No Wedding, No Womb!

One Black Mother’s Heartbreaking Story of Raising Her Son Amongst a Nest of Miscreants Intent on His Ruination

little black boy

When I read this very personal account from Breukelen Bleu, the founder of the Black Woman Think Tank, I knew I had to share it. So much of the criticism of single mothers raising black sons focuses on blaming the MOTHER for all the negatives. She and she alone is to blame if her son is somehow dysfunctional for fails in some way. Nothing, I mean, NOTHING shines a light on how all the diseased-minded men in the neighborhood try their best to force good boys to be in the muck like them. This isn’t the first account I’ve heard; a dear friend of mine once told me had had to fight gang bangers EVERY DAY just to go to school. They were trying to FORCE him into a life of crime and an express ticket into a coffin.

If we are going to make any changes, we’re going to have to be honest about the truly startling amount of black people (both male and female) who are HELLBENT and DETERMINED to see that the children of their community will not rise above their station. The INTENTIONAL SABOTAGE by these evil doers cannot be ignored.

This is Breukelen Bleu’s story:

My son left today for the summer. He will be attending two very prestigious summer programs, one of which will allow him to travel abroad. He was nervous yesterday and this morning, and that caused him to talk a lot and have a cloudy mind. He’s been emotional and moody the past few weeks, and this week was especially hard for him, because its the 3 year anniversary of an attack he endured on his way home from school in 2011. In broad daylight, he was attacked by three older black males, whom he didn’t know or had never seen before. Just steps from our front door, he was “jumped’, beaten, pistol whipped, and robbed for 3 dollars. The cops said he simply made eye contact with the wrong dude, and in a second, his life was forever changed. Trying to make a 14 year old understand, how the day after his 8th grade graduation (which just the night before he declared had been the “best day of his life”), he could be coming home from school…at 2pm on as sunny, warm June afternoon… in full school uniform and backpack… minding his business… about to enter the building that he lived in – and seconds later, he is being beaten into a bloody pulp… by three men who look just like him… for having done nothing more than be black and male… on the wrong corner… at the wrong time – has proven quite daunting. Twenty-two hours in the emergency room, testing of hearing and vision to makes sure there was no permanent damage, blood that had pooled in his lobe being manually aspirated from his ear (which has swelled to almost triple its size), bruised ribs, an eye swollen shut, lacerations on head and neck, blood stained clothes, and the fear and psychological shock, of being a nerdy kid with glasses, attacked without reason on the last day of school – will change anyone.

And change my son, it did.


It took me a minute to realize what has been going on with my boy the past few weeks. He was getting on my nerves really bad the past few days, and it finally hit me that he gets like this every June – and the closer we get to the end of the school year, the more anxious, moody, emotional and combative he gets. It finally hit me that it was his fears and memories about that event, that was causing the changes to his personality. Yesterday he was very emotional and moody, and was really testing my patience. But rather than follow my first instinct to get angry, I decided to ask him what was really going on with him. After some prodding, he finally let it all go, and started crying, saying he was afraid of not fitting in at this Summer Program he will be attending, scared that the kids wouldn’t like him (which was completely the PTSD that he now has, talking, because he always fits in well at these things – especially those programs where most of the students are not black). He was also very fearful that he would have to ‘fight’ if someone ‘tested him’ because they didn’t like him. I was sooo sad for him, but I didn’t show it. I kept my head, managed my emotions, and reminded him, in a compassionate but stern manner, about what I had previously taught him about ECOSYSTEMS –  and how the mindsets, behaviors and rationale of one Ecosystem, doesn’t usually carry over to the next.  I explained, that the higher up you go in the food chain, the less you are likely to encounter the base responses and behaviors of the Ecosystem, below it. I told him that where he is going, the kids are not acculturated to settle every dispute physically, and that these children’s parents paid close to 5k for them to attend this program.

“Believe me”, I said. “They are not the ‘fighting’ type.”

Growing up around ni@ggas ( …yes I said N@GGAS) has really affected my son. My hope is that as he matures into a man, he will find some benefit from having endured these trials. While the attack itself was something no one should ever have to experience,  learning to survive and navigate an inner city urban environment, could possibly help to positively mold him by cultivating an inner strength that he simply has yet to grown into, or recognize. Its not the ideal way to teach strength and nurture resilience in a person, but its all my son has to pull from, until a permanent change in Ecosystem allows other paths to character building – paths that I am placing him on the road to, now.

