It’s almost four in the morning and
I have to be awake for work in two and a half hours. It’s that time of night when
one debates whether or not to even try to sleep.My ex called our wedding off over four months
ago, almost five months now actually, and I’m awake at four in the
morning.I’m awake at four in the
morning recovering from an anxiety attack, tears still in my eyes.I’m awake at four in the morning and I’m
furious.I rarely discuss the breakup; I
walk around work busy, cheery, and peppy. I walk around smiling and ok, but I’m
not. It’s four in the morning and I’m weeping and furious.My chest hurts, my head hurts, my heart hurts,
and I’M AWAKE AT FOUR IN THE MORNING!
I’m awake at four in the morning
and I wonder why the burden of heartache falls on the woman. Why, although he
broke up with me, I am expected to still be there for him.I remember when I finally broke up with Tsy,
my ex before the ex-fiancé, and one day he asked, “why are you being so mean?”
What is mean to a man who ruined you? Is mean refusing mistreatment?I don’t know anymore.My heart doesn’t still hurt from Tsy. I
vaguely remember the pain and completely forgot the decent memories.I was once told love is the best remedy for a
broken heart, but I now think that another broken heart is the remedy.Another good heartbreak completely erases old
pain.It’s like when someone jokingly
offers to punch you in the arm in order to distract you from another pain.Although no one ever takes up that offer,
there’s truth to it.There’s a reality
that the heart has muscle memory.It
becomes a pro at being broken, pained, and ruined.You look forward to the numbness that
eventually comes.It’s really sad that
feeling nothing becomes the only alternative to pain. When the pain is this bad, this constantly
fighting the desire to die pain, happiness isn’t even an option, so you settle
for feeling nothing.The problem is when
the pain starts to subside, even slightly, the numbness wears off, and then
you’re awake at four in the morning recovering from a panic attack, recovering
from anxiety, recovering from pain, but not really recovering at all, just
waiting until it’s bad enough for the numbness to kick back in. Unfortunately
the heart isn’t a broken bone, it beats blood to the entire body, and when it’s
damaged, when trauma accompanies those beats, shards of glass pump through your
veins and you sit awake at four in the morning looking at a computer screen
because the numbness that would allow sleep won’t set in until you’re supposed
to be awake and it starts all over again.
It’s four in the morning and I’m
finally ready to talk about my latest failed relationship.I’m finally able to process, through the
tears, all of the mistakes I made and continue to make. It’s four in the morning
and I’m alone and I need to get out of here. My last relationship became a
cycle of pain and the expectation of things returning to “normal” no matter
what hurtful and hateful words were said.The expectation that it’s normal to yell at the one you claim to
love.The expectation that love is
supposed to be painful.I remember him
telling me that I need to love myself. Asking how I could love someone else
without loving myself.However, when I
think of the situation, it was a conundrum really.I couldn’t love myself when I was with him,
because he made me hate myself.I hated
who I was with him.I convinced myself
it was normal.It’s funny how we can
justify anything if we try hard enough, but at the end of the day I hated
myself.I hated that I allowed life to
just happen to me, that I became a passive observer to my life.I’m not trying to demonize my ex because,
truth is, people only do what you allow and I allowed myself to become someone
I hated.I allowed myself to become
someone who normalized toxicity. I became someone who went into a coma instead
of waking up to realize what was happening.When I finally woke up, over four months later, I’m still awake at four
in the morning.
He ruined me.He controlled me.He manipulated me and I let him. He thinks he
still can but he can’t.Things aren’t
normal anymore.This isn’t normal
anymore.I don’t want to have small talk
with him. I don’t care about his life and I don’t want his favors.He ruined me and I am getting far far away.Although he ruined me, I’m no longer a
passive observer in my life. I’m not allowing that.Instead, I am going to become someone I love
again and I can’t do that with him in my life.We’re not friends.I’m ruined,
but not destroyed.To a certain extent,
I embrace the pain because it means that I’m awake, I’m not numb.I’m not finished, there’s still so much I
need to do without him.I want to make a
clean break; I need to make a clean break. In the meantime, I’m awake at four
in the morning recovering. I’m recovering.
