January 2, 2011 JAM Aiwuyor Commentary, Race Ethnicity & Culture

The U.S. Black Woman Experience

by Zakiya Lasley

In truth, specific oppressions (male domination, white supremacy, class exploitation, etc.) rarely work singularly. Instead, oppressions feed off of each other, their dynamics changing according to specific contexts. The current challenge for anti-rape organizers is to develop solid analyses of rape and rape culture that recognize a multiplicity of oppressions that constantly shape and influence each other.

Throughout history Black women have taken deadly risks in confronting rape under extreme fear and terrorism. Black women who were slaves participated in concentrated and deliberate instances of retaliation of rape by their white male slave owners. Documented in many autobiographies and biographies are horrifying accounts of female rebellion manifesting itself in the poisoning of rapists, burning of property, and assassination of their white slave owners. Also in instances of desperation enslaved rape survivors who were mothers often killed their girl children as a form of resistance to slave rape.

Looking at anti-rape activism done on the part of Black slave women forces us to think about rape in a much more complex way. Rape is not only a tool for male domination over women; Rape is also a tool for economic exploitation and white supremacy. The example of rape survivors killing their babies to keep them from being raped is also resistance to the use of rape to promote the institution of chattel slavery after the banning of the Mid-Atlantic slave trade. We can see the dominating forces of capitalist and white superiority dynamics within rape not only in the case of the rape of thousands of black slaves, but also currently in global issues such as “mail-order brides” and global sex-trafficking.

Another anti-rape movement headed by Black women is the anti-lynching movement in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. During post-Reconstruction, southern white people were determined to regain control over Black people. As a result, they instituted a system of lynching Black women, men, and children when they “got out of line.” Lynching was a sexualized form of murder. Often, the justification for lynching Black men was that they raped white women. The issue of rape was utilized as a scare tactic geared directly towards white women. As a result, many southern white women supported lynching efforts instead of recognizing that sexual violence towards white women, by anyone, is deeply connected to sexual violence towards Black people (as well as other forms of oppression). When Black men were lynched, the mobs would often torture them before hanging them, cutting off sexual parts of their anatomy in particular. When Black women were lynched, they were often raped first.

Ida B. Wells-Barnett, an activist and writer during this time, spoke openly against rape and did not defend Black men who were, in fact, guilty of rape. But after she researched and investigated 728 lynchings that had taken place during the 1890s, she found that only a third of murdered Black people were even accused of rape, much less guilty of it. Spurred by her investigation, hundreds of Black activists at the time, (including the NAACP and Black intellectuals) developed an anti-lynching movement for which activists were burned out of their homes and businesses, run out of town, and murdered.

In my assessment of the anti-lynching movement, I never stopped to look at the moment as an anti-rape movement because the goal of these activists were not specifically to end rape, but to end lynching. Nonetheless, it is so profoundly an anti-rape movement because the theory and activism work the organizers produced challenged all forms of racialized sexual violence. Deconstructing the myth that Black men are overwhelmingly “more desirous” of white women was critical in order for white women to eventually reflect on the sexual violence being done to them by white men as well as their own sexual freedom. Most importantly the anti-lynching movement forced America’s hand in recognizing that other manifestations of oppression are inseparably linked to sexual violence. There is no genuine way to discuss rape and organize against rape without being committed to deconstructing complex ways that race, ability, religion, age, economics, and sexuality are integrated into rape.

This next phase of anti-rape organizing in the 21st century must be able to hold on to the complexity of rape culture with all of its degrees of oppression. The time for thinking about rape as merely a tool of male domination is over. We must be able to mindfully articulate spaces where anti-rape organizing is inseparably linked to organizing against police brutality, for labor rights, and for immigration rights. And we must show up to these other types of organizing work as allies moving towards liberation.

September 16, 2010December 21, 2013 guest contributor Commentary

Is the phrase” No Homo” a form of gay bashing?

Is the phrase” No Homo” a form of gay bashing
By Qaadir Morris

Hip Hop has coined many words and phrases since its arrival into the homes of mainstream America. Hip Hop introduced to the world words like; “Shawty, Bru, and Real Talk” just to name a few. Youth have always been receptive to the style and originality of Hip Hop, and the lingo being utilized in songs can be found in neighborhoods all across the country. The influence of Hip Hop on pop culture has been criticized over and over again by many who do not have an understanding of the culture. The usage of the terms “bitches and hoes” have been condemned for quite sometime. These words are considered offensive and demeaning because they subjugate the value of black woman in our society. If that is the case is it fair to say that you can add the phrase “No Homo” to the list? Is the phrase “No Homo” a form of gay bashing?

