Two Things for Sure
The BAFTAs tried it and none of us should have it.

Welcome to Witness, a reader-supported publication where I write in the traditions of Black resistance, survival, and truth-telling in an age of artistic and political suppression, and rampant deception. If you find something of value here, please consider becoming a paid subscriber if you can afford to do so. I know times are hard as fuck since Trump and MAGA’s policies have raised costs and prices across the board. So, if you can’t, you can’t. I still appreciate you and I’m still glad you’re here. Thank you.
One
I have a disability. I have MS. One time, an MS flare-up made it so that I walked with a severe limp. My walking became very unsteady.
That day, I was walking to the train station and I bumped into this gentleman because I temporarily lost my balance. I nearly knocked him over. I immediately apologized. He asked me if I was okay. I explained what happened and he told me don’t even worry about it. He asked me if I needed any assistance and when I said no, he said take care of yourself and went on about his business.
I didn’t apologize for having MS or being disabled, neither of which I have control over. I apologized because my actions caused harm and offense. I apologized because it was the right and respectful thing to do. I apologized because even with my disability, I’m still part of the human family, and, this is important: I acknowledge the humanity of others. I apologized because my disability doesn’t make me special, doesn’t shield me from responsibility or make me exempt from accountability. It doesn’t place me on a pedestal above all others or make it so that the rules of common decency apply to everyone except me.
Imagine how that shit would have gone down had I decided that I didn’t have to apologize because I have a chronic illness. Nearly knock a Brother over, look at him, and then keep on pumping because I’ve decided that since it was my disability that made me bump into him in the first place, there’s nothing to apologize for. And further, I’ve decided that anyone who told me that I should apologize is ableist. Then, if that man would’ve gotten up and punched me in my damn face, I would’ve had the audacity to cry victim.
That’s that BULLSHIT.
I know this is going to piss people off because hit dogs surely holler, but I don’t give a fuck: I hate with a passion what the Internet and social media have done with identity politics; how they have taught people how to weaponize identities in order to avoid criticism and ESPECIALLY avoid accountability; how they have facilitated the use of identity as a strategy to pose as “the best and purest victim” and, therefore, believe ourselves to always be above reproach and never, ever a victimizer. The Internet and social media have amplified one big—and very tired—game of Oppression Olympics. And as I have said before, Oppression Olympics are a booby trap if ever there was one. What kind of fool wants to be the most oppressed? Do folks really believe sympathy is the silver medal for that? Do we think relief is the gold? History is evidence of the contrary.
The Internet and social media have been nothing but an obstacle to what all of us really need, and that’s healing. Toni Cade Bambara said it best in The Salt Eaters:
“Are you sure, sweetheart, that you want to be well?
I like to caution folks, that’s all.
No sense us wasting each other’s time, sweetheart.
A lot of weight when you’re well.
Just so’s you’re sure, sweetheart, and ready to be healed, cause wholeness is no trifling matter. A lot of weight when you’re well.”
I’m convinced that, no, most people are, in fact, anything but sure. So many “perfect” people out here in these streets, digital or otherwise; very few human beings.
And the proof is in the discourse.
Two
My Brother David Dennis succinctly breaks shit down in the video above about that anti-Black BAFTA incident that was televised the other night, where, as my Sister Brooke Obie made plain, BAFTA and the BBC managed to censor a young Black man saying “Free Palestine,” but saw fit to allow Mr. Davidson’s slur to air in its entirety.
And while there’s all of this extremely performative hand-wringing and the dying on of hills about protecting Mr. Davidson from the apparently too-degrading act of apology, according to his own film, apologizing for a tic deemed offensive isn’t outside the realm of possibility. In the critically acclaimed I Swear, the character representing Mr. Davidson says “Fuck the queen!” to Queen Charlotte’s great-great-great-great-granddaughter Queen Elizabeth II, and immediately apologizes to the queen and everyone else within earshot.
Therefore, the question remains: What’s so different about Mr. Jordan and Elder Lindo that suddenly makes an apology burdensome, outrageous, unnecessary, and ableist?
I don’t have to tell you because you already know.
To my Brother David’s and my Sister Brooke’s testimonies, I would like to add this:
Going forward, no Black person—especially if you are a self-respecting Black person—should ever attend any BAFTA event or accept any BAFTA award again; no matter the pressure, the potential “exposure,” or the alleged prestige associated with doing so.
Pointing out the unfairness or the hypocrisy of white supremacy isn’t, and has never been, enough. We already know that if it was a Black man with Tourette’s syndrome in that audience and he shouted a slur at non-Black presenters onstage, he would have been immediately sanctioned and forced to apologize. It’s safe to say that the response wouldn’t have been him being defended, empathized with, sympathized with, coddled, or treated as though he were the victim. No. What would have happened is that we would be told how his disability was no justification for his behavior and that very aspect of his identity would have been weaponized against him. We’ve seen that happen countless times before.
White supremacists don’t mind being hypocrites at all. In fact, they get a kick out of the anger and frustration we exhibit when they create rules, break them, and then turn around demand that we abide by the very rules they broke. That paradigm (them breaking the rules and us following them) assures them of their power. They know that all we’re going to do is be angry and frustrated and then, next year, show right up at the scene of the crime again to prove that our anger and frustration are both meaningless and toothless, and that they were right in believing that there’s no level of disrespect they could display that would get us to finally respect ourselves.
We have to do it differently, Fam.
They have to be made to feel what it means to be denied our presence and our artistic genius. And they must be made to know what price is to be paid when they dare to treat us with hostility. It’s way past time that we stopped giving credence to the idea that we need their co-sign to be considered legitimate at our crafts anyway.
I advocate removing ourselves from all of their shit. Let’s take our fucking ball and go the fuck home. Do not watch or patronize their self-congratulatory events. Period. The end. Let’s start weening ourselves off of our whiteness-validation addictions.
Unless it’s a strategy about divestment, I really don’t want to hear shit else about BAFTA or any other white supremacist organization.
It’s time to leave them behind.
Let’s build our own shit, make it meaningful, and celebrate ourselves. ✊🏾



