The Problem with Thanksgiving

When I undertook homeschooling, one of my biggest goals was to counteract the omissions and blatant lies that is passed off as history.  My children are pretty young right now so we're giving them a rather G-Rated version of what the first thanksgiving was really about.  But as time goes on, they'll receive a more rounded version.

Most of us associate the holiday with happy Pilgrims and Indians sitting down to a big feast.  And that did happen - once.
The story began in 1614 when a band of English explorers sailed home to  England with a ship full of Patuxet Indians bound for slavery. They left behind smallpox which virtually wiped out those who had escaped.  By the time the Pilgrims arrived in Massachusetts Bay they found only one living Patuxet Indian, a man named Squanto who had survived slavery in England and knew their language.  He taught them to grow corn and to fish, and negotiated a peace treaty between the Pilgrims and the Wampanoag Nation. At the end of their first year, the Pilgrims held a great feast honoring Squanto and the Wampanoags.
But as word spread in England about the paradise to be found in the new world, religious zealots called Puritans began arriving by the boat load. Finding no fences around the land, they considered it to be in the public domain. Joined by other British settlers, they seized land, capturing strong young Natives for slaves and killing the rest.  But the Pequot Nation had not agreed to the peace treaty Squanto had negotiated and they fought back. The Pequot War was one of the bloodiest Indian wars ever fought. 
In 1637 near present day  Groton, Connecticut, over 700 men, women and children of the Pequot Tribe had gathered for their annual Green Corn Festival which is our Thanksgiving celebration. In the predawn hours the sleeping Indians were surrounded by English and Dutch mercenaries who ordered them to come outside.  Those who came out were shot or clubbed to death while the terrified women and children who huddled inside the longhouse were burned alive. The next day the governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony declared "A Day Of Thanksgiving" because 700 unarmed men, women and children had been murdered.
Cheered by their "victory", the brave colonists and their Indian allies attacked village after village. Women and children over 14 were sold into slavery while the rest were murdered.  Boats loaded with a many as 500 slaves regularly left the ports of New England. Bounties were paid for Indian scalps to encourage as many deaths as possible.  
Following an especially successful raid against the Pequot in what is now  Stamford, Connecticut, the churches announced a second day of "thanksgiving" to celebrate victory over the heathen savages.  During the feasting, the hacked off heads of Natives were kicked through the streets like soccer balls.  Even the friendly Wampanoag did not escape the madness. Their chief was beheaded, and his head impaled on a pole in Plymouth, Massachusetts -- where it remained on display for 24 years.  
The killings became more and more frenzied, with days of thanksgiving feasts being held after each successful massacre. George Washington finally suggested that only one day of Thanksgiving per year be set aside instead of celebrating each and every massacre. Later Abraham Lincoln decreed Thanksgiving Day to be a legal national holiday during the Civil War -- on the same day he ordered troops to march against the starving Sioux in Minnesota.
This story doesn't have quite the same fuzzy feelings associated with it as the one where the Indians and Pilgrims are all sitting down together at the big feast.  But we need to learn our true history so it won't ever be repeated.  Next  Thanksgiving, when you gather with your loved ones to Thank God for all your blessings, think about those people who only wanted to live their lives and raise their families.  They, also took time out to say "thank you" to Creator for all their blessings.

The Real Story of Thanksgiving by Susan Bates

So what are we really celebrating today?  It's kind of sobering.  Too often,this day feels like one big excuse to eat way too much and a precursor to all kinds of "deals" on things we don't really need (more consumption) on Black Friday.  In any case, I'm happy that for at least one day, folks ostensibly take a minute to give thanks for all they have instead of focusing on things they are going to get.  Let's remember to give thanks for those who came before us who sacrificed so much and had so much taken from them so that we could have what we have now.  Let's give thanks every day for the many blessings we have and let's keep things in perspective. 

Voting

Yesterday was election day.  

I feel like I should be ashamed to say that I didn't go out to vote.  But I'm not.  

Every time a person (a Black person especially) says that they didn't vote, there's always these judgmental looks that follow.  Like, "Do you know what your ancestors went through to get the right to vote?" of "Do you know that in some places people are still losing their lives to vote?"  These questions give me pause until I realize that if I didn't have the right to vote, I'd be fighting for it too.  

But not because I think voting is so vastly important in terms of who will be in office.  Rather, I think, the right to vote symbolizes that an individual is a full-fledged citizen, equal to all other citizens.  Not a visitor.  Not an outsider.  But a real part and parcel piece of the puzzle that makes up the nation.  That's so incredibly important.  And so I would fight to protect voting rights because of what it symbolizes.  

Having the right doesn't mean that I need to be told how to use it, or if I should use it at all though.  I thought of the analogy of a wealthy heiress who has inherited 6 beautiful homes all around the world but hates to travel and loves the one home she lives in.  The houses belong to her.  It's her right to live in all of them, use some and not others, use them as hotels, sell them, or let them fall into utter neglect.  We all  have our opinions on what she should do but at the end of the day, the are rightfully hers and she's free to do whatever she wants with them.

I really resented having my mailbox filled to the brim over the last couple of days with pamphlets and fliers essentially advertising different candidates as if the election was some kind of blow-out sale.  I have never even heard of these people before now.  Those who were seeking re-election had never in their 4 year terms made an effort to reach out to me.  But now, they want my vote.  Of course.  Also, I religiously avoid watching or reading the news (my psyche really can't take it) and I really don't have many people in my life who talk about politics so I manage to really not get any information about candidates just in the course of my daily living.  But, had these candidates left reading material at the local library over the last few months, most likely I would have read something about them.  Even something as small as a bookmark because I'm good for swiping bookmarks.  

I'm just not all that interested.  I think sometimes that it's awful that I'm so apathetic to politics but honestly, the first election I could vote in was the botched one that put Bush in office.  That shook my belief in the system in a way that I've never recovered from.  In my town, I've also watched one mayor hand off to another mayor only for things to essentially stay the same although the new mayor's credo was to bring sweeping change and reform. 

It doesn't help that I view politics as a kind of game where voters are really just the spectators.  Sure, if spectators (voters) don't show up, the whole game suffers.  They are needed, no doubt because the pay the admission fees (taxes).  But who is really controlling the game?  Who really makes a difference in how the game is played?  What happens next?  It's the players (politicians), referees, coaches and owners.  To me, if you really want to make a difference, you have got to be one of those people or at least very close to one of those people.  

I read a story in Good Housekeeping magazine recently about the families of people who were killed on a short domestic flight.  Turns out that with these short domestic flights, there's a lot of dangerous things going on like unskilled and tired pilots and other shortcuts being taken to reduce cost.  These families went to bat to try to get some laws passed to fix things.  But they didn't vote about it.  They went to Washington.  They wrote letters to their representatives but I believe the reason they were able to get anything done really was because they got so actively involved.  Casting a vote would have, quite simply, not been enough.  You have got to get all up in the mix.  In a way that many of us do not have the time, energy, money or motivation to do.

Interestingly enough, I'm teaching Z1 about what it means to be a good citizen.  For a five year old, voting doesn't even factor into the equation.  Being a good citizen means things like: 

• someone who cares about their community and world
• someone who understands rules are created for the common good and doesn't break them (I add unless those rules are unjust)
• someone who shows respect for the neighbors

Too many of us grow up and reduce our good citizenship to whether or not we voted in the last election.  Pat ourselves on the back for a job well done and keep on living in our insulated, solitary worlds caring not one whit about all the other hallmarks of good citizenship.

So maybe I should have gone out to vote yesterday but I'm not losing sleep about it.  Not even really all that interested in the results.  I kind of know that there is a system in place and that no one guy voted in is really going to rock the system too hard.  

There are some elections that I know I should pay more attention to (like senate and presidential elections--playoffs and superbowls).  But the others . . . I'm just not at all motivated.  But it doesn't mean I'm ungrateful for the sacrifices made so that it was my decision to make whether or not I'd go out and vote.

In the Minority

One of the best things about going to Africa is being part of the majority.  Most places I go when in Ghana or Nigeria, I don't stand out.  The people all look like me.  The advertisements all feature people that look like me.  If I turn on the television, I see people that look like me.

I happen to live in a town where most of the people look like me but as soon as I step foot out of this town, and go up north just a bit, I become conscious of the fact that I am in the minority.  It doesn't really bother me much. I have not encountered any overt racism and generally people are friendly and accepting.  But still, as a human being, it's tough sometimes when you don't see people that look like you.

In the homeschooling community, I am definitely in the minority and that is difficult.  I keep showing up to homeschooling meetings holding out hope that there will be other faces of color.  Every so often, one will turn up like at yesterday's get-together and it's thrilling.  I can connect with homeschoolers of any race but there are things, certain things, that only folks of color can understand so it's important to me to find them.

But back to being in the minority . . . one of the most interesting things that happens is that you often have to stop and think about things a lot to figure out if it's racially motivated or just, you know, regular.  I think that's one of the worst things about being in the minority.

They have opened a new Fairway Market not too far from where I live.  I absolutely love Fairway and used to drive down to NYC to do my grocery shopping there.  So I was thrilled that they were opening on up here--not more than 5 minutes away.  There was a huge hullabaloo when they opened too.  The place was completely packed and for good reason:  the store is huge.  You can get any and everything there.  It's just awesome.

About a month ago I went on down there to do some grocery shopping and I discovered that the bridge connecting my town to the town the Fairway is in was closed.  It's a drawbridge so every so often, they will pull it up to let a ship pass.  I didn't think much about it--I just took the very congested and out-of- the-way detour.  A week later,  I noticed the bridge was still closed and now there were signs that the bridge was closed.  Oh boy--this sucker was going to be shut down for a minute.  Well, no problem for me:  I figured out a better detour which involved a highway.  But currently, there's no way to walk to Fairway--well you could but it would tack on well over an hour to your journey.  I started to wonder how they could close such a major bridge when there was a brand new business everyone was itching to get to.  That didn't seem like good business practice and then slowly, slowly, slowly I started to wonder if they were purposely trying to keep folks out, away from their new, shiny, upscale store.  Who were they trying to keep out?  Then it occurred to me:  those folks on that side of my town for whom Fairway would be closer than Pathmark and a better option for grocery shopping (especially since the prices are, believe it or not, comparable).  They would be heading to Fairway on foot to take a cab home or by bus.  But with that bridge out, it would be way too inconvenient to go to Fairway.  I then remembered how much of a big effort they were making to make sure they never said Fairway borders my town or NYC . . . all to preserve the upscale shi-shi image.

Then I thought to myself:  What dark thoughts!  Why do you think like that?  The bridge could really just be out--no ulterior motives.  Just out of order.   But then I realized I kind of have to think of things in this way being in the minority.  I have to be able to recognize these things.  Nobody wants to be that character in the Dave Chappelle skit who doesn't realize who he is and when things are directed at you!  It's not only ridiculous but dangerous.

I know issues of race and class often get conflated and it's hard to separate the two sometimes.  But most of the time I honestly feel I catch more heck for my race than for my class.  More often I think, "Are they doing that because I'm black?" than "Are they doing this because of my tax bracket or where I was raised?"  That's the honest truth.

So anyway, the bridge stays out of order.

And I keep wondering about when my brain will get the memo that we live in post-racial America.

You know it ain't nevah gonna die, right?

The discussion about Black hair, I mean.

Me personally, I'm weary of it but it seems like as a collective, we'll never get tired of talking about our hair. It's that complex so I know, like most every Black woman, that this won't be the last time I talk about it--whether I'm tired of the topic or not. We seem to like to sit around remembering what went on with our hair as children. The trauma mostly, although some folks have fond memories of bonding with their mothers or whoever took care of their hair. And because of all the emotion we have tied up in a hair we protest vehemently when someone says, "It's just hair" and insist but . . . but . . . how can it be "just hair"? But, If an individual decides that to them it's just hair, why can't it just be?

I'm one of those folks who say that it is, after all is said and done, just hair. This is the most balanced and sane approach for me. If I lost all my hair today, admittedly it would be difficult but because of the journey I've been through, it wouldn't be some earthshaking event. I'd be okay. I've learned the hard way not to tie up my identity in what my hair is doing. According to some, me wearing a lowboy right now is speaking volumes about who I am and what I think. It's not simply how I am choosing to wear my hair. It just has to be more. Fundamentally, though I am who I am. Whether anyone who's looking at me thinks so or not.

I don't think it's healthy for me to have all this energy balled up in something as fragile and non-living as hair. I know. I've been there. Automatically thinking brothers with locks had some kind of consciousness going on. Sisters with natural hair were natural sisters. Thinking if I were going to wear natural hair, I shouldn't do x, y or z. I've been there watching locks thin and break. Starting over and getting filled with hope only to have it happen all over again. If the first set of locks I ever started had stayed with me, I would have had them for 7 years this year. And again I'm only speaking for myself. That place of worry and angst about what will people think. What will they say? What does it say about me? What am I saying? It can turn into a real deep well of sorrow and frustration especially if what you want to happen with your hair won't happen with it. When what you wish to see ain't what's going on. It can turn into a cage when you want to do something with it but can't because you don't know how it will be received, how folks will react and what they will assume and how they will treat you based on their assumptions.

