Blind I | The Boutique Music Blog | Quality Over Quantity.

ACOTM: Modern Woman

What it do? I hope y’all are enjoying this beautiful weather (seventy degrees and the skies look clear/feel so good like Davina in here) and the rest of the Columbus Day Rape and Pillage Day Blind-I Birthday weekend.

I’m not gonna lie, I was apprehensive about writing this. No matter how strong your spirit, no matter how convicted you may be, it’s virtually impossible to not be somewhat phased by the bitterness and hatred spread by those who don’t bask in the light of truth, uplift and progress. But I can’t stop, ’cause I won’t stop. No testimony without a test, punks jump up to get beatdown, so on and so forth.

The door is quickly closing on 2007. We are a long way from Fredrick and Sojourner, Martin and Coretta, Bobby and Erica. Yet, we have yet to place any significant distance between ourselves and oppression, self-hatred and disenfranchisement. We have yet to do anything to heal the rift between Black men and women, created oh-so-deliberately by the oppressor and kept alive by the prison system, the Black church, Viacom, public schools, etc.

You know what else? America, as a whole, has failed to reconcile the impact of feminism, a burgeoning misogyny and allegiance/proclivity to “traditional” gender roles. As you can see, it runs a lot deeper than questions of who pays for dinner and when should a lady “give it up”. As our parents’ generation failed to identify working definitions of “male” and “female”, we are scrambiling to define ourselves in a culture that has pitted us against one another. In a nutshell: it’s all fucked up.

The old models either are outmoded or didn’t work in the first place. While I give all praises due to the spirits of Coretta and Sister Betty, I can’t create my activist-self in their image ’cause it ain’t me. Furthermore, I am representative of the new Black feminism, and we reject the notion that women can only be defined in two ways: saint or whore. My crew can’t go for that, un-unh, no can do.

Real feminism is not negated by a passion for high heels, lip gloss and lace, nor is is it rendered void because a woman may chief, swear, drink or fuck. And yes, you can be vigilant against misogyny and still recognize that all your sisters ain’t worthy of the title. So here’s to the RBG’s: the Real Black and Brown girls who are mighty and motherly, sexy and sisterly, vigilant and but not necessarily virginal. We party, and we have the right to fight. And most importantly, we are HUMAN: no longer “impervious to pain”-Superwomen*,prone to mistakes and always growing and learning. The little boys will cry and clutch at their flaccid manhood, trying to exert some sort of non-existent patriarchal power. The little girls will hate and continue to be the sort of woman that only a little boy could “love”. But real recognizes real, and real men compensated with the love and adoration of fierce, do-right women.

I’m not trying to convince anybody of anything. I’m straight-up telling you. Love it, or leave it alone. But understand that this shit is real.

* Check out Ntozake Shange’s “For Colored Girls Who Considered Suicide When The Rainbow Is Enough” and Michele Wallace’s “Black Macho and the Myth of the Superwoman”. That is, if you’re serious.

DROPPED BY SISTER TOLDJA