I recently started writing my dissertation and all I hear in my head is
“finally,” “took you long enough,”and “what’s the point, it’ll be wrong
anyway.” Hence, writing physically and emotionally hurts. Many days I
stare at my computer screen and question myself, everything I’ve
produced, and everything I have yet to produce. Did I research correctly;
have I been in the field too long, did I ask the right questions? But
the main question that continues to haunt me is, why do I think I belong
here? That’s the one that replays over and over, and no, this isn’t
some elaborate self-pitying party I’ve created in my mind. This is based
on a graduate career marked by racism, blatant and subtle, attacks on
my credential, and being accused of being spoon-fed, all of which
insinuate that 1) I don’t belong here and 2) the only reason I am here
is because I got way more help than my white counterparts.
I’m still the lone Black graduate student in the department. Well, as
far as I know because, as I said earlier, I’ve been in the field for
over a year now. These years of being questioned in more ways than I can
list, led to self-isolation from everything graduate school represented
while in the field. I contacted my adviser maybe once every other
month, sharing the very least with her as possible. By doing this I
subconsciously hoped when I start sending chapters the accusation of
being spoon-fed would have no basis. Unfortunately, I realize an
additional basis for those who constantly question my place in academia
is not necessary because the basis is my melanin. Either way, I felt
that I had to show I could do this on my own. Forget having a chronic
illness and being in a life changing car accident, I had to do it alone,
while carrying the expectations of other Black graduate students and
the doubts of my white counterparts.
I’m sure
many have written me off as another phantom Black graduate student who
leaves for fieldwork and drops off the face of the earth. They wouldn’t
be wrong, except to the fact that I dropped off the face of the earth
when I went to the field. The truth is, I dropped off the face of the
earth my fourth year of graduate school. I was tired; tired of
constantly defending my existence and research, tired of hearing racist
comments exemplified by people thinking I was too stupid to realize how
racist the comments were and that they were directed at me, tired of
the expectation that I would never finish my degree, tired of being the
only one,tired of biting my tongue. Biting my tongue became a ritual:
in meetings with committee members, in the student lounge, and in
conversations with other students.
My tongue was
swollen, bloody, and hanging from a thread before I decided to just
stop. I only stepped on campus when I absolutely necessary, for years my
office mate probably thought I didn’t exist. I didn’t go to any
“diversity” activities, because I was always the token,the evidence that
the department was diverse, at the expense of that lone student who
became more of a symbol than a person. I just stopped. Slowly my tongue
healed, but the scar is there and that scar continues to haunt my
writing. It throbs when I get ready to write and replays all of my
fears. It’s hard to write in extreme pain and one hundred pound weights
on your shoulders.Often I may force out a paragraph or more on good
days, but I always have to stop because the voices of those who
disapprove have become my own. I’m telling myself, “you’re not good
enough, why are you writing, Black people aren’t smart enough and you’re
at the bottom of that barrel.” Feeling self-dejected, I stop. How can I
write about a Black community empowering themselves in the midst of
disaster when I feel so dis-empowered? Nothing will be authentic. My
words will be exactly what they expect, not worthy of this cannon they
guard so fiercely. Even 700miles away I’m still that shy little black
girl with blood dripping out the corner of her mouth.
I recently started writing my dissertation and all I hear in my head is
“finally,” “took you long enough,”Writing is increasingly physically
and emotionally painful. Many days I stare at my computer screen while
questioning myself, everything I’ve produced, and everything I have yet
to produce until the tears distort the screen too much. Why does it feel
like I don’t belong here? The answer is, because I don’t. Realizing
this, I get back to writing and the process starts all over.
I am sitting, here listening to
Mrs. Keys sing about heartbreak and recovery.
It is ironic, the ways in which mainstream music and media tends to focus
on one of two things, sex or heartbreak.
Very few outlets focus on rebuilding.
This, I believe, is very representative of larger gender and
relationship trends of our society. As a Black woman, I am speaking from my
position with my lens; however, these reflections are applicable to broader patterns.
