“I don’t want to be Black anymore, the 5-year-old girl confessed to the room full of people, with a sad face, her head down & eyes low.
My heart sank. I was sick. At that moment, I didn’t want to stand. Part of me wanted to punch a hole through the wall in anger. The other part of me just wanted to break down & cry in sadness. Nonetheless, I decided to pour my heart out to this little girl.
Three hours earlier, the day started with me waking up at 5am to a flood of texts & notifications from friends, upset about the preposterously inaccurate verdict of the Michael Brown murder.
Before reading any of the messages. I sent my daily mass motivational text to 2,000 of my mentally ascended network, consisting of CEOs, VPs, professors, college students and military members.
I didn’t know it then, but I would be reading this very text in a room full of kindergarten parents 3 hours later.
The first text I did read was from one of my college classmates who was worried her students would be sad & confused about the verdict. She wanted me to speak life into her kindergarten class.
I texted back, “anything for you” and begin what I had no idea would be the saddest, most controversially motivating days in my life as a Black man.
By: Ebrahim Aseem
“Good morning seeds,” my Afro-Latin college classmate greeted with a huge smile, before introducing me to her kindergarten students.
There were seven other adults in the classroom, sitting towards the back who I would later learn were parents, concerned about what their children might hear in school after such a racially polarizing verdict.
As the teacher begin speaking to the children about Darren Wilson’s exoneration, I began looking on my device for ice breakers to do with the children. Before I could screen-shot something I liked, a little boy’s words both caught my attention and broke my heart.
“What’s the point of life? No matter what we do, the world hates me, because I am Black. I didn’t make myself Black. It’s just who I am,” the little boy said. “Why is it bad to be Black?”
At that moment, things just had gotten real. I realized this was going to be the most challenging speak I had ever done. I nixed the ice breaker idea and started praying for guidance.
“It is not bad to be Black,” the teacher corrected, fighting off tears, “it is an honor to be Black or Latin, or Caucasian or Asian, or Indian, or whatever you are.
Last month, all the teachers in this school attended an event promoting a book about a Black woman called Hela, entitled, ‘The Immortal life of Henrietta Lacks’.
Two of Hela’s grandchildren told us her deceased grandmother’s cells were stolen from her during her cervical cancer chemo therapy treatment. Her ‘Hela cells’ have since been used by scientists around the world to cure diseases. This Black woman’s cells have saved many lives.
This is why we learn about the history of our people, and other cultures of people. It makes us more confident in our own culture and worth.
Now, how many of you know what a chef is? Raise your hands, mouths closed, hands only. Yes, Jamariye?”
“Him,” Jamariye answered, his left hand pointing towards me, while his right hand’s pointer finger dug for nostril gold in his nose.
“Yes,” the teacher replied, “he is a chef. It is his job to cook food for hungry people, like the chefs who cook your lunch everyday in the cafeteria. This young man is a chef and a writer, & he was speaking life to a group of us at the Hela cell event last month that his pastor helped organize.
So, today he’s going to be sharing his words with you. I want you to listen, behave & show him respect. Ok?”
“Okay!” The class agreed, in unison. I gripped the pink dessert box I’d been holding in my right hand, and walked in front of the kindergartners.
“Good morning young princesses & princes, my name is Ebrahim Aseem,” I greeted with a huge smile & deep voice, after putting the dessert box down.” I want you to repeat after me, say, ‘sawobana unjani!”
“Sa-nu-bowel-oo-mami!” The kindergarteners yelled, butchering the phrase.
“That is how you say, ‘good morning, how are you?’ in my isiZulu language. I am West African-Hebrew. How many of you know how to speak a language from the motherland? Raise your hands.” I directed them. After I saw no hands raised, I continued speaking.
“I want each of you to know, you have your own mother tongue & your own culture. Raise your hands if you like Disney movies!”
“Ooooo, meeeeeeee!” Many of the children yelled, with their hands reaching for the sky.
“I want you to, in your mind, without talking, think of your favorite Disney princess,”I directed them. “Your ancestors were queens and kings who ruled their land, and their children were princesses and princess. When your ancestors first came to this country, they were dethroned, given a new language & religion, &they learned those very well,
but they always knew one day, their great great great great great great grand children would awaken their hypothalamus & remember who they are, their language & their original spiritual connection with the universe. And those children are you.
