The ROOTS Of The Issue

“My name is KUNTA KENTE” the slave defiantly cried!

“Your name is Toby” insisted the overseer while instructing the “trusted” slave to administer another crack of the lash on KUNTE KENTE’s back.

Tears began to form in my eyes as I sat riveted to the television screen. ROOTS the movie of all movies for my people, brings me to my knees each and every time. To know what my people suffered – so that others might be. It was such an overwhelming thought I fell prostrate across my bed – yes I’m extra dramatic, but doesn’t this warrant drama?

I eventually drifted into a fitful sleep. Hours later I awoke not to the smooth feel of my 600 thread count sheets, but to a rough burlap sack scratching the skin off my back. What in the hell is going on I thought. Then I realized I have to be dreaming.

Here I was on Mainstream Media Plantation. A slave to Massa MSNBC hired out to his neighbors CBS and General Electric at will. Never seeing a dime for myself to put up towards my freedom. Instead I was shucking corn & peeling ‘taters for Massa’s big party. All the slaves were talking about it. Old slave Snoop was gone sang his signature “I Don’t Love Dem Hos” for all of YT to waltz to. He had been showing off to Missy Paris all day while she laughed and clapped and proclaimed what a “dumb nigger” he was. This made him so proud; he offered to sing a special song at her upcoming birthday party. He’d even have old chicken dancing Con Ludacris to come with him. Give the YT folks two slave shows at the expense of many (yeah catch that meaning if you can).

Anger was simmering in my heart and suddenly came to a boil as I watched Goober Game lead a group of female house slaves in a circle for the visiting Massa’s from the other plantations. Giving instructions on how they should shake their ass and bounce their breasts so Massa could get a good look at ‘em. Letting them know that their performance and his narration of all their HO talents was going to be his entrance into the “Big House”. If they shook their tales enough, crawled between enough legs to do unspeakable acts – especially if they were as good as Karrying Karine, (whom Massa had given her very own cabin cause she was so good at being the lascivious, do anything for a shiny penny HO they knew we all had to be, so she could train the other slaves); He was “gone be ‘llowed to sit at the table and be dey’s equal”. Just the thought of all the broadcloth and stickpins he would have made him nigger grin even harder.

“Them some hard core HOS” one of the overseers cried out.

“Yeah, some NAPPY HEADED HOS” laughed another. I recognized the voice of that Ole Overseer IMUS. He always had something to say bout us black slaves.

Suddenly I woke with a start clutching my pearls with a silent scream lodged in my throat. I had heard this before and it was NOT on some 1810 plantation lawn either. It was just the other morning. April 9, 2007. Exactly 142 years to the date after General Lee surrendered and the Civil War was over. Had my people not progressed any further since that time?

As I got out of bed to try and pull myself together, I had to face the stark realization that we actually had not. No matter how much education, money, manners, fine cars & clothes to the established “mainstream” we’d always be niggers! Unfortunately Black Women, who have bared the burden of this world on their backs for centuries, bare the brunt of this abuse. Always maligned, marginalized, and exploited in the most degrading sexual insinuations that we are all known as “NAPPY HEADED HO'S”. From the gyrating Video Vixens to the glorified ghetto Baby Mama to STRONG, EDUCATED, TALENTED FEMALE ATHELETES at one of the most prestigious schools in this country. We’ve been reduced to “NAPPY HEADED HO”.

Just as we stood on the auction block being appraised by the width of our hips, the fullness of our lips, thickness of our thighs, how sturdy we would be to bare children. How sexually unrestrained we would be for any man’s pleasure. So are we still judged today!

However we are not afforded the reasons our ancestors were to allow this to happen. We are supposed to be FREE. We should know better. Instead Black Americans are caught in a new type of slavery. Our hip hop artists make millions to put in the pockets of others at the expense of the BLACK WOMAN. Our so called leaders have traded in their walking shoes, shouting voices and fiery conviction of the Civil Rights movement for the comfort of a seat in the room where the table is located.

As parents we no longer teach our children the value of a good education. Instead we instill the constant thirst for the material things we feel make us equal. So we can say to the world “Look at me! I’m different! I’ve made it!” Instead of continuing the battle cries of our forefathers that would hopefully incite a roiling of indignation in the belly of the underserved, underprivileged and misguided.

We cannot place the blame solely on the lips of Don Imus because we lay the words on his tongue. We made it ok for Black Women to be “Baby Mamas”, “Nappy Headed Ho”, “Biaches & Tricks” and whatever else we are calling ourselves these days. Until we hold ourselves accountable and stop vilifying those of Cosby’s ilk for speaking the truth about our weaknesses we will forever be reactive versus proactive. Black People we have to respect ourselves before we demand it of others. I cannot be outraged at my brother being the YT man’s nigger in the streets if he is still my nigga at home because there is no difference. It’s all semantics but the meaning remains the same.

But the biggest power of all. The strongest weapon we have - is the DOLLAR! Black people are a billion dollar people. We spend money we don’t have on the latest consumer goods and YT knows it. So let’s learn to speak with our wallets. If we stop supporting the people – MSNBC, CBS, GE and whosoever else that support the people that don’t like or disparage (black artists included) OUR people, than our message will hit its mark.
I am an ADVOCATE of FREE SPEECH but not VITROLIC HATE!