The Final Call | Sister Space

'Twerking,' 'turning up' and Black culture

By Laila Muhammad | Last updated: Jan 22, 2014 - 8:41:55 AM

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In regards to the colored people, there is always more that is benevolent, I perceive, than just, manifested towards us. What I ask for the negro is not benevolence, not pity, not sympathy, but simply justice. The American people have always been anxious to know what they shall do with us.... I have had but one answer from the beginning. Do nothing with us! Your doing with us has already played the mischief with us. Do nothing with us! If the apples will not remain on the tree of their own strength, if they are worm-eaten at the core, if they are early ripe and disposed to fall, let them fall! ... And if the negro cannot stand on his own legs, let him fall also. All I ask is, give him a chance to stand on his own legs! Let him alone! ... Your interference is doing him positive injury.

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love dancing. All kinds, from famous Chicago-style stepping, line dancing to Salsa, merengue, House, practically anything you can name. I was born a dancer, danced in troupes throughout high school and performed modern dance at my university.

So when I heard of this “new” dance craze I had to see it for myself. Long before singer Miley Cyrus lit up screens with her controversial twerking it was already popular in inner cities across America.

Twerking is the raunchiest booty moving, hip controlling, muscle-isolating, nastiest dance you have ever seen. When I saw videos, I stared at the screen.

‘A nation, a civilization, is measured by its woman, its culture, arts, humanities, music, dance and dress. Why would we parade little girls around in clothes no self-respecting woman would wear outside of the bedroom and wonder why little boys and grown men gawk at our over-developed children?’

My mouth flew wide open in awe; hand covering it. Eyes closed at times as if I was watching a horror flick—not wanting to miss the next scene, but too afraid to give it my full attention.

Black people are very creative, we can turn a pack of Ramen noodles and chili beans into a full course meal. We create the latest fashion trends and we can make a dollar out of 15 cents. But I’m saddened to say it seems like we have been willingly reduced to mere sex objects and savages. I have seen twerking videos of little girls who can barely spell their names being exploited, dancing in a group full of men as mothers shout silly phrases like “get it girl,” “work it girl,” “that’s my baby,” egging children on, having them compete to see who can pop their backs the hardest.

A nation, a civilization, is measured by its woman, its culture, arts, humanities, music, dance and dress. Why would we parade little girls around in clothes no self-respecting woman would wear outside of the bedroom and wonder why little boys and grown men gawk at our over-developed children?

This is sickness, it is madness. We clearly don’t know who we are.

Haven’t we been on display for far too long, do you Black woman know what the rest of the world thinks of you? Have you seen how we are portrayed on television across the globe? We are shown as savages, loud, boisterous, scamming-the-system-lying-thieves who will sell our children for crack cocaine, receiving favors from gangsters and presents from drug dealers. We are shown as young ignorant mothers who come to schools to fight teachers when our children are out of order. We are shown hating ourselves, and loving others, wearing blonde, blue, pink and red hair, or paying as much money for Indian or Malaysian hair as people pay for rent. The world sees us living off welfare and living in public housing as the richest slaves ever. Slaves to debt, slaves to fashion, slaves to trends. Rapping about popping molleys, closing down clubs, and turning up.

When will you turn something down?

What image are we trying to portray? If we left White America today, what would our culture be? A culture of rappers and drug dealers drinking Ciroc, Cristal or Moet—expensive liquor, making it rain by throwing dollar bills in the air while women degrade themselves and scurry like mice to retrieve cheese? Would our cuisine consist of fried chicken, fried fish, ham, collard greens, lima beans and cornbread, sweet potato pies, spaghetti, baked mac and cheese, and the only veggies would be fried okra? Would our dress be Timberland boots, name brand clothes, knock off purses, snap back hats, tramp stamps to adorn our lower backs, stilettos, and miniskirts? Is this really how we want to be seen?

We can’t blame ourselves for the condition we were put in, 300-plus years of chattel and 100-plus years of mental slavery, it’s a wonder we are still here. But we are responsible for how we respond today, there is enough information out here for us to change. We all need to escape this American Matrix, but it is only possible through having a sovereign, independent nation which can only be achieved through separation.

America is like a bad man, he beat you, raped you, called you out your name, abused your children, murdered your babies, poisoned you slowly, told you were nothing, that no one would ever love you, and threatened to kill you if you left him. But there comes a point in every victim’s life when she has to say to herself, “I’m leaving, even if I have to die fighting.”

It starts with separation: first mentally, then physically. At some point we need an up or down vote—and those who want to stay, stay, those who want to leave, let’s go. But let’s rise now to the highest civilization man has ever seen and be proud that we come from a lineage of Gods.

May Allah bless us to separate from a world that’s going out, and may we be part of ushering in a new world. May all of our gifts, talents, and wherewithal be used for the upliftment of our people. May our children have better lives than we had and be modern Joshua’s and Caleb’s, bringing down the walls of Jericho and marching into the Hereafter.

(Laila Muhammad is a Chicago-based writer, videographer and Final Call production assistant.)