It Must Begin

CRIME, Opinion

Staring at the television, being “up” on the news, staying informed, reading the paper – it’s all the same!  So what can we do.  Most of us (oh, us black folk, esp.) are frustrated and I’m guilty of sitting at home and yelling at the television and just when I can’t take it anymore, I write.  Why have I taken to this form of activism when I am shouting into a vast sea of endless quotes, memes, articles and blogs coming from different angles but yet all playing pretty much in the same ball park?  Truthfully, it’s the only thing that helps.  It’s the only thing that allows me go on endless rants without repercussions of marching and “sanging” and risking possible arrest.  My hat’s off to those who get out there and do that.  If that’s how they vent!  Fine!  I did that to death when Sean Bell was shot the day before his wedding, and I actually even did it again when Trayvon (yes, we’re on a first name basis because I spent a lot of time on that tragedy), but I just can’t do it again.  They say the meaning of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.  The police keep doing the same thing over and over and get the same results; they must be the sane ones here.  They don’t expect anything different; they don’t expect to be punished for theeir happy little fingers that can’t seem to stay away from that trigger despite being trained (this is a guess here) to deal with people who might push back against them.  They just keep getting away with it. And life just goes on!!!!!!

For me, this time, I’m on a time-out.  I have to pause so I don’t get swept away in the fury of protests and tweets and media coverage that might once again leave me feeling a loss so profound, it literally makes me sick.  I don’t want to fight anymore.  I want to talk.  I want things to change and I want with all my heart to KNOW that I will never get that call.  These young black boys dying hits home every time I see their young faces on the screen.  The thought (it’s so rude it doesn’t ask) jumps right out front and dares me to entertain it; so I think to myself – that could be my son!  Depending on who is nearby, they may even hear me say it.  Here’s the thing, though.  It’s barely a whisper, because I’m afraid to say it out loud, you know.  To give it any consideration because that makes it TOO real – what’s happening, that is – AGAIN.  Now I’m wondering…  what do I do.  I can scream and shout, stomp and protest or I can do what I’ve been doing for as long as I can remember – educate him.  That won’t stop the way the world see’s him, but my hope is that it puts him in a place to think long and hard before he makes a move.  He has to think about the environment that he’s in, the friends he has, and where he wants to live.  This is a free country, but we ain’t that free.  Try not to get it twisted.  We ain’t really free at all.

Case in point:

I realized later in life that my earlier path wasn’t the right one. I saw it all around me each and every time I left the ‘hood.  From a child, visiting my mom on the job at the financial center, as a young adult working in a somewhat affluent area of manhattan, moving to atlanta in pursuit of “a better life;”  it was all around me.  People were doing thangs and doing ’em big.  No reason it couldn’t be me or shouldn’t be me.  So I decided to get educated because that’s what we’re supposed to do.  Get a “good education” (still don’t understand why there’s bad education), a decent job, take care of my kids.  What was left out of the equation was that on that path to a “better life,” no matter what you did or how you did it, the system was going to see you as a black person and attach to you just about every negative stereotype available.  Not only have I experienced racism (the very ugly in-your-face kind while I was with my children) first-hand, I now know that when I come up against the system, I’m black first, and all that comes with it, then I’m a person who has done A, B, or C.  There is no guarantee that I can travel anywhere I want or live where I want; because there are systems in place that can and will keep me out.  It has always been this way and I don’t see any legislation coming down the pipe than will have the ability to legislate “thoughts.”  So how does this relate to my son.  He’s a young black man with invisible chains.  No one in particular holds the keys and you never know the exact length of it or how far you can go, but trust that they are there.

So every time another young black male is killed by an officer or someone who really wants to be one, I shutter a bit, close my eyes and hope to God that I never get that phone call.

It’s time for folks to get the message that #BlackLivesMatter.  They matter to Nike, Sony, and Apple, Inc.  They matter to grocery stores and retail chains because we are avid consumers and it’s time we realize that our money has power and if we hold on to it long enough, we won’t have to say another word. Those companies will soon connect the dots and advocate on our behalf.  To many companies are sitting by silently while our young men are being killed.  They have the resources and the influence to speak as loud as we can, they just need incentive. In my opinion, it’s time for a massive movement to boycott the American system and there’s no better way to get their attention than to start fucking with their money!


Fatigued, helpless and hopeful!


