Yo White Boy! (Volume 8)

Unapologetic

The Nubian Nemesis

In my previous (7) installments of this “sublication” called Yo White Boy, I have asked a number of questions to my collective alabaster respondents. If memory serves me correctly, only two or three have had the intellectual courage and intestinal fortitude to answer my interrogatories/editorial. I take no exception to this, as such a manifestation was a forgone conclusion; it was and is expected. Nonetheless, silence often serves as a public address system and, verily, you have the “right to remain silent.”

Remain silent and suit yourself. You see, when a white boy is relegated to silence that is a triumph in and of itself. For, generally speaking, he always has some word-salad gobbledygook with which to counter the indictment of his wretched hypocrisy. Thus sayeth the lord.

I supposed that last sentence deserves some degree of referential clarity which I have a responsibility to provide. A bible thumping European-Amerikan once told me that “the law” was an acronym for “The Lord’s Almighty Word (L.A.W.).” I initially thought it was a jape but it was not so. He was as serious as Ebola.

Spectacular, or somewhere north of it.

Military Prowess and Precision

Nubian warriors were renowned for their archery skills and were a constant source of concern for their neighbors. Nubia often clashed with the Egyptian empire, and later, with the Roman empire. Successfully resisting foreign invasions and maintaining their independence for long periods.

Let us not forget the Mau Mau and the Zulu… Mzungu. The Great White Hunter is always the victor. Until the lion tells the tale.

“Unapologetic”

The two predominant words that my critics often use in reference to my writing are confrontational and unapologetic. These same critics, mostly European-Amerikans, become righteously indignant when accused of being paternalistic (and maternalistic) white supremacists. Never do they argue the facts, they cannot argue the facts for I have triangulated them into a litigious corner; which is the root of their resentment.

Their critiques are emotional, not intellectual. Linguistically circumcised and rendered cognitively impotent they are unable to engage with my damning evidence. Thusly, they recoil from it. Normally by keeping their mouths shut or, shall I say, invoking their “god given” Fifth Amendment Right to remain silent. Fully aware that their deafening silence, is their violence.

Since I have expounded on the “confrontational” label in Yo White Boy (Volume 5), and have no desire to reinvent that wheel, I shall now confront the “unapologetic” label. https://rohnkenyatta.substack.com/p/yo-white-boy-volume-5

Let’s Call It What It Is: It Is What It Is Because It Was What It Was

The expectation that I (or any Black writer, activist, or thinker) should be "apologetic" for speaking truth about white supremacy, historical violence, or racial injustice is itself a form of white supremacy. It is a demand for deference. A form of emotional gatekeeping that says: “Tell me your pain—but in a way that doesn’t make me uncomfortable.”

When critics label me as “unapologetic,” it is often not descriptive—it is accusatory. It implies that:

• I have violated the tone that makes white audiences feel morally secure.

• I have refused to soften the blow of my indictments.

• I have denied the performance of humility expected from those critiquing whiteness.

This expectation is deeply racialized. White writers can be acerbic, polemical, or nihilistic without being called "unapologetic"—they’re just “bold” or “edgy.” But a Black writer who confronts white supremacy without cushioning the impact? Suddenly he’s “angry,” “confrontational,” or yes—"unapologetic." It’s the literary version of telling someone who’s been punched for 400 years to “calm down” before they speak.

I have absolutely nothing to apologize for. Absolutely nothing. I do not traffic in lies, like you do. I do not stoke “hatred,” like you do—I simply diagnose it, albeit with brutal precision. I do not distort history, like you do, I exhume that which you have unceremoniously buried.

I do not ask for sympathy, I demand accountability. An accountability informed by centuries of erasure, by the memory of lynching trees and segregated water fountains, by Black bodies policed and Black brilliance denied. To suggest that this truth must be made palatable before it can be acceptable is to reinforce the very system I am exposing.

I own the label “unapologetic,” while simultaneously flipping the insult into armor. Much like James Baldwin, Audre Lorde, or Malcolm X before me, I reclaim the idea that Black anger, Black truth, and Black intellect are not things to apologize for—they are acts of resistance. They are necessary, by any means necessary. And more than anything, they are expressions of love for Black People. The kind of love that refuses to lie to protect white comfort.

I don’t owe anyone softness. What I offer instead is clarity. And that clarity, unapologetic and sharp, is exactly what makes my voice necessary. And dangerous, to those who fear it.

Yo, White Boy!

As I mentioned in a recent article you, by design, constantly attempt to talk around me, below me and above me. I will allow you to talk around me. I will even allow you to talk below me; but you will never, ever be able to talk above me. You white boys seem to forget I was trained by the best, by my nemesis, tormentor, oppressor and antagonist. By you.

Think of me as Frankenstein’s monster.

Schwartzenstein, perhaps?

In any event, in the spirit of Détente, permit me to posit a proffer: when you “apologize” to the entire world for kidnapping, enslaving, murdering, mutilating and raping my people, I will wax more apologetically. I mean, that is the proverbial deal of the century; don’t you think? After all, your “US” president is a piggish, unabashed racist that you elected not only once, but twice (were he the “decider” he will tell you thrice) that relishes the “Art of the deal.” So, let’s make a deal. For the sake of challenge, I will suppress the reality that when a white boy talks about a “deal” it is something quite less than that for the other party.

Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.