WHAT'S HAPPENED TO US?

What happened to us all?  Nobody has any standards anymore.  Did we ever?  Surely we did.  Somewhere along the line we slipped, like our pants from our waistline.  Slipped out of consciousness into an abyss of incoherence, incompetence, and incompleteness.  Some will disagree, and argue that I should speak for myself.  I am in fact speaking for myself, but their response is the reason I’m also speaking for them.  For those of us assured of where we’re going, I would only ask where have we been?  How did we get here? 

                                       

Intriguing is the parallel between the lapses in our judgment, and the lapse in generations.  This clearly accounts for our lack; lack of motivation, lack of understanding, lack of progress.  It’s our parents’ fault to some degree.  They weren’t there.  Not for us, and that’s the reason why we’re here; just here, going nowhere but where we are currently.  Even those that were present didn’t present us the tools of cultivation culminating in our success as well rounded, even tempered , intelligent and  successful individuals.  What happened to them?  How is it that the flame of the torch to be passed on from Stokely and Malcolm burned out?  At what point did the movement of our civil rights in a forward direction stall?  Did our grands and great-grands become so complacent with their accomplishments in the decades to follow that they lost sight of the fact that it would take more than a few decades marked by the height of our civil unrest to reverse the damage and advance the progress stifled by hundreds of years of imposed inferiority?  Did they lose themselves so much in the joy and fun of the music of the subsequent decades that they allowed its’ distraction from progress to go unnoticed?  Music always has been the devil’s realm, so it’s entirely possible that more brothers were asking for action between the sheets than those who echoed Marvin in asking what’s going on.  But the flame still burned, no?  Sure, until the 80s it seemed when the crack epidemic burned the remainder of both the flame, and our giants and heroes out.  It was then that papa truly became a rolling stone.  Thank you Mr. Reagan. 

                                                                      

So the pattern of regression continued. The blind lead the blind.  And with that as our starting point, now only the mind leads the mind.  But the mind doesn’t know what it doesn’t know.  Clinging to adages of old, submersed in our own air of ignorance today we reply that what we don’t know won’t hurt us.  More aptly put, it’s killing us that we don’t know what we should, and at some point in the current generation, the blame for that rests squarely on our shoulders.  The information is out there, more readily available and easily accessible than ever before.  Our heroes accomplished so much with so little, yet despite our increased media and technological advancements, today we accomplish so little with so much.  We do have a black president, but for me that new hope masks a personal fear that we will again rest on our ‘accomplishment’, instead of using it as a springboard to further our progression.  At what point do we decide not to perpetuate the negative cycles of our community existence?  We are doing their work for them.  It once was necessary to lie to us, cheat us, beat us if need be.  Now, we blind ourselves with bling, kick ourselves in the ass with implants and injections, and worry more about what’s on our feet than what we feed our spirit.  The internal is always more important than the external.  We have to cherish that, be mindful of it, and spend our energy living to empower it.  God lives there, on the inside.  I can’t believe He wants this for us.  I don’t want this for us.  We didn’t always want this for ourselves.  What happened to us?       

A Leave of Absence

This is my last testament. The only will I leave is my will for you to fail. Besides, I've given you so much already. You would be nothing without me. I(ME) have always been there with you, in every compliment, every glance in the mirror, in success, and I(ME) have reveled in every failure. You would have endured none of these without me. You owe me! Your life after mine will serve as ample recompense, as surely you will die without me there to encourage you. You have never been capable of persevering without my aid. Remember your first scar? It was He who allowed, damnit I say willed damage to your portrait. Why, you ask? To temper ME. To restrain ME by branding an eternal reminder that you are only ever 'perfect in Him.' Bullshit, and we fixed that didn't we? No we didn't..I did. You cried. At that age, your eyes were only capable of relinquishing tears of pain. Patiently I waited for your rediscovery of it. It was I..I..I who reminded you of the beautiful specimen you would always be, even if only to ME. That wouldn't be your only blemish would it? No. Remember her? I remember the morning you found out like it was yesterday. A blessing..so it is said. I(ME) sprang into immediate action, coming to you with words of wisdom and encouragement. I(ME) proclaimed that it wasn't the right time. You concurred. I(ME) reminded you she wasn't the one. You agreed. I(ME) begged you not to make the biggest mistake of your young life. You fought me. I ravaged your spirit in the ensuing battle, which nearly cost you your soul. I won. To this day, you thank me. Your welcome. As I urged, so did you. As I pushed you, you pushed her. In the end, a receipt for murder. Collateral damage in the war to exalt your higher self over my lower. And what of Nalim? When you were needed most, a narcissist and a failure we provided. Those cold mornings were spent without your crutch. For every appointment made, an opportunity for love, solidarity, and cherishing was squandered. I(ME) did that for you, I(ME) gave that to you! And you never even asked these things of me. I know it was hard for you, but in light of your penchant for honor and compassion, I had to intervene on your behalf. The only joy sweeter has been watching you squirm and writhe in agony and depression as every day your memories haunt you. Remember the summer evening when the palpitations of your heart nearly cost you your life? Never should you have feared, as it was only I(ME) lighting my cigar in the flames of your soul as I delighted in our success. (It was also I who urged you not to seek care..) With all of my victories, you may be wondering what has prompted this note, and the subsequent dissolusion of myself. That, you can take credit for. That, you have done, and help has ensued. I have been hearing rumblings for quite some time now of a mutiny within you. It seems my greatest enemy has finally conquered your soul. In true coward form, I (ME) shrink from sight of the greatness that has become you. In full disclosure, I acknowledge that it has always been within you, but I have relished in keeping its' presence from you. Glimpses, I've had to allow you. But now the full glory of Him consumes you, and I(ME) am no match. I(Me) am merely what you learn to cherish in error. I(Me) have no place in truth. So with this note, I take my leave of you. I'll never be far from you. Always in the shadows will I lurk, waiting for my opportunity to reclaim you. When you hear thunder, it will be my frustration as I watch in contempt as you press on without me. But just as the storm passes, so shall I, and even I(ME) must concede that you are in your rightful place, in His hands, within the confines of His kingdom. I'll miss you.

Hopefully to be Yours Again,

-Your Ego

GRIND!

Grind:  A word representing the repetitive actions taken in order to make the character stronger. The grind is also a substitute for normal life functions.  Sleeping, eating, drinking and being social are not important, when it comes to grinding. (urbandictionary.com)   The two most important words in this definition are repetitive actions. We’re talking day in, day out, no days off.  No matter what your goal is, the grind is what gets you there.  When you reach your goal, the grind not only sustains your success, but it takes you to the next level.  Many people think that because they work hard, they’re grinding.  They’re wrong.  Grinding isn’t about working hard, it’s about working harder until you’re working the hardest.  True grinders take the time to eat for sustenance only, because their real hunger is about satisfying their appetite to achieve.  Every second you are not making moves, putting foot to pavement, foot to ass if necessary, you are neglecting your grind, and you will pay for it until you make up for it.  There’s no time for partying.  Even when you celebrate your success, do so humbly in a forward facing position.  With success comes complacency.  You can’t grind standing still.  There’s no time for self-doubt.  You can’t reasonably expect to progress if you doubt how far you can go, and it’s counterproductive to limit yourself.  Doubt stops you in your tracks.  Don’t stop, grind until you die.  There’s no room for self-loathing in your grind either.  It’s perfectly natural to be hard on yourself when you encounter setbacks, even when they could have been avoided.  Grinding is not about perfection, it’s about continued pursuit.  So be hard on yourself, to a point that you are motivated and conscious enough not to make the same mistakes in your grind.  But don’t be down on yourself; there’s a difference.  When things don’t go as you’ve planned, you can’t afford to waste your time crying about it.   So don’t boo hoo...that’s for ghosts and owls.  Learn from it and keep pushing.  Everything that doesn’t enhance your grind hinders it, and hindrances are only distractions.  It’s true that some distractions are more severe than others, but maintaining your grind through the distractions is a matter of how important your goal is to you.  After all, the goal is what’s important.  That’s what the grind is all about.  Whatever your motivation is, whatever you are trying to accomplish, you will only get there through perseverance.  Perseverance equals grinding.  Grind until you succeed, and then grind some more. 