But at this this time in his life, as an awkward, geeky 17 year old, these experiences continue to haunt him and have shaped him into a fragile, insecure, nervous young man. I cannot wait until I can send him off to college, and he doesn’t have to deal with all that angst, fear and anxiety that living in NYC brings him. I am quite sure, that my son will move out of NY and never return (to live). He hates living here; well…he hates living in Blackistan, anyway. He likes Manhattan and the nicer areas of Brooklyn, but he hates any predominantly black areas, because all the noise, offensive language, low brow behavior, raised voices, threats of potential violence and basic lack of respect for other people, is simply too much for him. And while he grew up primarily in gentrifying Fort Greene, and now resides in a rapidly gentrifying Bed Stuy, he still must negotiate the realities of Blackistan, in his day-to-day comings and goings. Being in all-black urban environments, reminds him of where his Personhood and Sense-of-Self was violated, and makes him hate the entire experience of living in an urban environment. He does not share my love for The City, and I don’t begrudge him that. And within the next year, he will be leaving to find the greener pastures, in places where his senses are not always bombarded with over stimulation, and where his mind, confidence and sense of security in the world, is not always being threatened by those who share the skin he’s in.

For my son, all skin folk not being kinfolk is not a cliché. Its an lived experience.

The people who critique my message and share my posts on their own pages so they can dismiss what I say as ‘crazy’, ‘feminist’, ‘man-hating’ or ‘self hating’. If I can write some of the stuff I write, it must be the ravings of some jaded, black male-hating-black woman with a chip on her shoulder. But what those people don’t realize…what they have no idea of, is that what I write about and suggest as solutions to what ails black women, comes from a place of Wisdom born out of love for Black Womanhood, love for Black Motherhood, and love for my black male child. The latter… love for my son…is so strong, that I am forced to admit that if left unchecked, he would destroy himself, his community, and any black woman he would come into contact with, simply because he is black and male and the world around him compels him to do so. I am honest enough to admit, that my love as a Mother, is not enough to take on the forces of the outside world; hip hop culture, hook up culture, rape culture, black male conditionings and expectations, black patriarchy, victimhood, racism and black religious hypocrisy and fake morality…all working over time, to destroy my child and make him complicit in the collusion and conspiracy against himself, his community, and most importantly, the likeness and image of his OWN Mother.


He was very upset the other day, after he went to get his hair cut at the new shop his father is cutting hair at; a shop his father moved to recently, which is only a few blocks away from the old one… but is more ‘hood’ then where he worked before. This shop has “thug” barbers working there – a completely different element than my son is comfortable associating with. My son came home upset that afternoon, because one of the barbers at the new spot, was trying to ‘school’ him on life, by talking about sex in the most vulgar and offensive ways, out loud, in front of the women and children customers who were waiting to get serviced. My son said he was extremely uncomfortable, as this man talked about porn that depicted female domination, choking, gagging and being sexually violent to black women. Using the imagery of degradation and aggression towards The Black Female Body as instruction material on the ins and outs of ‘dating’, this man proceeded to talk to my child…a boy of only 17…like was a seasoned veteran in the porn industry.  This stranger – an adult black male – took it upon himself to offer unsolicited ‘mentoring’ and advice, to my child and proceeded to fill his head with the most vile and violent images, all in the name of ‘teaching’ him how to ‘be a man’ and “deal with women”. His father, (whom he only sees on weekly visits to the barber shop for a hair cut) of course, was completely oblivious, cutting hair a few stations away and having no idea that my son was being subjected to that type of mental assault.  My son’s father is not a thug.  But like most black men, he too seems to feel compelled by peer pressure, at times, to conform to black male pathological expectations. I cannot say for sure, that had he realized what was going on, he would have done anything to stop it.

My son was hurt by this experience, and called me as soon as he left to tell me he is never going back to that barber shop again. He doesn’t want to be around that, and he doesn’t want to be around a father who would choose such an environment, in which to earn a living. Of course, I agreed. In the future, if his father wants to spend time with him, he will do what he should have already been doing, and create a space for that to happen, outside of when its most convenient for him. But that’s another discussion.


