So, I am a True Blood fan. However, I am tired of seeing the only black female character, Tara, get pulled through the proverbial ringer on every episode beginning with Season One and ending with Season Three. Is it too much to ask that Tara get a break? I mean, Sookie, the white female lead, is always in danger, but, yet, she has moments of peace, love, “mutual” intimacy with Bill, and now she’s a Fairy with unlimited supernatural powers. Gosh, it’s great being a white woman.However, Tara has been raped by a Vampire—Franklin, beaten senselessly by various entities, in love with a devil-possessed black man, spooked by her mother’s alcoholism and demons, under constant suicide watch, and she ain’t no fairy . . . she got no supernatural powers. It sucks to be a black woman sometimes because even on TV black women get no break.

The writers of the show could give Tara supernatural powers to protect her from nonstop hurt, but they like so many people on YouTube enjoy watching and consuming black female misery and trouble. It is amazing how the Bed Intruder Song continues to be popularized on the internet all because Kelly Dodson, a young black woman, was almost raped by a man who climbed into her window as she slept. Once again, we enjoy consuming black female misery. You see, there is something culturally “yummy” about seeing black women especially darker skin black women fail . . . seeing them always in a state of peril . . . seeing them raped, beaten, and killed . . . seeing them on the brink of suicide . . . seeing them hurt beyond repair.

We as a culture savor black female misery as if it was an exotic Third World delicacy . . . kind of like purchasing babies of color from the Global South. We enjoy eating black female pain.

Just look at the critically acclaimed movie, Precious. At each moment of the movie, the lead character, Precious, is faced with nonstop misery—my mother beats me, my mother sexually hurts me, we are poor, I have AIDS—it’s too much. And please, do not get me started on the depressive black female characterizations of Tyler Perry’s movies. In addition to TV series, YouTube sensations, and movies, we get something from watching black female celebrities spiral downward. I am talking both about Maia Campbell and presently Fantasia Barrino.  How many of us tuned in to watch VH1’s Behind the Music to see them yet again show how emotionally damaged Fantasia is. Honestly, I could not watch it because it was too much. Fantasia has been called everything under the sun from Home wrecker to Sweaty Ass Home wrecker by the online media. It’s too much . . . let her rest. As a side note, it’s funny how Alicia Keys did the same thing plus getting pregnant, but, yet, she seems to have not received the villainy that Fantasia is experiencing . . . colorism is real.

Many years ago, Ntozake Shange wrote, “For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide/When the Rainbow is Enuf.” It is a powerful play that tells the story of black women—our struggles, joys, and pains. It tells the story of sisters doing the work of healing. It is about black women finding God within and loving her fiercely. And this is what I want for Tara of True Blood, for Kelly Dodson, and for Fantasia. Overall, I just need for them to get a break. They all deserve peace, happiness, safety, and mutual love.

So, am I the only one who finds the YouTube’s “viralization” (yes, I made up a word) of the Bed Intruder Song deeply unsettling and problematic? Every time, I check my Facebook newsfeed I see, yet, another “remix” of the Bed Intruder Song. For those of you who are not familiar with the song, it tells the “real life” story of a young black woman who experienced “sexual violation” (yes, I know she was not penetrated, but that does not mean that she did not experience sexual trauma or sexual violation) when a man climbed through her window while she was sleeping. However, the attack was stopped by the young woman’s brother, Antoine, who helped to scare the man off. And, who, vocally stated on the local news the following evening:

Obviously we have a rapist in Lincoln Park, he is climbin in your window, he’s snatching your people up.  So y’all need to hide your kid, hide your wife and hide your husband cause they rapin everybody out here.  We got your t-shirt you done left your fingerprints behind and all.  You’re so dum, you’re really dumb for real.  You don’t have to come and confess what you did, we’re looking for you.  We, we’re gonna find you. So you can run and tell that homeboy.

I want to begin be saying that I honor the voice of Antoine and his sister, Kelly, for speaking out, fearlessly, against their attacker. Often, when sexual violations happen silence is a safe response for both men and women to take in order to cope with their abuse. So, I applaud both, sister and brother, for speaking out. And, let’s be honest when was the last time we’ve seen a black man with fierce passion and determination speaking publicly about confronting sexual violence against black women (I took this from M. and other black feminist)? The answer would be: “Not in my recent memory.” So, I have no issue with Antoine and Kelly speaking out.

But, what I take issue with is how the Gregory Brothers and other YouTube celebrity enthusiasts have taken this story of sexual violation and brother’s response to his sister’s sexual violation and have turned it into, yet, another “Chocolate Rain” internet sensation meaning people are taking the words of Antoine Dodson and making all types of music and acting videos mostly caricaturing Antoine as a “homo-thug” and making Kelly Dodson a back-up singer to her brother’s lead singing. I agree with Womanist Musings and Jezebel that Kelly’s survivor story has been completely erased from the narrative and that the reason why her brother, Antoine, is so entertaining is that people see him as, yet, another gender queer black man like Dwight from Atlanta House’s Wives whose sole (i.e. double entendre) plight in life is to entertain people with his “funny” (i.e. double entendre) acting ways. This is extremely problematic on the intersecting levels of homophobia and capitalist racist consumption of black performing bodies. Not cool.