The phrase “No Homo” originated in Harlem during the mid 90’s. The phrase was brought to the limelight by the rapper Camron who is the founder of The Diplomats. In the hyper masculine artistry which is Hip Hop homosexuality is not embraced. In Hip Hop holding true to masculinity is so important that stating your sexual preference is essential to the longevity of a lot of rappers. In some instances acts of extreme testosterone can propel an artist to superstardom. A rapper gets arrested or doing something that is equivalent to being a “street nigga” can propel him to rare air only occupied by a few. (Check out 50 Cent or even Gucci Mane if you don’t believe me) For example if a male were to say “I love you” to his friend he has to follow with “No Homo” before the statement is taken out of context. Is it really “homo” to show love to your fellow man or woman if they are of the same gender?

The phrase “No Homo” has evolved from its origins in Harlem. You can now hear many artists using the phrase. Lil Wayne has used the phrase on one of his biggest singles to date. On the platinum selling single Lil Wayne starts the track off by saying “No Homo.” If Wayne didn’t start the track off like that would he have been looked at differently? This was around the time that the infamous picture of Wayne kissing Baby dropped.

Before the kiss do you think they told each other “No Homo”? The song “Lollipop” is light in content and harmonic in a more feminine way, so I’m sure gay men and women alike were in the club going crazy over the record. Kanye West and Soulja Boy have also used the phrase on some of there latest material. If you listened to the first single off of Jay Z’s Blueprint 3 “Run This Town” I’m pretty sure you can recall Ye’s verse. “It’s crazy how you can go from being Joe Blow/ to everybody on your d*** no homo.” Soulja Boy has even used the phrase. “I’m pretty boy swaggin in the club I feel sexy, (no homo) No homo shawty but my chest is straight flexin.”

One person in particular has already spoken out on the vernacular. Dr. Marc Lamont Hill wants the word to cease and desist. Dr. Hill is a television personality on Fox News and is an associate professor of education at Teachers College in New York. Dr. Hill states the following to address his views; “More importantly, the no-homo discourse is further evidence of hip-hop’s obsession with queer identity. After all, in order to punctuate even the most sexually non-suggestive sentences with a homophobic disclaimer, one has to constantly be thinking about homosexuality.”

The phrase “No Homo” is widely used and will continue to be used. I spoke to a friend about this saying, and I could understand his rationale behind his viewpoint. “When we as men say “No Homo” I don’t feel as if it is gay bashing. I personally think of it as clarification.” Clarification is important, but I feel that we as men should be comfortable in our own skin. True indeed sexual preferences are that of the individual, but at the same token I feel that we do have to be mindful of our surroundings and the people we say things in front of. Do I bash the phrase “No Homo?” I honestly do not, but I can understand how a person could feel a certain way. The phrase could come off as insensitive and judgmental to a person who practices acts of homosexuality. The phrase “No Homo” is not going to die anytime soon, so I feel that people should take the time to enlighten themselves. What do you think?

July 19, 2010 JAM Aiwuyor Commentary, Race Ethnicity & Culture

How Gay is Your Black?

How Gay is Your Black?

By J.L. Glenn

Both before and after the shackles came off, African Americans have been fighting the battle to learn, love, and even drink water freely. The struggle for freedom through nonviolent protest continues on even today. However, on this path to freedom, it seems as if some have forgotten what the Civil Rights Movement was all about and what the word equality really means. They have forgotten that discrimination does not just apply to race; it applies to all other human rights as well.

On Monday, March 8, 2010, Time Magazine Online published an article entitled, “Being Gay in Uganda: One Couple’s Story,” written by Glenna Gordon. The article is about one lesbian couple’s struggle to be themselves in Uganda, where the social and political climate is hostile towards its GLBT citizens. Gordon writes, “Last year a member of Uganda’s Parliament, David Bahati, introduced a bill that, if it becomes law, will further criminalize homosexuality in Uganda. ‘Aggravated homosexuality,’ according to the bill, will become a capital offense and anyone who doesn’t report a known homosexual within 24 hours will be subject to punishment of up to seven years in jail.”

