My last rant on this subject?
I and a Proud Black man from the United States. Born and raised here. But as a Proud Black Man I find it difficult to just say that. I also see that weather here in the states or Jamaica, Haiti, Africa, or South America we Black men appear to evoke the same impression.
We are worthless, abusive, ill responsible, seed spreading, HIV spreading, dangerous, womanizing, child raping, jail jumping, down low and out right low down animals. I am always trying to fight this stigma but it seems to deaf ears and blind eyes. As a Proud Black Man I want the world to know that we can and are people of feelings, emotions, vibrancy and eminence, but no matter what I am always “The Black Man.” When I walk into a room filled with Tuxedo wearing men of all nationalities, I will be, “The Black Man.” When I walk down the street, white women grasp their purse and see, “The Black Man.” When I walk pass a person sitting in their car I hear the doors lock because they see, “The Black Man.” I, “The Black Man,” will always be thought of as that, abusive, ill responsible, seed spreading, HIV spreading, dangerous, womanizing, child raping, jail jumping, down low and out right low down animals
My mother jumps when I enter into a room as if I will attack her. She tells me I am hostile and frighten her though I have never cursed at her or lifted a finger at her. I have never forced a woman to do anything nor have I ever struck, shook or pushed a woman. I have not seen the inside of a jail or even a police station. I wish children to be children and wish fathers would be daddies. I have not touched a crack pipe, heroin, cocaine but I have touched once marijuana and inhaled. I have not experience the company of a prostitute for I value my women. I did go to a nude bar once and what I saw caused much sickness in my fellow man that I never seen the inside of a place like that again. I made the mistake of looking into the eyes of the dancers. As men were shouting vile and sick statements about the ladies sweet and precious essence, the eyes of the ladies were like the animals in the zoo, blank, soulless and empty. I have never been with another man down low, bare backing. I have never caused a child to be born a bastard, nor have I left a lady to raise a child alone.
Just like the three men standing at the gates of heaven; the first protesting what he has not done on earth causing reason to be let past the gates into Heaven, he wasn’t allowed in. The second protesting how horrific others were on earth and how he wasn’t as horrific thus giving cause to be let in, he wasn’t allowed in. The third humbly asserts he is a sinner and cry out for forgiveness, He is allowed in. I too state I am no different that my fellow man. I may not have done those things I profess to not have done but I am guilty of being a Black man. A Black Man who has failed. I’ve failed as a son, I’ve failed as a brother, I’ve failed as a husband, for I was married and failed to keep my promise of death do us part. I’ve failed to cut a clear path to prevent the continued lynching of my fellow brethren. Lynching which is now being perpetrated by the hands of ourselves. Lynching with a rope of our Black Queens, of societies indifference and fear of us, tighten around our necks ever so tight.
I am a failure to my Queens; I have communicated with and talked to so many women that I am rather tired and ready to settle down alone. After many attempts to find a Black woman to share my life with, I suffered a horrific marriage with a gold digging debasing woman. I have chased after white women to find they only wanted to dance with my anaconda and wasn’t interested in me as a partner. I have chased after Asian women to find that my color is something they detest but will tolerate if I can show them a good time. I have been chased by women much younger than I only to see they want my wallet and chased by older women to find they want to control the relationship. Failing to discover true commitment I resolve to be alone. My lovely dog Iman comes to me and sticks her head between my legs and looks up at me. She turns around and offers her boodie to me to smack. What more can a man want. Funny though it seems, the real joke is that I am a joke.