Overall, what people miss in addition to hearing the voice of Kelly is what it means to live in a disadvantaged neighborhood context were people especially black women and girls are constantly at higher risk of being physically, sexually, and mentally violated without justice and retribution. Just look at the black man in Cleveland who was able to rape and kill black women for decades simply by stuffing their dead bodies in the wall of his house or the Grim Sleeper who was able to rape and kill black women who were allegedly street workers for 20 years. There was no public outcry for these stories because they involved devalued poor deviant black female bodies who lived in what sociologist would term disadvantaged neighborhoods.

So, when Kelly Dodson says, “I was attacked by some idiot from out here in the projects”

Woman stands outside her Dunbar Village apartment Saturday (2007) in West Palm Beach, Fla., talking about the gang rape of a woman in the complex. "So a lady was raped, big deal," she said. "There's too much other crime happening here."

and her brother Antoine says, “What people fail to realize . . . is our family, we don’t run around crying and acting sad, know what I’m sayin’, we just dust our shoulders off and keep on movin,” they tell a story of what it means to live in a place where stuff like this happens daily and you learn to deal with the problems “individually . . . we will find you,” not the Police who are often themselves perpetrators of crimes against poor brown and black bodies, not the NAACP because they do not get involved in black on black crime (i.e. their response to the 2007 Dunbar Housing Project Rapes), not CAPS which is more about policing us then helping us, not the local Rape Crisis Center that is underfunded and overworked, not the local churches because they are stretched as well, not anyone. “So we will find you.” (Of course, this is not to say that these local institutions are not helpful or needed, but it is to say that neighborhood context which is shaped by larger structures of racism and capitalism shapes the resources available to confront acts of violence against black women and girls).

But, of course some people have suggested that because of the “viralization” of the Bed Intruder song, Kelly Dodson will receive more help than she would have if there was no Bed Intruder video. And to that I say “cow dung.” Once again, the video is not about Kelly’s story. It is about the entertainment of black bodies, consumption of black bodies, website visits, and ad revenues. Because I know for sure that the Gregory brothers, the first group who made the video, did not ask Kelly Dodson if she wanted any portion of her story made into an auto tune video or if she needed help connecting with her local Rape Crisis Center or if she wanted a portion of the money generated from people visiting their website to view the video. I know they did not offer help or resources generated from the creation of the Bed Intruder Song.

Then as if the last suggestion was not bogus then someone else suggested that I should be happy that “at least” people are talking about rape in cyber space. And to this I also say “cow dung.”  People are not talking about rape because everyone I talk to about it says she wasn’t raped. But, then I say that just because there is no penetration does not mean that she was not sexually violated. A man who breaks into your home and forces himself upon you is sexual violence. It is. So, though people have made 750 Bed Intruder Song’s videos, I am pretty sure none of them talk specifically about sexual violence and sexual trauma.

All that I can say is this The Bed Intruder Song is not an R. Kelly Jam. So, stop bobbing your head to Sexual Trauma!!

“I was working my butt off . . . I did not get to be 62  without being able to move beyond things . . . I was worried that my grandchildren would read in the history books years from now that their grandmother the First Black Rural Director for Georgia was fired by the first Black President.” [A paraphrasing of Shirley Sherrod from her CNN interview on Wednesday]

I want to join the internet chorus of bloggers praising Shirley Sherrod for her ability to wear what my godmother calls, “big girl drawls.” You see, over the last couple of days much has been written praising her commitment to Civil Rights and to helping all farmers irrespective of race.

But, what I briefly want to talk about is her ability to wear “big girl drawls” in the midst of public scrutiny from the NAACP and the Tea Party and against factions of dissent in the Obama Administration. Early this year, I wrote a post about Michelle Rhee who is the current chancellor of the District of Columbia Public Schools in Washington, D.C. where I talked about her being:

“A woman who knows how to dig her heels into the ground and say, “These are my boundaries that you will not cross and if you do I will not cower away and lick my wounds. I will fight you. Do you hear me. I will fight you.” It is her spirit of fight (i.e. big girl drawls) that I marvel at because we as a society do not intentionally cultivate girls’ fighting spirits. We do not teach them how to maintain their position in a street corner brawl where their reputation, occupation, family life, self-esteem, and most importantly their inner voice are on the line. We do not teach them how to stay in a battle . . . how to endure when people “scandalize your good name” because they do not like you . . . how to deal with not having a cadre of friends because you tell it like it is and you don’t hide behind passive aggressive actions and behaviors . . . how to negotiate leading people when they utterly refuse downright protest being lead.”

And, I must render the same words for Shirley Sherrod who refused to sit quietly by and allow people like Roland Martin and USDA Secretary Vilsack to scandalize her good name.

