Who is the strongest person you know? If you’re an Israelite, you are probably going to say it’s your mother.
Our mothers are indeed strong women, and often times because they have no choice. No room to be soft, to rest, to receive instead of plow.
My mother has always been one of those women. While I greatly admire the strength she’s enlisted in order to raise 4 children and manage a household on her own, I do not envy her load.
In our community, when we talk about strength, it’s instantaneously a conversation about women. Black women lead most black households as single mothers, have more employment, and more degrees than our male counterparts. Many of us watched our grandmothers do it all: grow vegetables, cook from scratch, sew handmade clothing for her entire family, serve at church, and raise her grandchildren simultaneously.
Sometimes, at least in my opinion, black men’s strength is overshadowed or dare I say erased.
My grandfather served in the US navy, during a time where racial tensions meant lynching, raids, KKK riots, and government-led attacks on our communities– a history we are told we should “get over”. He was honorably discharged as a disabled veteran. And yet, he did not receive any compensation for his service and sacrifice until his 70s!
How many of our black grandfathers have a similar story?
When I talk to either of my grandfathers, or any older black man, it takes some elbow grease but if you listen long enough they will open up. These men tell me they were beat during Jim Crow, terrorized by the KKK, spat on, sometimes sexually assaulted.
Just look at our history here in this country. Black men had their penises cut off, they watched their wives and daughters be sold and raped, they were beaten until bloody. And once slavery was “abolished”, they built up their communities but were targeted by the 14 amendment clause that says slavery is impermissible unless someone commits a crime.
The various Black Wall Streets, the thousands of acres of land we owned, the first black millionaires and multimillionaires… right here in this country, reduced and decimated by strategic onslaught on behalf of faux white supremacy.
We are quick to forget our brothers’ accomplishments. But we remember their drunkenness, their laziness, their whore-mongering, their coonery. To the point that we talk about that more than we talk about their strength.
This is obviously by design. However that’s neither here nor there. This article is not to cast blame or shame black/Israelite women. Black women have for the most part done an excellent job of supporting black men, raising black children and serving the community for the last 100 years even if they felt like their husbands and sons weren’t present.
Black women get constant recognition for being strong because we just are strong. It’s a truth. But black men’s truth is more silent, coated in whispers and suppressed trauma.
I was ranting to my husband one day about how racist Karens are always harassing me while I’m shopping. I told him he didn’t understand the micro-aggressions, the subtle terrorism, the way Caucasian women weaponize their femininity. And just how exhausting it is to constantly deal with those bored-ass women who have nothing better to do than get in my face, acting dumb. Because I had assumed he didn’t have any similar experiences. Why?
Because he never talked about it.
But in that moment, he told me that a few days prior, he had held the door open for a white man at a restaurant. The white man called him a nigger and laughed. I was stunned silent as my husband told me this. I thought, why wouldn’t he tell me this???
The short answer is because he wanted to be strong for me, strong for himself, strong for his forefathers who have endured far worse than name-calling at the hands of strange nations.
This is the answer I find from every brother who does not talk about his pain and experiences. Women are a little different. Us sister talk about our pain. We talk about the abuse, the poverty, the desperation, the racial harassment. We are transparent with each other and have learned how to build a sisterhood that is unmatched among all races of women. We truly lift one another.
I am sweet on brothers, because I want them to unzip their lips and be real about their experiences. I am sweet on my brothers because they hide just how heavy their loads are. I dare not add to anyone’s burden.
Here’s my semi controversial take: I respect all brothers. If they have not harmed or abused children, I find a way to respect them by remembering they are made in Yahuah’s image.
Modernity says women do not have to respect men, and certainly don’t have to respect black men. That respect is earned, and that men must meet a certain criteria in order to be respected by women.
It’s a double edged sword. I think men certainly can always improve. At the same time, they are imperfect like you and I. And it’s my divine conviction that once Israelites begin to truly love each other, respect each other, and sacrifice for each other, only then will we get closer to deliverance. And that starts with day to day.
I’m extra sweet on black men, because even though they truly enrage me at times, we are in this together. We have a responsibility to one another, and we must stand tall where the other falls short.
I am sweet on brothers, because I am raising one. I want my son to know Israelite women do love him, do respect him, do see his strength and are proud of him.
I am sweet on brothers because I know it is The Most High’s will for me to seek peace with all men:
Repay no one evil for evil. Respect what is honorable in the sight of all men. [18] If it is possible, as much as it is up to you, be at peace with all men.
Romans 12:17-18 WMB
