn on for me. I'm not into giving pain so if there is even any indication of discomfort on his part, my hypothetical dick goes down. For me, it's about him sharing a part of himself with me that is secret and private. It's our little secret. When I'm hitting that Gspot and he's working his ass on my "dick", it's like no other sensation in the world. It's not about domination for me.
Sometimes, I occasionally fantasize about making love to my partner in the same way that he would make love to me, slow and tender and gentle, as an act of us showing our love for one another. Ever since I first tried it almost 18 years ago, I have never thought anal sex had anything to do with being gay. The physical anatomy of a man and a woman is the same anally; if a woman is able to enjoy it then a man has the same thing. In fact, a man has a prostate gland, which makes it more enjoyable for him than a woman. (I suspect that I have something similar to a prostate however because I even like to have my pussy fingered towards the back, not the front where my g spot is supposed to be) Sexual preference is sexual preference, either you are attracted to men or you aren't. If you are attracted to women, then a woman should be able to help you experience that level of intimacy and pleasure.
Two interesting notes. One, I can't tell you how many brothas have expressed to me that they want to be penetrated by their wives but they are afraid to ask. Women, talk to your men because their desire to experience it and their fear of talking about it might drive them to engage in unsafe sex in shame and desperation. These aren't feminine men, submissive men, or confused men. I get brothas every day tell me that they would like me to write a strapon fantasy but and that they can’t find a sista to do it to them. When I ask them how many sistas they have asked, they usually say. none
Two, I suspect that the need to experience the sensation of anal penetration has a lot to do with opening up channels for kundalini to flow up the chakras. I'm completely convinced that those dastardly Europeans were made aware of the spiritual potential anal sex held and made it a sin so that the masses would not be able to tap into it's power. I'm not at all suggesting that everyone that has anal sex is more spiritually aware. Sex has become so crass and base that it's spiritual elements have been dormant for centuries.
I asked my boyfriend at the time to try it. He wasn't interested; he kept saying, "that's gay, I don't want to try it." (It was the 80s, anal sex wasn’t popular back then) The very first time we tried it, I was on top and in control of everything. I went slowly, I think the curiosity kept me going more than anything. I was fascinated with wanting to feel it. It was uncomfortable, not painful. The discomfort didn't last long and it soon became a sensation like I'd never felt before. The only way I can describe it was it was like not being able to take a deep breath. It was pleasure in every pore of my body. The very first time I did it, it felt orgasmic. I didn't cum, I didn't even know how to cum at that point in my life. I got scared and stopped and my poor boyfriend at the time thought he had hurt me. We didn't do it for more than a year after that because he said he didn't like it but I wanted to feel it again. I started masturbating by myself at the time with something I'm sure was unsafe. If I remember correctly, it was some sort of arts and crafts glue stick.
After about a year, my boyfriend and I tried it again. I loved it even more. We would save it for special occasions and he took his time every time so by the time we got to it, I was like a crazy woman. When we broke up, he made me promise and swear that I wouldn't do it with anyone else ever again in life and I kept that promise for many, many years. Many years later, during what was the beginning of my life of sporadic celibacy, I would masturbate every day and stimulate myself anally. I couldn't cum without it. For a year I think I did it once a day. Then I went into my phase of not masturbating at all. Went through that for almost three years. Now, on the rare occasion that I have sex, I try to get my partner to finger or lick me there, but its so rare that I am with someone at all, and even then it's not someone that I can let down my guard with.
Few years back, if I wanted to masturbate, I would have fantasies about anal sex. I wouldn't penetrate or stimulate myself there, just think about it. I would watch anal sex porn almost exclusively. Now, I rarely masturbate at all, three or four times a year. I think about what it would be like but the sensation is so distant in my memory that it doesn't motivate me at all anymore. I love to fantasize about what it would be like when I find my twin flame and experiencing it with him, but the fantasy is more about seducing him, teasing him with the idea of it, making him crave my ass, more than about anal sex in particular.
I have used a strapon on men and I love it. It's not about power; it's about giving pleasure. There is something intensely erotic and intimate about seeing a lover in the throes of ecstasy. Hearing him moan and beg for more . . . that is SUCH a turn on for me. I'm not into giving pain so if there is even any indication of discomfort on his part, my hypothetical dick goes down. For me, it's about him sharing a part of himself with me that is secret and private. It's our little secret. When I'm hitting that Gspot and he's working his ass on my "dick", it's like no other sensation in the world. It's not about domination for me.
