HIV - If It Walks Like Genetic Engineering...

So I was reading this book of facts on planet earth. Although it’s a kiddie book, it’s a good book with information on history, science, politics, geography… pretty much a synthesis of some of the more interesting stuff that kids learn in their first 8 years of school rolled into one 144 page book. It’s called Don’t Know Much About Planet Earth by Kenneth C. Davis – put it on your kids’ summer reading list. One highlighted article in the book showed the effect that AIDS was having on Africa. It said that by 1999, 84% of the 16.3 million AIDS deaths worldwide were in Sub-Saharan Africa. I know that the situation has only gotten worse since that time, since I’ve seen the stats updated and reprinted every year. Scenes from Save the Children came through my mind, and I felt my usual disgust with our inability/inattention dealing with this issue.

As I ran the computer known as Dwane T.’s brain through a myriad of questions and scenarios on the issue, I came across one of my favorite conspiracy theories; one that I am absolutely sure is true. AIDS was genetically designed as a way to slowly get rid of Black folks. Now, of course I don’t believe this will ever happen, because in the true Bae-bae Kids tradition, we don’t die, we multiply. Unfortunately, while we do multiply at a greater rate than we die, AIDS is definitely killing us globally.

After a few moments, the internal computer landed on something I had read years ago. Back in my cancer treatment days, while sitting in the hospital getting some outpatient blood transfusions, I came across an article in Scientific American magazine that I felt almost single-handedly proved this theory true. It was an article about whether race actually exists. I remember at the time thinking, "boy, this is sure going to open up a Pandora’s Box of research and expose’s". But after seven years… nuttin’. I thought I remembered it was in the December 2003 issue, so off to the internet I went; and this is an excerpt of what I found:

Genetic variation also plays a role in individual susceptibility to one of the worst scourges of our age: AIDS. Some people have a small deletion in both their copies of a gene that encodes a particular cell-surface receptor called chemokine receptor 5 (CCR5). As a result, these individuals fail to produce CCR5 receptors on the surface of their cells. Most strains of HIV-1, the virus that causes AIDS, bind to the CCR5 receptor to gain entry to cells, so people who lack CCR5 receptors are resistant to HIV-1 infection. This polymorphism in the CCR5 receptor gene is found almost exclusively in groups from northeastern Europe.

Several polymorphisms in CCR5 do not prevent infection but instead influence the rate at which HIV-1 infection leads to AIDS and death. Some of these polymorphisms have similar effects in different populations; others only alter the speed of disease progression in selected groups. One polymorphism, for example, is associated with delayed disease progression in European-Americans but accelerated disease in African-Americans. Researchers can only study such population-specific effects--and use that knowledge to direct therapy--if they can sort people into groups.

Does Race Exist? Scientific American, December 2003

Okay, so it doesn’t say that AIDS is a weapon of biological warfare. But if it walks like a duck, talks like a duck, and attacks your immune system based on your genetic make-up like a duck, it must be a genetic killing machine of a duck. This is not like the Sickled Cell developing in Africans as a way to combat Malaria, and eventually leading to Sickle-Cell Anemia. That developed over thousands of years. The basic argument for the development of AIDS is that it came from being bitten by, or having sex with, a monkey. Africans were getting bitten by monkeys for thousands of years without getting AIDS, and if they were having sex with monkeys in the late 1960’s they were probably doing them for thousands of years before that too. But the research shows that African Americans are higly suscesptible, European Americans are highly resistant, Northern Europeans are immune, while native Africans are being wiped out. For a disease that supposedly came into existence in the last 40 years to be that strongly defined along racial lines is the best case of racial profiling since Jonnie Gammage. By the Laws of genetic adaptation, for Northern Europeans to develop immunity to AIDS, it would have had to exist there for many generations, and a few million people would have died while that adaptation was taking place.

Hey, you have to give the evil scientists who created this thing credit… what better way to kill off a people than to poison the process by which they create life. It reminds me of an experiment that I learned about in Freshman Biology, where they tried to get rid of the roaches in Miami. They used female roach pheromones to lure the males in, then sterilized them and released them back into the sewers. They thought they were making babies, as did the females… so the roach population dropped. Unfortunately, the rat population started to grow from the extra food, and they had to reintroduce the roaches to keep the rat growth down. Anyway, my point is I would be a fool to believe that the concept of killing an entity by contaminating the procreation process began and ended with that experiment three decades ago. And as a man of preponderantly genetically African decent, I can’t afford to be that foolish.