The hubby has locks that extend past his waist. When he complains of how hard it is to wash them, to exercise with them, to live with them, I never flippantly say, "So just cut it!" I know how important his hair is to him. If he says, "You know, I'm thinking about cutting it," you'll never hear me say, "Don't do it!" I usually say to him, "Babes, do whatever makes you the most comfortable." His locks are still on his head and probably will be for a long time to come.

I kind of see it like this. To a Muslim, the Koran is sacred and holy. To an Atheist, it's pretty much another book. It really doesn't make sense for the Muslim to keep shouting at the atheist about how holy the Koran is and it equally doesn't make sense for the Atheist to keep insisting to the Muslim that it's just another book. It's also equally ridiculous for the Muslim or the atheist to assume that everyone he meets holds the Koran in the same regard.

So if hair is not just hair to you, that's okay. But if it is just hair to someone else, that's okay too.

But don't misconstrue . . . I wish every Black woman could love every aspect of wearing their hair the way it grows out of their head. I personally believe Black hair in it's natural state is the most beautiful hair on top of a Black woman's head. But at the end of the day, it is what is. And it always will be.

Photo Credit: Olaf Hajek via http://www.ba-reps.com/blog/tag/books/

Relative Worth of Beliefs

Beliefs are just that. They are not right and they are not wrong. They change. They evolve. Sometimes. They remain rigid and unchanging. Most of the time. And in this world, the worth of beliefs is simply relative. My beliefs are worth more to me than yours and vice versa. That doesn't mean yours are worthless (or bad for that matter) at least it shouldn't mean that. But to some people, it does.

I'm not a Christian now even though I was raised as one. I was raised to believe that anything outside of the Protestant Christian way of believing was a lie. That included Catholicism. Islam was especially despised given the history of Nigeria and my parents being Igbo. Indigenous belief systems were purely devil worship--originated by and in worship of the devil.

I do not see the world that way. I think everyone can believe whatever they want to so long as it doesn't infringe on my right to believe what I want. But humans have not evolved to that point yet. Will we ever? I don't know.

It seems for many the most disturbing part of voodoo is the animal sacrifice. Yet animal sacrifice was what was required in the Old Testament before Christ became the ultimate and final sacrifice. Abraham was quite ready to sacrifice his own son because God said so. It's always been disturbing to me that a loving God would sacrifice his only child for anyone or anything but hey, it's a Christian belief so according to some misguided folks, we should all take it for granted, no questions asked. Nothing too terrible about that. It's all mystical and historical and God-ordained so it's all good. For the Bible tells me so.

I don't mean to knock anyone's faith at all but it takes a special kind of hubris to think that you have a direct line to God Almighty to know His mind and know the reason behind all that happens in this world. Little you. Who doesn't even really know what's going on in your own subconscious.

Too much of what voodoo and other indigenous faith systems are about are unknown. As a consequence, there's too much misinformation and fear. Add to that the fact that these systems of belief come from people of color: dark people from a dark place and it's easy to see how people can callously talk about pacts with the devil and then turn around and try to do relief efforts--all in the same breath.

I think I've read it all today: that Haiti got it's independence "too soon" is another bit of foolishness floating around. That if it had waited till the 1950s or 60s it would have been so much better off.
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I'm waiting to read a really good article about this by someone with more time and more energy to research it and write it. Me? I've been up since 5:20AM. Z2 woke up around the same time and never went back down. Exercising is a no go today--I've got pain in the tendon of my ankle and I've had it for two days. I also have a headache and I put on one pound. It's cold outside and this tragedy in Haiti is weighing me down tremendously. I feel powerless to effect change in the world. (((Sigh)))

A little thing called respect

Respect (which goes hand in hand with politeness) goes a long way in this world of ours especially if you happen to be a person of color.  In my last post, I discussed my feelings on the practice of saying sorry, specifically the idea of forcing an apology or giving an apology that is not sincere.  But there are many other practices/ideas that are related to a little thing called respect.

The hubby yesterday said to me that it's time for Z1 to stop calling adults by their first names.  He wants Z1 to preface any adults' name with a proper title:  Aunt, Uncle, Mr. or Ms.  To him, failing to do so is definitely a sign of disrespect.  Maybe I'm more progressive but I really don't mind children in an informal setting calling me by my first name and I don't mind Z1 calling other adults by their first names either.  By adults, I mean non-related adults.  I still expect Z1 to call his aunts "Aunty", uncles "Uncle", Grandma, Grandpa, whether or not they are related by blood or by marriage.  The hubby, on the other hand, absolutely does mind when he is called by his first name by a child or when a child is calling other adults by their first name.  Well, I had to give it a little thought because, obviously, we have to have some kind of agreement on the issue.

I'm from a culture where respect for elders is of the utmost importance.  I mean, any Nigerian child can tell you of the numerous aunts and uncles they have (only a handful of which are actually really related).  There are people older than me that to this day, I would never attempt to call by their first name without tacking on an Aunty or Uncle.  I remember this huge dilemma I had as a child when the mom of an American friend of mine wanted me to drop calling her Aunty.  I didn't really know how to address this woman because I knew if my mother heard me calling her by her first name, it wouldn't be pretty.  So I stopped calling her altogether.  I wonder if she ever noticed.  Anyway, because of my numerous "fake" aunts and uncles, I wouldn't ask my kids to call any non-related adult Aunty or Uncle.  If we're going to use titles, they're going to be formal--Mr. or Ms. although they can tag that on to the first name (as opposed to the last name) of the adult they're talking to the hubby is okay with that).

In one sense I definitely see the value in using proper titles because it really does set up a space for formality, a distinction between me and you, a respect.  If you call me Ms. Originalwombman and I call you by your first name without a title, you'd feel a way--and vice versa.  In some instances, setting up this respectful environment is useful like at the workplace or in the classroom.  But when it comes to interpersonal relationships between children and adults, is it still useful or does it set up a hierarchy of power where children are at the bottom and adults at the top?

You see, for me parenting is requiring a whole shift in my paradigm.  I'm currently reading a book called Connection Parenting and the underlying idea is that no, you shouldn't treat children like adults but you should always treat them with respect.  That is the only way you can in turn expect respect and this is the only way to truly stay connected to your children.  And connection, the book posits, is what children need most in this world.  That makes total sense to me.  So how does using titles to address adults correspond to that understanding?  If respect is a two way street, what special title am I going to use to address children?  Now, I've had teachers who insisted on calling their students "Ms. So and So" especially when I was attending my all girls high school. I always liked this.  I honestly did feel respected in a genuine way--as if the teacher thought me to be on his/her level, i.e. just a capable a human being.  I've also taught in a school where the students called the teacher by her first name.  I can't say I really liked that dynamic though--students really were haywire at times but I don't know if it was the teacher herself (who didn't command respect) or the fact that
they didn't use titles.  I tend to think it's the former.