A few months back I posted a blog
entitled It Takes Work, in which I
discussed how, in a society of instant gratification, we do not feel that
relationships take work. Instead, we want things to be effortless. Although I still adhere to this, to a certain
extent, I feel that there is a fine line.
The difference lies in foundation. A sturdy foundation may give a little
under pressure, but can be saved, mended, and possibly made even stronger. Whereas, a weak foundation completely
crumbles under pressure, regardless of how much work you put in to preventing
its destruction or preserving the wreckage.
In other words, some relationships will survive, while others are
Babylon. Enough said.
Getting out of Babylon, in the
knick of time, I look back on why people, specifically women, choose to stay in
bad relationships. “Western” society
tends to condition women to be self-sacrificing, people pleasers. I’ll give you an example. One evening I picked up my now ex to spend
some quality time together. He had different ideas on how the night would go
however. We get to the house and he goes straight to the front room and turns
on the game. I have AT&T U-Verse, so I can watch up to three HD shows at a
time. However, if you are taping two things on DVR, you can only watch HD on
one receiver. I had been watching a show
and I must have had a recording scheduled that blocked my front room
television.
My now ex comes in to the room
upset, exclaiming that there is something wrong with the TV. Not wanting to have to explain things and
ultimately feeling guilty, for who knows why, I simply responded, fine I will
turn my TV off and sit in here in the dark.
I thought he would hear how crazy that sounds, especially since this is
my house, I pay my bills, and used my gas to get him from his house in the
first place, but you know what they say happens when you assume… He looks at
me, says ok and goes back into the front room to watch the game. This example
is just one of the many as to a missing or unstable foundation. One member of a
relationship cannot be more invested than the other, if this is the case, one
person is trying to make it work, while the other is reaping the benefits,
creating a false hierarchy.
I am not going to go into extreme
details on the deterioration of a relationship, turn on the radio or TV at any
given time and you have a plethora of examples of this. I want to, instead, focus on rebuilding, a
process I am currently in. As I said in
the opening, we are fixated on sex or heartbreak in this society, but no one
focuses on the in between. I cannot help but to wonder if this is because we do
not take the time to heal in between.
Although scars can never completely reconcile, they can be studied and
nurtured. Are we encouraging this or are
we jumping from one relationship to the next without reflection and self-evaluation?
Chrisette Michele has a song called
Goodbye Game. In this song she narrates a break up and
epiphany of a woman, asserting words of strength and wisdom, such as:
What's up with this game?
Why am I so forgiving?
Why am I always checking for these fools?
If he aint hearing none of home girl's rules.
Why do I play?
I’d rather play alone.
This reads as a woman who is realizing that the foundation is unstable;
it truly takes two to make a relationship work, but just one to break it. These types of questions, as illustrated by
Michele, are essential for the rebuilding process. Although Michele does provide context, the
purpose of the prose is not to dog a man, but to reflect on the woman’s own
actions by learning to love herself and her own company, as illustrated in the
line “I’d rather play alone.”
I’ve come to realize, through
conversations with friends, family, and colleagues that women often date
someone just to be in a
relationship. I am, likewise, guilty of
this. I find myself staying with men in
hopes of love, affection, and the emotions I never received from a male figure
growing up. My father was absent and my
brother, although very close as young children, was in and out of the house by
the time I was eleven. Because of this,
I didn’t have an example, so I made my own through media representations and my
peers. This landed me in relationships
with men who never recognized my worth, so I, therefore, concluded I was
lacking. However, I love how Michele takes the time to realize her worth and
love her own company, explaining how she is no longer going to play the fool,
and instead she is going to “play my [her] hero, you gon be a zero.” In a
society where the damsel in distress narrative is pervasive, it is nice to have
a woman being her own hero.
None of these lessons can be
learned without reflection. If we take
our scars and baggage to the next, we still wince at phantom pains in the chest
and fears of distress that may actually push the next guy away. There is
nothing wrong with being alone, if we weren’t so terrified of loneliness, we
may realize the power and strength in it.
It may be cliché, but you honestly can’t love someone else until you
love yourself. So take some time, lick
your wounds, and learn to love yourself.
