A Word or Two In Defense of Black Women

A Word or Two In Defense of Black Women

SweetTee
Hashtag Black

I don’t know when it happened, but someone declared it open season on black women and shots are being fired with extreme prejudice. I can’t tell you the last day I went without reading or hearing some pathetically unfunny joke about black women, but I can tell you this – I’m sick of it. I am tired of Black women being the butt of jokes that belittle, demean and devalue us. It upsets me most because a lot of those jokes are being made by Black men who, if no one else, should understand the value of Black women. So “brothers,” this is my open letter to you.

 

Before writing this piece, I was tempted to say that I don`t care about Black men who hate Black women, simply because I feel that if you can`t appreciate me for what I am, beyond what stereotypes or appearances suggest, it’s really your loss. But in the case of the degradation of Black women, this is too widespread to ignore and I feel obligated to care. 

We're Mad Now: Why Social Media Activism Matters

We're Mad Now: Why Social Media Activism Matters

SweetTee
Hashtag Black

I was standing at the bathroom sink with my Lysol spray bottle in my hand when I first found out about the Zimmerman verdict. If I’d been cleaning instead of procrastinating on my Twitter timeline, I might have delayed the sick, sinking feeling I experienced when I learned that Zimmerman was found not guilty on all charges.  I might have delayed the way my hands shook as I read the tweets of outrage and disbelief. I might have delayed the chill that overtook my body as I saw Zimmerman smile when his attorneys congratulated him. But even if I’d stayed in the bathroom and scrubbed my sink until my hands turned raw, there was no way I could have avoided the news – George Zimmerman, the man who killed a young black kid, not much older than my little brother, was walking free. My heart bled (and still does) for the family of Trayvon Martin.

My immediate reaction was to call my mother, and she listened very quietly as I ranted and raved. Then I took to Twitter to rant and rave some more. I could barely contain my hurt and my anger, and the sympathetic tweets of my counterparts, white, black and otherwise were like fuel to a fire that burned in the pit of my soul. Another black life, gone down the drain, and not a soul was going to suffer for it. How could we not be mad? How could we not be hurt?

Serenity Now! Choosing Peace in the Midst of Chaos

Serenity Now! Choosing Peace in the Midst of Chaos

SweetTee

Yesterday, I woke up and I tweeted this: " Don't ALLOW today to be a bad day. Choose peace. Choose happiness." Of course, as is always the case when I decide to tackle some means of self-improvement, the universe decided my resolve needed to be tested. So, while I got off to a great start, dancing in my kitchen as I scrambled my eggs and glorying in the sunny afternoon on my way out the door, my day started to take an unpleasant turn. The Caribbean restaurant near my house where I intended to get lunch was closed. So was the Chinese take out place. The bus was late, as per usual, and I was a few minutes late to work. I kept reminding myself of my tweet, repeating in my head, "choose peace, choose happiness" like a mantra.

I managed to approach my eight hour shift with a positive attitude, despite my earlier rough patch. But as I worked and chatted with my co-workers , something unpleasant was happening outside my office window. The sky was taking on a nasty dark hue and the trees outside the window were swaying wildly in the high breeze. And then, the sky opened up. At worst, I figured, the rain would make it hard for me to get home from work. That, I soon discovered, was the least of my worries.

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