Jack Tapper, Black people are allowed to have a damn good time. Since you need it explained to you, all folks are allowed the full spectrum of their humanity and at the risk of shaking the table, enjoying a Beyoncé concert as well.
There’s nothing that I love more than joy; the pure, unabashed kind that radiates from the crown to the soles of ones feet. But folks like Tapper are why we can’t have nice things. The CNN anchor has taken it upon himself to fault the Obamas for daring to be something other than mules for the Democratic party; as though their labor is owed until death.
Tapper felt the sweet wrath of the dreaded ratio. His tweet dripped with so much condescension, animus and the entitlement of a white man to presume to tell two Black people how they should be spending their time. He should’ve just sat there and ate his food.
Contrary to popular belief, it is not standard operating procedure that Black people be superheroes who always have their capes on. We hurt too and feel every bit of pain that society inflicts while being asked to be saviors. In fact, the marginalized feel it even the most but as they say in church, the blood still works. What’s there to save some of us is knowing when we need to just release. A primal scream, smile, yoga, reading a book, unplugging from social media and just being seen, heard and loved goes a long way when you’re emotionally taxed.
Now, I’ve never been president of the United States for 8 years but it seems pretty stressful. I don’t begrudge the Obamas for living their best lives without placing the weight of civilization on their shoulders. Singing Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh is not a betrayal or abdication of their character.
Just like the Obamas, I also run the gamut of emotions; to shift from having the fire in the belly over immigration, healthcare, advocating for healthcare and walking into a hair store a few hours later just to try on some wigs.
I settled on a black one in preparation for the upcoming National Association of Black Journalists conference in Detroit, Michigan. I’ll be strutting into Motown in my best Nicki Minaj inches, a few freakum dresses that would make Beyoncé blush and wearing Rihanna’s Stunna Lip Paint. I might even feel like cussing while I’m there and toss back a few drinks. Simultaneously, I’ll be discussing the current events of the day with my fellow journalists who also know how to walk and chew gum at the same time. It’s not a privilege that only exists for the Tapper’s of the world. None of us will be deaf, dumb and blind to the potential government shutdown Trump is threatening, the tariff war, sexual abuse taking place at detention centers and #MeToo allegations against Les Moonves. Just because you’ll see me posting selfies during the week doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten I’m a rejected handmaiden, got way too much student debt and remaining steadfast to journalism even though it is routinely under attack by this administration.
I’m more than happy to stand corrected but I don’t see Tapper using his platform to demand George Bush save the GOP from the throes of Trump. It’s as if he and his ilk know no other way but to put the Obamas under the microscope even if means conflating legitimate criticisms of 44 with cheap taunts.
Jake Tapper, take the Obamas off the cross. They weren’t put on this earth to die for the sins of the Democratic party or the republic at large.