And as my 70 year old grandmother says, “You only get one good name, chile. So, you better protect it by doing what is right.” And, that is what Shirley did. Everywhere you turned Shirley was speaking. She spoke on CNN’s Rick’s List. She spoke on CNN’s Wolf Blitzer’s show. She even spoke on the View after all the apologies were given. Shirley spoke with a non quivering lip unafraid of the looming repercussions because she knew something that her detractors did not know. She knew the truth. She knew who she was. She was use to wearing big girl drawls.

And, you see this when she chastised Roland Martin for his disrespectful words. Shirley said [paraphrasing], “Where did you grow up? Where did you grow up? I grew up in the South . . . I know racism when I see it . . . my father was killed by a Ku Klux Klan member.”

So, for the last couple of days, my black girlfriends and I have watched the nonstop coverage of Shirley Sherrod’s story because she in a way speaks for all the black women who have been thrown under the bus by the government— Lani Guinier, Surgeon General Joycelyn Elders, and even Michelle Obama when she made her comments doing the campaign about being proud of the US for the first time. She spoke when it was all too easy for her to go quietly into the night to protect the first Black President from yet another public debacle.

And for this, I will forever honor the story of Shirley Sherrod because she wore her “big girl drawls” unabashedly.

“Feminism tells us that the personal is political. Therefore, feminism is a useful frame for helping me to make sense of the gender politics that may be at play in my dating life. When a card-carrying feminist goes on a date, it is a feminist issue, maybe a micro-level one, but a feminist issue nonetheless. In my facetious blaming of feminism, I simply meant that the confidence which it instills in women concerning their intellect and the often radical politics it causes us to espouse, can very often throw a monkey wrench in one’s dating game.” —Crunktastic, July 15, 2010

Wow, for me this quote is “church” as my high school mentee would say. Meaning, this quote is the truth on the level of canonical truth.  I cannot count on my fingers, toes, and follicles of hair the number of black men I’ve dated who have placed me in what Crunktastic calls the “mind f*u$k” category or as I have come to refer to it as the mental masturbation category. Meaning, [in your best non-British intellectually laced Idris Alba’s voice] “I, black man, will date you, black feminist, for a set amount of time . . . give or take three months . . . slowly draining you, my sweet ebony Amazon, of your bookish, but devilishly witty comments . . . then I, black man, will slowly nibble at your “cute” feminist push backs about my male privilege then after that I will marry La’Keisha because she has relaxed hair, childbearing hips, believes in religious “submission” and will happily keep my house and cook my dinner.”

Okay, I know this is a caricature of the some of the men I’ve dated, but the truth remains the same as Crunktastic humorously and facetious writes that, “the confidence which [black feminism] . . . instills in women concerning their intellect and the often radical politics it causes us to espouse, can very often throw a monkey wrench in one’s dating game.” And, I would go even further and say that it throws hammers, nails, the kitchen sink, and, yes, even dry wall into the mix.

You see, it is one thing to part ways with a man who you know is the progenitor of patriarchy or to part ways with a man who you know only last night read bell hooks’ Feminism is for Everybody: Passionate Politics, but now spits black male feminist game as if he had written the book. However, it is a searing and at times palpable pain to part ways with a man who you have shared intellectual and physical intimacy with who admits he does not fully understand what feminism is, but who marvels at your commitment to it and your desire to empower girls and women with it. But, his sense of being enraptured by your feminism, your passion, and your ambition has a very short shelf life. Sure, he will date you for a time and yes, he will f*$k you too.

But, he won’t make a long-term commitment because his sense of enrapture . . . of being excited by you, black feminist, does not settle the day to day gender politics or what Sheftall and Cole refer to as “gender talk” of what it means to live with a woman who daily if not minute by minute refuses to abide by traditional feminine hetero-norms . . . a woman who prefers to spend her time reading books about women in power and debating current issues of the day . . . a woman who chooses not to have a child until her book is printed . . . a woman who prefers great intellectual conversation as a prelude to great sex . . . a woman who prefers the comforts of flat shoes because high heels impede movement . . . a woman who uses commercials objectifying women and people’s Freudian slips about girls as teachable moments about sexism . . . a woman who does not yield to patriarchal statements like—“I am the man of the house . . . I wear the pants . . . You are the wind beneath my wing” . . . a woman who is not impressed by the money you have or the length of your third arm (well, maybe . . . kidding) . . . ultimately, a woman who chooses not to make her partner the center of her universe.

Yes, he will be hard pressed to make a commitment to such a woman because she is not typical or conventional. She will not bluster and reconstitute his hegemonic hetero-masculinity for him. It ain’t happening.

So, given all of this and the honesty of Crunktastic’s blog, I am somewhat shocked that certain black feminists are upset with her story. There appears to be a quiet storm brewing between The Crunk Feminist Collective’s blog and The Beautiful Struggler’s blog, where sister blogger, Crunktastic, personal, but profoundly humorous political story of what it means to be a black feminist dating heterosexual men is under intellectual scrutiny by a fellow feminist who takes Crunktastic’s facetious charge against black feminism to heart and writes a blog about how men are “damned if they do and damned if they don’t” diatribe.