When did it become socially acceptable for us, as a people, to ignore injustice and allow discrimination? When did it become tolerable for we who were drowned by the firefighter’s hoses, tackled by the bloodhounds, and hung from trees by bigoted men, to stand by and do nothing as others lose their birthright of freedom? At what point, after we gained our freedom, did we decide that it was all right for anyone outside of what we individually deem as “normal” to be subjected to mistreatment? We are all worthy of the same constitutional truths. When did love—the one thing that has brought this world together after war, slavery, genocide and terrorism—become so terribly immoral? When did love become an insufficient fund?

Discrimination is Discrimination and it’s criminal. So the question remains: How Gay is Your Black?

Works Cited

http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,1969667,00.html Monday March 8 2010, Glenna Gordon.

Time magazine in partnership with CNN.

J.L. Glenn is a poet and playwright living in Washington D.C.

July 5, 2010February 7, 2014 guest contributor Commentary, Race Ethnicity & Culture

Is Cocolo the Dominican N-Word?

Is Cocolo the Dominican N-Word?

From Dominican Chronicles Vol 12: “Cocolo By Claudio E. Cabrera

Two weeks ago, I was eating dinner with a group of neighborhood friends. One of my friends is Dominican and he was talking about the color issues amongst us.

We spoke for a bit and it was an interesting conversation. But he used one word that has puzzled me forever: ‘Cocolo.’

He said: ‘I’m a Cocolo.’

I didn’t really know how to react to it because he embraced the word and saw no issue with it. Plus, it was the first time I heard someone of my complexion call himself that (he’s actually a few shades lighter).

Throughout life, friends, family members and my own ears told me that word is offensive. I hear it at restaurants, on trains, and in barber shops when talking about someone who is Black. I’m sure some of my readers have heard it and either cringed or wondered what it meant.

Here is one definition I found online:

COCOLO

Now, whenever I hear the word it’s in two contexts – a bad one and a harmless/proud one.

‘Maldito Cocolo’ (Damn Black)

‘Eso cocolos me tienen cansao’ (I’m tired of Blacks)

Then its used in a way that doesn’t sound so harmful.

Que eres tu? Yo soy un cocolo (I’m a Black)

Que era el hombre? Un Cocolo. (He was Black)

From the definitions and examples I provided you, you’ll see that it can be used as a prideful word or perceived as a hateful one. Thing is, I’ve only heard one person say it in a prideful way my whole life. Most of the time I hear it, it’s used in a negative sentence.

One day, I pressed one of my friends about it and he said: ‘It’s not the N word. It’s just a way of calling people who are your complexion. Sort of like Gringo.’

I’ve never said Cocolo in my life (not once), but I have said Morenito to describe someone of my skin color whether Spanish speaking or not. I shouldn’t be using that word because it’s offensive in nature as well.

But Moreno lost its negative connotation with me. I’ve been called a ‘Morenito’ by my Grandma and others close to me. I never looked at the word Moreno as an offensive word because I felt it described people of my complexion – and I guess when I heard it – I heard it from people close to me so never took offense (wasn’t said in an offensive manner either).

Whenever they say it it’s: “Mi Moreno tan bello o mi Moreno tan buen mozo.” (Handsome/Beautiful)

But I’m here to say that both Cocolo and Moreno are both negative to me. Whether they are to you, is on you. But I’ve had Black friends and other Latino friends of my complexion ask me what I thought about it. My dad said he doesn’t accept Moreno or Cocolo now or when he was growing up in DR. He says call me a Negro. My Uncle let’s people call him Moreno all the time and doesn’t have an issue.

I just think if you’re Latino, you should call people ‘Negro’ which is the equivalent of Black. I would say ‘Afro-Americano,’ but some people are too lazy to say so many words.

I know this was a bit confusing, but it’s because it’s almost like the N word. Some Blacks say it to each other, but aren’t too fond of other races saying it. In most cases, cocolo is used to describe American Blacks. But what makes it extra confusing is that it’s used by Dominicans to describe other Dominicans or any other Black who is Latino.

This stuff gives me a headache and I’m sure it provides you with one too.

*Pops an Advil*

Have a good weekend…

Source

About the Author:

Claudio E. Cabrera

is a 26 year-old award-winning writer based out of the Inwood (Northern Manhattan) section of New York City.

