an open letter to Black men ~

 

“Show me how you treat your women and I’ll show you the condition of your race” ~ Dr. Yosef Ben Jochannan

 

Black man, I struggle to like you.

Not love you, because believe it or not, I do truly love you.

Simply, like you.

It’s impossible for me to hate someone that is so close to me, who looks like me. So I don’t hate you. But my love for you is formless and undefined; it spreads out seamlessly, like the breath that comes from my mouth when its cold outside. Foggy. Milky. Transparent, even.

I know why, too.

It’s not because of what’s been done to you. It’s because you know what’s been done to you, and you continue to allow it.

You make excuses for your oppression. You treat your oppression like a bed with a pillow top mattress and Egyptian cotton sheets. It’s comfortable, so you lay in it. You pull the Egyptian cotton sheets up over your heads and ignore the cries and screams of your women and children.

Your women and children cry out for your love and protection but you ignore it.

Not only do some of you ignore these cries, you actively do not care about their tears.

I know. I can tell.

You get into debates about balancing your chakras while thousands of brown and black babies languish in foster care.

You wear crystals around your necks suspended with chains and hemp ropes and hold them in your fists while black bodies fall in puddles of blood, shot down by police in the streets.

While you burn sage your women are dying in jail cells, with plastic bags around their throats and  pillows over their faces.

You laugh at images depicting your dehumanization.

You make babies and abandon them.

You emotionally destroy your women and abandon them.

 

what happened to you?

 

Black men, as a collective, are like a huge wounded animal. One that has had band-aids applied to bullet wounds that have festered with infection. I see you walking, to and from work or standing around with trauma hanging off your backs like its packed in trash bags. When I look in your faces I see pain, anger, and defeat. I turn away from it. As a healer, its in my nature to want to run to you with bandages, and seal up your wounds. As a nurturer, I want to hold your heads to my breasts and soothe your pain, anger and fear. As a leader, I want to whisper into your ear confidence and strength. Something that your mothers should have done. Something your fathers should have done. Your mothers and fathers should have prepared you for what was to come, if they were able. If they were there. I could be your mother. You are my suns.

 

I can’t do the work for you. So I turn away from you.

 

The work isn’t being done. The healing work is not being done. You ignore the work that needs to be done.

So I struggle to like you.

 

But:

I want you to do better.

I want you to be better.

I want you to be accountable for yourself.

I want you to take care of the children.

I want you to listen to your women.

I want you to love your women.

I want you to be tender with your women.

I want you to stop lying to your women.

I want you to stop blaming your women.

I want you to kill for your women.

I want you to forgive your mothers.

I want you to forgive your fathers.

I want you to be stronger than you are.

I want you to stop making excuses [for everything].

I want the good men to take a stand and mentor the bad men.

I want you to stand for us. For all of us.

I want you to fight for us. For all of us.

 

Until then, I struggle.

 

 

-a.