Even though, I agree with the Beautiful Struggler’s interpretation of the sexual politics of academia—“what black feminist and non-feminist alike more often encounter with our male colleagues is unwanted sexual advances that place us frequently in positions of disempowerment . . . we get labeled men-haters. However, I disagree with her general interpretation of Crunktastic’s blog. For the Beautiful Struggler, the issue of fucking is the litmus test in determining if men are “using” women. It is inconceivable for her to think that men can exploit feminists for their intellectual critical thinking prowess because she states, “I refuse to think that in the history of heterosexuality a man has ever said to himself, “I would totally bag dat is she wasn’t so SMART.”

Crunktastic’s blog is not about f*$king or wanting a sexual pursuit. It isn’t. What Crunktastic lays her finger on is the unreciprocated exchange between black men and black feminists where black men receive something—enlightenment, sexual excitement from new ideas, conscious rising—from us simply by being in relationship with us. We are not packaging ourselves to sale. We are simply who we are, but, there is a “taking” that is transpiring without our consent that occurs every time I have a 5 hour coffee date with Brother X who I have been dating for the last 3 months. He is getting something from me. Yes, he is getting the drawls, but he is also getting what Crunktastic refers to as “mind-f*cks.” Meaning, an inner consciousness within him is awakened by dating a woman who challenges him to be an unconventional man because she whether knowingly or unknowingly pushes against all the things he has been told about women . . . they are weak, they are dependent, they are irrational, and the list goes on. A part of him is growing . . . his mind, and, yes, even his penis.

However, what is insidious about “mind-f*cks” and mental masturbation is that it leaves me drained and unfulfilled because often than not he chooses to make a life commitment with another woman who is a non-feminist because he is not willing to make the “day to day” concessions of living with me meaning he would have to let go of his male privilege, daily. Heck, in his eyes it is okay to pretend to do it or to actually do it while dating, but it is another thing to have to do it for a life-time.

Matter of fact, just yesterday, my godfather who is married to a black feminist says, “Men do not know what it means to live with a smart woman let alone a black feminist woman. Mind you, we find them intoxicating intellectually and sexually, but we have no the idea what it means to live with them. That a woman can spend her entire day reading and not running behind a man is foreign concept to men . . . and it literally takes an unconventional man to love a black feminist.” And, he is right. But, what he also admits is that there is something liberating about being with such a woman that, “Iron sharpens iron. I will make a better man out of you.”

So, the issue is not about finding men to fuck us. That’s easy. The issue is about the unreciprocated exchange that happens when black feminist date men who sample if not gulp our feminist critical thinking exegeses and leave. To be quite honest, I am “sick and tired” of being taken from or giving and not receiving. I am not the Black Feminist Messiah. I was not created solely for black men to see the fallacy and limitedness of having to perform everyday their hegemonic hetero-masculinity. I am not the Black Feminist Savior who says, “Go, black man and sin no more . . . marry a non-black feminist and remember what I have taught you.” I am not that giving. I need an equal return of what has been taken from me or that which I have freely given to black men I’ve dated. I need a return and deserve a return.

So, I applaud Crunktastic for writing her blog because it is a conversation many heterosexual black feminist have amongst ourselves, but rarely publicly admit unless your bell hooks. And the reason for our silence is another blog entirely.

When the first video of Kat Stacks being slapped by Bow Wow’s male fans became viral on YouTube back in June, I was immediately angered by the physical act of violence and then equally angered by the misogynistic rhetorical of male honor and female “sexual” dishonor that legitimized the beating of Kat Stacks. However, when another video became viral depicting the same tragic events only this time it was with a different black male perpetrator slapping Kat Stacks, publicly, into submission, I was left speechless. How could this happen again? What in the air as my grandmother would say makes random black men think they have the right to beat a woman because she publicly touts her heterosexuality and the insufficient smallness of several male rappers’ penises—Bow Wow, Nelly, and Fabulous? What in the air allows people both women and men in the videos to stand by and cheer for her demise?

And the answer to this question is somewhat hinted in a former blog I wrote about the mother in Precious, Mary, and it is also hinted at in Zettler Clay’s blog, Kat Stacks Exposes Hypermasculine Culture.

Hyper-masculinity is a long-term phenomenon in the hip-hop culture. It’s 20 years strong and to the point where “beat that p—y up like it’s some cake mix” goes in a song and doesn’t raise an eyebrow. But this latest video episode isn’t about misogyny in hip-hop, per se. This is about a culture that was here long before hip-hop. This is about men beating their wives unabashedly. This is about not enough men taking a stand against overt male supremacy.

Yes, it is hyper-masculinity, but, I think it is also about the ability to abuse culturally “soiled” black women publicly . . . women who by choice or by circumstance do not abide by patriarchal heterosexist behaviors and beliefs—“Yeah, I smashed (i.e. fucked) you and your homies and all y’all had small dicks” . . . black women who prefer to love and sleep with women only—the New Jersey 7. . . black women who sell their bodies for profit . . .  black women who struggle with drug addiction . . . single black women who take handouts from the federal government . . . black women who are single mothers and poor. These are all deviant categories which have different forms of stigma and abuse attached to them.

