women – Bené Viera

Entertainment, Music, Pop Culture

July 28, 2011

Kelly Rowland Poses Topless for VIBE

Go Kelly!

I’ll admit, my first thought was to immediately cast Kelly in the same boat as Keyshia Cole, Keri Hilson and Ciara when I heard she posed topless for VIBE’s latest issue. The timing of it all appeared to be an attempt to turn up the sexy in an attempt to sell more records. The more buzz the better the record sales.

I had to check myself when someone posed the question about our society’s policing of women’s bodies that I too had been guilty of doing. She asked:

“Have our politics brought us to the point where we don’t allow women spaces to make decisions about what they want to do with their bodies?

Good question J. Why is the public so critical of women expressing their sexuality? Is there not a a space for women to pose topless or nude without assuming “she’s trying to sell records?” Or without people thinking it’s “slut behavior?” The quotes are verbatim the type of comments I read en masse on blogs. Can women just live? Free to do as they wish with their own bodies? The answer should be yes. Unfortunately, we have a long way to go.

*Will update this with a link to J’s post if she chooses to write on it. Trust, it will be well worth the read.

Culture, Feminism

May 11, 2011

Hate the Ladies

Monday my timeline went apeshit over a picture Bossip (its name derived from Black gossip) posted to accompany its exclusive interview with Esther Baxter. Baxter, the ex-girlfriend of D-list rapper Joe Budden, has somewhat remained under the radar until recently. Now she will be forever linked to her relationship drama with a rapper who hasn’t had a hit song since “Pump, pump, pump it up.”

Budden’s “Ordinary Love Shit Part. 3,” is a tell all song where he gets some unresolved tension off his chest. In the song he discloses private details about the tragedies of his dysfunctional relationship with Esther. He rhymes:

Yeah we beefin’ I dragged you off the bed
I swear to this day I re-enacted in my head
So I held you up, wasn’t what I aimed to do
I aint attack you, Bitch I was restrainin’ you!

I lost my unborn daughter when we fought
I’m thinkin I killed Aspen!

And that’s when I thought that we’d be dead awhile
But we decided to reconcile

And all I could do is laugh at myself
As I thought, why is ol’girl suckin up Derrick Ward for?

The song continues on in a tirade depicting Esther as a trifling, cheating, “whore.” In addition to disclosing all of their business, whether true or not, he admits to fighting Esther and the loss of more than one child. (She has only admitted to losing one child). When Esther got wind of the song getting attention on the net, she was not pleased with his assessment of her or their relationship.

Within the same week Esther and Joe took to Twitter to tell their very different sides of what occurred. Esther revealed the real reason they lost their child- domestic violence- and threatened to release the court documents as proof. Joe refuted the claims saying, “Women have to think of new lines besides he hit me.” Tweets were eventually erased, but the damage had already been done. And the two had served as a spectacle for the entire web to see.

The erased tweets didn’t protect Esther from the misguided Budden fans (how does he still have fans?). Fans, women and men, attacked Esther for sleeping with a football player while she was still in a committed with Joe. Although these were nothing more than allegations, because he put it in a song it must be true. Random people who don’t know him or her from a hole in the wall, chimed in that Esther was a whore who deserved her lot.

Yesterday picked up where the previous week left off. In hopes of telling her side of the story, Bossip claims Esther reached out to them. Her nine-minute on camera interview dispelled rumors of being currently pregnant or cheating on Joe while they were together. She was also firm in her response about not going back to Joe after he beat her on that awful night in February. For the remainder of the interview she painfully recounts that night describing how she was choked, hit and how he sat on her pregnant stomach eventually causing them to lose their unborn daughter.

Bossip couldn’t leave it at the interview, the pictures of her bruises, the New Jersey charges against Joe, and the restraining order. Bossip had to take it to the most repulsive level by posting the picture of her dead fetus.

People used Twitter to express their disgust for them taking it too far, including Russell Simmons’ Global Grind blog, which suggested their followers boycott the website. Bossip’s response was, “She released the photo to us.” Esther later denied releasing the photo of her dead fetus and it was eventually taken down.

But the photo was nothing but a mere distraction from the real issues at play: women being seen as disposable and the therapy BOTH Esther and Joe need immediately.

Opinions ran the gamut of Esther being trifling to Bossip being a disgrace to the blogosphere. Again, very little attention was paid to the fact that Joe Budden beat this woman to the point of her losing their child.

If Esther released the photo of her dead fetus Bossip should have used discretion by not publishing it. But I don’t expect much from Bossip. I imagine if she did release the photo, she wanted people to see what Joe took from her. It is one thing to say, “He killed our child,” and quite another to show it. Bottom line: the photo should have never been published.

The more important issue is society’s devaluing of women. In the case of Esther Baxter, onlookers strongly justified her being beaten because of her video vixen, groupie, gold digging, whorish ways (their words not mine). And this is where we as a society are totally screwed up.

I don’t care what label sexist women and men want to hang over her head, no woman deserves to be hit by a man for any reason. Ever.

The leading cause of death for pregnant women is homicide. Eight-five, yes, 85 percent of domestic violence victims are women. So the argument that men get abused too is moot here.

The other issue is the therapy both Joe and Esther need in order to heal. Joe has admittedly rapped about being on meds for his chemical imbalance; and accusations of him being a woman-beater were thunderous long before Esther. Joe is hurting. He is emoting through violence against women. Esther’s trauma is unfathomable. She cannot continue on as if this will not affect her in the future. Her heart needs to heal. And so does her soul.

We must shift gears on the direction of our conversations around domestic violence. Insinuating the woman must have done something to get hit or blaming her for the abuse is counterproductive. And the notion that it’s excusable for certain types of women to be abused is flawed and morally corrupt.