Black men who want to blame black mothers for everything that is wrong with black males, refuse to admit  that black children are not solely the product of their home environments. A huge portion of black male conditioning, are influences they is forced assimilate; pathologies they is forced to adopt – by the black male collective. So much of the negative behaviors that black boys and young males get into, is encouraged by other black males in their vicinities. The dude doesn’t have to live with him. He doesn’t even have to know the child. My son had never seen that man before, and yet he was traumatized by that experience with him. A lot of what turns black males bad (asides from tainted DNA, traumatized sperm, low breeding, poor education, struggling or uneducated mothers who coddle bullshit behavior in them, no mentors and absent fathers) are the things they experience and learn from the average black male in their communities. As soon as puberty hits, they begin to understand the expectations of manhood in The Black Community, and even the most loving, gentlest boy will feel compelled to try to prove himself – or at the least…protect himself, by assimilating the mannerisms, speech, ideas and behaviors of the larger dysfunctional black male culture. After my son was attacked, the greatest fear expressed by the police, was not another attack, but rather that my son would now want to join a gang, in order to protect himself from the vulnerability of being by himself. I’ve watched my son struggle with black male cultural  expectations for several years now, and I know that no matter how much I have tried to protect him, the experiences he has had with most black males has harmed him and made him question the value of himself as a man and as a black person. And I know in my heart, that my son will only fully come to appreciate and embrace a healthy identity as a Black Man, when he is securely outside The Black Community! The only thing The Black Community has offered my son, is a long list of reasons why he should hate me, hate It and hate himself.

One of the things that made me realize, that I had to change my view of the world, was the realization after my sons attack, that every single black male I told the story to, brushed my son’s brutal assault off as ‘part of being a black man’. They all seemed to see this event in my sons life, as some sort of INITIATION into Black Manhood. Even those black males who were now professionals or had become relatively successful in their lives, took the attitude of nonchalance, when I retold my sons experience to them. For them, this was simply “what being a Black Man is about’. In that moment, I realized, that for most black men, the first assault against their personhood and manhood, does not come from a white police officer, racist teacher or biased store owner. It came from other black males, who use violence, intimidation, and pain, to bring each other into the fold. It was then, that I realized, that I could no longer align myself with the collective interests of Black Men. Mine, would a path forged on a mission to protect me and my one black male child. This realization was the game changer for me. So if anyone is to blame for solidifying my departure from being the “Race Woman” I once was, it is black male pathology, itself, that all but PUSHED me out the door, when it decided to use my child as yet another offering the god of Dysfunction and Pathology, that it seems to worship and love.


My choosing to have a child with a man like my son’s father was the biggest mistake I have (or will ever) make in my life. Choosing a man who could provide neither the mental, nor financial protection black male children need, was a dishonor to my bloodline and to my womb. Raising my child in an environment, that has kept his personal safety and peace of mind in jeopardy, was unfair and dangerous. Believing that my love, as a woman and Mother, would be enough to shield my son from all that seeks to compromise him, was arrogant and presumptuous. But unlike most black women, who are too ashamed, proud or defiant, to admit that most of the negative experiences that they and their children endure, is directly tied to having mated with an unworthy, breeder caste, low pedigree male…and that having raised their children in unsafe, volatile and negative communities, has caused most of the dysfunction, despair and death that their children are victim to…I can say without a doubt, that my decisions and choices along the way, have impacted my sons life in ways that I, as a female, cannot and will not ever fully understand. And I can honestly say, that in the end, its is not only my love and input as a Mother that has shaped and informed who my son will become… but it is also those other forces, that I had not prepared for…had not considered when I was making the decision to become his Mother, which have left an indelible print on my son’s mind and soul. And I can stand in the Truth of that admittance, without shame and without guilt, by simply acknowledging it, and dealing with it the best ways I can.

Contrary to what some Single Black Mothers are saying, I can admit, that…“Yes, my son was the result of poor decision making, no planning and bad choices!”

There. I said it. And I am no more diminished as a Woman, as a Person, and as a Mother, for having done so. We all make mistakes. This one, was one of mine. I’m human. To me, the bigger mistake is to deny the first one, and then continue to make them over and over and over again, adding more dysfunction to the lives of more children, my self and the overall black community.

