D-Wil brought the fire with his incisive vitriol so now it’s time for me to bring the ice.
Believe me, I don’t want to be on my computer at 8:30 on a Saturday night. I want to be watching the Nets/Chicago game. I want my feet kicked up and my beer lampin’ on the night stand. That is what I want; what I have earned.
But I can’t get this anger out my gut so I have to write it out. If I didn’t add my two cents to the conversation then I wouldn’t be able to look at all the black women I love and who love me. In their names I have to say something. It’s my duty.
See, that’s what people like Don Imus don’t seem to get. As old as he is, he still doesn’t understand that it’s not – and never will be – okay for him to air his disgusting prejudices on the airwaves. I can’t police what a man believes. I have no desire to change his heart. He’s too old for me to waste my breathe. I only want him to grasp that in all of his time of living and with all of the fruits this nation has bestowed upon his soul, he has remained woefully ignorant. Let me repeat myself so that I’m clear. The real shame of the Don Imus debacle is that a man fast approaching 70, a man who came of age as black Americans were fighting in earnest for their civil liberties and who ripened into manhood beneath the banner of this nation’s only legitimate cultural revolution, didn’t know any better. Don, baby, are you that out of it?