Sometimes, I occasionally fantasize about making love to my partner in the same way that he would make love to me, slow and tender and gentle, as an act of us showing our love for one another. Ever since I first tried it almost 18 years ago, I have never thought anal sex had anything to do with being gay. The physical anatomy of a man and a woman is the same anally; if a woman is able to enjoy it then a man has the same thing. In fact, a man has a prostate gland, which makes it more enjoyable for him than a woman. (I suspect that I have something similar to a prostate however because I even like to have my pussy fingered towards the back, not the front where my g spot is supposed to be) Sexual preference is sexual preference, either you are attracted to men or you aren't. If you are attracted to women, then a woman should be able to help you experience that level of intimacy and pleasure.
Two interesting notes. One, I can't tell you how many brothas have expressed to me that they want to be penetrated by their wives but they are afraid to ask. Women, talk to your men because their desire to experience it and their fear of talking about it might drive them to engage in unsafe sex in shame and desperation. These aren't feminine men, submissive men, or confused men. I get brothas every day tell me that they would like me to write a strapon fantasy but and that they can’t find a sista to do it to them. When I ask them how many sistas they have asked, they usually say. none
Two, I suspect that the need to experience the sensation of anal penetration has a lot to do with opening up channels for kundalini to flow up the chakras. I'm completely convinced that those dastardly Europeans were made aware of the spiritual potential anal sex held and made it a sin so that the masses would not be able to tap into it's power. I'm not at all suggesting that everyone that has anal sex is more spiritually aware. Sex has become so crass and base that it's spiritual elements have been dormant for centuries.
Monday, November 03, 2008
AN OPEN LETTER TO THE UNDECIDED: YOU'RE BETTER THAN THIS AND YOU KNOW IT
by Tim Wise
November 2, 2008, 10:21 am
To Whom It May Concern,
With so little time remaining before election day, and with so many things running through my mind--things that I'm hoping might, if presented correctly, somehow influence your vote--I hardly know where to begin. I guess I could speak to you about one or another public policy issue--perhaps health care, or education--and try to convince you that Barack Obama is the better choice. But I'm not going to do that. Not because I doubt that it's true, but because there's something more important to think about. It's about you, and who you are, and what you want to stand for and associate with come election day.
I won't try and change your mind about issues. My own ideological commitments are decidedly to the left, far more so than Barack Obama by the way (which is why I actually find it funny when folks suggest he's some far-out radical or socialist). I actually wish Obama were more bold in his progressivism, but many years ago I learned that when it came to presidential elections, I'd likely have to settle for voting for the candidate who I felt was better, even if they were far from my own ideal. I could spend the other 364 days fighting for what I believed in, without apology or compromise. Election day, for me, has always come to be about harm reduction: a political equivalent of the hippocratic oath. And that's OK.
I'm asking you now to make that same leap: to relinquish the need to be totally behind the person you vote for, and instead to make the best out of a situation that you may see as less than ideal, but which nonetheless posits a very serious choice in terms of which direction this nation travels, less so in terms of policy than in terms of tone, demeanor, and its overall political culture.
Because this election isn't just about taxes, or the war in Iraq, or energy policy, though it is all of those things. Honest and decent people can disagree about those subjects, as with any political issue. But this election is about the public face of the United States of America in the early twenty-first century. And when it comes to such a matter as this, the difference between an Obama and McCain vote couldn't be clearer.
If you don't believe me, I implore you to take a look at the numerous video clips of McCain and Palin's hardcore supporters (links embedded at the end of this letter) as they scream words of anger and hatred at Obama supporters who are merely standing with signs announcing their preference outside one or another McCain rally. These mobs, and that is what they are, are not merely people who disagree about issues with Senator Obama--which would be fine--but rather, they are persons who seem incapable of even seeing the humanity of their opponent, or his supporters. They are people whose vitriol and venom know few if any bounds. They are people who call him names that are only thinly-veiled racial slurs, who threaten him with violence, and who suggest that he is a "baby killer" whose election would destroy America. These are dangerous people, and what's important here, is that they are not like you.
If you agreed with this kind of rhetoric, I suspect you wouldn't be undecided, or perhaps merely leaning towards McCain. You would be a full-blown acolyte. That you are not suggests that you are trying to avoid the trap of overblown emotionalism. For that, I thank you. And for that reason I am asking you to consider that if you vote for McCain, you will not merely be voting for policies that you may prefer, but you will also be empowering some of these very forces visible in the videos. You will be casting your lot with them, making common cause with persons whose anger and rage threatens to tear the country apart at a time when we desperately need to come together to solve common problems. These forces, if victorious, would think their triumph a signal event, one that would give them a green light to ramp up the volume of their hatred even louder.
