Two weeks ago, on a Monday morning, I started to write what I thought was a
very clever editorial about violence against women in Haiti. The case, I believed,
was being overstated by women' s organizations in need of additional resources.
Ever committed to preserving the dignity of Black men in a world which constantly
stereotypes them as violent savages, I viewed this writing as yet one more
opportunity to fight 'the man" on behalf of my brothers. That night, before I could
finish the piece, I was held on a rooftop in Haiti and raped repeatedly by one of
the very men who I had spent the bulk of my life advocating for.
It hurt. The experience was almost more than I could bear. I begged him to stop.
Afraid he would kill me, I pleaded with him to honor my commitment to Haiti, to
him as a brother in the mutual struggle for an end to our common oppression, but
to no avail. He didn' t care that I was a Malcolm X scholar. He told me to shut up,
and then slapped me in the face- Overpowered, I gave up fighting halfway through
I went to Haiti after the earthquake to empower Haitians to . I went
to remind them of the many great contributions that have made
to this world, and eitheir amazing resilience and strength as a people. Not once
did I envision myself becoming a receptacle for a Black man' s rage at the white
world, but that is what I became. While I take issue with my brother' s behavior,
I' m grateful for the experience. It woke me up, made me understand on adepter
level the terror that my sisters deal with daily. This in hand, I feel comfortable in
speaking for Haitian women, and for myself, in saying that we will not be your
pawns, racially, politically, economically or otherwise.
http:// blogs. alternators/ speakeasy/ 20 10/ 04/ 23/ /