Growing Pains

Yesterday I was a wretched child. Today I have chosen to link my transition into adulthood with my ascension to my Father’s throne. For so long, I have not known my Father. My mind thought I did, and it allowed me to be comfortable, dare I say complacent? I dare, because I dared to be complacent with my relationship with my Father. As with all relationships, and things of great substance and sustenance, it takes work to cultivate and expand the possibilities therein. I have been guilty of not tilling the grounds of my spirit and my relationship with God. What has become is a barren desert of ignorance that has plunged me further into wretchedness

I’ve always regarded myself as extremely spiritual, withstanding religious. I’ve always thought, “There’s something different about me. I’m special.” I grew to understand that what I feel is an anointing from God. But understanding without the exercise of it, or the continued pursuit of it is futile. I’ve committed to exercising in the gym of life plenty of times, but as with other empty resolutions, my resolve to keep going remains no longer than January does. As a result, I’ve only ever caught glimpses of my Father and my potential in Him. My wretchedness has become very effective at further hiding Him from me, more than He has willed Himself to be hidden. Even wretchedness has a conscience though, and every so often it will acknowledge it’s inferiority to that which it aims to harbor me from. Had I cultivated my relationship with God more, I would know enough to ask Him to reveal my wretchedness so that it could be laid bare before Him and the remedy laid before me. Because I have neglected the tools of my field, I’ve forced myself to acknowledge my wretchedness only as it acknowledges itself.

Though the scales of this serpent are slippery, I have managed to grasp it, so that I may take it to my Father to identify it. As a child, looking to gain the grace of my Father’s acceptance, I hoped that this was pleasing in His sight. As an adolescent hoping to gain the inheritance of my Father’s house, I recognized that it will take more than this gesture to show my preparedness. I have learned that the serpents will always find their way to the grounds, and my Father will protect me from them for as long as He deems it necessary. Eventually He will allow them to bite me either for the lesson in the pain, or as punishment for ignoring Him. I have been bitten, and the venom is of both. In fact I have been bitten enough that my body is covered with scars of the bites. Scars of wretchedness.

But I have made myself a glutton for punishment for entirely too long. Humbled, I return to the gym of life. I am undeterrable in my resolve to strengthen the muscles of my spirit, and to tone my relationship with God through the exercises of prayer and submission to His will. As a child I often knew what the right thing to do was, but hadn’t yet developed the fortitude to do it. As an adolescent, I came to understand my ways as a child, and I saw that my lack of fortitude was because I was lacking in God, but I was not ready to put childish things away. As a man, reborn into adulthood, I am now prepared, by the grace of my Father, to accept the challenges and blessings of my inheritance. I will live my entire life today. When the tomorrow comes I will die and ascend to my open seat next to Him on the throne of my Father.

FEAR

Fear: a distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain, etc, whether the threat is real or imagined; the feeling or condition of being afraid.  Fear, more than just a word is an emotion that finds its’ company among trepidation, panic, and horror. Kin to terror and adversary to courage, fear can be crippling. It stifles dreams and the potential to succeed by regulating its’ victims into compromise and complacency.  Past experiences validate our fears while current challenges develop and perpetuate new ones.  Fear is real.  We’re talking about emotional blocks in the construction of barriers impenetrable to the average will to overcome. We would all like to rise above our fears, but it can be considerably less challenging to those hindered by it than to those paralyzed because of it. 

So what do we fear? Is it religious persecution?  Does a Muslim in this post 9/11 era shy away from donning their traditional garb for fear of the reaction to it by the greater public?  Perhaps children are our best examples.  Consider the child who runs away because survival on the streets is less terrifying than the physical, sexual, or emotional abuse endured at home.  Some of us fear change, or venturing to extend our comfort zones.  This fear of the unknown can quell our desire to conquer and achieve.  What if we’re not triumphant in our explorations?  Should we then resolve to not explore? 