Although most McCain supporters are not like the thugs attending these rallies, surely it must give you pause to think that you could vote as they vote, that you might contribute to the election of a man whose base includes such persons as these. People who have verbally abused Obama campaigners canvassing door-to-door or on the phone, who suggest that we should "Bomb Obama," and who have spread vicious rumors about the candidate with no basis in fact. And through it all, Obama himself has sucked it up, smiled through it and tried to take the higher ground.
And so we return to that notion of the public face of our nation, which is on the line in two days. Do you want this nation to elect a man whose victory would be dependent on the kind of persons as you can see in these videos? People whose sole commodity is fear, contrasted with Obama supporters whose mantra of hope--however simplistic you may think it, and however vague it may indeed be--at least appeals to the better angels of our natures, and to the positive, constructive impulses that have animated the nation's people in their better moments.
Perhaps you think it unfair to link John McCain to the yahoos attending many of his events. Perhaps you feel that his status (self-proclaimed at least) as a maverick, would mean that, if elected, he would clearly distance himself from fringe wingnuts such as these. But you know what a real maverick would have done by now? A real maverick would already have distanced himself, clearly and repeatedly, from these folks. And John McCain has not. These videos have been bouncing around for weeks, and with the exception of one tepid comment about how both sides need to tone down the hostile rhetoric--which seemed to imply an equivalence between Obama supporters and the folks on those tapes that simply doesn't exist--McCain and Palin have said nothing. Rather, McCain said he was "proud" of the people at his rallies, including, apparently the kinds of people we can all witness spewing their bigotry for the world to see.
A real maverick would have said the following: "My friends, I want your vote, and I sincerely believe that I am the best man for this job. But if you are supporting me because you are afraid of having a black president, or because you believe my opponent to be a terrorist, or a Muslim (and you believe Muslims are evil and unqualified to hold office), or because you believe the long-since discredited rumors about him that have been bouncing around the internet, or if you wish him harm, either now or in the future, I am asking you not to vote for me. More than that, I am telling you not to. I am asking you to stay home on election day, because I don't want the support of people like you. If the only way I can win the presidency is on the backs of bigots, I'd rather not win."
Now THAT would have been a maverick move. It would have been a bold move, one filled with courage and honor and character. It would have cemented McCain's place in history as a man of principle. But he never said this, or anything remotely like it. He knows he can't win without the support of two groups: the crazies, and the undecideds. The first of these he feels confident he can hold. The second of these? Well, that's for you to decide. But for my money, I think you are not only smarter, but fundamentally more decent than that. On election day, please show the nation and the world that my faith in you was not misplaced.
Sincerely,
Tim Wise
LINKS TO McCAIN RALLIES:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vL20TdHjX2s
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4fbpZXivv-M
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yLuI1NHpQnc&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KjxzmaXAg9E&feature=related
November 2, 2008, 10:21 am
To Whom It May Concern,
With so little time remaining before election day, and with so many things running through my mind--things that I'm hoping might, if presented correctly, somehow influence your vote--I hardly know where to begin. I guess I could speak to you about one or another public policy issue--perhaps health care, or education--and try to convince you that Barack Obama is the better choice. But I'm not going to do that. Not because I doubt that it's true, but because there's something more important to think about. It's about you, and who you are, and what you want to stand for and associate with come election day.
I won't try and change your mind about issues. My own ideological commitments are decidedly to the left, far more so than Barack Obama by the way (which is why I actually find it funny when folks suggest he's some far-out radical or socialist). I actually wish Obama were more bold in his progressivism, but many years ago I learned that when it came to presidential elections, I'd likely have to settle for voting for the candidate who I felt was better, even if they were far from my own ideal. I could spend the other 364 days fighting for what I believed in, without apology or compromise. Election day, for me, has always come to be about harm reduction: a political equivalent of the hippocratic oath. And that's OK.
I'm asking you now to make that same leap: to relinquish the need to be totally behind the person you vote for, and instead to make the best out of a situation that you may see as less than ideal, but which nonetheless posits a very serious choice in terms of which direction this nation travels, less so in terms of policy than in terms of tone, demeanor, and its overall political culture.
Because this election isn't just about taxes, or the war in Iraq, or energy policy, though it is all of those things. Honest and decent people can disagree about those subjects, as with any political issue. But this election is about the public face of the United States of America in the early twenty-first century. And when it comes to such a matter as this, the difference between an Obama and McCain vote couldn't be clearer.
If you don't believe me, I implore you to take a look at the numerous video clips of McCain and Palin's hardcore supporters (links embedded at the end of this letter) as they scream words of anger and hatred at Obama supporters who are merely standing with signs announcing their preference outside one or another McCain rally. These mobs, and that is what they are, are not merely people who disagree about issues with Senator Obama--which would be fine--but rather, they are persons who seem incapable of even seeing the humanity of their opponent, or his supporters. They are people whose vitriol and venom know few if any bounds. They are people who call him names that are only thinly-veiled racial slurs, who threaten him with violence, and who suggest that he is a "baby killer" whose election would destroy America. These are dangerous people, and what's important here, is that they are not like you.
If you agreed with this kind of rhetoric, I suspect you wouldn't be undecided, or perhaps merely leaning towards McCain. You would be a full-blown acolyte. That you are not suggests that you are trying to avoid the trap of overblown emotionalism. For that, I thank you. And for that reason I am asking you to consider that if you vote for McCain, you will not merely be voting for policies that you may prefer, but you will also be empowering some of these very forces visible in the videos. You will be casting your lot with them, making common cause with persons whose anger and rage threatens to tear the country apart at a time when we desperately need to come together to solve common problems. These forces, if victorious, would think their triumph a signal event, one that would give them a green light to ramp up the volume of their hatred even louder.
Although most McCain supporters are not like the thugs attending these rallies, surely it must give you pause to think that you could vote as they vote, that you might contribute to the election of a man whose base includes such persons as these. People who have verbally abused Obama campaigners canvassing door-to-door or on the phone, who suggest that we should "Bomb Obama," and who have spread vicious rumors about the candidate with no basis in fact. And through it all, Obama himself has sucked it up, smiled through it and tried to take the higher ground.
And so we return to that notion of the public face of our nation, which is on the line in two days. Do you want this nation to elect a man whose victory would be dependent on the kind of persons as you can see in these videos? People whose sole commodity is fear, contrasted with Obama supporters whose mantra of hope--however simplistic you may think it, and however vague it may indeed be--at least appeals to the better angels of our natures, and to the positive, constructive impulses that have animated the nation's people in their better moments.
Perhaps you think it unfair to link John McCain to the yahoos attending many of his events. Perhaps you feel that his status (self-proclaimed at least) as a maverick, would mean that, if elected, he would clearly distance himself from fringe wingnuts such as these. But you know what a real maverick would have done by now? A real maverick would already have distanced himself, clearly and repeatedly, from these folks. And John McCain has not. These videos have been bouncing around for weeks, and with the exception of one tepid comment about how both sides need to tone down the hostile rhetoric--which seemed to imply an equivalence between Obama supporters and the folks on those tapes that simply doesn't exist--McCain and Palin have said nothing. Rather, McCain said he was "proud" of the people at his rallies, including, apparently the kinds of people we can all witness spewing their bigotry for the world to see.
A real maverick would have said the following: "My friends, I want your vote, and I sincerely believe that I am the best man for this job. But if you are supporting me because you are afraid of having a black president, or because you believe my opponent to be a terrorist, or a Muslim (and you believe Muslims are evil and unqualified to hold office), or because you believe the long-since discredited rumors about him that have been bouncing around the internet, or if you wish him harm, either now or in the future, I am asking you not to vote for me. More than that, I am telling you not to. I am asking you to stay home on election day, because I don't want the support of people like you. If the only way I can win the presidency is on the backs of bigots, I'd rather not win."
Now THAT would have been a maverick move. It would have been a bold move, one filled with courage and honor and character. It would have cemented McCain's place in history as a man of principle. But he never said this, or anything remotely like it. He knows he can't win without the support of two groups: the crazies, and the undecideds. The first of these he feels confident he can hold. The second of these? Well, that's for you to decide. But for my money, I think you are not only smarter, but fundamentally more decent than that. On election day, please show the nation and the world that my faith in you was not misplaced.
Sincerely,
Tim Wise
LINKS TO McCAIN RALLIES:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vL20TdHjX2s
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4fbpZXivv-M
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yLuI1NHpQnc&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KjxzmaXAg9E&feature=related
Friday, August 29, 2008
In the Sunshine
My childhood is peppered with memories, both good and bad, that are not unlike many people of color but also so vastly atypical and unique as to be extraordinary by any measure. I was born to a single mother in the sixties when being a single mother was still shameful. I was raised by my grandparents who were civil rights activists and intellectuals who never once subscribed to stereotypes or adhered to the narrowly defined pigeonhole to which Blacks were assigned. They were exceptional in that they adored each other and expressed that love for each other in word and in deed every day. There were never instances of people coming over to play cards or listen to music rather people stopped by when they needed help because they were facing discrimination and racism and needed a place to turn for solace. My middle class grandparents were never concerned with cars, clothes, or expensive belongings but with knowledge and justice. I was challenged to expand my mind, to treat people fairly, and to live with INTEGRITY. When I moved in with my mother, she made great efforts to expose me to the world and a myriad of experiences that would not limit me to those things to which only little Black girls were relegated. I didn't play double dutch or the dozens, I learned sign language and wrote reports on Black history. So while I was born in a tiny town in Maryland with two stop lights, reared on the border of white suburbia and rural isolation, and became a woman on the streets of New York City, I am an amalgamation of various people, places and events that color the canvas that is my life.
