The NFL Doesn’t Care About Black Women,
Apparently, the NFL doesn’t take issues of documented domestic violence too seriously. Ray Rice of the Baltimore Ravens, the running back who dragged his then fiancee (now wife) Janay Palmer, out of an elevator unconscious in Atlantic City, will only be suspended for two games.
The punishment is a result of Rice violating the league’s personal conduct policy.
In a statement, released by the Ravens, Rice said:
“It is disappointing that I will not be with my teammates for the first two games of the season, but that’s my fault. As I said earlier, I failed in many ways. But, Janay and I have learned from this. We have become better as a couple and as parents. I am better because of everything we have experienced since that night. The counseling has helped tremendously. My goal is to earn back the trust of the people, especially the children, I let down because of this incident. I am a role model and I take that responsibility seriously. My actions going forward will show that.”
Prince, Sheila E. and Kat, circa 1990.
There are categories in the African-American community.
In Haiti,there’s a group of people of African descent, distinct in their heritage and even their culture (heavily French). The physical traits of their hair consist of variant degrees of wavy, curly locks. There religion is a hodge podge of Catholicism and ritualistic Africanism. They’re called Creoles.
In Louisiana, there’s a group of African-American people, distinct in their heritage and even their culture (heavily French) The physical traits of their hair consist of variant degrees of wavy, curly locks. There religion is a hodge podge of Catholicism and ritualistic Africanism. Most of them are fair-skinned, and some even have an accent.
They’re called Creoles.
If we go back further, the definition of Creole was actually a European person born in the West Indies (how you like dem apples?).
It gets deeper but I don’t want to get any deeper.
In the earliest months of our relationship, my now-husband wanted me to understand something fundamental about his tastes, so he took me to a concert with acts I’d only vaguely heard of. I knew Queen Latifah, obviously, and was somewhat aware of Erykah Badu, but the rest of the lineup at the 2005 Sugar Water Festival, a short-lived summer showcase for black songstresses, were new to me.
Also new to me as a child of an upscale, white Long Island suburb: the composition of the audience. There were an overwhelming number of black women filling the vast Mandalay Bay Convention Center, which was unusual enough for a show on the Las Vegas Strip. But these women were accompanied, to my surprise, by more than a smattering of white men. Gay white men, that is. Very gay white men.
Those relationships fascinated me — and made a certain sense. It’s easy, once you start to imagine it, to see the natural connection between the two ostracized groups, both of which have translated that marginalization into defiant, self-affirming subcultures. My then new beau came of age in the urban nightclubs of Washington D.C., New York, and Tampa, all places where many white gay men found acceptance and common cultural cause with their oppressed black sisters who, in turn, flooded the scene, seeking places to revel away from so many predatory, demeaning straight men of all races.