When faced with this particular dilemma, it’s important to acknowledge not only that we are afraid, but that failure is what we fear specifically.  Failure, as much as success, is a possibility in all that we do in life.  Failure provokes in us and in others a feeling of disappointment.  It means that we are inadequate in our attempts to advance and pursue progression in our lives.  As a result, many of us choose not to pursue that which we have the potential to fail in, retreating into mediocrity.  Some would say that mediocrity is not an option, but it’s certainly a more palatable alternative to inadequacy. 

 Here we find ourselves at the proverbial fork in the road.  One the one side is the easy road, or the path of least resistance.  This road keeps us in our place, controlled by fear.  There are no challenges, no failures, and no disappointments.  We learn nothing about ourselves, or what we are capable of, and are content with our cowardice and lack of character.  The opposite road is the path of courage, and can often be perilous and frightening.  Along the way are detours which we must endure to discover alternate paths to our destination.  Inevitably we will encounter setbacks disguised as failures, but if we follow the twists and turns of these learning curves, we will eventually arrive at the end of this road less traveled.  We will be stronger and more confident than we previously knew ourselves to be.  Only when we persevere through fear will we uncover the true substance of who we are.  Rather than fear what we cannot accomplish, we should be fearful of not knowing what we can.

PEOPLE IN PERSPECTIVE

Life brings us into constant contact with lots of people.  At home, we’re surrounded by family. At work, we’re surrounded by idiots, and when we need a reprieve from them both, there’s a whole other group of people we turn to. With all this human interaction, we can sometimes lose sight of who’s who.  It can be difficult to tell who really has our best interests at heart, and sometimes we take for granted those who do in favor of those who really don’t.  I was told once that in life you’re blessed if you have one or two ‘true’ friends; everyone else is an acquaintance. I’ve had my fair share of experiences that confirms these words, and that is why my perspective on people is that they are either family, friends or acquaintances.

If you’ve ever enjoyed any type of organized sport, then you know that being a part of a family is a lot like being on a team. When you first come in the league, you‘re drafted, which means you don‘t get to pick your team (it‘s your parents decision), and you definitely don‘t pick your teammates. Some teams have a franchise player that gets most of the attention (i.e. Jordan), while others are stacked more evenly (Lakers in the ‘80s). Whether it’s a championship season, or a losing one, your team is your team period. They’re your foundation, and your support. It’s important to honor and be loyal to our family, even when they don’t reciprocate. That’s what makes family family, and keeps us from turning our back on them they way we might someone who doesn’t share our namesake. It’s the reason parents feed, change and clothe us when we’re young, and if/when the roles are reversed when we get older, it’s the reason we accept those responsibilities. Some people may argue that their family is broken and dysfunctional, and that very well may be the case. But whatever your issues are (barring abuse or neglect of any kind), you are blessed to have a family to have issues with. Don’t believe me? Ask an orphan.

In the words of Whoodini, "FRIENDS, How many of us have them? FRIENDS, Ones you can depend on?" Friends are special people, thorough even. There are different levels of friendship, as we hold our friends in different capacities ( I tend not to tell my friends at work some of the things I talk about with my friends at home). But real, true friends have a common interest, and that’s each other’s best interest. Our closest friends are a source of support for us, and we may confide things in them that we’re too afraid to tell our mother or father. In fact for some of us, our closest friends have become our family. That’s the thing about true friends; they’re not obligated quite the way family is, so our truest friends have the purest hearts.

Everyone else can be considered an acquaintance, or associate. We can’t have the same expectations for them that we do for friends or family, because they don’t serve those purposes in our lives. Think about how many people you see at work each day. How many of them do you say hi to? Of them, how many would you trust with your wallet? That number dropped quick huh? It doesn’t mean that most people we meet are out to get us, it just means that we don’t put very much stake in each other. Having said that, some people are out to get us, and that’s why we have to be careful. Some of the folks we come into regular contact with put the ass in associates. They might pretend to be friends, but would spit on you before they wished you well.  They'll help you soak up the sun, but won't help you rebuild your roof when it rains. They are not friends, they are snakes in the grass. (That’s why it’s important to keep a lawn mower.)  When you bump into these folks, smile and don't trust them with your wallet.

This is my perspective on people, formed from my own life experience. This is how I remember who’s who. I want to appreciate those closest to me, and take the time to build and strengthen those relationships. I think it’s important to be kind and good to all people, but I recognize our instinct to elevate certain people in our lives above others. We have to appreciate our families, and where broken, repair them. We should cherish our friends, especially our closest ones, for they’ll be there even when family disappoints us. With everyone else we should remember to be patient and compassionate even if we keep them at arm’s distance.

BLACK FOLKS AND THE 'N' WORD

There is an ongoing debate in the black community over our use of the word nigger. On one side are those who feel that we only reinforce the racist history and negative context of the word when we use it. On the other side are those who acknowledge the same history, but feel that we can transform the context by infusing a different meaning. I agree that the ways in which we use it amongst ourselves have expanded the context, but I also feel like the history of the word is all but insurmountable. I don’t look to escape that history, in fact I embrace it. Good and bad, my history makes me who I am, and I am very much proud of that. But the reality is that the word nigger is stuck in time, and to those holding most of the positions of power and authority in this country, I would be less threatening if I resigned myself to the same time. Simply put, I can’t afford to remind them of who they think I am.

For most of us who use the word, I think it’s out of habit more than anything else. We’ve become comfortable using the word, at least within our own familiar circles, and it has become a part of our everyday vocabulary. While I don’t think we have any harmful intentions (for the most part) when we use the word to describe each other, I do think it’s a habit that is more counterproductive than not. The problem with habits is that by definition, we exercise them with little premeditation. But if we fail to examine them to determine whether they are really good for us, we turn a blind eye to what harm they may be causing. It’s like smoking cigarettes; now there’s a dangerous habit that can be very difficult to break. But the more you smoke, the more you increase the chances it will kill you. How many people would continue to smoke if they had that thought every time they lit up? Another problem with habits is that when you’re following blindly, it can be difficult to tell whether you’re following your direction or someone else’s. Nigger is a gift of hatred to remind us of our inferiority. Contained beneath the white bow and wrapping is a doll with nappy hair and ‘blackface’, a book with empty pages to prevent us from learning anything, and some rope in case we ever get out of line. We’ve become so accustomed to receiving this gift, we don’t realize that we’re giving it to each other, and we’re continuing down the path that was laid for us.

I want to take a moment to elevate my voice for those who aim to use nigger in a way that gives it a different meaning, particularly those in the hip-hop generation, of which I am a card-carrying member. I love the way we are able to take something so negative and turn it into a positive, as that is one of the hallmarks of perseverance. For us, nigger has transcended (to some extent) its traditional connotations, and has become a term of endearment, and even a standard component of our greeting. I know that “Hello, how are you?” doesn’t quite capture what “What’s shaking my nigga?” does. I also know that my niggas are my closest cohorts, and we have the best intentions for each other, and would do anything to help each other along our respective journeys. Despite this however, the history of the word nigger is etched in stone, and I think it’s naive of us to think that we could rewrite that history. Even if we succeed in taking some of the power out of the word, the power overall still remains with those who have written that context. To them, nigger will always exemplify that history and carry those negative perceptions of us. That perception is often the key to our success, and the reason for our perpetual failure. We have to understand that when the powers that be are peeking into our culture, looking for signs that we still know our place, they don’t bother to decipher meaning. If it looks like a nigger, and raps like a nigger, it’s a nigger. Rather than focusing on taking the power out of the word, we would do better to take the power out of the perception. If enough of us put black women in graduation gowns in our music videos, rather than in bikinis, and instead of making it rain on dem hos we built a school for dem kids, I think we could go a long way to change how we are perceived.