My sexuality, for the first 15 years of my sexual adulthood, was shaped by limiting, patriarchal, misogynist dysfunction. My sexuality was shaped largely by reading my mother's vast and extensive collection of pornography. I suspect my mother was more interested in collecting the erotica of the day in order to appear progressive and make men fall in love with her rather than her own sexual liberation. My identity was shaped by trying to distance myself from my dysfunctional mother who dated every married man she could get her hands on in order for her to never have to deal with betrayal and hurt again like she experienced from my biological father. My sexuality was shaped by an overwhelming sensation that I was inherently unlovable because my father never wanted to lay his eyes on me. My sexuality was formed by being a physically and emotionally abused child who thought she had to apologize to the world and who thought she had no right to express displeasure or demand that my boundaries be respected. When I was raped, I never thought to press charges because I had been conditioned to expect a life of pain and disappointment. When I was rejected by men who discarded me like trash, I would beat myself up and try to prove to them that I was worthy, that I was a great lover and partner and anything that they could ask for. While my grandparents showed me this fantastic, unconditional, all-encompassing love, they taught me that my sexuality was dirty and unmentionable. Everything I learned from those early life experiences I had to unlearn as I've grown in consciousness.
I attended an all white elementary school, junior high, and high school. I was ridiculed by the few Black students as not being Black enough because I got all A's and B's. I was an exceptional student who wasn't nurtured and encouraged by white teachers because there were uncomfortable with my Blackness. My Blackness didn't fit in their definition. I was not ghetto but I also wasn't willing to deny my unique history and the history of my ancestors. I attended an undergraduate program in textile technology because, while I wanted desperately to be in the fashion industry, I didn't want to be average or superficial. I wanted to have knowledge that the average person on the street wouldn't dream of knowing. I dedicated myself to mastering subjects like organic chemistry and weft knitting only to graduate and only get recognition and acknowledgement in the work force for my creativity. Nearly a decade later, I decided to pursue a Master's degree in African and African American Studies with a concentration in psychology. I had been growing and evolving personally and I needed a change. I needed to push myself, again, to learn things that the average person walking down the street wouldn't know. I chose to attend an HBCU, to surround myself with what I thought would be progressive, forward thinking Blacks who were equally as committed to dismantling the mindsets learned in slavery that keep up oppressed. I was faced with a reality that my fellow students didn't give a damn about the things I was concerned with and I felt even more isolated than when I was the sole Black student in a classroom of 30. Earning a 4.0, I accomplished that mission and did my very best to understand how African Americans came to think and behave in such detrimental, dysfunctional ways and how to go about healing those pathologies and exactly what a healthy model of behavior for descendents of slaves should look like.
My mission in life is to create social change, to educate and enlighten, to lift the consciousness of Africans born in America, and to break the chains of mental slavery. I use sex as a means to accomplish my mission, specifically, I write Black and interracial erotica in an attempt to discuss the issues that plague us, to dismantle the beliefs that keep us limited, and to paint a new picture of us as healthy individuals. Erotica is not the only tool I use but it certainly is an effective one. My personal sexuality has been influenced by my mission in that, in trying to live my life in a way that is congruent with my mission, I've alienated myself from a great number of men who only want to fuck me because of my big booty or because I have pretty feet or because they just want a piece of ass. I've redefined my sexuality because it can no longer fit into the narrow box that made me think that sex was, at best, recreation, and at the very least, something reminiscent of a porno.
Simply stated, I define erotic as a culmination of sights, sounds, scents, tastes, and sensations that arouse the body. AfroerotiK is intimacy; it is an intimacy that is so deep and abiding that you can be your authentic self with your partner without fear or hesitation. AfroerotiK is spiritual; it's a connection to a larger scheme whereby an individual can understand that their sexuality can't be defined by oppressive, rigid, and puritanical beliefs created by white men to keep people oppressed but that is a divine expression of pleasure and connection. AfroerotiK is displaying pride, dignity, and strength of character by releasing the debilitating and harmful mindsets inherited in slavery/colonialism and embracing a holistic perspective where sex is not about power or money or some tool to dull your senses but about communication, about honoring oneself, about the decadent and hedonistic abandon that can be experienced in the throes of passion.
