The White Man Ain’t Gonna Let You

How many times have we heard that refrain?
“You know how the White man is…”
“The system.”
“They ain’t gonna let you…”

This morning, while on my run, I started thinking about the mythology of The White Man.

Not just a person, but a concept. A god-like figure in American folklore. All-knowing. All-powerful. All up in your business.

On this spiritual and ancestral journey I’m on, I keep picking up breadcrumbs—and those crumbs are the pathology of whiteness. The made-up construct of “white.”

I’m not going to get into Carl Linnaeus, Friedrich Blumenbach, or Samuel George Morton today. If you’re curious, pick up a crumb and take your own walk down the rabbit hole. But understand this: whiteness is a costume. A performance. A weaponized invention.

So where did this all-seeing, all-controlling White Man come from?

The quick answer: slavery.
The deeper truth: a multi-layered system built on colonialism, capitalism, and Christianity—each one reinforcing the next. The plantation wasn’t just a field; it was a framework. Oppression wasn’t just physical—it was theological, intellectual, and generational.

And here’s the wild part:

Today’s Republicans are hollering about men in wigs and dresses—
but men in wigs wrote the Constitution.
Men in wigs owned human beings.
Men in wigs laid the foundation for this country.

Back then, wigs and makeup weren’t scandalous—they were status.
Power powdered itself white.

Now they weaponize drag queens as proof of “moral decay” during Pride Month—
while ignoring the lace, rouge, and pantaloons of the so-called Founding Fathers.
Men in dresses were never the problem.
Men in power who hide behind God and tradition always have been.

And let’s not forget, these “Founding Fathers”?
As Dr. Greg Carr calls them: fleeing felons.
Running from debts, monarchs, and prosecution—
and running straight into stolen land, then calling it destiny.

Maybe their ancestors were gladiators and knights once, but hand-to-hand combat became long-distance warfare.

If I can shoot you from 100 yards—or drop a bomb from 30,000 feet—I don’t need to be physically superior anymore.
The stronger, darker body becomes the savage.
The killer in uniform becomes “civilized.”

“We can go toe to toe in the middle of a cell.”
— N.W.A.

Spiritually? The marketing was masterful.
Make all other gods false.
Make all other beliefs evil.
Erase your ancestors.
Then give you one god—
make his son and his crew whiter than the driven snow.

Wrap it all in scripture.
Paint heaven white and make hell Black.
Make salvation pale and fear full of melanin.
And suddenly whiteness ain’t just skin—it’s sanctified.

So no—the White man ain’t gonna let you realize you hold the power.
Ain’t gonna let you know that you’re the Global Majority.
Ain’t gonna let you trace your lineage before the Bible.
Ain’t gonna let you know we are dominant, they are recessive.
That Black is the origin, not the mutation.
That without our rhythm, our gods, our culture—they’d be hollow.

They ain’t gonna let you remember the truth.
They ain’t gonna let you study your pre-slavery self.
They ain’t gonna let you know your ancestors built pyramids, not just picked cotton.

Because if you ever really knew who you were…
If we ever really remembered who we’ve always been—
The myth would collapse.

And so would the man.