He’s a son of Dominican immigrants and graduate of Brooklyn College, which the Princeton Review recently coined “The Poor Man’s Harvard” in their 2008 Best Colleges Edition. Cabrera graduated in 2008 with a Bachelors Degree in Journalism.

In 2005, Cabrera began his journey in journalism. He’s written for community newspapers, daily’s, and magazines. He’s profiled the likes of Shaquille O’ Neal, Alonzo Mourning, Mayor Michael Bloomberg and Rev. Al Sharpton to name a few.

June 28, 2010December 21, 2013 guest contributor Commentary, Popular Discussions

The Mind of A Recovering Misogynist

Inside-The-Minds — Photo Credit: iStockphoto

I, at one time in my young life, hated women. Hate is such a strong word, but it is appropriate for expressing how I felt at a time in my life. I despised women for their naïveté, and their false pretenses that would come off as “lame” to me. These false pretenses strayed far from the reality in which I lived in. A façade that came to be known as life’s mascara hiding ones true blemishes made me believe that all women were nothing more than rugs that needed to be stepped on. I quite naturally gravitated to the idea of being a user, and an abuser, because as a man, or so I thought that is ultimately what we do to women. In the society we currently live in, mainstream America tells many like I that our manhood is predicated by our ability to be dominant and in control. I applied that rationale to how I dealt with the woman in my life. I came to realize that if I had a little bit of power,( money, cars, clothes) equals that women would be more receptive to me. It was not until I started going through some things that I was made aware of my misogynistic ways. Then I came to the conclusion that I, Qaadir Morris was a misogynist.

Misogyny derives from the Greek word “misogunia” which means hatred of woman. I did not become aware of this word until recently. The only thing that I knew was that I had a strong dislike of women. I was reading a book that I recommend to all young black males titled “Who’s Gonna Take The Weight” by Kevin Powell. One chapter in particular talked about his feeling of resentment towards women. It seemed comparable to my own preconceived notions that I began to truly analyze my mentality and myself. I was firm in my masculinity, but I grew wary of a woman getting close to me. I feared the idea of being looked at a certain way, and I feared the idea of being disappointed. I thought that because I did not have certain things going for me anymore that the women that I would come in contact with would not care for my issues. My preconceived notions would lead me to do the same, so henceforth I would try to get what I could from a woman.

I attribute my mentality at that stage of life to my upbringing. As a lot of us from urban communities, I too came from a single parent household. I love and cherish my mother, but there were times when even she would fall into the sight of my misogynistic views. I always wondered why my dad was never around. Why is it that he didn’t want anything to do with me? I formed this thought in my mind that it was my mother’s fault for him not being there. She must have pissed him off to the point of no return. As I reached my teenage years I strongly felt that it was her, and not my dad that caused us to never meet. As I matriculated through high school, and started to develop my own ideologies I could understand why my dad left us. Hell, I would have left if I had to deal with my mom on that level. With age and experience I now know that I again was wrong with my feelings.

Being from “Urban America” the streets played a big role in my misogynistic views. In the hood, all you really have is your manhood, and it is determined by your style, your lingo, and of course by how many women you can sleep with. The music that I digested, played a big role in my misogynistic ways. My friends and I would begin to apply what we learned from Master P and the whole Cash Money click in our day-to-day lives. We wanted to be hood rich and began to use choice words like “bitches and hoes” to describe the women in our neighborhood and at school. The crazy part about this is that I was genuinely a good guy. I had manners, and to some I was too “nice” to the ladies. This idea of being “nice” blew me too, because again I thought that women did not want to be respected. Because I would talk to them in a respectable manner and get played to the left, where as the guy who would feel on them and talk disrespectful to them would get the girl. I had no choice but to switch the swag because I wanted the girls. My rude and egotistical mannerisms had to show brighter than my intelligence if I wanted to be considered cool with the ladies, or so I thought.

I am a recovering misogynist. I can honestly say that I know longer despise women. Of course there is still room for growth, but I am now more aware than I have ever been. I do not claim to know it all, but I am aware of my flaws and that is a good thing. I believe that as a man we get so caught up in the material things in the world that we feel we have to buy our piece of love and happiness. I can’t say that I never flexed, because honestly I did. Maybe it is just the caliber of women that I was meeting that led me to believe these things. If I change my surroundings, I will get different results in my interactions. It comes down to being secure with who you are and knowing where you are going. I am not yet completely healed from the plague that a lot of us men face which is misogyny, but I am man enough to address the issue. What do you think?

