Black Men Protect, inc.

When Angel Reese was traded from Chicago to Atlanta, I had one thought

WNBA players have been pushing the agenda on equity and diversity while juggling underpaid contracts, public scrutiny and the specific violence of being a Black woman in America. image credit: Shutterstock

“And I prefer girls to reign all over the world.” – Lupe Fiasco. 

When Angel was traded from Chicago to Atlanta, the first thought I had was that there should be some Amber-type alert broadcast to all the men of Atlanta with a message so clear it couldn’t be misunderstood. No harm shall come to Angel. No harm, heartbreak or hurt. My second thought was: Black men have done such a horrible job of protecting Black women that any effort to support and enforce the no-harm-to-Angel mandate wouldn’t get anywhere. Black men would scoff at it, and Black women would, rightfully, be skeptical. So the campaign of convincing starts now. 

It would be a covert company of Black men with the sole objective of protection and service to the Black women of the WNBA. Secret Service level protection. Dora Milaje levels of loyalty and, if it comes to it, combat capabilities.

Black men would protect Black women from other Black men (and white men and women.)  What would it take for you to believe that’s even possible? To imagine abracadabra for solidarity. Service without significance. Black women becoming our everything without being required to be our lover, mother, sister, aunt or grandmother first. That’s the ask.

It would be a covert company of Black men with the sole objective of protection and service to the Black women of the WNBA. Secret Service level protection. Dora Milaje levels of loyalty and, if it comes to it, combat capabilities. But also all of the love, community, energy and warmth that’s too often absent from our interactions with Black women. Chefs, drivers, bodyguards, landscapers, electricians, caregivers, accountants, plumbers, doctors, home health aides, assistants… all the various supports these young Black women need, available and offered by Black men who mean it. Not just a job. A duty. An honor. A pilot program, carved out of the chaos of the world, where Black men were in absolute support and service to Black women. Without patriarchy, force, manipulation, coercion, malice, sexism, misogynoir, exploitation, or f*ck boy sh*t. Learning the new responsibilities that allow Black women to shine without being shaded by the hands and bodies reaching towards them. 

The efficacies of young Black women in the WNBA supported by this company of Black men who love basketball and Black women and believe, genuinely, that Black women are the only hope we’ve got. Black men who believe that the leadership of Black women ruptures the only artery still pumping blood to the heart of white supremacy. These young Black women have been at the forefront of labor movements, protests and political campaigns. They’ve been pushing the agenda on equity, inclusion and diversity while juggling overseas seasons, underpaid contracts, public scrutiny and the specific violence of being a Black woman in America. They’ve been doing it without the kind of organized, intentional support I’m describing. That should embarrass us. It embarrasses me.

 Aligning with theory, thought, practices of…the closest things resembling freedom since.

This company of Black men would exist to help alleviate the pressures of professional performance. To remove the burdens placed on these young women who are already thriving under a weight that was never theirs to carry alone. And let’s be clear: the young, Black women of the WNBA don’t need Black men to show up for them in these ways. Not formally. Not as a rescue. This courageous group of Black men would be asking for permission. The ask would look less like “do you need my help” and more like “how can I help” and then actually listen to the answers and doing whatever that is. 

That’s the discipline. That’s the whole thing. 

An act of redemption for Black men. Not because we deserve credit but because Black women deserve to see what right actually looks like. And because somewhere between Lupe’s lyric and Angel’s trade, I need to be part of making that real.