Photo Credit: Ramona Rosales for People Magazine
“Let me assure you that there is no such thing as a black racist. There is no such thing. ‘Black racism’ and ‘reverse racism’ are terms that were developed by intellectual white thinktanks in political circles to get you as African young people to feel guilty about discussing what has happened to you as African people in America. So when you start to discuss slavery, or the effects of slavery, or the effects of 500 years of domination, what they do is say, “Oh, you’re a racist.” When you react to the ugly things that they do or say to us, they say, “Oh, you’re a racist.” That is to get you to feel guilty about discussing, or organizing, or taking issue with the condition of African people in this country.” — Sister Souljah “We Are At War”
They say Google is your friend. Well, for the last few hours I’ve been searching for the historical context that would demonstrate that the term mayonnaise, when used sardonically to refer to the dominant racial group, upholds a racially-based hierarchy that leads to systemic inequities. Guess what? It doesn’t exist. Perhaps, mayonnaise is offensive, but racist it certainly is not. And considering that Mr. Hall does not belong to the mayonnaise group, why on Earth is he offended? That shot wasn’t even aimed at him.
Todrick Hall in his latest video titled ‘I’m Not Black Enough’ was filled with everything but a Taylor Swift cover of September (it had her tears though if you listened hard enough). Mr.Hall took 16 minutes out of his very booked schedule to respond to a video I made critiquing his new T.H.U.G. video. He said he wasn’t mad, but I suspect that he was, and I get it (y’all know how the Black V necks be). He claims that people accuse him of being in the sunken place, tap dancing and thinking he’s white. It sounds like he may have some internal conflict about his Black identity, which frankly, we all have to confront at some point because anti-Blackness is pervasive. It is the air we breathe, the TV we see, and the education we get. His feelings are hurt and good, they need to be hurt. Growth comes from pain.
Aside from that, Mr. Hall doesn’t owe me or anyone else an explanation about his brand of blackness, but since he offered one and directed it at me, I’ll take him up on his offer.
Let me give you the problem in a nutshell — Mr. Hall admits that he has been called out for his stereotypical portrayals of Black men and women in his older content, and he says he’s evolved since then; however, the T.H.U.G. video, to me, seems like more of the same.
What you will notice is that Mr. Hall builds his argument the same way the dominant racial group does — you know how they completely miss the point and start running down their list of Black affiliations and oppressions to let you know they, too, know the struggle. *insert side-eye here*
After running down the list of illustrious Black artists that he’s worked with over the past few years, Mr. Hall lets the viewer know that he doesn’t participate in the ‘woke Olympics.’ Evolving and loving your blackness ain’t hardly a competition but I get that he saw someone (who was probably being flamed for being problematic) say that on Twitter and he felt it fit this context.@Todrick builds his argument the same way the dominant racial group does — you know how they completely miss the point and start running down their list of Black affiliations and oppressions to let you know they, too, know the struggle. Click To Tweet
Statements like “too woke” and “woke Olympics” are counterproductive. Woke is a term many have used to describe their new view of the world and the way in which white supremacy actually rules everything. Personally, I prefer to use the term “more informed,” which doesn’t mean I will ever be completely informed, but I am open to continuing to learn, and that’s what is important. The way he used “woke Olympics” tells me a lot about his view of the world and society.
Shall we begin?
Blackness is not a monolith. We are not homogenous people; we are not all the same.-Jesse Williams
Blackness exists on a spectrum. One can not be too black or not black enough. That itself sounds like a form of Olympics. We all exist.
Todrick, you say that not being Black enough haunts you, but what have you done about it? If many people have made similar points in their videos about your portrayal of black people, what does that say? We’re going to get there, trust me.
Todrick actually opens the video by telling me how I should have framed my critique of him, how I should have reached out to him directly. But then does the same thing. Hypocritical much? No one gets to tell someone how to protest or how to react. I’m not telling you how you should react either. My video was done to challenge some of your past and present work in the hopes that your future work has more equitable representation for Black people in particular. Call me the Ghost of Past, Present, and Future
Todrick does make one good point in the video — I have not seen his full body of work. That is true. Because of the history of some of his previous “problematic parodies,” I didn’t think it would be best (I’ll explain more later). However, from what I have seen, I feel comfortable saying that I have not heard him shine a positive light on Black men, which is why the T.H.U.G. video caught my attention, and it was the first video that I came across from his Forbidden visual album.
