Tag Archives: race

Black America’s Secret Shame

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As we all know, February is Black History Month. For the record, I’m not one of those people who complain that somehow Black history coincides with the shortest month of the year. Frankly, I don’t give a damn. It’s not like we (and by we, I mean those Black folks who complain that Black History Month is the shortest month of the year) really commemorate Black achievements all day everyday anyway. Besides, it used to be Black History WEEK, so I look at it like this…

…we got 21 more days to complain that America doesn’t do enough to celebrate Black achievements and accomplishments!

BAZINGA!

Anyway, being as its Black people month, and being as that I’m Black, I see it only fitting that I dedicate some posts in February to Black topics. Its gonna be on and poppin’. As well it should be since Black folks often get it on and poppin’ with things such as the bottle formerly known as Cristal, thongs, pills, and basketball. One could say we are a poppalicious people, though I prefer the bootylicious nature of Black women. And I don’t care how much you hate Beyonce, “Bootylicious” (written and produced/co-produced/conceived by Beyonce) was a great moment in Black history. Honestly…with lyrics like, “I don’t think you’re ready/for this jelly”, how could it not progress Black society. Kids everywhere were running around embarassing the sh*t out of us folks that can read talking about being bootylicious. Hell, even WHITE girls got into the act, further making me want to kill myself.

Okay, I swear that there is a point in there somewhere.

Ah yes, Black America’s secret shame. There are different kinds of Black folks out there. I know, shocker. Many have tried to paint Black people with one brush and say that we are all one and the burdens of my brother are my burdens. And I used to believe that until a strange thing happened one day. Can you guess what it was? Go ahead, take a gander.

*singing “I’m sexy and I know it”*

Done guessing?? Good. What happened to me was that I learned how to read.

*gasp*

That might sound messed up, but fret not, it gets worse. When I learned to read, a whole new world opened up to me. Butterfly’s in the sky, hell, I could fly twice as high like Aladdin and Jasmine! The older I’ve gotten and the more I’ve read, the more things have changed. Over time, I learned to not be afraid of information and actually seek it out causing me to do things that other Black men didn’t do like…go to college. Or even graduate. No Kanye.

So it was in this new world with new knowledge I obtained from reading new sh*t that I started to notice the differences between Black people. And just to be purposefully offensive, I’ll state some of the differences I noticed:

Some Black folks worked, some didn’t.

Some lived in suburbs, some lived in projects.

Some tried to assimilate into white society, some acted like assholes in public…almost seeming to be on purpose.

Some were reserved, some are just loud.

These are just a few of the differences. But that last one is the one that stands out to me. It brought to my attention and epiphanized a strange phenomenon in the Black community. It would seem that Black America’s Secret Shame is…

…hold on…

…it’s coming…

…wait for it…

…Black people.

Yes. Black people. Black American’s are secretly ashamed of other Black people. I know. It’s one of the most fucked up things you’ve ever heard. I hear you looking at me crazy. But it’s true. Black people that can read and write, and have gardens to tend, and garages that actually house cars, and have the OPTION to live amongst white people are ashamed of other Black people.

[***DISCLAIMER: These are fun, I swear. Which Black people am I talking about that are ashamed of other Black people??? You ninja. Yes you, the Black person that is reading this right now instead of in the projects affectionately known as WorldStarHipHop. The Black person who reads and writes. F*ck that, the Black person who ENJOYS reading. Yes, you. Does it sound elitist? Yes it does...but here's the test: if you have at any point in your existence, been somewhere, and an unruly group of Black youth have come into your presence and you cringed and/or uttered the word "n*ggas" under your breath...then this means you. Mmkay pumpkin?***]

Believe you me, it’s true. It’s a sad reality yet one that exists. Take for instance young Black folks on subway systems across America. Now those youth don’t care about being loud and obnoxious. Hell, it’s what kids do. However, you care. You wonder to yourself , why the hell they won’t shut up. Then you do scan the audience the kids have attracted. You scan the white faces for disapproval, and then you scan the Black faces for disgust.