I am happy to say that I started a Saturday job at a learning center about 20 minutes from here.  Most of the students call the teachers by their first names.  After encountering a particularly surly and sarcastic boy yesterday (who, damn it, happens to be the only Black child I've see walk into the place yet and who burst into tears when I asked why he was being so rude) I am certain that I do not want to be called by my first name.  I don't even want my first name in play at this place because I do not want to invite any form of disrespect.  I don't want to deal with any bullshit at a part-time Saturday gig.  So I guess deep inside I really do feel that using titles does, at least in some part, promote respect.

But is it fair to expect children to tag on a title of respect to address adults when adults are not expected to do that to children? I'm not sure.

I am sure that is vitally important for my boys to be viewed as respectful, courteous, polite young men--as non-threatening as possible.  So I may have to push my misgivings aside so that they get into the habit of addressing adults as Mister or Ms.

I am sure that a little thing called respect, in this world, in this skin, goes a really, really long way.

When to start talking about race?

So a friend of mine recently got her hands on two copies of Faith Ringgold's book Tar Beach and was so kind as to give me one. I actually really love this story and had used it in the classroom with older children (sixth grade) while doing my student teaching.

Well now that it's in my possession, I wonder if it's too early to introduce it to my children. Here is how it's described:

"Quilt paintings"--acrylic on canvas paper, with fabric borders from Ringgold's story quilt of the same name--illustrate a Depression era girl's imaginative foray to heights from which she can see and therefore claim her world. Picnicking on the roof of her family's Harlem apartment building--a "tar beach" to which they bring fried chicken and roasted peanuts, watermelon and beer, and, not least, friends and laughter--Cassie pictures herself soaring above New York City: above the George Washington Bridge, which her father helped build; above the headquarters of the union that has denied him membership, because he's black; above the rooms in which they live. Ringgold's strong figures and flattened perspective bring a distinctive magic to this dreamy and yet wonderfully concrete vision, narrated in poetic cadences that capture the language and feel of flight. Ages 4-8.

Copyright 1990 Reed Business Information

I have no problem with books that talk about working-class families and even families living in poverty. I think it gives the literature children are introduced to and familiar with a balance that if you don't strive for, you won't achieve. There are plenty of stories where the protagonists' problems, while not trivial, pale in comparison to stories where the main character's are facing life and death issues such as homelessness, hunger and displacement. It's important to have a diverse array of books--books that feature people of all colors and cultures and background. It rounds out our children's ideas of the stories that should be told, or more precisely, the stories worth telling.

In Tar Beach, however, there is a very strong reference to the father of the main character being kept out of a union (the very same union for which he's working on a building) because "he's colored or a half-breed Indian". This would be an excellent jumping off point to begin talking about the history of segregation in the United States but when is the appropriate age to do so? The description says it's appropriate for children ages 4-8 but just when are children mature enough to handle issues around race? Can this book be read with just an appreciation for the art? For the imagination of the story? The beauty of the simplicity in the way it's told? I'm not sure. So for now, I'll just keep it out of the rotation.

Angelina Jolie and I don't have much in common.

Except for the flack we catch for our kids' hair. Especially since our hair is different from our children's hair (in my case, I wear a very short cut and my kids have locks and in her case, her hair is straight while her daughter's hair is textured).

If you read any blogs at all, you know that all the buzz is an article in Newsweek that commented on Jolie's daughter's hair.

Yes, there are issues in adoptions where the parents are a from different race or from a different culture. Still, celebrity children are not fair play for the media. It disgusts me to see little children being shoved into the limelight and talked about. And while I am not surprised that the issue of hair is (again) rearing it's ugly head, I am shocked at some of the things I am reading. I'm shocked at all the pseudo-deep conclusions about Black women and their hair and, most ashamedly, that folks are trying to use Zahara's hair as some kind of gauge for Ms. Jolie's fitness as a mother and/or the level of care (or neglect) she shows her child. I get it. Black hair is political, blah, blah, blah but Black women's hair issues affect Black women who then pass it on to their daughters. Zahara is a girl. With a White mom. She has her own journey she is going to need to take and, maybe, just maybe because her mom is White, she won't be saddled with the issues.

I'll admit that there have been pictures of Zahara that have left me wondering why no one is making an effort to style it. And by style, of course, I mean styles that young Black girls traditionally wear like cornrows, twists, etc. But to be honest, the style that Zahara is rocking (which you could call a freeform afro) is indeed a style. Maybe not how I would style my own child's hair, but a style nonetheless. Now, I don't know if Ms. Jolie tried to style it differently and wasn't successful or if she thinks it looks good just the way it is. As a white woman, she doesn't have the hair baggage that black women do and it may be good for Zahara to grow up without all that.

Zahara's hair looks clean and healthy to me. It may not be stylish by my standards but it's groomed. If I had a little girl, I might be more inclined to do things with her hair, but it wouldn't be a whole lot. It would probably be locked, not twisted but neat sections and folks would probably still have a lot to say. But I know from over a decade of wearing my hair natural, the less manipulation, the better. Find a good moisturizing shampoo, make sure you hair sees lots of water, get a good conditioner, and a nice light oil and that's basically it. I see plenty of little girls around here, as young as 2 years old, with fried hair or hair pulled back too tightly. I'd much rather see girls with hair that is left alone to do its own thing.

I have two boys who both have freeform dreadlocks. I *know* people look at them and make all kinds of wild assumptions about how they are cared for. Even my mother periodically entreats me to "do something to their hair". People have openly wondered why I "do this to them" especially since I don't "do it to myself". They don't know my story. Not even the half. So I've come not to care. And I hope Ms. Jolie doesn't care either.

The Danger of a Single Story

I found this on a great blog I recently discovered called flip flopping joy. It is a talk given by Chimamanda Adichie, author of Half of a Yellow Sun, one of my all-time favorite books, about the danger of taking a single story and making all kinds of extrapolations.

Why are their panties in a bunch now??

Is this the speech that some conservatives are all uptight, upset and in arms about? I don't keep up with the news and politics further than what I read on folks' blogs and wha interesting headlines my eyes happen to fall upon as I check e-mail and such. I couldn't miss all the racket conservatives and anti-Obama folks have been making over Obama having the gall to *gasp* give a back-to-school speech. The speech itself, is classic Obama style anyway, i.e., a pep-talk. A very well-written pep-talk. It's just not that serious.