Joe Budden should be behind bars. His behavior and remorseless attitude makes me sick to my stomach. Co-signing his behavior makes you a part of the problem. It becomes evident we have to begin with the children teaching love, self-worth and how to express themselves without violence. Changing the tone of discourse around violence against women helps change mindsets, slowly, but surely. Only then may we be considered fully human and incapable of being disposed of.

Society must do better by its women. It must.

‘Cause if we don’t we’ll have a race of babies who will hate the ladies. – Tupac

Culture

April 4, 2011

The Faces of Domestic Violence (Part II)

According to the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence, one in every four women will experience domestic violence in her lifetime. Eighty-five percent of domestic violence victims are women. And women ages 20-24 are at the greatest risk of suffering from nonfatal intimate partner violence (IPV). Sadly, like rape, most domestic violence cases are never reported to the police.

The Institute of Domestic Violence in the African-American Community reports that black women experience IPV at rates 35 percent higher than their white counterparts. In 2005 black women accounted for nearly 1/3 of the IPV homicides in America. These alarming statistics should be cause enough for women, men, teens, black, white and Latino to take domestic violence seriously, realizing it affects us all.

Yesterday I recounted my domestic violence experience that occurred nearly six years ago. I never wanted to write about it publicly for various reasons, but was compelled to do so with all of the articles, blogs and interviews focusing on the Chris Brown and Rihanna situation once again. Two years later I’ve found that opinions of what happened the night of the Grammy’s in 2009 haven’t evolved. There are those who believe Rihanna did something to deserve to be beaten, the people who wish everyone would just move on, the Rihanna supporters, Chris Brown stans and then there are people like me who cringe and refuse to be a fan of Brown because of how he abused Rihanna and his lack of remorse since.

Full disclosure: As a journalist I am NOT objective when it comes to issues of rape, violence against women, pedophilia, homophobia, sexism, misogyny, racism, injustice or inhumanity.

In monitoring the comments and attitudes about the domestic violence situation involving two huge pop stars, I’ve noticed how as a society and as a community, we are too tolerant of violence against women.

Chris Brown’s recent outburst at “Good Morning America” after Robin Roberts asked him about the attack against Rihanna has brought attention back to the horrific events. With Rihanna agreeing to Brown’s request to lift the restraining order, and Brown throwing temper tantrums, the pop stars are getting the exact opposite of what they would like- for everyone to just move on. In the April issue of Rolling Stone, Rihanna told Josh Ells:

We don’t have to talk again ever in my life. I just didn’t want to make it more difficult for him professionally. What he did to me was personal thing- it had noting to do with his career.

But it seems impossible for the public to drop it as if it never happened when violence against women is overlooked, results in victim blaming or glorified (see: Charlie Sheen).

Last June I wrote “Redemption, Resurrection & Bull” after Brown’s Oscar worthy cry me a river performance on BET. Although I showed Chris no mercy, I was more so angry at the prevailing attitude of women and men, mostly women, who argued we should forgive Brown. But forgiveness and accountability aren’t synonymous. And as much as Rihanna and Chris Brown have become the poster children of domestic violence in the black community, this isn’t so much about them as it is about us.

The prevalence of victim blaming is unnerving considering the astounding statistics of women, particularly women of color, experiencing intimate partner violence. It seems as if we are wired to automatically assume a women being abused deserved it. She must have hit him is too often an immediate reaction. And even if she did, are we so numb to violence that we think it’s ok for a man to retaliate by hitting her back? In the case of Brown and Rihanna, he didn’t hit her once, which is still never acceptable. He beat her senselessly.

My concern is that with the growing acceptance of violence against women, more and more women will suffer in silence. Our culture is contributing to women’s fear of telling their story, as it may result in being blamed, ignored or shamed for something they had no control over.

In the recent gang rape of an 11-year-old girl by 18 men in Cleveland, TX, the community’s response was to immediately protect the 18 black men who had all participated in raping an 11-year old girl. The community expressed very little outrage surrounding the fact that men ranging from ages 14- 27 participated, video taped and bragged about gang raping a child. I think about her situation, other sexual assault against women cases, and domestic violence and wonder, where is the safe haven for girls and women? It’s becoming more apparent that there isn’t one. And there should be.

Living as women in a patriarchal society that devalues women, especially black women, it is up to the entire village to educate, guide, mentor, love and listen to our young girls. Early on we must show them through our actions that emotional and physical abuse is not protocol. And it’s never love. Our young boys and men are in desperate need of guidance. Too many of them are roaming through life without the slightest idea of who they are, how to behave as men, what a man even looks like or what to do with all the pain they are carrying.

Domestic violence against women is a very real issue affecting too many people. Sweeping it under the rug or blaming women is a huge mistake. We must find a way to combat this ill, provide healing for the lives affected, and create a future generation that won’t be susceptible to violence against women. Domestic violence will implode if we don’t address begin addressing it now.

Culture

April 4, 2011

The Faces of Domestic Violence (Part I)

2005

I had no idea how seven policemen with their guns drawn ended up in the bedroom of my quaint 745 square foot apartment. But something tells me I should have been overjoyed since they potentially saved my life. When they entered my room they found my 5”10 180 lb boyfriend hovering over me as I laid there helpless. His strong grip had me pinned to the bed so that I couldn’t move. After what seemed like an eternity of him bashing my face in with his fist, slapping me, choking me and holding me hostage in my own apartment, it abruptly ended with the presence of the officers.

This would be the only time in my then 20 (now 26) years of living that I’d be happy to see the police.