You are the princesses and princes who will lead us back to royalty and our connection with the universe. Who knows what ‘universe’ means?”
“The stars in the sky,” an adorable, Indian girl answered. She had half a dozen pony tails with red knockers attached to them.
“Yebo!” I answered. “Yebo means yes in my language. And you are absolutely correct, universe does mean the stars in the sky. Give yourself a pat on the back.” The adorable brown girl smiled bright and patted herself on the back before I continued.
“The stars in the sky are where your ancestors live. They watch over you & protect you while you are asleep & awake.
We just had a HUGE feast in my Hebrew Cultural Community called Feast of Tabernackle. We all come to gether and eat a huge feast twice as big as your Thanksgiving dinner, with music, games, dancing, gifts and fun.”
I showed them some of the pictures from our feast, before addressing the topic of the day
Now, does anyone know who Michael Brown is?”
“Ooo, I know, he’s the Black boy on Vine, who got shot by police last night,” a curly-haired boy answered, after I called on him. “I’m scared of police.”
I didn’t know there was a video of the shooting on Vine, but learning that didn’t shock me. What shocked me was that a boy no older than 6 years old had seen it & was aware of the impact the verdict had when it was released just 12 hours earlier.
“Prince, are you scared of dogs?” I asked the boy.
“No, I got a dog, he’s my friend,” he replied.
“Dogs are very friendly,” I responded with a smile. “There are different breeds of dogs and they all have their own characteristics.
Just because one canine viciously murders an innocent man does NOT mean all dogs are evil beasts to be feared.
Some friendly dogs love people the same as their own species, because they know those people are royal and will one day mentally ascend to their throne. Don’t be scared of dogs, you may not know it, but dogs are actually scared of you.”
I knew even though they were not too young to relate issues of race they saw on the internet to themselves, they were too young to understand a deep conversation on it, unless I related it to things they liked and understood.
“Are you Black or mixed” A 5-year-old girl asked me.
“I’m Black,” I answered, fighting off a laugh. I love children, they speak their mind and she was low key roasting me and my melaninly challenged ass. “Both my parents and their parents are Black. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t want to be Black anymore Ebrahim, the 5-year-old girl confessed, with a sad face, her head down & eyes low.
“Have you told that to anyone before?” I asked her, while heartbreakingly fighting off tears. “Have you told mommy?”
“Yes, but I’m scared to tell daddy, because he’s Black,” she replied.
I single tear rolled down my cheek. I knew I had to be strong for them, but I also wanted them to see, a real man cries. He’s comfortable in his strong care to put it on display & confident in his vulnerability to express his sadness, openly.
I want you to know, your baba loves you, so much. He will always love you, not matter what you want to be. Why don’t you want to be Black anymore?”
“Sometimes at recess, the other kids won’t let me play. They say you’re Black, get away,” she confessed.
“We talked about that, Simone,” the teacher chimed in, reassuring the little girl with her eyes.
“Yes, we did,” a dirty blonde with a French accent complained, “my daughter came home & told me at lunch time, the other kids told her to put her hands up in a surrendering position, and they were making gun symbols with their hands.
This type of thing should not be allowed in an elementary school. It broke my heart to hear my daughter say she’s afraid to tell her father she doesn’t want to be Black anymore.”
I took a deep breath and looked at Simone, who still had her head down. When I saw her, I saw my daughter. A young moldable, delicate mind. Children are but a budding rice seed, whose only chance at growth is to not just be showered with love and reassurance, but drowned in it.
This is the true definition of “education”. Educate does not mean to put knowledge into someone. Educate, by definition, means to bring out the most fruitful part of a seed that is already in it, by awakening that dormant seed, intrinsically.
“Do you like bugs?” I asked Simone, after sitting down & folding my legs, as if I were preparing to meditate.”
“Ladybugs?” She replied in excitement, flashing her adorable smile.
“Yes,” I answered with a smile. “Ladybugs are so bright and pretty. Who wouldn’t like a ladybug? What about caterpillars, do you like those?
“Eww, slimey,” one of the other children replied, erupting the classroom in a “ewww”.
“No body likes cap-a-tillers,” Simone answered, somberly, after looking around at her classmates responses to the mention of a caterpillars.
“I want to tell you why I love caterpillars,” I replied with a smile.
“The caterpillar is always told how worthless it is for being born itself. It looks at the ladybug & feels unpretty compared to it. Yet, it was divinely favored over all other bugs to one day fly.
They don’t defend the killing of caterpillars not because they’re blind to its value. They don’t want the babies to metamorphosize to the cognitive epiphany they matter, created to be beautiful butterflies. Using knowledge of self & culture to soar high, & spiritually fly, unlike they who have always mentally crawled unable to spiritually ascend.
Raise your hand if you think butterflies are beautiful!”
“I like butterflies!” Sophia responded with a huge smile, as her classmates raised their hands as tall as they could lift them.
“You are a butterfly,” I told her as tears rolled down my face,” You are a beautiful black butterfly. You don’t have to be tired of being a Black caterpillar, just because some people undervalue you for being Black.
They only try to break you down & hate yourself, because they see the butterfly inside you. Caterpillars grow to be butterflies. Little black girls and boys will grow to be beautiful butterflies, because your race does not define your beautiful spirit. You are a beautiful Black butterfly Sophia.
“Yes!!” She yelled with a fist pump, before turning to the adorable, Alice in Wonderland looking little girl sitting to her right, “I’m a beautiful Black butterfly, so you can’t make fun of me no more.”
I covered my face and cried tears of joy. Thoughts of my daughter came on, but I fought them off, yet again.
“Recess time!” The teacher yelled, “Line up in alphabetical order.”
As the children walked out of class, I felt the parents who were listening gather around me.
“That was very profound young man,” one woman complimented, with tear-glazed eyes. “I have to admit, I woke up filled with hate and anger, but you healed me of that with your words.”
“It’s not me,” I told her. Wiping my eyes. I don’t know what I am saying. The Holy Spirit speaks through me, I’m just an instrument I promise you. But, I am glad you no longer feel hate. Can I read you all some words I wrote down about my response to this case?”
“Please,” she responded. There were seven parents, off all races. I opened up my device and read my good morning mass text.
“I am furious. Scared. Embarrassed. Honored.
Furious at the privileged jurors who allowed their supremacy & bias hate for a whole group of people to dictate their ruling.
Scared for my unborn children. They can be quick to abide every law & still be murdered just as quick. I’m not even confident their killer will be brought to justice.
We live in a world where a police badge is a get out of killing a nigger free card.
Embarrassed at my people who are actually SURPRISED by this so obvious verdict. Do you know your history? Do you know all your people have endured?
Why are you acting so surprised racism exists? Are you THAT naive, you don’t understand a country founded on racism, built on the backs of Black slaves, the hands of Chinese free-laborers & stolen from Indigenous people can never be anything other than what it was founded on, unless a metamorphosis takes place?
‘Most’ people are NOT racist. Yeah, see White Quakers helped Black slaves ESCAPE slavery, but many of us are unaware of this & subconsciously think everyone who is different from us are racist.
This is because we are taught to hate more what we don’t understand, and fear what we cannot conquer, but we are all race-less souls.
I never met a soul that possessed any race, gender or age. None of these exist in the universe. Only two energies, peace and fear. Let’s not allow fear of those who hate us extinguish the light and peace put inside us by the most high. You are the chosen. Let your light shine and eclipse this hate.
Honored by this challenge to show why despite how much they try to break our resilient spirits by showing us we don’t have value, WE will never posses as much hate as THEY. Our ancestors faced it. Now were must confront it.
They tried to bury us. They didn’t know we were seeds. Now,
you can plant the best seeds, but if it is sown in dry, desolate, negative, hate-filled soil, those good seeds will never come to fruition.
Focus less on hating the evil & focus MORE on feeding your spirit. Hating those who hate you does not defeat evil. Being you defeats evil. You are light. You are peace. You are strength. You are royal.”
I put my phone down as thoughts of my daughter flooded my mind. I could no longer hold in this pain I had been holding in so long.
“We have to do better,” I said. “As adults, we treat children as our slaves. We don’t just discipline them to protect them, we take pleasure in disciplining them. We brag about it. ‘I will beat your ass’ we say. We sound like a cocky clansman threading a noose, anticipating the hanging of a nigger.
If it were just about discipline, we’d do it, then come back an hour later & say, I love you. But we hold grudges. We verbally degrade our child. We call them stupid. We make them hate life, because they live it as our prisoner.
