He used the 1973 boxing match between Muhammad Ali and Ken Norton as a point of illustration.

On March 31, 1973, Muhammad Ali and Ken Norton faced off in a twelve round heavyweight bout. On that night an undertrained and over-confident Ali entered the ring as the five-to-one favorite and number one contender for the heavyweight crown, while a well trained, cautiously optimistic Norton entered the ring ranked number six.

Though most people knowledgeable of the sweet science of boxing favored Ali and never thought the match would go past five rounds, the fight went the distance, and Norton narrowly won by split decision.

Now while there may be a cautionary tale in this short narrative about over-confidence and lack of preparation, for the purposes of this exposition, the most important detail—that defining moment for which we are searching—is not found there; instead, the most important detail can be found in the fact that the fight even went the full twelve rounds.

As the second round of the fight neared a close, Norton caught Ali squarely in the jaw with a viciously hard overhand right. After the round ended, Ali’s cornermen noticed that blood was coming from his mouth and his mouthpiece was filled with blood, and realizing that most probably his jaw was broken, begged him to quit. However, he refused.

Furthermore, his cornermen later stated, between subsequent rounds as the fight progressed, each time he returned to the corner and spit out his mouthpiece, his mouthpiece was so filled with blood that the water bucket at ringside used to rinse it became bright red with his blood, and they implored him to quit with ever increasing vigor, yet Ali remained resolute and refused.

Ali left the ring that night with his face grotesquely swollen and misshapen, and x-rays later confirmed that his jaw was indeed broken.
Had Ali immediately taken a knee and given up the moment his jaw was broken, certainly he would have been excused. Had he not answered the bell in the third round, certainly everyone would have understood. Had he thrown in the towel at any point after that second round, certainly it would never have otherwise sullied an already legendary career. After all, his jaw was broken.

Can you even imagine the immensity of the pain he endured in the remaining ten rounds with Mandingo—if you do not get that allusion, ask someone older—hitting him all upside and about the head? And I am more than certain that early in the fight, as he admitted later, he realized that he had severely underestimated his opponent and was grossly underprepared and overmatched. His broken jaw presented him the perfect excuse to quit. But he did not. And not only did he not give up and give in, he continued to compete with everything had and nearly pulled out a victory.

Ali did not allow his circumstances prior to entering the fray, in this case his own lack of preparation, become an excuse to quit, nor did he attempt to find fault and place blame outside himself for his shortcomings. In that moment of crisis and period of intense pain because of it, he endured. Even as those closest to him admonished him to resign himself to defeat and forfeit the fight, he stood steadfast.

If someone truly desires to accomplish or achieve something, she or he will make a way; otherwise, she or he will make an excuse.

For me, this moment defines Muhammad Ali and the indomitable spirit and unwavering character that gave rise to and allowed him to accomplish and achieve all that which he is respected and lauded for the world over. And it is this same indomitable spirit and unwavering character to which I aspire.

Rest in peaceful power, elder Muhammad.

The post Muhammad Ali: The Measure of a Man appeared first on Madness & Reality.

I was particularly happy to see Sharpton and Wilmore have this discussion publicly because it gave Wilmore an opportunity to set the record straight and provide the necessary context for people like Sharpton who are of the opinion that it was disrespectful or in “poor taste,” as Sharpton quipped last week. Wilmore explained that his closing remark was more of an opportunity to make a statement than actually making a joke.

“It was at the point where I wanted to make a statement more than a joke,” Wilmore explained to Sharpton. “I didn’t view that portion as a joke. And I really wanted to explain the historical implications of the Obama presidency from my point of view. I’m the same age as the president. We graduated from high school at the same time. And a lot of people don’t have awareness of how racism exists to the people who are being affected by it. They just see things like the Civil Rights Act, you know? Slavery and events like that, but they don’t have the experience of it,” He continued.

As I pointed out last week, I totally got where Wilmore was coming from. As a satirist myself with a penchant for the irreverent as I communicate my thoughts on this very website, as a black man, I fully understood the intent. In fact, this was the centerpiece of my argument in defense of Wilmore’s use of the word in the wake of the controversy. But see, that’s the beauty of great satire or comedy. That would be as I’ve always said over the years: If you’re not laughing at a joke, you’re not paying attention.

In my experience, as polarizing and contentious as topics like race and racism can be, in the interest of broadening the conversation a writer of comedy has to take calculated risks. However, in doing so, as for me, much thought isn’t given to the blowback. Why? Because I’ve always felt that if I have to explain a joke, then I clearly didn’t do a good job of constructing said joke. As I see it, Wilmore was excellent when he captured the historic significance of Obama’s presidency in that moment. After all, it’s like I said in the opening of the post I wrote about this last week: Given the level of vitriol from the color aroused among us, there’s a strong chance that we’ll never see another black president in America. Like I said then, there’s a very strong chance that SkyNet has already sent a Terminator from the future to kill the next black president as a child before he even has an opportunity to live up to that possibility.

You know, because that’s what racism does – it kills dreams.

Take a moment to read what I wrote in defense of Wilmore’s use of the word and tell me what you think (click here). Additionally, check out the second part of Sharpton’s interview with Wilmore where they discuss whether America is ready for a white president in the post-Obama era.