For some reason, both the Black and white people are upset at the ungodly display of the youths. White folks will just have their notions reinforced, and Black folks will be afraid that the white folks are having their notions reinforced. And somewhere shame comes into the picture. Black folks start to think, “dammit, why won’t they just act right, they are making us all look bad. F*ckin’ cockaroaches!”

You have experienced…honest to goodness…

…shame.

Shame for fear that those Black folks who aren’t like you are setting us normal Black folks back years and years. It is that same shame that occurs when you take a ghetto member of your family out with you who then proceeds to act a damn fool on purpose, proving why they are the ghetto member of your family.

But you know what, they are ashamed of you too.

Sometimes they are trying to prove a point, too. The point may be that you aren’t any better than they are. And they are just as ashamed because they feel like you sold out when they remember when you all used to sleep three to a bed. They are ashamed, and thus shaming your bougie ass into realizing that you aren’t any better than they are. Hmm, ironic isn’t it. The better off we are, the more reminders we get from folks who aren’t so well off that we ain’t sh*t and didn’t come from sh*t.

Differences.

I’m not judging nor looking down on anybody. I’ve done more than my fair share in both worlds. As far as I’m concerned we all came from nothing. Essentially, I love all my Black peoples. EXCEPT those ignant somebodies who feel the need to make me look bad so that they don’t look bad by themselves. Crabs in a barrel are a b*tch. And it is those Black folks who draw my ire time and time again. The ones who are ashamed but secretly jealous of the Black folks who are doing well because those Black folks are sellouts and have no place in the hood. Those Black folks who are ashamed of other Black folks success because they don’t have it.

But it goes the other way too. Those Black folks who are educated and well to do, who are ashamed of their lower income brothers and sisters who may not have had the same opportunities that they’ve had. The ones who turn their noses up at less privileged Blacks with no provocation. The ones who talk about the ghetto without ever having been to the ghetto or lived there. The ones who laugh when some of us drink Kool-Aid. Hell, the ones who don’t realize that “red” is a flavor, and judge Black folks who know that it indeed is a flavor. Basically, Black folks who have the time to castigate other Black folks because they’ve made it and refuse to accept that making it where you’ve made it wasn’t solely on your own merit. Sometimes, folks believed in you enough to not let you fail. And it’s those folks that refuse to recognize or accept that, who are ashamed of lower income Black folks and their lot in life. Those Black folks piss me off too.

And there you have it. Black America’s secret shame is other Black people. From rich to poor, we are all ashamed of one another for reasons that are beyond me that will continue to keep us down. Sometimes we show out for white folks by showing them how comfortable they should be around us. We have a term for that…selling out. And sometimes we show out for white folks to show them that we don’t give a sh*t about them, except what we’re doing is furthering their own beliefs that Black folks have no damn sense anyway and are all useless. We have a term for this too…being a dbag. And they all lead to the same end…shame from some other member of the Black race.

And this is why we won’t make it as a people…and you know what…

…it’s a damn shame.

Ain’t it?

What say you?

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka MR. SUPER B.A.S.S. aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

For the DC heads, its time again for another edition of REMINISCE! at Liv Nightclub this Saturday, February 4th, 2012 from 930pm til 3am. It’s all 90s everything and anybody who has been will tell you this party is a motherf*cking monster. It’s FREE BEFORE 11PM WITH RSVP ($10 after) (click the link to RSVP), OPEN BAR FROM 930-1030PM (doors open earlier b/c people keep showing up MAD early) and no dress code. Supa Qool DJ Quartermaine on the 1s and 2s. Come on out and we’ll see you on Saturday night! Peep the FB event here!

It’s A Black Thing? I Think They Understand.

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[***Check out Part 2 of the Man In The Head: A Barrier or Motivation to be Better over on Urban Cusp today. Shout outs to Rahiel for her great job with UC and facilitating the dialogue. Get thee to the UC. ***]

Except this though...this right here, ninja. This sh*t right here? Totally a Black thing. In fact, anything directly involving Black love for Barack Obama is probably just a Black thing. And no, they wouldn't understand.