Your child is not some source of free labor. Your child is not some punching bag for you to take out your misplaced anger against your boss, bills or significant other. You were once a child. You were made to feel low. So you grow up & repeat the cycle of hate? You masa you.
As adults, we treat children like we are the privileged cops and they are black.
If you are blessed to have a child, shower them with love. Some of us would give our lives just to raise a child from the prison and turmoil of adolescence into adulthood.
I rarely speak on how I lost my daughter, but a couple of EXs ago, when I was with my first Caribbean girlfriend, I got her pregnant.
I told myself, I will buy a house and move her in with me, because I wanted my child to have what she herself never had, a father.
I had it all set up, I stayed with her during the pregnancy & picked out a house and a two rings wedding and engagement. See, in my Nubian Hebrew culture we have brotherhood. Dozens of father and husband elders who teach us boys from birth to make a woman a wife before we make her a mother. I
Then 4 months into the pregnancy, she had a miscarriage. The doctors called it a ‘natural abortion’ because her body rejected the baby. I was devastated. Every night since that day, I have dreamt of my unborn baby girl. Some days, I cry about it & I’m not scared to openly admit that.
I want to be a father & help raise a child. I know in my heart that one day, when I meet the right woman, through her my unborn daughter will come back to me. I need her, because I have so much love to give, that has been stored up just for her. In the mean time, I’ve been blessed with 11 nieces and nephews who I can treat my like they are my own daughters and sons by taking them on uncle days to the park and ceramics & things like that.
Being an uncle is practice, so one day, when I earn the right for my daughter to come back to me and be born, I will be ready.
When that jury found Officer Darren Wilson not guilty, I wanted to be the angriest I ever felt in my life, but I wasn’t. All I could think about was my daughter.
How do I explain to her as a Black person, your life will only be fought for, protected and defended, as long as the defense of your life doesn’t infringe upon the protection of a White life. Well, I decided never to tell her this.
The Darren Wilson’s of the world want me to tell my daughter this. They want us to force feed our young seeds fear, so fear will be incepted into the seed, ensuring mental slaves to be born and breed. I refuse to do the enemy’s will
I instead will teach my children their life has value, because the enemy only targets those who it views as a threat. This is proof Black lives matter. Black lives matter so much, they must be stolen by a thief who will be rewarded for that murder with exoneration, an exoneration that encourages other trigger happy cops to steal innocent lives as well. This is a bounty system. Steal their lives. Take their organs. Break their will.
You don’t have to commit a crime to be shot by police, your very existence as a Black person is a crime to eugenics who want your organs at the expensive of your life. If you are in a position of power or influence, it is your birth obligation to speak up & fight against systematic oppression, but some brothers would much rather switch sides than fight.
It is a poisonous concept that every race except Caucasians are viewed as possessing one-dimensional valuable.
Asians are more than math and connivence stores.
Blacks are more than sports & entertainment.
Latinos are more than hard workers for cheap labor.
Jewish people are more than outstanding legal council.
Pacific Islanders are mor than mani/pedis & eye brow threading.
White Supremacy is about treating us all like niggers, an object with a dead mind.
You are only targeted by your enemy, because they clearly see your value as a threat to their existence. If your life was not divinely chosen for a purpose, the enemy would not be so committed to destroying you.
In reality, it is not merely about racism. White supremacists can see the value in Blacks. Their house is filled with African art. They just don’t want YOU to know your worth. Active your pineal gland and remember who you are. We are all race-less spirits. Race is only used to make us hate and fear, so we won’t mentally ascend from being the droids of this world.
I will not be a spoke in the wheel of the enemy. I will not teach my child fear. I will not teach them to blame all White people for their problems.
I will teach them that just because a king and queen has bounties put on their head, does NOT change the fact they were divinely ordained to reign. Royal blood pumps through their veins. You can try to break their body, but you can never touch the throne of their regal spirit.
They keep trying to break us with hate & cut us deep, when will they realize, the more you cut a black diamond, the brighter it shines. We are black diamonds and pearls. Never allow fear to eclipse your peace and light to the world. Shine.
By: Ebrahim Aseem
Author of the book, “Why Men Cheat on Loyal Women”
Motivational #SpeakLife vidoes: Youtube.com/RealNewsmagazine