The article I linked says, "Much of the brouhaha could have been avoided if 1) there were other news last week" So interesting . . . I guess the U.S. is the only place in the world and since "nothing was going on" here, nothing was going on anywhere. (((Sigh))). The silliness continues.

How long have you gone without . . .

Knitting or crocheting? That is, if you knit or crochet.

It's been weeks since I've picked up knitting needles or a crochet hook. I'm just not motivated right now. It could be because of the heat but also, I'm so busy running around after Z2 who is into everything now that he's gotten the hang to this walking (and climbing) thing. Maybe as the weather cools down, I'll get my mojo back. I have some very cool projects . . . okay, maybe not that cool since my crafting is on a serious budget right now . . . but some great projects in the wings. I also really hope to finish by the end of this year the Sweater for Emma and the Monkey Socks because honestly, it's getting ridiculous.

On another note, I took a walk to "The Avenue" which is basically the main street/business area of the town I live in. A few weeks ago when I was there I noticed that one of the Korean-owned dress stores (you know the kind that sells, for way too much money, cheaply made cute clothes that will only last you this season before they start to disintegrate ) was closing down. Today, what did I find? That store is now replaced by . . . wait for it . . . you guessed it!

Another beauty supply store. Another beauty supply store? Yes. It's mind-boggling. There are about six, yes SIX, beauty stores on the main strip of avenue which, I kid you not, is not even 1/4 mile long. And all are in business and doing smashingly well. What recession (or depression if you want to really be real about it)? Black women must needs their fake hair (that is the main thing these stores sell although you will find cheap makeup and other beauty supplies).

I read this blog entry before over at Black Conscious Thought and I just shook my head. I had seen the documentary before (you should too . . . Von embeds it in the post) and thought to myself what a shame it was. I don't buy many beauty products. I'm really simple when it comes to these things but I do go into these beauty supply stores to get my nail polishes, nail decals, brushes/combs and occasionally some Dr. Bronner's castile soap. Kudos to the Koreans for locking the market down (something Black folks could do if we could get some UNITY.) In Harlem, there is a bustling business area completely dominated by African Muslims who recently immigrated to the U.S. so successful business by Blacks can be done. And, yes, I do understand the differences between Black Americans and recently immigrated Black Africans--all the complexities and histories, etc. I don't necessarily mind these beauty supply stores but it's just so insulting to me the serious over-abundance of these stores. Like that is all Black people in these neighborhoods boil down too, all they are interested in: artificial hair. We couldn't have a bookstore? How about a nice sit down coffee shop, air conditioned with wi-fi?

Anyway, these are the issues facing mostly-Black communities (and my town is a good mix between America Blacks and Caribbean Blacks). We (all Blacks) have some serious issues to tackle . . . especially when it comes to our hair.

You're Making a Statement!!

So recently I read a post by Seattle Slim over at Happy Nappy Head (an interesting blog by the way) entitled "Solange's Bold 'Statement' Whether She Likes it or Not" and it really made me think. Solange and I are currently rocking the same basic hairstyle: a lowboy. The thing is though that for me personally, this style is definitely not about making a statement. If you've read this blog long enough, you know that. It came about almost as a necessity as I am not willing to wear a wig or weave or anything like that. I prefer to wear my hair naturally. Locks don't work for me or haven't. And anything longer than this length requires more time to maintain that I currently have. So this style is mainly worn because it is practical. It's not that I just love to rock a lowboy but thankfully, it works with my face and the hubby is okay with it. And it's certainly not because I'm trying to say something.

This whole topic is especially interesting for me because at one point, I did use my hair and my look to make a statement. I wanted folks to see me and know certain things about me right off the bat. My look was indeed a political and social statement and I was not afraid of pins, buttons, iron-on badges and bumper stickers. I didn't want to have 7 congo natty dreadlocks just for the heck of it. They were meant to say something loud and clear. But things have changed so dramatically for me. Whereas back then I was one of those folks always trying to figure out what someone was trying to say by their look, these days, I'm more inclined to let live. If you have something you want to communicate to me, please do. I'm not into reading signs and wonders--especially since I've misread them so often in the past. (Ever met the "conscious" dread type brother who turns out to be far less conscious than your average do-rag/fitted cap wearing brother?)

Now I'm not naive: I know that it's human nature to look at people, things and situations and make assessments/judgments. When we see an overweight person, we may think, "Oh, he's lazy or can't control what's going into her mouth". When we see a mom with lots of children, we may think, "She's such a drain on the system (if she's Black)/environment (if she's White)?" It's not always wrong to judge but we should go a step further and reach into ourselves to pull out compassion and humility to realize we don't know it all. At all. We should get off our high horses sometimes and just let people be. That overweight person might be on a certain life-saving medicine that packs on pounds. That mom of many might have planned carefully for (and have enough to provide for) all her children--maybe she even planned more carefully than you did. And that woman rocking the lowboy might be doing it because she just really can't deal with too much hair in the summer or simply because she likes how it makes her look. It's just so oppressive when how you look will make people immediately jump to conclusions. Although I know that is the way of the world--especially in the United States where everything and anything is all about image.

People who see me can and probably do make a lot of assumptions about this style and why I'm wearing it but honestly, that is their business and not mine. It's just not fair to insist that someone is making a statement with their hair whether they like it or not. It's based on unfounded assumptions and seeks to keep people tied down with labels and locked up in neat boxes. And for Black women, it seems, our hair is always speaking loud volumes for us. When will we just be able to be?

Look how they do/did Michelle Obama: What is she trying to say by ((gasp)) showing her arms? Uh . . . maybe that she likes dresses that show her arms?? Maybe it's just that simple. Solange is a celebrity too and obviously that opens you up to a lot more criticism than the average joe. She's still human. For a celebrity, an image can make or break you. I look at India.Arie (who by the way was rocking a lowboy last time I saw her) and I get so angry sometimes. Her music is brilliant yet it's almost like it would kill the radio stations to play her work. And you just *know* it's because of who they think she is and what she's trying to say even when she says she's not (e.g. "I am not my hair").

Most of us buck at unfair characterizations. We hate it when people tell us what we're thinking or what we're feeling. Yet every day people go around looking at other folks and deciding they know all about them based on what they see.

Hair, in particular, is such a politicized thing for Black people and I don't foresee that changing soon. Yet I'm looking forward to the day when Black women are free to do what they want with their hair without being forced to take a position.

Well, now that I think about it, maybe Solange, India Arie, and I are making a statement whether we like it or not. It is "I don't care that you think I'm making a statement--I'm living my life!"

Image "Exclamation Mark" courtesy of Leo Reynolds on Flickr.com

If you're Black, don't get out of sorts or else!