Do you remember those t-shirts from the 90s that said, “It’s a Black Thing, You Wouldn’t Understand.” I always loved those shirts. They made me proud because that line was always a built in excuse for any of the stuff that white people (including my own mother) didn’t really understand. Even if it made no sense to anybody. Kick an old man down a flight of stairs because you’re sure he was stalking you down the block? It’s a Black thing, you wouldn’t understand.

Put 22 inch rims on a 84 Nissan Sentra EVEN though the rims don’t fit the wheel well? To the point that we can’t actually turn anywhere but have to coast at an angle to turn? Yeah shawty, that’s a Black thing too.

But you know, there are a few things that we attribute pretty solely to Ninjaocity that I’m not entirely sure we own the monopoly on. Marvin’s Room.

Hmm…why has nobody made a rappers version of Monopoly? Aren’t hotels and houses we can’t afford a staple of hip-hop? What about owning clothing lines because we don’t know what else to own. Kind of like the Water Works? There’s potential there.

Anywho, here is a list of things that we claim for the Black hand side when I’m pretty sure the other side is just as actively and intimately familiar.

1. CP Time

So let me get this right…NOBODY in Montana is ever late? I’d find that hard to believe. For some reason Black folks love CP Time. It’s a built in excuse for everything to start late. Which mostly means things for which a time is set, like Thanksgiving dinner, funerals, weddings, etc. You know things that matter. But I’m fairly sure that other races have people who are JUST as late as commonly as ninjas. Though, if there has to be somebody who’s not only on time but early for an event, chances are its both NOT a ninja and probably IS a white person.

2. Soul Food

Any southerner will let you know that Soul Food isn’t a Black thing, its a Southern thing. White and Black people eat the same sh*t for the most part. It might be seasoned a little bit differently, but there are Black folks who’s deviled eggs taste like cardboad roachclips holding fettucini noodles and ugly toes. But collards, hogmaws, black eye peas, yams, etc. On Thanksgiving day in Memphis, Black and white folks are all eating that combo. I mean hell, who do you think was cooking for them for all those slavery years. What you think they started eating something different in 1863? McDonald’s perhaps? Croutons?

3. The neck-roll and “Black woman attitude”

You ever try to cut a white woman in a line full of white people? Yeah, me too. My bad Barbara Streisand. Anyway, white women have JUST as much attitude as Black women are alleged to have. It’s just that it happens at grocery stores like Wegmans which I’m fairly certain Black people are afraid to go lest other Black people follow them and realize it exists and start going there and telling their friends. Real talk though, Wegmans…is a motherf*cking unicorn. Every time I go in there I feel like when Dr. King said that he may not get there with us, he was talking about his disappointment about not getting to go to Wegman’s because he knew it was coming to Black communities. Or something.

I totally lost my point.

4. Hooked up cars and sh*t

I don’t know about you, but where I’m from, the white boys were JUST as actively involved in overspending on vehicles as we were. If not more. It went well with their hip-hop demeanor that was jacked wholesale. If there’s one thing white dudes who are into Black culture believe in, it’s looking the part. Same with Asians. They seem to have vast disposal income as well. Hell, chances are, those lovely donks, ‘lacs and caprices, and lo-los you saw in videos were being rented from some 84 year old white guy who just liked candy paint and hooking up cars.

5. Trendsetting

Kanye West dresses like an old white woman. A lot of young rappers dress like Kanye West…who dresses like an old white woman. Well there you have it.

So good people of VSB, what else you got?

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka MR. MEDALLION aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

For the DC VSBers: Come out to the latest edition of REMINISCE (Facebook event link), the 90s party,  brought to you by Very Smart Brothas x Shine On Me x Just Cause Productions. This month’s party will feature a special tribute to Heavy D and a focus on Uptown Records (Waterbed Heav’s recording home). That means Mary and Guy and Father MC, etc. That means a good time. Get yo’ azz on out to Liv Nightclub on Saturday, 12/3. Free before 11, free drank before 11, and no dress code. And Champ will be in the building too. Sadatay. And invite all of your friends. Let’s make it a night to remember.