And let me just say, this does not mean that black women who are good little girls, good little wives, and good little mothers are immune to violence because they are not. But, it does say something about the level of publicly shaming—violence—black women when they decide or are forced to decide to walk outside the lines of worshiping and paying legal tribute to the black man’s penis.

Because all the male rappers loved Kat Stacks before she publically dissed their penises and their fake Hip Hop life styles. They loved her because she would happily have sex with them when and how they wanted to have sex. But, when she decided to air the dirty laundry she became a liability and had to be marked as Scarlett was marked with an “A” upon her chest where fans of male Hip Hop rappers have license to beat, slap, and stump the “hoe” at will.

Furthermore, Kat Stacks’ story of violence reveals, yet again, that no woman is ever totally safe in a patriarchal society because the line of proving your loyalty to heterosexual men is a thin line on its most good day. You can decide you don’t want to date him any longer and he comes into Verizon while you are working and sets you on fire. You can decide you do not want to cook to night he can beat you senseless. You can decide not to sleep with his homies even though you slept with him and they gang rape you. You can say their penises are the sizes of toothpicks and male rappers will sit by and allow their fans to beat you. And, often, not always, but often the responsibility is on the woman to prove she was victimized . . . hurt . . . raped . . . abused . . . exploited. And, of course she must not be a deviant black woman like Kat Stacks because her personhood automatically makes her guilty.

Mind you, this isn’t new, black feminist have been writing and mobilizing about these issues for a very long time. It just never fails to anger me and cause me to see how various acts of violence against black women are interrelated. For instance, the Grim Sleeper’s murders which span a 20 year period show the same characteristics of Kat Stacks’ story of public gender violence and what happens to culturally soiled black women. Each of the 10 women murdered were allegedly women who were sex workers or black women who struggled with drugs . . . women who in the eyes of the Grim Sleeper were easily missed. So, he could rape them, kill them, or do as another black man did in Cleveland bury them in the walls of his house for 20 years because no one would miss them or believe they could be victimized.

But, before I end my blog, I must say I have a bone to pick with Bossip. I understand the blog is dedicated to exposing black celebrities’ gossip, but I think there is a fine line between reporting gossip about Kat Stacks and inciting violence against her. There are numerous negative posts about Kat Stacks’ ownership of her sexuality calling her the “Jizzernator.” This is unacceptable even if it is gossip.

All in all, there is no difference between what Kat Stacks experienced and why 10 black women could be murdered over a 20 year period by a black man. It all makes me sad and angry.

The National Coalition Against Violent Athletes states that:

“A 3 year study shows that while male student-athletes comprise 3.3% of the population, they represent 19% of sexual assault perpetrators and 35% of domestic violence perpetrators. (Benedict/Crosset Study)”

Former linebacker for the New York Giants and current member of the Pro Football Hall of Fame, Lawrence Taylor, has been charged with third degree rape of  a 16 year old girl, who he allegedly solicited for prostitution. The girl was reported missing from her home in the Bronx, New York in March. Since then she had been living at  a location arranged by her pimp who also arranged  the alleged sexual encounter with Taylor. The girl is my age. In the past months, she’s been trafficked, drugged and abused. She’s traumatized. At that age (or any age), who wouldn’t be?  The black eye she had when she was found can’t be linked to Taylor or the traficker. Taylor told police that she had the bruises when she got to him… As if that really makes things better. He simply paid for sex with the abused and under-aged girl without concern for the obvious danger of her situation. So, even if he did not hit her, so what.

I think its bad enough that young kids look up to celebrities as heroes and role models due to the publicity and money they get. But for the same role models to commit seriously inhumane crimes is a demonstration of utter irresponsibility. Titles and fame and media attention should come with a much higher expectation for decency.  Sports fans and media consumers should  demand it.

So, that we are crystal clear I do not run behind black men. I do not beg them to spend time with me. I am not desperate for their attention, money, or third arm. I am so tired of Nightline, CNN, ABC, and yes the great matriarch himself, Tyler Perry, telling me that I am the problem. There is a political project afoot to make black women feel they are woefully inadequate. And to this, I say bah hum bug.

– April 24, 2010 Facebook’s Status, Fallon

Just in case you’re wondering, yes, I started my blog with a status update I wrote last week when Nightline aired its show, Face-Off: Why Can’t a Successful Black Woman Find a Man? The Facebook status update conveys my sentiments about this latest cycle of blaming black women for the woes of the black man, the woes of the black community, and the woes of the economy. Yes, if only I would become barefoot and pregnant unemployed and desperate for Big Daddy’s benevolent protection then I would be married [cue the Disney’s music] and the mice with their little mice hands would make my white wedding dress . . . living happily ever after . . . yes, if only I could be that type of woman again. Yes, I use to be a version of her (i.e. wanting to marry the senator instead of being the senator syndrome) when I was searching for my voice.

But, I ain’t her now and I don’t know too many black women who are. If you want a more scholarly understanding of this issue I suggest you read Melissa Harris Lacewell’s Nightline asks why black women can’t get a man or Farai Chideya How Does It Feel to Be a Black, Female, Single Problem because my blog is going to be a rant about how I think black men are the problems. Yes, I said they are the PROBLEMS. Okay, not the pen-ultimate problem, but definitely the problem when it comes to how they use their hetero-male privilege in romantic relationships with black women in particular black women like me who are not willing to put up with their shit cow dung.