I was really rooting for him, but alas, it’s just more of the same. The video seemed to sexualize black men, and the song is called thug — you know, the term white people in the media use to describe black men when they can’t say, nigger. Honestly, I’m just thankful it wasn’t titled BBC, but that’s neither here or there. Todrick’s rapping and singing about his new found interest in eggplants and melanin is a complete departure from his usual, so you can imagine, I was quite perplexed. Where did this come from? I literally screamed when I heard him use the word “trade”. Since when sis? The first verse sounds like a white woman wrote it, see how he shouted out the queens of problematic white women?
Yo, yo, yo
I used to f*cks with them Ken doll types (mwah)
Them femme doll types
I had to switch up the hims I like (switch)
Get a cap with the brims I like
He got that whip with the rims I like (woo, woo)
Get that good right swipe
Type that the Khloe and Kims all like
Kims all like, yep (yeah, yeah, yeah)
“I used to f*cks with them Ken Doll types.”
Back in 2016, Todrick released a video titled ‘Color’ featuring Jay Armstrong. They both sing to each other throughout the video describing their affection towards another. It is a visually stunning video that shows the great love affair between a white man and a black man, which isn’t groundbreaking, considering the majority of Black same gender loving men we see in media are paired with non-Black men. The problem is in Jay Armstrong’s lyrics in which he says that “I don’t see color.” In the “I’m Not Black Enough” video, Todrick Hall tries to connect this lyric to his obsession with the Wizard of Oz. Okay. But within the context of my critique about his racially insensitive imagery and lyrics, ‘I don’t see color is another way to minimize the experience of Black and Brown people in a world that absolutely does see color and makes it a point to keep “colored” people out of everything but prison.
That makes my skies blue
And whenever we’re through
All I can do is see color
There’s something ’bout us
When we’re together
Whenever you’re there, darling I swear
I don’t see color
“I don’t see color.”
Even though Todrick didn’t utter the words out of his mouth, words mean things, and he is responsible for the lyric by proxy. He responded that he wasn’t the one who sang that exact part but he is one of the writers, and this is your video soooooo…
Back to the mayonnaise — Todrick seemed to be exceptionally “salty” about my use of mayonnaise which I’ve already said could be construed as offensive, but then Mr. Hall had to take it one additional step and call it reverse racism? Who in 2018 don’t understand that reverse racism ain’t a thing? White people, that’s who.
“…if it was really in our interest to find out the truth about that person we would watch the whole body of work and then make an assessment a judgement but even then we would upload a video that was nice and kind and really trying to get to the bottom of the situations instead of dragging someone over and over and over and ultimately making reverse racism remarks. Whereas if a white person uploaded this exact video replacing all the times that he said “mayonnaise” with something that is offensive towards black people this video would be going viral and people would be upset and saying that that person was racist.”
Black people can never be racist – we never had the tools or power to institutionalize racial oppression.- Sobantu Mzwakali
We also have a sitting president that has used many offensive terms to describe people of color. This is what so many before me have tried to explain in so many ways to Todrick, but yet he insists on not getting it. He’s too busy listening to respond instead of listening to understand, which is why he’s doing a reaction video instead of reflecting in a quiet place about his creative choices.
Let’s do a quick project — I would like for you to go find “mayonnaise” or “cracker” or any so-called “racist” term that might offend white people on a birth certificate.
Couldn’t find it could you? You know what you can find on some birth certificates, the words “negro” and “colored” which we all agree are actually offensive. My grandmother, only two generations before me, has it on hers. She also shared with me that she was alive when one of her family members was lynched in Mississippi. As a matter of fact, the last word that the nearly 10,000 Black people who were lynched in this country between 1899 and 1960 heard was ‘nigger.’ I advise that you, Todrick Hall, understand the historical context behind racist words and refrain from comparing an offensive word such as mayonnaise with a racist one. The pain ain’t the same, boo.
Todrick also admits that the parodies he’s done in the past were problematic, but he isn’t interested in taking them down. As I’ve already admitted, I have not seen the full body of his work. To be better informed in my future critiques (because you know I ain’t stopping) I’ve decided to take his advice and get to know more of his content. Remember when I said I was going to explain why I wasn’t as interested in watching the full “body of work?” Here’s why.
