Dear White Editors, Stop Publishing Pieces That Make You Look Even Whiter Than You Already Are

My ‘Dear White” series is back to torment, annoy and enlighten. This time it’s not a matter of life or death — although the writer of the piece that I’m about to destroy may disagree.

Sunday mornings are supposed to be calm and reflective, but when Twitter is on standby — you have to be prepared for war. There is so much shit going on it’s crazy!

President Trump is so pissed that he won the election that he is hell-bent on punishing the world. Iconic fashion curator Karl Lagerfeld initiated a feud with fellow icon, Meryl Streep and she isn’t haven’t that shit!

And Remy Ma told Nicki Minaj where to go for butt and waist measurements when she released a heaping of whoop ass under the cover of “SheTHER.”

So, let me cut to the chase because time is of the essence.

A White woman employed at Bustle, a publication targeted at women who love being women casually shared her thoughts about this exciting and engrossing shit storm surrounding two well-respected rappers.

Her thoughts were embarrassingly off point in a way that erupted Black Twitter and made my eye boogers effortlessly fall away.

Aside from the fact that it was piercingly obvious that the writer has zero knowledge about a culture that is basically a religion founded on the backs of MCs who needed to voice the brutality of every day existence — the piece was also badly written and weirdly disjointed.

The tone was dipped in the ‘White Girl Experience” where everything is “Sweet Valley High” and problems can be solved by hugging it out to a Taylor Swift track.

The editors at Bustle are clearly White Millennials who are clueless when it comes to tackling topics outside their realm, and instead of ensuring that they fulfill those obligations with the aid of writers who are well versed despite their race or Black writers who are ready to give Teen Vogue a run for its money — they settle for a pathetically drafted “Kumbaya” piece of shit that belittles the subject matter into a wilting battle between two bored women in the ring with Black Twitter yelling for blood.

Trayvon Martin died five years ago today. His death is a cumbersome reminder of what it means to be young, black and American. He was targeted due to his “menacing” features and skin hue. But, his tragic murder wasn’t a revelation in a struggle that has been forging ahead for longer than we really want to examine.

His killing was in line with what people of color consistently contend with the moment we step into the same sunlight that burns with fury without prejudice.

Treasures like Public Enemy sounded the alarm and of course in due time rappers like Ice Cube, Ice-T, Jay Z and Tupac gave that shit the street cred it deserves.

See, I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about. But, I’m not far off the mark. That’s the point.

The genre that laid the foundation for the soundtrack of our lives and the deaths of people of color who didn’t deserve to bleed in the sands of a park or the concrete ground as the skittles they bought to eat falls out of their hooded sweater — can’t be fucked with for clicks, bait or the ignorance of White people who whip up a story with themes that leave them in the dark.

Perhaps, they should stay there.

Actually, I know for sure they should remain in the dark. How else can you glow with the righteous privilege of assuming that you’re poised to explain stuff about “Gucci Main” — and why Black women rappers need to shut it and get along without the maddening crowd of Twitter?

I have to admit that my annoyance is strewn from the fact that even I have limited knowledge of the rap world or the castles of hip-hop. I know what I know and when I share — I always try to keep it legit but I didn’t grow up in Black America.

As a Nigerian transplant living in New York, I gravitated to what felt good.

Foxy Brown gave me life. Lil’ Kim enhanced my life. Jay Z, Mos Def and Nas taught me why life means what it means when you mean what you mean.

And Cam’ron was the Killa Cam killer and I died and went to a heaven for people like me, who needed to be saved.

Please White editors, stop publishing pieces that make you look foolish and incapable. Stop going with the flow and believing you can skate by like Nancy Kerrigan until you get unexpectedly cut down by the wrath of opponents who don’t play that shit.

If, a writer like me — who spent countless hours in debates with friends about the dynamics of Black Americans and Africans — refuses to touch the beef between Remy Ma and Nicki Minaj for reasons that are holy and substantial — then please don’t prop up a White chick for failure by assigning her a beat that is beyond her grasp.

Truth be told, I almost freelanced for Bustle — but the process was tediously annoying and now I know why.

That doesn’t mean other writers of color can’t have at it. Obviously this publication needs to be doused in anything but White. Writers of color are on standby. All you have to do is ask — however recent activity may make this venture exceptionally hard to accomplish — but try anyway!

White editors need to stop devaluing Black culture and start honoring it by purposely engaging in ways that are genuine and disaffected by the virus of trends and baits.

I was once asked by a White writer to collaborate on a piece about how White people can understand and penetrate Black Twitter. I was offended by her request and rejected the offer.

Now, I’m just grateful that she asked. Ask White people. Ask! Employ and grow your team into a generation that won’t let you down even when you’re not able to keep up.

Stop decimating our shit. It just makes you look Whiter than you already are and honestly — it’s not a good look.