I know this makes me a bad race woman and perhaps even a bad feminist, but it’s the truth. And my grandmother in her southern tone says, “Tell the truth and shame devil” and so I’ve decided today to shame that Devil all the da way back to hell because black men are indeed the reason why I am a happy single black hetero-woman. And my happiness has nothing to do with not being able to find one because my godmother says and it’s true “men are like buses they come every 15 minutes and they will screw anything with a hole.”

Of course, screwing does not lead to a lifelong commitment with the brother, but the point is that if we wanted to find one we could. So, perhaps our singleness, my singleness, is in response to not wanting to put up with hetero black male privilege. I don’t believe in submission. I do not believe in making myself small so that you can feel good about your hetero-masculinity. And it has been my experience that men want black women who will cater to them, who will shut up sometimes, who will stay at home and raise the children (even though the fool will admit he would not want to stay at home), who will endure stress, abuse, violence, and sacrifice in the name of commitment. And I say once again, I ain’t her.

Yep, I’m going to beat this drum . . . black men are the problems. Perhaps, someone who has a glimmer of common sense  Hill Harper, Steve Harvey, or Kevin Powell should write a how-to-book with colorful pictures teaching black men how to become unconventional/atypical black men . . . the kind of man who allows a black woman to be herself . . . the kind man who does not mentally masturbate with black feminist heterosexual women, but who wants a lifetime of memories with her (yep, that’s my personal gripe). . . the kind of black man who believes “iron sharpens iron, she will make a better black man out of me” . . . the kind of man who will endure many years of psycho therapy to understand his emotions so that he can be an emotionally available father and husband . . . the kind of man who is proud to say I am the husband of such and such using her maiden name . . . the kind of man who will smile and at times grin at her witticism/arguments deeply respecting her thoughts . . . I could go on forever listing how black men can begin to challenge their male privilege, but, hey, Random House is not ain’t giving me no book deal they are too busy running behind the Steve Harvey’s and Tyler Perry’s of the world because clearly they speak for black women [pure sarcasm].

Of course, as a good race woman, I have to say that this blog is not an indictment against black men. I know being a black man is hard [cue the homeless black man on the corner playing the violin]. I get it and from birth have gotten it. However, the intention of this blog is about black men and Nightline understanding why some black women “choose” to be single because we are not willing to acquiesce to the cow dung—black male privilege. We are not willing to settle for black men who are not emotionally available irrespective if he wears a “blue collar,” a “white collar,” or a “green job collar.”

Honestly, I’m sick and tired of being the problem. I am tired of being the scapegoat for why we have double digit unemployment in black communities. Yes, some people believe if black women would stop working then black men could take their jobs and all the social problems in the black community will be remedied. Yeah, right. And I am tired of being berated by the news media and blamed for the demoralization of our communities when we all know capitalism, racism, sexism, class, poverty, heteronormativity, and black male privilege are all to blame for the many issues we face in our communities.

Once again, I believe there is a political project afoot to make black women to feel woefully inadequate because they lack black hetero-male romantic partnership/marriage. And I think part of the political project is to cloak the dysfunctionality of capitalism and to warn other groups of women what will happen if they stray too far from appropriate feminine behaviors and identities—you will be blamed for the toxic social issues of your community and will be subjected to public ridicule on Nightline and other mainstream news shows—so be a good little girl . . . a “well behaved” black girl.

Yes, I said and will continue to say, Black men are part of the Problem and why I “choose” to be single.

Can I get a sistah to testify?

I tried to stay above the fray. For weeks I have contemplated writing a post about a certain Internet sensation that goes by the name of Kat Stacks. With the legalization of racial profiling and xenophobia in Arizona, NBA playoffs, and financial regulation I had a slew of topics I could’ve talked about. Trust me, I’m very opinionated on all three of these issues. I’ll sum it up in three words-repeal, Lakers, and reform. Back to this Kat Stacks character or caricature I should say. Once I saw that her name trended on Twitter I knew I could no longer bite my tongue on this juicy issue(s).To put it lightly, Kat Stacks is the new age “Super Head”, except she can’t even call herself a “Video Vixen”. Let’s just say she is highly recycled groupie in the hip-hop industry. Below is “Super Head” discussing her trajectory as a “hip-hop honey”.

Although there are many women who built careers off of flaunting their sexuality or their sexual escapades with celebrities, what separates Stack from the pack is her way of getting attention. You won’t find her in any music videos or any paparazzi photos with celebrities. However, you will find her all over You Tube drunkenly berating Young Money entertainment and dishing out cell phone numbers of entertainers. She proudly claims that she slept with the whole crew: Lil’ Wayne, Gudda Gudda, Jae Millz, and Lil’ Twist (who is rumored to be 16) as if it is a noble prize. But just as she brags about her promiscuity, she begins to talk about how these rappers “aint shit”. What is troubling about this whole scenario is that Stacks seems to find solace in “outing” these celebrities because of their malevolence towards her.