As Alicia Keys said, “my soul has returned, so I call it a lesson
learned.” It is time for us to truly learn these lessons.
Vulnerability Due to Intersecting Identities in Academia
I remember discussing
with a mentor the position of people of color in academia, especially at a
predominantly white research institution and discipline, and the expectation to
always play politics, manipulate professionalism, and constantly
self-censor. When someone questions my credential
instead of my paper I bite my tongue. When
someone makes me the subject, as opposed to the researcher, I bite my
tongue. When I’m constantly expected to
represent diversity, as the ONLY Black person in my department, I bite my
tongue. I want to say, “no I cannot, contrary to your racist ideologies, I do
not represent everything Black, please just let me do my research,” but then
I’m the angry Black woman, so I bite my tongue.
It always amazes me how one can have a 28-hour day and still harvest extreme
feelings of emptiness and exhaustion from the simple, yet often essential, act
of biting ones tongue. When I have to read the “theory” of the discipline, frequented
with adjectives such as “long-faced negroes,” I bite my tongue. When I read
something that offends me so much I hold back tears, I bite my tongue. When I
want to scream from the rooftops, “NO MY HAIR IS NOT A TOPIC OF DISCUSSION AND
YOU CANNOT TOUCH IT,” I bite my tongue and smile with, as Smokey Robinson said,
tears from a clown.
I remember an
episode of A Different World, Mammy Dearest, where Whitley Gilbert wanted to
highlight the complexities of the Mammy caricature. Kim vehemently opposed, however, Mr. Gaines
told Kim, and I’m paraphrasing, she [mammy] is not smiling because she is
happy. In reality, she is smiling
because she knows how valuable she is on inside. This is her secret and gift. The show ended with a beautiful performance
elaborating this concept. My question is when does this gift stop being a
secret? I bite my tongue.
As a Black woman
in academia, disciplined by a field dominated by white folks who gaze and
“other,” I often become the subject in gatherings. This leads me to self-isolate
and then I am seen as not being serious about my work, when in reality I’m
trying, often unsuccessfully, not to go insane. I bite my tongue. I constantly
censor my thoughts, to the point that I do not realize that I am performing in
such a way until my mouth starts to bleed. My tongue is a thread from being
bitten off and permanently silencing me. I choke. The blood starts to gush and
I know, if not handled, I will not need to bite my tongue. I will, instead, become
a representation, a museum artifact, seen and not heard, but there when needed
to show “diversity.”
Being a forced
representative makes me a statistic. Inclusion inherently excludes. I remember seeing Zora Neale Hurston posing
as a museum exhibit, and the significance didn’t sink in until I realized, and
lived, many of the things that forced my sister (in my head) out of academia. I
am forced to ignore my other needs, and my life is placed on hold. I wait to
love, wait to live, wait to be me and with every growing day, I am anticipating
tomorrow, next month, next year. I bite my tongue.
In the exam
stage, I’m now expected to produce “stuff,” as one of my committee members
calls it. This stuff requires a “voice,” but where does this voice come from
when I barely have a tongue. A muscle that I have ignored, neglected, and
damaged to the extent of almost losing it. One of my committee members said to
me, “I can tell from your work what you like, but what do not you like? There’s
no critique.” I would have responded, but my tongue, from its damaged state,
would not form words. The blood was too
heavy and I choked back tears. It’s hard to critique when the overt policing in
the academy disciplined me to self-police, losing the ability to respond.
Tis the game of
academia, the first three years we tell you what the politics of the discipline
are, in this case, being the majority and “othering” the field population. If you cannot become white, try your best to
conform, but the consequences of such lead you to be voiceless, soul-less, lifeless,
and numb until you don ot even remember what it was you want to do with this
discipline, and I mean that in the literal sense, in the first place.
I have to take
my agency back and live by the words of the often forgotten Zora Neale Hurston,
“sometimes, I feel discriminated against, but
it does not make me angry. It merely astonishes me. How can any
deny themselves the pleasure of my company? It’s beyond me.”