I’ve been told to lower my standards because the world is changing and I must accept the change. I am the first advocate of change but not all change is good. I am embarrassed to walk down the street as I see my image disgrace the name of manhood. I see me raping young girls in Africa because I need to fill my primal need. I am disgusted to see me destroy a paradise as I have devastated in Haiti. I allow wealth to corrupt my dignity as I make films that portray me as a thug, criminal, and giving no positive reinforcement. Standards must be lowered as the world changes because the money is good. Yet with all the wealth I still have communities which I can not move into. There are still countries that don’t want me to visit let lone live. Women still tremble in fear as I walk pass. Other men still think of me as a criminal. To lower my standards for times a changing yet we still are worthless, abusive, ill responsible, seed spreading, HIV spreading, dangerous, womanizing, child raping, jail jumping, down low and out right low down animals in the viewpoint of the world. I ask just what is it I must accept? Should I accept the fact that I fear more of being attacked by a group of Black men appose to fearing a group of white men trying to lynch me? Should I accept that my ladies must admit less than what they deserve? Should I accept my children learning to hate their mothers as their fathers are absent? Times have changed but the resolve is the same if not worse. We Black men are raping, enslaving and lynching their own community.
Have you ever heard of lynching in the great United States?
'Tis an awful, awful story that the Negro man relates,
How the mobs the laws have trampled, both the human and divine,
In their killing helpless people as their cruel hearts incline.
Not the heathen! 'Tis the Christian with the Bible in his hand,
Stands for pain and death to tyrannize the weaklings of the land;
Not the red man nor the Spaniard kills the blacks of Uncle Sam,
'Tis the white man of the nation who will lunch the sons of Ham.
To a limb upon the highway does a Negro's body hang,
Riddled with a hundred bullets from the bloody, thirsty gang;
Law and order thus defying, and there's none to say them nay.
"Thus," they say, to keep their power, "Negroes must be kept at bay."
How his back is lacerated! how the scene is painted red,
By the blood of one poor Negro till he numbers with the dead!
Listen to the cry of anguish from a soul that God has made,
But it fails to reach the pity of the demons in the raid.
To a tree we find the Negro and to him a chain beside,
There a horse to it is fastened and the whip to him applied.
Thus he pulls the victim's body till it meets a dying fate,
And to history is given a new scandal to relate.
Limb from limb he's torn asunder! See the savage lynchers grin!
Then the flesh is cut in pieces and the souvenirs begin;
Each must have the piece allotted for the friends at home to see,
Relatives will cluster round him, laughing, dancing, filled with glee.
To a stake they bind the Negro, pile the trash around him high,
Make the fire about his body; it is thus that he must die.
Burn him slowly, hear the lynchers: "That's the part we most enjoy!
Tell it out in all the nation how we killed a Negro boy!"
Savage mob a Negro's chasing, and to catch him must not fail;
If it does, another's taken, there to force from him the tale
Where the fleeing man is hiding; if the facts he cannot raise,
Though his innocence protesting, for the same by death he pays.
"'Tis a Negro's blood we're craving; such will have at any cost;
We must lynch the one in keeping, for the other one is lost!"
This they say, and when they're questioned answer like this is the why,
"To the race at large a warning here a Negro man shall die!"
O, how brave the Southern white man when, a hundred men to one,
Lynch a lone, defenceless Negro, when each lyncher has a gun.
If at midnight or the noonday, the result is all the same,
Law is powerless to hinder, and the nation shares the blame.
Lynchers go into the Senate and their savagery uphold,
How they shoot and butcher Negroes is the story that is told.
Guns and ropes they have in plenty, and, if necessary, will
Use them on an office holder, such a Negro they must kill.
How they clamor for the Philippines and Cubans far away,
While a worse thing is transpiring in this country every day.
In the eyes of such law-breakers lives a beam of greatest size,
That will hinder all the pulling of the mote from others' eyes.
Are the candidates for lynching always found among the men?
No, the fiends of human torture lynch a woman now and then.
Yea, the Spanish Inquisition insignificant will pale,
When compared with such atrocities that in the South prevail!
'Tis a blot on Christian manhood time, itself, cannot erase;
Human blood upon the conscience centuries cannot efface.
Simply to suspect a Negro is sufficient for the band,
He must die without a hearing, in a boasted gospel land.
Sowing antedates the reaping, and the nation should beware,
That the sowers to the wind will reap the whirlwind everywhere.
Hark the cry! the blood of Negroes cries for vengeance from the dust!
How I tremble for the nation when I think that God is just!
Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer