Saint And Sinners (83 page)

“When they
do
step out and broaden their dating scope by including non-black men, they are coined,
‘A White Man’s Whore’, a woman giving up her candy to the slave master, right?” He
laughed grimly. “There is an active campaign in this nation to keep black women in
their place, gentlemen. In no other time in history has the country of America been
more accepting of interracial relationships and also more volatile, all at the same
time. It is a paradigm of mine, due to an uprising of black men who are seeing black
women leaving the fold. It is an orchestrated, powerful mode of mind control…it is
mental pimping, from afar. It is being done online via viral videos, it is being done
in person, it is being done via social media. It is being done on the radio stations.
It is being done in musical expression. It is being done all over the place, wherever
there is an opportunity to reach a number of people all at one time, or individually
even…that suffices as well. Whatever. Means. Necessary—and I say to that, if these
same soft, pussy ass, degenerate, overly-emotional insecure mothafuckas used that
same
goddamn energy to work on themselves and fix how they
think
of,
talk
to and
treat
black women, they wouldn’t even have to do all this so-called sabotage, mind fucking,
screwing and manipulation! And listen up, men…” He pointed sternly out into the audience,
his tone grim. “Any of these black Queens that fall for this shit are not ready for
YOU!”

The crowd lit up in applause.

“Don’t apologize for a goddamn thang! That is on
her
!” He pointed to his heart. “If she rejects you because of what her brother, uncle,
ex-boyfriend, black male co-worker or some stranger down the street said, as well
as all those
other
so-called people that
call
themselves a man, then she has some homework to do before you even think about stepping
to her. The best mate is a perpetual student, but make sure they are putting in the
work. And to the leaders of Blackistan…”—He stood still and looked out at the sea
of men as if he were on a teleprompter—“…if you are so fucking wonderful, you don’t
have to
try
to convince another person how damn glorious you are by lying, attacking and practicing
old-school tactics of mind control. Good shit sells itself!” A cluster of loud whistling
followed.

“
Believe
it! How many times have you seen anyone say, ‘Hey, I got a big ass diamond here I’m
trying to give away, pawn off, get someone to take off my hands…but no one will take
it!’” He threw up his hands and tossed out a dumbfounded expression, causing a rumble
of laughter. “Or, I have two million dollars sitting on my front lawn, but I can’t
get anyone to pick it up and take it away from me…Yeah.” He smirked. “You’ll hear
that the last day of never! And these mothafuckas that say this shit are sippin’ on
their own Kool-Aid. This is what happens when you get a bunch of mentally ill, desperate,
emotional men together, let them co-sign on their own shit and form a group to combat
some perceived injustice or societal woe! The name of my new book coming out next
month is titled, ‘Fuck your Feelings.’” The crowd burst out into laughter.

“For those that have seen me speak before, you know that is an important concept.
Feelings will get you fucked up! Make your choice unwisely, and you will suffer. Now,
feelings are there for a reason, but if not paired with logic, good reasoning and
intelligence, you are nothing more than a mess that no one wants to damn deal with
it. Anytime someone co-signs what I’m saying, the guy is called a Mitch or Mangina.
Those terms are funny to me, especially since they are coming from dudes that act
like teenage girls on their periods…emotionally un-fucking stable! How damn ironic.
A cloud calling a cotton ball, ‘Fluffy’, simply doesn’t compute. Clean up on aisle
mangina, mothafucka! Wipe yo’
own
self up!” He cackled, and others followed suit.

“Damn, shit,” he said around a grin as he began to pace the stage once again. “Now,
I told you all I would be hitting hard and heavy tonight, like a fucking heavyweight.”
He scratched beside the side of his mouth. “It’s going to get uncomfortable. Discomfort
is good sometimes, though. It’s going to be an awakening. Set your alarms. It will
be eye opening to some so wear your glasses. It will stoke a fire in others. Check
your smoke detectors. ’Cause let me tell you…” He stopped pacing and faced the crowd
head on, peering up into the balcony then back to the floor seats. “Blackistan is
not the
only
place where this warped fuckery exists…”

He heard murmurs, men talking amongst themselves.