The post WATCH: Larry Wilmore Says “My N*gga” Remark Was No Joke appeared first on Madness & Reality.

Perhaps it is this realization that is the source of disdain for some.

In a comedic performance with references to “Jigaboos”, that “Black Jesus” painting from  70s sitcom Good Times, to “Grady” from Sandford & Son, as the roast master, it’s easy to understand why some people – namely the dinner’s mostly white media elites, celebrities, and politicians in attendance – were a bit uncomfortable with Wilmore’s twenty-minute set. By the time it was over, it was quite apparent that Wilmore’s act was not just another episode of The Nightly Show on Comedy Central.

Seriously, the only way the night could have been any Blacker would have been if Paul Mooney was added to the lineup, and Michelle Obama led the room in doing the electric slide and the cupid shuffle to anything by Parliament Funkadelic in between sets bt Frankie Beverly & Maze.

Wilmore ended his acerbic barbs with sincere personal remarks about what it meant to him to see a black president in his lifetime.

“When I was a kid I lived in a country where people couldn’t accept a black quarterback,” Wilmore said. “Now think about that: A black man was thought by his mere color not good enough to lead a football team. And now to live in your time, Mr. President, when a black man can lead the entire free world. Words alone do me no justice. So, Mr. President, I’m going to keep it a hundred. Yo Barry, you did it, my nigga.”

At that point, I stood to my feet and gave him a standing ovation. Why? Because I got it. His remarks reflected a feeling and sentiment with which most black folks can identify. The truth is that given the level of disrespect in the way President Obama has been treated during his presidency, while not totally unimaginable given this country’s history, it’s hard to imagine another black person having the privilege being the central figure at such an event ever again. And even so,as much as Obama has been the subject of countless spoken and unspoken “nigger” jokes and insults. The fact remains, to black folks like me, Obama is our “nigga.” Like it or not, as a source of pride, it’s one thing that can never be removed from the history books as much as racists would like.

But don’t tell this to Rev. Al Sharpton who is of the opinion that “to say that to the President of the United States in front of the top people in media was at best in poor taste.” But see, while the context of Wilmore’s closing line was lost on Sharpton, what’s really troubling is the fact that Sharpton – like many of my cousins – were more concerned about the white gaze; or, specifically “how we would look” in the eyes of white folk.

To that, I say, Negro, please! Sharpton has been wearing a perm for the last forty years. How dare he worry about how we look in the eyes of white folks today? I mean, it’s not like Wilmore used the word with the intent to degrade or diminish the historic nature of Obama’s presidency.

But, of course, don’t tell that to Sharpton or the many people debating the use of the word on social media since the dinner this weekend.

As I see it, if you can’t “keep it a hundred” in a room full of rich white people like Larry Wilmore did while doing a comedy routine, then what’s the point in being black or even pushing the envelope?

The White House Correspondents Dinner under Obama started with Wanda Sykes in 2009, and it too was controversial for some. Which is funny when you consider that there has been hardly any controversy associated with this annual event that has been around since 1914. With this year’s dinner being Obama’s last as POTUS, Larry Wilmore’s performance – by far the Blackest ever – was the perfect bookend to a historic and consequential presidency full of challenges. Challenges which for the most part was predicated by and rooted in racial animus.

But hey, perhaps all of this could have been avoided if Obama wasn’t black and nobody had the bright idea to invite a black comedian to host an event for the Washi8ngton D.C. bourgeoise. Yeah, who needs a black comedian when black people are only needed as dishwashers and busboys at such events. After all, where would America be without us as The Help.

Watch Larry Wilmore perform below:

The post Larry Wilmore: Too Black, Too Strong, But Just Right appeared first on Madness & Reality.

As someone who lives well outside of the BeyHive, it’s just always intrigued me what about celebrity, and specifically Beyoncé’s, that attracts so many people and people so passionate.  When she performed “Flawless” the word “FEMINIST” as a sign as big as the stage was illuminated and Nigerian writer Chimimanda Adiche provided a voice-over from her essay “Why We Should All Be Feminists.”  Mostly what fueled this curiosity about Beyoncé’s celebrity isn’t that people are talking about it, but it is often who is saying what about it.  For the first time in my recollection, I saw the black public intellectuals of the day proceeding to create the meaning out of her artwork, and begin the process of parsing lyrics and images all across the span of black consciousness.

Making Meaning ex-celebritas

Celebrities from time immemorial function as the target of unadulterated glorification to unmitigated hate.  And this celebrity is not relegated to the world of art–music, literary or visual–often times its in the political realm (think Barack Obama, to Hillary Clinton, to Donald Trump and even other international leaders), sports figures or even when it comes to celebrity preachers to prominent activists.  In the case of Beyoncé, her celebrity has transcended some of the realness that many of our other celebrities have.  In the way that Oprah, and the behemoth that Harpo Studios became, was someone we invited into our living rooms for 25 years, or even Barack and Michelle Obama truly have embodied what it means to be America’s First Family, Beyoncé is not real like that.  Beyoncé is tangibly intangible.  She inhabits what postmodernity would call a type of hyperreality existing beyond our reach in many ways.  She rarely gives interviews and rarely offers commentary in the way that many other artists have chosen to wade into the political arena or take a stand for various causes.

