Turf Wars: Black Feminists v. Black Masculists


Welcome to the first installment of what I hope will be a regular series where I dissect the various ‘battles’ I see being waged between two (ironically) intrinsically linked factions, as in: Their constant fight is what defines their respective identities.

Before I get started, how cheesy is that stock photo? You gotta go with the cheesy stock photo when you’re talking about the battle of the sexes. It’s titled ‘Black Man Frustrated’ and given the EXHAUSTING nature of this back-and-forth it’s quite fitting, but the frustration seems to be mutual. Oh, before I dig into this, I must say: Although each ‘front’ is composed of black people, they do not ‘represent’ all black people, this is a very Montagues v. Capulets, Crips v. Bloods affair. It’s a battle of (spiritually) like-minded, but so-called diametrically opposed identity cults. As I said above, these factions DO NOT EXIST WITHOUT EACH OTHER. The minute one side decides to stop fighting, the other will lose its identity. But what exactly ARE these identities? Let’s look at the Black Feminists first. Actually, I’ll let them speak for themselves…

    “Why every time a black woman is brutalized or killed black men are so quiet? But every time a black man is brutalized or murdered sistas are on the front lines, gettin’ pepper-sprayed, arrested! Why aren’t brothas as down for us as we are for them?! And also, most of y’all ain’t shit! Just no job havin,’ six baby mama havin’ little boys!”

Now here goes the Black Masculist…

    “Black women have got to be the fakest damn women on the planet. Fake hair, fake eyes, fake lashes, fake asses; just fake everything. And they think just ’cause the white man deem them safe enough to hire that they better than niggas. They use that shit to wield power over us. That’s why I stopped fucking with them.”

Now as you can see, there is a lot of—

    “YOU stopped fucking with US?! Nigga please. I been dating white dudes for the last two years now. You didn’t think WE could do that shit too, huh?”

Please guys, I would like to disse—

    “You just doin’ that to try an’ get to me. Shit only works if I give a fuck, which I don’t. I know you gonna be textin’ me at 2AM talkin’ about, ‘What you up to?'”

Damn it, I should have known thi—

    “Niggas always think they got magic dicks. Miss me with that shit. Most of y’all ain’t shit apart from ya dicks, and to be real, most of y’all’s dick-game ain’t shit either.”

This is MY website! I’m not gonna take this any lon—

    “Bitch please, you weren’t sayin’ that when I was pushing your ass through the headboard a few nights ago.”


This shit is ridiculous! Just back-and-forth, back-and-forth. My god! This shit doesn’t get old to you?! Look, I think you guys are both speaking to what seems to be the underlying issue: Sexual/pair bond options, frustration over complacency and the lack of outsider validation/valuation. Perhaps this tedious ‘pickup game’ is—

    “Why does it always gotta be about sex with y’all? But I get it, that’s all you think we’re good for anyway. When you ain’t fuckin’ us you hate us, just like the rest of the damn world.”

THAT!!! That right there. The Most Hated Women on the Planet™ thing married with the sexual/pair bond options thing is what’s fueling this! The black women who typically engage in this gang war may feel they are the least desirable women on the planet, and as a result their sexual/pair bond options are limited. However, this is not the case with their masculine counterpart. Although not the ‘most’ desirable, black men have more options, both within their race and outside; and this is a thing they weaponize against black women, and in turn black women spitefully weaponize— Well, just scroll up and you’ll see. It’s all just a big-ass spiteful mess. Even their celebrations of intraracial love are filled with spite. For instance, a picture of a smiling black bride and groom can’t just stand alone, there’s GOTTA be some spiteful shit attached to it, some arms-crossed-twisted-lips sarcasm: ‘Oh look! A black man married to a black woman?! Where they do that at?’ This just goes to show how death-grip-connected these two factions are. Their ceaseless spite is the tie that binds th—

    “Nigga shut the hell up. This whole article exists because of spite. It’s just a spiteful-ass response to what you perceive as niggas refusing to fuck with you. Stop tryna be all abstract an’ preachy an’ shit.”

There might be some truth to that, but that doesn’t negate what is bei—

    “SOME truth?! That’s ALL the truth. My homegirl dealt wit’ yo’ spiteful ass. I know all about you.”

Wait a minute? WHO’S your homegirl and what exactly did she say?

    “That’s not important. What IS important is that faulty shit you said about non-black dudes not wanting black women. Look at George Lucas, Robert De Niro.”