At the end of
the day, I have to heal my tongue, find my voice, and reclaim my worth because
Queen Latifah said it best when she said, “it’s just another day.” I will never stop being oppressed, silenced,
and disciplined, but I can start exerting my agency, voice, and choice. I mend my
tongue. I heal my tongue. I love my tongue. I reclaim my voice.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Wow, this is brillant! Really captures the coonery of the original.
Hmm, second degree murder, guess we’re still happy with crumbs. Let’s look, for a moment, at the criteria for a first degree vs. a second degree charge: Murder in the first degree is the willful, deliberate, malicious and premeditated killing of a human being. Murder in thesecond degree is the unlawful killing of a human being with malice, without premeditation and deliberation.
Correct me if I’m wrong, I only do legal studies and do not, in fact, practice law (thankfully), but given Zimmerman’s track record of calling 911 on things such as stray dogs and five year old lil black boys, he is clearly maintaining an overzealous nature and false hero perception. In the 911 call that led to his murder of Trayvon, when told NOT TO FOLLOW TRAYVON, he does so anyway and makes the conscious decision to shoot him, although Trayvon posed no serious threat seeing that he was unarmed, unless of course you count iced tea and skittles. Trayvon was also actually shot in the BACK, meaning he was either trying to flee or in submission. Zimmerman using his gun for his self-appointed “job,” and deciding to shot him in the chest, again through the back, and not the leg or some other non-mortal wound shows intent to kill.
If the tables were turned, I am confident that it would be first degree murder. A Black man shooting and killing an unarmed white teen. He would be heading to the electric chair right now. Shoot, Howard Morgan, and there was PROOF his gun never discharged, managed to have enough evidence for attempted murder AFTER being shot 28 times. Going back further, there was NO evidence in the George Junius Stinney Jr. trial and he, at 14, was sent to the electric chair. Second degree doesn’t fit the Zimmerman case and if they don’t have enough evidence, it is based a dual criminal injustice system founded in dangerous, racist ideologies, and not actual forensics and evidence of the case. Remember, the first police of Black communities were slave catchers, which outlines where we stood and continue to stand in the eyes of the law.
So, why are we counting a second degree charge as a victory? Call me a cynic but I really don’t think anything will come out of this. If Howard Morgan is sitting in prison for 40 years, yet Zimmerman is still walking free, I don’t care what reports claim, his own ex-lawyers stated that he was no longer in the state of Florida as recent as TODAY, I have no faith in the criminal injustice system. It’s time for us to handle our own streets.
I know it's been a while but I'm alive and well, well not exactly well, but I'm alive nonetheless. I have a Tumblr and will be Vlogging soon and I invite you all to follow my tumblr as well. http://mzziahz.tumblr.com/ So check it out, leave comments, but be patient. I'm still trying to get a hang of it.
At the close of Black History month keep an eye out for my latest blog, The Facade of Freedom Syndrome. In the meantime enjoy this true hip hop from Brotha Yasiin Bey
So...I saw this on the H-Afro_Am listserv and this completely sums up everything I am feeling right now.
The Black Male Privileges Checklist is one tool that students and faculty may find useful in dealing with issues of Black Manhood & Black Masculinities.
The Black Male Privileges Checklist
Leadership & Politics
1. I don't have to choose my race over my sex in political matters. 2. When I read African American History textbooks, I will learn mainly about black men. 3. When I learn about the Civil Rights Movement & the Black Power Movements, most of the leaders that I will learn about will be black men. 4. I can rely on the fact that in the near 100-year history of national civil rights organizations such as the NAACP and the Urban League, virtually all of the executive directors have been male. 5. I will be taken more seriously as a political leader than black women. 6. Despite the substantial role that black women played in the Civil Rights Movement and Black Power Movement, currently there is no black female that is considered a "race leader". 7. I can live my life without ever having read black feminist authors, or knowing about black women's history, or black women's issues. 8. I can be a part of a black liberation organization like the Black Panther Party where an "out" rapist Eldridge Cleaver can assume leadership position. 9. I will make more money than black women at equal levels of education and occupation. 10. Most of the national "opinion framers" in Black America including talk show hosts and politicians are men.
