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The older I get, and the more I set my sights on starting a family, the more reflective I am on how our cultural and spiritual upbringings affect the core of who we are. While I believe that our spiritual upbringing (or lack thereof) is probably the most foundational aspect we receive from our families, I think culture plays a significant part as well. Take corporal punishment, for example. The largest contingency of spankers in America is likely the Christians and for obvious (to me) reasons. The second largest contingency of spankers likely consists of people of color. I know many African American families who are not Christians, but do spank their children. Ambra's theory is this: if you live in a America and you are not considered a person of color or not a Christian, nine times out of ten you probably don't believe in spanking. I could be totally wrong. We'll never know now will we?

I use that little scenario to illustrate a simple point. As an African American I can wholeheartedly say that black families often raise their children very differently than "White" Americans. I realize this isn't a white and black world, but in many ways both literally and figuratively, I believe "black" and "white" represent two different extremes and I shall use them for the sake of convenience. All my brethren of color, feel free to use my logic as a template for your own culture.

There was a time in my life, however brief, when I thought I was a white kid. It was a fleeting thought and it almost got me killed. When I was ten years-old, my mother made me mad and in an attempt to manipulate her, I threatened to run away. I'd seen many of my friends from school use this tactic and it worked on most of the sitcoms (except the Cosby Show) so I figured I'd give it a shot. I wholeheartedly expected to receive some serious ministering to my backside, but my mother decided to run psychological warfare on me. Given this expectation, you can imagine my chagrin when my mother responded to my threat with, "Fine by me; just don't take anything you didn't buy."

Don't take anything I didn't buy? Wasn't expecting that one. I thought, where on earth did this woman come up with these snappy retorts? As a child growing up, there were times I seriously considered surrendering my uterus to the authorities for fear I'd never be able to match the ingenious rejoinders my mother pulled out of thin air. Surely my children would suffer from my lack of brilliance.

The next hour was agony as I tore apart every crevice of my room, searching for something, anything I'd purchased with my own money. After rifling through every drawer, sadly, I came up short. My clothes, books, and personal items all laid claim to the same financier: my loving parents. After digging a bit further into my messy closet, the one thing I managed to find was a pathetic-looking pink clay jewelry box with green flowers painted along the sides. It was one of the better pieces among the graveyard of my overambitious school art class projects. There was a time I could’ve sworn I'd be launching my own Plazgraff collection and no one could tell me otherwise. It is a sad day anywhere when you are running away to live on your own and all you have to your name is a poorly constructed piece of pottery. (Coincidentally, this reality would repeat itself twelve years later when I moved out on my own for real.) The four walls of the jewelry box were kind of lumpy and the handled top I made shrunk in the kiln so it didn't exactly fit perfectly. It was ugly and not well constructed, but in that moment, it was the most beautiful thing I owned.

I stuffed a few useless knickknacks into my precious jewelry box--some Bonne Bell lip gloss given to me by a friend and a few sticks of gum. It was summer so I didn't need a jacket. On my way out the door I bid farewell to my mother. I didn't bother waking my father from his nap to say goodbye. This was all a ritual I thought, and any moment my mother was going to beg me not to leave. I journeyed outside about fifty yards from our home and found a spot where the grass and the sidewalk meet. Just me and my ugly jewelry box there sitting on the curb. A few neighborhood friends in our predominately black neighborhood were out riding their bikes. They came and sat and commiserated with me. I told them my story of escape from the evil dictator formerly known as my mother. In many ways I was their hero. I'd done the unthinkable and managed to come out without unscathed.

After a good hour of watching blades of grass grow, it was clear that my mother called my bluff. Clearly I hadn't thought this one through and found myself missing home more than home missed me. I packed up my pride (and my jewelry box) and headed back to the house. Standing at my parent's doorstep with my tail between my legs, I regrettably rang the door bell. As if I were a turkey whose thermometer button just popped out, my mother looked pleasantly expectant to see me. I apologized to her and was banished to my bedroom to "think about" what I'd done. I never appreciated my parents as much as I did that day. As I headed up the stairs, my mom called out behind me,

"Oh and by the way…that jewelry box? You made that at your expensive private school. We paid for that too!"

Right then I knew I was officially indigent. That was the first and last time I ever ran away. That type of behavior might've worked in other households, but my mother wasn't having it.

Continue reading "My Black & White Life">>>

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I have a problem with the notion that it is oppressive for children to be taught proper English. As though enforcing standards on the youth of America is somehow going to make them grow up repressed and bitter about being able to form sentences and conjugate verbs. They would have us all believe these children will end up as adults resting on a couch somewhere talking to a shrink about the horror of not being allowed to freely "express themselves" in the classroom. In America personal expression is overrated and unregulated. It conjures up something vaguely reminiscent of those hellion children on the show "Supernanny" who are permitted to yell obscenities at their parents all in the name of "freedom".

