Dear Kanye (and the Silenced Black Women of Kanye’s Life): A Brief Commentary

Editor’s Note: A Black feminist, activist, and longtime fan of Kanye West saw West’s full 30-minute interview with TMZ (above) about free thinking, slavery, and West’s recent activity supporting and promoting white supremacist u.s. imperial president Donald Trump. Here is what she had to say in response.

By Kala Anthony-Lacy

Oh, I see.

You’re not ””crazy.”” You found out your daughter is still Black. This is why I said, “Black suffering is complicated.” I could feel it. I could feel you tryna make sense of it. Because Black is synonymous with shame and pain and slave and alienation and who wants that? AntiBlack violence is literally what makes the world go round. The capital you’ve gained is green cotton drenched in Black blood and its easier to believe in some “free thought” “one race” bullshit than to realize you got all this money, white wife with a fat ass, mixed kids, and fame and even if you in a benz, rolls royce, or lambo you still a nigga in a coup.

You're not the first nigga to say this shit to me. To try and convince me “love conquers all.” To try and argue we can out think, out live, be outside of the matrix. Like if you just believe hard enough. Scream hard enough. It’ll stop hurting. It doesn't. I see you. I know this story. I know it's all constructed. But those bodies in the street are real.

Aiyana Stanley-Jones, 7, was killed by police during execution of a no-knock  warrant.

You keep sayin you're not into politics but you are the political soil this world is built from. You're a Black body, Ye. Idgaf what they tryna tell you in calabasas. You will never just be an artist, you will never just be a person. You will never not be Black, kanye. And I get it. There are moments sometimes you just wanna be a person. An actual person. To be seen just as how you come. To not have an entire history enter with you in the room.

But there’s still a history, Ye. And i know ya mama taught you. And I thought of her even before you called her into the space. You “accidentally” called on your mom AND your daddy, tryna reach your wife and your baby and you called them “the same.” Don’t disrespect ya mama, bruh. And while you tryna convince your brother you love him, you completely silenced the Black woman who was tryna talk. Black like your mama. Black.

white supremacists murdered four Black girls in the 1963 bombing of Birmingham, Alabama, 16th Street Baptist Church. Clockwise from top left: Addie Mae Collins, Cynthia Wesley, Carole Robertson, and Carol Denise McNair. Prosecution of the murderers did not begin until 14 years later, even though the murderers were known to the Federal Bureau of Investigations as early as 1965.

Black like the kids at home you can't keep from dying. AND IT'S SO EASY to say it's our fault. IT'S SO EASY to align with the violator because MAYBE just MAYBE then you won't have to be violated. Black on black crime is some muthafuckin bullshit and you sound ignorant. Call it crabs in a barrel, but is the barrel a crabs natural habitat? That shit was created from violence. You kill who’s next door. Like how white people kill each other all the goddamn time. But they get to be people.

They get to “just be” “artists.”

This interview brought me closure. Niggas kept askin me what's up with you (like i would know lmao), and i really was bothered i couldn’t say more than.... ????

Abolitionist Isaac Cruikshank's image of the murder of a "female negro slave" by captain James Kimber of the slave ship Recovery in 1791.

But i get it now. You became a dad and realized you can't protect your baby. Because if she Black, you right, it doesn’t matter she’s kanyes daughter. Right place, any time, she could be killed. Black woman dead. Like ya mama. Like me. Like you.

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About Me

My name is Kala Lacy. I am a community healer, wellness warrior, activist, student, raging water sign, and teacher of holistic health who works within underserved communities across the nation to provide education of physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual wellness... I consider it my responsibility to provide, fight for, and challenge conceptualizations of care in oppressive spaces. I continue to spread awareness of the importance and complexities of healing at every opportunity, every day. My passion and love for my community pushes me forward and with force. My mission is to help the disenfranchised heal.

To find out more about me and my work, visit thewellhealing.com.