Beauty 11. I have the ability to define black women's beauty by European standards in terms of skin tone, hair, and body size. In comparison, black women rarely define me by European standards of beauty in terms of skin tone, hair, or body size. 12. I do not have to worry about the daily hassles of having my hair conforming to any standard image of beauty the way black women do. 13. I do not have to worry about the daily hassles of being terrorized by the fear of gaining weight. In fact, in many instances bigger is better for my sex. 14. My looks will not be the central standard by which my worth is valued by members of the opposite sex.
Sex & Sexuality 15. I can purchase pornography that typically shows men defile women by the common practice of the "money shot." 16. I can believe that causing pain during sex is connected with a woman's pleasure without ever asking her. 17. I have the privilege of not wanting to be a virgin, but preferring that my wife or significant other be a virgin. 18. When it comes to sex if I say "No", chances are that it will not be mistaken for "Yes". 19. If I am raped, no one will assume that "I should have known better" or suggest that my being raped had something to do with how I was dressed. 20. I can use sexist language like bonin', laying the pipe, hittin-it, and banging that convey images of sexual acts based on dominance and performance. 21. I can live in a world where polygamy is still an option for men in the United States as well as around the world. 22. In general, I prefer being involved with younger women socially and sexually 23. In general, the more sexual partners that I have the more stature I receive among my peers. 24. I have easy access to pornography that involves virtually any category of sex where men degrade women, often young women. 25. I have the privilege of being a part of a sex where "purity balls" apply to girls but not to boys. 26. When I consume pornography, I can gain pleasure from images and sounds of men causing women pain.
Popular Culture 27. I come from a tradition of humor that is based largely on insulting and disrespecting women; especially mothers. 28. I have the privilege of not having black women, dress up and play funny characters- often overweight- that are supposed to look like me for the entire nation to laugh. 29. When I go to the movies, I know that most of the leads in black films are men. I also know that all of the action heroes in black film are men. 30. I can easily imagine that most of the artists in Hip Hop are members of my sex. 31. I can easily imagine that most of the women that appear in Hip Hop videos are there solely to please men 32. Most of lyrics I listen to in hip-hop perpetuate the ideas of males dominating women, sexually and socially. 33. I have the privilege of consuming and popularizing the word pimp, which is based on the exploitation of women with virtually no opposition from other men. 34. I can hear and use language bitches and hoes that demean women, with virtually no opposition from men. 35. I can wear a shirt that others and I commonly refer to as a "wife beater" and never have the language challenged. 36. Many of my favorite movies include images of strength that do not include members of the opposite sex and often are based on violence. 37. Many of my favorite genres of films, such as martial arts, are based on violence. 38. I have the privilege of popularizing or consuming the idea of a thug, which is based on the violence and victimization of others with virtually no opposition from other men.
Attitudes/Ideology 39. I have the privilege to define black women as having "an attitude" without referencing the range of attitudes that black women have. 40. I have the privilege of defining black women's attitudes without defining my attitudes as a black man. 41. I can believe that the success of the black family is dependent on returning men to their historical place within the family, rather than in promoting policies that strengthen black women's independence, or that provide social benefits to black children. 42. I have the privilege of believing that a woman cannot raise a son to be a man. 43. I have the privilege of believing that a woman must submit to her man. 44. I have the privilege of believing that before slavery gender relationships between black men and women were perfect. 45. I have the privilege of believing that feminism is anti-black. 46. I have the privilege of believing that the failure of the black family is due to the black matriarchy. 47. I have the privilege of believing that household responsibilities are women's roles. 48. I have the privilege of believing that black women are different sexually than other women and judging them negatively based on this belief.
