(Black) Stars In My Eyes: How An Entertainment Writer Found His Place In The ‘Black Lives Matter’ Movement

On a day much like today about two years ago, when the death of Michael Brown brought forth the first few cries of “Black Lives Matter” in both the online and real worlds, I received a private message from a cousin on Facebook:

“Where is your blog about the dangers of being a young Black male in America,” she queried. “Not everything has to be about pop culture and gayness, you know.”

Truthfully, she had a bit of a point (at least when it came to the pop culture stuff. “Gayness,” as she put it, will always be something worth conversing about), but that didn’t make me any less livid about what she was saying to me at the time. How dare she — or anyone, for that matter — even lightly imply that just because I was more in tune with celebrity life, it somehow negated my view of the world and its many, many problems?

Of course I knew what was going on out there! How could I not? For someone who grew up Black in the South Bronx, one of the most dangerous, violent, and police-patrolled spots in the New York City area, I had more or less been living a “Black Lives Matter” life since well before I ever heard the term “Black lives matter.” What was going on in the news cycle, and has just repeated with the deaths of both Alton Sterling and Philandro Castile, is not a fresh experience — it’s just more of a publicized one, one that I had personally experienced several times, thanks to certain men in blue confronting me time and time again for simply existing in what they referred to a “heavy crime area.”

However, unbeknownst to her and to some degree, to myself, there was yet another reason attached to my displeasure — one that might not make sense to most people, but still is just as real as the feeling that most are having at this current moment. Because of my chosen field of writing, I didn’t think I had much, if anything at all, to add to the conversation.

For years, I had fought incessantly to be taken seriously as an entertainment writer. That was my focus and that was where, I initially believed, my power as a writer lied. You want to hear about the stupid thing Justin Bieber did? I got you there, and boy, it’s a doozy. Are you curious about Britney Spears’ next single? I’m definitely your guy! Heck, if you want to know what the Spice Girls called themselves before they were named the “Spice Girls,” I can totally hook you up with that information (it was “Touch,” by the way). That’s who I was, and that’s who I was comfortable being.

That is, until Michael Brown made me uncomfortable. And Trayvon Martin. And Eric Garner. And Sandra Bland. Freddie Grey. Ramarley Graham. Timothy Russell, and Malissa Williams. But most of all, Janet Jackson.

Yes, Janet Jackson, who is very much alive, well, pregnant, and is more connected to the “Black Lives Matter” movement than most will ever understand. I’ll explain.

In May of last year, Janet announced that she would be returning to music following a seven-year-long break with Unbreakable, her 11th studio album. For most, her comeback was a long-requested action that was necessary to bring fire back to the music world. For others, such as talk show host Wendy Williams, it was a completely unnecessary move.

“She wants to put out new music, but nobody bought the music last time,” Williams spewed to her audience a few days after Jackson’s announcement. “I think that this comeback is going to be impossible. She needs to sit down and wait for Mariah [Carey], Britney [Spears] and Jennifer [Lopez] to leave [their Las Vegas residencies] and do all the songs that we know the words to.”

Janet would ultimately prove her wrong when Unbreakable debuted at No. 1 on the Billboard Top 200 Album chart that October, but there was a major problem with Williams’ words regarding her previous releases. As someone who had once worked in Urban radio, Wendy should have been — and probably was — well aware of the exact reason why “nobody bought the music last time”: nobody really knew it was out there to be bought.

Following her infamous “wardrobe malfunction” at the Super Bowl XXXVIII Halftime Show in 2004, Janet became the target of a media blackout that caused her songs; her attempts at promoting her then-upcoming release, Damita Jo; and even her name to be completely eradicated from public view (you can read more about that in this Gawker article). There’s no way that Wendy wouldn’t know this, especially since she was a part of the radio faction that Janet’s music should’ve been rampant on, so her attitude toward Janet’s choice to take on the world once again was absolutely ridiculous, disrespectful, and clearly nothing more than an attempt to make sure her tongue still worked in her mouth.

However, that wouldn’t be the first nor the last time that Wendy went after Janet in such a fashion. Claims regarding Janet’s “failing” Unbreakable World Tour (which it wasn’t), her “shaky” marriage to Qatari businessman Wissam Al-Mana (which it’s not), and even about her supposedly “unhealthy pregnancy” at age 50 (spoiler alert: Janet and the baby are fine) have been continuously brought up on her talk show for months on end — and it’s not just Janet, either.

Other Black celebrities including, but not limited to, Will Smith, Usher, Tyler Perry, Mariah Carey, and the late, great Whitney Houston have had their names slandered and dragged through the dirt by Williams. From my end, it was the first real show of a ridiculous cycle that I had unknowingly been a part of for quite some time: lampooning celebrities — especially Black ones — for their problems while they were still alive, and then having the gall to cry our eyes out once they’re gone.

This was a “habit” that broke for me once Whitney had died (and good riddance!), but in retrospect, my voice was pretty insignificant to the problem at hand. My opinions had no real persuasion in the grand scheme of things, and it would be years before I molded it into that of an entertainment writer. However, when it comes to someone like Wendy Williams, someone who not only had the power to help Janet gain attention for her projects, but literally owed her own life and career to Janet Jackson, Michael Jackson, and any other Black celebrity whose existence helped her to become a radio DJ-turned-talk show host, respect isn’t just a necessity — it’s a responsibility, one that I am wholly tired of seeing her, and so many other people in the spotlight, dishonor and disregard.

This is why I, as of late, have had no reservations with calling out people like loudmouth Wendy, the boorish Stacey Dash, or repeated cultural appropriator Justin Timberlake whenever they demean a Black person, or even worse, when they flat-out refuse to make a statement at a time when it’s greatly needed, such as Nicki Minaj or Justin Bieber.

Just as with the deaths and lives that we defend with the “Black Lives Matter” movement, the prominent ones, whose music we blast through our iPhones or movies we pay to watch in theaters across this country, deserve to be both protected and respected. One Black life, no matter the amount of notability it may or may not possess, is no greater or lesser than the one before or after it, and if we’re honoring some in this fight, we must honor them all. There is no leeway here. It’s time to start respecting everyone.

All Black lives matter — every single one of them. And if you don’t get that, then I’m going to do everything in my power as a writer, a Black man, and a person on this Earth to make sure that you do. This is my gift. This is what I bring to the “Black Lives Matter” conversation, along with pop culture and gayness. And I’m damn proud of it.

[Photo by Joshua Lott/Stringer/Getty Images]