I was 20 going into my senior year of college. I was younger than my peers because I graduated high school in three years. Living on campus for 2 ½ years was some of the best times of my life. When I moved home for a semester I couldn’t escape the arguments between my mother and I. I knew it was time to leave her house by any means necessary. Living on campus again wasn’t an option I was interested in. So I hustled the entire summer of 2005. I was working as a waitress at a country club in west Nashville. Waiting on wealthy white families wasn’t an ideal job, but the money was good for a 20-year old college student. I worked, stacked my money and searched for apartments. I kept telling my mother I was leaving, but she didn’t believe I’d actually be able to do it on my own. But just like her, once I’m determined to do something, you can consider it done. I finally found an apartment literally down the street from my aunt, her husband, two kids and my grandmother. This was perfect because I knew if I ever needed a home cooked meal or if something went wrong with my car, family was only minutes away. In retrospect, being in such close proximity to them was a blessing in disguise. My spacious one-bedroom apartment was under $500 for rent with water included. It had large closets, a huge bedroom, living room, dining room, a cute bathroom, dishwasher and central air, which is a given in most apartments back home. Damn you, NYC. Besides rent I only had to pay electricity and cable. I was officially an adult. I had a job, a car, was pursuing my bachelor’s degree and now held the keys to my own place. Oh, and I was in love with someone who was once my best friend.

2002

I met Martel on the very first day of college. It was always smoldering hot down south in August. All of the incoming freshmen were sent to an auditorium in the Humanities building to complete their registration. Waiting in a long line for at least an hour on the first day of college you eventually end up sparking a conversation with the people around you. Martel was witty, sarcastic and somewhat arrogant. He was from Detroit, and such a typical Detroit dude. I’m generalizing, but with good reason. He had a certain swagger about him that was enticing. He was more confident than he should have been based on his looks. But later in life his personality allowed me to overlook some of his flawed physical features. After leaving the Humanities building we walked while chatting as I headed back to my dorm in Wilson Hall, aka “The Zoo.” (I never called it that. Always hated that nickname). It was obvious he was feeling the kid. I kind of dug him too. After hesitation he asked for my number. I gave him the room number instead of my cell and told him I had a boyfriend so we could only be friends. I knew from day one being friends wasn’t what he had in mind. But that was our only option at the time.

For months we were strictly platonic, but shared many late night phone calls and deep conversations outside of my dorm. Martel and I learned a great deal about one another during that time. Jay-Z’s “Hard Knock Life” banger sounded like Kanye’s “Good Life” in comparison to Tel’s upbringing. He’d come from a single parent household where his mother was poor trying to raise five children on her own. She was a religious fanatic and severely strict. Martel eventually went to live with his father to escape the daily morning Bible readings and lack of freedom. He desperately longed for the day he could go outside to play with other kids instead of having to read Bible scriptures or clean the house from ceiling to floor. Living with his father wasn’t a vast improvement as far as living situations go. His father was a woman abuser, drug addict and also had very little money. I remember him vividly describing the days he would boil water to take a warm bath because there was no running hot water in the house. Saying he grew up rough is an understatement. I was always attracted to those types. Even though his unresolved issues from his past should have been a red flag for future behaviors, I felt the rough around the edges guys would be the only ones who understood me. Although I had never lived in the hood a day in my life, had never wanted for anything, had traveled overseas a slew of times by the 8^th grade, watched my mom attain her Master’s degree while I was a child, I had other worldly experiences that I felt connected me to ‘hood dudes.

But I still had a boyfriend. Martel remained a very close friend. One my boyfriend hated. Eventually my first love and I parted ways for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with Martel. And months later Martel and I were in couple’s bliss. Until we weren’t. After a few arguments we decided to remain friends. We were the friends who always still had a thing for one another, but no matter what we held on tight to our friendship. We’d lose touch, reconnect, lose touch and reconnect again in a matter of two and a half years.

2005

The summer before my senior year I was single as ever. Somehow Martel and I started hanging out again. He had recently moved into an apartment with his friend, and we were all living that HBCU college life. He didn’t go home to the D for the summer for obvious reasons. One night Martel expressed his feelings and said he didn’t want to just be my friend anymore. He straight up said being my man was the only option for him. I knew him better than he knew himself. He was very good to me at the time. He worshipped the ground I walked on. The one thing no one ever questioned was how much he loved me. We made it official, again, after two years of just friendship. But this time we weren’t 17 and 18 year old kids. We were 20 and 21 year old adults.

Our summer days were filled with work, chilling with friends, going out to eat, entertaining gusts at his house and whooping folks’ asses in Spades. Everything was very basic. We were young, struggling college students. There were no mommy and daddy credit cards for us. His apartment was the chill spot where folks would gather to play cards, bump music, laugh and drink. Things were good between Martel and I because we loved one another. Hard. Perhaps too hard. Later on I’d realize it was that type of dysfunctional love where arguments would resort to a “bitch” or “ho” rolling off either one of our tongues. We’d breakup to make up. And do it all again.

As summer was coming to an end Martel got into a fight with his roommate. Since his name wasn’t on the lease and he beat the dude up, his roommate kicked him out. At the time I was in the process of signing my first lease and buying furniture. I was overjoyed about getting my first place all on my own. I felt obligated as his girlfriend to offer my place to stay until he could figure things out. He took me up on that offer.

Moving into my place changed him. And it changed the dynamics of our relationship. Fast. It is one of the reasons I said I’d never live with someone again unless he was my fiancée. I saw a different side of him. He had fallen on hard times and couldn’t seem to catch a break. Eventually he found a job at a Dell plant about 45 minutes from my apartment. The battery to his blue Ford Explorer died, which left only me to take and pick him up from work. Summer was over and I was back in school and working now at J. Alexander’s as a waitress. Every day I would wake up at 4:30 a.m. to take him to work, get back home around 6:15 a.m., sleep for a few hours, get ready for class, go to school and be at work by the 4:00 p.m. dinner shift. I usually didn’t get off until at least 10:00 p.m. depending on how slow the restaurant was. I’d wake up and do it all again the next day.