The phrase of ex-celebritas is a play on the theological notion that tribal deity YHWH (Yahweh/Jehovah) of the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament created the world ex nihiloor “out of nothing.”  In the sense, much of God’s sovereignty is attributed to the idea that meaning was made out of nothing.  Applying that same knowledge, as a society we create meaning out of celebrity.  And as we do that, we ascribe meaning to people, places and things that may not have endeavored to have such meaning.  As two of my blog essays back-to-back focus around the image of Beyoncé, a first ever, it’s not hard to automatically see that in turn we ascribe meaning to the individual celebrity too.  It’s as if there is a reciprocal dance between the two poles of creation and projection in which one party might not be a participating member.

When clergy of the early Church, prior to the fourth century, supported the creation of icons, it was literally artists and patrons of the church creating the holy in their own image and then in turn giving meaning to that icon.  The finished artwork had zero agency in what it was fashioned to look like, and then had to be subjected to the interpretation of others.

In that way, Beyoncé is an icon.

The historical genesis of an icon is inherently theological and of Greek origin.  Icons at the beginning of the first millennium of the Common Era were considered holy images either as a painting or wooden images.   So yes, as Beyoncé’s celebrity has risen to that of an icon, it is accompanied with a particular type of sacredness.  Celebrity, as a concept, usually invokes meaning that is secular, but for Beyoncé, her image has become sacred for many–especially black women.  It should come to no shock to anyone as to why she is iconic to so many black women.  One might would have to go back to Diana Ross to find a black woman celebrity who has the wide-reaching appeal of a pop-star outside of the black music world.  This is not to discount musicians like Janet Jackson or Whitney Houston, but beyond the shadow of a doubt, Beyoncé has surpassed these women in many ways.  To put it another way, Beyoncé functions as a text.  Text, as a word, comes from the Latin textere which means to weave.  That suggests that much of who she is and what we say she stands for is in turn personified in who she is.

Canonizing Beyoncé as Sacred Text

The first time I ever entertained the idea of Beyoncé as more than a pop artist was watching the now-canceled Melissa Harris-Perry Show on MSNBC on a Saturday morning and I heard the conversation that enthroned her as a feminist.  I remember at the time as I was wrestling with my practical definition of feminism because so much of my conversation with black women were offering such different variations of not just a working definition, but what constituted feminism: who could effectively be called a feminist and what were considered feminist practices. But even more specifically I was hearing a divergence of conversations about black feminism.  Actually, a former student of mine helped me out when she offered up Patricia Hill Collins understanding of having a “unique angle of vision” to suggest that Beyoncé’s entrée into [black] feminism may not, nor is required to look like everyone else.

For me her self-titled album Beyoncé was the marker that put Beyoncé in the stratosphere.  It was an unknown and midnight album drop that immediately got the burgeoning Black Twitter collective further established in its presence online while much of Black America was still reveling in Obama having been re-elected again.  She and her husband, hip hop rapper and mogul Jay-Z, were getting invites to the White House by now.  She was just that big.  That meant that whatever she said or did was worthy of being canonized.  But, ever the smart businesswoman, Beyoncé kept her interviews to a minimum–if any at all–and her pregnancy was all but a private affair even after the birth.  This meant that all the public had was her music–lyrics and music videos.

While Beyoncé’s music is obviously R&B, it’s also pop music.  And pop music usually doesn’t lend itself to grand lyrics or lyrics with deep messaging; it tends to be in relatively surface and spell out exactly what it means.  The depth of hidden meanings rests in sexual innuendoes such as “watermelon” and “cigars on ice” or downright explicit.  Think “surfbort.”  Nevertheless, her lyrics have been parsed by some as if they were found on the Dead Sea Scrolls and contained the key to unlock ancient lost languages.  And it doesn’t stop there.  The music videos themselves are part of the sacred text, where everything is thought to have a hidden meaning that must be unlocked.

“Y’all haters corny with that Illuminati mess”

The fact that so many people think that Beyoncé is part of the Illuminati has led to her actually incorporating a response to that in her lyrics.  A YouTube search would prove that there are no limits to those who operate in the world of conspiracy theories and people who have too much time on their hands.  Aside from claims of being in the Illuminati, there are YouTubers who have called her an agent of Satan.  Not metaphorically, but literally.  While I’m sure those that have created videos as such would never refer to Beyoncé as “sacred” anything, I would argue that they see her as a text of sorts, and one in which they have ascribed meaning.  In the way that some may see her as a black feminist, others see her as part of the Illuminati and a Satan worshipper.  Yet the Hoteps see her as anOshun, an orisha from Yoruba culture. Go figure.

Harris-Perry, now in a role as an editor at Ellemagazine, published a call-and-response dialectic that I think highlights to just what level Beyoncé operates as a sacred text for so many people, with so many unique angles of vision.  Even if you don’t agree with the meaning being made, one has to admit and acknowledge that serious thought and more so, serious devotion has been given to this.  It is cult-like.  Cultic practices, even with their negative connotation, do appropriately describe what often functions as a religious following.  In the way that hip hop teens and children of the 90s quote Tupac and Biggie with a cultic religiosity, there is a new generation of women of all ages who will quote Beyoncé for years to come.  And even more so, reference her videos.

