Who's Zoomin' Who

So I used to work for a PR firm and our biggest and by biggest I mean money making clients were companies who had been sued for discrimination and were coming to our firm for damage control, crisis management, image restoration, etcetera, etcetera. A bulk of the image restoration included throwing fistfuls of dollars into minority communities. So for instance one company sponsored a green room at the NAACP Awards. Another company partnered with the Urban League and had a Wellness bus that toured the country and stopped in major cities where coloreds abided. And so on…

And while I understood in theory the whole quid pro quo thing that was happening, it kind of burned me up on the inside. And I would sing to myself (like for real sing aloud) ‘Who’s zooming who?’ And I sing that song now when I hear Cracker Barrel sponsoring something on the Tom Joyner Morning show. Or McDonald's giving out scholarships to coloreds to make up for the heart attacks Or Nationwide sponsoring Tavis Smiley’s Stand documentary. And so on…

And I can’t decide how I feel about this. Sometimes I’m upset that Black folk can be so easily bought. And then I remember that this is the American way and money talks, makes the world go round, and can drive some people out of their mind. Other times I’m upset that this seems to be all it takes to right the wrongs that you have committed. Sometimes I’m upset because I want Black people to stand on they own two without the white man’s help and hand outs. But then sometimes I’m like that’s right Black people get that money. Lawd knows we worked hard for it! But then sometimes I’m like, “but we don’t want no blood money! Who gives an f if you sponsored a green room! No one watches the NAACP Awards! If you wanna pay me to like you, put the reparations in my hand!”

And back and forth I go. Wondering where exactly is the line. If these aren't genuine actions, do they still matter? Does the fact that it's "benefiting" the community negate any wrongdoing that was done? I remember a Senior member at the PR firm urged us not to take this so personally and compared our jobs to defense attorneys. She would say, "It doesn't matter if we think or even know our client is guilty, what matters is getting them off." Raised eyebrow from Rum Punch. That's all that matters? So whenever I'm having my internal debate on this issue (which happens often when I listen to morning radio), I recall this statement. And it makes the scales tip just a little. And I know exactly who's zoomin' who.

That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!

Five on the Black Hand Side

The other day I had a conversation with a young woman. We grew up together in the same church. So we know each other. But we don’t know each other. She is a recent college grad, wants to pursue a Masters in Public Policy and a PhD and then probably teach on the university level. Coolness. And she is one of those let me read and learn everything about Black folk, let’s talk about Black folk & they issues, and politics and poverty and classism, quoting Pedagody of the Oppressed type people. Now, there’s nothing wrong that. As I myself have engaged in a ‘what Black people need to do now’ convo from time to time. And I be reading and shyt, so I I can "quote" too.

But as we were talking, we got on the subject of Dave Chappelle. She LOVES him. I like Dave Chappelle like the next person, but I don’t think everything he does is the hotness. And then we get on Aaron Macgruder. She LOVES him. And I read the Boondocks, watched the show, but uh, sometimes Aaron be too much for me. And then I say, “I don’t like when Black people all the time be talking that Black shit.” Ok. I know right there I sound like a crazy Black conservative who can't speak English. But stay with me.
“How so,” she asks.
“I just mean, Black folk who are mad all the time. At erythang. BET. Al Sharpton. Bob Johnson. Condoleeza Rice. Baby mamas. Bill Cosby. The white man. Fried chicken and watermelons. The racist, white, media. Some shyt ain’t changing. Al Sharpton ain’t going nowhere. You can’t stop him from talking that mess or permin his hair, so you should probably just let it go. It might make your pressure go down.”

And then she just looked at me. Curiously. Like she was trying to figure me out. Was I a bougie, educated, out of touch, Negro who wasn’t down for the cause? Mayhap. Until I mentioned that my mother was a Black Panther in Chicago. And since we’ve already established that she loves all things Black, she went crazy.
“Like for real?”
“Yes.”
“Like she knew Fred Hampton?”
“Yes.”
“What did she do with them?”
“Um the breakfast programs, health clinics, go to meetings. Told the men that these ho’s they were sleeping with were infiltrating the party and they needed to watch they back.”
“Did she know Angela Davis? Did she know Huey Newton? Did she carry a gun?”
“Uh… Yeah. I don’t know alladat. You may have to ask her.”
“Oh I will. Believe me. I can’t believe that about your mom. I never would have guessed.”

That’s right. You never would have guessed. Because 40 years later, my mom is a woman who has birthed two kids, had several careers, received a PhD, is prominent in the church. She’s not the typical old head revolutionary with salt and peppa locs down to her shoulders, wearing pseudo African garb, calling everyone brotha and sista, spouting conspiracy theories to anyone who will listen. But she loves her some Gil Scott Heron. And she wore her black for the Jena 6. And if the revolution came tomorrow, she’d be right up front, ready to fight and die for the cause.

Last night as I talked to my mother, because ol’ girl did grill her yesterday about her old days w/ the party. I learned that she did know Angela Davis and the Cleavers and Bobby Rush. And that she was incredibly active, more than I ever really knew. And that she told ol’ girl that the issue was that whenever the down trodden try to rise, the system is always going to fight against it. Because they make too much money off keeping the down trodden, down. And trodden. Power to the people mama. And then she said, “And I told her look at Bobby Rush. He used to fight against the system. And now he’s working in the system. Trying to do what he can. Because that was a lifetime ago. And people change.”

Yes they do. And yet some of them stays the same. My mama wasn’t a hardcore revolutionary when we were coming up, but she made her beliefs known. We didn’t go to Afrocentric schools. And we didn’t call our daddy Baba. And we didn’t find racism in everything. But we knew we were Black. And we knew what that meant in America. To other people. And we knew that while our parents had made it, we still had family members who hadn’t. Still went down South every summer as a reminder of where we came from.

And so sometimes I shake my head at some foolishness that is up for discussion – that dumb shyt that be bothering us, annoying us, frustrating us to no end, making us wanna fight. Ignoring the bigger issues and focusing on the stupid stuff. And I don’t feel the need to debate every, single, minute, thing that happens in the Black community. Or prove my downness. Or hear Cornell West, Michael Eric Dyson, n'em speak everytime they come to the city. I got my "Blackness" down. I get it from my mama.

That's my time y'all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!

The Obama Effect

So I work with kids. And I go into a lot of DC Public Schools located deep in the hood. These schools are filled with little Black children, living, breathing the stereotype or the reality – depending on whom you ask. Products of single parent homes. Recipients of school breakfast. Lack of subject-noun agreement. Etcetera, etcetera.

And I go into these schools and the first thing I notice are: life size Obama cutouts in the front hallway, or Obama posters hanging on the wall or in classrooms, or Obama calendars, or teachers wearing Obama t-shirts. One day I asked a little girl what she learned in school and she said, “We learned about Obama.” For the whole day, I wanted to ask. But I left it alone and just smiled.

Last weekend I took the girls camping and one group named themselves the second ladies. Why the second ladies? Because they love our first lady soo much and they wanna be just like her and to do this, they know they need an education. Well alright! Go head y'all! I love it!

Being a witness to all of this is truly awesome. Since I don’t have kids, I didn’t fully comprehend what Obama winning could and would truly mean. That is until I saw a message from NAACP President Ben Jealous and he said that now the only thing his two year old child will know is a Black President. That will be her norm. Her reality. Powerful stuff. I recently heard on the radio that marriages are up in the Black community and they’re citing the Obamas as the reason. Wow. Totally awesome.

I suppose that since I grew up in a two parent, middle class family, surrounded by other Black professionals, married couples, folk who pushed us to be educated – the Obamas were my norm. What we’re supposed to be. And I now realize for too many of us – they are an anomaly. A Hayley’s comet. Something talked about, but rarely seen. But now here they are, on our television screens, on our radios, going to shows and schools, in living color, a tangible example of how you can climb the ladder of success with hard work and determination.

