Why He Hate Me? A response to the criticism on the treatment of the Black men in Tyler Perry's 'For Colored Girls'

He hate me!
That's why he raped me;
Bloody sheets surround my frame.
Scattered tomorrows adorn my pillow case
soaking away my pain.

He hate me!
That's why he curses my name;
calls out to me "hey bitch" you "my bitch"
and then all the others do the same.

He hate me!
That's why he slays me;
Captures my heart with the ball and chain of his love
Leaving me spellbound he's got me in a trance
and so I run in and out, and in and out of his arms
Catch me, I fall bludgeoned by circumstance.

Yes, He hate me!
That's why I hate me, cut from his cloth
but he's torn from my wound!
No sedative, legs breached and pulled back
I gave birth to my own oppression.

Now these sheets clench my wrists,
white socks choke my ankles.
I'm laying in the dark in a sea of white-
Chalk, doves, and cotton balls
and these sheets-
Oh these sheets remind me of you
remind me of me underneath you on top of me
held down and suppressed by the only one,
the only love that could have loved me best!

-Marissa Calhoun
© 2010


In her article Black Feminism, Tyler Perry Style Salamishah Tillet, of 'The Root' best articulated the significance of the original Shange piece 'For Colored Girls' when she said, "the play's boldness was not simply in its diagnoses of black women blues but in its unwavering belief that black feminism was a viable remedy for those blues." Modern psychology will teach us that one of the most significant parts of the healing process is admission; actually being able to boldly state "this happened to me" and following that statement with some sort of combination of these words: it won't happen again, enough is enough, I'm free! That, for me, is in a nutshell, the overarching message of Shange's work. She teaches us to embrace the whole conversation about black female identity. Even those parts which we might wish to omit in order to maintain some parts of our cerebral sanity. Her work is a guide that scripts our pain into poetry and symbolism making it more tangible and all the more easy for us to swallow.

After watching the "Tyler Perryesque" rendition of Shange's piece I was left to question the condition of my most immediate peer, the Black man. He, who must undoubtedly have thoughts of suicide himself living in a society which constantly hyper-masculinizes his self worth and tramples on his pride. Shange's thoughts and Tyler Perry's undeniably more melodramatic interpretation of her writings must resonate with him in some way. After all, he is my brother and he knows my pain. Its apart of our bond to each other historically,its one we have inflicted on one another in frustration time and time again. Its ours, isn't it?

I was riding home from work late Friday night listening to Jamie Fox Radio on XM Satellite Radio, The Foxxhole. "Zoe", one of the featured commentators on the channel was doing a segment on the portrayal of black males as villains in Hollywood films. I was awestruck by the number of callers who were presumably black males, who felt like the movie 'For Colored Girls' was yet another attack on black male identity. Simply put, the black male callers wanted to know why they always had to be the bad guy. Torn, I understood the plight of the callers. I too, wondered why Denzel's Oscar came for him playing a narcotics detective turned criminal in 'Training Day' and not for 'Ali' or 'Malcom X'. However, similarly I questioned why Halle Berry's Oscar award came for her portrayal of a lost and sexually exploited poor black woman whose "fat son" was killed in 'Monster's Ball' instead of for her work in 'Introducing Dorthy Danridge'.

I had all the questions, and at the same time I knew the answer. It was because they were black. Black actors in Hollywood had to work twice as hard; often paying their dues with a rash of beginner films featuring all black casts and second tier screen play. They told the stories the whole world secretly wanted to hear, but only 3/5th's of the world was willing to watch. Even after the Black man on screen became more than a juggling Sambo and the Black woman put down her mammy cap, they were being backed into the corner of a Hollywood mainstream that couldn't stand to see them smile, unless it was the sly-slick smile of evil.

But even with all of this being true, movies like 'Waiting to Exhale', 'Why Do Fools Fall In Love', 'Beloved', 'The Color Purple', and lastly 'For Colored Girls' did not subject the black man to some level of scrutiny of which he was undeserving. These stories were black stories, things not otherwise written into the discourse of traditional Hollywood cinema; things authored by blacks. Toni Morrison, whose anecdotal commentary on slavery and the burden it bore on black mothers lifted the veil of shame from our grandmothers back. These were stories almost forgotten, but true. Tales of un-sung black artists and musicians Frankie Limon's and Ray Charles's- their struggle to overcome addiction and dim the harsh light of fame.

These were stories that resonated with us; ones we needed to hear in order to know we were normal. Cinematic confessions of our individual truths. Four middle-aged woman thrust themselves into their work and clench the hands of Black sisterhood. Each of them struggling to love apart of themselves and love a man. Savannah, not willing to break the "Real Woman's Credo of Conduct" cardinal rule No. 1: Never Be With A Married Man. Bernidine, left with only an erect thumb by her husband who suddenly decided he had a "thang" for white women. Robin, attracted to men who were free-falling into a sea of hopelessness much like herself but struggling to find some meaning in this thing called life. And, Gloria shocked that the husband and father of her child and the lover she thought she still had was in fact a gay man.

These stories weren't male bashing flights of fantasy. These stories-our stories- were true. For each film I named, accompanying the utter hurt black men inflicted on black woman and vice-versa was a lesson in a mirror held up so that we could all see ourselves. Many of us turned our head; we didn't attend class or we slept our way through. We wouldn't look within the confines of us and our history and move forward. What we saw at first glance scared us. We didn't like seeing ourselves for parts of who we were; not all of who were were but certainly parts of the whole.

For any black man or black woman who watches 'For Colored Girls' and blames Perry for misrepresenting the black male on screen I say, you stand up! If I be the black woman, the black man has raped me, has left me, has hurt me, hast cursed my name, and has loved me all the same and I him. We can't advance our current condition alas we deal with the realities of the past. We have to put it all on the table. The pain alongside the victory and merge together some sort of resolve. If the black man is angry at Tyler Perry for how he portrayed black men in Hollywood, let him be equally as angry with Steven Spielberg and Kevin Macdonald. Because long before Spike Lee and John Singleton ever got the credits to pioneer from the directors chair and later passed the baton to newer black directors like Perry, the black man has been portrayed negatively. Whether a gangster, a slave or "a spook who sat by the door", we and they have shown us you. Some of which may be a negative and demeaning portrayal of black manhood and much of which may be true.

The mirror is waiting.