Why Brown Skinned Women Stay Losing In The Oppression Olympics

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Only a brown skinned woman could get away with this. Let a light OR dark skinned woman try this sh*t on a plane. SECURITY!

Have you ever noticed that when it comes to colorism in our community, it’s always the lightskinneded vs. darkskint? Even in the landmark ridiculous dance number in Spike Lee’s School Daze, it was a light versus dark thing. Somehow in all the hubbub, the brown skinned women never really get much shine.

And you know what? They don’t deserve any. Brown skinned women stay winning but always wanna ask why for come they don’t get any room at the table when people start complaining about skintoned ninjas on the Other Side Blocc. Nobody’s tossing greneadesbut they always trying to double dutch their way into the oppression olympics trying to steal the medalsfrom the light brites and dark skint ninjas out there struggling in the struggle.

Oh, and I’d like to go on record her as saying this is relegated to women because frankly, when was the last time you really heard a man seriously lamenting the treatment he got because of his skin tone? Sure light skinned brothers aren’t in style anymore, but it seems like we never got that memo. Men just do men sh*t and rarely worry about it. Sure we joke and I’ve been called you ole light skinned motherf*cker plenty of times by my boys…but that’s usually right before somebody needs a homeloan or needs something from a white person. In Black Man America, we all benefit from being men first.

In fact, the only Black man that really cared was the cop in Boyz N Tha Hood who really needed a hug. He (allegedly) hated black pepper AND the back of Forrest Whitaker’s neck. That’s self-hate.

Do you remember back in the day when you met somebody in a chatroom and you hit them with the A/S/L? Yeah, you remember. If those simple stats were to your liking then you skidadled on over to a private IM convo and started describing yourself to the other person. Men, we’re simple: we go light, brown, or dark. Women on the other hand…well, it’s a little different. And this is where brown skinned women stay winning and effectively losing at the oppression olympics.

Man: Hey girl, describe yourself.

Girl: I’m caramel complected.

Man: Damn girl. That sounds edible.

Brown skinned women are the only women who can get away with describing themselves in all kinds of sexxy food sounding good stuffs. I’ve heard nougat, pecan, caramel, (call me) almond, the color of love, milk chocolate, hot cocoa, sexual chocolate, etc. How the hell do you, brown skinned women, expect to get into the argument about who has it worse when everything you do to describe yourself sounds like something I want?

“I’m fudgy.” Ninja, I like fudge.

What’s a light skint chick? Soy milk? Ewwww. Ole lactaid heffa.

Or.

“Hey daddy, I look like black licorice! Or oil change.”

“I hate black licorice. Do you have any almond joy looking friends?”

One of our favorite go to insults is skin color. You can’t do that with a caramel chick!

“Ole light skint b*tch! She think she white.”

“Ole blue black b*tch! Pay your light bills ninja.”

Now, our brown skinned friend…

“Ole caramel, you sweet sexxy thaaaaaaang you, with nice syruppy legs walking away like ole … come back baby…you ain’t nothin’ with out me. The Temps without David Ruffin’ ain’t nothin’ but a bunch of fake ass Temps! With your sexual chocolate self. Make me want to bake a cake girl…aw girl. That’s why your glasses look like two wire hangers for elephant titties.”

Or something like that.

Simple yes, but it goes even further. Think about all of the songs with skin color attached to the title. It’s either Black woman, which is all encompassing, or “Brown Skin” or “Brown Skinned Lady” or “Doo Doo Brown”. I wish a ninja would make a song called, “Light Skinned Lady”. He’d have his ENTIRE Black card revoked by Blackness Anonymous and get drop squaded. But it goes the other extreme too. We are so pained by colorism, that if a man were to make a song strictly about dark skinned woman he’d either be assumed to be satirizing or trying to assuage some guilt he has. Or worse, just being patronizing. But noooooooooooooooo, brown skinned bombshells (<—–look at that, I did it subconsciously) get all the lyrical love. Sure, all black women can be “brown skinned ladies” too, but when you hear songs like that you don’t think Paula Patton. It drove her to a white man’s arms. With blue eyes. Devil.

