To be young and Black and male...even in East Africa

Invisible Man: A Memorial to Ralph Ellison
Sculptor Elizabeth Catlett, 2003
Riverside Park @ 150th Street, Manhattan
Bronze, granite


3:00am and I just had one of the most thought-provoking conversations with a frustrated young Black man about his experiences today. We concluded that although we want to experience sunny days, the clouds that shape our existence in a world that is myopic by nature, tend to overshadow the sun. It isn't until we pummel through the so-called limitations, avoid stereotype threat, and overcome obstacles that we finally get a voice and the strength to ignore and perservere in spite of. This is why we need to all be on our A-game and rise to the top of whatever career path we choose. There are too few of us creating knowledge and making power decisions.

He had gone to a concert in Kenya and was treated as if he were a second-class citizen. The white people were escorted through the line (at a Bob Marley concert, no less) and he was pushed into place. It made him angry and as he recounted the story to me, it made me think about Invisible Man. He was in Manhattan tonight and three times he was disregarded and disrespected...and it frustrated him. He was in a catch-22 and he couldn't catch a cab to get out of the hell in which he found himself. He mentioned that in Kenya, in a position of power, he finally felt "the breeze on his back" and he finally understood what white privilege must be like.

He's a brilliant writer with a keen sense of reality. I knew this the first day he challenged me in his 10th grade class. He didn't want to read the "simple" books that we were using. He wanted to read "real" experiences. He hated fiction! He wanted more and even more now. I certainly hope that he channels this frustration into something that will not only be lucrative for him and his future generations but also something that contributes to the consciousness of a world that resides in its own subconscious state of mind. .02

All kids left behind if we don't get behind them and push harder!

I spent the best days of my summer teaching young people in a federal TRIO program this year. The daily burden was mine to impress upon these children the importance of accountability and personal responsibility. I've learned many lessons from them. I've come to the realization that our school system, in this democratic capitalist country, continues to fail some children miserably. See, if you're poor, you tend to get sub-standard treatment. If you're black, you tend to get sub-sub-standard treatment and forget about it if you're black AND poor! I've witnessed children asking questions that I thought were elementary, at the 10th and 11th grade level and these are children who attend school every day (ok so some of them cut a class or two but they still enter the buildings).

Let's take for example, the young man who was proud to tell me, when asked, that Haiti is in Asia. He followed up some weeks later with a question about Nigeria being a continent. Now, this is the same child who proudly announced to me that he doesn't read and his mother assured him that this problem was "normal" because she had the same issue in school, she never remembered much of what she read. He also informed me that "If this WAS regular school, you'd hate me, Miss because I'd never come to class" as if he were doing me a favor by showing up everyday without a pen, without his homework, and with his "clever" questions. He constantly reminded me that he can't spell, and he said this repeatedly without regret and announced it as a medal even. He wanted to be "excused" for everything. He blamed the system for all of his shortcomings: "I can't read my own handwriting. It's not my fault! That's the fault of the people who taught me how to write! Why didn't they make sure that I knew how to write?" or how about "I didn't bring a pencil, Miss. It's not my fault, that's my TC's fault for waking me up so early for class and rushing me out of my room for breakfast." When told that this program was preparation for college he retorted "this program don't prepare us for college! They make us go to bed by 10 and we can't even use our cell phones." What is wrong with this picture? This is the same kid who informed me on the first day of classes that he is NOT Black (despite his shoulder length dreadlocks and his dark skin complexion and very ethnic name--with even an apostrophe in it). He is not interested in associating with Black people because as far as he knows, they are ignorant and embarrassing (it could very well be that this is his experience. He has, after all, lived most of his life watching both his father and step-father go in and out of prison). Well, that was my life in my first period class every day for the last six weeks. And it made me pause to reflect on what is happening in our schools to our children and what the possibilities are for my own children and yours.

In the age of 'accountability' and laws about leaving children behind, it is surprising to see how many of our children have begun to rise to low expectations. As contradicting as my last statement are the results of NCLB. If we are fighting to close the achievement gap, then who explains why in the age of technology, so many black, brown, and poor white children are losing their motivation to rise above the fray and accomplish more than their families have accomplished? Why is it that children's writing skills and computation skills are far below grade level and why has it become increasingly difficult to convince them to work harder? I can't recall how many times I had to hear the words "This is too much work!" from my 9th and 10th grade students this summer. It would appear as if I were administering some poisonous potion to their bodies every day by insisting that they read or THINK a little deeper into the texts they examined.

