Why I Hate The Internet: The Game (rapper) and His Wayward Fingers

Technology has been a blessing. We can do things now that we couldn’t do 5, 10, and 15 years ago. One of those things is wide access to the internet and social media. For all its good, though, one of the worst things about these advances is that anybody can post anything no matter how wrong it is and they’ll have an audience that believes they’re right and agrees with them. Now, that may seem like a strange thing to say coming from a blogger, but it’s simply the truth. I mean, I get on here and talk shit all the time. Love it, hate it. It is what it is.

But what I cannot…will not let slide are statements like that in the following screenshot made by famous rapper The Game (government name, Jayceon Taylor):

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Of course, my first reaction was something along the lines of, “If he doesn’t shut the fuck up right now..!” My second reaction was something snarky like, “They don’t think past Friday, so why would they plan for next Thursday?!” My last reaction, the one that matters, was to point out the lack of fact of his statement.

Let’s back up though and analyze the post for what it is. It’s steeped in a type of misogynoir that overlooks the harm perpetrated against Black women and girls by Black men. It overlooks the violence perpetrated by Black women and girls by non-Black men. It’s the kind of misogynoir that has allowed the Chicago illiterate who shall not be named to continually violate Black women and girls and go unchecked for well over two decades. Similar to the racists who claim Black people have it “easy” because of food stamps, it seeks to give credence to a self-made plight by pretending that Black women have no plight whatsoever.

Now that that’s out of the way, I want to take some time to school Mr. Taylor. According to the Violence Policy Center citing numbers from the Federal Bureau of Investigation, as of 2016, Black women were nearly always murdered by someone that they know and usually with a gun.

The study goes on to say this: Compared to a black male, a black female is far more likely to be killed by her spouse, an intimate acquaintance, or a family member than by a stranger. Where the relationship could be determined, 91 percent of black females killed by males in single victim/single offender incidents knew their killers. Of the black victims who knew their offenders, 58 percent were wives, common-law wives, ex-wives, or girlfriends of the offenders. More than 10 times as many black females were murdered by a male they knew than were killed by male strangers.”

Further, an 18-year perusal by the CDC of 18 states found that while the nationwide rate of female homicide was 2 per 100,000, for Black women, it was 4.4 per 100,000.

And we may as well talk about sexual violence, too. Black women are disproportionately prone to being victims of sexual violence.

What’s telling is that one of the risk factors for sexual violence against women is a sense of hostility towards women. The Game is in an industry known for every third word being a pejorative for women (Black women, in particular) like, “bitch” or “hoe.”

One of the community risk factors for violence against women is the tolerance of sexual violence. I just finished pointing out that “the community” allowed the Pied Piper of Pedophilia run roughshod over Black women and girls for over two decades (closer to 3, really).

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I hate to break it to The Game and all the other Black men who think Black women are walking around doing Irish clicks over puddles like Fred Astaire, totally secure, but we are probably more at danger than you are. I’ll tell you why very shortly.

But, while we’re here (insert sarcastic smirk), let’s talk about this violence that renders you all unable to make plans a week away. That violence? Yeah, that violence is perpetuated by you all as well. I’m certain I don’t need to say any more on that.

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So to recap: y’all kill us (and our children). Y’all kill each other. Do Black women a favor and stop trying to drag us into what is clearly your own maladaptive pathology. If you can’t make plans for next Thursday, look to your left and your right while you’re in the studio laying phat beats, (or, you know, a mirror), and you’ll see the reasons why.

 

The Black Girls’ Plight: Stressed Is Better Than Sensitive

This blog is going to be a little different. It’s not going to be one of my rousing witty critiques. Yet, I think it’s necessary.

With that said, this blog is dedicated to every Black girl, 8 to 80, who has ever been stifled, ignored, abused, shouted down, wrongly accused, unprotected, and antagonized; and didn’t have the love, support, voice or power to stop it.

Recently, a fellow blogger friend, LaFemme Aequitas, and I were talking about platonic relationships. We discussed friendships, upbringings, familial relationships, etc…In particular, we talked about how biology is often used as an excuse (more like bargaining chip) to tether us to people who are not good for us.

Many people are raised to put family over everything. It doesn’t matter that Uncle Henry nearly blinded you with a low ball glass while in a drunken rage when you were 8…and 12…and 14…and 18, he’s still Uncle Henry. It’s not a big deal that your parents either engaged in or shrugged off verbal, mental, physical, or emotional abuse or neglect. They’re still your parents and although you had no choice in that whatsoever, you still owe them reverence ‘cause 8 hours of labor and food on the table.

The Baby Boomer generation has been far more willing to overlook familial mismanagement in the name of honoring their elders. That’s their choice. But, the unintended consequence was that by repressing their parents’ bullshit, they visited that same bullshit upon their children, also known as GenX/Xennials/Millennials. Not only that, but they expect us to respond in the same docile way they did. They want us to make nice…bygones…fughettaboutit! At worst, they’ll just act like there were no problems. They wish to uphold the belief that parent-child respect is a one-way proposition that always leaves children empty-handed.

Welcome to the Terrordome. Because these days it’s easier to access people for support or collect information to help make sense of things, the cat has been let out of the bag. The youngins don’t feel like they have to force a fake grin anymore. We know what gaslighting and manipulation is. We can easily determine the narcissists among us. We recognize the hypocrites regardless of the masks they wear. We’re not afraid to say that if Aunt Marie is coming to Thanksgiving dinner, we aren’t coming. We know that there’s a fly in the milk and that simply pouring out the milk won’t be enough. The whole glass has to be thrown away. We have definitive criteria about who needs to be #cancelled, blood ties or not.

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I posted this yesterday on my personal Facebook page:

Trust

LaFemme Aequitas calls it “dark wisdom.” I call it discernment; the ability to pick up the energy that people emit and whether or not they are safe to be around. When I say safe, I don’t mean a general safety but whether or not they should be allowed to freely occupy your own space based on what it takes to keep you at peace.

As a Black woman who used to be a Black girl, I have found that operating in that discernment or any type of sensitivity can be a hard journey; especially when dealing with family. Black girls are always either “angry,” “crazy,” or “bitter.” You have a “bad attitude” and are “disrespectful.” Even the people who know for a fact that the things you perceive are true, will quickly label you as the negative one. You cannot be hurt, offended, or upset by anything. Any suggestion that you may be right about something being wrong will be used to try to lambaste you instead. Believing that you are entitled to the same respect that the living thorn in your ass (and their defenders) think they’re entitled to will get you swiftly ostracized or reprimanded. What happens if the person or situation you’re discerning is related to you? You should expect a double dose. What happens if the person or situation you’re discerning involves a male? Expect a triple dose. You’ll get proof of the existence of unicorns before anybody defends you without conditions.

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So, what to do?

Preserve yourself. To some, you are overly-sensitive. Some will say you are carrying a bone or grudge. But, I have found that in many instances, carrying that bone will save you. You don’t have to forget a damn thing. You don’t have to “get over” shit. It’s not your obligation to make people feel comfortable while they trespass your boundaries and then, have the gall to try to indict you. You are allowed to give it with the same intensity with which you get/got it. You’re allowed to ignore them. You are allowed to completely divest. You can disallow them entry into your physical or emotional space. You are not an emotional workhorse. Anyone….ANYONE who suggests that you should be is your adversary and is deserving of your scrutiny.

Inner peace is one of the most precious things that anybody can have. Do whatever you have to do to regain or protect yours.

To the people who may feel indicted by this piece, that means you’re either guilty of this behavior or have stood by and watched another adult do it and didn’t intervene, making you complicit.

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Quick story: The other day, while on an errand at Target, someone stole my front license plate. So all weekend, I’ve had to worry about driving and not getting a ticket since the registration office was closed. I’ve had to figure out what time to get to the registration office to beat the crowds. I had to wait for the police to call me back to take a report. I had to call the tollway authority and be placed on hold. I worried about whether or not the tollway authority would accept just a report number or if I’d have to go downtown, get a paper report and fax it in. I’ve wondered what kind of mischief the thief planned to do under my plate (and therefore, my name) all weekend before I could get it changed. The person who stole my license plate? They didn’t have to worry about shit all weekend. They probably slapped my plate on their car and hit the streets all weekend. They probably kicked back with a beer and a sandwich and watched the fight with glee. They may have even sold it and made a little cash. I have vowed to never visit that particular Target again.

I’m sure you get my point. The emotional, mental and physical toll it takes for children of all ages to fabricate problems that don’t/didn’t exist or exaggerate how those issues affect them isn’t worth it just to bring someone down or garner attention. The victims always pay the highest price. They don’t get to relax. They don’t get to forget. They don’t get to pretend. Do what you should have been doing all along: listen and listen from an honest place. If you feel offended, deal. How do you think they’ve been feeling?  Had you been paying attention, you’d know. Willful denial will not help the situation either (“I don’t know why she/he _____”).

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But, alas, nobody can make you care. Just know that childhood is when we learn who to trust and how to trust. Don’t disqualify yourself in the name of pride.

I end this blog the way I began it: to all the Black girls, 8 to 80, who had to put up with more than they should have, who never received validation, and whose souls have never gotten a chance to fully heal, I believe you and I’m sorry.

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