All this the ‘Obamas are our beacons’ had me feeling good about the future of our race. What we could become. And then my car got stolen. By some people who live in the same neighborhood where I serve and work with "lower income" girls, to help them build courage, confidence and character. And I screamed out, “I hate Black people!!” And then I thought back to that old Chris Rock stand up and revised my statement and screamed, “No, I hate nyggas!”

And then reality settled in. The Obamas are just two people with a lot of stuff on their plate – and while they may serve as examples, beacons of light to millions of little black children – they can’t do it all. I mean that’s quite a burden. And while I’m glad that they are inspiring a generation and hopefully we’ll see the results in the upcoming decades – I know we still have a lot of work to do. On us. I mean clearly the Obama angel was not sitting on the shoulders of the folk who stole my car.

Inspiration, I suppose can be hit or miss. Or misinterpreted. Or be horribly abused. I mean never should I hear a song about Obamas and rims in the same sentence. And so this makes me think back to W.E.B. Dubois’ theory of the Talented Tenth. Now, I know this makes some folk groan and cringe because they see it as a bourgeoisie type thing. But I see the power of what can happen when you show people that there is another way. That education has power. That working and hard work is noble. That marriage is beautiful. That the way they’re living doesn’t have to be the way it is. It’s what happens when I take 80 girls from the hood camping. And the girls' leaders are college students at local universities (some who come from these same neighborhoods) and can let them know that there are endless possibilities beyond their neighborhood block.

And so I think that we can each do our part. We can be second, third, fourth and fifth ladies in our communities. We can be Commander in Chiefs in our hood. We can model values of great parenting, getting an education, being a committed spouse. Not in a condescending, this is what’s good for you, type of way. But in a let's support each other, encourage, and build a better community, which leads to a better society, type of way.

Because all these kids aren't going to meet the Obamas, but they might meet a Johnson family with two layer parents and two adorable, intelligent girls; or a Wilson couple who's been married for 50 years; or a Dr. Tyson who attended an HBCU; or a Mrs. Stephens who owns her own buisness. And there's power in that. This too might change their lives. Might impact their future. Might inspire them to take another path. And so whilst I’m done crying over my missing car, I’ll return back to the hood, back to my kids who love being in my organization because of all it has to offer, back to my schools where another smiling Obama poster or a cut out will welcome me at the front door. And I’ll smile back. And get to work.

That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!

Oh, Say Can You See

Can you see...
How long have we waited? For decades.
picking cotton, sharecropping, working in places we couldn't afford to go, marching, working a factory job, excluded from the union, enduring when, told we didn't meet the qualifications because we were too dumb-too ugly-too black, not even considered a person...
Until we forced them to see us as people.
with families, and values, and hopes, and dreams, not so different, we are a great peculiar people, people of joy, peace, gentleness and long suffering...
Can you see?This is a new dawning.
One that we have to help rise up.

I guess this would be the place where I would insert a some lyrics from a good Negro spiritual. Or throw in a few verses of We Shall Overcome...but I feel like those type of battles are over. I think this election is more to remind all folks that this is our country too. We might be marginalized in the media, but we are more than what we see on television. We have a voice beyond the rappers and the athletes...we have a history and a culture the includes, but isn't exclusively hip-hop. To me this election is about me being seen as a person in my own country. It's about telling my yet unborn children that they can be anything they want to be...and it be a true affirmation that doesn't just stop at the Governor's mansion or in a Senate seat. Today is about getting the idealistic American definition of a land for all to truly represent itself. This election is about people being different and unique but no less American for being themselves.


So at this place, I leave you with a little Marvin, who rearranged our National Anthem so it showed his perspective. And that's what voting today is about! Showing our perspective. Making it impossible for our country to blindly ignore what must be seen..and that is us!



