Decepticons of Leadership: The False Prophets of Black Liberation
The truth? These were not messengers, they were managers.
They wore suits like armor, stood on stages like altars, and spoke with the swagger of saviors. But when the smoke cleared and the sermons ended, nothing moved but our emotions. These men, Al Sharpton, Louis Farrakhan, and Cornel West, weren’t leading us out of bondage. They were preaching us deeper into it. With every rally, every quote, and every carefully curated moment of “Black unity,” they fed us illusion over liberation. The truth? These were not messengers, they were managers. Not builders of freedom, but brokers of compliance. And while they stood shoulder to shoulder, crowned by applause, it was Black women they stepped over to get there. This is not an attack, it’s a revelation. And today, the veil gets torn.
For decades, these men have been canonized as cornerstones of the so-called “movement.” But their leadership has always been performative, patriarchal, and pre-approved by the very systems they claim to resist. They call it guidance, but it's grooming. They anoint themselves with titles like “Reverend,” “Minister,” and “Doctor,” as if a holy prefix could cover a hollow mission. And still, the people wait. Wait for change that never comes. Wait for justice that never lands. Wait for men who never truly led, only lingered, holding onto microphones like power and stalling revolutions with well-timed speeches. This is the slow death of a people hypnotized by hope.
Preach. Pacify. Perform. Decepticons of Leadership: The False Prophets of Black Liberation)
PREACH.
They preach like pastors.
Not to empower, but to enthrall.
They love a microphone more than they love momentum.
Every speech is a sermon, not a strategy.
And behind the poetic scripture and passionate cadence is a man terrified of losing control especially over the women who see through him.
PACIFY.
They pacify pain with pageantry.
Tell the people, “Stay calm.”
“Wait your turn.”
“God got you.”
Meanwhile, the system is eating us alive and all we get is a goddamn poem and a prayer circle.
They keep rage contained.
Because if we ever act with the same fire we feel, their titles would vanish along with their power.
PERFORM.
Unity is a photo-op.
Marches are emotional cardio.
And every rally is just the next episode in a long-running soap opera where nothing actually changes but the cast keeps clapping.
They perform freedom.
But they never offer a plan for it.
They sell the illusion of movement while standing completely still.
The Women Behind the Struggle (And Beneath the Stage)
While the cameras panned across rows of suited men and the headlines praised unity, Black women stood in the shadows. Unseen. Unnamed. Unacknowledged. They weren’t asked to lead, they were asked to serve. To clean, organize, file, smile, and fall in line. And they did, not because they were weak, but because they were warriors. They carried the children and the chaos. They kept the family, the finances, and the fight afloat. Yet their power was buried under borrowed righteousness and Black patriarchy dressed as salvation.
And let’s talk about the attire.
The women?
Wrapped in conservative long skirts, headscarves, and fabric meant to mute them. Their uniform was a visual muzzle, a symbol of obedience cloaked as holiness. Where was the individuality? The expression? The fire? Stripped. Suppressed. Sanitized. Because a powerful woman with voice and vision is dangerous, especially to men who built entire legacies on being the saviors of the broken.
And the public?
They saw modesty. They saw submission.
But they never saw the machine behind the movement.
The women were the engine, but the men rode the car into fame.
And that, Boo… that’s the real deception.
Farrakhan’s Divine Masculinity: The Grip, The Gown, The Game
Louis Farrakhan didn’t just preach. He performed Godhood. He wrapped himself in divine language, stood tall in tailored suits that blended messiah and mob boss, and turned manhood into a brand, a psychological leash tied to Black male identity. His words were soaked in scripture, but his mission?
Control disguised as consecration.
He positioned himself as the ultimate father figure: stern but loving, righteous but feared. A prophet and protector. But beneath that polished rhetoric was a dangerous ideology , one that demanded obedience, not awakening.
And while Black men rallied around his masculine mystique, women were reduced to garments and guidelines.
You were holy if you were quiet.
Divine if you were covered.
Valued if you served.
His "divine order" was just old patriarchy in a new prayer robe.
Let the Record Show
Let the record show: this isn’t slander, it’s liberation. We aren’t tearing down elders; we’re exposing the architecture of false power. Because if we don’t name the lies, we inherit the legacy. And the legacy these men left behind isn’t freedom it’s performance, patriarchy, and pacification. We march, we chant, we mourn, and they collect the microphone. But not anymore. We are the new frequency. And this time, the voices won’t be male by default, nor muted by tradition. The next chapter belongs to those who build, not those who bluff. And the truth? It’s already here, loud, unapologetic, and led by the very women they tried to leave off stage.
🗣 The Million Man March Revisited…
We ain’t done with the March, not by a long shot.
🛑 In an upcoming full exposé, we’ll break down:
• The myth of “atonement” as revolutionary action
• The emotional manipulation of a generation of fatherless men
• The exclusion of women as a feature, not a flaw
• And how the March served more as a reset button for Black obedience than a movement for liberation
This edition gives the appetizer.
The next will serve the full indictment.
Because the truth is: they marched for manhood, not for freedom.
👀 Stay tuned for Decepticons of Leadership: The False Prophets of Black Liberation, The Million MAN March Revisited!
🔥 #PreachPacifyPerform #MillionManMyth #UnpluggedAndUnbothered