When it comes to freedom of expression, educator Garrard McClendon is breaking the language barrier. He's written a book, "Ax or Ask: The African American Guide to Better English" where he tackles many of the falsehoods about language that have been perpetuated in media, education, and the sub-culture. Not only that, he's done what most of us have failed to do: invade the public school system. McClendon has formulated a curriculum that teaches students how to speak proper English by focusing on correcting commonly mispronounced words and bad grammar. As can be expected, he's come under a bit of fire for specifically targeting black students. Although it is becoming quite clear that such a curriculum is needed in many other circles, his goal was to target the group of people being most affected by improper speech. For high schoolers in particular it could mean missing out on college scholarships, future jobs, and more importantly, the opportunity to say something meaningful to the world.

My dear Seattle has been in the news quite a bit as of late thanks to American Idol. Earlier this year, Seattle made headlines when Seattle Public Schools was in search of a new superintendent. Trouble came a brewin' when it was suggested that potential candidates have "a clear understanding of institutionalized oppression." At first glance, I don't see too much wrong with that statement. A little more digging and it was revealed that the implications of such a statement were convoluted to say the least. Last year, in a statement released by the school system's "Office of Equity and Race Relations", racism was defined as such (emphasis added):

"Those aspects of society that overtly and covertly attribute value and normality to white people and Whiteness, and devalue, stereotype, and label people of color as "other", different, less than, or render them invisible. Examples of these norms include defining white skin tones as nude or flesh colored, having a future time orientation, emphasizing individualism as opposed to a more collective ideology, defining one form of English as standard, and identifying only Whites as great writers or composers."

So it's racist to set an atmosphere where students are expected to speak proper English? I guess the proof is in the pudding. Seattle Public Schools rank among some of the worst. Even Bill Gates stopped giving to Seattle Public Schools.

I've written quite a bit here about my sincere appreciation for the English language. Upon mastering it, I believe language, no matter where its national origin, is a very powerful knife. Language can cut very deeply. It can scar, wound and unnecessarily mark those who speak, hear or read it. When used as a butcher knife it can be fairly destructive. Contrarily, when wielded by the right person, language can be used as a scalpel to carefully dissect thoughts, expose hearts, and bring understanding and revelation to a culture desperately in need of a clear voice on just about everything.

Don't get me wrong. I am no language purist. I appreciate the newness of speech and the wacky words and expressions added to my vocabulary on a daily basis. I think the Urban Dictionary is a treasure trove of hipster nerdom. The beauty in being able to speak proper English is the license you receive to speak it improperly. In fact, some of the greatest writers in history consistently violated Strunk & White's rules of proper grammar, but did so with such intelligence and eloquence the average person could see the mark of master wordsmithing.

Every day, multiple times a day and depending on how I feel I might slip into my lax speech and be speakin' bad grammar usin' words like ain't and edumacation and dropping the terminal consonant off the verbs. The fact that I can analyze my own slang makes me a nerd. It also makes me a master of my words. I thank my private school education and my parents for that. When I slip into slang it's usually due to cultural idioms or because I'm chatting with my husband or friend and doing it for emphasis. I think of it as a dialect--my urban Seattleite version of patois. The caveat to my intermittent and intentional misuse of the English language is that I would never under any circumstances do so in the presence of those who didn't know I knew otherwise. Half the language battle is knowing where and when to speak appropriately. The other half is knowing how to speak appropriately. Therein lies the rub.

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Last week was a tough week for Americans. Not for "refugees" but for American citizens. I need to take the time to apologize for using that word even if it was just once in this forum. There are many conversations going on about the racial implications of such a word and quite frankly, that's not my beef. At face value, the word is reserved for those "seeking refuge," and could easily be appropriated to any displaced citizens of the gulf coast. However today in our society, the relative connotations of that word carry with them a stigma. It is a stigma that I feel ultimately tints our view towards our own brethren and separates us from responsibility to those people as human beings. They are not just "Citizens of New Orleans." They are not refugees. They are Americans and they need to be treated, addressed, and valued as such.

The devastation of last week proved to be an un-wanted magnifying glass for America and Americans. Like the dirty clothes we used to push under our beds as children in haste to get our rooms cleaned--so has America done with the problems and people that have been deemed "less than" by society. See, I knew early on that something was awry when we began getting early reports that Antoine "Fats" Domino was missing and then later "rescued," much to the joy and relief of many fans. No offense to Mr. Domino, his family, or his fans, but just because he is famous and has written many songs doesn't make his life any more valuable than the thousands who ended up shelterless that night because MSNBC, CNN, and Reuters didn't broadcast a missing persons emergency search-and-rescue report throughout news stations coast-to-coast. In fact, the better part of me is inclined to think that had Mr. Domino been forced to remain a few days with the other people waiting to be rescued, certain media outlets would have had a field day with the backlash.

Value--An interesting word with much power. It's amazing what's brought into the light once tragedy strikes.

Without a doubt, the value on human life has come into question this week. There have been a deluge of hefty accusations flung about as of late, so I don't say that lightly. For the most part, those accusations have centered on race, racism, and the neglect of black people, specifically by President Bush. Some of it has been said with civility, but most of it has been said with disdain. As the front man, our President has taken a beating for such sentiment, but to be honest, considering the real issue at hand, I'm not entirely convinced that Kerry, Clinton or Gore would have handled things much differently. For the record, the reality stands: institutionalized racism currently exists. It's not some socialized problem. It is a stronghold that needs to be broken. This is not a deep revelation. The heavens are not parting. Nothing there has changed. What has however, changed are the stakes. This past week, the stakes were high and everything good and bad. about America came forth in all its glory.

Continue reading "Final Thoughts: Reflections on Race, Class, Poverty and a New Season">>>

Posted in Race | Permanent Link | Comments { 52 }

 

The following is a lengthy note to patronizing and high-fallutin' liberal thinkers: Simply put, black people are not dumb.

Nearly a year ago, I came into a new depth of understanding in regards to the social decay that is American liberal thought. Surprisingly enough, I have Michael Moore to thank for this. Despite commonly held beliefs, the man is indeed good for something. In a bold pre-election address on November 1, 2004, Moore wrote the following on his website:

After I dragged myself from under his patronizing high-fallutination*, I came to three conclusions (in no particular order):

1. Listening or even giving credence to anything Michael Moore has to say is like giving an audience to a special-ed monkey.
   
2. Liberals, (white ones in particular) think more highly of themselves than they ought.
   
3. There is a certain segment of progressive America who remain unaware of their sub-conscious convictions that black people are complete idiots.

The arrogance of Moore's missive runs deeper than his own narcissicism (which in and of itself is at Grand Canyon-sized proportions). Every day of the year the events taking place in America confirm suspicion number three.

Continue reading "Self-Appointed Saviors of the Black Race">>>

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The recent dust kicked up over the Conservative Brotherhood has seen some rather interesting commentary. There are some who feel race and politics are in no way correlated. As usual, notions of a colorblind society have been brought into the fray. Can I just interject how completely idiotic I find the idea that we are supposed to walk around the Earth and not see each other's differences? God's no fool. He knew what He was doing. I linked to much of the commentary on Monday, but yesterday, I received the following email and found it accurate to say the least:

Yesterday, Townhall's weblog analyzed Washington Post columnist William Raspberry's most recent column on closing the gap between blacks and whites.

To a large degree, various pockets of American people refuse to properly address our country's racial tension. It's present in the Church, education, government, and Conservatives in particular, often fail to note the specific attention needed in the area of black/white relations. The history of communication there is not good. There's too much hypersensitivity on both ends. It's a counter productive way to communicate.

At this point, I'm more interested in reading what other people have to say, particularly in regards to this email.

Posted in Race | Permanent Link | Comments { 42 }

 

Every February, Tavis Smiley hosts his "State of the Black Union Symposium." I watched last year to my own nausea and this year, I chose not to indulge myself in the whackness. This year's theme was "Defining the African American Agenda."

Good luck on that one.

The symposium as I see it, is merely an event where a panel mostly full of "so-called" black leaders, ministers, and intellectually arrogant individuals discuss the "black issues," strategize for the future, and do their best to out-talk one another, while manipulating the emotions of the people to applaud.

This year, the symposium was held at New Birth Missionary Baptist Church in Lithonia, Georgia. But don't let the level playing ground fool you. Bishop Eddie Long, pastor of the church, was brought under scrutiny for supporting bans on homosexual marriages as well as attending a meeting at the White House. The nerve of him! We must remember, blacks must only be loyal to the Democratic Party because the Democrats are in fact, god.

During the panelist discussion, Bishop Harry R. Jackson Jr., a Democrat who voted for President Bush in the last election, announced what he felt was the dawn of a new black agenda based on the Bible. Here is where the fall-out begins.

I have a problem with Tavis Smiley's endeavor. And trust me when I say it's not just because I am unhinged by Dr. Cornel West's refusal to groom himself or the uppitiness of University of Pennsylvania professor Michael Eric Dyson (whose books exude so much bourgeoisie intellectual snobbery, they don't even make sense). The problem I have is with this "We Are the World" notion of black people coming together under one banner and one cause.

Forgive me if this sounds terribly simplistic, but it's not going to work. Not under current conditions because there are too many different allegiances present for that to take place. I'm fairly young, and even I am tired of hearing black people moan about how "we just need to come together." It sounds really great, but there's a reason why it hasn't happened: conflicting gods (and yes, we all have them).