The early years of Beyoncé with Destiny’s Child produced music videos at times only two steps removed of the days of the video vixens that populated the majority of hip hop videos of the 1990s and early 2000s.  And again, as she moved into a solo act, we began to see her, in effect, grow up and mature into an adult.  An adult with sensitivities and proclivities appropriate for her age.  We saw progression.  However, with rappers reaching middle age, some artists resist the notion of evolution, still trying to hold fast to their so-called “glory days.”  Certainly after her marriage to Jay-Z, her pregnancy and perhaps just the reality of just being over 30 years old, her videos took on distinctive artistic qualities.  It was clear that these music videos were not meant to be seen as part of the same textural fabric as videos produced by Rihanna, Keyshia Cole and whatever else the cadre of urban hip hop has devolved to with the likes of Future, the Migos, 2 Chainz and Fetty Wap forming the group of Poor Unfortunate Souls from Ursula’s garden in Disney’s The Little Mermaid.  From her fashion choices, to the choreography, to the way she wears her hair and even the costumes and design of the backup dancers all form text the same way one looks at sentence structure–complex sentences to simple ones–from parallel structure to verb tense to help form an image of the author who’s composed it.

In theological circles, the science of exegesis is far from perfect and more often than not one performs eisegesis.  Ex- being the prefix for “out of” in this case, meaning what does one “pull out of” the text.  The opposite being what is being read into the text.  What put me at odds with a few professors in seminary was my proclivity to stand “in front” of the text and provide what’s called a reader’s response to the text.  I’m very much okay and interested in what is being read into the text because we are the sum total of our experiences and to act as if we can so easily divorce ourselves from them in order to give a so-called pure interpretation is naive.  Instead, I’d rather admit the bias up front and still offer a transparent opinion.  So when it comes to the best of what one can even assume as pure in this context, is what what is known as the author’s intent: in what way did the creator of the text intend for the text to be interpreted.

Icons and Iconoclasm

I’ll admit, up until this point in the essay I’ve been trying to keep my bias at bay, and I’m sure I’ve not done such a good job, but in all intellectual transparency I want to admit that I do have one.  Part of the paradox of Beyonce is that her icon status seems to have created a type of bullet-proof veneer that insulates her from criticism.  For quite some time, I find myself interested in critiquing the critical, not simply because I want to disagree with people but partially because I understand that as individuals and as a society we are motivated by a multitude–much of which we fail to recognize or at least admit out loud.  For what it’s worth, I appreciate Harris-Perry saying unabashedly that she’s part of the BeyHive because it contextualizes her response.

Another part of my bias, again in intellectual transparency, is that I’d like to think myself to be an iconoclast–at least one in the historical sense.  In response to the icons that the Church had fashioned in their own image, the Eastern Church (not the Western Church that eventually became the modern day-Roman Catholic church under Constantine) began practicing the physical tearing down and destruction of the holy icons.  For me, I consider this to be deconstructive work that attempts to make meaning of those that make meaning.  In other words what’s driving people to create a sacred text out of Beyoncé.

Finally, what has been a driving force of my bias, wrapped in this particular personage of Beyoncé, is the ways in which I see many people cherry-pick and self-select the Gospel of Beyoncé.  Often times when I hear [legitimate] critiques of hip hop writ large toward black men and it’s prevalent misogyny and mistreatment of women in both lyrics and videos, the sourcing of those texts–lyrics and videos–span the entire career of many of the artists.  However with Beyoncé, it’s as if her first song, video and performance was “Flawless” because that was considered her declaration as a [black] feminist.  As big of an icon as she is, I consider it intellectually irresponsible if those that ascribe meaning gloss over the fact that when she was with Destiny’s Child she was someone who wanted a man to pay her “Bills, Bills, Bills” and presumably she was going to “Cater to [him]” and without a doubt she thought it not robbery to define black masculinity when she said he would be a “Soldier.”

Those songs were my introduction to Beyoncé as a young black male in high school and eventually in college.  And I shall never forget my professor in my Introduction to African American History at Fisk University, declaring from the front of the class that Beyoncé, not Destiny’s Child, was single-handedly setting black women back with the song “Cater to You.”  Meanwhile, I couldn’t help but feel excluded from the “soldier”-motif created simply because I was a college student, not the token roughneck of the ‘hood.  In much the same way that feminist theologians reject Pauline passages of 1 Corinthians because Paul doesn’t affirm women preachers, and the way that black liberation theology rejects Paul’s letter to Philemon considering the enslaved man Onesimus or the haustafeln passages throughout the New Testament epistles because of their reference to “slaves obey your masters,” I think its perfectly fine for us to not hold Beyoncé to old lyrics, but I think we have to acknowledge that it’s part of the corpus of her text.  By most accounts, we’ve shuffled off this proto-Beyoncé in favor of a deutero-Beyoncé in which we apply reader-response eisegetical techniques for the sake of society’s meaning making.