I know that people of all races are susceptible to HIV... I've had family/friends across the board that died from it. But the reality is that HIV is one of the only sexually transmitted disease that leads to the death of its host (without treatment), and that is transmitted to the child ***prior*** to the natural birthing process leading to the death of the child. By the process by which it kills, the spead at which it spreads, and it’s resistance to “cures”, had the HIV virus existed even 100 years ago, medical science had not evolved enough to prevent the possible extinction of mankind. Scientist had identified which genomes were exclusive to which groups decades ago. Science is not perfect, and governments know that you sometimes have to sacrifice your own in a war of attrition. The Tuskegee Experiment showed that our government has no problem using sexually transmitted diseases to kill off African Americans. Why wouldn’t they, or some other First World country do it now . Basic war strategy is to identify a weakness in the enemy and exploit it. In this case, I guess my weakness is my CCR5 receptor cells.

A Mended Fence… More than an Apology

Of my many jobs throughout my life, I still trip on my first job “on the books”. I worked as a carpenter and roof repairman in a summer youth employment program. Yes, back in the “old days”, summer youth workers didn’t file and make photocopies... we worked. I spent many a day in 90+ degree heat on hot tar roofs trying to earn my $2.65/hr. thinking, “I don’t know what I’m going to do for a living, but however long I have to stay in school I’m gonna make sure it’s inside”. I didn’t like the roofing part (fear of heights), but I did like the carpentry part. I like building and fixing things, and mending porches, doorways and fences was right up my alley.

I always thought the phrase “mending fences” was an interesting way to look at people fixing a relationship. I looked at it from a couple of ways. One way I looked at it was a fence being different parts with different purposes that have to come together for a reason that is bigger than the any of the parts themselves. In freshman psychology class we learned that was Gestalt theory: “the whole is greater than the sum of its parts”. So the people involved realize that they are better together than they are apart, and focus on the good rather than the bad. Another way I looked at it was the process of working on a fence together. People can often work out their issues when they focus on a mutual interest rather than on the relationship. Then the conversation can ease into and out of their issues as they feel comfortable talking about it, but as long as the fence is being mended they feel something is being accomplished, and they don’t feel the pressure of the focus being about them.

There were a couple more ways I saw it, but as I thought about them, my mind got to the point where I was preoccupied with the damage to the fence, and does mending the fence sometime gloss over the damage done. So much of mending fences comes down to one or more of the parties involved apologizing for something they said. Once the apology is given and accepted, things move on. But it is often the case that an apology is not enough. Looking at the fence as an example, if someone drove a nail in a fence in a place that it didn’t belong, it would damage the stability of the wood. You could pull the nail out, but it will still leave a whole. You can paint over the nail hole and it will look like new, but the damage to the wood still exists underneath. After a time, the stability of the fence as a whole may be weakened by that point in the fence, and may break down the line despite the fact that “things look fine”.

And so it is with hurtful words and the apologies that are given to correct them. Every time you hurt someone, it’s like driving a nail through wood. The apology then becomes like pulling the nail out; while the action to apologize/pull the nail is done with an honest effort, there is still a hole left behind. The person receiving the apology can choose to put a new coat of paint on the hole, and they may function as strong as a freshly painted, freshly mended fence. But deep inside, whether they ever show the effects or not, the damage is there. Many people look at relationships they have with people that have overcome rocky times, and they are happy about it. But for some reason it seems like despite the fact that the other person says everything is alright, they “have changed”. The truth is, they didn’t change, they “were changed”, by the nail that was driven into them.

So how do you really mend the fence? For an actual fence, there is always wood filler. If you fill the hole in with this simulated wood product, it returns the original integrity to it. Sometimes it even becomes stronger than the actual wood around it. In the absence of the wood filler, the hole can fill up with water, insects, or some other thing that will begin to hurt the good wood around the hole. When someone experiences hurtful words: false accusations; unfair or untrue characterizations; constant negativity, disrespect, or degradation; etc.; they are weakened by them… just as the nail weakens the wood. Sometimes, even after an apology, the hole becomes filled with anger, or insecurity, or sadness, or an uncaring attitude, or sometime just an empty feeling. What began as a small thing can eventually affect other non-related qualities of the person, and even their spiritual strength and health. So the hole must be filled with what was taken away by the nail. If you falsely accuse someone of lying, you need to compliment their honesty. If they were hurt by being told they can’t do something, they need to be reassured that you have confidence in what they can do. If you tell a child they are ugly, you need to repeatedly tell them they have a special kind of beauty. The bottom line is, you need to fill the hole. And what if there is not damage left after the initial apology? Actually, that is usually the case. Usually, there is no further need to address the situation. But then again, you can’t go wrong reinforcing something good… as long as it’s attention and not overkill.

