I’ve had Quite the day on Facebook. Two of my favorite Facebook profiles are in jail tangling with the musty hotep black femenists who felt some.type.of.way. about my comments regarding their smug rejoicing in Stephon Clark’s murder upon discovering some of his old Tweets “disparaging” black women. 

Stephon was the recent trending cop killing of an unarmed black man that happened in Sacramento. He was shot 20 times in the dark. Most of those shots were in the back even though cops said they saw him reaching for a gun. {To me it sounds like one of those initiation killings young, white, white nationalists who join the police force have to commit to pledge their loyalty. They know all the correct verbiage.} There’s been a large rallying behind Stephon’s death, but over the weekend bored social media hags went digging back to some 2015 tweets that exposed Stephon’s colorism and preference for non-black women, and you know in the millenial age of “black girl magic” that’s punishable by death.

This was all they needed to fuel their perpetual pity drama as well as pontify about NOT marching for Stephon. And that they don’t care about him because he’s a self-hating coon. Along with all the usual cliché hotep terms meant to shame and guilt black people into a monolithic train of thought.

I went the whole Easter weekend reading these posts and today I woke up with not one fuck to give and decided to address the rampant hypocrisy we have to deal with on black social media in regards to black unity {Which is just code talk for “worship all black women no matter what or else”}. I personally don’t expect every unarmed black man living in urban {Hood} environments to be a saint. I also don’t want to to start selecting which miscarriages of justice are valid or not based on whether or not he was in good standing with self righteous black women emboldened by Facebook‘s gross abuse of Facebook jail. 

I spoke my mind. I think my biggest point was this smugness in which many proclaimed ” We aren’t marching for him.” My point of view was “If you march or don’t march he’ll still be dead, and not one of the people you marched for received any justice. Marching isn’t saving any lives. All it’s doing is making bored, unemployed, outcasts feel like sitting on social media all day copying and pasting First-world rebellion soundbytes feel important and giving them a sense of self worth. Which I’d be all for if they didn’t use it to anoint themselves guardians of black humanity letting us know whose lives they thought should and should not be granted worth. 

They didn’t like that too much so I had a bunch of weird looking, mad, angry, bitter, sexually frustrated young women report all of my posts until I went to jail. Which at this point is the lamest thing to put energy into. It’s like… Facebook devalued $100 billion dollars last week and you still got these wack heauxs thinking that putting your account in jail is power when people are already jumping ship. And it made me sad because I realized that this is actually the only power that black people have in America. Perhaps they took their anger out on me because I reminded them that those hashtags are still dead people that their misguided “marches” never brought justice too despite all the accolades they give each other for “saving us.”  

One post that made them PARTICULARLY upset was when I mentioned that black men and women may be too hurt to heal each other. I mean…its questionable if we even like each other, or if we’re just bonded in a familiar pain. Then here came all the half white mulattos overcompensating for their lack of melanin wearing dashikis and African print with headwraps so you’ll know they have black blood. {These New Blacks raised by their white moms be doing too much for me}

The problem is we’re mixed in with all these kids trying to make names for themselves who are feeling less and less important because they wasted their formative years on social media. I’m Generation X. We got to live a life before social media. These other kids obviously have no happy times from the comments they left under these posts.

The millennial black feminists are faux-mad at everything these days now that CNN isn’t pandering to them for the Michelle Obama clicks. These “activists” really could care less about black lives or any of the other social issue they use to build audiences. It’s really all ego, misplaced angst, and dysfunction. It’s why they go back and forth between telling you how “dope” and “lit” being black is to an immediate sob story on the drop of the dime that will leave you believing it’s the worst thing ever to be born black. 

But the most concerning to me is this group of abused black women who travel in packs on social media. Whom I empathize with and try and show understanding even though their social skills come from a broken place only because I know they need professional help outside of social media. Women who have admittedly gone through abuse, molestation, and rape and feel that social media is the place to let their anger out. Who can attach every post they don’t like to the person that abused them and then apply the rage they felt for that person to whatever profile they happen across that day.

Stephon Clark isn’t YOUR daddy that preferred his light skin kids over you, or YOUR mama’s boyfriend that touched you. Sure. He said some asshole things, but try to keep in perspective that his right to live is not up for social media debate. And you can opt not to “Step Up” and “Save Him”, as these social media activists boldly claim they do, without sounding like demonic, bloodthirsty demons taking pleasure in someone’s lynching.

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Vitamin Q (VQ) is a writer, blogger personality, and a social commentator. He irreverently analyzes how social issues affect individuals in modern society by using sarcasm, humor, and intellect, creating his own unique blend of Southern SHADE, purely for the purpose of helping like minds cope. “I say it so you don’t have to!”
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