Black Twitter slaughtered Killer Mike’s mentions and here’s the eulogy

Blessed Lord…

It is not an auspicious occasion that brings us together, but rather that of an untimely and unfortunate death. I’m talking, saints, of the Twitter mentions of one Michael Render, better known by his nom de plume, Killer Mike.

You see, once upon a time not so long ago, Brother Render was one of “us”– a woke Black entertainer; one of few rappers who had the dexterity to spit a mean 16 and get in front of a camera to deliver an interview that’s the polar opposite of the nothingness we gain from your average Migos interview. His vocal support for United States presidential candidate Bernie Sanders was admirable two years ago when Black folks still liked Bernie Sanders.

But, dear congregation, Brother Render lost his way somewhere down the line. At the end of March, he inexplicably sashayed his way onto NRA TV to talk about his love of gun ownership with NRA’s resident Stepin Fetchit, Colion Noir. Apparently, Brother Render did not know that getting on an NRA program at any point – let alone a month after a school shooting with numerous fatalities – was about as wise as hitting up Howard’s homecoming in an “I Can Breathe” shirt.

Despite this faux pas, I do believe that Brother Render had earned enough cachet with Black folks to avoid being forever relegated to the lowest part of the Sunken Place. But, just as we were moving on to the next issue, Brother Render unzipped his track jacket and held it open to take all the bullets like Tony Montana at the end of Scarface. He came for Joy-Ann Reid, MNSBC host and Black Girl Magic incubator. 

You see, beloveds, conventional wisdom in 2018 dictates that it was a consummately stupid idea for Brother Render to bring up the fact that he sat his happy ass down with the NRA in a defensive manner. When you mess up and the public comes for your head, the goal is to make them forget. Reid could post a picture on Instagram draped head to foot in the latest in Make America Great Again couture and the smart move would’ve been for him to chill in the cut.

But the fact that Brother Render was incorrect in his assumption that Reid and company were draped in the shamed H&M brand – and that Reid baked him like a well-seasoned snapper filet – was just the bucket of gasoline that Black Twitter needed to start the raging fire it starts best. Only the people who paid for the Run the Jewels deluxe edition had any time for his inevitable apology.

That apology was not enough for Black Twitter. Brother Render’s mentions didn’t have the benefit of an easy death – they looked like the guy who’s tortured in every Quentin Tarantino film before being put out of his misery. Dude’s mentions were waterboarded. They were in direct violation of the United Nations’ Convention Against Torture (UNCAT).

Essentially, what happened here, y’all, is that Brother Render was still a tad butthurt at the fact that Reid jumped in on his public flogging from last month. So like a child swiveling next to Double Dutch ropes, he was just waiting for his turn to jump in and clap back at Reid.

Of course, he then promptly tripped over the ropes, crashed to the concrete and got them tangled around his ankles. Now, Brother Render has been relegated to the Island of Misfit Negroes with the likes of Stacey Dash, Ben Carson and others whom we’d only consider letting back to the cookout on a probationary basis with no benefits or 401(K) options.

Saints, when the white dude in your rap duo comes off more sensible than you’ve been as of late, it’s time to take a nap and reevaluate a great many things. If Run the Jewels has a public relations specialist, they either wrote a note of resignation this weekend or hopped from the top of a building.

Brother Render just joined a long, but far from elite, group of people who were much better served putting their devices down, closing their laptops, and shutting the f— up. He wasn’t the first, and the mere existence of the internet dictates he’ll be far from the last.

So, help us, we pray, in the midst of things we cannot understand, to believe and trust in the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, and the belief that Killer Mike will run his jewels far away from us for a while.

Amen.

Dustin J. Seibert is a native Detroiter living in Chicago. Miraculously, people have paid him to be aggressively light-skinned via a computer keyboard for nearly two decades. He loves his own mama slightly more than he loves music and exercises every day only so his French fry intake doesn’t catch up to him. Find him at his own site, wafflecolored.com.