To me, one of the greatest ways I offer restitution to my child and my Womanhood, is to accept, that despite my love for my black male child, the overwhelming majority of black males are worthless to Black Womanhood and harmful to black children – and need to be avoided at all costs. People will accuse me of dishonoring my own child with my message. But I am showing him the greatest honor I can, which is to tell the truth, so that he can carve out a different path for himself and represent my bloodline in a way that helps to redeem Black Manhood, and Black Motherhood.

I feel just as sentimental about my child as the next woman, but my love for him includes a predetermined decision, that I will cut him the fuck off, before I allow him to disgrace my name or gamble all that I have sacrificed, in this one little life of mine. I will not allow him to taint or contaminate another black woman’s child with negative influence and harmful information. I will not allow him to denigrate the image of Black Womanhood, play power games with the women who will someday love him, sell drugs in his own community, violate the body or sexuality of another woman’s child, abuse or neglect children he co-creates, or condone his abandonment of his duty to be an upstanding Man; either by direct encouragement of pathology, or silence in the face of it. To me, that is what the true Mother Principle is. That is what true love of my Creation is.

To love him so much, that I would never allow him to disrespect the Source of his Being – which is Me and the image of Me. And I will teach him to recognize that those who represent the side of the Black Masculine Archetype, which is bent on the destruction of the minds, hearts, futures, communities and lives of other Black People, are the ENEMY of black women and black children,  and Black Manhood, and need to be left behind with the rest of Blackistan. I will make it clear, to him and anyone else, that NO, I will not sacrifice my bloodline, for them. I don’t care if they are black. And I don’t care about the reasons why they are damaged and wretched. My caring about all of that, stopped the day 3 of Them, beat my child within an inch of his life, on a street corner in Brooklyn.

For me, that is what real “Motherly Love’ is about – caring about me and mine, first. And while I offer a general caring and love to the children of other women, I will not allow another woman’s untrained, uncared for, savage minded child, to devour my child in the name of ‘solidarity’.  I’m not The One. And I will see every one of those muthaf@ckas, burn in hell, before I offer up what I birthed to be sacrificed on the altar of black pathology and self hatred. I am no Madonna. Think of me more as Kali Ma.

All this other fluff…this ‘unconditional love’ mess that Hallmark cards promote to get peoples money, and The Black Community insist is what black women must offer black people, is just another way of making black women The Sacrifice to her own children, to The Black Male Collective and to Blackistan; devoured by the very Beings she gives life to. I will send out a message to every black woman willing to listen to me, to RUN! And don’t look back! just I am doing in my own life. I will see Blackistan burned to the ground before I allow The Black Male Pathological Conditioning to infect and contaminate my offspring the way it does to so many other black women’s children.

And I will disown, cut off, and if necessary, put my own son in the ground, before I allow him to denigrate and disrespect my image or the Archetype of Black Womanhood. To allow him to dishonor is mother, is high treason and should be approached as such. Anything less is admitting to the world, that he is worth noting, because he comes from nothing (Me). And that is not something I will allow my son to believe – ever.  I’d see him gone, before I’d see him embrace THAT belief, and share it with the world.  I’d see him gone.

This is my idea of True Motherly Love. Loving my child, through Loving and honoring myself and teaching him to respect himself, by COMMANDING a reverence of his Mother. He is a reflection of Me.  If I am nothing, then HE is nothing. Knowing this, is an ancient understanding that goes back to the beginnings of time and the beginnings of Black People. In the end, he will always know, that while he doesn’t have to love me, he damn sure will respect me or he will feel the wrath of any Creator whose own Creation engages in treachery. Light workers can sit happily and accept a punishing Father God, who will smite the whole lot of them, for disrespecting HIM and dishonoring His power.

Well, my Higher Power is represented by the Divine Feminine, The Mother Principal, and She more than ANY OTHER, has the right to undo what she has made, once a grievous violation has occurred. She gives and nurtures life…and she can take it all away.

How many of you are ready for THAT kind of Motherhood…that kind of Womanhood?

There is a difference between having birthed some children…and being a Warrior Mother Goddess.

I know which one I seek to embody. Which one are you?

– Breukelen Bleu ©


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