Fixing the damage to the fence helps the carpenter as well as the fence. Isn’t it good to know that you care enough to make sure you don’t leave a damaged situation behind. Guilt over doing someone wrong is a tough thing to deal with, but not nearly as harmful long-term as an attitude that “what’s done is done”… or “oh well...” or “deal with it”. When your mind and heart become as calloused as a carpenters hands, it makes it just as hard to show gentleness… or to have that gentleness accepted when you do show it. You should always apologize when you’ve wronged someone, but when possible you should also make “amends”. It is good for both parties. And if the person isn’t ready to accept the apology, give it time and come back again (the key is not ready to accept vs. not willing to accept). Sometimes wood filler works better after the wood dries out a little.

I’m into chain link fences now, so it’s a lot harder for me to damage them. But while I may deal with different people, people are still the same. When damaged, they still need mending. But I also know that the best way to avoid having to mend a fence is to watch what nails I use and where I place them. As for people, the best way to avoid having to mend them is to watch what words I use and how I say them. Old ones or new ones, you can’t go wrong mending fences.

Piece O' Man

“Don’t nobody want no old ‘piece o’ man’.” That’s something the older women in my family, and other older women used to say when I was a kid. Of course, when you’re five or six years old you don’t have much to say, so you just listen. I remember one time at that age, hearing them talk about men so badly that I began to cry. I never wanted to be like those people they talked about, but I didn’t think I had a choice since I knew I had be a man someday (…and yes, there will be a post someday about the negative things little boys hear around women that speak their future manhood issues into existence). Thank God my mother had a different perspective of men, and it was her view of what kind of man I would be that I tried to grow into. She thought I did an incredible job… I think I did alright… I’m definitely a piece o’ work.

I’ve heard other things that reminded me of the piece o’ man thing over the years. I had a secretary whose grandmother told her she really didn’t want to marry her grandfather but couldn’t find another man, and “half a loaf is better than none”. Her grandmother said that for the rest of her life she had what she asked for, because he was never better than half a loaf. When my mother told my grandmother that she was marrying my father, grandma asked her, “did you ask the Lord for a husband?” When my mother replied, “no ma’am”, grandma said, “well you’re not gettin’ one, you’re just marryin’ a man.” They definitely didn’t have the greatest relationship in the world. I’m glad my father had a better relationship with my step-mother.

My original social networking hangout was Black Planet back in the day. I found an interesting pattern to the pages of some of the sisters who wrote me. They let me know in no uncertain terms that:

1. The were strong
2. They were totally independent
3. They made their own money
4. They had there own house/apartment
5. They paid there own bills
6. They didn’t need a daddy for their children (if they had any)
7. They paid their own way when they wanted to do something
8. The had their sh*t together.
9. They didn’t need a man, because there is nothing a man can do for them that they weren’t already doing for themselves.

Then they went onto say they were just looking for that missing piece… that special someone to share their time with. I’ve been looked at as that missing piece in the past, and it wasn’t the best spot to be in. I’ve had my clothing style, my career path, my spiritual journey, and other highly personal things mapped out for me by sisters who barely knew me in an effort to make me into the person they thought I could be. When I didn’t think the changes made sense and/or were beneficial, I was being ungrateful for the love and effort they put toward making me a better person. When I suggested some changes they could make as well, I was accused of being threatened by a strong/successful woman, or not loving/accepting them for who they were. Anyway, how dare I not want to conform to their image of what they thought I should be; I was lucky they were dating my old, short, skinny, broke a$$ anyway. And besides… (see #9 above).

It seems just a little contradictory to look for a “complete man”, and then relegate him to the status of a “missing piece” (while looking down on a piece o’ man for being incomplete). Maybe a missing half if you look at it technically, or missing whole if you look at it scripturally, but not a missing piece. My belief: in a relationship you have to leave room for growth together as well as separately. That doesn’t necessarily mean giving up or ignoring what you have, or what you’ve achieved, but it does mean that you have to be open to compromise (both of you give up something until you reach a point where you can be both self-reliant and interdependent). Iron and carbon combine to make steel, which is significantly stronger than the other two alone. But it takes a lot of heat to convert them, and afterward neither the iron nor the carbon will ever again be what it used to be . So it is with relationships. Once you’re married, you can never be unmarried again. You are separated, widowed, divorced, or re-married… altered states of marriage. You can be as strong as steel, but you first have to be willing to change…. and then be willing to stand the heat.