When I read stories like this, I'm reminded that for Black people, especially Black boys and men, being in complete control of your emotions and reactions is so important. Crucial. Often times it is a matter of life and death. You're human, yes. But they don't see you as such. When they spit in your face, you've got to act like it's rain. When they ask you to step out on your own front porch because someone has reported a break-in, instead of asking you if you are okay . . . you have to oblige. Don't get irate. Don't get belligerent. Don't conduct yourself all disorderly. Don't respond like any other normal white human being would. Be non-violent. Be cooperative. Maybe then you'll get to sleep in your own bed tonight. Maybe then they'll treat you like a part of society and not like your perpetrating the part of a part of society.

What tools can we give our boys to help them learn to control their emotions and channel their anger and frustration? How can we keep our boys out of the hands of law enforcement? I know that for me, the mental discipline of yoga and meditation are key. It is a reminder to me to get my sons involved when I am doing yoga and meditating. I have to remember to encourage them to breathe and walk away even in small playground scuffles and sibling rivalries when they feel enormously violated and feel like they have been treated unfairly. I have to find ways to teach them of their inherent worth . . . that is not diminished by humbling oneself at appropriate times in order to preserve their very lives.

As a mother, it is so frustrating to me, raising Black boys in a racist society. A racist society that hates for us to call it what it is. That wishes we'd all go along with the outright myth that we are post-racial because of the election of Obama.

The Business of Being Born

I finally got the opportunity to watch this documentary and I was so pleasantly surprised.  I was worried that it would be heavy handed, preachy or fanatical but it was not! It presented a balanced advocacy for homebirth that appealed to intellect and reason but did not neglect the emotional and psychological aspects of giving birth. It goes into the history of birthing in the U.S., offers comparisons and interesting (sometimes alarming) statistics.  There are some graphic images (like drugged laboring women being tied down to keep them from hurting themselves and others) but there are also very beautiful and sweet images too.  I highly recommend this documentary.  

As a person who has had both experiences of giving birth, I can honestly say both were beautiful and transformative.  But my homebirth was empowering in a way I cannot fully describe.  I wanted to say to every pregnant woman I saw, "Are you low risk?  Is everything going routinely?  Yes?!?  You should have a homebirth!!!!!"  But I contained my excitement and eventually learned that you can't just be telling any and everybody you had a homebirth.  In fact, when you do tell folks you had a homebirth, the response may often be "On purpose?"  It's still viewed a Bohemian.  Backwards. Earthy.  Not cosmopolitan and advanced and chic.  You know, right in line there with breastfeeding.  

I honestly feel like if you are able to give birth in a hospital normally, you only narrowly escaped a whole series of interventions and a c-section.  I watched one of my best friends go through it.  She called as they were wheeling her in to have the c-section and I wanted to say, "I told you so" because I told her not to be induced.  Told her to let things take their course.  But it's hard because you're not a doctor and if a woman doesn't trust her own body, she needs someone to trust (the doctor) because this is not just about her--it's about the life growing in her.  I would love to see the business of being born taken out of the hands of medical doctors and put back into the hands of midwives and women.  I'd love to see more women begin to have faith in the process and not in the technology.  Birth is a natural process.  Not to be crude . . . but it's like having a bowel movement in a way.  Sometimes you need help but the vast majority of the time, it just happens.  

Anyway, if you've never read my homebirth story, take a moment to click the link on the sidebar.  And when you get a moment, see The Business of Being Born.  (I borrowed it from my library.)

Bo-De-Ga

Give thanks to Raet, for this . . .Growing up in the South Bronx, the corner store aka bodegas were part and parcel of our daily lives. After I became interested in eating healthier foods, it never ceased to amaze me the amount of straight CRAP to be found at the bodega. I'll never forget the years of lugging my shopping cart to the subway (which is above ground in most of the Bronx), to take the train all the way down to 72nd Street to either go to Fairway or some of the nearby health food stores (many of which have closed down now) just to get some bread made with whole grain flour and no high fructose corn syrup and some soy milk. Things haven't changed much at the bodega even though it's years later. Luckily, the grocery stores like Pathmark, Western Beef, Bravo, C-Town (come on, hood folks, you know these are your grocery stores), are doing a little better and you can at least get soy milk there (albeit for double the price as at Whole Foods).

Judge Not . . .

. . . Before you judge yourself.

There seems to be this pesky sentiment floating around that it is wrong to judge. People seem to vaguely remember the words of Christ and then interpret them to mean that we are not to judge at all. Christ didn't charge us to never judge. He asked us to judge only after we have held ourselves in judgment. On many occasions, Christ judged rightly and with confidence and if we consider Christ a worthy example, we'd do well to follow.

Now, you can go on just about anybody's blog and read about the woman who gave birth to octuplets even though she already has 6 children. No matter what anyone says, we are right to judge this situation. But before we do we must sit down and look at ourselves. We've all done things in our lives trying to heal ourselves. These things were not always healthy. Most of us, though, are mentally okay enough to say to ourselves, "That was not healthy and I shouldn't do it again." Many of us have the discipline and the agency to follow through with that promise.

But not all of us do. I call into question Ms. Suleman's mental health and after viewing an interview she did, I'm almost completely sure she is not well. As such, I am not judging Ms. Suleman as harshly. Who I do want held accountable is the doctor who implanted those embryos. That is who I am holding in judgment today. There is simply no ethical reason for this doctor to have done what he/she did. Now there are eight brand new innocent children in the world who have no guarantee of clothes, health care, food, shelter. And most importantly, no guarantee of love and attention. Because no matter how great a person is, how devoted . . . I know what the hell it takes for the hubby and I to give undivided love and attention to two children. There is no way in HELL she can do it by herself for 14. Sorry, won't happen. Oh, and grandma's love or some other family member's love is not an on-par replacement for mama's love. It's only after having my first son and seeing just what it takes to raise children that I fully appreciated and admired single mothers (or married single mothers for that matter--you know, where the dad isn't worth the paper the marriage license is printed on).

The ball was seriously dropped and judgment is being rightfully passed. I wouldn't worry too much about the judgment other humans are passing out though. In comparison to the bigger judgment, well, you really ought to think before you act. Like I said, I'm treading lightly because there might be mental illness going on here but there is a whole lot of wicked enabling going on too--from family, supposed friends and the health care community. And last I heard, artificial insemination, prenatal care, c-sections, neonatal intensive care--all that cost lots and lots of money. Where did it come from? I mean, I'm good at making a dollar out of 15 cents, but if this chick didn't have help from somewhere, she's a frugal guru or has some seriously serious side-hustle.