Sports 49. I will make significantly more money as a professional athlete than members of the opposite sex will. 50. In school, girls are cheerleaders for male athletes, but there is no such role for males to cheerlead for women athletes. 51. My financial success or popularity as a professional athlete will not be associated with my looks. 52. I can talk about sports or spend large portions of the day playing video games while women are most likely involved with household or childcare duties. 53. I can spend endless hours watching sports TV and have it considered natural. 54. I can touch, hug, or be emotionally expressive with other men while watching sports without observers perceiving this behavior as sexual. 55. I know that most sports analysts are male. 56. If I am a coach, I can motivate, punish, or embarrass a player by saying that the player plays like a girl. 57. Most sports talk show hosts that are members of my race are men. 58. I can rest assured that most of the coaches -even in predominately- female sports within my race are male. 59. I am able to play sports outside without my shirt on and it not be considered a problem. 60. I am essentially able to do anything inside or outside without my shirt on, whereas women are always required to cover up.
Diaspora/Global 61. I have the privilege of being a part of a sex where the mutilation and disfigurement of a girl's genitalia is used to deny her sexual sensations or to protect her virginity for males. 62. I have the privilege of not having rape be used as a primary tactic or tool to terrorize my sex during war and times of conflict. 63. I have the privilege of not being able to name one female leader in Africa or Asia, past or present, that I pay homage to the way I do male leaders in Africa and/or Asia. 64. I have the ability to travel around the world and have access to women in developing countries both sexually and socially. 65. I have the privilege of being a part of the sex that starts wars and that wields control of almost all the existing weapons of war and mass destruction. College 66. In college, I will have the opportunity to date outside of the race at a much higher rate than black women will. 67. I have the privilege of having the phrase "sewing my wild oats" apply to my sex as if it were natural. 68. I know that the further I go in education the more success I will have with women. 69. In college, black male professors will be involved in interracial marriages at much higher rates than members of the opposite sex will. 70. By the time I enter college, and even through college, I have the privilege of not having to worry whether I will be able to marry a black woman. 71. In college, I will experience a level of status and prestige that is not offered to black women even though black women may outnumber me and out perform me academically. 72. If I go to an HBCU, I will have incredible opportunities to exploit black women
Communication/ Language 73. What is defined as "News" in Black America is defined by men. 74. I can choose to be emotionally withdrawn and not communicate in a relationships and it be considered unfortunate but normal. 75. I can dismissively refer to another persons grievances as ^*ing. 76. I have the privilege of not knowing what words and concepts like patriarchy, phallocentric, complicity, colluding, and obfuscation mean.
Relationships 77. I have the privilege of marrying outside of the race at a much higher rate than black women marry. 78. My "strength" as a man is never connected with the failure of the black family, whereas the strength of black women is routinely associated with the failure of the black family. 79. If I am considering a divorce, I know that I have substantially more marriage, and cohabitation options than my spouse. 80. Chances are I will be defined as a "good man" by things I do not do as much as what I do. If I don't beat, cheat, or lie, then I am a considered a "good man". In comparison, women are rarely defined as "good women" based on what they do not do. 81. I have the privilege of not having to assume most of the household or child-care responsibilities. 82. I have the privilege of having not been raised with domestic responsibilities of cooking, cleaning, and washing that takes up disproportionately more time as adults.
Church & Religious Traditions 83. In the Black Church, the majority of the pastoral leadership is male. 84. In the Black Church Tradition, most of the theology has a male point of view. For example, most will assume that the man is the head of household.
Physical Safety 85. I do not have to worry about being considered a traitor to my race if I call the police on a member of the opposite sex. 86. I have the privilege of knowing men who are physically or sexually abusive to women and yet I still call them friends. 87. I can video tape women in public- often without their consent - with male complicity. 88. I can be courteous to a person of the opposite sex that I do not know and say "Hello" or "Hi" and not fear that it will be taken as a come-on or fear being stalked because of it. 89. I can use physical violence or the threat of physical violence to get what I want when other tactics fail in a relationship. 90. If I get into a physical altercation with a person of the opposite sex, I will most likely be able to impose my will physically on that person 91. I can go to parades or other public events and not worry about being physically and sexually molested by persons of the opposite sex. 92. I can touch and physically grope women's bodies in public- often without their consent- with male complicity. 93. In general, I have the freedom to travel in the night without fear. 94. I am able to be out in public without fear of being sexually harassed by individuals or groups of the opposite sex
