It’s summertime and school is out.
The sweet smell of Cherry Blossom trees have slowly disappeared and been replaced by the smoldering moisture of summer’s sweet breeze.
Fireflies light up the night, but unbeknownst to you, the light of your night will quickly fade away like an evening shadow.
You will never get to say goodbye. Never say you’re sorry. Never see change. Never see freedom. Never see equality. Never see success.
Alone. Scared. Helpless.
Instead, the skin around temples will slow burn as bullets of fiery hate penetrate your every being. Explosions of hate and explosions of brain matter erupt in concert together like a wink and smile.
Life has shown you no mercy, and death has shown you it’s darkest hour.
And your darkest hour is dark because of who you are. Something you cannot change.
As your body slowly sinks to the pits of a riverbed and your soul slowly transfers to the after life, the last willowing thought you have is, why?
The only answer you can conjure is…my blackness.
Hundreds of thousands of people will vow to preserve your honor, and millions more will fight for freedom with your name in mind.
Fifty years later, those who look like you and know your narrative all too well will forget your triumph and your demise.
Fifty years later, human beings like Dwayne Michael Carter will curse your name.
“Beat the pussy up like Emmett Till.”
BEAT THE PUSSY UP LIKE EMMETT TILL.
Is it Black History Month or Black History dump?
After all the emasculation, denigration, freedom marches, and silence protests, have we forgotten?
After all the terror Black people in America have survived, we’re still grossly disrespecting our own?
Have we forgotten our narrative? Have we forgotten the resilience of our ancestry?
Have we forgotten to respect the past?
I think we have.
African-Americans have overcome so much adversity and so many people have died for the sake of equality, but we still feel the need to disrespect those who died for the life we celebrate now.
Without the Emmett Tills, without the MLKs, without the Marcus Garveys, without the Amiri Barakas, without the Rosa Parks, without the Bobby Seales, without the Huey Newtons, none of you wannabe rhyming, basketball-dribbling, negroes would be able to yell out “YOLO” or pop bottles and pour it on the models.
But once again, our memories have failed us.
Time and time again, rapper Lil Wayne has shown the world that he’s not only a Martian, but he too, is without a brain.
On Atlanta rapper Future’s “Karate Chop (Remix)” Lil Wayne thought it was innovative and creative to equate his sexual skills to the murder of Emmett Till?
BEAT.THE. PUSSY. UP. LIKE. EMMETT. TILL.
A 14-year-old Chicago boy who was viciously murdered in the depths of Mississippi’s hate?
A 14-year-old boy who was kidnapped from the comforts of his relative’s home?
A 14-year-old boy who was ordered to strip naked?
A 14-year-old boy who was beaten until his face was unrecognizable?
A 14-year-old boy whose eyes were gouged out of the sockets they rested upon?
A 14-year-old boy who was executed?
A 14-year-old boy who was dumped in the Tallahatchie River like a piece of trash?
There’s so much foolishness immersed within those seven words, it’s not even funny.
Besides the issue of Lil Wayne’s violent desires against women and his gross disrespect of a young black boy killed because of the hue of his pigment, how can you compare such a pleasurable experience to such a grotesque and repulsive crime?
African-American author Dr. Boyce Watkins said:
“I just couldn’t understand how Lil Wayne could compare the gateway to life to the brutality and punishment of death.”
The fact of the matter is that Wayne’s “Emmett Till” line is a pretty poor simile, uncreative, and downright offensive.
Lil Wayne isn’t the first rapper, nor will he be the last rapper to mention Emmett Till, but when will the fans, the bloggers, the journalists, the fellow rappers, and the black community speak out against offensive, irresponsible, and distasteful rhetoric?
Whether the rest of the world decides to remain silent, I will continue to speak out – loudly.
In the great words of Amiri Baraka:
“Let Black people understand
that they are the lovers and the sons
of warriors and sons
of warriors Are poems & poets &
all the loveliness here in the world…”
If one cannot respect their history, one cannot preserve their dignity.
Now, beat THAT up Weezy.
Brittany Lewis is the Music Editor at GlobalGrind and a Howard University Alumna. Brittany considers herself seasoned on all the pop culture ish that matters. Follow her on Twitter @Buttercup_B.
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