Brothas' Running Scared: What's Really Going On?
by Fatima Robinson
Woke up the other morning from the loud sound of the beep of my answering service. This was shortly followed by a strong masculine voice stating, "What's Up dog? Get back at me. It's a matter of life or death." Such urgency transmitted; man, I would have become totally distraught if I hadn't known this brotha's character make-up. This brotha represents a wide margin of brothas who tend to get lost in believin' that they are of the utmost importance or have so much "business," when in actuality, nothing is really jumpin' off at all. Therefore, I wasn't even surprised to find out when the call was immediately returned that the brotha wasn't even there. Maybe you're thinking, well the brotha could have been in serious distress, unconscious, or even dead. Well maybe not literally, but what really was going on, the brotha was just runnin' scared. Oh, for sho'.
Since waaaay back in the day, back to the early 1700s, back to Africa when brothas sho' nuff was running scared. When the wretched ships of ole pulled up by the shores of the Nile River and invaded our territory, lurking in the weeds seeking to capture all the black brothas, and succeeded in snatching a majority of them all from their tribes. Ever since, brothas have been running scared. So today, most of our brothas are "still" in search of their identities. "Still," trying to find a place of belonging, which stemmed from generations ago.
I heard Erika Badyu express in her song, "Bag Lady, you goin' miss your bus…" Well, somebody should have written a song to express that a lot of our brothas have already missed the bus. For surely, they have enough issues…"issues." Now don't get me wrong, I'm not criticizing all brothas because truly they come in various dimensions, so those who are handlin' their business, I commend you. However, those brothas out there perpetrating a lie, this goes out to YOU.
Supply and demand; economically, it's funny how society has such an influence. The vast wiles of the media has poison lots of our young brothas, as they tend to lie dormant in their minds desperately hoping for their big break in being the next big time rapper. Another "Doggie Fresh, G-pound, Gangster O, H, G," whatever? I mean these brothas are actually waiting, and waiting. Once upon a time brotha was 18 years of age, now brotha pushing mid-30's and still waiting. Now, tell me who is foolin' whom? These are the brothas that someone really needs to knock some sense into, and give them a reality check fast. Brothas, time don't wait for you, and money sho don't fall from the sky. You see them on a daily basis loitering from house to house, hanging out on corners, sitting in their cars, smokin their blunts with they cups filled with they drink all the time. Having the nerve to try to floss, like if they were all that. Looking at their dilemma, there is no wonder why their minds are deterioriating slowly, but surely.
Yeah okay, "Daddy wasn't home," "Daddy out in the street," or maybe you sayin', "Who in the hell is my Daddy," all the way to "I didn't need no Daddy no way," "Man, f**k a Daddy," which is most definitely and understatement. However deriving to the point of the matter, all those excuses are frankly, TIRED. Brothas, its time to step up to the plate, and learn how to become REAL, a true man, and meet responsibility.
I have concluded that brothas are just running scared; afraid. So afraid, from rejection, degradation, and their own temptations that today's black brothas have become as hard as a steel wall, avoiding and guarding from whatever. Thus, they dare to understand, they too have become a flat out rejection; branded to the core.
Consequently, you brothas don't leave much of a pool for sistas to select from. Shew, yall are like left over clothes on a rack from a clearance sale, three days after the sale began. Fortunately, these brothas do stand out like a sore thumb, and should be easy to identify although they are very opposite in descriptions, but believe me possessing the same ole bullsh*t. Believe me. Some fashion oversize T-shirts, baggy jeans, hair in braids with identifying tattoos, and others are complete opposite, fashioning the designer look all the way, with S-curls to appear like they mama birth them with well quality hair. All so busy, that their pager beeps off the hook, cell phones must be attached to their ears at all times, and listen, they can't keep still too long.
Again, I could point blame to the media, but not all of it. A great deal of the influence is on society whooping the essence of whatever self esteem these brothas held on to, since a lot of the installments and components were not given to them. Therefore, understanding what a real brotha represents becomes difficult, but man, they are growin' in numbers, rapidly. It scares me, because you know peer pressure is a mother*. So, on behalf of the next generation, I am greatly concern with the restoration of my black brothas, because it has become imperative that action is taken. In order for brothas to stop running scared, we need to reiterate positively the stance of a real brotha. It's the same tactic the media plays, influencing through repetition. Black brothas need some real black brotha reinforcements; to see a definite, positive, down-to earth image, not up in the air, but down; ASAP. Positive slogans, movies, advertisements, etc;-I mean BET movies type stuff. We need to post all of the accomplishments, and even more the inventions, black brothas have contributed to society, despite their lacking of the education and opportunity most brothas have today. We need to hang it on the billboards, announce it on the radio, and exemplify it on the streets; the legacy must live on and on.
Hopefully, I'm not interpreting this message negatively because I really pray brothas wake up, and get it together. My heart pains with the hope for brothas to start examining themselves, and realize that our future, as a people, is much contingent on brothas to go ahead and face up. To stop running, and look in the mirror, eventually asking themselves…What's Really Goin' On?