"Negro" Of The Month, Week, Day, and Hour

But ironically there is perpetually a "Negro" of the minute.

Prior to being called "Black History Month," the alleged “celebration” was originally known as "Negro History Week," which was established by historian Carter G. Woodson in 1926. Essentially, "Negro History Month" is the earlier term for what is now known as "Black History Month." Minutes turn into hours, hours turn into days, days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months, months turn into years and years turn into centuries.

The European always has a Negro Soup Du Jour. Whether it be MLK, Kobe Bryant, O.J. Simpson, Muhammad Ali or Barack Obama. Oh yippee! Here is a nigger we can love, loathe, or hate, for a time to make ourselves feel better about ourselves. We prefer that they be relegated to sports, entertainment (ours) or be a “reverend” of some sort.

How do you like me now?

I’m betting most don’t and I am counting on it, in fact.

Those familiar with my writing, speech, actions and perspectives in possession of an eighth of a brain should anticipate what’s coming. Anyone of mild intellect and somewhere north of an absolute dullard, will euthanize impending suffering now and stop reading. Lest they have a penchant for knowledge or intellectual suicide (sometimes the two are twain). No matter what they think, real or imagined, their respective personage presents physically.

Black History Month: The Acceptance

A few days ago, I wrote a piece regarding intelligence and though I do not, purposefully, write of matters that chafe the aggregate it often turns out that way. I write what is true and factual. As I matriculate through life on this planet; particularly in this society, I am finding that truth and fact are chaffing to that aggregate. ‘Tis especially so, from the Negro.

Heh, heh in a most scornful sense.

Pertinent to scorn, I have written several pieces on the insult known as “Black History Month” which occurs in February; the shortest month of the year. Each year I agonize at the European’s arrogance in that I am to be relegated to a month, for Black History is, indeed, Amerikan History. I want all that reside in the venue known as the United States to honestly ask themselves if they would be here without the Black Man, Woman and Child in the United States. Dreamers and schemers alike. Those that dare intellectually pursue the query know the results thereof because thou might run, but thou can’t hide. Albeit in plain sight. https://rohnkenyatta.substack.com/p/black-his-story https://rohnkenyatta.substack.com/p/black-americans https://rohnkenyatta.substack.com/p/the-linguistics-of-white-supremacy

After half a millennium, the United States has reserved its very worst for the very people that created it. I won’t dare bore one with the statistics that range from infant mortality to life expectancy. From what is known as “Negative Health Outcomes” to an apartheidal health care system. From “property” ownership to the deceased cremated by the state because their families could not afford to bury them on a small “plot.” From the womb, to the tomb. Because, you see, you already know this.

Black History Month. Let the narrator tell it, the European is a genius. He invented everything. She speaks of her great Greek philosophers with illustrious pride, yet she is incapable of accepting that many of them studied in Alkebulan (renamed “Africa by the minority known as the European). Let alone accept the fact that the world’s first university was in Alkebulan.

Now, ask yourself why is this so, ‘cause I already know (you do, too).

The European named the stars, navigated the oceans and “discovered” a New World that existed long before his Neanderthal ass showed up. Her hubris and arrogance cannot accept the fact that there were Alkebulanians working with metals, forging tools and had written languages long before the Iceman emerged from the cold, dank, musty caves of Europe. This is not rocket science, nor fancies of my imagination.

She cannot accept, nor does she care to know, that the Black Man and Woman in the United States “invented” a plethora of things they use everyday and take credit for. That patent laws and legal apartheid erased these inventors and I dare nary a European to challenge me. Should that individual be foolish enough to do so, they will get their ass handed to them. Come on now, step to me.

You won’t.

I learned, as a child (given I was taught and, partially, raised by Europeans) to use one’s own facts against them…if necessary. The second sentence of the Miranda Warning says it better than I can. Everything that appears supra is verifiable by his anthropologists, his archaeologists, his paleontologists and his scientists, not mine. But, alas, some things are irrefutable. Are they not?

Ergo, the reason that I find “Black History Month” infinitely insulting is because Alkebulan (aka “Africa”) is where humanity began. It is, indeed, “the motherland.” Even the European’s bible speaks of The Garden of Eden and there exists no controversy on where that place was located geographically. The white boy is still, thousands and thousands of years later, trying to figure out how in the holy hell we built those goddamned pyramids. So while the European, in her omnipresent linguistic inversion layer, tries to portray herself as the omnipotent “majority” those of us that know better, know better. How dare you call me “African-Amerikan” European-Amerikan, because every M.F on this planet is “African” one way, or another.

As this travesty ensues for the next month, the Trump administration has decided that Black History Month is moot. Or as he would characterize “bullshit.” And I agree, but certainly not for the reasons he does. No one is marginalized, by everyone in this society, like the Black Person in the United States and I am neither bragging, nor complaining. I know of European-Amerikans that go out of their way to disregard the MLK holiday (you know it, too). But for a few minutes each year, at the appointed time and space they feign adornment for he that they murdered. Same shit, different smell.

Everyone deserves justice, but no one gets it.

Get it?

I am a warrior. I am from the warrior class. I am a reluctant warrior, but my assignment was, and is, a cosmic ordainment. My armament is my pen and my mind; the most lethal of things. As I enter my 60’s, I am now an old warrior, but Mau-Mau, nonetheless. There are younger warriors now, but one thing will always be true: whether young warriors or old warriors, we never die…we just fade away. Just ask Malcolm X, Jesus, Mark Twain, Martin Luther King, Nat Turner, George Jackson, Huey Newton or John F. Kennedy. Among many others.

Over the next month, strictly for posterity’s sake, it is my intent to make certain that when my physical presence is no more, my spirit lingers and the best is yet to come.

That, matey, is the sincerest of promises.