Is it not criminal to fail our children as educators, when all society asks of us is to inspire, motivate, and encourage them to be at their very best? Is it not criminal of our system to allow such inequities in educational achievement between rich, poor, black, and white on a daily basis, while pretending that the USA is a beacon of hope for all? Why isn't the achievement gap a national crisis, just as an act of terrorism would be? Are we not terrorising an entire group of future tax-paying Americans when we fail to give them their fair shot at the pursuit of happiness? Why isn't there a war on unequal education, just as there is a war on drugs and a war on terror? If we don't put our collective strength behind these children, who sit in front of us everyday, we will fail our own selves and our own children for these are the very people who represent the future of our nation.

Presently, our future cannot identify their history, their current surroundings, or what the difference is between a continent and a country... If this is what we have to look forward to for years to come, then God save us all. .02

A Story of Small-Town USA

Boy meets girl in school. Boy says he's going to ask girl to the prom. Boy asks girl and goes home and tells Mom and Dad. Mom and Dad say "cancel, she's black. You can't go to the prom with a Black girl!". How could it be? It's 2009! Are we still in that frame of mind? Welcome to small-town Amerikka.

The story is sad and it's even sadder that it's happening to a child. The first time the father of this bicultural family moved into the area, he was recruited by the KKK. He was surprised but even more afraid but did not fail to let them know that they probably wouldn't want him in their group once they saw his family. In this day and age, young women still experience the harsh sting of racism, at the hands of young white boys and girls and it's just simply disheartening to watch.

We have a biracial president, and yet a black girl can be told that she is 'not good enough' to go to the prom with another child because of her race. This young lady boasts a 92 GPA and is heading off to a very prestigious university on a Presidential scholarship in the fall. She is mannerly and quite beautiful, with the most caring upbringing that one can imagine. Her mothers tears pierced my heart as she told me the story and I wondered how we will ever mend these holes as time progresses.

We live in an area where Black faces are rarely seen in places of importance/power. White faces are dominant in the town and despite their destitute standing in the community, some of them still consider themselves more significant than Black people. The lessons I've learned in this town are priceless but I hate the fact that a child, a beautiful, brilliant, innocent child, also has to learn the same hard lessons in the same cold way.

She WILL have a date. Maybe even two. But the sad reality is that which the white family will have to live with for the rest of their lives. .02

experience at Geno's steaks in Philadelphia. One can learn much by simply reading a sign or 3...

So if you live in Philly, apparently the "big" thing to do is to eat at Geno's Steaks on South Street (I think). Yeah the big cheesesteak place with the bright lights, that's it. My brother and I walked up to their establishment a couple weeks ago and the first thing I noticed was a memorial plaque dedicated to a cop, who, according to Geno's listing, was murdered by Mumia Abu Jamal. Then I saw a sign by the window that said "Speak English when you order. The owner has the right to not serve you. This is America." or something to that effect.

So there we were, my brother, decked out in our letters from our great, longstanding BGLOs, wondering if we were truly representing our founders by spending our money at that establishment. On the one hand, I was desperate to taste a philly cheesesteak, since everybody talks about them so darn much. On the other, I was giving my money to a visibly racist establishment, and they were glad to take it. We bought the cheesesteak and I resentfully bit my tongue as my brother whipped out his $15 to pay for cheesesteaks. Mind you, Geno and his staff are all Italian immigrants, so how dare he make a statement like "speak English" as if speaking English is a marker of anything. What if a tourist had heard about his establishment and wanted to roll on by to support his business? Geno is a jerk, simple. I was pissed and I vowed to never return and I will certainly urge others to never return to this racist establishment.I wanted to say something to them, I really wanted to scream and tell others on the line to pay close attention to the signs (people were just either drunk or simply walking past the signs. My brother had gone there a couple times before even realizing they were there).

In America, people say whatever they want at the expense of others and nobody can stop them. In that moment, I wanted to do like Etana and give them back their freedom of speech, for crying out loud (crying, we want to be free!). We have the right to say what we want at anyone's expense. I'm not criticizing the great Constitution of the U.S.A. but I'm wondering if that license to hurt with the two-edged sword, coupled with the license to kill (bearing arms) was really what the forefathers envisioned for Americans. .02

Pejorative

It has taken me quite a while to finish this entry because, somehow, I was at a loss for words on this subject so I'm just going to write as much as I can feel right now and save the rest for later. So I've written about this student--this white male student--who had stepped INTO (not out of) his element to direct a derogatory statement at me. It was inevitable that somehow, considering his blatant lack of self-restraint and the clear absence of common sense that this flaw of humanity (God didn't create the monster that lies within this error of human judgement) demonstrated. The story is simple, He wanted my help, I ignored him, he lashed out and called me a NIGGER. Now I've had many encounters with derivatives of the word (which, arguably, have the same root no matter how you say it) but never before in my life had I been called that in a pejorative way from the mouth of a white man (a retarded one at that). The experience made me think of several things: 1) It took my achieving the highest level of education to hear the word; 2) Even the most retarded white person still thinks he can call me a Nigger; 3) Although we obtain economic and social "capital", we still have to be wary/prepared for the moment when a white person loses his/her senses and mentions this word around us.

