Advice on content: please note this piece features language that some may find offensive.

This letter, written in the style of C.S. Lewis's The Screwtape Letters, explores the psychological and cultural battle for the soul of a young black man. It portrays an internal conflict where the patient is caught between negative influences and the empowering legacy of his cultural heritage. The "enemy" mentioned refers to positive influences—the "Griots" are poets, artists, and figures representing Black cultural wisdom and strength (e.g., Tupac Shakur, Maya Angelou). They offer stories and messages that counteract harmful stereotypes and encourage self-worth. On the other hand, "Screwface," the demon-in-training, is tasked with leading the patient toward self-destruction by reinforcing stereotypes, glorifying violence, and promoting self-hate. This is symbolized by negative media influences, societal racism, and cultural degradation. The narrative addresses deep societal issues like systemic racism, the manipulation of media and art, broken masculinity, and the entrapment of individuals through harmful messages. It criticizes how cultural narratives are controlled ("if we control his art, we control his destiny") and manipulated to shape the patient's self-image negatively, leading to violence, addiction, and internalized stereotypes. The letter emphasizes the subtlety of these manipulations, occurring "in the shadows," and warns against the awakening power of true cultural knowledge and wisdom. In essence, the letter is a critique of how systemic forces work to suppress positive identity formation within marginalized communities. It's a call to recognize and resist the harmful narratives perpetuated by society, urging the patient to break free and embrace the empowering stories of their culture and heritage.

Dear Screwface,

I note with great displeasure the news that your patient has been pricked by the sword of the enemy. It is of no surprise we find ourselves at this precipice. After all, this is the first of many rites of passage for both you and your patient. Fortunately, you have many fathers who have sailed similar shores and can guide you in navigating these treacherous storms, while your patient is but a prodigal son, carrying the remnants of prodigal fathers lost at sea.

Your fellow trappers inform me that your patient has been exposed to the stories of the enemy, "The Griots", and has somehow birthed a sliver of hope. He has found a crack from within the concrete and now partly sees himself beyond the stereotypes we have fabricated over centuries in their psyche, since we no longer control with chains and whips, nor in the cotton fields and slave ships, but our work is now underground, in the shadows of minds and hearts.

Nevertheless, adaptation is our greatest strength, as “we commit the oldest kind of sins, in the newest kind of ways.”

I'm sure you felt the stampede of anxiety in your inmost beings, as your patient called himself a “King” yesterday morning. An immense contrast from the habitual “Nigger”. This must be snuffed out immediately! Bring to surface his shortcomings, make sure he finds his sense of self-worth in fleeting, material achievements such as likes on social media and comments on his appearance. Direct his gaze towards expensive clothes, and jewellery as symbols of success, let him place his treasures on items that moths eat.

Do not remain complacent on past victories. Yes, we applaud how you helped your patient discover a hallow masculinity, a cheap yet glittering imitation to the one he so desperately thirsts for, as the "pressing of zombie knives in mahogany flesh" and "triggering of gun" is possibly the best idea, second only to how he calls his women "bitches and hoes" through the music he listens to. You do well to remember our mantra, “If we control his art, we control his destiny.”

This will surely shape his interactions with women, he will view them as trophies, not equals. Less than, and feeble. This is essential to his demise.

Do not forget our trusted ally, the hallucinogenic, becoming his hallelujah, keeping him in a haze. Remind him that smoking weed is his “escape,” a way to cope with the "stress" that life brings, and as he inhales and exhales, he will find himself in hell, trying to exit.

Convince him that to be a man in his world, he must exude the same aggression and ruthlessness, found in his music. After that, all one needs to do is watch in armchair with cigar, from lamppost to lamppost, within earshot of crackling as the inner-city burns.

Dare I say, you could have them dancing to their graves if the beat entices enough. Slowly but surely, their spirits, as well as minds will avalanche to a rhythmless heap, and we shall celebrate on the ashes of their bones, from generation to generation. If this is done with the same craftmanship as your predecessors, they will gladly sacrifice ebony skin for open wounds and scarlet shades of blood.

But that is just one intersectionality to toy with; for the other Trappers we have implemented in the government and media department can ensure that the narrative transmitted amongst the masses blames your patient for his own ignorance, while our trap silently operates.

You must continue to plant the seed, and we will poison the soil and then point fingers at the rotten fruit. Ahhhh! How the shadows are such a blessing! Masquerading at midnight, we can blame everything but us; absent fathers, lambast them with labels of thuggery, feral creatures, opportunistic, sexual deviant violent beings. The rest of the world will speak deplorably of the rotten fruit they see, and never think to explore the poisonous root of the tree. Deny them a second’s grace. Bend the ‘C’ of grace into the ‘V’ of grave and beckon them to it. Bend their wills.

But be warned Screwface, The Griots are stubborn kin, they carry words sharper than any doubled edged sword, in the form of rhythm and poetry, that they so sickly acronym as ‘RAP’ as well as the spoken word, and of course, their ability to induce ancient echoes of Fela Kuti, King Bonsu II, Tupac Shakur, Nas, Akala, Maya Angelou and Toni Morrison, can and will, undo all our efforts, and your patient will see the light that blinds us all. Those Griots flicker flaming tongues of self-worth, liberation, history, and strength. This is a critical moment. Whenever your patient encounters their words, whether in a book, a spoken word piece, or a conversation, make his eyes roll as dice, and may they land on six each time. Paint their wisdom as decaying skeletons, perched on preachy pews.

For you know the power they carrier, while your rhythm induces momentary pleasures, their words evoke enlightenment, a light we can only detest from afar. We are powerless to interfere once words are woven into heartstrings, our efforts must be propagated beforehand, prevent access to The Griots, make their knowledge glisten on a slug trail, so he will be irked at mere sight. Make them seem like fossils, dying relics to an ancient world that today has no room for. As painfully as it is to admit, their pen is mightier than our sword.

I cannot harken how important the entrapment of your patient is to our cause; one free mind is an act of rebellion that passes like an epidemic threat to the war we wage. We must stamp out hope before it catches flame. I will contact you in the coming weeks to assess his progress. Until then, stoke the fire within him, oblivious to the tentacles we have ensnared.

From your beloved uncle,

TrapLord.

Image credit: Christina Deravedisian