Qaadir Morris is a journalist born and raised in the great city of Atlanta, Georgia. Morris is a recent graduate of Shaw University, located in Raleigh, North Carolina. Currently writing on a freelance level, Morris has interviewed the likes of T.I, and Andrew Young just to name a few. Qaadir is currently working on a novel titled “Schools Out”, which focuses on the trials and tribulations of a recent college graduate. In his artistic expression, Mr. Morris wishes to convey a sense of reality through words. “Writing for me has always been therapeutic”, says Mr. Morris. “Writing is like raising children; you have to instill structure yet give them space to grow and develop a personality.” As he continues to evolve Morris is also working on completing another novel by the end of the year, and organizing a series of events in the Metro Atlanta area.

June 20, 2010 JAM Aiwuyor Commentary

Daddy’s Journey…

Daddy’s Journey… By Timothy Aaron-Styles

If it were possible, many—possibly most—of us would revisit days gone by in order to change past experiences. Armed with the benefits of life lessons learned and wisdom gained from tripping, falling, slipping, stumbling, hurting, being hurt, losing and suffering. I’d go back to make different choices, select different paths, undo certain actions and do many of those things not done—things I really should have done.

Case in point: if I could go back, I would be there for my daughter. I know “be there” is such an abstract term. However, my “be there” has real definition and criteria now. Way back then, back in the days, my concept of “be there” was skewed. Maturity and wisdom arrived at by living and learning hadn’t really manifested itself to me then. Simply put, in other words, I was young and immature.

Of course, I didn’t know it then and I wasn’t listening to those wise elders—some friends, some relatives, some associates and sometimes even strangers—who constantly advised me about how and why I should “be there” for my daughter. Somewhere in my then warped mind, I believed that an occasional phone call made to her or a period African doll sent as a gift was enough for “my little African girl”. Sad.

My daughter needed me to be there to love her. Not in some pseudo-intellectual way nor with mere lip service but by taking care of her. By contributing positively to her unfolding. Her growth. Her development.

Be there. There’s that phrase again. But it’s not the skewed “be there” I refer to. It’s the one whose understanding I have arrived at, finally, through prayer, reflection, tears, struggle, and contemplation.

I should have been there to meet my financial obligations. That’s one of the first and most important responsibilities owed to a child by an absent parent. Money helps provide comfort, joyful experiences, clean and fitting clothes, mind-expansive books, train or bus fare to Nana and Poppy’s house, cultural exposure, a full belly and other creature comforts essential to a healthy and wholesome life experience for a growing child.

I should have been there for my daughter for guidance, protection, support, laughter, encouragement and advice.

I should have been there to listen, cry, tease and joke—To offer my shoulders, my back, my arms and my chest.

I should have been there to hold, snuggle, run, jump, skip and play.

I should have been there, during those formative years, to admonish, discipline, consult or shame (in the African sense of the word where shame is used to enlighten and correct not to demean).

I should have been there like my father and mother were. However imperfect they were.

I should have been there silently if need be. Just to be there so she can see me.
Little girls—and big daughters—need their daddy’s ya’ll.

I can’t go back and recapture that invaluable time although I want to so desperately. Strangely I have fond and precious memories of times and situations between she and I that are non-existent. Is that my mind’s way of rationalizing my absence? Or is it my imagination helping me to not be so sad, guilty and self-condemnatory?

Knowing full well that the past is irretrievable, I’d settle for my twenty-something daughter to embrace me now. To speak with me openly and freely. Hold me—kiss me and affectionately refer to me as “daddy” or “Baba” instead of by my first name.

However, her reluctance to, and the likelihood that a relationship between us will never be, are the fruits of my deeds and misdeeds. All results of my actions and inactions. Products of my immaturity and stupidity. Life’s wisdom has enlightened me.

All I can do now is hope one day my little girl—I’m sorry—my grown daughter can somehow find it in her heart and mind to understand and forgive me. Then maybe she’ll bless me with her time and her love.

All I can do now is share with others and say: daughters need their daddy’s ya’ll. To my brothers—love your daughters and be there for them for real. They need you and you need them.

Maybe, just maybe, I’m on the road now to being a wise elder myself. Somebody tell my daughter.

Daddy’s Journey…
By Timothy Aaron-Styles