“That’s right, some of you so-called Rainbeaus help perpetuate this mess, help keep
the fuel in the car, keep it on ‘F’, keep it going. You see, some of you sexualize
every goddamn thing. As men, we tend to do that by default, you know.” He paused.
“We have default programming, default settings, as I’ve discussed before. These default
settings have no rules, follow few morals and customs, and are controlled by our cocks
and ego. When you participate in colorism, for instance, you are helping fuel the
tank. When you talk about a black woman as some
sexual
treat exclusively, you fuel the tank. When you won’t stand up for her, and let the
media, the Blackistan leaders, mind fuck her, rape her emotions right in front of
you, you fuel the tank. When you are too fuckin’ afraid to approach her because of
what your silly ass so-called friends might say, you fuel the tank. When you fall
into stereotypes, ignore racist jokes and don’t tell the people closest to you about
her, you fuel the goddamn tank!” His voice echoed, shaking the place to its core.

“And I’m pissed about that shit!” He shook his fist in the air. “Now, let’s get into
it. I stated first,” he counted off one finger, “when you over-sexualize them, you
help keep this going. I understand that is the default setting; we’ve covered that
already. However, you have to ascend to a higher level of behavior. Don’t approach
her and say anything about sex, her figure, none of that. She already gets that. Coincidentally,
she is told she’s ugly because she doesn’t look like a blonde Barbie doll, yet these
same mothafuckas cursing her looks are trying to find a way to jump up ’nd down in
’er pussy! That’s modern day mental slavery, that’s Blackistan for ya, that’s the
way this works. That’s what you’re up against! Don’t. Fuel. The. Tank.

“Now, let’s move onto colorism right quick.” He paused and moved his hand out towards
the audience, as if inviting them inside of his world. “Some of you may not know what
that is and some of you in here are not American, so the concept may be even more
unfamiliar to you, though it does exist globally. Nevertheless, staying on task here,
colorism is a preference of one shade over another based on stereotypical and racist
ideologies. It is practiced in the black community. It is practiced in Africa. It
is practiced wherever European influence has had an influx in population, a footmark,
an economic impact, and has had a history of cultivation, thus, allowing them to leave
a cultural imprint. It is a systematic way to control, to oppress, to cause self-doubt
and one to devalue their physical presence as it pertains to physical comparison,
in this world. Now,” he put one finger in the air, “here is where you come in, Rainbeau…you
modern day man. You believe, well, I’m here!” He shrugged his shoulders. “There is
no
way
that I fall into this category. I
love
black women! I would not be sitting here, Saint, I wouldn’t have bought a damn ticket
to this conference if I were part of this issue! It is not my fault what my ancestors
did! I am not them!” He paused for effect.

“Now, you do have a point, Rainbeau. In part, what you believe is true. You have evolved,
we know this, we can see this; however, evolution does
not
necessarily equate to an individual evolving to a higher being!” He placed his hand
in the air, as if leveling a playing field. “To
evolve
means to transform, change and grow. A bear cub will transform, change and grow.
As a newborn, it is practically incapable of killing anyone, including a human being.
However, once it is an adult, it can maul and murder in a matter of minutes with its
claws and teeth! It changed…it grew…it evolved. But if you were its victim, if it
attacked you, that evolution was not in your favor, now was it?! My wife and I, not
too long ago, were having a rather whimsical discussion about colorism.” He took careful
steps across the stage as he pointed to his temple. “As most know, I have a young
daughter. She is the joy of my life.” He grinned proudly.

“All three of my children have different complexions—which his common in many black
families, particularly African American families, due to a hodgepodge of DNA from
the results of historically forced and voluntary sexual occurrences. With myself being
bi-racial, mixed with Middle Eastern and Asian blood, and my wife being an African
American, we could create a myriad of different physical possibilities. Now, my daughter
is the lightest of my children.” He tapped his bottom lip thoughtfully with his index
finger. “She basically looks like a very light complexioned version of my wife. My
wife is considered by most in the African American community to be brown-skinned.
Now, that term may mean something different to you.” He slightly chuckled. “Many Rainbeaus
see
all
black women as brown-skinned, but in the laws of complexion as well as colorism,
that simply is not true. Some black women are even lighter than, say, a white guy
from Ireland or Sweden. It happens.” He sucked his teeth and continued.

