talented black men

2017 is becoming a really great year for black people and cinema. Hidden figures, a story about how black women literally helped white men get to the moon. Moonlight showcasing gay black masculinity, a topic that is rarely ever covered in media. Also Get Out, bringing light to how fucking crazy white people can be. And none were depicted as slaves. I’m grinning from ear to ear.


Models: @vonricco

Photographer: @ciegeinc

Dear Assata Shakur

You were right. My dear, you were absolutely right. You and the former Black Panther party foreseen the injustices that we as a people would face but unbeknownst to a new generation we THOUGHT we came a long way because of the little privileges that was given to us. We are literally facing the same scrutiny and injustices that you faced some 35 years ago the only difference is we have cameras and even with these act of violence against us caught on cameras and are broadcast worldwide not one person has been indicted for cold blooded murder.

Assata do we to your children have to pick up weapons to protect ourselves from those sworn to protect and serve? Do we your children have to spill their blood to retaliate against a system that sees no value of our lives unless it’s serving them? Assata must we too flee from social persecution? Or should we stand tall and fight?

Assata, the fight has become tiresome. Our bodies are bruised, our vision is blurry, our bones are fragile, our dreams have been deterred and our minds warped but yet we still fight one another for the scrapes they feed us from the dinner table. Assata your children need you. We need the mother that challenged social injustices and lost but never gave up. Assata , mother, I can never imagine the trauma, pain or suffering you beard witness too while locked up for six and a half years but it didn’t break you. Assata we need your help mother.

Mother, your children now wear the mask that grins and lies, we use them to hide our cheeks and shade our eyes because our eyes now burn from smoke, from sorrow, from injustices and our skin charged with anger. Mother when will this stop? When will we stop burying our children, your grand children. Mother lately I’ve been hear the voices of our ancestors crying out from their burned, hung and watery graves, screaming for revolution, screaming for justice, screaming for unity but mother am I the only one hearing it. To be honest it’s now becoming a feeling, an unshakeable feeling that’s now manifested into an emotion or a reaction.

Mother, I know you hear the torment of your children, i know you feel the cries and screams our voices echoing through the walls of your womb, Your womb the place we once found refuge but couldn’t stay. Assets, Mother, you were a runaway slave of the 20th century and now i….us….we, your children are captive slaves of the 21st century and our chains are no longer made with cast iron, and our hips are no longer bullwhip of raw cow hide peeling the flesh from our bones, but rather they are brands that keep us chained, bullets that tear our flesh.

Dear Mother what deed have we committed? Are the sins of their fathers using our blood as means of payment? Mother, Mother, Mother!!!!….can you hear me?

Dear Assata (she who struggles) Olygbala (for the people) Shakur(the thankful one) , I’m listening. 

Mother please write back….