HBO Max On The Record Presents Dear Sisters: Examining Allyship and Masculinity in the Black Community. Moderated By: Jay Connor Panelists: Ebro Darden, Jidenna & Tiq Milan
When we say this among ourselves, the implication is understood. But since we now live in a world rife with brand spanking new “allies,” that phrase likely requires an explanation. Racism is exhausting, which, in turn, means white people are inherently exhausting too. Every single day of our lives, we’re either exposed to racism, recovering from it or suffering from the paranoia and anxiety of waiting for it to inevitably resurface.
My hope is that On the Record wakes our community up, but more specifically, that it inspires black men to assess our roles as active participants in the destruction of black women. To reflect on our mistakes, hold ourselves accountable and challenge each other to elevate our queens instead of constantly tearing them down or remaining indifferent to their plight. To that end, it’s equally important that we emerge from the shadows and provide the same unwavering public support that we’ve received throughout our lives as though it’s our birthright.
The coronavirus doesn’t just ravage the body of those infected; it wreaks havoc on all those in proximity to it. It plays on the minds of those who, while not suffering from the actual disease, are caring for those who are. COVID-19's alarming infection and death rates bring with it the weight of uncertainty and the fear of unpredictability and the soft whisper of, “God, please don’t let it be me.”
It’s an uncomfortable truth that’s not only intrinsic to the band’s ascension into rock royalty, but to the soul of the music they revolutionized. If punk is rooted in discomfort and conflict, then what would Bad Brains be without it? And more importantly, what would the musical landscape be without Bad Brains?
I recall being both appalled and aghast upon waking up the next morning to this horrifying news and wishing there was something—anything—I could do to alleviate the anguish and fear that threatened to unravel so many of my friends. But in my efforts to be supportive, I also realized that I was operating out of sympathy instead of empathy—much like white folks do when they feign concern for our well-being but aren’t willing to forfeit their privilege—and got called out for it.
In delving into the rotted core of the Big Apple, very few details are spared over the course of four mesmeric episodes. We bear witness to a lead prosecutor who ignores her moral objections in favor of convicting children she knows are innocent. We bristle as investigators pervert and contort the truth, causing families to burst at the seams. We watch helplessly as trauma engulfs the serenity of Black Boy Joy, and the promise of tomorrow becomes the gruesome scars of yesterday. As such, it’s a lot to endure. Almost too much.
Yet be it pride, narcissism, mental illness, or otherwise, Kanye genuinely believes he’s somehow acting in the best interest of black progress while basking in his starring role as Trump’s ventriloquist dummy.
Prior to COVID-19 ruining everyone’s lives, attendance was abysmal—the WNBA had it’s lowest attendance in league history in 2018 and drew even smaller crowds in 2019—and the league has long been criticized for its meager wages (that require even its superstars to play overseas during the offseason), embarrassing accommodations and a host of other issues not befitting of some of the most talented and influential athletes in the entire world.
“I think it’s a beautiful thing right now that Black women are being able to be unapologetic about their excellence and being unapologetic about their intelligence,” Champion said. “It’s not an anomaly, it’s very common. And now the world gets to see how common it is for us to actually lead the conversation. I can’t think of any other show that has two Black women leading the conversation."
Legal victories of this nature are typically cause for celebration, but in this instance, there’s nothing to celebrate. The reputation of a once-lauded magazine is in shambles, and while many have taken the time to dance on the site of Ebony’s premature grave, others like myself have flowers in hand—mourning the precarious state of black media and our respect for a magazine that was once the epicenter of black pride.
“I think most of the stories I’ve read growing up were always about black girls,” she told The Root during an interview with selected press. “I’m always looking at coming-of-age black girl stories like [The Bluest Eye’s] Pecola Breedlove. [...] So sitting in the room with Tarell was the first time I thought, “Wow. You know, I really don’t know very much about black boys. And nor have I ever actually thought very much about black boys.”
Every great story has an even better villain. Marvel’s Cinematic Universe has Thanos, the United States has President ‘China Virus’ and HBO’s riveting documentary, The Scheme, trots out 25-year-old Christian Dawkins; a basketball prodigy-turned-business manager who was sentenced in October for attempting to funnel collegiate superstars to his sports management company after turning pro.
Every lofty expectation that "Avengers: Infinity War" established in the pantheon of superhero cinema, "Avengers: Endgame" eclipses. There isn’t a glimpse of prior benchmarks to be found. The Russo Brothers’ latest foray into the Marvel Cinematic Universe swallows them whole.
To those in the business of digital media and entertainment, Combat Jack—known to his inner circle as Reggie Ossé—was often seen as a mythological figure; a deity of sorts who was not only instrumental to the rise of the Roc-A-Fella and Bad Boy Records empires, but also forged his own podcast network, the Loud Speakers Network.
In all, with his vague responses, political correctness and questionable motives in light of his about-face during Colin Kaepernick’s exile, Jay-Z didn’t do a particularly good job at differentiating himself from the corporate shills that we’ve historically lambasted as a community. One of the best examples of this occurred when he was asked if he would kneel or stand during the National Anthem in light of his new partnership with the NFL.
In fact, these days, depending upon who you ask, with the introduction of #MeToo, the burgeoning primacy of the feminist sect and everything in between, the concept of masculinity is either under siege or the harbinger of doom. So for every corrosive, hypermasculine ideology — such as our president’s insistence that it’s “a very scary time for young men in America” after Associate Justice Brett Kavanaugh cried his way through his eventual Supreme Court confirmation — there’s a Lynzy Lab ready and willing to correct the course. And while the chorus of “men are trash” has blossomed into a popular refrain reaped from South African respectability politics, there are valued intellects like author Damon Young who unequivocally nod their heads in agreement.
And that’s when I realized the clear distinction between sympathy and empathy. How white people sympathize with our plight, but don’t bear it. How they can turn away and excuse themselves from the grim realities of our perpetual suffering without batting an eye. How they don’t identify with our love affair with Frankie Beverly and Maze or our box braids, so our “anguish” is dismissed as a misnomer.
It’s a simple equation that becomes more and more urgent by the day: Black women notoriously hold it down in elections, but if Joe Biden is going to emerge triumphant in November, he’s gonna need Black men to show up and show out at the polls—the same way we did for Barak Obama in 2008 and 2012, and didn’t for Hilary Clinton in 2016.
You still upset about the headline? You can bitch and moan all you want, but your team still ain’t winning shit. So once you’re done with your temper tantrum, I’ll happily explain why.
