A bunch of think pieces but no thinkers.

The title came from a place of frustration but as the words flowed I learned something much more valuable than another vent piece. I pray this inspires you to never put down your pen.

As I light an incense to mask the four twenty scent that fills the room, I flash back to Saturday before seven o’clock in the morning the police were outside my window fucking with niggas again. The situation, unfortunately, is no different than the bullshit we are used to hearing. However, fortunately, he walked away from this life-or-death circumstance not only alive but a free Black man.

For me, it changed my life forever. Not because I was personally affected, but because I now have a clearer understanding on a deeper level that these mothafuckas genuinely hate us. They stand ten toes down on it, too.

Picture this: the police get behind you flashing those red and blue lights with the siren while you are on the highway at six o’clock in the morning. The cop is aggressive too, he’s on the intercom telling you to pull over and where to park. You pull over and see him open the car door and start walking to your side of the car within the blink of an eye. Suddenly, you see him jump back in the car, but before you understand why, you feel the impact of getting hit by another car behind you. All you see in your rearview mirror is the cop backing his car up and looking like he just fucked up.

For context, you are a Black man, a young Black man at that, one that would be labeled in modern-day slang as a YN, short for Young Nigga. My target reader understands exactly what’s going through his mind.

Is this mothafucka about to kill me? Am I about to catch a charge behind this shit? Is anybody watching? Let me call [insert his safe person’s name].

His girl was a passenger princess, depending on the reason they were out at that time of morning, you can only imagine what the energy in the car is at that moment. One thing you can guarantee is that they are both scared, and I’m glued to the scene to make sure those two Black people that I don’t know are safe because that’s code. That is the unspoken language in my household, my wife and I both yelled “Damn, this nigga hit them! Fuck - did you record that?”

One cop car pulls up, he talks to the passenger this time and takes pictures of the car’s damage. Wow, “So is he going to write the police report?” I’m thinking to myself. Another police car pulls up, and this time two officers hop out. Now I know, this is about to become a cover-up, fuck let me get dressed and go down there so they know people saw what happened. As I go into the bedroom to get my clothes on, my wife says, “I’m going with you down there ‘cause they just asked him to step out of the car to search him and the car.” “WHAT? Hell nah, fuck that why the fuck are they searching them, they are about to try and cover this shit up!”, I yell as I’m adjusting my wig.

I get to the door of the apartment building, and I see the two young Black people immediately asking if they are okay. Once I realized my wife was with them, I turned and went straight to the police without even thinking. I had my index finger pointed and I yelled “Why are y’all seizing his fucking car?” Their faces were in pure shock, and to my surprise, not one of their bitch asses was even white, not fucking one! I recognized the one who hit the young man and pointed to him and said, “You, you are the one who hit him. You know you were in the fucking wrong. YOU DIDN’T EVEN PARK YOUR FUCKING CAR! WHY DON’T YOU BE HONEST!!!”

That’s when it hit me. As they looked back at me, their eyes were wide as a deer caught in a car’s headlights. They fucking hate us, they are doing this because they can because they can get away with it. So I backed off because I have a daughter who needs her mama out of jail, but also alive. If I expose myself, they will handle me for good. That’s playing the game, I am too smart not to play the game correctly to win. I can’t lose control, I don’t have to be silent either.

This is why I write. Because I need to share what I see. The things I see need to be documented and preserved because we are being erased.

Everyone is always using their voice to share a think piece, but some of the time, all I hear coming out of their mouths is a half-ass thought that’s not been thought through. That’s alarming to me, troublesome, and detrimental to our culture. The problem and danger in this is that it’s been happening for years, decades even.

Scholars have come into our neighborhoods for years, spreading the same watered-down information with no solution to freedom. No real answer on how to free ourselves without comparing our blackness to whiteness. Why are we so willing to put our dollars in the hands of people claiming to save us but never have a plan?

I’m very blessed to have the privilege to speak with

Dr. Mary M. Marshall

as often as I do. In our most recent conversation, she said something that I’ve been holding on to as I’ve been writing this piece. And that is, “We don’t need a leader, we all need to step up and do our part.”