On top of growing tired of feeling unappreciated, he was contributing very little to the household. He would pay bills, but financially I took care of 95% of everything. This caused a majority of our arguments. I’d put him out, let him come back, he’d leave voluntarily and I’d let him come back. I was young and in love with a man.

The arguments started to escalate. There were several instances that screamed ‘caution, this dude could snap.’ But I never thought he’d actually hit me. It was painstakingly obvious we didn’t need to be together, only neither of us could let go. We were extremely similar to Ronnie and Sammie from “Jersey Shore.” But worse. I always rationalized his temper by taking part of the blame. I was not an easy person to deal with either. And there were many days that I provoked him. At least that’s what I told myself. Plus, I’d convinced myself this is what real love was. Willingly, I was ride or die.

One day I was straightening up the apartment before I left for work when I saw an empty cigarette box on the counter. I was annoyed. Like, just put the box in the trash. Not only was I in school full-time, working full-time, paying the bulk of the bills, I was semi-cooking and definitely cleaning with very little help. I started thinking to myself, ‘What the hell does this Negro do?’ I had switched from smoking Newports to Kools months before so I knew it wasn’t my empty cigarette box so I mentioned as much to him.

“Man, how hard is it to just throw away an empty cigarette box? Why would you leave it on the counter?” I asked.

“F*ck you. Shut the f*ck up. Always b*tching about something,” he yelled.

His screaming only got louder by the minute. I couldn’t possibly understand why he was so mad over a cigarette box. After going back and forth with him for two minutes I decided to get ready for work. I couldn’t get dressed fast enough to get away from him even if it was only for a few hours.

“You might as well call off today. You ain’t going to work,” he said. “Your ass is gon’ stay right here with me,” he demanded.

“You’re crazy as hell if you think I’m not about to go to work to make this money,” I replied.

Out of nowhere he grabbed and slammed me onto my bed. His eyes were unrecognizable. When he looked at me he no longer saw his girlfriend, the woman who kept him from being homeless on the streets, his best friend or his lover. I imagine he saw just a bitch he hated. The same bitch he blamed for all the pain in his life. And that day was going to be the day I paid for every wrong ever done to him.

When he slammed me on the bed my natural instinct was to raise myself up as quickly as possible. After hitting me in my face with his fist I went bananas- kicking and punching him all at the same time. That’s when he figured out he would have to restrain me because I wasn’t going to lie there and not fight back. He held me by my wrists leaving me helpless, unable to move. I felt paralyzed. To this day I will spazz out if my wrists are held in any way that could prevent me from moving or escaping.

Every time I’d retaliate he’d hit me with a harder blow. The blows were coming so fast there was nothing I could do but watch the man I had loved with every breath in my body wail on me as if I was his worst enemy. At one point I wondered, Is this how I’m going to die? When he took a break from hitting me he choked me out while spewing hateful words. How could this be Martel doing this to me? I wished I had been dreaming. I went into survival mode after realizing fighting back only led to more pounds. There was a point where he halted from beating me and would just stare at me telling me I made him do this, I brought this on myself. I guess his plan was to hold me hostage and torture me all day. Whatever his plan was I desperately needed to not be a part of it. I screamed. He’d shut me up. I screamed again. He’d shut me up.

Luckily my screams were not in vain. Out of nowhere police women and men galore were in my bedroom with guns drawn yelling for him to release me. The physical blows were finally over. But the mental scars would remain for many years to come.

It was two days before Christmas. Our artificial beautifully decorated tree had a ton of presents under it. What once seemed like a representation of our first Christmas together now looked like an oversized plant that had died from the lack of oxygen and water. In that moment the only thing that was apparent was what we now were: an abuser and a domestic violence victim. [1]

He was handcuffed and searched in the living room by the police officers. Without a doubt he was going to jail. Even after what he did to me, it was painful seeing a black man now becoming a part of the criminal justice system I despised. While searching him for weapons I presume, the cops found an ounce of weed on him that he’d purchased to try to bring in some extra money. In addition to the domestic violence charge the state slapped another charge on him for possession of marijuana. An EMT ambulance waited outside to take me to the hospital because the knot on the side of my head was as thick as a golf ball. The medics warned me the knot could be a concussion, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to go the hospital. It was embarrassing. I was humiliated. How could something like this happen to me? I wasn’t this girl.

After being coerced to ride to the hospital in an ambulance, alone, where I looked so broken down that once at the hospital complete strangers warned me, If you go back to him he will kill you my grandmother picked me up from the hospital. She didn’t understand how someone so put together could let a man hit me. As I slowly walked to my apartment door wanting only to die, or at the very least slip under the covers for eternity, I saw a white envelope taped to my door. I felt empty inside. A part of my soul was missing. I opened the envelope to find a letter from the apartment complex management. Basically because of his possession of marijuana and not being a tenant on the lease, I had 72 hours to vacate the apartment. Merry Christmas.

I was so numb I couldn’t cry. I called my aunt and her husband to tell them the news. My aunt immediately offered her house as a temporary home for as long as I needed. My mother never offered. I’m still working on forgiving her for that. We made arrangements to start loading the truck the next day. The sooner I got out of there, the better. I finally crawled in my bed. Alone. I cried for hours. Hours turned into days. Because I had to move out of my apartment within three days, I didn’t have the time to stay in the bed sobbing. So I’d cry every chance I could while in solitude. My spirit was broken while his was incarcerated. I’ve never quite looked at men the same. And so it’s clear, just like most domestic violence victims, just like Rihanna, I went back.

* Part II will NOT recount this story any further. It will explore domestic violence in the black community, why we rally in support of protecting black men, victim blaming and why we should all care about the infamous beating of Rihanna by Chris Brown.