The other big story floating around is Rhianna and Chris Brown. On that, I reserve judgment because those are grown folks. I don't know the whole story and (I really don't think I want to know the story--keep your business to yourselves folks!!). I hope Rhianna has enough sense, strength and support to leave an abusive relationship if that's what it is. I hope if Chris Brown has abuse issues, he has enough sense, strength and support to get real help (not free passes to keep on being abusive). You see? That right there is a type of judgment although admittedly quite mild.

It is not wrong to judge. In fact it is necessary. We have all been endowed with physical and spiritual senses. We should all be able to think critically. A failure to judge could lead to death, quite literally. As human beings, we judge. We are supposed to. There's nothing wrong with that. But we must judge ourselves first and most harshly so that the judgment we mete out to others is just. I think when folks say, "Don't judge" it's not only disingenuous, it's impossible.

We should also know (and it shouldn't bother us too much) that just as we judge others, they are judging us. But then again, you can only be judged if you let yourself be judged, if somewhere in there, there's a little doubt about your decision. That's why when anyone comes out to do an interview to "clear their name", the get the side-mouth, squinty eye from me. (Perhaps you heard of "stripper pole mom". I wasn't too mad at homegirl until she did her "clear my name" video.)

The truth speaks. Loudly. Of course, we should know try to know the whole story before we judge too completely and too harshly. We should try to understand where people are coming from and where they are. We can accept differences without automatically thinking different = bad or immoral. Our judgment should, first and foremost, be tempered with love.

I lovingly enjoin Ms. Suleman to be quiet, take down that website, handle your business like you say you will. It will take complete focus and singleness of mind to raise those children to be productive parts of society. To give them the love and attention they need and deserve. If you could do this successfully, there would be no need to defend yourself. Because actions still do speak louder than words.

After all, when Christ was judged, he uttered not a word. He was the truth.

"Judge Not" by the Wailing Wailers

Photo Credit: "Gavel" by kromatic on Flickr

I came home yesterday . . .

To find all the electricity had gone out. We'd had terrible winds all day and some power lines must have gotten knocked down. I immediately thought about two blog posts I had read in the morning. Needs vs. Wants: Do you know the difference? by BlackGirlinMaine and especially Drowning in Problems by Keep It Trill who in that post wrote that given the current economic excrement heap we find ourselves in, "a third to half of us may be lucky to have Internet service next year."

I so totally recognize so many of the luxuries we have been mindlessly enjoying living in America. When I came home to find out that the electricity was out, I didn't think about the food in the fridge spoiling or the boiler and water heater not being able to work (actual necessities)--I thought about THE INTERNET not working.

I had a good chuckle at myself. I hadn't thought about KIT's words until I came home and there was no internet. I *just* paid a HEFTY Con Edison bill (electric and gas). The last thing I was looking for was interrupted service. I almost got out my corded phone to call somebody and demand answers. So could it be that we could go on paying our bills, our taxes and just one day *poof* those services disappeared? Who could we talk to? What could we do? As it is, Con Ed has us by the nutsack. How can you dispute what they say? Can you physically go out there and fix things when they break? Nope.

I remember learning when I visited Nigeria last that paying your bills was no guarantee that your electricity would work and that going to work was no guarantee that you'd be paid. Being in Ghana taught me that there is a fundamental difference living in the U.S. and living in "the third world": realness. In Ghana, when the electricity got caught off, I immediately thought about my food that would most likely spoil in the fridge. I noticed how little folks actually relied on the fridge. Food was cooked daily and hardly anything was stored in the ice box. I noticed that I started to buy food that wouldn't spoil easily and food that I actually intended on eating very soon. That's real. I noticed so many unfinished houses and rickety, hooptie cars. No, roads weren't filled with late model cars and I certainly saw no Hummers. But folks really owned what they live in and drive. In Nigeria, I learned, being wasteful with water would mean you were at the mercy of whoever delivered the water to cook, bathe, etc . . . real. That's what's lacking most living here: instead of being focused on real stuff, we worry about illusory things like the internet.

Anyway, I don't have cable. I don't have fancy clothes or many fancy things. In most ways, I'm very practical and I live as humbly as I can. I often think I'd be okay if my family and I had a roof over our heads, food to eat, clothes to wear and a little tiny extra to make life special sometimes. But I sure do love my high speed internet. I'm too attached to it. Even sometimes I think addicted. I need it. I know it would do me good to do a week long detox. Even the one day break I take on Saturday is not enough. I need to purge a little more than that. So that in the event that internet gets cut off, I won't have to go through forced withdrawal. I want to be able to take note, miss it, and go crochet or knit (activities that I often neglect in favor of the net). I feel the same way about my car but to a lesser extent because with small children, not having a car would really challenge my mobility especially in the winter. But still, every so often I walk a distance that is a little less than comfortable, that would be much more easily done driving, just to remind myself.

I don't really talk about politics too much or get too up in arms about what's going on in Washington. I know, though, that the "bail out" is not going to get us out of this. Certain things I just have always known and don't surprise me--like that they were going to try to do a bail out. When a ship is sinking, you have to be wise enough to put on your life jacket, blow up your inflatable raft and abandon ship. Sometimes talking about politics and personalities is just a distraction from getting your own stuff together--figuring out what to do now that you know the ship is really sinking; devising a good plan that will potentially work no matter who is in office or how hard others are bailing water and pretending the thing is not sprouting holes everywhere. Preparing for the worst while hoping for the best--even if the only best that can be hoped for is good food, clean water, a roof, and some clothes.

And the hubby and I agree: if things get so bad, if the U.S. turns back into a developing nation, we'll be on the first thing smoking back to Nigeria (or Ghana). Because without the opportunity the U.S. offers, there is nothing, just nothing for which to stay here. If the dreams of all these racist folks who hope Obama fails come true, they can certainly have what's left.

These are challenging times we're in and that means that we have to be willing to personally challenge ourselves? Are you up the challenge?

Suggested Reading: Poverty of Imagination.

Photo Credit: Playing on the Computer by fd on Flickr

Whose job is it to teach you what you need to know?

So I was conversing with my sistren on her blog entitled "I'm Confused" about the current economic times and possible solutions. As we discussed, she brought up a very valid point: "Our education system sucks. We don't teach financial literacy in schools."

I wonder when parents send their children to school what they think the school is responsible for doing. I had a professor once who likened school to an emergency room. You, the injured person should not have to be a doctor to get world class, professional treatment. Likewise, parents shouldn't have to do anything special to get their children a world class education. Back then I totally agreed. These days, however, I am more inclined to think that school is more like going to your regular doctor and not the emergency room. I personally believe that if you are ill, you should have at least some idea going about what it could be. When you are diagnosed, you should be very aware of the treatment options and the side effects of each option. You should be free to say this is not working or I'm not comfortable with that treatment. And you should be free to go to another doctor without penalty or guilt fairly easily. You should have a say and power in your own health and treatment.

