By Dr. Obari Cartman
I believe strongly in the freedom of choice. It is difficult to make good choices, however, with unacknowledged assumptions, hidden hesitations, and unaddressed fears. I hope that saying some of them out loud, bringing them to consciousness, awareness will give Black men an opportunity to face it, process it, resolve the dissonance, and embrace their right to vote for the candidate of their choosing.
I don’t mind sharing my choice. I cast my vote for V.P. Harris., just as the great majority of Black men did. I think we should’ve voted for Harris not for Harris’ sake but for the sake Black women. I wasn’t inspired by Harris’s last minute socio-economic plan for Black men. I believe a Harris presidency will help Black women more substantially, even if it’s symbolic. As a result, anything that elevates Black women also elevates us. Because we are them. They are us. We are the same.
Social pressure is on the side of VP Kamala Harris. In most Black circles the spoken consensus implored a cultural obligation to back the Howard University alum who grew up celebrating Kwanzaa. We can make history twice in our lifetime by electing the first Black woman president of the United States of America! Don’t fret yet about how Black. If democracy still exists in a few more years we can support a Blacker candidate next time. Mississippi/Alabama Black instead of half- Jamaica or Kenya Black. I’m encouraged by the conversations about who’s really Black. Beyond phenotype, checking boxes, playing spades and drinking cool aid, how does one qualify? I hope the scrutiny inspires people to demonstrate their own Blackness by supporting Black businesses, donating to HBCU’s, promoting Black publications, and volunteering at local Black community centers. We should be more concerned that some of us see their Blackness reflected in the shenanigans of Kamala’s opponent with his raised fist, 50-cent soundtrack, gold sneakers, and a seemingly endless list of felony convictions.
Blackness, however, wasn’t the main barrier to voting for Harris in November. VP Harris’ race was of less concern than her gender. Some men are struggling with the idea of being led by a woman. The reasons aren’t as superficial as before. We’ve evolved past the stereotypical worries of the past. Men aren’t still afraid of a woman having her finger on the button while menstruating, we know that’s chauvinistic and plain silly. In fact, Trump has been a perfect reminder that being emotional and petty has nothing to do with gender. Men are also considerably more likely to commit mass shootings when our feelings get hurt, so the composure of a women president make rational sense.
This is was an unpredictable election. Some from diverse, demographic groups were more likely to publicly endorse VP Kamala Harris but privately cast their votes for former president Trump. I’ve been listening most closely to the fears, expectations and hopes of Black men. The voting booth in November had become our confessional confidant. No one was able to yell at us for our preferences. No debates. No looks of scorn. We were able to confidentially risk it all, perhaps gamble our lives away, then quietly go back to work (if employed). If things hadn’t gone as the VP had planned, Black men would be blamed. We were already getting pre-blamed by former president Barack Obama, but the blame was in aggregate, so we could still take cover individually.
A few caveats: 1) This won’t apply to all Black men. It will apply to enough, who could sway the election. 2) Plenty of Black women are still rooting for us. We are forever grateful to you. 3) Brothers will dismiss my arguments by accusing me of appeasing Black women. I’m not trying to get pity (or the other p) points from Black women. I’m not saying all Black women are perfect and we should all bow in the presence of one. I’ve been dismissed, disparaged, deceived and disappointed by plenty of Black women. I’ve had Black women try to destroy me. And I still love them. I got sisters, friends, colleagues, teachers, co-parents, a partner, and millions more that I don’t know, who I need to be safe, more than I want another stimulus check.
I’ve been collecting data, listening to Black men discuss this election, hearing the things they say and don’t say. I’ve gathered 3 main reasons Black men secretly wouldn’t select VP Harris to be their leader.
Black men feel invisible.
