By Maryam Azeeza Muhammad
I have been reading the names of Karmelo Anthony, Austin Metcalf, Cyrus Carmack-Belton, and Rick Chow on Twitter/X, Instagram, Facebook, and in headlines from various publications online for the last week now. Though I have feelings of horror, anger, and disgust (as many Black people do), I must admit that shock is no longer a factor in my day-to-day range of emotions. I’m ashamed to say that so much disappointment and resentment have made me numb, not in the sense that I do not care, but in the sense that I am fully aware of what this colonial project requires to continue.
African blood must be spilled to keep Amerikkka’s wicked soil fertile. Those who decide not to be blood sacrifices are made an example of for refusing to die. And, before you argue that the EIC of Iansá Magazine is writing articles promoting conspiracy theories, I want you to consider how this parasitic colonial system is directly founded upon our enslavement and death. It was chattel-slave labor that gave birth to what is now the American economy, and it is now slave labor via mass imprisonment that it exists as one of the wealthiest nations on the planet. As Africans, our connection to the American state must either be to provide some form of labor (I won’t even say prison here because all of it is truly carceral) or to give our blood. Those are the options given to us. And, when the state decides your option is “blood,” you are not allowed to resist. You must die swiftly, for the American state (Baal) requires a sacrifice.
I know that last sentence might have made you shiver—either out of confusion, out of anger, or some combination of both.
When an enslaved individual is given a directive and they refuse it by attempting to practice autonomy, they will be made an example of, as they do not want other enslaved people getting any “bright ideas.” What does this have to do with Karmelo? Karmelo refused to be their blood sacrifice. He practiced a form of autonomy, and is now being made an example out of because, one way or another, the colonial state yearns for blood. To be enslaved means not having any say or control over your body. When it is time for a colonized individual to die, they must do so.
For failing to comply, Karmelo Anthony is now a national symbol. His story, similar to that of the Exonerated 5, now represents a moral panic, especially surrounding that of the seemingly “dangerous” young Black male, now viciously branded by the state as the “YN.” While I do not subscribe to the use of the term “YN” at all, I believe that there is a correlation to the idea of the young, autonomous Black male who is labeled as scary, vicious, and even bloodthirsty in the eyes of not only the colonizer but the colonized as well.
To be assigned to a role and not follow through makes one a glitch in the system, a cog in their wheel. I am reminded of the quote from Black Panther Party founder, Dr. Huey P. Newton, “Any time the Black man attempts to change the slave image, he will scare white people.” In this way, the term “YN” can almost mean “Young Neos,” as they see through the colonial matrix and represent a form of refusal-–the autonomous, young Black male.
No, I am not claiming that every young Black male on Amerikkkan soil is inherently a revolutionary (though I do believe all have the potential to be). Not every battle is inherently Karbala. What I am focusing on, though, is autonomy, because they have always feared the autonomous African. The one who insists upon exercising control over his own body, his own destiny, and his own understanding of reality. Not internalizing the slave image is especially heinous.
The maroon.
The runaway.
The rebellious one.
These archetypes must be dealt with if the colonial project wants to survive. For their system to work and the matrix to persist, one must remain docile, non-threatening, and absolutely complicit. We can either choose to buy into their manufactured panic and go with the narrative they hand to us, or we can take the red pill and choose to say no, as the strongest of our ancestors did. The colonial project will always choose blood; it is up to us to choose autonomy. It is time to step out of the matrix, look the empire in its face, and refuse to be its next sacrifice.
Though I have known to become disillusioned on occasion, I am never truly defeated. The blood of the maroon does not know surrender; it only waits for the perfect moment to strike. When our youth practice autonomy, they are not simply choosing to survive; they are acting as the continuation of everything colonialism and its violence failed to destroy.
Perhaps that is what the panic has always been about.
Not violence.
Not unruliness.
Not even crime.
But the possibility that, after centuries of conquest, the autonomous African still exists—and still knows how to say no.
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