The Strong
Black Woman is Dead!
Author: Laini Mataka
On
August 15, 1999 at 11:55 p.m.,
while struggling with the reality of being
a human instead of a myth, the strong black woman passed
away, without the slightest bit of hoopla. Medical sources
say that she died of natural causes, but those who knew
and used her know she died from: being silent when she
should have been screaming, milling when she should have
been raging, being sick and not wanting anyone to know
because her pain might inconvenience them. An overdose
of other people clinging on to her when she didn't even
have energy for herself.
She
died from loving men who didn't love themselves and could
only offer her a crippled reflection.
She
died from raising children alone and for not doing a complete
job.
She
died from the lies her grandmother told her mother and
her mother told her about life, men and racism.
She
died from being sexually abused as a child and having
to take that truth everywhere she went every day of her
life, exchanging the humiliation for guilt and back again.
She
died from being battered by someone who claimed to love
her and she allowed the battering to go on to show she
luvvvvvvvvv'd him too.
She
died from asphyxiation, coughing up blood from secrets
she kept trying to burn away instead of allowing herself
the kind of nervous break-down she was entitled to, but
only white girls could afford.
She
died from being responsible, because she was the last
rung on the ladder and there was no one under hershe could
dump on.
The
strong black woman is dead.
She
died from the multiple births of children she never really
wanted but was forced to have by the strangling morality
of those around her.
She
died from being a mother at 15 and a grandmother at 30
and an ancestor at 45.
She
died from being dragged down and sat upon by un-evolved
women posing as sisters.
She
died from pretending the life she was living was a Kodak
moment instead of a 20th century, post-slavery nightmare!!!
She
died from tolerating Mr. Pitiful, just to have a man around
the house.
She
died from lack of orgasms because she never learned what
made her body happy and no one took the time to teach
her and sometimes, when she found arms that were tender,
she died because they belonged to the same gender.
She
died from sacrificing herself for everybody and everything
when what she really wanted to do was be a singer, a dancer,
or some magnificent other.
She
died from lies of omission because she didn't want to
bring the black man down.
She
died from race memories of being snatched and snatched
and raped and snatched and sold and snatched and bred
and snatched and whipped and snatched and worked to death.
She
died from tributes from her counterparts who should have
been matching her efforts instead of showering her with
dead words and empty songs.
She
died from myths that would not allow her to show weakness
without being chastised by the lazy and hazy.
She
died from hiding her real feelings until they became monstrously
hard and bitter enough to invade her womb and breasts
like angry tumors.
She
died from always lifting something from heavy boxes to
refrigerators.
The
strong black woman is dead.
She
died from the punishments received from being honest about
life, racism and men.
She
died from being called a bitch for being verbal, a dyke
for being assertive and a whore for picking her own lovers.
She
died from never being enough of what men wanted, or being
too much for the men she wanted.
She
died from being too black and died again for not being
black enuff.
She
died from castration every time somebody thought of her
as only a woman, or treated her like less than a man.
She
died from being misinformed about her mind, her body and
the extent of her royal capabilities.
She
died from knees pressed too close together because respect
was never part of the foreplay that was being shoved at
her.
She
died from loneliness in birthing rooms and aloneness in
abortion centers.
She
died of shock in court rooms where she sat, alone, watching
her children being legally lynched.
She
died in bathrooms with her veins busting open with self-hatred
and neglect.
She
died in her mind, fighting life, racism, and men, while
her body was carted away and stashed in a human warehouse
for the spiritually mutilated.
And
sometimes when she refused to die, when she just refused
to give in she was killed by the lethal images of blonde
hair, blue eyes and flat butts, rejected to death by the
O.J.'s , the Quincey's, and the Poitier's.
Sometimes,
she was stomped to death by racism and sexism, executed
by hi-tech ignorance while she carried the family in her
belly, the community on her head, and the race on her
back!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The
strong silent, s**t-talking black woman is dead!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Or
is she still alive and kicking???????????????????
Go ahead and make the call.
Get
ON THE PHONE WITH Ti-Rone!