Let’s start with ‘Snow White and the Seven Thugs’ (2014) since we’re in this situation because of a video called T.H.U.G.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the most problematic of them all? The video starts with Snow White singing to Iggy Azalea’s ‘Fancy’. Need I say more? She makes her way into the hood and falls asleep in a home with 7 thugs. Ashy, Nappy, Tooty, Fruity, Musty, Crusty and Dopey. Their costumes are hoodies, and the one with the gold chain is Orlando Brown. The evil queen played by Kimberly Cole turns into the witch to get Snow White to eat an apple. Remember how the evil witch looked in the cartoon? Well, Glozell played that character and yes Glozell had her wig and green lipstick on.
‘The Hungry Games’ (2013) is a parody of ‘The Hunger Games‘ with Fatniss Everdeen played by a dark skin character with a loud personality — a cross between the Mammy and the Sapphire trope. It’s important to point out the actress’ skin tone because it adds to the stereotype of darker skinned women being heavyset and loud. In this parody, Fatniss gets her name called and she loudly and thankfully says “Gurl I won!” She pushes the white women out her way while wearing a bandanna. It doesn’t stop there. In one scene, Fatniss and other victors fight over fried chicken from KFC and watermelon. I was at a loss for words. KFC, really? Black people eat Popeye’s. If you’re going to do the stereotype, do it right.
We all know the negative connotations behind fried chicken and watermelon when it comes to African Americans. Did I mention even though they were fighting for their lives in this parody they still had gold chains? Cleary they won’t be getting into Blake’s in Atlanta with this dress code.
Titaniqua (2015) is a parody of the Titanic movie with a ratchet spin and a dash of gold because every parody of blacks needs gold. A white woman falls in love with a gangster/thug drug dealer? More stereotypical black characters portrayed through the lens of whiteness.
Todrick’s character Jack sits at the table with a gold grill while talking to Rose’s mother and friends. He’s asked what does he do and he replies “I sell that good good.” He’s also an up and coming rapper and has a song called ‘Jiggle That Booty Meat’ which he performs at the dinner table leaving the white people at the table confused.
Hocus Broke-Us (2015) features The Sanderson Sisters from Hocus Pocus but they’re black and of course, they’re ratchet. Todrick plays Seyoncé and the witches are looking for “chirren“. Why do the Sanderson Sisters have to be broke? Why do weave and ratchet have to be implied so much?
Beauty and the Beat (2013) A parody of Beauty and the Beast with a white Disney character strolling through the hood while holding an Ebony magazine.
These videos are still monetized. Which means Todrick Hall is still collecting revenue from them. Maybe this a reason why he isn’t in a hurry to take them down.
Listen, the white gaze is a motherfucker. It’s so easy to create content based on the regular schmegular tropes that already exist about black people. Stereotypes work because they are shortcuts, and content creators don’t have to work as hard to tell the story. And the truth is, I’ve chuckled at some of these parodies; I’m sure we all have. The point is Todrick’s audience is majority white, and it makes a difference. Are they laughing with Todrick Hall or laughing at him? Even that question is tricky because Todrick doesn’t seem to completely understand the breadth of racism. That’s not his fault; I ultimately put the blame on white supremacy and I also admit that I used to be like him, hard-pressed to assimilate by poking fun at racial stereotypes to fit in with the dominant culture. This is why we have to hold him accountable. He has a huge platform. Audiences see these parodies, and it reinforces stereotypes about African Americans.
What Todrick Hall does not show you in his video is the section of my video where I pay homage to his work ethic and his creativity. I called him a creative genius with mad talent, and I still feel that way. To have created a lane for himself as an openly gay Black man in a very outwardly homophobic industry is something that deserves all the credit. Can you imagine what he could do if he used his powers for good?
For the record, I have no personal issue with Todrick Hall. Although I directed my video to Todrick Hall, my issue is bigger than him. We all have to be held accountable, especially those who have a voice. I’ve been held accountable and will be held accountable in the future, and I will look back at this very moment and learn from the experience.
“With great power comes great responsibility.” A corny quote that Uncle Ben gave Peter Parker in Spiderman but it has so much meaning. Todrick, you have the power, so what is your responsibility?
In case you need any help answering this question, here are some suggestions for what you can do today to be better:
- Start by taking down the videos that reinforce stereotypes of African Americans.
- Reach out to your critics for constructive feedback if that’s what you want. You can contact me at [email protected]
- If you’re truly interested in growing, make time in your busy schedule to have a conversation. No, it will not be backstage. I need your full undivided attention.