Partner connotes equal, piece connotes lesser; if you don’t order what you really want from the menu it will leave a bad taste in your mouth. If you’re willing to compromise who you are with someone who is willing to compromise who they are so that two (wholes) can become one (whole), go for it… God will bless your effort. But hey, if you’re complete as is, and you just want that missing piece to go to movies with, have sex with, attend concerts with, eat dinner with, or any other recreational activity, but don’t want to deal with any growth/sacrifice/compromise, then it shouldn’t matter whether you do those things with just one man or rotate ten men… in fact, all you’ll really need is a piece o’ man.

The Relay Race - Race

As an old Hempstead High School alum, I have a great respect for track and field events. For the last 30 years, my alma mater has had nationally ranked track stars. So… what was the secret? Is it in the food? No... Is it in the water? No… Is it that good Long Island air coming off the Atlantic Ocean? No... It’s the building itself. Hempstead high school has three buildings and plenty of stairs. Just going to class builds strong leg muscles on even the laziest kids. A special secret is our ability to train indoors in the winter time. The oval shape of “A” building allows students to run on all three floors like running around a three-tiered track. And for basic training… we just did the stairs. With year-round training, our track team always had great camaraderie. So it was a logical progression that we specialized in relay race events. Anyway, I never did join the track team because I was born velocity challenged, but I did learn a lot from watching the training and the meets.

As I like studying about greats of the past, I found myself reading about one of the greatest track events ever held. It was an amazing race because the rules for the race weren’t actually established before the race began. Just watching how the race unfolded gave me great insight into how people interact in the real world. The members of the visiting track team ran into problems right away. One of the runners hurt his foot and never made the trip. Because the bus was old and run-down, another runner got car sick and couldn’t compete. When they reached the event site, the remaining runners found that they had to compete at alternate event sites, so they could not all compete together. Then things got interesting…

The remaining group of runners was told that their race would be a relay race, and rather than the winner being the team that finished a designated number of laps in the shortest time, it would be the team that completed the most laps in a designated time. Also, each team would be required to hand-off the baton every 40 seconds. The first two opponents lined up, and got ready to run. Then the judges came out and told the visiting runner that he had to run with a ball-and-chain on his leg. Flabbergasted and confused, but ever the competitor, he lined up ready to give it his best effort. And… they were off!!!

Both athletes did their best, but the ball-and-chain made it not just impossible to keep up… it made it painful to try. After forty seconds, the racers made their first handoffs to the next runners, with the new runner for the visiting team also pulling a ball-and-chain. After about three minutes of exchanges, the host team had a sizable lead and some of the judges began to question the rules. After debating the rules and seeing the need for a change based on the problems of the ball-and-chained runners, the race was stopped at the 4:07 mark. The ball-and-chains were cut off, and the racers were restarted from the spots where they were stopped.

With the ball-and-chain gone, the visiting runner began to make up ground quickly. Having worked so hard with the weight on his leg enabled him to move that much more quickly with the weight off of him. The judges, all coaches for the host team, quickly halted the race after only 31 seconds. It was decided that the first change was too drastic, so the visiting runners could continue without the ball-and-chain but they could only run in the outside lane. Again the contestants began running. Running in the outside lane, the visiting runners stayed even on the straight-aways, but continued to lose ground on the curves. During this segment of the race the judges were still conferring. After another minute (actually 58 seconds), the race was stopped again. The judges accepted that they had overly favored the host team and told the visiting team they could again run on whatever part of the track they wanted to. Ten seconds after the runners began running again, the judges decided they needed to give the visiting team a chance to make up for the problems resulting from the previous rules. So they gave skates to the visiting team and started them off again. The next scheduled baton pass came not long after this, and the new runners gave it everything they had, with the host runner running normally and the visiting runner on skates.

Looking at his competition flying around the track, the runner for the host team ran to the judges’ booth after just 14 seconds. He told them it wasn’t fair that he had to run in sneakers while his opponent used skates. Some of the judges explained that it was to make up for the unfair advantage that his team had in the beginning of the race. But the host runner didn’t care because he wasn’t running then. He only wanted a fair race now, while he carried the baton. Some of the judges agreed, while others still differed. While the debate continued, both teams stood on the track and waited.

This race may seem crazy… and that’s because it is. This relay race has been run for several hundred years in America. While this story is a representation of what has actually happened, everything is it actually happened. If you let your mind allow seconds to become years, it will become much easier to connect this relay race with our beloved “rat race” of life in America. The visiting runners are the Africans who were brought here as slaves, and the host team are the colonists that brought them here. The runner who was hurt and didn’t make the trip was the African who was killed during the slave hunt. The runner who got sick during the trip was the African who died along the middle passage. The runners who were sent to participate at other sites were the Africans who were sent off to Central and South America and the Caribbean Islands. The forty second intervals between runners were the forty years of each generation. Now we have a framework through which to see “the race-race.”

