The irony of the black man with his top off - such as almost any black music star you care to mention - is that it doesn't say to me: "Look at this wonderful black man with his six-pack." We were never wanted for our minds, which was why it was illegal to teach slaves to read. We were flesh, a commodity, labour. As today's black man shows off his pride and joy, the modern billboard becomes the equivalent of yesteryear's slave stocks. The tragedy with the flesh doesn't end there. Too many of us are impressed by a black fascism which fails to question the oppressive power structures of idealised family structures or the obsession with genes, blood and national pride.