As I sat down to write this, I began to realize how conflicted I am on this issue. I know that throughout history we have been lied to, herded like cattle, and sold into slavery. We were able to gain freedom from the iron shackles, only to trade them for society’s. We have had to wage a war on soil WE cultivated for the right to vote in elections that don’t benefit us. We’ve been mocked, spit on, hung, and are regularly victims of racial profiling as a precursor to our denial of due process. They called Martin and Malcolm niggers, and they still call us nigger to remind of us that history. But I don’t think we intend to submerge each other in that history when we use it amongst ourselves. I certainly don’t, and that’s exactly why I have continued to use it amidst the current debate. To be completely honest, I’m more concerned with the perception; that’s what needs to change. We will be called for what we represent ourselves to be. Until we change that perception, we will continue to be hindered by the stigma of the word, because overall, we’re not doing enough to discredit the label. This responsibility is one I am all too familiar with, as I was brought up to set the example, and hold up the banner for the race. (I suspect that’s why the perception is so important to me.) I understand now that composing this has been a struggle because I have had to examine both my habits, and my contributions to our advancement. I have concluded that personally, I intend to continue using it while being conscious of how I use it, and who I use it with, and in front of. Furthermore, I will be sure that my actions and my intent are indicative of my character, and the example I want to set.

WHITE FOLKS AND THE 'N' WORD

Sticks and stones make break my bones, but words can never hurt me. Unless that word is nigger. Some would say, why lend credence to that word? I say the word carries its’ own credence. When read on paper, nigger has enough power to frustrate even the most stoic and culturally grounded person. When spoken, it has enough power (and unfortunately, authority) to discourage an entire race. That’s an entire classification of people kept at bay by six letters. Mind you, it‘s not just the letters themselves, but the attitudes that propel them. Here, I want to discuss specifically the attitudes of white people who have, and continue to use the word. Some use it because they are ignorant (or misguided) about its connotations. Some are more educated as to the dynamics of the word, but use it anyway due to indifference, and also because of the permission granted by their peers(specifically black folks) to continue to do so. Of course a good number (I am struggling not to say most) use it purely out of hatred and ironically fear. Although I am penning my perspective, I will try to detach myself from the fierceness of my contempt for anyone in the afore-mentioned categories, so this doesn’t develop into the rant of the ‘typical’ angry black man. However, if you are white and you are reading this (which I certainly hope is the case), and you are looking for an excuse to substantiate your use of the word nigger, you won’t find it here.

Perhaps the smallest, least-threatening group is comprised of those individuals who are truly ignorant, or unaware of the hatred in which the word nigger is steeped. Having said that, I want to make a distinction between ignorance and stupidity. Ignorance, as I intend it, is having a total lack of knowledge. Stupidity is marked by an inability to make smart decisions, even when equipped with sufficient information. Of course, to be completely ignorant, you would have to be living under a rock, in a foreign country, with no access to media of any form. It is possible, however, to be sheltered enough, or to have had such a lack of exposure to the word that it doesn’t resonate the way it should. However, those who are not living under a rock in foreign country have access to resources that can inform them. In my opinion, we all have a responsibility to at least try and become more aware of the influences that shape our surroundings. Eventually, avoiding those responsibilities will peel off the shell of ignorance and reveal an inner indifference.

Indifference is not always time-released, it often learned, and the best teachers are those who are indifferent themselves. This is reflected in both the black and white psyches. On one hand, indifference among blacks exists, either because they do not care, or are not as in touch as they need to be with the word, and allow its use to go unchecked. It is all too common for the “cool” white guy to get a pass from his black peers. These same peers who make him the “token nigga” fail to realize they are only giving permission for the token to perpetuate the cycle made popular by other members of his family who do not desire our acceptance (i.e. even the token nigga knows better than to invite the brotha to supper). So why then, do we allow it? If black people are indifferent, how can we expect anyone else not to be? On the other hand we have white indifference. This is the sort of sheer stupidity I mentioned earlier. In this case, we have white people who are fully aware, or at the very least cognizant of the context it has been used throughout history, but choose to act as if the call for white people to refrain from using it somehow doesn’t apply to them. This type of indifference usually comes with a disclaimer. I will invalidate my favorite of these here:

1. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

So how did you mean to use the most racist and hateful word in the English language?

2. “I have a lot of black friends.”

Black friends don’t let white friends use the word nigger.

3. “You’re being too sensitive. We need to get past that word.”

Show me a heroin addict that got over heroin by continuing to use it. (I’m just saying.)

4. “It’s just a word.”

Then why is it so difficult for you to stop saying it?

