For as long as I can remember, I have always been susceptible to believing shit that makes absolutely no sense. This first started in 4th grade when niggas in my homeroom class told me that Tupac faked his death and was living on some island in the Caribbean. In my defense, that’s still a pretty common-believed conspiracy theory.
That all changed in freshman year of undergrad, when the niggas next door told me that Tupac was indeed dead because The Illuminati killed him in a satanic ritualistic blood sacrifice. I spent the next semester indulging in the underworld of YouTube Illuminati videos that literally accused everyone and their mama of being an agent of Satan. Real dark shit.
And that’s not to say that there isn’t a conglomerate of old pasty white men who are working feverishly to dominate the world. Because those motherfuckers exist. I just don’t think they’re sacrificing babies on pentagrams and using music to influence the masses and shit.
As I’m sure you can tell by now, I was very impressionable.
So naturally, when niggas on Twitter told me that I was a Black Hebrew Israelite, I believed them too. Now a nigga wasn’t one of those Israelites who stand on the corners of busy intersections yelling ignorantly out of megaphones- reminding every passing parishioner that white Jesus ain’t shit and niggas are the real Jews.
But a nigga did have a YouTube playlist that featured some of the most Afrauxcentric, problematic, misogynistic circle jerk niggas who claim to be doctors without a dissertation between any of them. But all of them had the same ashy-harmonious “The white man stole Kemet created feminism, Planned Parenthood, and hair weave.” head-ass talking points. All of which allegedly destroyed the fabric of the black family.
And for the sake of executing the 3rd person trifecta — a nigga really thought he was transcending the realms of consciousness. So woke, I was unconscious. Literally!
Legend has it that wherever there is some bullshit, there is a black woman with a fierce side eye and a word for your stanking ass. And if you think that’s just folklore — go ahead and test your doubts. Because that’s what my stanking ass did.
During my peak hotep’n I would spend my free time spreading the gospel of alleged Dr. Umar Johnson on social media. And every time I did, there was not only a host of black women who reminded me that I did not know what the fuck I was talking about. They also reminded me that my regurgitated talking points were not a tool of liberation, but rather an ideology of ashy niggas who were envious of white supremacy.
Now I must admit, the first few times black women came for me, I didn’t pay it too much mind. After all, I was woke as fuck, and not everyone was going to get it. But after getting my talking points ripped to shreds in 140 characters or less on a daily basis and going round for round with every black woman in a million mile radius, I became weary of my new found woke.
I started to unpack and examine my beliefs. I compared my ideology to black womanism/feminism and saw that there was no intersection for black women or anyone else who wasn’t a cis-hetero male. I mastered the art of shutting the fuck up and listening. (I was good at that) I had to evolve. And I had to stop listening to niggas. Because once again, they led me astray. I take responsibility as well.
I don’t remember the exact moment my epiphany hit. But it wasn’t the proverbial light-bulb moment. It was messy. It was uncomfortable. And there were plenty of times I fell short. But every time that occurred, black women were there to re direct my stanking ass. And through all the side eyes, reads and drags to hell- my love and admiration burned feverishly for black women. I appreciate that because black women didn’t owe me shit. They could have left me ashy, faux-woke and destitute, but instead,they took time on my stanking ass.
That, in a nutshell, is a testament of the love, patience and care of black women. These days I have a little more clarity and just a little more sense. When I see a nigga with a You Tube channel, I get itchy. I reminisce the drags and reads that made me. That alone is enough to keep me on the path of the woke and narrow.
Every critical social theory as it relates to blackness was taught to me by black women.
The chants I shout, the terminology I use, and the backs I clap are echoes of black women.
Every moment of strength and bravery I am able to muster is because of the love and rearing of black women.
Black women have been good to my soul. Even when I wasn’t worthy.