I’m tired, y’all!!!!  Increasing homelessness, soup lines, unemployment, failing schools, crime, police brutality, discrimination, inequality, poverty and extreme poverty!  It’s enough to make you sick.  These issues are on my mind constantly.  So much so that at times, it’s hard to breathe…literally.  It’s a depressing state of affairs and it leaves me feeling so incredibly helpless and perplexed.  Personally, things are going well.  The people in my life are, in the grand scheme of things, doing okay.  I, actually, am doing okay.  But that doesn’t stop the noise in my head.  That doesn’t dull the pain I feel when I see homeless people sleeping on the street and begging for food, nor the overwhelming heartbreak I endure when I see young men walking the streets of my neighborhood with their pants hanging down way below their waist.  Poverty’s impacts are great and affect people in different ways. The poverty I see on the streets of America pale in comparison to the images of poverty I see in other countries that spread across independent news outlets and PBS documentaries and the like. (Mainstream really doesn’t want to talk about it.)  But poverty and its related issues are on the corner of just about every street.  Lately, poverty and its effects have become more visible even in the area where I work.  Most everyday now, as I enter and exit the subway or walk down the street, I’m confronted with the realities of poverty and homelessness.  I find it ironic that homelessness has found its way to the gates of the Ivy League fortresses where I work.  Do the homeless know how much money exists beyond those gates?  Do they know what those buildings represent?  Seeing them there is a stark reminder of the great divide; the ever-widening wealth gap that is not sustainable and whose effect will soon impact those at the top.  Sooner or later, poverty will affect us all.  And I can guarantee with certainty that there will NEVER be real solutions, real changes at the legislative level, until it begins to affect people who control the purse strings. Poverty, while it is a global issue, and is being fought on the front lines by hundreds of organizations globally, nationally and locally, will never truly be eradicated.  Poor people are needed in this world.  Everybody can’t be at the top. The issue being eradicated is the lack of people’s basic rights to food, clothing shelter and clean water.  People can be poor, but on the extreme end, can we at least make sure they are equipped with the basics.  Poverty will never go away because, well, humans will always be humans.  And humans can give as much as they can take. Some are ambitious while others are completely apathetic, some are courageous while others are cowards.  Some get it and some don’t!  Lot’s of pieces to the puzzle.  Which brings me to the reason for this post.

I’ve stated before that I live in two worlds.  Well those worlds are beginning to intersect.  It was like one day, they were separate and distinct and now they don’t seem so far apart anymore, nor do they seem very different from one another.  I’ve been struggling to pinpoint what’s been different and I think (out loud and on this post) I’ve discovered an answer.  The things that distinguish one from the other is purely material and cerebral. In one world things are cleaner, more organized and costly and maybe even of better quality; however, in the other world there’s chaos and all its effects.  But what’s beginning to intersect is the moving part – me!  I flow between these worlds feeling just as out of place in one as I do the other and see much of the same things in one as I do the other.  Crime in one, crime in the other, homelessness in one, homelessness in the other, good people in one, good people in the other, and bad people exist in both worlds, as do smart and intellectual, as do poor.  We are not separate, nor distinct.  We are one and becoming more so everyday.  Being poor in my community often means that you can’t afford the things to live the life you want to live, in some parts of the world it’s a lack of necessities in order to live life comfortably at all.  And while we have organizations working on absolute poverty around the world, there are as many working on relative poverty right here at home, fighting to give people access to better jobs, education, housing and safe neighborhoods.

This weekend all concerned with this issue will be watching the Global Citizen Festival in New York.  The festival is a tool which will be used to amplify this generation’s voice in a call to end extreme poverty by 2030.  It is meant to motivate those who care to find opportunities to support campaigns working to create sustainable change.  It is my hope that while we’re all holding hands and singing we also begin the dialogue about justice and inequality.  That is as real and important and issue as any and in many black environments, it’s just as much about the economic, social, and political inequalities as it is about the lack of material possessions.

At a loss for words….


I’ve been away for a few weeks. But for at least one of them I was on vacation. On the very last day, August 9th, while traveling back home and reconnecting to the wired world, I started to read posts and tweets about Michael Brown!  It didn’t really register at first what had happened, but I knew it wasn’t good.  I shut down and decided to wait until I returned home and took a deep breath before getting up to speed.  Admittedly, at first, I was a loss for words.  That initial reaction lasted up until this point.

The extent of my involvement initially was to sit and watch what was going on in Ferguson by watching all the news shows. I have been silent about this on purpose.  I think I knew that once I started to talk about it, I would become angry and then sink into sadness.  I watched the story unfold on MSNBC, CNN and Al Jazeera as well as the constant updates on Twitter.  I watched the protests and all the signs, as well as the over-used chant of “No Justice, No Peace.”  I watched this all the while feeling nothing but numbness and cynicism.  Numb for obvious reasons, but the cynicism was a bit mean-spirited – even for me.  This past month alone there have been four other black men who have died at the hands of the police and it has been hard on our communities.  So much so that I’ve been sitting quietly and reflecting.  I have to admit I don’t know what to do, nor do I know what to say at this point.  The past couple of weeks have been all about black environments and the injustices that they endure at the hands of our law enforcers.  The relationship between Blacks and the police in densely populated urban communities have been contentious, to say the least.  However, there is a feeling down in the pit of my stomach that says, as horrific as this latest tragedy is, and they all are, it will not be the last.

What can we do?  March!?  Honestly, (and this is where my cynicism creeps in) I don’t have a lot of faith in these “peaceful protests.”  We’ve been marching for years.  For as far back as I can recall, during most of my adult life, we’ve been marching.  We marched for Yusef Hawkin’s who was killed on August 23, 1989 (my 25th birthday) and since then, we’ve marched for Amadou Diallo, Sean Bell, Oscar Grant, Trayvon Martin, Eric Garner and now Michael Brown.  The story hasn’t changed.  It  is only coming to light more often, thanks to the usage of cell phone cameras and other hand-held devices equipped with cameras.

We African-American mothers begin talking to our sons as soon as they are old enough to begin traveling through the streets of big cities, and suburbs, about how to conduct themselves when stopped by the police “for whatever reason,” as well as other overzealous citizens that over-react at the sight of a black boy who happens to have a little height and weight.  Somehow this is a threatening figure!  Let’s not forget Jordan Davis who was shot by a white man who didn’t like his music.  Ta-Nehisi Coates delivered a brilliant keynote speech at the Barnard Center for Research on Women‘s Public Good Conference entitled, “Black Boy Interrupted: American Plunder and the Incomplete Life of Jordan Davis.” The theme of this speech underscored the reality of how black boys live with the fear of not reaching adulthood.

It is frightening and an extremely tiring existence to have to wonder constantly if you’ll be the next one to get the “call” that your son is gone!  It’s often paralyzing.  Every time one of these stories re-surface, you wonder all over again.  So, yes.. I’ve been sitting and reflecting and empathizing with what these parents must be going through.  We often gather to let them know that “we are all (enter the latest black boy’s name who was killed here),” which means that this month alone, we have all died at least once a week!  The only upside is that once all the media frenzy, trials, law suits and protests are over, we will have one more foundation whose mission will be to keep and help young teens from becoming the next statistic and they all deserve to be listed here:  Amadou Diallo Foundation, Sean Bell Foundation, Oscar Grant Foundation and Trayvon Martin Foundation. There will no doubt be a Michael Brown Foundation that will follow.  How many more names do we have to string together before America realizes and understands why be believe that our sons’ lives have no value?

Bless those mom’s with the privilege of never having to carry this burden to work or to the grocery store or laundromat, or to the movies or dinner and even to bed (SMMFH).  Yes, good for them, because I’m not one of them and have no more words to express the emotional strain that this puts on those of us who deal with this on a daily basis!


Navigating, Narrating and Negotiating Spaces for the Average Black Life!


What can I say… I’m average and not very proud of it.  Don’t get me wrong.  I used to be, proud, that is, as hell.  Then something, someone; not even sure how it happened, woke me up.  Maybe it’s an evolutionary process that I wasn’t aware of because I’ve always been semi-conscious, just never fully awake, but awareness always hovered in the background without fully resonating.  It probably happened with my daughter. That would be a good guess.  I won’t pretend to actually remember the exact point and time I “woke up;” it just happened, over time.  And now, I just am.  Problem is – can’t doze off.  Can’t shut it down and go back to sleep although at times, I want to – bad!  Now I’m tuned into shit that angers me, worries me, inspires me but I often feel a sense of hopelessness because I feel compelled to act but never swing into full on action.  My activism of choice seems to be venting, involvement, 21st century type shit. I’ll tweet or Facebook the hell out of some shit.  I’ll comment and discuss.  I’ll write also, which is my way of putting it out there, but it stops there.  Moments are rare when I feel the need to move from behind the screen to the front of the scene.  I’ve been there.  On the front line.  It’s exhausting so I take my hat off to those who remain there waiting for something to jump off.  Take the Reverend Al Sharpton, for example.  He appears to always be in ready mode. People talk, but I admire him because I don’t see no one else out there bringing attention or keeping the focus on injustices that plaque our communities. I participated in community for some time but it’s easy to get frustrated at talking to the same people and never really reaching the seemingly unreachable.  At some point along with conflated issues, I decided that my work would have to be done behind the scenes, which is were I am currently active.  Learning. Writing. And Researching. And Writing.  I’m trying hard to figure out how to make all this work in concrete ways.  I’m looking and listening to what gets heard and who’s listening.  I see folks getting their 15 minutes on and off screen.  I see ordinary people doing extraordinary things that mainstream hardly knows much about.  It seems now that you have to choose the circles you want to rise up in.  But me, I’m a community person at heart.  Just haven’t found a way to bridge the divide between knowing what I know and having that make a difference where I truly believe it counts.  I want accolades, recognition and prestige if I’m being honest; however, I don’t want it at the expense of my community, my values, my thirst for answers to the questions that plaque my mind on a daily basis.  Why poverty?  Why inequality? Why racism and discrimination? Explanations abound for why poverty exists in the world and how “some inequality is essential to create incentives,” but at the root of it all the answer for me is that we need unity and discipline.