While Blacks and Whites had lived as both free men and indentured servants in American going back to the beginning of the fifteen hundreds, the arrival of the first slave ship at Jamestown in 1618 represented the beginning of slavery as a generational institution. The 4:07, or 240 seconds, that the visiting runners ran with a ball-and-chain on their legs represents the 240 years that slavery existed before the Thirteenth Amendment ended “race-based” slavery in 1865 (the “end of slavery” issue is a story for another day). The 31 seconds after the ball-and-chain period represents Reconstruction. This period ended for the runners when the visiting team was required to run in the outside lane. Like the Supreme Court decision of Plessy vs. Ferguson in 1896, it was done with the belief that you could be Separate But Equal. But the way the rules were introduced in both situations was such that separate was inherently unequal. Thus after 58 seconds race time, or 58 years historically through the Brown vs. the Board of Education of Topeka, Kansas ruling in 1954, separate but equal was abolished. Ten seconds/years later, the Civil rights Act of 1964 was introduced, and socio-economic skates were given to African Americans in the form of Affirmative Action laws. This lasted only another 14 seconds/years before a host team runner named Allan Bakke filed his suit with the Supreme Court on the basis of “reverse discrimination”.

This is not a pro or anti Affirmative Action piece, because I have pros and cons of my own on the issue… too many to discuss at this point. But like I said, I know track, and I know how to survive in our rat race of American life. I understand the concept of fair play, hard work, and living by the rules. I also know enough about American history to know that whether you divide your demographics by race, religion, gender, age, indigenous, immigrant, or enslaved, Americans have always worked hard as individuals, groups, and as a whole. Still, while the time frames between acts and actions, and the ability or inability to benefit from the systems of rules and laws in the United States for the past four hundred years can be debated, one comparison stands out: 240 years with a ball-and-chain vs.14 years with skates. Now that the baton is in our hands, we really need to decide what is fair and get “the judges” to move on it. But in the meantime, we need to run our own individual races… and run it like we respect and appreciate the people who had to run with a ball-and-chain on their legs for 240 years, and in the outside lane for 58 years. They ran with those impediments so we wouldn’t have to, which makes them winners in my book.

Commitment: Breakfast of Champions

Most folks who know me know that I’ve pretty much ridden the same inspirational phrases for the past fifteen or twenty years. Some of my favorites are:

If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem
It’s not the choices in life that decide what you do, it’s the lack of choice… you got no choice, you know what you’re gonna do.
If I can’t do great things, I’ll do small things in a great way.
A man that’s always looking for a job doesn’t have time to work.
A setback is just a setup for a comeback; tough times don’t last, tough people do.

They’ve worked pretty well for me, and they seem to have inspired others a little bit too. But my cyber-buddy Kinika had one that really let me understand why I succeed at some things and not at others, and why sometimes I feel more of a sense of pride in failures than I do in successes. It’s all about commitment. It’s about doing the best you can whatever the circumstances. It’s about leaving it all out on the battlefield, playing field, crop field, field of dreams, etc. In the past, I had often confused my involvement with things and people with a commitment to them. But Kinika’s insight let me know the difference. She said:

“The difference between commitment and involvement is like a ham and egg breakfast. The chicken was involved, but the pig was committed.”

For some of you, I have to ask you to look past your hatred of all things swine-related to see the analogy. Many people believe they are committed to something or someone because of intense or long-term involvement or feeeling. But just like this analogy, they have the ability to walk away from the situation. The chicken can stay up all night giving eggs, and give the best eggs anyone has ever eaten… but it can walk out of the house the same way it walked in. The pig, on the other hand, sacrificed everything it had to make the breakfast work. Even if the pig was still alive, it’s commitment to making breakfast work would have meant it could have walked away… but it would never have been the same. It sacrificed past the level of it’s own comfort.

Folks say they are committed to a cause, a person, a goal, even a God. But they somehow find a way to walk away when things don’t go their way. I hear about people backsliding in church. Being committed is like being in a car going downhill… you can’t just slide backward… you have to make a conscious decision to stop first. People who “backslide” were either just involved with God, or they are lying to themselves, ‘cause if they were committed, they would be like Job in the Bible who said he would rather die than walked away.. You can apply that attitude to a lot of relationships. Martin Luther King and Malcolm X were committed to their movements. When they were told they were going to be killed, they said what Job said.

