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Oh, Brothas, where art thou?


Dear Brothas

Where are you? I know you say you're here, and we don't acknowledge you when you do stand up, but the problem is...we don't see nor hear you, and we need you. 

The loudest voices that come with skin like ours are often telling us our skin ain't in and #whitegirlsdoitbetter and we are too much of everything wrong and we can't compete and we are unwanted and unloveable and those voices are prominent and then...we hear you loud and clear. 

Yes, I know 78% of Brothas marry sistas. And yes, I know that Black men who aren't in the home with their children are more active as parents than other ethnicities of men who aren't in the home with their children. And yes, I know there are more Brothas in college than in prison... But I also know we are tired of you whispering your support... Where is the roar?

When we speak up and say, "HEY! Where were you when they clowned Serena and said she looked less than the beautiful woman she is?" I didn't see brothas jumping up in defense of Black womanhood. Why do we have to do it ourselves? We wouldn't leave you hanging... Oh...and we have proof of that... Black Lives Matter started when a sista put the struggle of black male bodies beaten and destroyed on her back. She did that! 

But where were you, when that little seven year old doll met a similar fate? Where were the daddies saying that we won't have this happening to our princesses. Where were you? 

I mean dang! We shouldn't have to beg for your love and protection. We shouldn't have to plea with you for outspokenness when we are treated as less than human flesh. Why did Bree have to climb up that pole to dismantle racism, even if only symbolically? Where were you?

I will be the first to brag about the strong men I've had in my corner. THE FIRST! Shoot this blog is about that. I wrote a book about that.

Let me take you to a chapter in it... I was in fourth grade, riding the bus and a girl behind me continuously kicked my seat. Initially, I asked her to stop. She continued on kicking. Then, I told her to stop. Her "boyfriend" took it upon himself to call me a NIGGER and tell me she could do what she wanted. 

But see, what he failed to realize was, the boys sitting behind him didn't see what he saw when looking at me. See, they saw someone worthy of protection and worth risking something for without a second thought. He looked at me and saw: less than, inferior, and insignificant. 

They looked at me and saw little sista (no we weren't related), jewel, friend, worthy, valued, and in need of defense. So then, the elder of the boys asked me: What did he (pointing at the offender) say to you? I told him, and needless to say...the offender caught fade (He got his nigger-calling butt whooped.) and was forced to apologize. I didn't feel sorry for him, but I sure did feel protected. That's a wonderful feeling. 

I'm not saying this as a call to violence. That story is a historical tale of some elementary school kids sorting out their problems...by any means necessary. Adults are in a better position to stand up and stand strong without being violent. 

So today, when I saw my brother-friend from law school make the above post calling out the brethren... I thought: Finally!!! You're coming into view.

So dear brothas...when we need you, please show up and show up strong like I know you can. We shouldn't have to ask...it should be second nature. 

You should know by now that we value you...we just want to know that we are valued too. 



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