Reading her biography is almost as gut wrenching and disturbing as watching  the vilest scenes in the film “Precious”. Many men have sexually, physically, and emotionally abused her. She then in turn abused herself and at times tried to commit suicide. By no means am I condoning or condemning her behavior based on her past, however I do believe it has something to do with her erratic behavior now. I couldn’t help but wonder if all of these crazy You Tube videos was some weird way for her to get back at all the men who have treated her like a toilet. Instead of turning to substances, maybe the celebrity status would be the antidote to ease the pain of years of abuse and suffering. Frankly, nobody knows what makes her tick. However, her method of becoming “famous” is very disconcerting.

In the video below she clowns the members of Young Money Entertainment for being “roommates” as if that makes them less of men. To me this looks like a poor attempt of trying to emasculate them so she could feel better about their denial of sleeping with her. Would it have made it better if they would have all admitted to indulging in her “forbidden fruit”? What is she trying to prove? At one extreme this could be construed as a woman using her sexual liberation to control men, but I think what it really shows is an insecure woman trying to find validation of her self worth through childish antics.

People become overnight celebrities for many things, but becoming one for “overnight” escapades just doesn’t sit right with me. I did not write this post to preach or portray myself as being holier than though. I wrote this post to speak to a greater societal problem that I believe is destroying the little moral fiber that we humans have left in this world. I’m not saying that Kat Stacks is necessarily a bad person. However, I do believe that she is the product of a misogynistic, patriarchal, and male dominated society that eats away at the souls and spirits of women everyday.

TRENTON — City police have charged a 15-year-old girl as an accomplice to the gang rape of her 7-year-old sister. Police said they believe the older sibling was paid for having sex with multiple partners Sunday night during a party at the troubled Rowan Towers apartment complex, and that she then sold her sister to others at the party.

My heart grieves not only for the seven year old black girl who was gang raped, but also for her 15 year old sister who sold her body and her sister’s body for money. Yes, my heart grieves even though many people are angry with the older sister for not protecting her little sister calling for “the book to be thrown at her.” To say the least, the big sister is going to jail for a very long time. But yet, my heart weeps for her as it wept for Precious’ mother, Mary. It weeps because it says something about the level of sexual abuse she herself must have experienced to make the idea of being complicit in her sister’s rape plausible. My heart moans because she like other girls knows that they can make a living by selling their bodies. It wails and weeps because no one stepped in to stop her first sexual abuse. My heart grieves.

The question is: Can we really be angry with the 15 year old sister for what she did? And I am having a hard time answering this question because a part of me wants to be angry at her for not protecting her little sister. However, I have to assess how much of my sadness and anger is in response to the crime of rape and how much of it is in response to her not being a good big sister. You know the type of big sister my older sister was forced to be completely responsible for raising me when she was only a girl herself because . . . momma had to work late . . . momma did not like being tied down . . . daycare is expensive . . . momma had a second job . . . momma was gone . . . momma had to party . . . daddy was gone . . . so she became responsible for raising and protecting “us” her younger siblings.

And so, if I’m honest a small part of me is a little upset because she did not conform to cultural and societal expectations of being a responsible urban working class big sister. She exposed and facilitated sexual violence against her little sister. She failed to uphold the dominant trope of responsibility that Black girls are often socialized into at very early ages because they are black, poor, and girl. She did not live up to the expectations of what it means to be an urban black girl child whose parents are absent (for various reasons) and who has younger siblings. She was not Troy from Crooklyn who raised her brothers after her mother’s death. She was not LaRhette from Take the Lead who raised her sister while her mother did drugs. She was not Maxine from Soul Food who helped to raise her younger sister. She was not Frankie from Set it Off who slept with a man to pay for her brother to go to college.

On a whole the big sister was irresponsible. And the one thing we are told explicitly and implicitly as black girl children is to be responsible because the survival of our black communities is dependent upon us taking on a bunch of responsibilities including mothering (i.e. protecting) our siblings even if we have not being mothered (i.e. protected) ourselves. (And yes I am generalizing because I can . . . it’s my blog.) And, yet my heart grieves for the older sister. It moans and weeps a story of violations . . . a story of silence . . . a story of normalized violence against women and girls . . . my heart grieve.

And what I find equally troubling about this story is how black men including Mr. Feminist himself (straight sarcasm), Russell Simmons, organized a march to highlight what happened in Trenton, New Jersey Not once did they mention rethinking how we should construct a non dominant masculinity or critique the culture of violence against women in the world. Oh, no. Their response to this grave tragedy is to get more men of color to patrol the streets as if rape and gang rape does not happen in safe neighborhoods as if seeing more men walking around will make girls and women feel safer. Perhaps, if this gesture was connected to envisioning a non dominant masculinity and creating a culture of trust among men and women, perhaps, I can co-sign such an activity. But, because this is not the case and because Russell Simmons is leading the charge, who was only on Oprah three years ago talking about how objectifying black women is the rapper’s art form, I cannot condone such foolery and I say in the infamous words of Scrooge, bah hum bug.