Sometimes you commit yourself to something, and eventually you realize it’s never gonna work. At that point, walking away is the best thing to do. But if you committed yourself, as the pig did, you will still be changed forever by the experience. It doesn’t necessarily mean that you will be worse off, ‘cause the pig is a little more aerodynamic than it used to be. Whether you are better off or worse off is all in how you choose to deal with the experience. Actually, when you’ve given all you had, you get a sense of peace and pride that makes you feel stronger when you walk away. Some people confuse commitment to the process or path with commitment to the goal. There are times when success means doing things some other way, or heaven forbid, somebody else’s way. Now if your goal is to find a new process or path, then of course you need to see it through to the end. But you need to understand what your goal is so that you don’t commit yourself to the wrong goal..

When I think of true commitment, I think of a football game I saw Kellen Winslow play (Sr., not Jr.). He was sick and injured and still played what many consider the greatest game ever by a tight end. The special thing about the game was, when he decided to play, he knew it would take an effort he never committed to before. Although he was a future Hall of Famer, he knew he had never given 100% on every play before, and he wanted to see what would happen if he tried. In the end, his teammates carried him off the field, not because he won the game for them, but because he couldn’t walk. There is nothing wrong with involvement because that is the basis for most relationships, whether with people or ideals. The issue comes down to how much you are willing to sacrifice to get the most out of the situation. Like Kellen Winslow Senior, are you willing to put your own bacon in the fire… or are you chicken?

Come Be Black For Me

I looooooove Black History Month. I love what it stands for. I love how communities, and organizations, and families, find themselves in conversations over who did what when, and what it means today. I love how, even in schools that don’t have Black students, people are focusing on the struggles, contributions and triumphs of people who look like me. I love how it grew from Negro History Week to Black History month, and how it paved the way for Hispanics, Asians and women to also have months to celebrate their struggles, contributions and triumphs. Yet, the more “conscious” we become as a people and as a nation, the more the concept of a month dedicated to Black History seems unnecessary… even disrespectful in some way. There are so many questions about the need/validity of a month dedicated to Black History. I hear so many things that are anti BHM, that I almost question my love for it; things like:

Why did they give us the shortest month of the year?
Why do we only get to celebrate Black History one month out of the year?
We always talk about the same people over and over again, what good is that?
Everybody already knows Black History, we aren’t stupid. Let’s talk about the future.
We’re all American, so we should talk about American history and not just Black history.
Why don’t we have a White History Month… Why do we only celebrate Black History?

Although many of these things contradict each other, the people who say them sometimes make good points. But then I think about Carter G. Woodson. What would Dr. Woodson think about these opinions? How would he feel if he heard people saying “they gave us” the shortest month of the year, when in reality he chose February to celebrate Negro History Week to honor the birthdays of Frederick Douglas and Abraham Lincoln. He would probably feel disrespected that people didn’t know enough about Black History to know that. What would he think about the fact that he started Negro History week to introduce topics that would encourage people join his Association for the Study of Negro Life and History and read his Journal of Negro history as part of their year-round study, only to find that people still don’t join educational societies or read educa ational journals, and just want others to spoonfeed them information on a regular basis. What would George Washing Carver say about people being tired of learning about a man who “invented the peanut”, knowing that getting respect for Black people’s intelligence was so important to him that a real study of his life would include something about allowing himself to be castrated so that he could work at Iowa State University without them fearing he would sleep with any of the White women there. He would probably feel pretty disrespected that people couldn’t even get his inventions correct despite his sacrifices. I know all the people who made history would be broken-hearted to know their sacrifices were seen as something that has nothing to do with the future, since everything they did was to make sure we had a future. Then again, the families of all our mixed race presidents before Obama (there were six) are probably glad that we still see American history as separate from Black History.

I remember back in college reading an article written by a woman who was a known historian, and well-versed on all things “Black”. She talked about her love/hate relationship with BHM; she loved being able to reach a wider audience with her information, but she hated the fact that her phone barely rang until December, and by the end of January it rang off the hook. Then in March it was quiet again. She talked about how, when someone called to schedule a presentation, no matter what they said to influence her to come speak, all she heard was: “Come be Black for Me.” I thought it was hysterical, yet insightful. Even moreso, years later when I was making the rounds during Black History Month. I would speak at grade schools, colleges, community agencies, and churches. After a few years, I recognized the pattern of calls. When someone asked me what I was doing on a particular evening in February, I would say I had to go be Black for ____________ (fill in the name of the group).