[1] I never referred to myself as a victim of domestic violence. It actually took me five years to even write about this incident because of how ashamed and stupid I felt. I also never wanted people to feel sorry for me. Or worse, say I deserved it.

Love

December 13, 2010

Love is a Verb

It’s not surprising that too many women are confused as to what love really looks like. None of us realized as little girls the mountains we would have to climb as women in areas of life and love. By our mid-twenties, too many of us have experienced the pain of infidelity, men walking away from their children, rape, domestic violence, verbal abuse and heartbreak. So I understand where women are coming from when they unconsciously end up angry, bitter, fed-up and having little faith in men.

I used to be one of those women who didn’t know if a healthy relationship was in the cards for me. I hadn’t witnessed it until later in life. And I certainly hadn’t experienced it. It was just easier to believe black men needed to get it together by throwing a pity party painting myself as the “good” black woman being hurt. But the more I delved into self-reflection the more I realized my choices in men deserved more of the blame than what men end up doing in the relationship.

Fortunately for me, at the end of everything I had been through, was a great upstanding black man who gets it, who gets me. His love is something I would dream of, but thought was impossible.

That feeling of impossibility has been reemphasized daily by women on social networking sites or in blogs who feel “all black men ain’t shit.” I can’t stand on my imaginary pulpit preaching the danger of that mentality because I understand the place it’s coming from. But I am concerned with whether or not we are looking internally in order to take accountability for some of the pain we inflict upon ourselves.

By no means do brothers get a pass, but it’s much easier for me to try to reach the women than wagging my finger at the fellas. Some men have a host of issues that need to be worked out through therapy. Their actions- games, lies, deceit, kids out of wedlock, non-financial support of children- is not excusable. But do we truly not know the type of man we’re getting involved with up front? I believe people can be wolves in sheep’s clothing; however, even once we find out their true intentions we have to examine why we stay.

Why do women put up with crappy men only to then lament that black men are a crop of poop? Not all black men are representative of the sorry ones you’ve hand picked.

The root of the problem is self-love. We walk around with our hair done, nails done, everything did, but don’t really love who we are. The evidence of lack of self-love is shown through the people we allow ourselves to be intimate with.

Some of us are confused. I used to think that a man who is all, “Where you going? That dress is too short? Who’s going to be there?” meant he loved me. And any man who didn’t do that didn’t care. Somewhere in my brain a man’s control became synonymous with love. We are also notorious for believing a man loves us because he says so, ignoring all the many times his actions have proved otherwise.

Love is a verb. Love is a verb. Love is a verb!

You can feed me shit and tell me it’s chocolate. I know it’s still shit.

It pains me to see so many women dragging themselves through relationships that will eventually end, with lasting scars needing to be healed. Why don’t we know our worth? Men damn sure know theirs.

I’m starting to believe there are women who are masochists, or who love drama and dysfunction, but then tricks herself into blaming all men. Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.

I want black women to experience the type of love that is unconditional, kind, supportive, honest, faithful, and everything else you want it to be. But first we must be able to recognize what love is. If anybody deserves it, it’s us.

Culture, Feminism, Women

June 29, 2010

Redemption, Resurrection & Bull

Yep, I’m talking about Chris Brown’s performance Sunday night on the BET’s 10^th Anniversary Awards Show, which is already being considered the revival of his career.

I’ll be the first to admit his tribute to Michael Jackson in terms of the choreography was on point. The silhouette of the dancers glowing in the dark to “Smooth Criminal” was insane! His performance was undeniably entertaining.

And then there was the brilliantly staged break down his PR team orchestrated. In the middle of singing MJ’s “Man in the Mirror” Chris couldn’t control his emotions and began to sob uncontrollably causing him the inability to sing.

Chris Brown MJ Tribute BET Awards 2010

I was annoyed to say the least. My rants on Twitter did not go unread as I began receiving several @ Tweets and even a text message about why I shouldn’t go so hard on him.

So that my position is clear and there is no room for interpretation of what I mean, I’m going to directly state it. I’m not a fan of Chris Brown, never was. I never purchased any of his albums and wouldn’t do so now.

I absolutely believe in second chances, and don’t necessarily believe his woman-beating incident should forever define him.

However, I don’t understand why so many women and men alike feel obligated to tell me I shouldn’t feel the way I do about him. It’s not like I’m imploring his stans to denounce him. Therefore, let me voice my opinion without trying to change my mind.

Approximately 1.3 million women every year are physically abused by their partner according to the American Bar Association Commission on Domestic Violence. Yet the punishment for domestic violence is similar to that of rape- bare minimum. Our laws punishing the assault of women are deplorable. These days a man is sentenced to more time for selling crack than for physically assaulting a woman. Brown’s slap on the wrist community service and five year probation is a prime example.

I would have much more respect for CB post the Rihanna incident if his actions in the past year and a half have shown he was genuinely remorseful for what he has done. Instead all I hear is him whining about how his career has suffered. From his teleprompter public apology, to the insincere interview with Larry King, to his Twitter rants about his music not being sold or played, I’ve seen no growth. What I have seen is a sense of entitlement.

As an artist Chris Brown should without a doubt have the right to create his music which he has continued to do. What he isn’t entitled to is having the same level of success he had prior to him smashing Rihanna’s face with his fist. I’m not saying he should never be successful again, but he’s not entitled to it just because he’s some Pop singer who knows how to moonwalk across the stage.

Chris’ break down really proved he’s in need of the number to Ron Artest’s therapist. In all honesty he really needs to seek help because his actions in the past year have been a cry for help. I really hope he seeks the therapy he needs to heal and become a better man.