That’s cool though. The honeybadger don’t care. The honeybadger don’t give a sh*t.

One of my favorite sites is Those Girls Are Wild, and Shannon (the lightskinnededed one) has a video where she talks about this very thingin more depth…calling on darkies and lighties to unite against the common enemy she calls medium toned women. Ridiculously hilarious. Peep that.

So good folks of the VSB, you feel me? Do brown skinned beauties have any place in the oppression olympics? Extremists…stand up.

Flashlight Mobb.

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka TANGLE JIG P aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

Beating Dead Horses: An Honest Assessment About Why I Couldn’t Date A White Woman

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"Wait, we can't even watch the movie together and you think I'm going to TAKE you down there? Ninja please."

Nearly every time anybody finds out that my mother is white, the conversation veers towards my dating preferences and if I’d ever date a white woman. And my answer is always no. I usually rifle off some statement about not being rejected by all of the beautiful Black women yet, and while that may be true, that really doesn’t speak at all to any sound, valid based god reasoning.

So one day, while eating things white people eat – like arugula and rosemary paremesan bread – I decided to really think about if there was any good reason aside from disappointing the million sistahs that don’t want me already. And that’s when it happened.

What?

I’m finna tell you, be easy.

So that’s when it happened.

Rick James, b*tch. My iTunes media player randomly played one of my favorite songs ever.

And then the floodgates into my mind’s eye opened and the reasons flowed like champagne at a strip club featuring the talents of future Basketball Wives. Allons-y.

1. I couldn’t dedicate nearly any of my favorite songs to her.

“Ebony Eyes”? Out. Once we break up: “Pretty Brown Eyes (Breaking My Heart)”. Gone. While it’s wholly possible that I could date a white chick with brown eyes, with my luck she’d have green eyes and splicing every time Erick Sermon said “the green eyed-bandit” into a dope song is just not a good idea. So many songs about Black love mention a woman’s brown eyes, which must suck for our sistahs with hazel or green or Thriller eyes.

2. I like to go to exhibits about Black history.

Nearly all of these exhibits haarken back to a time of discord between our two races. And while I’d know beyond the shadow of a doubt that it wasn’t my girl’s fault that things went all the way wrong…maybe, just maybe…she ain’t do enough to prevent it!!!!! True story: I went to go see the America I Am Exhibit while it was here in DC and this man came with his white wife. They started out cool, but over the course of the exhibit they must have gotten into some racially charged argument because they kept arguing…HISTORY…while we were there. It’s almost like he was taking it all personal while she was just trying to see the exhibit. Poor white woman.

3. I’m bald.

This means that I don’t have a comb. But I do have a daugher. And I swear fo’ God and three white men that I’d be the most hairdressingest Black man in America before I let somebody who’s hair acumen is effectively “wet and go” do my daughter’s hair. I’ve seen that with my own two eyes before. It was no bueno.

4. I like to watch bad Black movies.

I like sequels to questionable Black movies like Belly 2, Why Did I Get Married To: That Guy Right Three. And movies with Vivica Fox. I’m only gonna explain front weaves once. Or what if we are watching Precious and she thinks its funny. I mean it is…but I’m Black. After laughter comes tears. SHE should want to go volunteer and make a difference after!

5. I could never own or watch Rosewood again.

I remember the first time I watched this movie. At the home of my white mother and my entire white family. And I was enraged for a solid fifteen minutes. At nobody and everybody. I mean…they kilt Aunt Sarah dead. How am I supposed to tell her that I can never watch a movie again without her WANTING to see why? And then we’d have to watch it…and then we’d be done and what then class??

I couldn’t dedicate any songs to her that I love cuz well, “Pretty Brown Eyes” is out remember? See what I did there?

6. I honestly feel like I’d be disappointing my community.

Why? No good reason. Ridiculous logic? Absolutely. Love is and should be bigger than all of that. But I feel how I feel and I hate pepper because it’s Black. Again, I’m a f*cking walking paradox. No I’m not.