I didn’t mean that in an absolute way. I brought that up because it relates to something that is often invoked by those engaged in this tedious head-to-head. I was trying to explain how a certain thought process might work; dissect what fuels the angst and insecurity; the things that manifest as spiteful rage. Oh, and the need to point out ‘celebrated’ cases ironically works against you. You’re not proving a trend, but your awareness that they are relative exceptions (you didn’t just say: ‘go outside and look around’) as well as your intense mystification (read: a focus on ‘high profile’ white men in relationships with black women).

    “You don’t have to explain yourself, nigga. Ain’t nobody want them fake-ass bitches. Shit, niggas only want ’em ’cause they next-door. Bitches got way too much attitude, too many niggas hovering around them and they don’t even do no freaky shit. Black women are boring AND a headache. Ain’t no self-respecting man gonna knock years off his life fuckin’ wit’ those no-benefits broads. They good for a fuck, a place to stay and a means to get some food in ya stomach, but they ain’t worth settin’ up no tent for.”

I wouldn’t say all that.

    “But your punk ass just DID say all that?!”

No, that was a ‘character’ I created to ‘represent’ a voice I see cropping up quite often in my e-travels.

    “Stop frontin,’ dude. That shit flowed off your fingertips WAY too easily. I think that character represents you in more ways than you wanna admit.”

No, not at all. You both are the result of my observations.

    “Man, stop tryin’ to intellectualize this shit, I know you side with me more than her.”

No I don’t. I’m actually ‘equally’ bored with the both of you.

    “Yet you wrote a whole damn ‘article’ about us. Nigga please. I know how you ‘writers’ work. You’re cowards. You sneak your ‘real’ feelings into the mouths of your characters and then try an’ act all detached an’ shit.”

That may be true in some cases, but please, don’t try to shift the focus on to me in an effort to negate the points I’m making. Yeah, I may be fucked up, fulla shit, but I’m making some valid-ass points here. Let’s not—

    “Let’s not ‘what?’ Talk about how much you hate black women?”

I don’t ‘hate’ black women. If anything, I think this dialogue is evidence of a ‘complex’ relationship. Not an intense love or an intense hate, but a couple layers of deep understanding mixed with profound ignorance that have NOTHING to do with the women being ‘black.’ Matter of fact, I think ‘they’ were more hung up on that shit than I was. I would get to know the ‘real’ them, the person underneath all the blustery Blackness™, but this was a ‘private’ version of them, a version they weren’t willing to share with the outside world. The vulnerability scared the shit outta them; it contradicted their publicly Black™ personas. Hence the protective ‘shame’ they felt for being ‘publicly’ associated with me, and the subsequent overzealous backpedaling they did to create substantial distance after our run ended. All of this royally fucked me up. I was bitter, resentful. But no more about that, can we please get this thing back on track?

    “Yeah, can we please get ‘back on track’ to you using me as a surrogate?”

For the last goddamn time, you are NOT my surrogate!!! This shit is gettin’ outta hand. Think I’m just gonna end this. Abruptly. No profound denouement.

    “Look at ’em. Mad ’cause we called him on his shit.”

What’re you talking about? You didn’t—

    “I hate to agree with you, like I REALLY hate it, but you might be right. We called dude’s bluff.”


    “Why you so mad?”

I’M NOT MAD!!!!!!

    “Why you throwin’ a tantrum, bruh? You need to…”


So you guys are just gonna gang up on me now?

    “Nigga you mad corny, you know that? Only corny niggas write shit like this?”

It’s about the cultural value of hip hop.

    “Sounds like some outta-touch thinkpiece-y shit to me.”

Damn, you guys takin’ me back to junior high.

    “Nigga you ain’t nevah left it. That’s where all this ‘the minute one side decides to stop fighting the other loses its identity’ dumb shit comes from.”

No, it comes from fighting to be accepted by people, but getting constantly rejected by them and then throwing all the bullshit you gleaned while intensely studying them back at them, but I already wrote about all that. Fuck this. I’m just gonna end this now.

    “Why? ‘Cause your sorry ass is the one being ‘dissected?’ Can’t take what you over-and-over-and-over-and-over-and-over again dish out?”

Whatever. I’m done.

Up next on Turf Wars: Pro-Choicers v. Pro-Lifers or Republicans v. Democrats or Old White Liberal Dudes v. Old White Conservative Dudes or Yada v. Yada

    “Man, you ain’t gonna do anymore of these. This was never really gonna be a series. Just a cover for you to talk shit about niggas. Like I told you, I see you bruh.”

You don’t ‘see’ shit. You may peep my insecurity, my bitterness, but you don’t see ‘me.’ And actually, I don’t think you EVER will.

    “Stop being so dramatic. Just tryin’ to get people to feel sorry for you.”

Guys, the article is over. Please leave me alone.

    “No, YOU leave us alone.”

Okay, I will.

    “I highly doubt that.”

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