When I sit down to create a story, I draw upon an ideal vision I see in my head of a future world where gender roles aren't so rigid. I dream a world where people embrace newer, more evolved ways to address sexuality and completely divorce themselves of the behaviors that lead them to lie, cheat, and manipulate in order to have sex. Every time I create a story, I close my eyes and envision a world where couples are more open, expressive, and honest with one another. I'm inspired to expose white people's inherent, core racist beliefs, no matter how much they deny their existence, each and every time I write a tale of interracial lust. My goal is to show Black people, complex and healthy, as role models who just happen to have passionate, intense, uninhibited sex.
My gender preference in a lover has been exclusively male for the past decade. Moreover, my most intense, emotional attraction is to men of color. The qualities I most appreciate and respect in a man are those that are rare in most African American men today, thus making my search for a partner extremely difficult. The trait most essential for me in a partner is introspection. I desire a partner who has been able to examine the events and influences in his life that shaped him, shaped his consciousness, identified those things that were detrimental to his development, and who is constantly working on redefining himself anew. I desire a partner who understands his emotional triggers and is cognizant enough to understand how those things are injurious to forming a healthy relationship and is working on healing those wounds. My ideal partner is a man of integrity, who understands the concept of honesty and embraces it, who practices a spiritual system other than Christianity, Judaism, or Islam. The perfect man for me is also a man who identifies himself as openly bisexual, having rid himself of absurd notions of manhood and who relates to me as a human being and a woman without expecting me to adhere to patriarchal, oppressive roles. To finish off my grocery list of things I desire in a partner, I would add extremely intelligent, creative, and capable of being monogamous.
My sex life has been severely stunted in the past 10 years, so much so that I find it difficult to remember what sex is like, let alone great sex. I vaguely remember having sex, with certain people, at certain times, but my memories are distorted. I don't have a "most memorable orgasm" experience. The experiences that are most memorable for me are the ones where I felt most loved. I don't remember the physical things we did so much as I remember the emotion of the experience. Even then, I'm still fuzzy on the pictures in my head because I'm so divorced from my sexuality now that everything sort of seems a blur. I do remember faking a hell of a lot of orgasm with men to appease their egos, or at least my motivation was to make them feel manly. I remember being used for sex a lot. I think the thing I've learned about my sexuality in the past is that my greatest sex is yet to come, with a partner who loves me, where I can experience completely uninhibited, unbridled, passionate, romantic, sensual, AfroerotiK sex.
There are too many vital, important, pressing issues of sexuality today to just limit it to one. HIV, the virus that causes AIDS, is rampant and deadly and is being spread amidst a cacophony of lies and denial. Rape, molestation, and sexual abuse are happening behind every door and leaving a trail of damaged, broken people in its wake. The objectification of women is sooooo pervasive, so accepted that it's hard to even address the issue because people have accepted the hypersexualization of women as being normal and expected. Sex in exchange for money distorts, warps, and damages the delicate equilibrium of intimacy that sex should be about and makes it about power and control. Everything about sexuality is fucked up. There isn't one thing that is more important than another; all the issues are interconnected and seriously in need of fixing.
Right now in my life I'm trying to become comfortable with the fact that I just may never find love. I'm trying to become comfortable with the fact that the rest of my life just might be lived with a series of short term relationships that are meant to teach me about life and nothing more significant than that. It's been brought to my attention recently that I send mixed messages to the individuals to whom I'm attracted, coming on strong when I feel an attraction and then doing a complete 180 in the opposite direction at the first sign of what I experience as rejection. I'm going to make it my goal to speak from a place of clarity without trying to play the martyr or victim but also tone down my intensity when I meet someone. I've decided to focus on getting my book published, on building and growing AfroerotiK to what I dream it can be and not focus on my sexuality for the time being. I don't think shutting off my sexuality is healthy; I think there needs to be balance in everything. But I'm also aware that I have to play the cards I've been dealt. So while love and intimacy and sex are the things I desire the most, they have also remained elusive for a reason. The only way I know how to cope with that is to stay clear about what I want, not compromise just to fill a void, and live with integrity to my goals.
My sexuality, for the first 15 years of my sexual adulthood, was shaped by limiting, patriarchal, misogynist dysfunction. My sexuality was shaped largely by reading my mother's vast and extensive collection of pornography. I suspect my mother was more interested in collecting the erotica of the day in order to appear progressive and make men fall in love with her rather than her own sexual liberation. My identity was shaped by trying to distance myself from my dysfunctional mother who dated every married man she could get her hands on in order for her to never have to deal with betrayal and hurt again like she experienced from my biological father. My sexuality was shaped by an overwhelming sensation that I was inherently unlovable because my father never wanted to lay his eyes on me. My sexuality was formed by being a physically and emotionally abused child who thought she had to apologize to the world and who thought she had no right to express displeasure or demand that my boundaries be respected. When I was raped, I never thought to press charges because I had been conditioned to expect a life of pain and disappointment. When I was rejected by men who discarded me like trash, I would beat myself up and try to prove to them that I was worthy, that I was a great lover and partner and anything that they could ask for. While my grandparents showed me this fantastic, unconditional, all-encompassing love, they taught me that my sexuality was dirty and unmentionable. Everything I learned from those early life experiences I had to unlearn as I've grown in consciousness.