You have a voice and the platform to amplify it and that’s what makes you dangerous.
“I Still Know What You Did Last Summer: Pandemic, Pride, and HIV Afterlives”
Atlanta Black Pride began as a picnic.
Once upon a time in 1996, “a small group of African American lesbian and gay friends held a picnic over Labor Day weekend to celebrate their unique experience in Atlanta’s LGBT community. Each year, the group grew with others from the community and neighboring cities.” This swelling group would become the non-profit, volunteer-led 501(c)3 organization, In The Life Atlanta (ITLA). As a founding party to the International Federation of Black Prides, ITLA annually hosts upwards of 100,000 Black queer people in Atlanta, Georgia–comandeering almost every major club, the entire metro area, and, the city’s heartbeat, Piedmont park.
Atlanta Black Pride is the largest pride event dedicated to Blackqueer people in the World.
Of course, everyone who attends is not affiliated with ITLA, nor is every event held in the name of Atlanta Black Pride on Labor Day weekend engineered with the consultation or even knowledge of ITLA. However, I find it imperative to properly situate what can be considered a kind of Blackqueer Hajj into the larger, historical context of the “Black (gay) Mecca”.
As I write this, cases of COVID-19 and resultant deaths are on a relative decline in Georgia. Yesterday, September 4, 63 people died; ten less than the number who died the day before on September 3. There were 2,066 cases discovered yesterday as well, which in comparison to the 2,675 found the day before seems like progress–seems.
Either unwittingly or out of sheer moral dereliction, Blackqueer people have, nonetheless, crowded the concrete corridors of downtown Atlanta in the name of “Pride”. Fulton County, in which Atlanta resides, has the most cases of any county in Georgia with 25,540 confirmed cases to date. Footage from inside clubs packed passed capacity proliferated Black twitter. Bodies move as if welded together; the building heaves as it holds them–constricted and ecstatic. Sweat and swisher-soaked shirts find their way up over heads, tucked into jeans or draped across clavicles, couches. Tongues untied touch, mouths unmasked meet. Exhales no longer waited; they breathe each other in, eliding every edict to distance. Under these conditions, death is imminent, intimate.
In 2018, WSB-TV reported that, according to Emory University’s Center of AIDS research, HIV infections had reached “epidemic” proportions for Blacks in Atlanta, with every 1 in 51 Black people at risk of diagnosis. 42% of new HIV diagnoses in the country in the same year were among adult and adolescent Black people. Black queer men–the demographic majority of Atlanta Black Pride, I must add–make up for 37% of new diagnoses among all queer men in the United States.
One of the very few things known about COVID-19 is that it disproportionately impacts the already immunocompromised–the Elderly, the infantile, the asthmatic, the seropositive. Hence, it would seem to behoove the Blackqueer attendants of Atlanta Black Pride–who by no means nor stretch of the imagination are solely responsible for the intracommunal increase of HIV diagnoses nor by majority, themselves, seropositive–to be vigilant, not simply about their own health but about the health of their larger community. Put differently, Atlanta Black Pride 2020 seems blissfully ignorant of, not merely this current historical moment but, moreso, itself; its attendees–against the backdrop of 5,000+ deaths, 263,000 cases and counting, impending eviction crises, mass unemployment, abolitionist unrest–begin to appear almost morally bereft.
I’d be remiss if I did not mention that most of the event fliers appeal to cisheteronormative cultural appetites with well-oiled and scantily clad, light skin men/mascs who titillate the impoverished desirability politics of its viewers. Consequently, thin, conventionally desirable, cisgendered, homonormative Black men get to feel most hailed and at home. This may possibly clarify why it looks to be the case that, for Atlanta Black Pride and her benefactors, the pandemic is not to be taken seriously; to whom/what do cisgay men ever feel accountable?
On the other hand: it is, however, simply empirically untenable, outright false to assert or even suggest that Black cisgay men are the only Blackqueer folks present for Pride. Anything else would be or border erasure. This, then, raises an even more harrowing question: for whom/what is the Blackqueer responsible? If cases rise in Atlanta post-Pride, even if only within Blackqueer commons, are Blackqueer people, even partially, responsible? Who is the onus on to defend Blackqueer life or stave off Blackqueer death and dying?
