My Feburary

My Feburary

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..So here we are, on the threshold of another Black History Month. With the overabundance of business advertisements, school programs, and television commercials in all their glory. This is the month America  loosens the noose a little bit as they high-five us while randomly spitting out popular lines from Dr. King’s “I Have a Dream” speech. It’s the safest and coolest month to be Black in America, but it’s also the shortest month though, so don’t get too cozy...not yet at least. On the first of this month, I woke up to my social media timeline telling two different tales. The ones who were proud to celebrate being black and proud out loud all month-long, and the ones who don’t celebrate black history MONTH because they celebrate it all YEAR long. Which is a statement that contradicts itself, but i’ll just let that sit there. This bothered me. It bothered me because it doesn’t make sense, but it really bothered me to see how very alive separatism still is in the black community, and unfortunately, i’m reminded of this more often than i should be. Being black IS a year round experience. And participating in the celebration of Black History Month doesn’t neglect that. Because if you celebrate being black all year-long, and black history month didn't exist, wouldn’t you still be celebrating it anyway?? Every chance we get we find reasons to pin each other against each other. And this hasn’t just started, it's a disease that has plagued the black community for decades,  it's almost like it's embedded in us. We can easily blame generations of institutional racism, but at the same time, at some point in our existence we have to take charge of our own personal accountability when we pointlessly choose petty over positive as the way we interact with each other. Being black is not a dark-skinned thing vs a light-skinned thing. It's not a ghetto vs suburban thing. It’s not a #teamnatural vs #teamwavy thing. How is it that we want to celebrate ourselves in all of our splendor, but as the most diverse race of people on the planet, we find disgust in our own differences. Your black experience is your black experience, no one can take that away from you. We don’t have to constantly create this subconscious struggle amongst each other over who’s the most aware, who’s the most socially connected, who’s 3rd eye is the most opened...because in the process, the pilgrimage of being “woke” is being manifested into a trendy campaign for conspiracy. Our history, and the knowledge we share, shouldn’t be what we use to measure each other’s blackness..it should be used as a bridge built between our capacity as individuals to connect, and a reflection of our power when we come together as a collective, bringing an affirmative and confident sense of self-awareness to the forefront of our communities. We need to eliminate the invisible competition we have among black females AND males in regards to the imaginary standards of Who’s black is better? Who's struggle was harder? We need to release the grip we have on these stereotypes and characteristics that we cling to whenever we feel we have to prove that our experience has been blacker than the next. The progress of a revolution will only come when we recognize and appreciate ourselves as the distinct, diversified demographic that we actually are. Every last one of us. Every last part of us. Every single day of the year. But, in February, we should stand up, adjust our crowns, and come to the stage with grace…..while we show up, and SHOW OUT. Mic check…….Allow me to reintroduce myself…

The Forgotten Ones: For those of us who know what it means to miss New Orleans

The Forgotten Ones: For those of us who know what it means to miss New Orleans