I recently followed you and noticed that you seem Christian. You also seem to be conscious and aware of plights Black folk face. Why do you continue to adopt a religious structure that was forced upon your ancestors in order to make them better slaves?
because i am a Christian, which means my relationship is with my God and not the white men that perverted my religion to rape murder and kill black people.
it sounds like you have a very rudimentary understanding of Christianity if you somehow think that my religion and my faith is in conflict with my life’s dedication to black uplift. It would be ridiculous to judge a religion by the evils of man when the whole point of religion is to focus on God and spirituality.
I am a Christian because I have a relationship with my God. It was not forced on me, I chose to be a Christian. I also choose to actually learn about my religion, so I both know that
Christianity was in Africa before white people “brought” it there
Christianity may have been a tool white people used to keep us down but it has also been a way for black people to lift ourselves up
barbara park, the author of that junie b jones series you probably read in kindergarten and first grade, died today. i feel like it’s necessary to make a post about this because those books are some of the first i consciously remember reading and that inspired me to find joy in books. and it’s honestly just really sad because i loved those books okay everyone come be sad now
It is a complicated thing to be young, black, and male in America. Not only are you well aware that many people are afraid of you—you can see them clutching their purses or stiffening in their subway seats when you sit across from them—you must also remain conscious of the fact that people expect you to be apologetic for their fear. It’s your job to be remorseful about the fact that your very nature makes them uncomfortable, like a pilot having to apologize to a fearful flyer for being in the sky.
If you’re a black man and you don’t remain vigilant of and obsequious to white people’s panic in your presence—if you, say, punch a man who accosts you during dinner with your girlfriend and screams “Nigger!” in your face, or if you, say, punch a man who is following you without cause in the dark with a handgun at his side—then you must be prepared to be arrested, be beaten, be shot through the heart and lung and die on the way home to watch a basketball game with your family. And after you are dead, other blacks should be prepared for people to say you are a vicious thug who deserved it. You smoked weed, for instance, and got in some fights at school (like I did)—obviously you had it coming. You were a ticking time bomb, and sooner or later someone was going to have to put you down.
To stay alive and out of jail, brown and black kids learn to cope. They learn to say, “Sorry, sir,” for having sandwiches in the wrong parking lot. They learn, as LeVar Burton has, to remove their hats and sunglasses and put their hands up when police pull them over. They learn to tolerate the indignity of strange, drunken men approaching them and calling them and their loved ones a bunch of niggers. They learn that even if you’re willing to punch a harasser and face the consequences, there’s always a chance a police officer will come to arrest you, put you face down on the ground, and then shoot you execution style. Maybe the cop who shoots you will only get two years in jail, because it was all a big misunderstanding. You see, he meant to be shooting you in the back with his taser.
Trayvon Martin is dead—and so many young men like him are dead or in prison—because in America it was his responsibility to take it. It was his responsibility to let a stranger with a gun follow him at night in his own neighborhood and suspect him of wrongdoing. It was his responsibility to apologize for being a black kid who scared people. It was not George Zimmerman’s responsibility to let a boy get home to his family.