Notwithstanding white gaze toward all things Beyoncé, I am interested in the narrative that doesn’t emerge as the dominant narrative.  I wrote about this to some extentlabeling part of that narrative being shaped by the black syndicate media in my previous blog essay about her and Kendrick Lamar.  Let me say up front, I’m not interesting in hearing black men co-sign together in favor of mounting some anti-Beyoncé campaign for the sake of retreading white masculinity blowhards, but rather the notion that perhaps Beyoncé’s angle of vision is cast more toward capitalism than activism.  Again, my bias is heavy when it comes to conversations around capitalism and that’s often informed by my personal politics.  At what point does the dominant narrative allow questions around the way that we make all things fit into a positive narrative around Beyoncé and instead offer serious criticism to the merchandise that capitalized on the perceived activism around the “Formation” music video and Super Bowl performance; the exorbitant prices of ticket sales for her world tour; the Ivy Park line of clothes not including plus-sizes.  These are all minority reports that get shoved into the same dust-bin of forgetfulness of proto-Beyoncé.

Just a quick walk into any Roman Catholic church building and any non-Roman Catholic church building, one immediately sees the images of the sacred and the holy fall away.  In most modern megachurches, at most one singular cross may hang from the center and the brilliant stage lights cast beams onto blank pulpits and altars, walls and windows in which the parishioners are free to project their own meaning.  While it was a breaking away from what was to become the state-corrupted and sponsored Roman Catholic church, it was also a breaking away from tradition and ultimately spawned many other reformations itself.  The creation of each new denomination and tradition–Episcopal, Lutheran, Methodist, Baptist, Pentecostal, Seventh Day Adventist–all let us know that there is room in which a multiplicity of meanings can be had.   When Martin Luther tacked his 95 critiques on the church door at Wittenburg, and it was the beginning of an iconoclastic movement.  This breaking away is more commonly referred to as the Protestant Reformation.

The Beyoncé Re-“Formation”

I paid $17.99 for the Lemonade album on iTunes because I refuse to get Tidal for a plethora of reasons.  And this was my first ever Beyoncé album or track purchase.  I bought it because I saw it as engaging contemporary culture.  And I must say, even from a musical point of view, I was quite pleased with what I heard.  I felt it showed the broad range of Beyoncé’s vocals as well as her choreographic skills.

However, it was sensory overload.

If you read that to mean overkill, then allow me to expound because that’s certainly not what I mean.  Overload in the sense that there was no rest for the weary; the metaphorical imagery was legion.  Having not just a theological, but a God-centered spiritual approach to the album, I don’t at all feel qualified to offer what would look like a comprehensive response to everythingthat transpired in the midst of the 65 minute visual album not even one week after its release.  In the video, there were interludes that weren’t included in the tracks, where Beyoncé through voice-over intoned words that vacillated between prayers of supplication to jeremiads and laments all the way to a theology of anger and frustration displayed as prose that had mystical and transcendent qualities that surpassed orthodox spirituality.

I personally can’t answer why Beyoncé is just that important to halt just about every news story about Prince’s death which was a pretty damn big deal.  But let’s magnify this a bit: the typical news cycle has shrunk to about 7 days, and Lemonade didn’t even give the death of Prince the opportunity to last a full news cycle.  This leads me to believe that within a week’s time, the country will have moved on beyond this.  In fact, as I type this, it’s an election night–and a deciding night in which Bernie Sanders will undoubtedly watch the nomination slip from his fingers permanently, and the GOP will effectively haveto have a contested convention in order to prevent Trump from being the nominee.  Even as I conclude this blog essay, I’ve turned away from the immediate topic at hand: the Gospel According to Beyoncé.

This gospel message that society has projected onto Beyoncé–made in our own image–is a message we have made her have.  I’d rather us own the fact that we culturally make meaning and ascribe to persons and ideas and sometimes even physical artifacts like buildings, paintings and sculptures.  Perhaps I’m being repetitive at this point, but admittedly no more repetitive that “I slay/okay.”  Projecting meaning, whatever meaning that is, onto Beyoncé is fine, she’s a celebrity, an icon, but we ought not be pedantic enough to release ourselves from responsibility of that meaning and in turn beatify her as though these thoughts, these notions, these meaningsfrom the Almighty and Sovereign Beyoncé.

My hope is that in the cobbling together of this gospel sacred text, this re-“formation” of Beyoncé, that we put together a complete text.  One that includes the frayed edges, the blended fabrics and even the attempts to weave pieces together that we know weren’t originally intended to be together, but it works together for the good of someone who needs disparate parts to make a whole.  I’m not interested in a sanitized Beyoncé; one that erases her work with Destiny’s Child in favor of someone who baptized in the waters of cause célèbre.

What can’t be taken away from Beyoncé is that she has empowered a third-wave of feminism–especially black feminists and womanists–with a new text from which to draw a type of femignosis in which to create meaning.  She also has required us to rethink the ways in which we see the production of black music–as entertainment or activism, and she certainly falls in the Oprah category in which we become free to question the ways in which blackness requires a certain type of aesthetic when it comes to what do you do for the race.  Remember in 2012 when Harry Belafonte openly questioned the motives of both Jay-Z and Beyoncé and Hova actually dropped a diss lyric against Belafonte?