That statement hit me like a ton of bricks because I, too, share this belief but have not dared to say it out loud. Speaking up and documenting what I saw with the police and a Black couple is me doing my part within my community. The act of preserving Black voices through book print publication is me doing my part, taking the work and curating a magazine for us to not only enjoy but contribute yearly to is me doing my part. Cultivating spaces we share not only in Blackstack but also here for us to be raw and vulnerable is me continuing to do my part.

Our parts are not always so grand and expansive, sometimes it's writing your story and sharing it. Not for popular likes but because you know what that information can do for your community, and you’d rather not gatekeep. It’s one thing to gatekeep our culture from non-Black individuals, but to keep this narrative going that we need a leader to save us is another sign of how deep the opposition within our community runs. This is not a think-piece to shame or speak ill of anyone who is doing their part, however, I do believe there is a conversation to be had about how quickly we are to give our money to someone who is doing their part but expect miracles from them.

In my situation, the goal has always been to be a print press publication, however, when people invest, I am learning that they do not understand that success is not overnight. Yes, I thought the magazines would be mailed by a certain time, but then I found out the quality didn’t match my time and energy invested in curating the magazine. By the mission is to preserve the Black voice, and those thugs in the White House banning our books and dismantling education institutions, it only made sense to make the investment to start applying action towards the mission rather than continuing to talk about it.

We need Black publications that actually handle the printing and binding of our books, we need Black editors who can provide us with that extra set of eyes, so the language isn’t lost. We need Black illustrators for our children's books so our Black kids feel seen when they read books about them. I’m doing my part because I see the need for the mission and purpose God has placed on my heart. I understand why I go so hard for Blackstack and Black writers because we are the ones who will bring change for our community.

Look at history. It’s always been the writers to stretch the mind to think through the thoughts, making those connections we need. Black writers are visionaries we observe what’s happening in our reality and curate our words in a way for others to experience it in the same manner. Black writers are world-builders and historians, we document our history while also building a new world that sets us free through our words. Black writers are the community leaders who do their part, but now we have to accept our position and make some minor pivots. That is not a typo, we are intentionally making minor pivots to make this our lifestyle, your writing time is your minor pivot - as well as hitting the publish button to share your work.

We have to speak authentically because we are talking to our people, never seeking the white gaze. We must be vulnerable because our people need to know they are not alone. We need to speak our truth because our people have been lied to long enough, and our stories will not hide the facts no matter how it paints the picture. The truth is what needs to be preserved, yet it’s the first thing left out when it doesn’t fit the narrative.

Fuck the narrative, the truth is all we should preserve because we are all seeking truth. Everyone is waking up to the lies and opting out, the system is dismantling. The system is losing its control now, but the half-ass ideas have to stop now. There is no one savior, we must work to save ourselves, we must build community on the truth, but most importantly, we must believe in our personal willpower. People ask how to practice authentic writing, this is your first step.

Write from your heart, what you experienced, how it makes you feel, what you learned, and how you can use that information now to be the change you want to see. We rely too much on technology, read a physical book, and write on paper with a lead pencil, instead of hitting autocorrect to spell a word correctly learn how to spell the word. Use your mind intentionally to keep it operating sharp. As writers, we ought to keep our minds alive and healthy by being intentional with what we consume.

How does our body react to the content we consume?

How does our body react to the content we create?

Now more than ever we have a job to do, clock in for intentional documentation to record your emotions, experiences, reality, and most importantly to get those thoughts our of your head to expand on with the inspiration of everything mentioned. That’s our super power, that’s the gift of gab we hold as storytellers.

Take pride in your gift more than ever now, with all these think pieces and a world full of non-thinkers, we need your words to help build a new world for us once and for all. This is a call to action to Black writers, pick a Black writer from any era and start documenting the comparsions because I promise they were in just as much disbelief about the world as we currently are. Things are the same, but our reach is much greater now. We can bridge the gap this time if we all do our part.

Just a thought.

xoxo, 
Jacquie