See You In Seven

A Filtered Kind of Life

When I was three years old, I told a cashier at Kmart that we were leaving to go to a store with better stuff! My mom likes to share this tale along with other adventures starring me using curse words and telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. And usually there is laughter, because afterall kids say the darndest things… But the average adult, who doesn’t have Turrets syndrome, has to filter what they think down to something nice and polite that makes people feel warm, fuzzy and sugary. And sometimes that just sucks!

Now let me tell ya’ll where I’m coming from. I’m coming from a place of working with people at my J-O-B. Rum Punch wrote about this struggle we have with ourselves under our masks at work. And I always joke that on my last day at any job-Imma just let my soul glow and say exactly what I have always been thinking. Yet in my life and times I have resigned from quite a few jobs and never once I have said anything unfiltered.

And it makes me sad that I can’t be that free. You understand that children and the aged have a freedom that us folks left in the middle ages miss and look forward to. And it also makes me hate on people who didn’t get the maturity memo and still tell it like it T I tis! We all have had run ins with those type of teeth sucking, lip smacking and neck rolling people.

*sigh*

If only I could tell my boss that I think she’s a freaking idiot and I know she’s full of bull----! Or just school the coworker who couldn’t figure out how to unjam the printer and asked me how to do it. I’m sorry do I look like the manufacturer? Do I look like an office equipment fixer upper person? I look at Excel spreadsheets with numbers all day. I would have to fiddle and read instructions the same as you would. A Magic negro I am not!

But I can’t say these things. Well out loud anyways. Because somewhere I was taught to be polite, though I don’t remember my parents telling me not to tell adults with coffee breath to back up a few paces, I just know not to do it. Somehow I’ve learned that I have to go along just to get along. To run my thoughts and feelings through a strainer so that the real me doesn’t seep out and make somebody cry and maybe improve themselves.

And though I want to be free, I don’t want someone telling me about myself unfiltered. I don’t want to experience that level of honesty…and that’s the pure truth.

See You In Seven

W.W.C.D?

Does anyone remember the strange story that Tom Cruise’s character in the movie Collateral spoke about with the dead man on the subway not being noticed? Well Philly just told a similar story last week. Read this…

Police charge man in Philly subway hammer attack
Police have arrested a man suspected of brutally attacking a dozing subway passenger with a hammer while other riders did nothing to stop the assault, the city's police commissioner said Wednesday.

Thomas Scantling, 26, of Philadelphia, was charged with attempted murder, aggravated assault and related charges, police said.

Scantling, who was taken into custody in a mental institution late Tuesday, has a lengthy record of rape and other convictions, Police Commissioner Charles Ramsey said on NBC's "Today."

The victim was treated and released from a hospital.

Ramsey criticized other riders for standing by when the assailant entered the train with his 5-year-old son, directed the boy to a seat, calmly pulled a hammer from a backpack and attacked a man dozing in a nearby seat.

At least 10 other riders were in the car, yet no one interfered as the attacker repeatedly struck the victim in the train car and later out on a platform, Ramsey said on "Today."

"They better pray they're never a victim, because if someone was attacking them that way they would certainly hope someone would step forward and help, and it starts with stepping forward and doing something yourself," Ramsey said.

Police trying to generate tips released surveillance video Monday showing the early Sept. 4 assault that was played repeatedly on Philadelphia television stations.

Authorities said Scantling was apprehended after family members called police. It was not immediately clear if he had an attorney.

"He has a long criminal history including rape, robbery, assault, narcotics violations," Ramsey said.

Scantling apparently had tried to hurt himself with the hammer following the attack on the subway. Family members said they were not initially aware of the attack, but had Scantling committed to the mental institution where he was taken into custody.

The victim, 20-year-old Dewayne Taylor, made his own way to a hospital and was treated for head and neck injuries. Taylor, who has been released from the hospital, said Tuesday he has no idea who the attacker is or why he was targeted.

