The black woman is the most disrespected person in the history of human civilization.
You know it’s that bad when we as black men call them “bitch” as a term of endearment. No other race does that. It is in every rap song and on every ill-informed podcast out there.
But the disrespect goes deeper. Let me give you examples.
When a black woman goes ballistic on her boyfriend, “she is a loud, bitter whore”.
When an Eastern European blonde sets her cheating fiancé’s car on fire, “well, you should know not to mess with Slavic chicks.”
When a Latina stabs her boyfriend in cold blood, “they are just passionate lovers; I can fix her.”
There is always an urge to attribute the bad behaviour of one black woman to the entire population, while forgiving the same moral failings in women of other races.
The lack of regard permeates all spheres of human activity, cultures, nations, creeds, and religions. The darker the woman, the louder the disrespect.
There is no complex philosophical disposition for this. The reason for this disrespect is the irrational reverence for proximity to whiteness.
I’ll break it down.
As Africans, Caribbean Americans, and black Americans, we share a certain irrational innate adoration for all that is white. I think it is a collective psychological mindfuck that resulted from all those centuries of slavery and subjugation.
The farther you are away from blackness—the complexion, the food, the accent—the higher the reverence from people of my race.
This reverence is more palpable when black women are involved, and black men are the main culprits.
In my experience interacting with cultures across the physical and virtual world, you can tell a lot about a culture by how much it respects its women.
I have never seen a race cannibalize and antagonize their women the way my people do. The first instinct when a black woman cries out is for us, the men, to find a way to blame what happened on her.
Maybe the bitch finally got what she deserved. Maybe this would not have happened if she had listened. Instead of holding and consoling them, we scold first and ascribe blame.
Even with Arab and Middle Eastern cultures, where women have absolutely zero rights, you would never hear them openly castigating their women the way our men do.
If you think I’m joking, just look online.
There is an overrepresentation of black men in the red pill/manosphere communities. The sacrificial lambs massacred in these podcast studios are black women.
And why are we, as black men, the protectors and providers, the main peddlers of this manosphere crap?
Why are we the ones who openly say that our own women are not fit for marriage? Why are we the main proponents of marriage being a scam to enslave men?
The only answer is PROXIMITY TO WHITENESS.
Let me break it down once again for you.
Marrying a white woman as a black man is a feather in your red cap. You can always dangle her around like a trophy and monetize her token white ignorance with your target audience. Nigerians will lap it up and give her an honorary title like “Chioma from Brooklyn”.
And because you married a white woman and brought that much-coveted trophy home, you don’t expect her to submit and come home to cook soup for umunna.
“Oh, but it is not her culture.”
She can decide not to cook or clean, and that would be fine.
But once a black woman expresses a willingness to stray an inch from indebted servitude disguised as matrimonial union:
“Whore!”
“Feminist witch!”
“Fatherless behaviour!”
You know the rest of it. It’s like clockwork.
To be clear, you can have your preference. Get in bed with who you want, and don’t let anybody tell you otherwise. Just don’t let your preference for all that is white turn you into a self-hating race traitor.
Even if you procreate with Snow White, your daughters will be mixed, and your white neighbours will still call them blackie.
Make no mistake. This is not me saying that black women are saints. Lord knows they have their own faults. But so do the whites, the latinas, the asians.
Regardless, I don’t see a concentrated economy around putting women of those races in their place. At least, these people hate their own women inside the home, not in public.
Because even in anything they believe, protecting their daughters, mothers, sisters, and cousins always comes first.
I’ve been attacked on the street for taking a walk with my Arab friend. A girl I was talking to has been spat on because she was “race-mixing with a monkey.”
Even people I used to call friends have said they’d never date a black woman if she were the last person on earth.
To them, melanin is a contagious virus. Melanin on a woman is a pandemic in the making.
Listen to how they speak about their own women in glowing terms.
When the whites riot against immigration, the clarion call is to protect their women from us, the dark-skinned immigrant savages.
And how can you blame them? We’ve shown them how we treat our own women, so why would they want to be around any of that?
This concept seems to be lost on us as black men.
Any time you tweet that “Nigerian girls could never”, that’s your mum you’re talking about.
Every comment that says, “black girls will attack you for saying this” is a slap in the face to your own daughter.
That flippant comment or tweet we leave impulsively is reaching a wider audience.
Men of other races are seeing it. They are taking that as a bat signal that our women are not worthy of any respect. They’re thinking: “If their men—dads, grandads, brothers, and uncles—don’t respect them, then why should we treat them any differently?”
We are painting the largest collective bullseye on the most vulnerable part of our population while gaslighting them that it is deserved because they don’t “act right”. We accuse them of trying to be Western and modern. We call them bitter.
Do you want to know why black women are bitter? Go and ask your mum.
You are probably reading this and thinking that it is none of your business. You’re absolutely right—and that’s why blackness has been, and will remain, the punchline of every insult, every joke.
The hard truth is that we blacks have been at the bottom of the totem pole. The whites and arabs enslaved us, the Hispanics saw us as a blight on their continent, the same continent we used to live on before they even arrived with their silly boats.
That multi-generational trauma of being the rejects in every sphere of humanity is deep-rooted in us. That powerlessness is like soot on the ceilings and in the crevices of every black home.
We want to be rid of that blackness, to not be reminded of being black again. Because being reminded is demoralizing, it is maddening.
The saddest part is that in that frustration, we look for outlets for the pent-up anger. And our women end up on the receiving end. Our inability to protect them is now channeled into a misguided act of public scolding. We reject them at their worst and ignore them at their best, because the farther away we are from them, the more worthy we’ll look in front of the whites.
Maybe if I say all black women are bitter and undatable, the whites will agree with me, and other black men will see me as someone with exquisite taste. After all, who wants to eat the rejected apple?