The same goes for education. Most of us don't vote on curriculums or dictate what should be taught. Even though so many of us agree that having Black history relegated to the shortest month of the year is an affront, we can also agree that unless we're willing to go to Albany with a brand new curriculum we drew up, that's not going to change. If you want your children to know Black history or any other history aside from the standard spiel, you're going to have to do it. Now, I will say that many parents do take an active stand to ensure the quality of children's education. In poorer neighborhoods, however, this is rarely the case. I know, I know, these parents sometimes work 2 and 3 jobs. Many mothers are single and all that. I get it. But I'm going to be a little hardline here and say one word: priorities. You may not be able to make every single PTA meeting but you can make some and you can call and ask for the minutes of the meeting. You can drop in every once in a long while or call or e-mail to let the teacher know, "Look, I'm busy but I care." My local school here of over 500 students has a hard time pulling 25 parents for the PTA. Will my sons be going to that school? No way. But I digress.

What exactly do we expect schools to teach our children? What did it teach you? Yes, I learned to read and write but not everyone who graduated with me could. Did I learn to think critically? No. Did I learn any valuable life skills? No. I graduated from high school to go to college. Graduated from college to get a job. When I didn't get a good enough job, went back to school to get another job. Even graduate school where I was supposed to be getting trained specifically to be a teacher did not prepare me for teaching. I would have been much better equipped to have spent those years learning from a master teacher. Because there's more to teaching than curriculum and lesson plans. How does your child psychology class translate to when you're in front of 30 kids?

So, it's safe to say that school kind of prepares us to get jobs. That's it. The rest, well, it's up to you.

I'm not the originator of that idea either. If there's nothing else I got out of graduate school, it was that public schools were originally conceived as places where everyone could get blended into the fabric of American society, in other words, Americanized. Get with the program. Being Americanized meant embracing the American dream, the idea that you work hard, so hard and then you enjoy. We all know that's not necessarily true but it keeps the system running nicely. Keeps those on top securely on top and those on the bottom securely on the bottom. School has always served a political purpose. And politics go hand in hand with economics.

So why would schools then start to teach us financial literacy? We can't even get schools to teach the histories of all peoples, to empower students in that way. If schools all of a sudden started teaching people how the economy really works, how to be financially literate, how to make sound money decisions, who would this system prey on? Whose blood could it suck? If we all knew a couple of years ago what a bubble we were in and all decided back then to remove ourselves from the bubble, start spending real money, start sowing in order to reap, it never could have gotten so out of hand. But we didn't. Most of us have never learned because that's not what school was set up to do. And we've never critically looked at the school structure to determine exactly what the point is, to realize what it can't and won't do for us.

I don't believe that school truly educates. We learn there. We learn facts. But we are not educated to become thinking, critically thinking adults. It's why Fox News exists. It's why all news that shamelessly distorts the truth or makes glaring omissions still exist. And why most of us suck it all in without a second thought. We've never been educated to understand that everything, big and small, needs a second thought.

I'm certainly not anti-school because my sons may need to go to school one day. I'd prefer a charter school or another type of private school with a different focus and a different, clear mission that I agree with. But if it is that public school ends up the only option, I know that I have my work cut out for me in terms of educating my sons. I tend to think that folks who never did well in school didn't do well because they couldn't be boxed in, couldn't get with factory schooling, i.e. put "x" into a child and get "y" out. For young Black boys, especially, this formula has been failing over and over again. I cannot simply depend on schools to teach them what they need to be successful in this world. No one should, really.

So whose job is it to teach you what you need to know? It seems like today we are realizing quite painfully that ignorance is not an option anymore. Each one of us is responsible to a very large degree for getting and assimilating the information we need to make it. We know we've been used as pawns in this system. And we've allowed ourselves to be for the promise of the American dream. But today we have to refuse to be victimized anymore, look at everything with intense scrutiny, open up our minds and for once, not be afraid to think. Not be afraid to embrace critical thought. Even if it's painful and even if it hurts our pride.

It's our job to teach ourselves what we need to know to survive.

African Herstory

So I was absolutely thrilled to find "The Black Herstory Series" by Anxious Black Woman, the author of Diary of an Anxious Black Woman, one of my favorite blogs. ABW put so much work and effort into this series to deliver a quality collection of essays about Black women in history that I can only hope is still available when my children are old enough to understand and learn. Links to individual posts in the series are on the sidebar of her blog.

The Purposely Forgotten Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

I foung this powerful piece via Womanist Musings.

From Mumia Abu-Jamal on death row

The following excerpts come from a recording made on Jan. 15, Dr. King’s 80th birthday. Go to www.prisonradio.org to hear Mumia’s audio columns.

The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. is once again being resurrected this time of year, in part because his birthday is approaching, but also, of course, because of the imminent swearing-in of President-elect Barack H. Obama—the first Black man in U.S. history to be so honored.

As often is the case, the Rev. King—who is being projected today—bears little relationship to the real, live, breathing and growing man behind the name.

Like many men, he had his highs and his lows, his fears and his doubts, his inspirations and his insights. His Washington speech—known as “I Have a Dream”—was neither his finest, nor his most profound, but like many Black preachers who are master orators, he brought his best to it.

King, like many busy leaders, had others write some of his speeches, and one of those men was Vincent Harding, now a theologian and historian. Harding contributed to King’s groundbreaking N.Y. Riverside Church speech, delivered precisely a year before his assassination, where he denounced the Vietnam War—marking his break with an American president (L. B. Johnson), the corporate media and many of his closest allies in the SCLC (Southern Christian Leadership Conference).

President Johnson felt betrayed by King, and the media turned from praise to ridicule. In his book “Martin Luther King: The Inconvenient Hero” (N. Y.: Orbis, 1996), Harding quotes from the Washington Post editorial page which slammed King, who “had diminished his usefulness to his cause, to his country, and to his people” because of his speech against the Vietnam War, which the Vietnamese called “the American War.”

But betrayals didn’t stop him, nor did nasty editorials deter him. Indeed, the violence of war radicalized him deeply, so much so that he said later, “The evils of capitalism are as real as the evils of militarism and evils of racism.” (Harding, p. 101).

Think of that: capitalism, militarism and racism—as evils. When’s the last time you’ve heard that?

Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was being radicalized by the churning events around him—and, a year before his death, he was both anti-war and anti-capitalist.

Ask yourself, if King were alive today, with his views, could he be elected president?

If not, why not? What does that say about the nation’s political system?

___________________________________________________________________-Articles copyright 1995-2009 Workers World. Verbatim copying and distribution of this entire article is permitted in any medium without royalty provided this notice is preserved.