This incident really managed to spark a lot of conversation. Besides the fact that I use that same subway system twice a day, five days a week and this story scared the mess out of me, there was a lot of discussion as to why nobody helped the victim.

Which then led me to think “What would Courvoisier do?” (W.W.C.D?)

Well I am not going to lie and say I would have stepped in because I wouldn’t have. But I do believe I would have called the police on my cell phone. This incident wasn't reported until eight hours later, when the victim called the police. And if you watch the video I linked in the header, you will see there were quite a few witnesses and not one person stepped forward. That truly makes the island gal in me sad.

Think about it what would you have done?
We know what Jesus would do.

Happy Monday y’all.
Peace

A Woman's Work

Last Friday Rum Punch used her grandmother’s explanation on why men, particularly black men, seem to be crawling away from their responsibilities as a board to dive into a complex issue that many ponder. And like most things, the definition of how a man walks, is relative in interpretation. For me, my definition of a man tells of a life with consistency and self sacrifice. But, as I look around for men who are willing to do what they don’t feel like doing for their children, spouses and community, men like grandfathers, it seems to me that a lot of males have yet to master manhood. But as Lord Hannibal and Introspective Goddess have commented, what about the women? Aren’t they getting sorrier too?

Hmmmm.

At the core, it just seems like people in general are functioning more with an “F what you heard, Imma do me” mentality. And with that respect and consideration for others weakens under growing egos. I am always taken aback when I meet people who truly feel the world owes them something just because they are here. These folks think that they should start immediately at the top, and that they deserve to bypass the process of making it. Say what? As a people who sought to crawl out of the fields of oppression the value of sacrifice, working as a collective and hoping for something better for the next generation was learned. Yet somewhere this story of us got muted, watered down and sold as a fairy tale. Stories about money, cars and clothes are sung louder than what granddaddy or momma did to keep the family together and strong. And so I wonder how we are to know what we are supposed to do in our families, our communities and in relationships when our cues are coming externally.

On the outside I feel like everyone is getting sorrier. We stopped listening to those who’ve already been there and done that because surely they didn’t know what they were talking about. And because now we are all grown and sexy we don’t have to give respect to get it. I have long believed that it is the woman’s job to set the tone of a relationship. Yet it is amazing to hear about women shocked and saddened that ole boy only sees her as a booty call…when yeah, on your first date your gave it up not knowing his last name. Or that ole boy only sees her as a punching bag…when yeah, you decided not to leave after the first time he beat you. Or that ole boy only sees you as a gold digger…when yeah, all you do is ask about his money, his car and clothes. Or that ole boy only sees you as his baby’s mama and not a wife…when yeah, that’s what you allowed him to think of you. So how mad can women be when men fail to meet the expectations that were never taught or that we never communicated?

As mothers, fighters, glue that's holding it together, daughters, life givers, sisters, teachers and friends we have to know our value. And we have to remind our males that we expect them to be men because we know what they can be. We all need to hear of and learn our worth. And that women, is going to be a mighty work that we must be willing to undertake.

See You In Seven

Walk Like A Man

The other day whilst my granny was making a tall pitcher of lemonade and the bad news of the day was blaring in the background, I said to her, “Remember when men took care of their families.”

“Uh huh,” she said.
“What happened,” I asked.
“These men getting sorrier and sorrier,” she said matter of factly.

Hmmm…A simple answer to a complex question that is debated in the academic world, the blogsphere, and black folks’ living rooms across the land. It’s the question in the front of our minds and on the tip of our tongues: what happened to us? What happened to our Black men?

The truth is people like revisionist history. Christopher Columbus discovered America. Slavery really wasn’t that bad. The trail of tears was just a little walk. The Japanese internment camp was like a summer retreat. And apparently before crack, the Vietnam War and the corrupt welfare system Black men were the shit. And now they ain’t shit. Or that is what so many people think, say, breathe and live on a daily basis.