What I’m more concerned with moreso than C Breezy’s come to Jesus moment is the mindset of the masses. All an entertainer has to do is dance like Mike, cry and all is good in the world again. James Brown and Marvin Gaye were no different. We all loved them unconditionally despite their abusive ways.

Then there is this troubling mindset that a woman must be at fault for her abuse. The minute the world got wind of the CB and Rihanna situation the Rihanna blame game began. “She must of hit him. I heard she gave him Herpes. Rihanna is crazy she deserved it.” As a society we’re truly flawed when we start blaming victims for their abuse. The same sentiments were expressed with the beating of Kat Stacks, which was recorded for everyone to witness.

Why is there such sympathy and forgiveness for men, but blame and condemnation for women?

Everyone wants to turn a blind eye to the way women are treated in this country. Especially, when it comes to society’s obsession with pop culture. The men can do no wrong, but the women are always to blame.

Sorry, I don’t subscribe to this notion. Just like I can criticize Alicia Keys for sleeping with a married man, I will also hold CB to the same standard of criticism.

So please dismiss me with your devoted love for Chris. I don’t have to revel in his moment of redemption and resurrection, just like you have the choice to be happy for him. In my book a ploy to reestablish your career is not authentic and I call bulls*#@!

Chris, “[I] don’t believe you, you need more people.”

May 5, 2010

It’s Complicated

There are several reasons I love twitter. Mostly because it’s an open market of ideas that leads to dialogue among like-minded, and not so like-minded people.

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about my current dating situation and all that it entails. Just trust me when I say VH1 should give me a call to star in my own show. Not all of these thoughts are solely based on my circumstances, but about love and relationships in general. Everything from being the main chic to infidelity to dating someone only for the time being crosses my mind.

So today I used twitter as a forum to release my thoughts; as I was dying to hear what others thought on this issue…

@WrittenbyBene*taps mic* Guys: If a man’s FB relationship status says single, but he’s in a relationship, what does this mean? Should his girl trip? about 2 hours ago via UberTwitter

I didn’t know what type of responses this question would warrant. But the answers I received were comical and shockingly real. Who knew professing your relationship to the cyber world of Facebook would evoke such feelings from folks.

Prior to my world of double standards, wanting it all and frankly just not trusting this one particular cat; I could care less about a damn Facebook status. No offense to anyone else, but I thought grown adults changing statuses every other week from “in a relationship” to “it’s complicated,” was a waste of time. Even if your relationship wasn’t a rocky one, I still didn’t necessarily think the status meant anything. Why would you want everybody to know you and your significant other just broke up? It is my belief that relationships are hard enough without all of Messybook in your business.

None of the guys I’ve ever dated seriously used Facebook. Attribute it to them being the prototype blue-collared workers. But most of them rarely used the computer when it came to making their money, or for much else for that matter. Therefore, social networking sites were of little use to them. I loved it this way until…

My on-again-off-again, I don’t know what the hell we’re doing at any given moment, “boyfriend” of over a year proclaims we’re in a relationship. Me: For real, for real? You sure this is what you want? I repudiated this because to be honest, I just didn’t think he was ready. In an effort to prove he was serious, since clearly all the swear to Gods, you can keep my phone for a day, blah zay blah didn’t work; he suggested I add him as a friend (yeah for a year we weren’t even FB friends & never even discussed it), and he would change his FB state of singledom to “in a relationship.” I called his bluff.

As of today we’re finally FB friends. But still no relationship status change. Now not to make excuses for him, but he honestly has not been on FB. I’ve seen him everyday for the past 3 weeks and the last thing on his mind is logging on to FB. Because I’ve recently had an epiphany about our “relationship,” I stopped asking him about it and really have no expectations of him changing it. And it’s not as if I was going to change my status. That was just not going to happen.

But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t curious to hear what my tweeps had to say about the question I proposed earlier. And boy did they go in:

ABluePearl @WrittenbyBene – no. sister shouldn’t trip. just change her R status 2 single & show him the door. see? easy! no drama. about 3 hours ago via Twikini in reply to WrittenbyBene

Mr_Genius_ @WrittenbyBene yes about 3 hours ago via SocialScope in reply to WrittenbyBene [Yes as in, yes, trip]

infodapoet @WrittenbyBene rofl… if he hasnt changed it at all and its DEAD SMACK under his Profile pic… then yea… but if u had to search then no about 3 hours ago via web in reply to WrittenbyBene

passiondeja @WrittenbyBene– *Raises hand* That means he has ANOTHER chick who he is ALSO in a relationship with and she just so happens to have FB too! about 2 hours ago via UberTwitter in reply to WrittenbyBene

passiondeja @WrittenbyBene– OR, he is in a relationship, BUT has a wandering eye. He’s not opposed to cheating. Gotta keep his options open. SO TRIP! about 2 hours ago via UberTwitter in reply to WrittenbyBene

DanTroisi @WrittenbyBene he’s prob just too lazy to change it haha about 2 hours ago via UberTwitter in reply to WrittenbyBene

chela816 @WrittenbyBene There’s a problem if it says single. If he’s just trying to be private or forgot to set it, it would say nothing at all. about 2 hours ago via TweetDeck in reply to WrittenbyBene

passiondeja it’s probably gotten to the point that he tells people he’s SINGLE b/c they are off and on. He doesn’t value her. He knows that she will ALWAYS come back, so he can do WHATEVER. And if they’re that ON and OFF, then they need to MOVE ON! about 2 hours ago via UberTwitter in reply to WrittenbyBene

Damn. The last tweet had my heart racing. Truth hurts. As you can see, surprisingly most people had an issue with a man not claiming his woman on FB. Even the guys saw this to be problematic.

I’m still indifferent. I don’t know that his not changing his status means anything other than, him not changing his status. Yet I’m not completely convinced of the opposite either.

