Tag Archives: racism

Alton Sterling


If we are silent about our pain, they will kill us and say we enjoyed it ” Zora Neale Hurston

  I am beginning to suspect the cold-blooded murders of Black people in the United States is nothing short of provocation for civil war. It feels like they want us to get roused up, find a bat or knife and attack White people. So they have necessary reason to exterminate us like meaningless flies on a windowsill. Every bone in my body wants to run over those two rookie cop weasels again and again, because it is obviously–painfully obvious–that this was a racially based murder and these officers were quoted saying they feel fully justified by using deadly force.

   I don’t know what to do. Are we ready for a civil war? No. Like Lauryn Hill says in her song, we lose before we even begun to play. It’s a suicidal mission for us individually, and It’s genocide collectively. But the unneccessary murders of our Black people by police cannot just be a simple tragedy.

   We are angry, exasperated, fearful, enraged and we are hurting by these deaths. We are in pain. I am in pain. Watching the video and reading the facts of what went down broke my heart, made me enraged and turned my eyes into fiery coals. I have a 37 year old brother. It could’ve been him. What are we supposed to do? Self-preserve ourselves in this state of imprisonment and oppression, or fight back and let rivers of our blood wash away the old, cleanse out our tormented souls and begin anew. Hoping, someday, our Black skin does not mark us for death. For hate. For ridicule. For oppression. Black skin is what got you murdered, Alton. R.I.P. 


On Jesse Williams Speech

  I took to my Facebook page and Insta to display the amazement of Williams’ speech, in his steadfast and dangerously calm voice.


   I did break down in tears, because he put out, in front of millions of viewers a message that so valiantly voiced the sentiments of the African Diaspora. He assuaged the pain and torment of the African experience with his powerful words. Just last week I penned Where Is Our Leader? We are all but bursting forth to fight for Black Liberation, to put at end, once and for all, to the inequality and wickedness of white supremacy and domination.

  I must thank Williams’ for helping bring the message to those who still haven’t figured it out, who are still trying to compete in a white man’s world and suppress their beautiful Blackness, and for those who think Blackness is thuggery and cool kicks. He may just be responsible for starting a revolution, and not a moment too soon.

The White Microscope

   I never fully understood what it meant to be under the White Microscope until I moved, precisely a year ago, to a small, rural Canadian town. Originally from Toronto, the White Microscope wasn’t something I previously experienced because there were a lot of Black mothers before me, and a lot of Black mothers will surely come after.

   But in my small town, to see a Black mother was somewhat of a spectacle where in a town of 100,000 only 1% were Black, according to census. Whenever I left my house, I felt the eyes probing and judging. My son, a typically boisterous 2 year old prone to occasional temper tantrums and toddler behaviour, acts out in public sometimes.

   And I find myself shrinking in horror at any slight disturbance he might incur from crying to unwrapping a Kinder egg at the grocery store checkout. It is not that my son is a terrible child, but under the White Microscope, every action, every splash of chocolate milk on his shirt or stray hair is met with inimical disapproval and reprove. I am not a perfect mother, nor is my son a cherub; and to step out of the house and face the White Microscope is extremely disheartening.

   The  White Microscope may exist for you too. Whether you are a Black employee at a white dominated job, a Black soldier in the army or one of few Black children in a predominantly white high school or university, you will notice the White Microscope. It is there to judge you, shame you or use you as amusing entertainment and hold you up to the Perfect White Standard to show you exactly how you fall short. The microscope might be invisible, but if our colour is the elephant in the room, then it is our leash.

   I’m tired of the White Microscope. I want to leave my house without my hair perfectly poised, praying my son will be quiet and well-behaved at the library or the doctor’s office, and not glaring at him angrily when he acts like a toddler. I really want to glare at you, hiss at you and put you in timeout until you learn we are all imperfect beings, regardless of skin colour, and everyone deserves to be given the benefit of the doubt.

Rumble On

  Finding out Muhammad Ali died this morning at 74 years young has shocked me. I thought he would recover. It is because of Ali that I changed my name from my slave name to an African name. He was born Cassius Clay, and rid himself of his slave name saying,

Cassius Clay is a name that white people gave to my slave master. Now that I am free, that I don’t belong anymore to anyone, that I’m not a slave anymore, I gave back their white name, and I chose a beautiful African one.

He is one of our greatest Black heroes for all of the obstacles he overcame and for standing up to White supremacy, the military and racism. He is a great leader, one our young Black children can look up and aspire to become and try to surpass. He was a champion fighter, a lyrical poet and a civil rights hero because he inspired us and gave us courage.

  Now as I homeschool my Black son on great Marcus Garvey and du Bois, I can be sure to include the great Ali. There is so much we can learn and admire from his life, and we can make him smile up there as he looks down on Black people and sees us unite and overcome.

from home and drop bombs and bullets on Brown people in Vietnam while so-called Negro people in Louisville are treated like dogs and denied simple human rights? No I’m not going 10,000 miles from home to help murder and burn another poor nation simply to continue the domination of white slave masters of the darker people the world over. This is the day when such evils must come to an end. I have been warned that to take such a stand would cost me millions of dollars. But I have said it once and I will say it again. The real enemy of my people is here. I will not disgrace my religion, my people or myself by becoming a tool to enslave those who are fighting for their own justice, freedom and equality. If I thought the war was going to bring freedom and equality to 22 million of my people they wouldn’t have to draft me, I’d join tomorrow. I have nothing to lose by standing up for my beliefs. So I’ll go to jail, so what? We’ve been in jail for 400 years.
Muhammad Ali

Zai is Forever

In one account of Queen Nzinga’s life, she writes, “…Friends may betray you, mansions and servants may go; but zai (Knowledge) is forever”. This is true, what you learn cannot easily be extracted from your mind and it is up to us as Black adults to teach our young  queens and kings to love themselves and to know their history, before they learn to hate themselves and take part in a prevailing culture that downplays, ignores or misrepresents the Black people’s contributions and rich history.


   It is imperative to provide literature for our young  queens and kings that represent their history, culture and faces. I did not grow up reading Rachel Isadora or books about Africa. I grew up reading Madeline and Caillou, and then series like Sweet Valley High. So, I’ve begun to stockpile dozens of Afro-centric children’s books for my son to cherish and read on his bookshelf. Knowledge is power.



  Knowledge is power, and books are weapons. This may very well be why these books were kept out of our libraries. What will happen if a Black boy or girl reads empowering books and gains knowledge of how beautiful, strong, resourceful and intelligent Black people really are? That they can accomplish anything? That they do not  have to accept the things they cannot change, but change the things they cannot accept? It will be nothing short of a revolution, and we owe it to our children to implant the seeds of knowledge and inspiration in their minds. For they will move mountains.