I attended an all white elementary school, junior high, and high school. I was ridiculed by the few Black students as not being Black enough because I got all A's and B's. I was an exceptional student who wasn't nurtured and encouraged by white teachers because there were uncomfortable with my Blackness. My Blackness didn't fit in their definition. I was not ghetto but I also wasn't willing to deny my unique history and the history of my ancestors. I attended an undergraduate program in textile technology because, while I wanted desperately to be in the fashion industry, I didn't want to be average or superficial. I wanted to have knowledge that the average person on the street wouldn't dream of knowing. I dedicated myself to mastering subjects like organic chemistry and weft knitting only to graduate and only get recognition and acknowledgement in the work force for my creativity. Nearly a decade later, I decided to pursue a Master's degree in African and African American Studies with a concentration in psychology. I had been growing and evolving personally and I needed a change. I needed to push myself, again, to learn things that the average person walking down the street wouldn't know. I chose to attend an HBCU, to surround myself with what I thought would be progressive, forward thinking Blacks who were equally as committed to dismantling the mindsets learned in slavery that keep up oppressed. I was faced with a reality that my fellow students didn't give a damn about the things I was concerned with and I felt even more isolated than when I was the sole Black student in a classroom of 30. Earning a 4.0, I accomplished that mission and did my very best to understand how African Americans came to think and behave in such detrimental, dysfunctional ways and how to go about healing those pathologies and exactly what a healthy model of behavior for descendents of slaves should look like.
My mission in life is to create social change, to educate and enlighten, to lift the consciousness of Africans born in America, and to break the chains of mental slavery. I use sex as a means to accomplish my mission, specifically, I write Black and interracial erotica in an attempt to discuss the issues that plague us, to dismantle the beliefs that keep us limited, and to paint a new picture of us as healthy individuals. Erotica is not the only tool I use but it certainly is an effective one. My personal sexuality has been influenced by my mission in that, in trying to live my life in a way that is congruent with my mission, I've alienated myself from a great number of men who only want to fuck me because of my big booty or because I have pretty feet or because they just want a piece of ass. I've redefined my sexuality because it can no longer fit into the narrow box that made me think that sex was, at best, recreation, and at the very least, something reminiscent of a porno.
Simply stated, I define erotic as a culmination of sights, sounds, scents, tastes, and sensations that arouse the body. AfroerotiK is intimacy; it is an intimacy that is so deep and abiding that you can be your authentic self with your partner without fear or hesitation. AfroerotiK is spiritual; it's a connection to a larger scheme whereby an individual can understand that their sexuality can't be defined by oppressive, rigid, and puritanical beliefs created by white men to keep people oppressed but that is a divine expression of pleasure and connection. AfroerotiK is displaying pride, dignity, and strength of character by releasing the debilitating and harmful mindsets inherited in slavery/colonialism and embracing a holistic perspective where sex is not about power or money or some tool to dull your senses but about communication, about honoring oneself, about the decadent and hedonistic abandon that can be experienced in the throes of passion.
When I sit down to create a story, I draw upon an ideal vision I see in my head of a future world where gender roles aren't so rigid. I dream a world where people embrace newer, more evolved ways to address sexuality and completely divorce themselves of the behaviors that lead them to lie, cheat, and manipulate in order to have sex. Every time I create a story, I close my eyes and envision a world where couples are more open, expressive, and honest with one another. I'm inspired to expose white people's inherent, core racist beliefs, no matter how much they deny their existence, each and every time I write a tale of interracial lust. My goal is to show Black people, complex and healthy, as role models who just happen to have passionate, intense, uninhibited sex.