First we need to unify; organize on a global scale around the issue of poverty.  We don’t need to coalesce around a few charitable organizations that vow to end poverty by a specified time.  We need to weave our minds to the fabric of change. This shit ain’t rocket science, and contrary to popular opinions, the power lies within us to make that happen.  The poor are dying because of decisions made by governments.  The poor are hungry and homeless because governments are so busy chasing and protecting resources and cheap labor, that their countrymen have become simply a means to accumulate mass amounts of wealth for 1% of its people.  In America, we have the resources for every citizen to live a comfortable life, but instead, greed has won out.

Americans were taught to chase a dream that was not inclusive of all her citizens.  My dream is that I could actually live in the neighborhood of my choosing. My dream is that we realize minds cannot be legislated and until the federal government rights the wrongs it created, blacks, as a people, will never get a fair shake.  We are still kept out of certain neighborhoods and gentrified out of our own.  That’s not part of my dream.  We still have substandard schools in our neighborhoods. That’s not part of my dream.  We still have mass incarceration of our youth.  That’s not part of my dream.  We still have higher unemployment rates than whites …ummmm.  That’s not part of my dream.  America’s dream is not my dream!  My dream consists of equality and dignity and respect for ALL the citizens of this country.

An Inside Look at US vs THEM: within the black community


There has a been an on-going fight within the black community between the Blacks and the N****rs.  It is no secret that there are African-Americans who embrace the N-word on a variety of different levels for a dizzying array of reasons.  I am no scholar on the topic of N****rs, but I’ve lived around two distinct sets of black people all my life!  There are those who are decent, hard-working, concerned and engaged citizens and there are those who, for reasons that are obvious and anyone’s guess, do not exhibit any amount of dignity or pride for themselves or their surrounding.  There have been debates on this topic from Congress members to activists, black and white.  When we hear it coming from the white community, there is often outrage, but some of our own have bravely talked tackled the issue and have not backed down from the backlash about “airing our laundry” in public.  The truth of the matter is, there is work do be done from within. Any black person who either resides in, works near, or has left such a community will probably admit, either openly or privately, that there is a difference between us and them.  I am not inferring that we are a monolithic people who should remain united on all fronts; rather I declare the exact opposite.  Within our culture our dreams and goals as well as our values, ethics and morals are often vastly different.  Nonetheless, there is a bond that we share around the issue of race and discrimination; that unique shared experience that only Americans of African descent share that is coded in our language and actions where without saying many words, we know that we know what we know – and that knowledge will forever bind us as a people.

However, that does not stop us from being so divided on a range of other topics. The notion that black people should bear some responsibility for their lives is not new.  The Moynihan Report talked rather extensively about the breakdown of the black family and how it led to the “tangle of pathology” that “will continue without any assistance from white people.” (I disagree.)  There was also the (in)famous speech by Bill Cosby at the 50th anniversary of the Brown vs. Board of Education where he chided blacks about taking personal responsibility for their lives and community. Some disagreed with the good doctor, but I believe that there was a lot of truth in Cosby’s speech.  I actually am an eye witness to these conditions on a daily basis as are my children.  I consider myself among the relative poor in my community, so I am obviously not talking about ALL low- to moderate-income black people; it’s just that there are enough who do not exhibit a sense of pride for our culture and community where the rest of us are made to suffer the consequences of their ignorance.

This fight has been going on for a long time.  It is dog-whistled in our conversations with one another as well as in our music, comedy and often local politics.  This “long-simmering generational and class schisms among blacks” about our values will continue until we decide and realize that we must at least to some degree help us help ourselves.  The government has proven through lack luster housing, education, and crime policies that we are not a priority despite the small victories along the way.  We need a tide to rise as high as the housing developments that we were shuffled into to lift this intergeneration boat of folks from the basement floor to the penthouse where we can enjoy the same quality of living as those who fought tirelessly to keep us down.