Written by Nicole

With Halloween out the way yesterday, we were treated to as much trick or treating as social distancing would allow. And as is customary for Halloween, there was a smattering of questionable costumes. One costume in particular that has gone viral on Facebook, shared over 14,000 times before it was made unavailable by the original poster, was a reenactment of Tory Lanez shooting Megan thee Stallion. I’ve edited the faces out, but you don’t have to search too hard to find the full version.

I have covered my thoughts on that shooting in several posts. I discussed the hypocrisy of the community, and even came up with a handy quiz that would determine if you were eligible for black male protection. But what I want to discuss is why not only black women are frequently the butt of the joke, but our pain is just hilarious!

 Surprise! Except, no, it’s not at all surprising.

At this point, no one should be surprised when black men take part in our denigration in any form. Their collective treachery as it pertains to protecting, providing, producing or problem solving for the collective of black women has been on display since the time of the Moors. I myself have grown tired of discussing their antics and have chosen to focus on black women in my writings instead.  If you’re still surprised at the depths they can reach, you must not have been paying attention.

There goes that pesky double-standard again.

It was okay to laugh and cackle and teehee at Megan mere moments after she was shot. Violence is a consequence of that hot girl shit she talks about, duh! That is, after doubting she was even shot in the first place. The black community, nay, black women practically wanted bullet fragments, surgery reports, interviews from the ambulance crew, and forensic evidence first.

But when a certain basketball player’s untimely death was met with indifference earlier this year, a certain sector of black women were labeled as hateful and callous. When the last black man shot in the back by the police was reported to be paralyzed, and some black women merely shrugged, that apathy was seen as an attack.  His shooting was a tragedy and sparked protests in the streets. Megan’s shooting sparked a Halloween costume and a diss track. Interesting, huh?

This is nothing new, though. The Kenneka Jenkins challenge from a few years ago though, with people going into freezers, mimicking the way she died, was just hilarious. Challenges mocking black male victims though, have been met with far more vitriol.

And why is that?

Pain is only painful when a black male is the victim, you see. Black women, though, are like Ford vehicles: built to last, built Ford tough, and Found On Road Dead. And that’s not an exaggeration.

Ain’t no sisterhood round these parts.

As much as we call each other “sis” this and “queen” that, we certainly don’t treat each other with that sisterly love and respect. The woman in the photo was very much a willing participant, going to the length of getting the costume just right, down to the wig. So too is the bystander laughing in the background. If that isn’t a parallel for how things work in the black community. The black woman being under immediate threat by a black man. Another black woman standing right there laughing. And of course, uploaded to social media for others to laugh at as well. This is, of course, because black women’s pain is funny to everybody, including other black women! If that’s your sisterhood, please keep it far away from me.

It’s funny… until it’s you.

There’s this pretty amazing ability that black women have to think that we’re not the ones being talked about. Rapping about bitches? Nope, not us. As the acronym states, it’s Those Hoes Over There. Over yonder. Out of wedlock rate steadily creeping upwards to 80%? Nah, I’ll be different. Domestic violence rates through the roof? No, only certain “types” of women get abused.

Except, yes, it very well can be you that any of these examples could happen to. Perhaps as some defense mechanism, black women laugh along at the horrors and cruelties bestowed upon us to ignore the fact that we allow that treatment to continue. Or perhaps it is to distract that these monstrosities are the fruit that our womb produced. That’s why I said black women present the greatest threat to you as you embark on your divestment/self-improvement journey – because you will ALWAYS be second place to her son. That’s why you only ever hear most black women say “That could have been my son/brother/father” and never “that could have been my daughter/sister/mother”.

At this point, if you are a black woman still clinging to fairy tales about the collective of black men, there’s nothing more I can really say to you. However, much more painfully, is the realization that your fellow black women are often just as bad as the men. Black women, via their willing participation, or their laughing, or their double standards, or willingness to hide the bodies (figurative or literal), don’t care about your pain. Even though that pain is mirrored because you both face the unique challenges of being black women.

And that is scarier than any Halloween costume.

Disclaimer: This blog was written by me, Nicole, and my ideas are not necessarily reflective of Christelyn Karazin or other writers on this platform.