When Ralph Ellison published “Invisible Man” in 1952, Toni Morrison responded “Invisible to who?” She was alluding to Black men looking for validation from white people and white infrastructure, while overlooking the Black women in our lives who see and value us every day. I’m afraid, over time, Black men have lost some of that affection from Black women. Perhaps we haven’t worked hard enough to reciprocate the care Black women have shown us. Currently, Black men feel more disdain than love from Black women. Oppression is humiliating enough as it is, but it stings differently having become the butt of jokes in your own community. Useless in your own home. A collective nuisance. A burden to everyone.
Black men fear becoming even more insignificant with Harris in charge. We feel invisible, so we will act invisible, and not show up to the polls.
Proximity to whiteness allows relative comfort.
Most Black men don’t believe we can win a fight for total liberation. I’m not sure if we believe we’re incapable, or think we don’t deserve it, or if we have hyped our adversary so thoroughly that whiteness has become insurmountable in our minds. We might be too depleted. Independence is hard work. America rewards quiet submission and punishes liberator inclination. We are encouraged to accept macro- and micro-aggressions while chasing 401k’s to provide a soft cushion for our tears to land. Since we can’t win, if sovereignty is not the goal, then the next best option is convenient dependence.
Black men think Trump has an economic concept of a plan that will trickle down to us. We don’t necessarily want to make America great again. We’re not stupid. We know that version of America wasn’t great for us. But maybe it was better? At least men were respected. We hear about the good ol’ days when grandad was served a plate with the biggest piece of chicken. Sounds nice. We forgot about the ‘after a hard day of work’ part, but nostalgia is never perfect.
Identifying with your captor (Stockholm syndrome) isn’t a new phenomenon. Since Africans were forced to immigrate here, some amongst us have chosen to be better off, suffer less, by aligning themselves with those they deem powerful. Trump’s main selling point is the possibility of a better economy, no matter what else it costs. This economy was built off the backs of our ancestors. I hate seeing how easily we can be bought. It doesn’t matter that we are witnessing the decline of this empire and the value of its dollar. Malcolm X said it best, “When the house started burning down, that type of Negro would fight harder to put the master’s house out than the master himself would.”
Black men don’t feel strong anymore.
Trump is bold. We don’t agree with what he’s saying but we like the way he says it. Unabashed. Unapologetic. It speaks to a part of us that we suppress daily. We long to unleash a raw, proud, loud part of us that lays dormant beneath the surface. We tucked it away behind politeness. Black men are aware of the threat we represent. To survive in this world we often have to shrink, tuck our tails, soften our voices, tip-toe around conversations, bend, shape, shift and compromise. We are aware that Black women often feel the same, but they have ushered in a new era reclaiming power unapologetically in ways that we watch with awe and envy.
It’s not that we want to get away with murder like white men have. We just don’t want to be murdered by the state unjustly, RIP Marcellus Williams. We don’t want to treat Black women like second class citizens, like white men have. We just want the dignity that comes with the institutional power white men maintain. We don’t want Sean Combs to be able to traffic and sexually abuse people, and avoid jail like Harry Weinstein. Most of us are closer to homeless than tycoons, so millionaire problems are metaphors for the shared liability of Black men’s shortcomings. On our level, regular guys, we are reminded of our slim margins for error, how easily we can be discarded, the swift severity of permanent consequences, and the difficulty of deserving compassion and forgiveness.
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My motivation for voting is not because my ancestors died for it. My willingness to spend an hour filling in some bubbles is a small strategic move. My obligation to my ancestors is paid on the other hours, days, weeks and years in between. Our ancestors died fighting for justice, reparations and abolition. Our ancestors died cultivating independent institutions in Tulsa, Rosewood, and Chicago. Our ancestors died preserving cultural rituals. That’s the work we need more Black men to do, in addition to voting.
I’m not excited about voting. I’ve stood in line at the polling place begrudgingly. I hate the idea of aligning my name to endorse any servant of this empire. I didn’t vote for Obama the second time. I don’t believe everything Kamala Harris says. I pray for forgiveness from the children of Gaza whose blood is on her hands. All that stated, women will be harmed if Trump were to be elected. As a man who says he loves women – I could never be okay with that.