When we get past the finger pointing, or the blaming the white man, or the educated explanation of the emasculation of black men, or the ills of integration, I think it’s safe to admit that something happened in our community. A breakdown happened. A change in values happened. A culture change happened. We can discuss the reasons ad nauseum, but what I find interesting is that when people think back on the Black community, the days before integration (and even shortly after) there seems to have been a lot of good there. People reminisce about men coming home to their families, men being a constant presence in the community, men teaching their sons how to be men.

This is not to say that there was no bad. This is not to say that men didn’t abandon their families, or beat their wives, or have affairs, or impregnate women before vows and wedding bands were exchanged, or gamble the rent money, but this is to say that it seems that some core values have eroded. It's like we lost some pieces along the way to a better life. I know I’m not the only one who loves an older black man, a church going, amen saying, Deacon Johnson who wears a fresh suit and a brim hat tilted to the side, who nods his head and smiles at you and says, “how you doin’ sweetie,” as he holds the door open or helps you with your package. I wonder what will happen when that generation is gone. I feel like they will take so much with them when they leave: a true work ethic, integrity, and manners, to name a few.

Story time (Y'all know I always have a story): Back in the day a female family member got pregnant by a man she was “dating,” a soldier passing through town. So y’all know I’m using the term dating real loosely. Well a shotgun wedding proceeded. And they decided to have that one child and raise her and love her together. Well one grown child with a PhD, a husband, and two kids later, they are still married. Now some might view this as noble, some archaic, but contrast it with a young man I met last night who was with his girlfriend for two years before she got pregnant, the baby is now a year old, and they just live together. And he’s talking about he doesn’t want to get married until he’s ready to support a family. Excuse me? I think that’s the definition of putting the cart before the horse. When looking at these two situations, what I see is a man who was willing to sacrifice his plans for his life because he was a part of bringing another life into this world vs. a man who wants to cling to the life of a bachelor. What I see is acknowledging the reality of a situation then stepping up and taking personal responsibility vs. a it ain't my fault things happen in life kind of attitude.

As I settle into adulthood I have learned that I have a very different definition of manhood from a lot of people. I value character and substance over flash and cash. I have had some great men in my life who have shown me how a man is supposed to behave. But what about those who haven’t been as fortunate? What does manhood mean to them? How does manhood look to them? Who is teaching them how to be men? I remember watching a documentary some time ago on young black men in gangs. And the young man who couldn’t have been more than 18 years old said, “Our generation died when our fathers were born.” Damn. He was talking about a generation without fathers. A generation without men in the community. A generation that was already gone. I remember when I was in Philly watching a news piece about a shooting in the neighborhood. And people were standing in a prayer circle and the woman said, “We pray for the mothers, daughters, grandmothers, aunts, cousins…” I stopped cold because there was no mention of fathers, grandfathers, or uncles. What had been commonplace in my life was abstract in theirs. And this saddens me. Because my reality blends with their reality and forms, well, reality. And I can't ignore that. I can't put my experience above or over theirs.

I don’t write this thinking that all black men ain’t shit. Believe me I know better. I know there are great men out here. And I don’t write this thinking that there is no hope and that things are bleak. And I don't write this saying that if you ain't marry the mother of your child, you ain't a man. I know you take care of your kids. But I do wonder how it will be 50 years from now when God willing I’m reminiscing with my grandchildren about the community that I grew up in. As our key values continue to disappear, as we hear reports about 70% of Black children being born to single parent households, as I meet so many men with baby mamas and not wives who seem allergic to the mere thought and concept marriage, as these little hip hop youngins’ become the heroes of today and "old man" Andre 3000 has to school them in verse, what will I say about the men? What significance will they have played in my life? When I look back and share my stories, I want them to be honest, and I know there will be some ugly and some bad, but I hope there's a whole lot more good. So I pray that all the granddaddies, daddies, uncles and Deacon Johnsons out there are passing the torch to somebody, teaching what they know and ensuring that we'll have some warriors. Some men.

That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!