My pussy did not wake up last Saturday morning, put on a pointy pink pussy hat, jump on a train to downtown, to march in the Women’s March. My pussy was fucking scared. Scared that some crazy, redneck motherfucka might-could-more easily pick my Afro-power pussy out of the crowd and clearly know that I was not a Trumper. I was scared that if I took my daughter along, she would be hurt. So I let my pink pussy sisters vet that rally before I exposed me and my baby to some shit I couldn’t handle. Am I proud of that? I’m not sure. But that’s reason #1.
Reason #2, My pussy isn’t pink. All the recent hype about “pussy power” I see... y’all there is a vast difference between White girl pussy and Black woman pussy... and n’er the twain shall meet. I am a little irritated by the new flaunting of White girl pussy power. This is not about bearing the Brazilian-waxed, vaginally enhanced, “wouldn’t-you-just-love-to-fuck-me?”, man manipulating, douched and dipped, Victoria-revealing-all-her-damn-secrets pussy power on parade. My pussy is not pink! It does not wear a pink hat! And while the power of my pussy does emanate from between my ears, it is anything but a pink fad.
The other thing my pussy can do is sniff out pussy that’s passin’. Faking the funk, as it were. Don’t get me wrong. I love that we women are seemingly joining forces. Focusing our pussy power for the greater good of this nation, of this planet. But as a Black woman, I have a hard time identifying with this new trend. What is this new found “pussy power” based on? Because I gotta tell ya, there is not greater power in the universe than pussy power. There is no life without pussy. We slide out at birth and belly crawl back into her at death. Pussy is God. So yes, pussy power can heal and kill and love and roar. Pussy power can stop global warming and AIDS and feed the hungry and stop wars.
But pussy power is not new to Black women! Our pussies have not had the luxury of sitting pretty on a pedestal for all to worship and admire. Homage has not been paid to our pussies. We have not spent inordinate amounts of time plucking and plumping and pruning and polishing up our pussies as the ultimate prize to be rewarded to the victor. No. Black pussies have been under siege. Our pussies have worked and slaved and pulled and hauled. Black pussy has birthed and bled and begged and buried our children. Our pussies have loved and lifted and held and hid our men so deep they are still groping in the dark, trying to find their way out. No, our pussies have not been revered. They’ve been too busy humping and grinding to keep our families, our people alive.
So when I look on at the throngs of women in pink hats, fighting for their rights and talking about pussy power, many of whom have only just recently come into their pussy power, I have a hard time identifying with them. Black women’s pussies have been fighting for our lives. Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful and proud that my White sisters are feeling the power of the pussy, ‘cause that shit is goooood! But this is not a passing fad. To own and hold and harness and direct true pussy power is not for the faint of heart. It’s gonna take Amazon warrior pussy to bring about change.
I hope this new movement will not make blind assumptions that all pussies are alike and therefore united. Because our pussies, Black pussies, have been on the front line for a very long time. And we have not been flaunting her or wearing hats on her, or hashtagging her, or hanging slogans out of her. We have quietly and powerfully been honing and harnessing our pussy power to do the work. Unlike the Suffragette Movement which was created to insure the rights of white women, this political climate requires conscious inclusion. It will not survive the hubris, entitlement, and ignorance still prevalent in the dominant culture. It would behoove this new “women’s movement” to consciously expand its awareness to consult and include black women. The Power of the Pussy is in our DNA. Black Pussy Matters.
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