Still Hanging From The Cross: The Resurrection they Preach But Refuse To Practice
They cry over the cross but won’t confront the systems still doing the hanging. This isn’t just resurrection—it’s reckoning.
By Blakkmomba | Momba Raw and Unfiltered Podcast
Companion Episode: Kings Unchained: The Prelude (4.13.2025)
They’ll Cry Over the Cross, But Not the Systems Doing the Hanging
My social media day yesterday started with a Fox 4 News Dallas post about 17-year-old Karmelo Anthony—a Black teen now charged in the fatal stabbing of a white student, Austin Metcalf. Tragic in every direction.
But tragedy wasn’t what filled the comment section.
Hatred was.
The story barely had time to breathe before these people had declared Karmelo guilty, worthless, violent, and subhuman. Hundreds of comments deep—and the deeper I went, the sicker I felt.
I didn’t just see outrage. I saw enjoyment.
I saw white people from all over this country and beyond—typing out hate with no hesitation, no filter, no humanity. Their words weren’t driven by facts or empathy. They were animated by a need to reduce another Black body to something less than human.
And they did it with ease. With rhythm. With tradition.
No one said, “This is wrong.”
No one asked, “What happened?”
No one paused long enough to see the child beneath the label.
Not. One.
Digital Church for the White and Worried
Let me say this plain: Fox News is a digital haven for this kind of filth.
It’s not just a news outlet—it’s a cult church for the “white and worried,” where they come to congregate, commiserate, and share their fantasies of dominance.
They don’t care about facts.
They want blood.
So yes, I commented.
Not to debate. Not to defend. But to disrupt.
To remind them—and maybe even some of you—that this isn’t new.
It’s recycled.
It’s ritual.
It’s what happens when rotted spirits, deteriorated by anti-social media, find community in cruelty.
I came into that space intentionally—not to change them, but to show them their reflection.
To hold up a mirror, not a mask.
To say: Stand ten toes down on who you are. Come out with it.
Let the world see your sickness, so we can identify it, and stay far away.
I didn’t ask for permission.
I stood in their so-called “safe space” with the same boldness they bring to ours.
If they can enter our Black spaces and drop their coded language, their “opinions,” and their white tears—then I can stand ten toes down in their space and say what needs to be said.
And I did.
Legacy Rage Dressed in WiFi
But this post wasn’t isolated.
It’s never just about one post.
It’s systemic.
It’s spiritual.
It’s historic.
Because the rage in those threads? That wasn’t born on Facebook.
That rage is legacy.
It comes from the same white supremacy that once turned Black skin into merchandise.
Yes—this is history. Verified. Documented. Buried.
Apparently, Black pain remains everybody’s favorite playlist.
And white rage still gets the loudest mic.
And whew…
The mask didn’t just slip—it crumbled.
Ugly.
Evil.
Inhuman.
Evil spirits cloaked in algorithms but dripping in the same sickness that’s always lingered underneath:
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Superiority complexes
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Projection
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Delusion
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The comfort of privilege and the cowardice of inherited silence
You want to talk about being offended?
You want to cry foul and scream “reverse racism” with your chest?
Please…
Come out of hiding.
Come all the way out.
Come out of your spiritual hibernation and show us who you really are.
Because trust me, we see you.
It’s so damn ugly to see.
Your mindsets. Your mentalities.
The ingrained hatred you try to pretend isn’t there.
The bully gene.
The savage gene.
The colonizer gene.
They all live in you.
And your comment sections prove it.
Stop pretending.
Stop sprinkling sugar on systemic rot and calling it “just an opinion.”
Stop smiling in public, then spitting in the comment section.
Stop quoting Martin Luther King Jr. on Monday and mocking dead Black children by Friday.
You think we can’t see through that?
You think we’re just mad for the sake of being mad?
We’re not mad—we’re mourning.
Mourning the repeated assassination of our humanity.
Mourning how every news story becomes another litmus test for your performative outrage.
Mourning how your empathy has prerequisites.
Mourning how we have to teach our babies—our babies—how to survive your discomfort with their existence.
You don’t live in community.
You live in entitlement.
You don’t seek peace.
You seek dominance masked as “normalcy.”
You are the virus and the vaccine—the cause and the damn effect.
Let’s tell the truth, since y’all love to act brand new in the comments.
The world you rage against is the one your ancestors built.
Brick by brick.
Body by body.
Back by back.
And the systems?
You uphold them every time you click “laugh” on a video of a Black boy being slammed.
Every time you share mugshots of our dead.
Every time you stay silent in rooms where your voice would’ve made a difference.
You rage at the mirror.
You rage at the ghost of a system that you benefit from daily.
You rage at us when we call it out, then tell us we’re “making everything about race.”
As if race doesn’t shape how we breathe in this country.
As if race doesn’t dictate whose children are labeled “boys being boys” and whose are labeled “thugs.”
As if race doesn’t determine who gets grace and who gets graves.
You say, “But this isn’t about race.”
I say, “Then why do y’all act brand new every time a Black body makes the news?”
Why does your tone shift?
Why do your words harden?
Why do your hearts close?
I wonder if your white tears would still be salty in an alternate reality—
where Karmelo was Karl—a white student defending himself from a “nappy-headed Black thug” named Antwone and not Austin…
Would you still be screaming for justice with this much fervor?
You know the answer.
I do too.
It’s written in every timeline.
Every article.
Every selective GoFundMe.
Every whisper in courtrooms.
Every shrug on Capitol Hill.
Your Allyship Has an Expiration Date
Let’s get really real:
Your rage is conditional.
It always has been.
Your morality comes with fine print.
And your allyship expires the moment it gets uncomfortable.
In 2025, I shouldn’t have to explain to my kids how to navigate your fragility.
I shouldn’t have to teach them how to contort themselves into smaller versions just so they’re not seen as a threat.
I shouldn’t have to remind them to “stay calm,” even when being disrespected or criminalized—because the world sees their melanin before their innocence.
Y’all always want to talk about outcomes.
But never causes.
Never the foundation.
Never the centuries of indoctrination.
Never the embedded belief that you are the default and we are the deviation.
You want to cry about being “attacked,”
But your people have made an Olympic sport out of attacking what they refuse to understand.
You appropriate our slang.
You monetize our music.
You tan your skin and plump your lips,
But recoil the moment we demand the right to live.
We become the threat—
For daring to exist too loudly.
For grieving too publicly.
For being too confident, too Black, too proud.
You rage when we kneel.
You rage when we speak.
You rage when we create our own safe spaces.
You rage when we don’t cater to your comfort.
Where was this rage when Trayvon Martin was murdered?
Where was your humanity when a child was hunted and his killer walked free?
I didn’t see your timelines flooded with anger then.
I didn’t hear your tears.
I didn’t hear your prayers.
Because that rage?
It’s selective.
And we’re tired of being your exception.
You don’t get to weaponize empathy.
You don’t get to hoard justice.
And you damn sure don’t get to redefine what accountability looks like just to make yourself feel better.
What I Found Beneath the Thread
After reading that article, I did what I always do when my spirit won’t sit still.
I started digging.
Following comment trails.
Clicking profiles.
Connecting the dots with my Facebook investigative skills.
And I didn’t just find a comment section—
I found a damn rabbit hole.
A deeper one.
More sinister than expected.
More organized.
More connected.
Not just hate.
Strategy.
What I stumbled on was something darker than I imagined.
Something closer to the nine layers of hell—
Except it was Facebook.
Public.
Proud.
Cleanly designed.
Polished in red, white, and blue banners.
One group of 14,000 members—openly advocating for the “master race,” under the guise of white pride and Christian nationalism.
(Update as of 4/21/2025: that number has now climbed past 15,000)
Let’s call a spade a spade—
It’s a page about white pride.
And here’s the thing:
There’s nothing wrong with being proud of who you are—
Your lineage, your people, your roots.
But the moment that pride needs to belittle, erase, or separate from others to stand tall?
That’s not pride.
That’s fear.
That’s fragility.
They don’t want equality.
They want power back.
Not shared.
Not diverse.
Back—in the hands of strong, white, rich men.
Their words. Not mine.
Not Just Trolls—They’re Your Coworkers
Let’s stop pretending these are just internet trolls.
These are:
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Police officers
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Nurses
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Sunday school teachers
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Real estate agents
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Little League coaches
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Judges
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Your manager
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Your neighbor
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Your friendly barista
And they’re not hiding anymore.
They’re wide open—
Wide loose—like bowels after collard greens (shoutout to Jill Scott).
They are planning.
They are foaming at the mouth.
Somewhere between religious fervor and sexual excitement—
At the idea of mass Black extermination.
At the fantasy of returning to “the good old days.”
You know—when their ancestors raped Black women, broke Black men, bred us like cattle, and barbecued us under oak trees.
That’s the “again” in “Make America Great Again.”
And now?
They have a political machine behind them:
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The Heritage Foundation
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Project 2025
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Tech billionaires
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Trump
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Elon Musk
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And an entire blueprint for dictatorship masquerading as “reform”
The Heritage Foundation’s role
They want to rewrite the Constitution—
Not to protect liberty,
But to secure dominion.
We Were 3/5ths Then. What Are We Now?
Let’s not forget:
The Constitution once wrote Black people as 3/5ths of a human.
Subhuman.
That was our legal status.
And now they want to return to that time—
With cleaner branding, better marketing, and more efficient systems.
And don’t act surprised.
You were warned.
Before the elections.
Before January 6th.
Before the TikToks and the tweets.
They told us exactly what they planned to do.
They Want Power Back. Not Shared. Not Diverse. Back.
Let’s stop pretending these are just internet trolls.
These are police officers. Nurses. Sunday school teachers. Real estate agents. Little League coaches. Judges.
Your manager.
Your neighbor.
Your friendly barista.
And they are no longer hiding in plain sight.
They are wide open, wide loose—like bowels after collard greens (shoutout to Jill Scott).
They are planning. They are foaming at the mouth.
Somewhere between religious fervor and sexual excitement—at the idea of mass Black extermination.
At the possibility of returning to “the good old days.”
You know, when their ancestors raped Black women, broke Black men, bred us like cattle, and barbecued us under oak trees.
That’s the “again” in “Make America Great Again.”
And now they have a political machine behind them:
A real plan.
A blueprint for dictatorship masquerading as "reform."
A straight line from slavery to surveillance.
From lynchings to legislation.
They want to rewrite the Constitution—not to protect liberty, but to secure dominion.
And now they want to return to that time—with cleaner branding, better marketing, and more efficient systems.
Y’all Stayed Silent. And Now Look.
And don’t act surprised.
You were warned.
We were all warned.
Before the elections.
Before the January 6th coup attempt.
Before the TikToks and tweets.
They told us exactly what they planned to do.
But most of y’all stayed silent.
Most of you were passive.
Some of you even voted for it—or “couldn’t bring yourselves” to vote against it.
And now look.
The very systems you depended on—federal jobs, Social Security, Medicare, SNAP—are all being targeted.
And suddenly you’re scared?
Suddenly, you’re awake?
Funny how your passion didn’t show up until your direct deposits were threatened.
But now that your money is on the line?
Now that the rights Black people have been fighting for are finally slipping out of your hands?
Now you want to protest.
Now you care about democracy.
Now you’re discovering civil rights.
Now you’re quoting Dr. King.
We’ve been fighting for all of us.
From the beginning.
What have you been doing?
Your apathy got us here.
Your silence paved the way.
And I have no sympathy for your sudden urgency.
They Built the Systems — Then Asked Why We Haven’t Risen
They created entire ecosystems designed to keep us reaching for air—while quoting scriptures about prosperity and discipline.
And the cruelest part?
They used the Bible as bait.
“God helps those who help themselves.”
“Obey the law of the land.”
“Turn the other cheek.”
Meanwhile, they were slipping crack into our neighborhoods , bankrupting our banks, and building prisons faster than schools .
This isn’t just racism.
It’s a false religion.
A cult of control.
They crucify us, then preach resurrection.
They built the tombs, then ask why we haven’t risen.
They sealed the stone, then quote “He is Risen” while keeping their knees on our necks.
They read from a Bible they’ve never understood—because if they did?
They’d know:
You don’t get resurrection without repentance.
You don’t get salvation without justice.
You don’t get Easter while keeping others buried.
Modern-Day Pharisees
They are the Pharisees of modern America.
Quoting Christ while crucifying His image in every Black face they fear.
They pray loud.
But their works are silent.
They shout about sin,
But they built the altar of oppression and sacrificed us on it.
This is the Easter truth they don’t want preached:
That the systems they defend are the very tombs they locked us in.
And now that we’re shaking the stone loose?
Now that we’re rising?
They’re terrified.
🕊️ You Are Not the Master Race — You Are the Lie
You are not the master race.
You are the world’s biggest fraud.
The loudest thief.
The most insecure species walking the earth—desperate to dominate because deep down you know the truth:
You’ve built nothing.
You took it.
You stole it.
You murdered for it.
You lied to keep it.
“You don’t create—you copy.
You don’t lead—you leech.
You don’t originate—you occupy.”
And you call that greatness?
✊🏽 We’re Still Here
What you hate the most…
Is that after everything—we’re still here.
Still rising.
Still inventing.
Still setting the tone.
Still making Black girl and boy magic out of the hell you keep putting us through.
You want segregation?
Go ahead.
But the truth is—you’ll die off without us.
You always have.
That’s why you keep coming back for more.
Because you don’t hate us.
You hate that you need us.
You want to live among your own?
Be my guest.
Go back to Europe.
Let’s see what happens when you’re stripped of everything you stole.
Let’s see how fast you go back to your castles of disease and incest,
to drinking from rivers you polluted,
to fighting each other over land and lineage like you weren’t already doing that
before you ever saw a Black face or Game Of Thrones.
Let’s see how well you thrive without:
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Our minds
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Our muscle
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Our medicine
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Our minerals
Let’s see how long it takes before you’re back at our door—
looking to loot the temple for our rhythm, flavor, science, soul, and survival.
You want to build a society without us?
Then say goodbye to everything that gives your world:
Movement.
Meaning.
Momentum.
Because we were the flavor.
We were the fire.
We didn’t just season your food—we seasoned your lives.
I’m not talking metaphors.
I’m talking literal Black flesh, boiled down and used as oil to fry your meat.
Our bones tossed in cooking pots.
Our skin stretched into leather for your shoes.
You turned our bodies into cookware and our trauma into spice—you consumed us.
You called us “seasoned” because our bodies had been beaten, burned, broken, and sun-baked—and still we smelled like resilience.
And even now?
You still can’t cook without us.
We Are the Sauce. The Source. The Soul.
We flavored your economy.
Your style.
Your rhythm.
Your God.
You built your entire existence on our backs, our brilliance, our blood—and now you want to act like you don’t need us?
You don’t just need Black America.
You need Africa—for its resources and spiritual genius.
You need the Congo—for cobalt, power, and every tech innovation in your pocket.
You need Mexico—for labor, flavor, and infrastructure.
You need China and the Philippines—for manufacturing, distribution, and survival.
You need the very nations and people you disrespect just to keep your world turning.
You’ve colonized every corner of the earth and still cry “replacement” when people walk through the door you kicked in.
You don’t create culture.
You consume it.
You don’t birth movements.
You steal them.
You don’t innovate.
You imitate.
You take everything we create, slap your name on it, and pretend it came from you.
But plagiarism doesn’t make you a creator.
It makes you a thief. A parasite. A shell.
Without Us, There Is No You
Without us, your world collapses.
Because we are the sauce.
The source.
The spark.
The soul.
The standard.
You can gentrify our neighborhoods, bleach our features, and remix our art.
But you will never be us.
And deep down—you know it.
That’s why you want us gone.
You don’t just fear our power.
You envy it.
You envy what can’t be duplicated.
What can’t be colonized.
What can’t be bottled, branded, and sold back to you in a box.
And the sickest part?
You know it.
You know it deep in your spirit.
So your dream is to erase us.
To silence us.
To whitewash the world and pretend you’re the origin.
I Wanted Freedom. You Wanted Control.
That’s where we differ.
Because I want to live free.
I want to raise my children without fear.
I want to believe that maybe—just maybe—truth will matter more than tradition.
But that hope faded when I fell down this rabbit hole and read that comment section.
Let’s say, just for argument’s sake, that you could erase us.
You’d still be empty.
You’d be living in a world full of:
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Bland traditions
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Tasteless chicken
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Dry-ass rice cakes
No flavor.
No rhythm.
No source.
No soul.
Just saltiness.
Just colorless.
Just cold.
And still?
You’d invent new ways to steal.
Because that’s what you do.
That’s what cancer does. It robs people of life.
We Were the Key, Not the Curse
You act like we are the curse.
But we’ve been the key.
We gave you:
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Direction
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Light
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Warmth
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Knowledge
And in return?
You gave us whips.
You gave us cages.
You built systems to keep your foot on our neck and your hands in our pockets.
You Don’t Get to Call Us the Threat
And still…
You call us the animals.
You call us the savages.
You call us lazy.
Violent.
Dangerous.
A threat.
You sure about that?
Let’s talk about real savagery.
Not the kind you project onto us.
Not the tired-ass stereotypes you recycled from slave ledgers and propaganda films.
Not your cartoonish fear of Black skin.
Let’s talk about your documented brutality.
Your inhumanity.
Your bloodlust.
Your rituals.
The Original Savage
Let’s talk about your family album—not the sanitized one.
Let’s talk about what really built this country:
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Barbecues beneath hanging Black bodies
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Children eating ice cream while watching men choke to death
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Babies learning to clap as the rope snapped
These weren’t secrets.
They were celebrations.
The term picnic?
Even if the etymology is debated, the events are not.
“Pick a n*gga” was a practice.
Gather the town.
Choose a Black body.
Mutilate it.
Eat. Watch. Cheer.
Then go to church.
This is America’s photo album.
This is what you don’t want to pass down—so instead, you pass down silence.
Those smiling children on lynching postcards?
They grew up.
They had children.
Their children had children.
Now they’re:
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Lawmakers
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Judges
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Bankers
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Real estate agents
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Teachers
And they brought those same smiles into systems designed to lock us out—or lock us in.
Cannibalism. Yes, Really.
Let’s talk about the things you call “too far”:
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Rape farms
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Buck breaking
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Cannibalism
Yes, I said it.
Cannibalism.
You boiled Black bodies into oil.
You called us seasoned.
You used our skin for:
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Belts
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Wallets
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Trophies
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Lampshades
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Purses
You used the Bible to bless it.
You made our bones part of your furniture.
You consumed our flesh and called it progress.
And don’t act shocked.
Because some of those “souvenirs” are still kept in private collections.
The Slaveholder’s Church
Let’s talk about your religion.
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You beat Jesus into our backs
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You justified bondage with Scripture
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You twisted love into chains
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You built churches beside plantations and called them holy
The same police departments evolved from slave patrols.
The same prisons profit from our pain.
The same lawmakers benefit from our silence.
This isn’t just history.
This is now.
The Business of Bodies
America built an empire on Black suffering and white sanctimony:
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Jim Crow wasn’t a fluke. It was a business model.
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COINTELPRO wasn’t protection. It was surveillance.
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Redlining wasn’t a policy. It was a prison without bars.
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Gentrification is just modern-day expulsion dressed in Whole Foods and yoga studios.
They criminalized poverty, weaponized opportunity, and then blamed us for not surviving what they built to break us.
“Pull yourself up by your bootstraps,” they said—
after they stole the boots, burned the straps, and sold the dirt we were standing on.
You rigged the housing market.
You denied loans.
You erased our neighborhoods and then said we “don’t take care of our communities.”
And while we were trying to survive, you curated an image:
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Money. Cars. Sex. Violence.
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Projected. Packaged. Profited from.
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And then thrown back at us as “Black culture.”
You made us into a brand, then accused us of selling out.
While you held the pen,
we were trapped in the ink.
This isn’t just systemic.
This is spiritual crucifixion.
And the Bible was your blade.
You fed us scriptures about discipline and obedience—
While poisoning our water, bankrupting our banks, and
building prisons faster than schools.
Crucifixion Without the Cross
They preach resurrection but refuse to practice repentance.
They quote Christ while recreating Golgotha in boardrooms, policies, classrooms, and comment sections.
They built the tomb and then mocked us for not rising fast enough.
They sealed the stone—and called it law.
“He is Risen,” they shout…
…with knees still on our necks.
You read from a Bible you’ve never understood.
If you had, you’d know:
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You don’t get resurrection without repentance.
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You don’t get Easter while keeping others buried.
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You don’t get to quote Jesus while crucifying His children.
This isn’t Christianity.
It’s a cult of comfort, cloaked in scripture.
You built the altar of oppression and sacrificed us on it.
You made Jesus a brand—blessing bombs and bank accounts.
If He walked into your churches today, He wouldn’t kneel next to your hypocrisy.
He’d flip the tables—again.
You made God in your image:
White. Male. Violent. Capitalist.
And you dressed it up in pastels for Easter Sunday.
The Stench of Easter Sunday
You dressed up today like the blood ain’t on you.
Pressed collars. Pastel lies.
But beneath the silk and shine?
You reek.
Of death.
Of denial.
Of desecration.
You don’t wear righteousness.
You wear the same stench your ancestors bathed in.
And not even your prettiest lies can cover that smell.
Why Y’all Hate Wokeness
This is why you birthed the anti-woke movement—
because if people really woke up?
They’d see you for what you are:
White devils in church clothes.
Still driving nails.
Still piercing flesh.
Still calling it holy.
You didn’t come to worship Him.
You worship power.
You worship whiteness.
You worship yourself.
And now?
There’s no hiding anymore.
Saints in Suits, Devils in Silence
But I would be remiss if I failed to mention the silent ones.
The white people who say they’re not racist,
but treat racism like it’s some distant disease—
not something infecting their families, classrooms, or dinner tables.
The ones who whisper “that’s a shame” when they see a murder on the news,
but never raise their voice.
The ones who scroll past injustice like it’s a commercial break.
The ones who show up to protests for the photo,
but not for the fight.
They say “I have Black friends” like it’s a shield.
They shout “I’m an ally,”
but couldn’t name a single policy they’ve challenged.
They sleep with Black people.
Dance to our music.
Wear our culture like costume jewelry—
But won’t say a damn word in a room full of their own.
And while I’m naming things for what they are?
This message ain’t just for the loud white nationalists with shaved heads and tiki torches.
This is for the quiet tumors—
The whisper in the boardroom.
The pause in the courtroom.
The shrug in the classroom.
The silence that kills louder than bullets.
Where are you when the conversations get uncomfortable?
Where are you when the bills are passed,
when the history gets erased,
when the school boards start banning the truth?
Where are you when we say,
“We can’t breathe”…
and your only answer is a repost?
You were out marching when they came for your guns,
your money,
your freedom.
But where were you when they came for our bodies?
You were absent.
You Can’t Inherit Silence and Call Yourself Innocent
You marched for your freedom
when they came for your guns,
your tax breaks,
your bank accounts—
But where were you when they came for our bodies?
You filled the streets for your “liberty,”
yet stayed home when they murdered George Floyd.
You were neutral when they hunted Ahmaud Arbery.
You were absent when they killed Breonna Taylor.
You were silent in the face of centuries.
Because for you, this has never been about humanity—
It’s about inconvenience.
You don’t want to lose followers.
You don’t want tension at dinner.
You don’t want discomfort in your social circles.
So you stay still.
You stay soft.
You stay “unbothered.”
And you call that peace?
But Neutrality is Not Peace
Silence is not solidarity.
Allyship is not aesthetics.
You are the soundtrack to oppression—
the background noise to centuries of screaming.
And you will answer for your stillness.
Because in the kingdom you claim to believe in?
Lukewarm gets spit out.
Save your “I’m not racist.”
Save your “I have Black friends.”
Save your excuses and empty hashtags.
You are not the solution.
You are the spreading.
You are the shrug after a murder.
You are the pause before the verdict.
You are the comment section
that keeps these systems alive.
You Are the Rot
Y’all are the cancer in society.
Not just the ones waving Confederate flags.
I’m talking about the quiet tumors—
the apathy,
the blind spots,
the moral cowardice
that keeps systems intact.
You are loud when it benefits you.
Quiet when it requires sacrifice.
Energy doesn’t lie.
And your energy?
Reeks of entitlement and empty virtue.
Kill Your Apathy. Crucify Your Pride.
Technology has evolved faster than our empathy.
Our phones are smarter than our souls.
We can build AI—but can’t confront our Apathy Index.
I keep asking:
Where is your collective growth as human beings?
Because the Jesus you claim to follow wouldn’t be
found in the comment sections.
He wouldn’t wave flags of hate
or weaponize scripture
to condemn others.
He would flip your tables again.
You cannot inherit stolen land,
stolen wealth,
and stolen silence—
and still call yourself innocent.
You are either part of the change
or part of the infection.
There is no neutral in a system built on blood.
The Trumpet Is Sounding
When that trumpet sounds,
it won’t be subtle.
It won’t be symbolic.
It will split the sky like a judgment call—
and every last one of you
who hid behind white tears,
silence,
performative allyship,
and generational privilege
will be seen
exactly for what you are.
There won’t be a backroom deal waiting.
No political favor to call in.
No private apology that saves you.
No statement to clean it up.
No PR spin to rebrand your evil as ignorance.
You will not negotiate your way out of this.
You cannot Bitcoin or trade your way into heaven.
You cannot write a check
with the blood-soaked wealth your family built
and expect it to count as repentance.
You don’t get to come to the altar
with your hands stained
and expect to be washed clean.
You are not misunderstood.
You are manufactured.
You were built to benefit from this rot.
And instead of tearing it down,
you preserved it.
You upheld it.
You passed it on
like a family heirloom—
stitched into your DNA
and baked into your systems.
You knew.
And you didn’t care.
You are not confused. You are complicit.
The disease you carry?
It didn’t just kill bodies.
It killed spirit.
It devoured empathy.
It infected every institution,
every policy,
every pulpit you claimed was holy.
You’ve turned crosses into weapons.
You’ve turned the Bible into a business.
And now you want salvation today of all days?
No.
You will not rise with the meek.
You will not ascend on the backs of those you’ve crucified.
You will sit with the lies you inherited
and the truth you avoided.
You will choke on the smoke of what you built.
Because when the sky cracks
and justice shows up—
not the soft kind you’re used to,
but the kind that’s fire and sword—
you’ll finally meet the Jesus you never knew.
And He won’t recognize you.
He is going to give you the staple Black folks side eye…
look you up and down,
smack his teeth,
and keep it moving.
Jesus won’t look at you with mercy.
He will look at you like a stranger—
because that’s what you are to Him.
He will not know you.
You will inherit what you built.
The hell you made for us… reversed.
And that stone you love to roll away on Easter?
You won’t move it this time.
You are the digital manifestation of spiritual rot.
You are not children of God.
You are agents of something much darker.
And no cross
can cover that stench.
That Stone Will Not Move For You
You will circle it.
You will sit on it.
It will sit in you.
A weight in your chest.
A rot in your soul.
A reminder, permanent and heavy,
of your inhumanity.
There will be no white light.
Only the fire you fed.
Only the God you thought was yours—
turning His back.
I will remember you.
Not to honor you.
To remind the world what you really were.
A people so far gone, your humanity decayed in plain sight.
Eyes wide open—soulless.
Smiling through the genocide.
Singing through the slaughter.
Loving a Savior you’d kill again tomorrow.
You are not chosen.
You are not holy.
You are not misunderstood.
You are exactly what history says you are—
and worse.
No Prayers, No Pulpits, No Redemption
I won’t curse you.
You did that to yourselves.
I won’t save you.
You never wanted saving.
I won’t speak for you.
Only of you.
You had your time.
You had your chance.
You had generations to choose humanity—
and you walked straight into hell instead.
And now?
You will stay there.
Not just metaphorically.
Not someday.
Now.
Right now.
This world—the one you created with blood and chains and lies—
is yours.
You don’t rise.
You don’t get redemption.
You don’t get another story.
You live in the rot you passed down.
You breathe the smoke you lit.
You raise your children in the decay you defended.
And when your time runs out—
there is no daddy in the sky for you.
Only ash.
So sit in it.
Comment Sections Are Receipts
The comments on that post?
Proof.
Proof that even in this so-called “progressive” age,
white people still can’t hide their disdain for our existence.
And don’t get me wrong—
some of you genuinely care.
Some of you fight the good fight.
But the silence of your peers?
It’s louder than your hashtags.
It’s uncanny how all of this unfolded while I was in the middle of building Kings Unchained—
a space for healing, for love, for light.
I wasn’t looking to fall down this rabbit hole.
I didn’t plan to end up wading through the digital sewage of white supremacy.
But I did.
And once I saw it?
I couldn’t unsee it.
I stumbled across it
while trying to build something rooted in legacy, wholeness, and truth.
And instead, I landed in the filth—
where thousands of people gather, spew hate, organize harm, and make their plans plain.
It wasn’t just a glimpse.
It was a plunge into the ugliest parts of humanity.
It was a mirror held up to every lie this country tells about progress.
And it lit a fire in me that will never go out.
I’m not afraid of consequences.
Be damned the cost.
I will not be silent.
I will not dress up my voice to make it easier to swallow.
I will not compromise truth to protect anyone’s comfort.
If you felt repulsed by what you read here—good.
If your spirit was disturbed—you’re supposed to be.
Because that means something in you
still feels.
That means
you haven’t gone numb.
Why I Created Kings Unchained
This whole experience reminded me why I created Kings Unchained in the first place.
Because our people are asleep.
Spiritually sedated.
Distracted by gossip.
Divided by gender wars.
Seduced by vanity metrics and trends.
We’re living in a “They Cloned Tyrone” reality—
where they’ve figured out how to keep us sedated
with laughter, fake beef, podcasts full of nothing,
and trauma looping through our algorithms like background music.
Where rage and self-hate walk beside us like cousins.
Where abandonment is normalized.
Where competition is manufactured.
Where ego thrives while love stays silent.
These are the viruses.
The spiritual ones.
And they are winning.
We’re watching the blueprint of white dominance play out in real time,
and too many of us are arguing over breadcrumbs
instead of realizing the whole damn system is trying to erase us.
Meanwhile, the same white supremacists I just exposed in these pages?
They’re organizing.
Planning.
Funding.
Vision boarding.
Lobbying.
Recruiting.
Arming.
They’re praying to a God they’ve made in their image—
not for deliverance, but for domination.
And while they prepare for war,
we’re still arguing over:
-
who leads
-
who submits
-
who pays for dinner
-
who’s being “too sassy”
What I saw was not of God.
It was a spiritual sickness.
A digital demonic possession hiding behind avatars and American flags.
Let’s get to the root—
because if we want to break the soil,
make it fertile for renewal and healthy growth,
we have to dig deeper.
We don’t have time.
If we do not come together—
not in image, but in spirit—
we will lose the very foundation we’re trying to save.
If our men do not rise into their role—
not as kings in name only,
but as builders, protectors, lovers, healers—
we will remain fractured.
And the system doesn’t even have to kill us.
It’ll just sit back
and watch us do what it already trained us to do—
kill each other.
✊🏽 To Black Men: Your Apathy Is Not Neutral
To Black men—if you’re reading this:
your apathy is not neutral.
It is agreement.
Every time you shrug.
Every time you say, “that’s just how it is.”
Every time you stay silent, disconnected, emotionally unavailable—
You are participating in the continued mistreatment of your own people.
You are standing in agreement with a world that sees you as disposable.
That’s why I built Kings Unchained—
Because I need you awake.
I need you whole.
I need you present.
For yourself.
For us.
For the generations coming behind us.
💔 To My Black Women: You Are Not Built to Endure Everything
And to my Black women—
this world treats you like collateral damage.
You carry the rage.
You carry the grief.
You carry the families.
You carry everyone but yourself.
And still, they mock your pain and fetishize your power.
You are not invisible.
You are not built to endure everything and rest in nothing.
Your voice belongs in the reckoning too.
You don’t have to be everything.
You just have to be you—and that’s enough.
Kings Unchained stands with you too,
because our healing won’t happen without you in the circle.
Whole. Heard. Held.
The world already hates us.
That’s not news.
The question is—
Do we love each other enough to fight back with unity?
Not lip service.
Not reposts.
Not trends.
Real. United. Love.
The kind that calls each other in.
That protects without performative politics.
That stops making enemies out of each other while the real ones stay protected.
Until we love each other enough to fight for one another like our lives depend on it—
because they do—
we will stay fractured.
And fractured people can’t fight back effectively.
⚠️ To White People Reading This—Yes, I’m Talking to You
If you claim righteousness,
If you claim decency,
If you claim Christ…
Then sit with this history.
Stop hiding behind the shield of ignorance.
Look your ancestors’ sins in the face—and do better.
Tell your children the truth.
Break your silence before it breaks what’s left of your soul.
You are not exempt because you “didn’t do it.”
You benefit from what was done.
And you are responsible for what you allow.
✝️ If You Truly Believe in Resurrection…
Then start by unearthing the truth.
Start by breaking the systems your comfort depends on.
Start by joining the work—not performing the guilt.
Then kill what lives in you.
Dig it out from the root.
Pull it from the soil like the rot it is.
Not rebrand it.
Not pray over it.
Not dress it up in diversity and inclusion.
Kill it.
Only then can you talk about rising.
Only then can you even look resurrection in the face.
Because until then,
You don’t walk among the righteous.
You walk as agents of the Devil, posing as saints.
There Is No Neutral in a System Built on Blood
Is today not about resurrection?
This is your resurrection too.
And no true rebirth comes without accountability.
Until then, stop calling yourself allies.
You are witnesses.
And a witness who refuses to testify
is no better than the killer who pulled the trigger.
If it makes you uncomfortable—good.
If it repulses you—better.
And to those of you reading this—whether you agree or not—if you felt anything,
that means the truth touched something inside you.
Sit with that.
Let it disturb you.
Let it rearrange something.
Because silence won’t save you.
Comfort won’t cleanse you.
And neutrality will rot you from the inside out.
This Ain’t for Likes—It’s for Legacy
I didn’t write this to make friends.
I didn’t write this for your likes or your approval.
I wrote this because my spirit couldn’t stay quiet.
I wrote this because truth deserves oxygen.
I wrote this because our people deserve more than recycled suffering and digital death scrolls.
And if this piece opened your eyes to anything at all—
then it did what it was supposed to do.
Resurrect your humanity.
The Conversation Doesn’t End Here
If you’re ready to go deeper—
listen to this season of the Momba Raw and Unfiltered Podcast,
🎧 Kings Unchained: Stories of Struggle, Survival, and Triumph.
Join the conversation that:
-
breaks generational chains
-
delivers the cross and the nails back to the ones who forged them
-
refuses to let white supremacy write the final word
-
still believes in US
We’re not waiting to rise.
We’re already walking out the tomb.
🕊️ Happy Easter.
✊🏾
— Blakkmomba
Master Source Index
Comprehensive citations and external references for topics mentioned in the article.
Frisco Track Meet Incident & Coverage
Psychological & Historical Legacy of Racism
White Supremacist Strategy & Extremism
Historical Savagery: Slavery, Lynchings, Rape Farms
Christianity, Hypocrisy & The Legacy of White Religion
-
Slaveholder Christianity vs. Black Liberation Theology – NPR
-
The Origins of Police – Slave Patrol to Law Enforcement – NAACP
Pop Culture & Symbolic Commentary
The Shot Heard Around the World: What Happens When Empire Shoots Itself in the Neck
