black lives matter…to who?

I believe we are all created equal. Special to God (I’m Christian) and from the greatest of us to the least of us, we all matter.

Next I state my heritage. My parents came to the United kingdom in the 1980’s from a small country in West Africa called Sierra Leone. (think Kanye West  “Diamonds are from Sierra Leone” and Leonardo Dicaprio’s “Blood diamond” Movie) Both my parents are from the Creole tribe, which means they are descended from freed slaves. I’m descended from freed slaves on 3 out of 4 grandparents, and on the 4th, the Smith family. They were what is known as “Liberated Africans” which means they boarded a slave ship and that ship was turned around by the British when slavery was abolished in the UK. So I do somewhat know what I’m talking about. That plus my lived experience of being a black woman and watching my parents and aunts and uncles grow up.

What I want to talk about here is “the trouble with the black community.”

In short, we hate ourselves.

No one wants to see a black person fail like another black person. Its so sad. We build them up, we want them to make it and then when they “don’t do enough for the community” we tear them down believe that our useless opinions are “Humbling” them and that somehow through our backbiting we are giving them the punishment they deserve. We call it “accountability.”

But let me give you a red pill. No one is accountable to you. You and your opinions are not God. So sit in your failures and accept that you made a conscious decision not to be successful. Putting out someone else’s light doesn’t make yours shine brighter.

Then we have the media. My dad once said, black people are known for the 3 D’s. Drink, Dance and Destroy. If you don’t do one of those 3 things. “You are not black”.

I want to sit in that statement for a second. I have often been accused of “Not being black enough” this is because I like walks in the countryside, no drama in my life and crotchet.

So don’t worry, next time I experience racism, it can’t be racism because according to my own community, “I’m not black enough” to experience racism, its all good. I’ll just tell the racists I’m white!

You don’t get to define what makes me black. I’m black because my parents are black. I’m black because when I buy MAC foundation, my skin colour is 8.5-9.0 not 1.0-1.5. I’m black because I know the Sierra Leonean national anthem by heart as well as God save the Queen. Not only do you insult me when you say I’m not black enough, but you insult every generation of my family. The slaves who worked in the fields, Hannah and Ethan Harris (yes we know their names) who loved and lost their homeland, who fought and struggled to define their own identity so that their great great great granddaughter could have the same rights, you insult them too. If my identity is that of a woman who likes books, bakimg, crotchet and walks then that is black and black lives matter.

Nothing more to say. You don’t define me. I define me.

Grace and Courage.

Annetta Mother-Smith.