5. “I’m saying it with an ‘a’, not an ‘er’.”

Ask a slave if he knows the difference between ‘whip’ and ‘whup’. Then ask him if the difference in spelling makes the lashes hurt any less.

For the record, what you are really saying is, “Allow me to justify my stupidity and perpetuate the use of the word.” No can do.

Lastly, but certainly not least are white people who use the word nigger out of a combination of hatred and fear. I want to point something out here. The root form of the word nigger (negro) means dark, or black, or some form of it in any language. (Negro is the Spanish word for the color black.) On a basic level, the word nigger does have some descriptive qualities that are true to its essence. It is the attitude of superiority that is as prevalent in white consciousness as melanin in black folks’ skin that fuels the hatred behind the word. So initially, oppressors used the term to describe the “savages” who were their perceived inferiors. This façade of superiority has cracked under the scrutiny of its own absurdity. It only remains because with its dissolution, so will follow the dissolution of the collective (white) identity as it has it been so carefully crafted. That is where the fear comes in; the fear of the annihilation of the superior self as a result of black potential. After all, who wants to admit that the savages are of an equal, if not superior pedigree. (That must be a hard pill to swallow, and pride tends to swell the esophagus.) At this point, hatred is reintroduced into the cycle, as the superiors begin to hate what they fear. Sadly, that makes its use by those seeking to honor its hateful nature no more than a defense mechanism, or a way to repress that fear. To give you a glimpse as to how powerful that fear is, think about this: I am admittedly afraid of heights. As a kid, I would climb trees to try and face that fear. Now that I’m older I realize that the same trees may have been used by whites in a different way to repress their fear of black potential in an earlier, negroer (darker) time in our history. The word nigger is ropeless apparatus used by whites to neutralize black progressive advances.

The mafia has been known to employ enforcers to enact its will. Racism and hatred both have tools that serve the same purpose, but the word nigger is used as a special tool of reinforcement; reinforcement of the negative, often inaccurate stereotypes and perceptions of those to whom it is aimed. Reinforcement of the ill-deserved superiority it seeks to protect. (I don’t mean to imply that the mafia is racist. Honest, all my friends are in the mafia.) As promised, I have offered no excuses to substantiate its use. What I hope I have offered is enlightenment to deter people from continuing to use it, and a voice for those who are both discouraged by its use, and by those who allow it to go unchecked.

We Must Not Forget

PEOPLE! PEOPLE! If you could stop jumping up and down sweating out your elation for a just a moment. I would like to bend your ear on behalf of our ancestors and all those who made it possible for President Obama. This moment has been a long time coming, more than 500 years to be exact. It began in the heartland of civilization, and I don't mean the midwestern states. I mean Africa. From the fields and mines of SIERRA LEONE, to the DOOR OF NO RETURN. A door through which we were both forced and misled. Divided and corraled, we carried our chains onto the ships that would be the vessels for the MIDDLE PASSAGE. From the hold in the belly of these cursed vessels we sat on top of each other in the dark, unsure of where we would arrive. We would arrive, but first on the shores of VIRULENT RACISM along the coast of HATRED and FEAR. The mantra for the next 400 years would be BLOOD, SWEAT and TEARS. Blood that drained as our backs were savaged by the hungry leather of our master's whims. Sweat that soaked the ground of the never-ending cotton fields we tended under the watchful eye of the EAGLE that was the symbol of these United States of Persecution. Tears that ran down our faces when we would look upon the horizon of freedom only to have the rays of the master's sun blind us back into despair. And then a new era was upon us. This new and changing time would be full of its' own blood, sweat and tears. It would be our blood as we were willing to die trying to advance than live regressively. Sweat that dripped from our brows onto the tools with which we were doing the work of change. Tears of pride and accomplishment as we stand together on the eve of the most colorful presidency in our, or our nation's history. Throughout this I have used the words we and our when referring to our ancestors, and I do so to establish a common identity with them. We share this identity as they are who we are. And we are who they are and what they hoped to become. This middle passage has been a difficult one, but from the door of no return we have finally arrived on the threshold of destiny. Thank you to all those who have bled, sweat and cried.