If your significant other hasn’t expressed to the world via FB that they’re in relationship, does it mean they’re hiding something? Should you trip? Does a FB status really define how that person feels about their boyfriend or girlfriend?

December 18, 2009

A Legion of Fools in Love

RIP Chris

Lately we have been unable to escape the media’s infatuation with celebrity domestic violence, spousal infidelity and the deaths of now two NFL players.

My own experiences sprinkled with what I observe in the media and in real life have led me to believe we are a generation confused about the true meaning of love. It wouldn’t be so bad if our confusion was only hurting the two fools individuals involved. But the state of us being perplexed is hurting others, in some cases leading to death. It is time we open our eyes and minds to recognize what love truly looks like, how it sounds and feels before the damage is irreversible.

We all have our definitions of what love is supposed to be. In actuality we have no idea about the concept of love when it comes to loving one another in intimate relationships. For me true love is exactly what the Word tells us it is (1 Corinthians 13 4-8). As humans it is impossible to possess these attributes at all times, but if we uphold these principles in our relationships and marriages there would be far fewer Shaq & Shaunie’s, Tiger Woods & Elin’s, Chris Henry & Loleini’s and Chris Brown & Rihanna’s.

Knowing absolutely nothing about the everyday lives of celebrities besides what the propaganda media outlets feed us, we all have our opinions about the debacles of celebs. And 2009 has been a hell of a year for “love triangles”, blows thrown, cheating husbands and NFL deaths caused by spousal/girlfriend disputes.

Besides being celebrities, the commonality I see prevalent in each one of these cases is their misinterpretation of love.

Rihanna & Chris Brown’s story reigned the longest with their silence, Chris being banned from award shows, them getting back together, court appearances, Orders of Protection, apology tapes, more silence, new music, interviews, marketing, PR, new videos and albums released. Damn. Not that their story holds precedence over the others, but for me their story hit home.

Here you had a beautiful young Pop icon and handsome young R&B star joining forces in what we all thought was a cute star couple. Out of nowhere reports of Chris Brown beating Rihanna were leaked and people couldn’t believe it. We all quickly jumped to our conclusions, filling in the blanks, hoping it was all a dream.

Women immediately chimed in with their: “I would never let a man hit me” speeches; and men quickly presumed “Rihanna hit him, she deserved what she got.” Whether or not we agreed with what occurred, one thing we didn’t like was their silence, leaving us to only assume and concoct our own versions of how it all went down.

All of a sudden domestic violence was put on the forefront of the media’s agenda with no real solution for the 1, 510,000 women who have reported domestic abuse. When Rihanna finally agreed to the interview all I kept thinking were two things: how much I felt everything this girl was saying and where was my interview?

Considering myself a strong woman I never really talked or wrote about what happened to me in 2006. People are so judgmental they immediately want to place women who have been physically abused either in the weak victim or stupid category-I. Am. Neither. More than ever I finally felt Rihanna. She was sharing with the world what I once felt in my own situation and what so many other women feel, but suffer with everyday. Only we are not celebrities so our stories don’t make 20/20.

Although I respect Diane Sawyers as a journalist, I wondered why in this story and all the others no one was talking about the real issue.

How can this be love?

The truth is it is not real love. It may be a strong infatuation, lust, like or even “obsession” as Rihanna called it, but it’s not love. So many of us get so caught up in the idea of having someone that we trick ourselves into believing our partner loves us. And just because your man is not beating you doesn’t mean it’s love either.

As women we put up with so much and for what? Our self-esteem, expectations & standards are so low that half of us wouldn’t recognize real love if it was spelled out for us. True love is not controlling, jealous, insecure, unsupportive, demanding, always right, argumentative, disrespectful and unfaithful. So why is it we call relationships that possesses these characteristics love?

Recently I’ve found myself reevaluating what it is I subconsciously think I deserve and what love truly is.

I implore all of the aforementioned couples do the same. Whether you are a man or a woman reevaluate what you consider love before it’s too late. Love is stronger than any addiction. And this ill posing as love has gotten far too many people hurt and killed this year alone. Love should not be dangerous nor should it ever cause death. Ladies if you’ve had to shed so many tears on this one person that your well has run dry, baby girl it’s not love.

I don’t know Chris Henry’s situation or the outcome for his fiancée, children and family. I can only pray that they now find peace in this time of bereavement.

But let our generation please take heed to all the signs God has given us this year and not continue to be a legion of fools in “love.”

December 3, 2009

Hands Off My Phone

We all know that there are a lot of women out there that feel the need to reassure themselves that their man is not creeping. Most women who are plagued with the ill of snooping do this via their man’s phone. And there are those who check EVERYTHING. Emails. Mail. They search the house as if they are looking for their lost pair of Bamboo earrings.

But the common misconception is that men don’t snoop. Generally speaking, men don’t take it to the extreme that some women do. Let’s not get it twisted though, men do check phones. I could name more than a few.

Although snooping is intrusive and considered wrong on so many levels, there is a part of this act that I don’t understand. See, most of the time when you go looking for something, you better believe you are going to find the exact thing you are looking for.

But are we ever ready for what we find?

So many times I’ve heard, “Girl I looked through his phone and found[insert pics, inappropriate texts, numerous calls to another female]” Or “I went through his emails and he had these pictures of some girl.” And I am no exception to this rule. I’ve done my fair share of snooping as well. However, what I’ve learned as I’ve matured is that snooping never really hurts anyone but the person hoping to find something.

Once you’ve taken off the lid to a box that shouldn’t have been opened by you in the first place, now you have to deal with the consequences, the hurt, the arguments and everything that comes along with you being nosy. Most of the time we women, and men too, don’t use the information we find as a signal to pack our shit and throw the deuces. We listen to what they have to say and end up staying.