It was fun being Black for people. I loved being Black for Black people, because after people thanked me for telling them something they never knew, they would complain that they should have learned it in school. I took that opportunity to tell them to push their school board members to make sure that it’s included for their children… or just take their children to the library to learn for themselves. I loved being Black for Hispanic/Latino groups because it gave me a chance to emphasize the aspects of our cultures that were similar, as well as how we were connected in our roots. I loved being Black for White people, particularly the kids, because it gave me a change to plant multiple seeds to question why history is presented the way it is and then point them in a direction to find the answer, rather than just beat them over the head with us good / you bad facts. I remember speaking at a school that I will not name, but it rhymes with South Shore Christian High School in Levittown, N.Y. I was their first ever BHM speaker, and they really didn’t want to celebrate the day, but the growing Black student population demanded it. In the negotiations, they said I had to speak for free… which they knew would deter me… except they didn’t know me. So I paid for my flight from Buffalo to NYC. By the time I got there, I had decided to teach the faculty that voted not to pay me a lesson on the depth of Black history by using the students in an interactive presentation.

After a basic introduction, a few jokes and a few interesting facts, I gave them my affirmative action relay race analogy… which always makes White Folks go… “wow, I never thought of it that way.” I went on to say how honored I was to be there since, as a former Hempstead High Student, I knew that back in HS I wouldn’t have been allowed on their campus unless there was a sporting event. Then I told them I wanted the students to represent recorded history, with each student representing 100 years. I had two Black students line up along the wall. “These two students represent America since its independence”. Then three more Black students lined up. “These students represent the time since Columbus’ arrival, and also the time since the first arrival of slaves. These 500 years represent US History. Then I lined up a mixed group of 18 students (I wanted to use Black students, but I ran out). “These students represent the approximate duration of time going back through ancient Greece and Rome that our 500 years was patterned after.” Then I lined up 17 more White students. “These students represent the period of time that Ancient Egypt and Kush existed as modern organized societies before Ancient Greece. So as you can see, our time in the US accounts for only 1/8 of Black History, just five out of 40 students. Yes, Africans were brought as slaves 27 years after Columbus first arrived, and 12 years after Roanoke and Jamestown were settled, so we were here from the beginning of US history. But Black history is more than slavery, and abolition. It’s more than Abraham Lincoln and MLK. It’s 8x more (not including “pre-history”)

I said a lot more, but the words were barely heard because the visual was so stunning. The Black kids represented American history, and the White kids represented Black history… and there were obviously more White kids to look at. The Social Studies teacher was pissed, ‘cause he knew he had to deal with this mess when I left. But the students, Black and White, were amazed. And the principal was... impressed. Do you know that man went to his office and wrote me a check to cover my plane fair!!!! Of course, he wrote it from the students’ activity fund, but he paid me under the Little Rascal’s policy: "If we like the show we pay as we exit!" And the Black kids were proud to be Black that day. They should have been everyday, but the reality is… they weren’t. When you’re in environments that are hostile to you’re Blackness, particularly when you are judged based on the coonage of others being portrayed in the media on any given day, it isn’t always easy to be proud. That’s not self-hate, just negative affirmations having the same effect as positive affirmations. You shouldn’t need positive affirmations all the time… just once in awhile… like maybe… one month out of the year. I enjoyed being Black for you here, now you can go and enjoy being Black for someone else… you don’t even have to be Black to do it. Happy Black History Month! Let it be the inspiration for you to continue learning and sharing for the rest of the year… just like Dr. Woodson intended.

Behind The Glass

I have had time to reflect now on what the nomination, election, and inauguration of Barack Obama means to the past, present, and future of da brovas. Riding the “hope train” has taken my mind more places than it has my body or my wallet… but then again, if your mind can’t conceive it, there is no reason for the other two to attempt to make the trip. Time hasn’t allowed for a summary as much as it has for a symbol that stands out in my mind. Where Obama is, where the brothers are, was brought to my attention by a conversation I had with my middle boy the day after Presidential acceptance speech. I was talking to Alexander, aka - Xantastic, about the election; did his friends watch the speech, and what were the kids in school saying about having a Black man as president. He did his usual commentary… a few disjointed facts broken up by a bunch of jokes. Then he got quiet, somewhat somber and reflective, and asked: “Dad, will he always be behind the glass?” Being an empathetic 13 year old, Alexander was disturbed by the same sight I saw. Usually the camera was either too close or too far away to pick it up. But for a moment as the camera panned away, you could see it… the glass. It was high and wide. It wrapped around the stage, and Obama.