Cultural historian Saidiya Hartman, in her trailblazing monograph Scenes of Subjection: Terror, Slavery, and Self-making in Nineteenth Century America, looks at the Black codes and Freedmans’ Bureau handbooks to illuminate how postbellum America incorporated recently emancipated slaves through liberal ideologies of consent, responsibility, and culpability. The “ex-”Slave demonstrated their appreciation for emancipation through self-mastery, discipline, and hard work. After 400+ years of free labor, idleness and lethargy in the Black was shamed and eschewed as “the body no longer harnessed by chains or governed by the whip was instead tethered by the weight of conscience, duty, and obligation,” writes Hartman. In a constant performance of ethical sophistication and proper conduct, Black bodies were ushered into a more modern regime of servitude in which they would perpetually genuflect to the behavioral dictates of the State and its White majority in always already foreclosed attempts at making good on the promises of manumission: national incorporation, sociopsychic recognition, juridical protection, and legal equality. To be irresponsible–meaning both without anything to be responsible for (property for instance) or to be accessed as negligent vis-a-vis what one is supposed to be responsible with (personhood and other persons)–was to be unfit for freedom.
Under these on-going conditions, the Blackqueer remains precluded from recognizably responsible behavior at least insofar as Blackqueerness yet marks the racially abject and sexually deviant imposition on and threat to the very notion of the public and every concept of the proper, good, and socially acceptable on which it relies. Stuart Hall’s Policing the Crisis, Michael Warner’s Publics and Counterpublics, and Saidiya Hartman’s Wayward Lives, Beautiful Experiments come into chorus beautifully on this point. Blackqueer responsibility is a misnomer because Blackqueer propriety is impossible. As Hartman further advised in 1997, the Blackqueer is the constitutive outside of citizen-subjectivity, or the Blackqueer is only a political subject to the extent to which it is criminally culpable. The Blackqueer capacity for responsibility, within a legico-juridical order to which it has no place or legitimate claim, is always a precondition for Blackqueer criminality.
The Blackqueer is ontologically ir/responsible: at once, made to be responsible for their own bio-political damnation and irresponsible with their ever-pending redemption. “Sin is Negro as virtue is white,” writes Frantz Fanon in Black Skin, White Masks. “All those white men in a group, guns in their hands, cannot be wrong. I am guilty. I do not know of what, but I know that I am no good.”
What might it mean to understand Blackqueerness as the refusal of the politics of the proper? What if the politic of Blackqueerness is to dispossess itself of the proper, which is to say the appropriate and the “responsible”, which is to say place and/in state? Can we look at the refusal to be withheld from each other as that dispossessory politic? Maybe getting together is the only or originary politic of the dispossessed; those dispossessed, first, of the very possibility to get together. If what poet-philosopher Fred Moten reminds us is true, if “we get together to fight,” can we see within all the fighting, the “fighting to maintain our capacity to get together”? Must we be responsible for the conditions that coproduce our constriction and our ecstasy? Whither might Blackqueer rage and release be permitted? What would it look like to shift the penologic of responsibility back on the “authors of devastation,” whose “innocence,” Baldwin tells us “constitutes the crime.”
Before the U.S. government decided to rescue Wall Street from COVID-induced collapse, it refused to democratize access to Pre-Exposure Prophylaxis while defunding the Global Fund to Fight AIDS. Blackqueer people, particularly in Atlanta, have long occupied a state of [non-]emergency, with nothing to show for it besides a well-lit stadium and a Mayor with Bottoms for a last name. Therefore, when we ask Blackqueer people to be “responsible” for their contribution to the pandemic, be held accountable for COVID’s role in community, we must first ask how “responsibility” itself is a request for a comportment that consents to the current medico-juridical paradigm that engineers Blackqueer death–both, premature and belated. Blackqueer riskiness, ethical irresponsibility, was not why HIV/AIDS became an epidemic and, in the same way, it will not be why COVID-19 never loosens its grip. A government that capitalizes off of catastrophe; that chooses profits over people; who–right before entering a $1.95 Billion deal with Pharmaceutical company Pfizer and biotechnology company BioNTech, a $2.1 billion deal with French pharmaceutical company Sanofi and British pharmaceutical company GlaxoSmithKline–allowed the ban on evictions to expire, permitted schools to reopen, began disseminating “back to work” plans, and “phasing-out” travel restrictions: the U.S. government will always, in every instance, be responsible for the rise of coronavirus and its asymmetrical presence in Blackqueer and poor communities.
