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The support for Black talent has dwindled. Instead, a determined effort is to see us fail and our cultural identity destroyed. I constantly walk on eggshells, wary that my haters will twist every action I take into suspicious activity. When we have a beautiful home, they automatically suggest a scam. As we revel in rap music, they deem us degenerates. Even talking to a model draws accusations of a loverboy scheme. Our detractors greet the idea that a stunning woman could fall in love with disbelief and scrutiny. And if we have a following, they assumed they’re made up of bots. The malicious narrative against Black talent persists, making it even harder to combat false allegations. But it’s nothing new.
Our haters taint even hiring a lawyer as a corrupt move. Our race, cultural identity, and artistic pursuits are facing a relentless attack. Nevertheless, we cannot allow them to rob us of our cultural identity. We will rise, join forces, and continue to produce music that reflects our challenges and victories. Our voices will not be silenced. I have written several pieces on the ongoing battle against Hip Hop. It is a targeted assault aimed at destroying the very heart of our Culture. Our talent is so vast that it has elevated many of us from ordinary individuals to wealthy millionaires, promising entrepreneurs, or well-off citizens. We reside in opulent neighborhoods, drive exquisite cars, date high-society individuals, and indulge in the finest cuisine. We are succeeding, and it is driving our adversaries into a frenzy.
So what do they do? Our detractors distort the truth. The latest strategy prevalent in the online world is to turn our accomplishments against us. When we dare to expose the manipulation, they accuse us of disrespecting them. How can we claim they lack independent thinking? How dare we insinuate that someone coerced their thoughts? Yet, just ten minutes later, these very same detractors will enthusiastically share a viral news story accusing a well-accomplished performer of manipulating a consenting adult. As mentioned previously, according to the Court of Public Opinion, Black men must not be able to influence anyone into a committed long-term relationship. And heaven forbid that he is a 47-year-old stud involved with a 27-year-old lady. They will treat that grown woman as if she were an underaged victim.
Eighteen years old Black man, twenty-six years old girl, that’s internet equality. Suddenly, you’re glorifying violence, doing PR, and living a questionable lifestyle when you make a living off your art. Ours is a degenerate culture. They flipped the script when we thought we had reached the top. Now accusations about rape, sex trafficking, harassment, drug abuse, or any other invented term like narcissism and so on can ruin our careers and reputations in an instant. Everyone is pointing an accusative finger at our penis. They have even turned our women against us. What used to be seen as enjoying an affair they have twisted into the MeToo situation. It only takes one false accusation to bring us down, and they know it.
Gone are the days when Black men could confidently arrive in a flashy vehicle and impress the beautiful Black queens gathered at the location. This impression must be so strong that it could entice one of those women to put significant effort into getting to know him. Although this may still occur in certain parts of Africa, the trend has shifted. In the past, SUVs were the preferred choice for cruising, but now the story is different. Some may question why they even bother going out at all. However, popular spots such as the beach, tourist attractions, and specific parks are where beautiful people gather. Imagine this – a handsome Black man arrives, dressed to the nines and ready to socialize.
But what happens? Suddenly, all the stunning Black women shift into “defense” mode. The system has trained Black women to view a Black man’s romantic advances with skepticism. So, their first response upon seeing a Black man is to put up a guard. That is when we hear excuses like “he’s short,” “Does he make six figures a year?” “I don’t like bald men,” or “our fashion sense doesn’t align.” The Black man cannot even ask for a dance or seduce them. Forget about taking one of them to a cozy Airbnb for a casual one-night fling. Today, Black women are almost off-limits for most Black men. However, when a Black man finds love with a woman outside of his race, the same people label him a sell-out (bunny hopper).
After realizing that someone designed the system to pit Black women against Black men, what else can be done? Perhaps enjoying a night of dancing and drinking alone may seem the only option. But beware, the bartender may slip something in your drink, leaving you completely incapacitated. And if that’s not bad enough, the bouncer may even keep track of how many drinks you’ve had and report you to the authorities when you leave. Even when you somehow manage to charm a non-sex worker to come back to your Airbnb, forget about it. The police will inevitably pull you over while you’re on your way and put you through the humiliating process of a DUI test. So what’s the alternative? Look outside your circle.
Is it wise to stay indoors? Should we avoid approaching women? Should we take public transportation or opt for a limousine? Will our one-night stand feel content with the aftermath? It’s important to remember that love interests from out of town are now seen as victims of sex trafficking. Your choices may lead to interactions with inexperienced women. They might perceive you as suspicious, so you must balance confidence and inexperience. Earlier, I discussed the suppression of Black art. One could argue that the system has conditioned Black women to reject Black men who identify as artists. Allegations of rape from Black women brought down many male celebrities who have fallen from grace.
Oh dear! He’s shaming Black women for having high standards! And to make matters worse, the DJ plays the most mundane songs. As for creating a new friend? Yeah, right. A Black man is more likely to find himself in a gunfight than to establish a spontaneous connection. It seems like every new situation is potentially hostile. Finding a business partner is like searching for a needle in a haystack. There’s the constant pressure, the constant need to be vigilant, the constant fear of being taken advantage of, criticized, or incriminated. A female undercover cop (pretending to be promiscuous) approached me to ask if I had cocaine. I must have looked like someone who carries cocaine in their pocket.
I recognized her as an officer because, as I mentioned earlier, society has conditioned women to become motionless when they come across a Black man. Then, a supposed “cocaine sniffer” in a tight dress boldly approached me to demand drugs. It was clear she was even a Federal Agent stereotyping me as a drug dealer. Typically, women like that would do anything to wind up ballet dancing with Chad in the bathroom stall. And I am no Chad. They would willingly sit in a dimly lit car park, completely intoxicated, to allow Tyrone to take advantage of them in the backseat. In contrast, the women who engage in conversation with me are composed professionals who see the potential for me to be their romantic partner.
These women are not like the promiscuous addicts who eagerly ignore me to catch up with Brad in his wife’s minivan. So, it was evident that this woman was an undercover cop. It’s exhausting. And it’s not just about the physical exhaustion. It’s the emotional toll it takes on you. It’s like constantly walking on eggshells, never knowing who you can trust or who has ulterior motives. Like living in a constant state of paranoia. So yeah, maybe I don’t pull up in the whip anymore. But trust me, it’s not because I don’t want to. It’s because the price of fame is just too damn high for my kind. We have entered an era where everything admirable is now deplorable. People are waiting to see the fall of that promising Black man.
