We All Got Crabs, Man: The Drag Down Effect


Today, I had to shake my head a lot more than usual. Black people, we have to do better.

Somewhere in the world, a white person is sitting behind his or her computer marveling at the prospect of “Black Twitter,” trying to master the twerk performed by ebony honeys and bookmarking an epic community melee on WorldStar.  

Meanwhile, instead of trying to counter the ratchetry constantly on display (simultaneously for our entertainment and our exploitation), we’ll picking petty battles with EACH OTHER over the digisphere. Look, I’m all for playful boasting and a healthy competition never hurt anyone, but when our negative words overshadows the mission of us functioning with a sense of camaraderie IN FRONT of those who doubt us, that’s just a shame. I say I love my school (HU, You Know!). You throw shots about how we ain’t sh*t and how your educational upbringing makes you superior to us. Honey, you're reaching for low-hanging fruit in the form of ruffling feathers for page views. What you could have done was talk about what makes your university amazing and boast about the quality of black women who attend and/or have graduated from there. Why drag another school through the mud (well, at least try) to big yourself up? Cheap shots about how Morehouse men know how to pick a "real" woman, a Spelman woman? Tuh. As my friend Edwin (@kariukimachine) so eloquently tweeted, “Morehouse men don't even like Spelman girls. They like Morehouse men.” (Bahaha. It was a funny tweet. Sue me.) But when people see us bash each other like this over the ‘net, it's hard to tell if we’re dead serious, we’re trolling for attention or if it’s for play-play. All the dividing lines get murky. All they see is a bunch of tiny little black crustaceans at the bottom of a dusty barrel looking weak as a whole. Are we supposed to be proud of that?

I know some wonderful people who went to Spelman. And Hampton. And Morehouse. And of course Howard. I support them in all that they are doing and the black excellence that they’re representing to the rest of the world. Young professionals killing job interviews and climbing company ladders. Investing and advertising and creating. Entrepreneurs and artists and writers and financial counsels and tech gurus. Future industry behemoths. That’s what I choose to focus all my energy into. You may not agree with what they’re trying to say or even their approach, but you have to support their efforts to make it and put our people in a positive light. Fine, inject your constructive (and sometimes not) criticism publicly, but once you speak, your job is to help them be better. I love to brag about my peers when they do right and when they jump hurdles. Let’s lift each other up so we can stop being the other side of poorly recited joke.

Brothers and sisters: be not only the success story but the support system that you seek. (This will be the only time I get Kunta Kente on you, I promise.)

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Getting Past “Should”

In 2017, I sat in the pews of three churches or the rows of fancy reception halls watching two people in love become one union. And for the weddings I didn’t attend, I saw enough of the ceremony on social media to make me feel like I was there, dodging the thrown bouquet per usual. I always wonder if their special day came close to (or exceeded) what they drummed up in their dreams prior to. Culturally, we joke and say that from youth, us women, prayerful brides-to-be, spend years planning for their weddings, regardless of if the husband part of the equation has been factored in yet. We know the style and cut of engagement rings, possible surprise engagement scenarios, the type of dress and hair, locations and venues, months, seasons, guest lists, table decor, honeymoons, you name it. And it’s a fun and wonderful thing to imagine. I love to chime in to the building of this fantasy as, through age, we inch towards their realities. All my life I’ve wanted to become a best friend turned...
Read more

Whose Life Is This?

my life doesn't feel like my own. it's a funny thing to wake up in the morning, feel around in the darkness with my fingertips, trying to find orientation from the safety of my bed, walk over to the mirror, flick on the lights and see nothing. not literally of course. there i stand, looking back at myself, wiping the crust from my eye corners and staring down a shell. a big ball of empty housed by a brown body prepped for a daily routine of busywork, and a wandering mind, brimming with problems both real and imagined, blocking a purpose.   what am i doing? why am i doing this? wordlessly, the refrain haunts me as i fight morning fatigue, standing soapy under running warm water, fixing eggs and tea, slipping on one shoe then the other, setting foot outside, already looking forward to when that same foot will step back inside the house at the end of the day, and my bed's call will be answered. repeat. i am 28. i am 28 and lost. i am 28 and lost and living like I have to be t...
Read more

Must I Remember?

I keep seeing the ghosts of things I've wanted but could never have. I think I have a knack for preparing people for their next best things. Or, at least it always feels that way. And since this is clearly the era of seeing, remembering--frequently, at that--even when you don't want to, I suffer. Memories real and hypothetical wring at my insides. I saw a Him I wanted once in the train station today. He still looked like the gentleman that I knew him to be. Button down shirt, slim jeans, dress boots. Tall and lanky with the swagger of a Harlem trumpeter. A quirky tangle of locks that had nearly doubled in length since we were last in each other's midst. Engaged. Invisibly, of course. You can't tell on the outside--the She was not there--but I know. Thanks to the joy and unwanted charity of social media, and that we remained "friends" on one the most visual platforms of our generation, I see constant proof that the flame I'd hoped for three or so years ag...
Read more