Again, what was the point of snooping?

What happens next is usually a series of events that are as predictable as Beyonce winning every award at any award show. You check all the text messages because you’re a masochist who wants to read every word he or she has been saying to this other person(s), as if seeing the names is not enough. Next you do one of two things. One, either you confront him or her about what you’ve “discovered.” Or if you’re straight reckless you start texting these folks from your significant others phone or you just dial the number and call. You communicate with the other chick/dude and you have a civilized conversation finding out even more than the text revealed, or yall argue like two school children fighting over who’s going to count to ten while everyone goes and hides.

After all is said and done you then have to admit to your boyfriend/girlfriend that you went through their phone. They’re pissed, immediately pulling the reverse psychology move ‘you had no business going through my phone.’ Whatever. You may break up, but most of the time YOU DON’T. And the end result: the relationship is never the same because now you don’t trust the person you’re supposed to be in a relationship with.

A relationship with a lack of trust is pointless. You spend entirely too much time dwelling on what he or she did and you create unhealthy habits like snooping, trying to prevent it from happening ever again.

In the end…people are going to find a way to do what the hell they want to do.

Checking phones and emails just doesn’t do anyone any good. Get in relationships where you don’t feel the need to check someone’s phone because you’re 100% confident in you and yours. My best friend’s mama once told me, “Checking someone’s phone while you’re dating is a bad habit that if not stopped will be a bad habit you take into a marriage.”

And if you are struck w/the illness of snooping, finding exactly what you wished you’d never saw, do something with that information besides play on people’s phone.

Don’t be one of those stupid broads calling the other chic every 3 months. LEAVE HIM. Personally I’m tired of yall calling me.

November 25, 2009

Expectations, Get Some

Expectations are defined as the act or state of being expected. I think I would be making a fair generalization by stating we all have certain expectations when it comes to friends, careers, family and our expectations of what we are looking for in potential mates.

I’m not referring to standards, which usually consists of a certain criteria a woman or man must possess in order for you to even consider conversing with that person on a dating level. Standards also can be correlated with your beliefs; and your level of standards are usually a reflection of those beliefs. So that this is not ambiguous let me explain. A person can have no standards, but high expectations and vice versa. Catch my drift?

Over the past few days I have had conversations with some friends both male and female. In those conversations I found myself constantly thinking, ‘Are women expecting too much?’ I then played devil’s advocate and proposed the idea that maybe so many black women are single, not because of the pool of black men were depleted, but because women expect too much.

I quickly laughed and realized it was the reverse. There was nothing wrong with the expectations of women, as long as the very things they expected were things they were willing to contribute as well.

Although expectations for dating and expectations in a relationship may be completely different, some men feel women’s expectations are unrealistic, materialistic and just too damn much. My response to that would be: GET. OVER. IT. If it is a quality woman you seek, expectations are going to be high, but the return you will receive will be a far greater reward.

Once again I will state I do not speak for all women. But what I have gathered from talking to a diverse group of women, generally speaking we expect certain things while in the weed through the bullshit dating phase…

Chivalry is not dead. Yes, we expect you to open and hold doors for us. If the woman refuses, fine. But it is always better to be safe than sorry. I do not want to have to cut my eyes, fold my arms, clear my throat while waiting by the door for you to come open it.

The movies is ALWAYS a bad idea for a first date. Do not try to get to know me by asking me a million and one questions in the movies. You chose to go to the movies, now we have to be quiet for at least two hours. Don’t embarrass me by talking because you chose the WRONG venue for a first date.

Don’t let the independent lyrics of Destiny’s Child and Neyo fool you into thinking I am going to pick up the check on a first date. Matter of fact, don’t even joke by asking, “You got this one?” It’s not cute or funny. And it’s a turnoff. It immediately sends a signal that you are cheap or worse, broke.

This one is going to sound harsh, maybe even gold diggerish. But if you don’t live in NY or downtown Chicago, you need to have a car. In the words of my girl E.H., “I’m not going to ride the bus around town with you boo.” Again I’m not expecting anything I don’t have of my own.

It’s a recession and extenuating circumstances do occur. However, and this is a big freakin’ however, I will not chill with you at your mama’s house. I’m sorry, just can’t do it. We are not freshman, sophomores or juniors in college. We are grown ass adults. I’ve been living on my own without a roommate since I was 20. Please, please, please get your shit together before trying to date someone. A roommate may be acceptable, but being a tenant in your mama’s house is UNACCEPTABLE. And don’t dare try to play me with the, “My mama live with me,” infamous line.

Dating is NOT about a man spending money on a woman. But it is about courtship. When you initially meet me do not expect me to come over your house to watch a movie. I have a couch, TV and DVD player at my own crib. If you are low on funds be creative. There are always free fun romantic dates that you can plan if you just put some time and effort into it. The quickest way for me to write you off before you ever get to see me again-ask me to your house or if you can come over mine. The answer is Hell Naw!

Lastly, there is only ONE instance in which, you get a pass for not having a job; and that is if you are in graduate, law or medical school. Not having a job says you are lazy, lack ambition, you hustle illegally or most importantly you have too much damn time on your hands to be worried about me. For all those men who will flip this as me being a golddigger to justify the fact that you don’t have a job, let me clarify. I didn’t say you had to be making six figures. A blue collared worker that works at the GM assembly line receives just as much props in my eyes as CEO of a Fortune 500 company. If you don’t have some goals, get you some. Goals + Aspirations + Hard work= A Turn-on. No Job + Calling Me All Day Because You Have Nothing Else To Do While I’m At Work= Get your ass off my phone and send out your resume.

Expectations are just expectations not demands. But if you can’t meet these basic expectations, maybe you should take yourself off the dating scene until you get it together. #Imjustsayin