This was a poem sent to me by a close friend. He expresses his thoughts about the black woman in the past. And how most have changed.
Hey Queen !
You know what I like about you ? I like your Hair, I like your stare, I like that true African Flair. Yea, I like that black brown carmel complexion, reflection of the light within. Your smile, your style, that rhythm from the Nile. Wow, these are words I wrote long ago.
When I was first impressed by the first wave of culturally concouis sisters, who broke the chains and pains of the 'Hot Comb'. I can still smell the hair and hear the whines of my little sister from the kitchen. And my father had a process, lyed, dyed and layed to the side. It seemed like everybody in the hood wanted this thing called good hair. But, this was the 40's, 50's and early 60's. Yet, something was anew by the mid sixty's with Malcolm X, Muhammad Ali, and the teachings of Elijah Muhammad on the scene. The Euro-centric mind set that creates black self-hate and that sickening inferior complex was under attack. Black was back to respectability. That wicked implant of the willie lynch chip was being exposed by strong and wise leadership. Dismantaling mental slavery at its root. Not apologizing for the roots of our culture or the roots of our hair. Proud to be Nubian, Nubian and Proud.
Yea, I remember when James Brown sang about it and changed his hairstyle. Beautiful sisters flaunted it. Afro's and cornrows with pretty brown smiles below. African naturalness was a beautiful thing for the eyes of a young black poet in harlem in 1967. The black panther sisters in that sleek black leather, with those big shining afro's. Other Culturally diverse sisters displaying the multi-colored hues of the sacred motherland. Sun-ra, Incense and cultural lessons given on the corner of 125th and 7th ave. Africa was alive and growing in some major ghettos at that time. Sisters were throwing away their hot combs and brothers were running from the process.
Angela Davis, Abbey Lincoln and Assata Shakur were beautiful and intelligent examples for the sisters of that day and beyond. Yet, something pale and sinister has halted and reversed the african cultural promise of the late 60's, early 70's. Because, here we are 40 years later, still talking about good hair, bad hair. White dolls favored over black dolls by young nubian girls. Girls being raised by culturally brain-washed clones, who claim to be proud black women. Who cry, complain, and bemoan their natural hair texture on prime time T.V to the amazement of the world.
This manufactured post traumatic slave syndrome is the death of the natural black mother, inwardly and outwardly. As these modern day slave women pass on the germ of self-hate to their daughters and sons, we as a nation sink deeper into self-deprivation and self-destruction. At all cost they will have their stinking weaves and their smelly perms for the so-called right to mimic white women. No matter what the cost, through hair loss, debt, broken relationships, health problems, brain cell damage, nothing will keep these zombies from their weaves and their chemical treatments. As if michael Jackson was not bad enough with his self-hate. We wake up in 2010 and find that we have a whole nation of black female self-haters claiming to love themselves. Freud would have a ball analyzing this sick syndrome. Yet, in arrogance and ignorance they make the argument for their own self-destructive actions, as they commit mental and cultural suicide with this weopon of self-hate prime time.
What a shame, what a damn shame.