My gender preference in a lover has been exclusively male for the past decade. Moreover, my most intense, emotional attraction is to men of color. The qualities I most appreciate and respect in a man are those that are rare in most African American men today, thus making my search for a partner extremely difficult. The trait most essential for me in a partner is introspection. I desire a partner who has been able to examine the events and influences in his life that shaped him, shaped his consciousness, identified those things that were detrimental to his development, and who is constantly working on redefining himself anew. I desire a partner who understands his emotional triggers and is cognizant enough to understand how those things are injurious to forming a healthy relationship and is working on healing those wounds. My ideal partner is a man of integrity, who understands the concept of honesty and embraces it, who practices a spiritual system other than Christianity, Judaism, or Islam. The perfect man for me is also a man who identifies himself as openly bisexual, having rid himself of absurd notions of manhood and who relates to me as a human being and a woman without expecting me to adhere to patriarchal, oppressive roles. To finish off my grocery list of things I desire in a partner, I would add extremely intelligent, creative, and capable of being monogamous.
My sex life has been severely stunted in the past 10 years, so much so that I find it difficult to remember what sex is like, let alone great sex. I vaguely remember having sex, with certain people, at certain times, but my memories are distorted. I don't have a "most memorable orgasm" experience. The experiences that are most memorable for me are the ones where I felt most loved. I don't remember the physical things we did so much as I remember the emotion of the experience. Even then, I'm still fuzzy on the pictures in my head because I'm so divorced from my sexuality now that everything sort of seems a blur. I do remember faking a hell of a lot of orgasm with men to appease their egos, or at least my motivation was to make them feel manly. I remember being used for sex a lot. I think the thing I've learned about my sexuality in the past is that my greatest sex is yet to come, with a partner who loves me, where I can experience completely uninhibited, unbridled, passionate, romantic, sensual, AfroerotiK sex.
There are too many vital, important, pressing issues of sexuality today to just limit it to one. HIV, the virus that causes AIDS, is rampant and deadly and is being spread amidst a cacophony of lies and denial. Rape, molestation, and sexual abuse are happening behind every door and leaving a trail of damaged, broken people in its wake. The objectification of women is sooooo pervasive, so accepted that it's hard to even address the issue because people have accepted the hypersexualization of women as being normal and expected. Sex in exchange for money distorts, warps, and damages the delicate equilibrium of intimacy that sex should be about and makes it about power and control. Everything about sexuality is fucked up. There isn't one thing that is more important than another; all the issues are interconnected and seriously in need of fixing.
Right now in my life I'm trying to become comfortable with the fact that I just may never find love. I'm trying to become comfortable with the fact that the rest of my life just might be lived with a series of short term relationships that are meant to teach me about life and nothing more significant than that. It's been brought to my attention recently that I send mixed messages to the individuals to whom I'm attracted, coming on strong when I feel an attraction and then doing a complete 180 in the opposite direction at the first sign of what I experience as rejection. I'm going to make it my goal to speak from a place of clarity without trying to play the martyr or victim but also tone down my intensity when I meet someone. I've decided to focus on getting my book published, on building and growing AfroerotiK to what I dream it can be and not focus on my sexuality for the time being. I don't think shutting off my sexuality is healthy; I think there needs to be balance in everything. But I'm also aware that I have to play the cards I've been dealt. So while love and intimacy and sex are the things I desire the most, they have also remained elusive for a reason. The only way I know how to cope with that is to stay clear about what I want, not compromise just to fill a void, and live with integrity to my goals.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Black "Maled"
This was, yet again, a very difficult story for me to write. My writing process is unique in that I see pictures in my head and I use words to describe what I see and the plot of the story evolves and unwinds, literally, at my fingertips. In my head, I didn't see Kamal having sex with either Ron or Tricia. I thought he was going to control a gangbang, direct it, quite possibly a gangbang of men who were NOT Black, just to torture Ron. I wanted him to be above having sex with them, to not only be physically superior but morally superior as well. I wanted him to maybe even stay faithful to a girlfriend or dominate the couple with his girlfriend.
Obviously, the story turned out much differently than I expected and as the images came to me, I realized that Kamal was human and that making him asexual or "too good" to have sex with Ron or Tricia would be to make him a myth, so as the pictures came to me, he was able to fuck Tricia well, deliver his message, and still be able to masterfully control the situation.
For me, Ron's description was key because white people assume that when I say that I write interracial erotic stories that show Black people in a positive light, that automatically assumes that I HAVE TO show white people in a positive light as well. It's not my job to show white people in a positive light, but to expose their core racist beliefs and hold them up to the light so that they might be able to see Black people more holistically. Ron Waterman exists in every city, hamlet, town, village, and province across these United States. He might not be AS rich, but his mindset is identical. Ron and Tricia are more real than Kamal. While there are brothas like Kamal who do exist, who are conscious, intelligent, and not swayed by the lure of white pussy, they are few and far between. Ron and Tricia, on the other hand, are so typical, they almost seem cliché. Go outside, close your eyes, throw a stick, and you'll accidentally hit 10 white men who are obsessed with masturbation and who objectify Black men.
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