It was ironic that on a night when hundreds of thousands of people had traveled from across the country and around the world to see a man they had grown to love, a man who was willing to risk his life to serve them, they could not touch him… nor he them. The reason: although there are millions that love him, there is a handful that would be willing to kill him if they get the chance. They had made their intentions known early and often. According to the FBI, by the time he was sworn in, Obama had broken the record for presidential death threats… more than any two term president. And thus, he was where he would be for the next four years... behind the glass. The glass represents the life that Obama has taken on for himself. In order to serve the people who love him, and even the people who hate him, he must live behind the glass. As time goes by, he will be seen as out of touch… and in some respects, it will be true. It will be said he won’t know what the common man… particularly da brovas… are dealing with. It will be said that he has left his people behind to deal with issues of Afghani soldiers, North Korean missiles, African AIDS, and South American oil… even though those issues are part of his job. And on the rare occasion he comes out from behind the glass, it will be seen as window dressing… a photo op. Even being “as Black as he can be” in a White world… he will be accused of becoming whitewashed.

And so goes the life of every brother who lives behind the glass. Make no mistake, if a brother goes far enough in this world, he will have to choose whether or not to live behind the glass. Sometimes you don’t have a choice, as it was with Obama… it comes with the job/purpose/mission. The glass separates you from the people you love. Sometimes from the community you had to leave, because you could not walk into your destiny if you continued to stand in your past. Sometimes from your own family, because what you’re doing is too dangerous/safe/traditional/innovative/long-term/short-sighted for them to understand. Sometimes from your boys, or your girl, because you’ve changed (rather than you’ve grown), and they want things to be the way they were. Then the glass is also there for your protection, because you don’t know who to trust in the place you're traveling, so you keep a wall… a glass wall… so you can interact on a personal level, but they can’t get close enough to hurt you. The truth is Obama was behind the glass long before he got where he is… it’s just visible now. Sometimes a brother will choose not to live behind the glass. He does not want to be separated from the people he loves. Also, by not putting himself in compromising situations, he won’t have to compromise… and staying true to himself is a key to his survival. The reality is, the duality of the complete exposure and complete confinement inherent in life behind the glass would kill many brothers. Thus, those brothers do excellent work on a small level, but never make the major impact on the world that they could if they moved into the realm where the glass comes with the territory.
Before I started writing, I bounced this concept off of two minds I respect greatly, and was given insights that I wouldn’t have gotten on my own. My friend the Harvard educated government official for the federal government said, “Don’t forget about the brothers behind the glass ceiling!” She has definitely seen them in her travels. Brothers who could not move past the invisible barrier between them and the positions they are qualified for, but cannot access. Obama’s presidency is making folks consider removing the ceiling in some places, and at least raising it in others. But the ceiling, as a concept and as a practice, will be there long after Obama’s presidency. The other person gave the opposite side of the glass. She asked, “what about those guys behind the prison glass?” Wow... that made sure I don’t forget that there but for the grace of God... It is a profound experience talking to a brother from behind the prison glass. The look in their eyes… no matter how “hard”, “conscious”, or “spiritual” they may be, there is always an element of regret. Not guilt, because not all of them feel guilty, or are guilty, but the regret part is consistent. If only they had just done differently, or if someone had done differently for them. Good men + bad circumstances + bad choices + bad/no guidance + no vision = prison + regret. Obama was one college drug bust or drunk and disorderly arrest away from a life where “community activist” would have been his ceiling and not his jump-off point.

When you live behind it, the glass can become like the hall of two-way mirrors at the county fair (I’m in the south now… so that reference applies). You see yourself differently depending on which direction you look, and you know that’s how people in that direction see you. Then when the light gets brighter on the outside than on the inside, you see the people and only a faint image of yourself. “Dad, will he always live behind the glass?” I had been thinking about it for almost 24 hours when he asked me, and I still didn’t have an answer. Caught between my knowledge of what is, and my faith in what I hope for, I gave a long answer that amounted to: Yes, but he will step out from behind the glass more as time goes by… all great leaders do. Obama proved both right during the Inaugural Parade, when he stopped the car and jumped out. Shades on, one black glove on and the other in his hand, and his woman coming to his side, my man, Mufasa “44” McCool had stepped out from behind the glass a lot sooner than I or anyone else expected. Later, I was asked, “do you think he will get out again?” I said, “Absolutely!”…and of course he did. By that point I could understand why he is where he is. While life behind the glass does confine him, it doesn’t define him. With that in mind, I think I’m going to have another talk with Alexander.