As I did read through the call-and-response dialogue from Elle, one male college students notes that the visual album made his girlfriend cry and that was the first time he had seen her cry.  And I get that.  I’m not interested in disconnecting or demystifying the possibility of emotional or intellectual liberation that may come as a result of performing a type of lectio divina around this last project, but ultimately I believe that it’s more about the individual illuminating their own liberation.  But perhaps the woven text(ure) of Beyoncé is just the blank canvass in which liberation is possible.

If nothing else, Beyoncé lets us know that there can me more than meets the eye when a bottle of hot sauce can really be Hot Sauce. Swag.

The post Made in Our Own Image: The Gospel According to Beyoncé appeared first on Madness & Reality.

Instead, we get to see her share her time lamenting about the racial effects of the term “Becky” on white women. I kid you not with this.

@phagmob girl BYE. do you know how many time ppl have called me BECKY? it didnt have any kind of positive intention behind it. dont start.

— IGGY AZALEA (@IGGYAZALEA) April 25, 2016

https://twitter.com/IGGYAZALEA/status/724720385267126272

 

@rNicaRo the whole becky thing "give me that becky" comes from white womens supposed love for blow jobs. so excuse me but, i dont want

— IGGY AZALEA (@IGGYAZALEA) April 26, 2016

So, let me get this straight: Iggy Azalea took offense to the “Becky with the good hair” line because she thought it was a reference to white women. Also, she doesn’t like the connotation of “Becky” being associated with oral sex. You know: Becky is that dirty, racist term for oral sex that demoralizes all white women and cause them pain, strife, and depression? Yes, that term.

Iggy Azalea Understands Very Little

All sarcasm aside, I just think that Iggy is (once again) confused as hell with what is going on in the world. Don’t get me wrong; I do respect her opinion on being called out of her name. And yes, the term “Becky” does refer to the stereotypical side of things. Automatically, when many Black people think of “Becky” they think of a white woman. Still, it should be comical that all of this conversation is coming due to a song that isn’t referencing a white woman (from my knowledge). Thus, Iggy has understandable feelings within the wrong context.

Additionally, if there was some real reference given to the situation then there would be a better understanding of how off Iggy Azalea really is:

1.) Becky was a really popular baby name decades ago: Many babies were named Beckyback in the 1980’s and 1990’s. It was usually ranked toward the top of names chosen (from the 600’s to 900’s). However, that popularity has waned for some apparent reason. Still, that gives a context as to why that name was given, and used, to reference white women.

2.) White women are, on average, more likely to perform oral sex than Black or Hispanicwomen. The National Health Statistics Reports took a survey back in 2012 on sexual behaviors. What they found was interesting: 69% of women had oral sex while 59% was for Hispanic and 63% was for Black. But that isn’t all, I’m afraid. 49% of white women surveyed stated they had oral sex before they had vaginal intercourse. Only 37% of Hispanic and 27% of Black women could say the same. Thus, the nickname Becky for “oral sex” isn’t some assumption. White women are more likely to have oral sex.

3.) Being called “Becky” isn’t going to do very much. How much of Iggy Azalea’s life is to be affected by the term “Becky”? I’m sorry, but “Becky” and “nigger” will never be on the same level. Iggy can hit me up when she loses a limb, life, or finds her life hindered because someone thinks of her as a “Becky”. Otherwise, she can be offended but the comparisons don’t equate.

Iggy Azalea Will Get It One Day

In the end, Iggy Azalea will understand one day. She will realize that “Becky” doesn’t hold much weight. Sure, she can be offended and I can respect that. However, the name comes from a strain of truth in action. Also, I don’t imagine her losing her job because she is considered a “Becky”. Now only if we could get her to understand why her music career fell off.

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The past few days have been interesting in this late April of 2016. On Thursday, the world was rocked by the death of Prince. On Friday, Birdman proved just how much respeck he should have put on his name on The Breakfast Club. On Saturday, Beyoncé made lemons into Lemonade to throw heavy industry shade. All of these events led to a surprise/unsurprising situation this Sunday.

That surprisingly unsurprising situation that I speak of is the fact that Lil Kim is now officially Caucasian. That’s right, folks. Black Girls may Rock, but Lil Kim would rather play for the White Sox.

Lil Kim’s Apparent Unhappiness

Honestly, the entire situation is sickening. Lil Kim hasn’t liked Lil Kim for the past few decades (at least). Once she started getting money, she started going under the scalpel. First, it was the fake boobs. Then it was the Michael Jackson nose. After that, it was the reconstruction of her face. And now it seems she has put even more work on her face and used skin bleaching. What is sickening is that Lil Kim hasn’t found the true self love that she actually yearns for.

There is a lot of blame to be passed around. We can blame the men that never thought she was “pretty enough”. We can blame her dad for infusing the self-doubt about her looks. We can even blame her for actually not seeking the help she needed for her battered self-concept. There are plenty of people that contributed to this gumbo of low self esteem. Yet, figuring out who the blame isn’t the bigger issue.