“Some have such a rich, dark complexion, it is literally black, as the shade definition
denotes. And then, of course, there is everything in between which is where most African
Americans fall, somewhere in that gamut. My wife, I would say, is almost in the middle.
She’s a few shades lighter than the medium, the middle of the spectrum. She has a
bit of a red hue to her complexion. She is not considered light-skinned or dark-skinned
in her black community. When you look at her, you would not question whether she was
black. She looks the part, however; she has told me a few stories from her childhood
where, depending on whom she was around, some people referred to her as light-complexioned.
Now, my wife is not hung up in all of that, but let’s say she was…

“Let’s say, my wife had issues concerning her complexion. That would make her susceptible
to the games people play in regards someone’s skin tone. Speaking of games, and also
the over-sexualization of black women in this country, I would like to merge those
two points, if you will. Now, I want to preface this by saying there is absolutely
nothing
wrong with having preferences. We
all
have them, whether we realize it or not. I know that I do.” He touched his chest,
his fingers sprawled as he affirmed his point. “I did not realize it consciously until
I was a grown ass man, but I have a thing for big breasts.” This instigated a few
chuckles. “I like it all, don’t get me wrong. It is not something I gave much thought
to, but after thinking about all the women I’ve slept with, the ones I seemed to enjoy
looking the most at had that in common! Now, isn’t that something?

“I honestly never mulled over this until I was preparing for this conference. This
event caused me to think about my own preferences and internalize them. Some say,
a breast preference, large being the preference, denotes a man being a mama’s boy.
There is actual scientific data behind these concepts.” He stopped and smirked. “Well,
in my case, that would be true. My mother was a very petite, almost physically fragile,
Korean woman. I would prefer to not talk about her in a sexual manner.” He grinned.
“But let’s just say her assets were in line with her body type, okay? So, this breast
fixation of mine, that some may believe I have, did not come from
her
, in that regard. However, breasts are associated, as they should be, with mothers—comfort
and nursing. Thus, I cannot rule out the possibility my predilection could stem from
that, especially since I was a ‘Mama’s Boy’ and was terribly close to the woman. And
even more importantly, since I lost my mother at a young age, this is definitely a
possibility! Initially, I told myself I didn’t have any. The only pre-requisite was
that the woman be black!”

This last statement was followed by an explosion of applause.

“That’s right.” Saint laughed gruffly. “I knew about
that
, shit. Yeah.” He paused. “I knew about that since I was a little kid. But, as I matured,
I dated
all
sorts of black women, of all complexions. I didn’t
just
date light-skinned black women, or brown-skinned black women or dark-skinned black
women. I dated them
all
. As I’ve continued to study and work for this cause though, gentlemen, colorism definitely
had to be addressed. You see, there is a phenomenon going on, one that is going to
have the same devastating effects on the Black Queen that the brown bag test had.
Basically, in short, the brown bag test was a form of segregation. If a Black person
was the color or lighter than the brown paper bag, they were okay…seen as decent enough
for perks, advancements, things of that nature.

“If they were darker, then that wasn’t good.” He paused and raised his brow. “They
were excused, not allowed in certain groups, alienated and ostracized! I’ve said it
before, but it bears repeating for this situation right here—black is seen as bad,
and white is seen as good in this society!

“Black mail, White wonder, white wash, white is clean, white is pure. Black is dirty,
black is evil. Black cats and dogs are the least likely to be adopted. Black is grunge,
white is angelic, you get the damn picture! All of this was on purpose. It is part
of more mind fucking, only this time, it has no preference over the gender or the
person, just the race! Now, when the opposite of this is done, it is embraced by the
black community and Rainbeaus alike, but fellas,
reverse
colorism is a big issue with Rainbeaus and do you know why? I’ll tell you why—it
is fetishism!