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Archive for the tag “black community”

On Losing That Lovin’ Feelin’

“The call for forgiveness is a painfully familiar refrain when black people suffer. White people embrace narratives about forgiveness so they can pretend the world is a fairer place…Black people forgive because we need to survive. We have to forgive time and time again while racism or white silence in the face of racism continues to thrive.” —“Why I Can’t Forgive Dylann Roof,” –Roxane Gay

Today I considered forgiveness and love and hopefulness.  I figured that the rest of America was already over our grief—ready for us to bury the Charleston nine and all of the emotional baggage that came along with it.  The rest of America is probably hoping that this last racial showdown will finally shut us up, shove us back into submission and help us shelve our discontentment with living our subpar lives.

Since Sunday’s post about why I need the black church more than ever, I’ve considered finding ways to make myself comfortable again– maybe figure out how to return to posting fun, lighthearted stuff on social media these days; perhaps explore new ways to quiet my spirit in spite of the unrest I have been feeling. After all, I had already decided to stop watching the news, limit my internet intake and listen to only gospel tunes about love, mercy, grace and forgiveness so I can, hopefully, feel some of what the Jackson, Lance, Pinckney, Sanders, Hurd, Coleman-Singleton, Doctor, Simmons and Thompson families felt when they, what seemed like, so easily went to forgive the killer of their loved ones only two days after they were murdered.  I had been trying, really hard, to wedge myself back into the “American way” of dealing with a national tragedy that wreaks of racism and deeply affects the Black community.

But then I read the piece, “Black churches taught us to forgive white people. We learned to shame ourselves,” by Creative Nonfiction author, Kiese Laymon, which was published online yesterday by The Guardian.  Laymon shares a conversation that he had with his grandmother after the Charleston nine’s family members’ apologies were publicly made and praised. Laymon carefully transcribes the stories of his grandmother, an apparent God-fearing woman who loves a good curse word every now and then, living in the state where my grandmother was born and raised.

My grandma, today an 87-year-old elder from Jonestown, Mississippi. When I visited my grandma’s hometown as a child there were barely-paved streets and shanty-roof homes in neighborhoods full of working-poor black folks who hadn’t moved North during our country’s Great Migration from the South.  My grandma, who moved to St. Louis before my mom was born and some years after she finished school after third grade, came and worked from the 1950’s to the late 1990’s doing one of the only few trades Black women learned down south—she cleaned homes for white people.

My grandmother, an 87-year-old Christian woman, who painstakingly gets dressed for church on Sunday mornings– and any other time if she could get a ride to a service— was probably not too much unlike Mother Susie Jackson who, also at 87 years old, likely went through the same strains to get to a sparsely attended Wednesday night Bible study in an old A.M.E. church in Charleston, South Carolina.

Thoughts of Mother Susie Jackson’s death among the other eight who were slain now paired with these stories from Kiese Laymon’s grandmother keep setting me back on my attempts to embrace the love and kindness and extensions of sympathy from white people across the country who would like us to grieve as quietly and as peacefully as possible. The white Christians who sang hymns and lit candles and knit shawls and wrote condolences in exchange for no riots, no uncomfortable conversations about race and a prompt return to business-as-usual in the U.S. by this Thursday, a full-week after the domestic terrorist attack.

But, in spite of myself and my heartbreak for my people, my community; regardless of my disenchantment with ideals around the words “equality” and “reconciliation;” despite this ball of pessimism towards phrases like “Love Wins” or “Love Conquers All,” I intend to find the strength to conjure up some warm fuzzies for the white people who befriend me on Facebook and are looking for me to return to my jolly-ole, social media self.  I’m going to get some willpower to applaud Christians, both Black and white, who earnestly believe that their familiar fear and damning discomfort, respectively, could be dispelled if we only seek God for guidance and resort to prayer as the sole action against injustice.  I am about to work on stretching myself even thinner, pushing my pride aside a little further, and opening my mind a little broader and see if that will do me some good. In the meantime, I hope the world will be patient with me.

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Why We Must Not Go Quietly…

“Yeah, we’re gonna tear it up/ We gonna trash it up/ Gonna round it up/

Gonna shake it up/ Oh no no no, I will not lie down/

Turn this thing around/ I will not go quietly…” –Don Henley

When, Black America, did we go hoarse? When did we become so consumed with Being Mary Jane and rocking 2 Chainz that we could allow our community to be subject to this country’s greatest Scandal? When did we become so afraid of discomfort that we would allow ourselves to be comfortable with injustices that plague our daily lives and our well-being?

And this isn’t just about Michael Brown’s cold blooded murder and Darren Wilson’s exoneration.  This isn’t just about Tamir Rice and our boys’ inability to play cops and robbers with toy guns in a neighborhood park. This isn’t just about the acquittal of George Zimmerman, or the choke hold that killed Eric Garner, or the conviction of Marissa Alexander for telling her abuser to back off with a warning shot.

Oh, it is much bigger than this.

This is about voter ID laws in Southern states– laws that serve to reenact a new Jim Crow era by disproportionately disenfranchising black folks, immigrants and formerly incarcerated men and women from using their voices at the polls. This is about Republican governors’ refusal to expand Medicaid in half of the states across this country, once again disproportionately affecting the accessibility to affordable healthcare in impoverished and underserved communities full of people who are dark like me or who speak languages too foreign for the GOP to care about.  This is about crack carrying heavier charges than cocaine and about what kind of trouble weed in the hood could get you versus pot in the suburbs.  This is about HIV growing fastest among people of color than any other group. This is about an entire nation blatantly disrespecting our President on all fronts because he is a Black man.

