(Crystal Valentine responds to Megyn Kelly’s statement that “Jesus is a white man.” The Fox News anchor caused an outrage with the claim back in 2013. Holding nothing back, Valentine’s voice begins to shake from what appears to be her outrage as she rebukes Kelly’s assertion).
She says it with a smile
Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world
So sure of herself
Of her privilege
Her ability to change history
Rewrite bodies to make them look like her
She says it the same way politicians say racism no longer exists
The same way police officers call dead black boys thugs
The same way white gentrifiers call Brooklyn home
She says it with an American accent
Her voice doing that American thing
Crawling out of her throat
Reaching to clasp onto something
That does not belong to her
I laugh to myself
What makes a black man a black man?
Is it a white woman’s confirmation?
Is it her head nod?
Is it the way she’s allowed to go on national television
And auto correct the bible and God himself,
Tell him who his son really was?
What makes a black man a black man:
The way reporters retell their deaths like fairytales
The way their skulls split across pavement
The way they cannot outrun a bullet
How can she say Jesus was a white man
When he died the blackest way possible?
With his hands up
With his mother watching,
Crying at his feet
Her tears nothing more than gossip
For the news reporters or prophets to document
With his body left to sour in the sun
With his human stripped from his black
Remember that?
How the whole world was saved by a black man
By a man so loved by God,
He called him kin
He called him black
Now ain’t that suspicious?
Ain’t that news worthy?
Ain’t that something worth being killed over?
Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world
So sure of herself
Of her privilege
Her ability to change history
Rewrite bodies to make them look like her
She says it the same way politicians say racism no longer exists
The same way police officers call dead black boys thugs
The same way white gentrifiers call Brooklyn home
She says it with an American accent
Her voice doing that American thing
Crawling out of her throat
Reaching to clasp onto something
That does not belong to her
I laugh to myself
What makes a black man a black man?
Is it a white woman’s confirmation?
Is it her head nod?
Is it the way she’s allowed to go on national television
And auto correct the bible and God himself,
Tell him who his son really was?
What makes a black man a black man:
The way reporters retell their deaths like fairytales
The way their skulls split across pavement
The way they cannot outrun a bullet
How can she say Jesus was a white man
When he died the blackest way possible?
With his hands up
With his mother watching,
Crying at his feet
Her tears nothing more than gossip
For the news reporters or prophets to document
With his body left to sour in the sun
With his human stripped from his black
Remember that?
How the whole world was saved by a black man
By a man so loved by God,
He called him kin
He called him black
Now ain’t that suspicious?
Ain’t that news worthy?
Ain’t that something worth being killed over?