Continue reading "The State of the Black Union">>>

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Only nine days left in black history month. Better get in and get your fix while you can.

Growing up, my mom--a college professor--used to jokingly call this month "Black People Work Month," because in February, her calendar was always booked with guest lectures, key note addresses and such. So it's no suprise to me when I hear that many black leaders are getting sick of the demands of the month. MSNBC reports:

"The only black county commissioner in Dallas, John Wiley Price spoke Monday to 100 mostly black middle school students about history, responsibility and their futures. If he had been invited the following day - Feb. 1 - he would have refused.

That's not because of a scheduling conflict. Price no longer makes public appearances during Black History Month. Like some other top speakers, Price has grown weary of being in high demand for a just few weeks and then often ignored.

"I'm not going to be 'pimped'"
"I'm not going to be, as the kids say, 'pimped' during the month of February," Price said.

A few years ago, Price said, he was inundated with speaking requests. Then he realized that "black people were visible during February, but the other 11 months of the year we became the invisible people."

He isn't a lone rebel: Twenty-nine years after Black History Month was officially designated by the federal government, something of a backlash has begun.

Though February is still an exhilarating time for many high-profile black Americans, whose research and life experiences are celebrated, others see it as overwhelming, even debilitating.

They grow bleary-eyed, traveling almost daily, giving keynote addresses, participating in symposiums and moderating panels. And their physical exhaustion highlights an unsavory reality: Come March 1, public interest in them and their work plummets.

Such is the high price we pay for trying to compartmentalize history and cram it into a 28 day month. I still say, it's time to move another direction.

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Considering the names I've been called since starting this website, I'm not one to be suggesting much of anything by way of racial authenticity but I MUST say this: will the real black woman please stand up!?

Although I'm on television hiatus, I have been following this latest installment of "The Apprentice" and as predicted, the show's producers have managed to scrounge up yet another crackhead of a black woman.

Verna Felton is her name; quitting is her game. Felton was the first "Apprentice" contestant to actually quit within three episodes. She complained of lack of sleep and exhaustion. Please.

What's worse? She's from SEATTLE! Which leads me to my next question: Where on EARTH are they finding these black women?

Felton, an Account Manager for Microsoft, claimed it was the lack of professionalism and backstabbing that led her to quit the show. I think she was too prideful and scared to get fired, but what do I care? It's just television. It's not even real. All I'm asking is for some proper representation...please?

Posted in Race | Permanent Link | Comments { 11 }

 

Every February, it starts. The United States commemorates what we somewhat affectionately call "Black History Month". So begins the 28 days during which much of white America runs around trying to be "deep" and "in touch" and "ethnic" and as far as I'm concerned, "fake".

The January lead-in to this month is the celebration of Dr. Martin Luther King's birthday, the day on which the "opressor" makes atonement for their racial sins by being cleansed in the fountain of guilt, hokeyness and requisite chorus of "We Shall Overcome". Similar to Martin Luther King Day, "Black History Month" has become overwhelmingly trite over the years.

This isn't to say that setting aside a part of the year to acknowledge the historical contributions of black Americans is a bad thing. Considering what's being taught in the average U.S. History course, the holes certainly require some filling in. However, I often wonder if what was once a good means is no longer proper for the end. That is merely to say: I’m getting a little tired of singing “Lift Every Voice And Sing”.

Growing up under the banner of the typical elementary and secondary school "Black History Month" curriculum can give a person a cynical attitude toward the month and its purpose.

By high school graduation, we all knew just about everything there was to know about Harriet Tubman, Martin Luther King, Jr., Frederick Douglass, and Malcolm X. These were of course the heroes of "Black History Month", or what I affectionately call "the token Negroes".

Continue reading "Black History Month Revisited">>>

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Yesterday, I wrote some elegant, choppy and scatteredly poignant thoughts on this "great" (quotes indicate sarcasm) holiday on which most people sleep in and do nothing. Then my computer froze and I lost the entire essay. The funny part is, I wasn't even sad. Rather telling I'd say. This comes a day after the fact so I'll keep it brief:

I started getting sick of this holiday back when I was in the eighth grade. For me, Martin Luther King Day always seemed like a reason for everyone to get together and act deep and "conscious" for one day to make atonement for their "sins".

While growing up in school, they usually had an assembly where they'd play black and white clips from "Eyes On the Prize" and make us join hands and under the most subtle of socialist pretenses one could ever imagine, we'd be forced to sing "We Shall Overcome" in beautiful harmony.

That song deserves to die a slow and painful death. To all the believers out there, I'm serving notice, we HAVE overcome. Let's kill that song.

Continue reading "Martin Luther "The King"">>>

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