7. Most importantly, I’d have to stop using the n-word. And my n*gga, that’s just too much to ask of one man.

Now, don’t take this as me saying nobody should date outside of their race. Frankly, my dear, I couldn’t give a f*ck less who anybody decides to date as long as it’s not some horse or an ocelot. But these are reasons I’d tell my momma…right before she told me I need to have more diverse dating tastes. Oh, parents.

Anyway, folks of the VSBpora, have you ever actually thought about why you could or couldn’t date outside of your race? Like actual reasons? Do share?

Just say, say, say, what you want.

Posse out.

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka TANGLE JIG P aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

****DMV RESIDENTIALISTS: Come celebrate Panama’s B-day on Thursday, June 2, a VSB Happy Hour and Game Night at Tap& Parlour at Bohemian Caverns located at 2001 11th Street, NW (corner of 11th and U) from 530-until. Game 2 will be on the TVs, games will be available, and happy hour prices. It’s a win-win-win.****

No rapture means that God wants you to stay on Earth and purchase the paperback or the $9.99 Kindle version ofYour Degrees Wont Keep You Warm at Night: The Very Smart Brothas Guide to Dating, Mating, and Fighting Crime

Lastly, wed like to thank all of you for coming through and nominating us for FIVE Black Weblog Awards. Were on the final ballot for Best Humor Blog, Best Writing in a Blog, Best Sex & Relationships Blog, Best Group Blog, and Blog of the Year. Pleasevote for us here.

 

All Sold Out: A couple thoughts about the “Fab Five,” Grant Hill, and the Uncle Tom stigma

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Kyrie Irving put me in an extremely unusual and unsettling place earlier this fall. You see, Irving is the best 18 year old point guard I’ve ever seen. And, since I’m a mercenary when it comes to basketball fandom — I’m a fan of whichever team my favorite players happen to be on — it stands to reason that I’d become a fan of whichever school Irving happened to sign with.

But, Irving signed with f*cking Duke, and that changed everything.

You see, ever since they managed — in consecutive years, mind you — to beat my two favorite college teams ever (the 1991 UNLV Runnin’ Rebels and the 1992 Michigan Wolverines) in the NCAA tournament, my heart has reserved a special cabinet of hate for the Duke Blue Devils. Sh*t, even as a 12 year old I could sense that there was something inherently hateable about this unbearably preppy, unusually smarmy, and unapologetically arrogant collection of the spawn of astronauts, lawyers, politicians, and rapists.

To me, they stood for everything wrong about the way the world worked. There was no fairness in the fact that this agglomeration of rich assholes — people whose privilege meant they already won at life — should be allowed to be great at playing basketball too. To twist the knife in the gut even more, pundits, commentators, and columnists love to laud Duke for “playing the right way” and “respecting the game,” which is akin to a high school principal giving a trust fund senior a citizenship award, even though the senior was just caught f*cking a freshman on the hood of his Maserati Quattroporte in the school parking lot.

With that being said, it should come as no surprise that a part of me could relate to the statements Jalen Rose and Jimmy King made about Duke and black Duke players in ESPNs recent documentary “Fab Five.”

From Rose:

For me Duke was personal. I hated Duke and I hated everything Duke stood for. Schools like Duke didnt recruit players like me. I felt like they only recruited black players that were Uncle Toms.

I too have always felt that Duke seems to prefer to recruit kids from more affluent backgrounds. And, although I wouldn’t go as far as call a black player who signed with Duke an “Uncle Tom,” I never got the feeling that black dukies were “down for the cause” (whatever the hell that means)

Of course, this — and “this” is a “general feeling about Duke shared by many African-Americans” — is all baseless bullshit. And, considering the fact that I too came from a middle class background with two married parents at home and went to a private middle school and a suburban high school, my bullshit was especially thick. Because I disliked the fact that they beat up on two of my favorite teams, I spun each possible positive characteristic into a negative.