Lil Kim: The Bigger Issue(s)

The bigger issue, for me, is how long all of this went on without enough support for her to seek help. Was anyone in her ear to let her know that she didn’t need to do all of this? I already know she has a gang of “yes men” on her team. But where in the hell were the “hell to the naw people” that all humans require in their lives? Where was her center of gravity in physical form? Where were the people to keep her in check?

And I could get into the colorism issues that plague Black people worldwide, but I won’t. I don’t need to rehash the issues that has Jamaican women and men bleaching their skin until they look like Larenz Tate inDead Presidents. I have already talked about the madness being promoted over in Africa. And people should already assume that there are health issues with the demelaninization (made up word) of one’s skin. I’m not discussion the harmful effects of colorism because we are witnessing just how bad it gets with Lil Kim.

Lil Kim the Living Travesty

All I can feel for her is sadness. With surgery after surgery and reconstruction after reconstruction, I don’t see happiness. One can’t be happy doing all of this. Lil Kim is a broken soul. Yet, the saddest part of it all is that she spent all of her money dealing with the wrong doctor to patch things up with herself.

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I support public schools. Point Blank. The encroachment of charter schools is really about busting teachers unions, and profiteer off by siphoning off needed resources from public schools. Why would I root for Diddy’s school when this is really what it comes down to? For him, as well as many others, “It’s All About The Benjamins.”

Also, his partner in shakedown Steve Perry has been described as a known union buster who has described teacher’s unions roaches. That’s endearing. In an overcrowded “market” for charter schools, no one ever asks why many of them are opened up in mostly Black and Brown neighborhoods.

Harlem needs another charter school about as much as it needs another liquor store. Ironically, Diddy profits from the latter, and will eventually do so for the former.  It’s done under the guise of getting rid of “bad teachers” but working conditions are worse.

Nevermind that charter schools overdo it with disciplinary actions and suspensions that only hurt the children. I have spoken personally to parents that have pulled their child out of charter schools because of issues like this.

But, don’t let any of this deter you from rooting for Diddy assisting in the private takeover of public education. It’s just about not “hating on a brotha” and ducking the long term effects of what this neoliberal school reform policy entails. No one ever stops to think what will happen the day that hedge fund managers no longer see schools as a profitable market. Go ahead and cheer though.

[Originally post at Polite On Society]

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What’s the worst part for me is that I found out he died early on my birthday (March 23, 2016).

Phife Dawg and The Effect Of This Day

I was actually looking forward to turning 38. Just the day before, a friend posted “Find A Way” for Facebook’s listening pleasure. Not for nothing, J. Dilla productions always put me at ease. This particular song always takes me back to the days of chilling on the yard ofAlabama State University during an energetic spring time. I wanted to thank my friend for activating such pleasant memories.

Now, I am resisting the urge to not that my feelings of mortality are overwhelming me.

Phife Dawg and the Resurrection of Fleeting Nostalgia

To be fair, it isn’t all sadness on this side of town. I am allowed to revel in the greatness and fashion trends from “Check The Rhyme”. Also, I get to remember how subtly sexual “Electric Relaxation” could capture ears enough to be TV show theme music. Even further, “Award Tour” allows me to call Phife Dawg “Dynomutt”. The flooding memories does have hints of happiness I will always hold onto.

This is how I learned about Seaman’s Furniture.

Still, situations like this can bring an anxiety over me. Point blank: I am getting old. Realizing that the world is changing into a place I barely recognize causes a feeling of social dementia. Being within a space I am slowly becoming disconnected from is never a great feeling. I began to ask myself “Is there going to be anything identifiable of the world I exist in”?

Now, I fear the day and time where the social dementia may become too widespread. How many younger people will really appreciate that ATCQ dropped three arguable classics in a row? Will people truly appreciate that Phife Dawg’s increase in output directly affected ATCQ’s popularity, sales, and success? How many young hip hop heads will truly recite the enormous amounts of hip hop quotables from the 5 Foot Assassin? Are we going to allow his greatness to go down the drain with sweet memories?

And then there is the issue of being healthy. Phife was 45 years old and died from diabetes complications. My father also had diabetes, but he died at age 71. Still, I have seen so many other emcees and musicians die from health complications at their early to mid 40’s. Again: I just turned 38 years old. If I wasn’t the “workout warrior” that I have become, then I would be in the throngs of bad health myself.

Phife Dawg Lives Forever In Music?

I know some of these concerns may be farfetched. However, they are concerns nonetheless. In a time of attention deficits matched with lack of historical recollection, I tend to worry about times changing into the unrecognizable. Additionally, there are health concerns that come with my age range. In the end, I don’t ever want to lose the feelings Phife Dawg gave me because I fear the future culture curators won’t be able to remind me.

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Also, it is a bunch of sadistic, and sexist, bullshit.

Still, many (Black)people hold onto hypermasculinity as if it is the definitive badge of Y chromosome possession. Case in point: in recent history, Michael B. Jordan and Ryan Coogler had recently taken a photo together for Vanity Fair. They were dressed up like the professional, and successful, men they are. To be frank, there was nothing more to make of the shoot. That is, until the hypermasculinity that plagues our society reared its ugly head in all of its patriarchal forms.

