Representation, Re-Presentation, and Resurrection

"I left America because I doubted my ability to survive the fury of the color problem here. (Sometimes I still do.) I wanted to prevent myself from becoming merely a Negro; or even, merely a Negro writer. I wanted to find out in what way the specialness of my experience could be made to connect me with other people instead of dividing me from them. (I was as isolated from Negroes as I was from whites, which is what happens when a Negro begins, at bottom, to believe what white people say about him.)…It was Bessie Smith, through her tone and her cadence, who helped me to dig back to the way I myself must have spoken when I was a pickaninny, and to remember the things I had heard and seen and felt. I had buried them very deep. I had never listened to Bessie Smith in America (in the same way that, for years, I would never touch watermelon), but in Europe she helped to reconcile me to being a ‘nigger.” - James Baldwin

For as long as I could remember, I always wanted to be myself. I wanted to be happy and fulfilled in my being. I wanted to share my very essence with those around me. In growing up, this all seemed to be the stuff of dreams - the things only babies and fools are brave enough to imagine and make real. For almost as long as I can remember the burning desire for finding comfort in who I am, I remember the confrontations I faced.

"Why are you talking about black shit?" "Why do you wear your hair that way?" "Why do you listen to THAT music?" "You are crazy as hell for wanting to go to a black school?" What are you anyway, some kinda Black Panther or something?" "Any bean pies, Brotha Malcolm?"

Some things you never forget.

I thought a lot about these comments over the past few weeks. Many of them came from genuine places or were simply jokes. Others were examples of sincere stupidity. Whatever the case may be I always found it odd that the majority of negative criticism I received over the years concerning my artistic, political, or philosophic inclinations were said by my black friends and acquaintances.

The root of the issue that no one wants to acknowledge is that there are some aspects of the black experience that are just too taboo to discuss or respect. Those who are honest about some of the things our people think, feel, and believe are vilified and marginalized.

They are "militant", uneducated, or "playing the race card".

Everyone else by contrast is acceptable. These are the good niggahs...

"Don't say that! Don't you know de white folks is listenin?" are the words that echo in my mind as I write this, and yet I feel all the more empowered to continue.

It is our destiny to be ourselves completely and without apology.

But here is the catch.

Who are we? Who were we before we got HERE? Who are we? Who were we before he said/she said who we are supposed to be? Who said we either have to sag our pants or conk our hair? Who? Who are we now? Can we separate BET from reality?

At what point do we desire to separate the stereotype from the self?

We can't begin to answer these questions until we confront representation. But somehow we've gotten comfortable with the images. We've gotten comfortable with the effeminization and emasculation of our men, and the roughness of our women who distrust them and have to protect and provide for themselves. Somewhere we got comfortable and thought 13 year old girls pushing strollers was cute and little boys imitating Beyonce' videos was adorable.

We can't resurrect ourselves from the dead until we recognize that these things do not equal the sum of our being and how we ought to live. We can't transcend the cross until we realize that education, not imprisonment is our birthright.

We cannot be reborn until we desire to be fully human again despite the pressure to be slaves to materialism and a culture of death and destruction.

We must refuse to become something created outside of ourselves. We don't need to be re-presented when our voices of truth drown out the lies. We must be resurrected. Our future and our legacy depends on it.

Peace to my beloved professor Dr. Gregory Carr for all of his dedication in waking up the dead.

Stay Woke!

P.S. There are messages in the music!

Current Playlist: "Twinkle" and "Master Teacher" - New Amerykah, Part One: 4th World War by Erykah Badu and "Sincerely, Jane" on the Metropolis Suite I of IV: The Chase EP by Janelle Monae. Give the tracks a thorough listen if you haven't or find and read the lyrics.

Gates, Chappelle, and the Socio-Economic Hitman

Note: Much of this post is stream of consciousness.

Thanks Flo ; )

"He's a banana-eating jungle bunny."

It was just a few minutes past 8am and those were the words I heard as I wiped the sleep from my eyes and tried to make breakfast from a lonely bagel and an egg. There, on CNN, was one of the many nameless commentators making reference to a statement made by a Cambridge police officer.

To be honest, my first reaction was laughter. I simply couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the moment and the rumblings of an "I told you so!" churning in my stomach. I was somewhat glad that it made the news, although it is difficult to discern whether it was said to inform or entertain. With the media circus surrounding celebrity deaths as of late, news and entertainment seem to be seamless.

The night before, I was unfortunate enough to be eating while watching Larry King and celebrity pseudo-scholars, Judge Joe Brown, Larry Elder, and Michael Eric Dyson (No, I am not making this up...) discuss the media frenzied Henry Louis Gates incident.

This incident, coupled with some personal and professional developments prompted me to wait to comment until I was less emotional and could speak with some clarity.

For those of you who have short historical memory due to living in the Twitter era, here is a video about what happened.

Speaking for myself, emotions collide. Being African in America (or however you choose to define yourself) is a constant analytical existence. The experiences of racism and general attitudes toward race here are maddening and at times so much so, that all I can do without losing my mind is laugh, listen to music, or write. Truth is often said in jest, and so I recalled Dave Chappelle. I'd talk more about him, his brilliance, humor, and wisdom, but that is a post for another time.

I am sure this might take devout Al and Jesse fans aback, but, I'm only a little annoyed by the Gates incident. Unlike most negroes and other so-called Americans, I am not shocked by racism in this country. Its in the bloodstream.

Note: (You're only an American, if your rights are protected, and the only people whose rights are protected en masse are wealthy WASP men)

Note 2: A tabloid in Duane Reade alleged President Obama's birth certificate a fake. Some newspapers still allege the same. Post Racial Society my ass.

The Gates incident came on the heels of the failure of CNN's Black in America 2 - a half assed program that allowed voyeuristic white folks to peer into the lives of black folks in poverty without getting too close to us on the street and discussed us as a pathology.

All of it made me think of a book I recently read, Confessions of an Economic Hitman by John Perkins. It helped to tie all of these egregious events together for me. The book is an autobiography about the varying economic, covert, and military means by which the US adds countries to its global empire by giving out massive loans and promising development in exchange for costly contracts and access to natural resources.

After reading it, I couldn't help but make the connection about why my mild discontent with the police officers in the Gates incident grew to fury toward Gates and others like him. He, like many of us have been victims of domestic Socio-Economic Hitmen, and up until now, he has been one as well - at least in a subtle way.

He was outraged for being accosted in his home, not simply because it was his home, but because he thought that despite his unfortunate blackness, his ascent into the white intelligentsia and quiet Cambridge community would make him untouchable by the jackals. Perhaps, he thought, as many desperate upwardly-mobile petit bourgeoisie negroes do, that money, status, and connections somehow buoy one from blackness and the victimization that many black folks fear every day.

Surely, a few doctorates, a black president, and speaking ever so clearly would render the word "nigger" obsolete, no?

Perkins reminded me that Socio-Economic Hitmen exist in our schools, churches, businesses, and even our homes. The idea of having to earn our right to be fully protected by the law and treated equally and justly has infiltrated our collective consciousness. We've dreamt the American Dream and fell into a deep coma. We are tumbling down the rabbit hole where white picket fences, two and a half kids and a dog chase us through Orwellian dramas and yellow brick roads that lead to nowhere.

Gates was arrested in his own home. That means no one is safe. Now what?