They weren’t confident, they were arrogant. They weren’t team-oriented, they were masking the fact that they had no real talent. They weren’t talented, they were lucky. They weren’t hard-working winners, they we’re poseurs lifted to prominence by byzantine means. I allowed my disdain for their success and the attention given to them turn me into, well, a hater. And while Rose and King obviously were speaking about their past feelings, I don’t think either of them really stressed how wrong they were to feel that way, and that was very disappointing.

Oh, and about “Uncle Tom.”

There are certain accusations that, true or untrue, forever stick with you. Men wrongly accused of rape are still thought of and treated as rapists by those who only need an allegation for confirmation of guilt. “Uncle Tom” carries a similar permanent stigma, and I can’t even imagine how frustrating it must be for a black person who has done nothing but do things the way they’re supposed to be done to always have their racial identity questioned.

This frustration was clearly evident in Grant Hill’s tomeic response to Rose and King’s comments about black Duke players. You could almost sense that this missive had been festering inside of Hill for decades.

It was a sad and somewhat pathetic turn of events, therefore, to see friends narrating this interesting documentary about their moment in time and calling me a bitch and worse, calling all black players at Duke Uncle Toms and, to some degree, disparaging my parents for their education, work ethic and commitment to each other and to me. I should have guessed there was something regrettable in the documentary when I received a Twitter apology from Jalen before its premiere. I am aware Jalen has gone to some length to explain his remarks about my family in numerous interviews, so I believe he has some admiration for them.

In his garbled but sweeping comment that Duke recruits only black players that were Uncle Toms, Jalen seems to change the usual meaning of those very vitriolic words into his own meaning, i.e., blacks from two-parent, middle-class families. He leaves us all guessing exactly what he believes today.

I am beyond fortunate to have two parents who are still working well into their 60s. They received great educations and use them every day. My parents taught me a personal ethic I try to live by and pass on to my children.

I come from a strong legacy of black Americans. My namesake, Henry Hill, my fathers father, was a day laborer in Baltimore. He could not read or write until he was taught to do so by my grandmother. His first present to my dad was a set of encyclopedias, which I now have. He wanted his only child, my father, to have a good education, so he made numerous sacrifices to see that he got an education, including attending Yale.

Hill ended his response with the type of pointed digs that only comes from people who’ve been deeply hurt.

I caution my fabulous five friends (Ha!) to avoid stereotyping me and others they do not know in much the same way so many people stereotyped them back then for their appearance and swagger. I wish for you the restoration of the bond that made you friends, brothers and icons.

I am proud of my family. I am proud of my Duke championships and all my Duke teammates. And, I am proud I never lost a game against the Fab Five.

Yikes. If ever a #shotfired hash-tag was appropriate, it’s now.

Hill has received a bit of criticism for the length, tone, and, since this was basically a response to quotes about feelings Rose and King had 20 years ago, timing of this statement. But, there’s no script or statute of limitations on expressing the type of pain that comes from having to undergo a racial identity interrogation, and I can’t fault Hill for basically saying “Ya’ll analog niggas can kiss my f*cking Dukie ass” in the most verbose way possible.

Whew. There’s a lot to digest here. Race, racial identity, how racial identity affects how we see the world, and whether there’s a “right” way to be black seem to be questions we’ll never fully answer, baggage we’ll always carry.

On a more positive note, this past season allowed me to release one of my burdens. Sticking true to my basketball fandom principles — and not wanting to miss out on watching a guy who had the potential to be one of my favorite college players ever — I did the unthinkable: I finally rooted for Duke.

Yes. Better than Derrick Rose, John Wall, Chris Paul, Allen Iverson, Stephon Marbury, Mike Bibby, Jason Kidd, Ricky Rubio, Jay Williams, Baron Davis, and any other highly-touted 18 year old point guard you or I can name. This doesn’t mean that he’ll be as great of an NBA player as some of the guys I just mentioned — even though I’m pretty certain he will — but, he’s better at this stage than all of them were.
Joking about the rapists part.
Of course, Irving got injured 8 games into the season, and hasn’t played since. I haven’t been this disappointed since the last episode of Seinfeld

—The Champ