And yet, there has never been a time when our people have acted as cowardly as they do today.  Are we so distracted by raunchy rap music and ratchet reality TV that we have forgotten ourselves?  Are we so busy filling the pews of mega-churches that we can no longer preach about our rightful place in this world? Are we so enamored by Facebook posts, Instagram images and Twitter tweets that we do not read in black and white the words of Garvey, Washington, X, Davis, King?—Because they still ring true today.  Oh, yes—their words still ring true today.

And they would not have gone quietly, lying down and allowing the powers that be to walk all over us so we can feel a false sense of peace.  They would not have sat in front of their televisions, lit up with scenes from protests and peace rallies, and pray for it all to blow over soon.  Because it will not blow over soon.

Today, we are more powerful than we have ever been. With social media, cell phones and greater solidarity across color lines than ever before, we have the potential to mobilize, organize and create a force to be reckoned with.  This is not the time to be quiet, to be cowardly, to be fearful.  We must be strong, vigilant, active and brave if we are to pursue fight for justice.  It is time for us to stop living off of yesterday’s legacy and start building up our own.

“We must organize for the absolute purpose of bettering our condition, industrially, commercially, socially, religiously and politically. We must organize, not to hate other men and women, but to lift ourselves, and to demand respect of all humanity. Our goal is not to create offense on the part of other races, but to be heard and to be given the rights to which we are entitled.  We must determine among ourselves that all barriers placed in the way of our progress must be removed, must be cleared away for we desire to see the light of a brighter day.”Marcus Garvey, an excerpt from “The Future as I See It.” (I took liberties and heavily edited, revised and modernized this excerpt– and I take full responsibility for it.)

How to Make Noise? Contact and get involved with these organizations:

POWER

PURP (People Utilizing Real Power)

National Action Network

PICO National Network

NAACP

Lookin’ Ass Nigga: How Black Entertainment is Selling “Niggas” for Free

There has already been a lot of talk about notorious female rap star, Nicki Minaj’s new single, Lookin’ Ass Nigga, since it dropped a few days ago. And rightfully so: Just in time for Black History Month, the artist and her team thoughtfully selected an image of Malcolm X which has been coined “By Any Means Necessary” and depicts him holding a gun and looking out of a window. There is going to be plenty of dialogue about this in the days to come, I assure you and already, in less than twenty-four hours since the video’s debut, Minaj has issued a lackluster apology to her critics. Of course, I have many issues with all of this, but none of it is what I want to address here.

Instead, I would like to point out the fact that there are too many “niggas” in mainstream rap and hip-hop music.

A day after the song’s debut, TIME Magazine’s Entertainment Section praised Nicki Minaj for getting back to her “rhyme-spitting roots” and referred to the lyrics of the new single as “wickedly spat put-downs and punchlines.”

Really? Because all I heard was “nigga.”

And I’m sure that’s all a lot of listeners will hear, whether they are fans or not, whether they are black or white, whether they live in the city or suburbs—they will hear Nicki Minaj, watch the video of her fishnet covered bubble butt balanced on a chair and, after a couple of views, learn a few lines and sing-along—“niggas” included.

Am I the only one who thinks that with the racial integration of hip-hop (so much so that three of the four Grammys won this year by rap/pop music duo, Macklemore and Ryan Lewis, were in rap categories), the n-word is heavily overused and sensationalized by black artists?  And if the defense is going to say that it is a form of expression and that we have a right to give the word its power, am I the only one who thinks that if the word won’t be eradicated then it should be completely desensitized?

I can’t be the only one who thinks that fighting for the sanctity of the n-word while simultaneously recklessly using the word makes us look incredibly incompetent to the rest of the world.  Here it is that one half of us demands reprimands and jobs when white folks—the same people who are now buying and listening to Lookin’ Ass Nigga, Niggas in Paris and every other “Nigga” song out there—utter the word publicly while the other half of our community laces every other line of their chart-topping hits with the n-word.  So are we also supposed to pretend that people don’t sing-along to songs anymore just because they pause at the word when they’re around us? C’mon.

Listen, I am just as uneasy as the rest of us when I hear non-blacks say the word.  It is incredibly uncomfortable.  But as rap music becomes pop music, interracial relationships become more prevalent and America pushes towards a “post-racial society”, I think it’s time we have a real, honest conversation about what we are going to do with this word. We can’t keep pretending that the non-black kids of this new generation aren’t saying/singing it behind our backs, whether endearingly or maliciously. And we can’t just pretend that “You just can’t” is a sufficient enough answer when we confront them and, as a response, they ask why they can’t say it.

Yes, there are much bigger issues, implications and answers.  There is, there is! But we need to start with our music—or maybe the whole entertainment industry.  Can rap music eradicate the word? Can actors stop using it in movies? Comedians in their stand-up performances? Us in our everyday vocabulary? Does this seem like a tall order? Maybe. But presently, black entertainment seems to be selling “niggas” for free and giving away our dignity.

Is it just as hard to desensitize the n-word?  What are we preserving by keeping the word around? What have we accomplished by dropping the –er and adding an –a? What do you think about the n-word and it’s supposed sanctity in the black community? Thoughtful and constructive comments/criticism welcome.

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