Many (Black)people did cartwheels of homophobic disdain over the picture. Yes, my good readers: they actually took a picture of brotherly affection into something way more sexual and perverse than it needed to be. From people questioning “why is he holding his head like that” to commentary of “effeminate” and “demasculation” (is that a word?) appeared out of so many Twitter fingers that it was really head scratching in how far they reached.

All of this conversation and topic trending on the internet over a picture.

A fucking picture, people.

Hypermasculinity Makes Losers of Us All

Damn, people. Is this it? Is this the summation of Black manliness that we are actually trying to achieve here? At what point is manliness is supposed to equate “no affectionate touching” or “making sure you don’t cup my head in any type of way”? Who is coming up with these retarded rules of engagement? And when are we going to stop dancing to the song of hypermasculinity?

Yet and still, I can’t be surprised. Black men are expected to be the “superior beings of inferiority” at every given moment. At the drop of a Lincoln copper penny, we will be called half-witted niggers and quickly dehumanized for whatever blanket faced reason between the pillars of racist expectations and jungle bunny-hyperviolent folklore. Meanwhile, as soon as there is an ounce of sensitivity, emotion, or – God forbid – affection shown between two Black men that have EVERY reason to embrace each other like brothers, there must be some sexual aspect to tarnish the moment. We are all expected to know by now that Black men can’t exhibit simple things like human emotion and caring for each other. Let’s face the bigger issue: Black male expectation swings pendulum style between deity-like to virulent animalism.

Between those extremes of expectations comes the place where Black men hold their stance with being human. No, Michael B. Jordan and Ryan Coogler should not be questioned on a PICTURE that suggestions nothing outside of brotherly bonding. No, Black men should never have to subdue ourselves to the petty expectations of patriarchal archetypes. And no, Black men shouldn’t do goof-ball things to readily assure the people around them that they are actually “men”. The egg-shell walking and Gregory Hines level tap dancing for respectability has gotten out of hand.

Hypermasculinity Sucks

All of this just goes to show you what is wrong with our society. Hypermasculinity is not a badge of honor; it is a plague. And this plague has carried over into places and spaces it shouldn’t exist. A man can embrace another man that he respects in any way they want if it isn’t obviously questionable. Affection should never be limited to women and children. Then again, you cannot be surprised by the comments of those that are extra sensitive with their patriarchal beliefs over a picture.

You know: because they are bored.

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Alas, none of these eventual occurrences should surprise anyone. For one, Nina Simone’s estate had been against the casting in the first place. Lisa Simone Kelly (Nina’s daughter) noted one of the issues a while back in an interview:

My mother suffered. We can go all the way back to when she was a child and people told her nose was too big, her skin was too dark, her lips were too wide. It’s very important the world acknowledges my mother was a classical musician whose dreams were not realized because of racism. [1]

One would think the producers (who are not Nina Simone experts) would take note of what the daughter said. Still, the trailer says the expected: the movie will be less about facts and more about interpretation.

This interpretation of Blackness should trouble everyone because it demonstrates the common flaw of many Black biopics: the persistent bastardization and exploitation of the Black experience.

Nina Simone and the Exploited Blackness

What this movie will suffer from isn’t anything new when it comes to Hollywood’s attempt to tell the Black story correctly. Many attempts have wavered between the good-yet-cheesy 42 to the never-should-have-seen-the-green-light-disasters (Winnie Mandela movie and The Man In The Mirror: The Michael Jackson Story). There have been quite a few that made their mark in telling the story like it should have been told (X and Selma). Still, there have been too many missteps and mishaps due to omitted information, shaky themes, “Caucasian saviorism”, and plot distractions that make the story more fictional than biographical. In short, too many Black biopics do not give the audience the real truth.

You all see this? This type of stuff should NEVER occur.

This is where the Nina Simone biopic will seem to fall. When Nina Simone is spoken about, there needs to be an understanding of what she represented and why. She was a classically trained musician that was both activist and feminist. As flawed as she was, she was equally dynamic and liberated. All of these factors have to be mentioned. Otherwise, there is nothing left but a half told story that tells the tale of a musician in fictional form. The last thing this world needs is a Black biopic that is more interpretive opinion than fact.

You know: because this biopic is based on a situation that is probably pure bullshit.

Oh, and there is also Zoe Saldana. As great of an actress that she is, the entire makeup situation is going to give many viewers an issue. The entire situation looks like a minstrel show with a nicer budget. If they wanted some authenticity and darker skin with a bigger nose and teeth, then maybe they should have chosen an actress that ISN’T Zoe. I’m just saying: you can’t put glaze on a piece of Wonder bread and call it a donut. Same rules apply here.

Nina Simone to Infinity

Personally, the producers of this movie should not have made it. However, we have to give three cheers to Hollywood Blaxploitation once again. Now, we all can choose to witness a trainwreck of a movie that deals with fictional situations, bad makeup, and even worse premises. At some point, we have to realize that everyone wasn’t engaged enough to learn from other debacles in Black biopics. In short, Nina Simone deserves better than a Lifetime movie styled dedication with a slightly bigger budget; she deserves her true story told the way it was lived.

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