Overall, my heart grieves for both sisters because they have a long way to heal.

“A poor widow came and put in two small cooper coins, which are worth a penny. Then he called his disciple and said to them, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on” (Mark 12: 41)

The story of the widow woman in Mark 12:41 is fundamentally a story about women pursuing their purpose . . .  their most burning desire  . . . that which calls them back to their center . . . irrespective of what it may cost them. And because they are widows the cost is high. You see, it’s a miserable existence to be a widow woman in a patriarchal culture because you are not valuable. To make you valuable in Biblical times as a woman you had to fulfill your purpose of first being a good daughter then a good wife, and most importantly being a good mother meaning you spent most of your time catering to the wishes of your father, your husband, and your children. That was your purpose.

However, the story of the widow woman tells of a different type of purpose one where persecution and poverty was the norm. It tells the story of what happens when you lack male kin—fathers, brothers, uncles, brother-in-laws, sons—to care for you. You see, without male support not only were you condemned to life a poverty, but your reputation as a good and decent woman was up for debate. It was a hard knock life being a widow woman. So much so that if we look throughout the Bible beginning with the Old Testament continuing through the New Testament, we see God and Jesus consistently reminding the children of Israel not to harm or misuse widows for if they do they will suffer the judgment of God.

So, the story of the widow woman and her two pennies is so profound because it tells two important stories about women pursuing their purpose in spite of the cost. First, it tells the story of what it means not to have to ask the men in our lives for their permission to pursue our dreams. And of course when I say men, I’m not only talking about Bubba and Tyrone with the good hair, I am talking about all the things “outside” of ourselves that try to tell us what our purpose is. You know what I’m talking about . . . those things that tell us we cannot step out to follow God’s purpose for our lives because we have visit all the sick and shut in because no one else at the church volunteered and we are good Christian women. Those things that say, we have to take our children to basketball practice then to ballet. Those things that say, we have to make sure he knows I love him so I am the wind beneath his wing . . . his neck . . . his backup singer . . . his Michelle Obama . . . the blood in his vein . . . his everything.  Can I get a witness?

So, sometimes it is good to be widow women because widow women are free to hear “something within” without all the “outside” noises that come intentionally or unintentionally steal our focus on our purpose. Meaning, sometimes you say, “Right now, I am a widow woman and I ain’t got time to hear you, see you, or take you anywhere . . . its widow woman time . . . time for me to sit and hear what thus says the Lord for my life.”

So, sometimes we can choose to be widow women in the sense of telling our kids, partners, jobs, and churches, “No, that is not my purpose.” However, it is when we are forced to be widow women that the true nature of the widow woman and her two pennies become as the old folks say, flesh. It is when your back is against the wall and all you have is, “I open my mouth and call unto the Lord . . . I shall go, I will go, I’m gonna see what the end is gonna be.” Out of this sense of profound lack, pressure, persecution, alienation, and oppression, you say as the widow woman said I believe in God and I give my last two pennies to that which calls me back to my center . . . to my purpose . . . to my most burning desire. I will give my last two pennies. Even if it means I lose my job I am going to start my nonprofit agency to help teen girls know they are more than their bodies. I will give my last two pennies. Even if it means the church and my family shuns me, I am going to come out of the closet and I say I am a lesbian. I will give my last two pennies. Even if it means losing the love of my life, I will not allow him to hit me anymore because I know I am something special. I will give my last two pennies. Even if it means living on the street so that I can save my money to fight the family court system to get my daughter back from my husband who’s abusive . . . I will give my last two pennies.

It is this element of sacrifice when you have nothing to sacrifice that’s so amazing. I will give my last two pennies. And of course, let me say this that I am not talking about the sacrifice that we women do daily. Because if there is one thing we know as women, we know sacrifice. But, what I am talking about is that which pulls you back to your center, your purpose. Now that I think about it, the persecution of widow women was a warning to daughters and married women of what life awaits them if they lacked male protection and support a life of poverty and struggle. Fundamentally, their persecution was designed to keep non widow women from seeking their own voice within. In some ways, the persecution of the widow woman reminds me of what single black women experience daily in the news. I can’t turn on ABC News or CNN without them saying how damming it is to be a single black woman, how woefully inadequate you are because you are not married. And to that I say bah hum bug (I would say other things, but I’m in the house of the Lord can I get an Amen).

Overall, the story of the widow woman and her two pennies is the story of a black woman. It is the story of running when you have not one breath to spare. It is the story of raising children in a society that seek their demise. It is the story of black women finding love when everything in the media tells them they are not valuable . . . It is a story of women like Celie who say, “I may be Poor, I may be Black, I may be ugly, but dammit I’m here.” It is the story of Christ who saw himself as the widow woman knowing the ultimate sacrifice he would also have to give to fulfill his calling . . . his burning desire. (So, I need everyone to stand and say) I will give my last two pennies in pursuit of my purpose for I am a widow woman. , “I open my mouth and call unto the Lord . . . I shall go, I will go, I’m gonna see what the end is gonna be.”