Furthermore, if to be Blackqueer is to lose the right to one’s own body or the right to own one’s body; if Blackqueer bodies are always “public texts”, as Karla Holloway might suggest, then we must take into our analysis how Blackqueerness has been written into the general political body, the hegemonic commonsense, the collective unconscious as, in itself, a biological threat, as negrophobogenic as Fanon later puts it, as sheer pathogen. This discursive-material conceptualization–Blackqueer systematic vulnerability to disease/death conterminous with disease/death as the universal sign of Blackqueerness—rebuffs performative concealment or “proper posture”. There is nothing the Blackqueer person can do to not be a figure of epidemiological scandal. The Blackqueer is the ghost of every pandemic. The Blackqueer occupies the political role of bioterrorist, in advance. Borrowing a Hartmanian locution: this is what it means to live as the afterlife of HIV.
Still there is the very real risk of acquiring (and dying by) COVID. The lives of Blackqueer folks, disproportionately immunocompromised and/as disabled, hang in the balance. Their vulnerability to death seems eclipsed–as it is already more generally–by an intracommunal propensity to play with precarity. There is no question that a dearth in political attention to the Blackqueer disabled structures Blackqueer responses (or lack thereof) to the pandemic. Yet, I want to suggest that play can also be a Blackqueer disabled response. I want to suggest that Blackqueer disabled folks attended Atlanta Black Pride, against their best self-interest and though it might not be an ethics to universalize, it is not a politic to minimize. Amidst the ongoing War on AIDS, Blackqueer lifeworlds–crowded nightclubs, dilapidated bathhouses, un/protected penetrations—become articulations of summers refusing to be stolen, bodies refusing to behave, backs going unbent. Blackqueer folks–disabled and otherwise–engage in risk irreducible to the apolitical or asinine. There is a politics present in Blackqueer folks’ refusal of the ways precarity precludes play. If we think about the war on AIDS as war on the Blackqueer disabled/immunocompromised, how might Blackqueer disability always entail the negotiations of play and precarity; how might those negotiations proliferate to unforeseen, counterintuitive and counterproductive ends? A politics of Blackqueer commons might also look like where touch persisted, when pleasure insisted under the pressure of pandemic and antiBlack public, especially as the difference loses all distinction, especially since “we have nothing to lose but our chains.”
Twitter Reacts to BlackLoveDoc’s Shortage of Dark Skinned Women in Promotional Video
#BlackLoveDoc returns to OWN on September 5th, and they’re being dragged through the Twitterverse because of their promotional video, which dark-skinned women are largely unaccounted for.
If you’re unfamiliar with what #BlackLoveDoc is, it’s a docuseries where a collection of black couples—queer and hetero—have discussions about love on camera.
The promotional video sparked a debate about colorism. One Twitter user replied, “When I say that ‘Black love’ is nothing more than a lie this is what I mean. The women had to pass a paper bag test to even get the so-called ‘Black love.’ This is why I’m [a] firm believer in Black women opening their options and dating the right person for them regardless of race.”
Whoever runs #BlackLoveDoc’s Twitter account, probably Gayle King, replied: “Hey Ella! We agree. This is why we show Black men and women of all shades in loving relationships – we even show them in relationships with someone who isn’t Black Flushed face And some folks are mad. It sucks. But we [still] show US being loved. Because that’s what matters.”
Bad response to being called out for colorism. Surely a billionaire like Oprah can afford better social media editors and public relations training for her staff.
Enjoy these tweets of #BlackLoveDoc’s promo getting dragged:
Cori Bush Snatches The Missouri Primary From 19-year Incumbent William Lacy Clay
A little positive political news is coming our way. Cori Bush, who’s running for Congress in Missouri has snatched the primary vote from Lacy Clay, who has held the seat for 19 years. For the past 50 years, the Clay family has held the seat. Today, Cori ends that streak.
Of importance is that Cori is not only a Black woman, but one of the better-known organizers for Black Lives Matter. The Congressional Black Caucus was very vocal about their disapproval of her “radical” stances, but it seems their clucking has meant absolutely nothing to the final result. She punctuated her victory with a simple tweet:
Boom! Haha. Ya girl has sass. I’ll remind you all that she was one of those protesting for our lives at Ferguson and has lead her public life with a raised fist ever since.