RIP Asia McGowan

This is so incredibly tragic. A beautiful, young Black woman's life has been extinguished.

Anthony Powell, the man Dearborn police believe killed 20-year-old student Asia McGowan in a college classroom Friday before killing himself, posted hateful videos on the Web site YouTube in which he railed against black women and people who believe in the theory of evolution.

Powell's grief-stricken parents -- a retired Detroit Police officer and a registered nurse -- said Sunday their 28-year-old son had a history of mental illness. Sam and Doris Powell said they tried for years to get help for their son's clinical depression and other problems but never suspected he would hurt another person. Source

Tragic and senseless, this was obviously a very disturbed man. Unfortunately though, he can't just be written off as an exception to the rule; an individual case of "crazy". This man, like many others harboured an inexcusable hatred for the Black woman. More extreme than most, in an act of extreme hate, he took this woman's life, this Black woman's life. For that, I'm sure his God has him burning in hell.

But there are many others who exhibit the exact same hatred for the Black woman on Youtube every day. It's disturbing, and so incredibly sad to see that the majority of those propagating this hatred are black men.

Black women are the most disrespected group on this planet. You can rape us, beat us, and murder us....and somehow it always seems to be our faults. People are actually trying to say that because Asia turned this monster down, this is the reasoning behind her murder.

Ummm...pardon me...but that's bullshit. I do not believe that anything could have stopped Anthony Powell from carrying out his plan. He was an incredibly confused individual. He was going to hurt himself, and somebody else regardless of the situation.

My thoughts and prayers go out to her family.

I...have a question...

As a Black woman, I would like to think that I have options. I would like to believe that when it comes right down to it, I can do whatever I please, that the world is my oyster (the leader of the "free" world is a Black man, for fucks sake...that alone should speak volumes about what Black people can potentially achieve, if they so please). So why is it, anytime it comes to interracial dating, and the Black woman, the answer is automatically "date a white dude"?

What if I don't want to? What if I want to date a Latino, or an Asian, or maybe an Arab, or a Jew? WHY, must the Black female be limited by these two choices: white, or black? We all know the expression 'bout nothing being black or white, just many shades of grey...so instead of running to whitey because the black man don't seem to be actin right, can't I just go brown?

I'm not saying there's anything wrong with dating a white dude, or even that I've never seen a Black woman with a man who was something other than black or white...it just seems whenever the topic of interracial dating comes up, the only other "plausible" solution to the equation is a white dude.

I mean...Jesus Christ on a hot plate! It just seems so ridiculous to me! When I hear shit from Black women like..."well black men don't act right, so I'm gonna date a white dude," it makes me wonder do these woman really believe they are incapable of attracting something else?

I'm sorry, but I like flavour (yeah, I said it). I can't say I'd ever rule out vanilla, 'cause when it comes right down to it, love is blind...right? But when I hear shit from white people like, "oh, if you dated a white dude you would have such cute babies..." that shit just makes me wanna rebel/vomit. I refuse to fall into that silly sort of bullshit mindset that seems to plague so many...both white and black.

To be honest, on the day my Prince Charming comes riding in on his grey speckled pony, as long as he loves me, and treats me right, the shade he comes in doesn't really matter....but still...

Right now I'm listening to:

through the eyes of a child

I never really knew any Jewish people growing up. In fact, I can remember the exact age and circumstances surrounding my very first introduction to somebody Jewish. I was 10, it was at day camp, her name was Rebbecca. We were playing some dumb introduction game where you tell the group something about yourself which is unique. I remember she told the group something I'm sure we all instantly forgot, when one of the camp leaders interjected, "and your Jewish! Not everyone knows that, that's unique!"

As much as I'm sure the camp leader meant well, you could tell by the look on the kid's face as she mumbled some sort of response that she was none too thrilled about having her differences highlighted to the rest of the group. I'm sure it wasn't an issue of pride or anything, but as a kid, all you desperately want is to belong. Even as a child, one must constantly fight to prove themselves that despite their differences they too can assimilate with the rest of the group.

I remember thinking as a kid, that Rebbecca was weird. She said weird things. I remember on one occasion getting into an argument with her on whether or not men menstruated or not. I told her that it was impossible, that it could never happen, while she vehemently maintained that her father got his period.

About a week ago while reading a blog on another site, the pieces of the puzzle finally came together. As I said before, I had never really come into contact with any other Jewish people before the age of 10, and I grew up in a home where race just wasn't discussed (I'm the product of an interracial adoption, race was easier to ignore than to talk about). I had no idea that at the age of 10 I was being exposed to a racial stereotype.

It just got me thinking, where would Rebbecca pick something like this up? Who did she overhear saying this, and misinterpret? I mean, it could easily have come from another older Jewish person making light of the ludicrous nature of such an idea, but it makes you think about how damaging stereotypes can potentially be to a child.

I had my own share of having to prove I belonged as a kid too, growing up in probably one of the WASPiest cities in existence. I remember only being accepted by the other little white kids at Preschool, because even though my skin was dark everywhere else, the palms of my hands and the soles of my feet were the appropriate colour. I remember being asked by a little girl at the park when I was 4 why my skin was black, and after explaining to her that "God just made me that way", she responded with "Well I wish God had just made everyone the same, 'cause it makes me sad".

The thing is, as much as these memories shaped who I was, and a perception of myself I later had to shake off, I don't remember them singularly as being particularly painful. I mean, enough of them lumped together and yea, ok...ouch, but for the most part they just reflect the innocence of children not knowing any better, and we all know that kids can be cruel.

I'm not really sure what point I'm trying to make, except that the world through the eyes of a child is so incredibly different. I yearn to be able to go back to simpler times.

I remember the same little girl, (who ironically enough, I believe her name was Rebbecca too,) who would only let me into her group because the palms of my hands were the same colour as her, asked me one day if I knew why God had made me black. She told me it was because of all the colours, black was God's favourite, and that I was lucky because I was his favourite colour! Just for that, wherever her parent's are now, they should be applauded.


Right now I'm listening to:

i miss u......(letters nvr sent)

Today a man got on to the elevator that reminded me of you. The way he dressed, the scent and colour of his skin, even the way he hunched himself over, just like you do...all of it reminded me of you.

Will I ever see you again? Will I ever get to feel you beside me again? I don't even know where you are right now...and it makes me sad, because I loved you...even if I never said it.

Its not like it was planned...loving you. It just happened, no matter how hard I fought it, no matter how much I tried to resist. I had met my match in this silly game of love and war.

I know you probably don't love me back, but that's okay. The love I feel isn't the kind that really needs to be returned. I knew from the start you weren't really mine to have...even though I ached with every fiber of my being for that truth not to be so.

I miss your smile. I miss your Hank Hill booty. I miss cooking breakfast for you in the buff. I miss just laying in your arms. Shit, I even miss your rhino balls. But what I miss most, is the way you'd look down at me from on top, our bodies connected both physically and spiritually...and you'd smile.

Those moments meant the world to me. A piece of my soul healed being with you - you helped lift some of the darkness I had concealed myself in, in order to protect myself from the world. For that, I am thankful.

In my dreams we live out our happily ever after. You are always in my thoughts. Visions of mommy and daddy and baby make three dance in my head...I hope you are well.

Right now I'm listening to: