Still Hanging From The Cross: The Resurrection they Preach But Refuse To Practice

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 or to defend. But to disrupt. To remind them—and maybe even some of you—that this isn’t new. It’s a recycled ancient 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 audacity 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. Plainly.

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. 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 where 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: Superiority complexes. Projection. Delusion. 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.

So just stop with all the 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 and shame the devil, 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 by the police. 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, one 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 and I do too. It’s written in every timeline. Every article. Every selective GoFundMe. Every whisper in courtrooms. Every shrug on Capitol Hill.

What's understood don't need to be said. 

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 or threatens your privileges. 

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 to you. 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 or the deeply 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 in our natural state.

We become the threat for daring to exist too loudly. For grieving too publicly. For being too confident, too Black, too proud. Every single thing we do, you crash out.

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 rage when a someone's child was hunted and his killers walked free?

I didn’t see your timelines flooded with anger then. I didn’t hear your tears. I didn’t hear your prayers. Why? Because that rage you conjure up on cue is 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.

Not on my watch.

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 dots with my Facebook investigative skills. And I didn’t just find a comment section, I found a damn rabbit hole. A deeper one that was more sinister than expected. More organized. More connected. Not just hate. Strategy. What I stumbled upon was something darker than I imagined. Something closer to the nine layers of hell—Except it was Facebook.

Public.

Proud.

Cleanly designed.

Polished sleekly 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 'white Christian nationalism' (Update as of 4/21/2025: that number has now climbed past 15,000).

Let’s call a spade a spade, okay?

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.

But they don’t want equality, do they?

They want power back. Not shared. Not diverse. Back. 'Back' as in, "back in the hands of strong, white, rich men."

Their words. Not mine.

Let that sit.

Not Just Trolls, They’re Your Coworkers

Can we all please stop pretending these are just 'internet trolls' and say what they are plainly?

These are:

• Police officers

• Nurses

• Sunday school teachers

• Real estate agents

• Little League coaches

• Judges

• Your manager

• Your neighbor

• 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. Existing somewhere between religious fervor and sexual excitement—at the idea of mass Black extermination. Of 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 legally?

Yeah. That’s the “again” in “Make America Great Again.” And now?

They have a political machine behind them:

• The Heritage Foundation

• Project 2025

• Tech billionaires

• Trump

• Elon Musk

• And an entire blueprint for dictatorship masquerading as “policy reform.”

They want to rewrite the Constitution—not to protect freedom or liberty, but to secure dominion over the world. Over HUEmans.

We Were 3/5ths Then. What Are We Now?

Let us not forget Collective:

The Constitution once wrote Black people as 3/5ths of a human. Subhuman.

The Three-Fifths Compromise – National Archives

That was our legal status.

And now they want to return to that time with updated branding, better marketing, and more efficient systems of control.

And don’t act surprised. You were warned. We were all warned. Before the elections. Before January 6th. Before the TikToks, tweets, and 'Truth' Socials. They told us exactly what they planned to do:  Create a straight line from slavery to surveillance. From lynchings to legislation. From rape and breeding farms to Epstein islands and mega prison camps.   But most of y’all stayed silent. Most of you were passive. Some of you even voted for it—thrice—or “couldn’t bring yourselves” to vote against it.

And now look.

The very systems you depended on—federal jobs, Social Security, Medicare, Healthcare, SNAP—are all being targeted for deletion, and suddenly you’re scared? Suddenly, you’re awake?

Funny how your passion for basic HUEman rights 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.

Get the fuck out of here.

Black people, since we stepped foot on this cursed land, 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?

Empire 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. Case and point:

“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. Literally (rest in power George Floyd).

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.

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?

Comical.

Guess what?

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 time 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 our minds. Our muscle. Our medicine. Our bodies. 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, and momentum.

Because we were the flavor.

We were the fire.

We didn’t just season your food—we seasoned your lives. And 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 spark. The source. The soul. The gold standard.

We flavor your economy.

Your style.

Your rhythm.

Your God.

And what did you do?

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. 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 like you do us.

You don’t birth movements. You infect them and then 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 Master race.

It makes you a thief.

A parasite.

A shapeshifter.

But despite your evil designs, the fact remains that without us, there is no you.

Without us, your world collapses.

You can gentrify our neighborhoods, bleach our features, 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 an Amazon 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 are the origin of civilization. Of life.

The biggest origin story fabricated in HIS-story.

Master race my fat Black ass.

All we ever wanted was freedom, where you wanted control.

That’s where we differ. Because we want to live free. We want to raise our children without fear. We want to believe that maybe—just maybe—truth will finally matter more than tradition on this timeline. But that hope faded when I fell down a toxic 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 bland traditions,tasteless chicken, and dry-ass rice cakes. No flavor equals no rhythm. And no source equals 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.

Because for you, nothing has never been about humanity but inconvenience.

You don’t want to lose followers. You don’t want tension at dinner. You don’t want discomfort in your social circles. You don't want to get ridiculed.

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” protestations.

Save your “I have Black friends” declarations.

Save your sorry ass excuses and empty hashtags and "God bless your hearts'"

You are not the solution. You are the plague spreading.

You are the shrug after a murder.
You are the pause before the verdict.
You are the whisper in boardrooms.
You are the comment section that keeps these systems alive.
You are the digital manifestation of spiritual rot.
The cancer in society.

Not just the ones waving Confederate flags and screaming, "Make America great again." I’m talking about you. The quiet tumors. The ones whose apathy, blind spots, and moral cowardice keeps the machinery of empire intact.

You are loud when it benefits you. Quiet when it requires sacrifice.

Energy doesn’t lie.

And your energy?

Stinks of entitlement and empty virtue.

The devil is in the details.

You can’t inherit silence and call yourself innocent.