Nigger. I say the word in this text simply to ensure that you are hearing it loudly and clearly. It meant something different coming from that spilled waste of semen (and yes, I refuse to call him anything human-worthy because his behavior was asinine and thus, in my opinion, he has surrendered his human qualities in my eyes...call it what you will). He looked me in the eyes and said "OK, NIGGER!" but not before he threatened to call his sperm donor to put me in my rightful place (probably back on their plantation, I'm guessing). I was the professor, he was the student and yet, and yet...AND YET...

A nation of cowards? That description is far too mild. One day I will finish this series of discussions about the many themes that emerged from my first encounter with a white carcass calling me an insulting name but for now, I'll leave with you my immediate response (in my head, of course), and pay homage to the greatest work of literature ever written by a human being without divine inspiration:

"One night I accidentally bumped into a man, and perhaps because of the near darkness he saw me and called me an insulting name. I sprang at him, siezed his coat lapels and demanded that he apologize. He was a tall blonde man, and as my face came close to his, he looked insolently out of his blue eyes and cursed me, his breath hot in my face as he struggled. I pulled his chin down sharp upon the crown of my head, butting him as I had seen the West Indians do, and I felt his flesh tear and the blood gush out, and I yelled, "Apologize! Apologize!" But he continued to curse and struggle, and I butted him again and again until he went down heavily on his knees, profusely bleeding. I kicked him repeatedly, in a frenzy because he still uttered insults though his lips were frothy with blood. Oh yes, I kicked him! And in my outrage, I got out my knife and prepared to slit his throat, right there beneath the lamplight in the deserted street, holding him in the collar with one hand, and opening the knife with my teeth--when it occurred to me that the man had not seen me, actually; that he, as far as he knew, was in the midst of a walking nightmare! And I stopped the blade, slicing the air as I pushed him away, letting him fall back into the street. I stared at him hard as the lights of a car stabbed through the darkness. He lay there, moaning on the asphalt; a man almost killed by a phantom. It unnerved me. I was both disgusted and ashamed...then I was amused. Something in this man's thick head had sprung out and beaten him within an inch of his life...Poor fool, poor blind fool, I thought with sincere compassion, mugged by an invisible man!"(p. 5)

The story that continues from that excerpt in Invisible Man is deeply moving and enlightening. I encourage you to read it further. My story, too, has yet to be completed but I will update as my thoughts become clearer. Consider this the second installment of several to come. There are so many thoughts to share about the madness surrounding the incident, that I will have to beg your patience in dealing with these short "teaser" entries. There's more, much more but "the end is in the beginning and lies far ahead." So please, "Bear with me".

.02

Nigger

Just when I thought I was going to take a break from this whole discussion about race, I had to face racism head on and begin a whole new discussion about it. A few posts ago, I mentioned the young man who demonstrated both slight mental retardation and a propensity towards racism. Well, this was all confirmed on Friday when I refused to accept his behavior anymore.

The Burden

I left my class today, after dealing with this kid who demands way too much of my time (yes, he's still there), really burdened by the thought of "hopelessness". As class ended, my only black, male student walked in and sat in front of me. I have known for a while that he's dealing with some issues (cases, bad influences, etc) and my heart goes out to him every time. Today was different though; he sat down although he had missed the class. He wanted an ear and so I listened. He hasn't turned in any of his work although he's done the work. The thing is, this particular assignment that's due is a personal essay and he told me he hates to write about his life. He isn't proud of himself and he hates to have to look back. "We were evicted," he said today "and I have nowhere to go. But I'm trying." He's trying...he really is. He shows up and although I see he has a strong defense system going on, it's easy to see that he's hiding something. He's hurting. Today, it was clear; he spoke little but said much. I asked him to tell me what I could help with and his eyes welled up with tears:

"Miss, I don't know. They say they need some financial aid papers that I can't produce. They want it from my father but my father is in Trinidad. And it doesn't help that my mother is always asking me for money. And yesterday, I missed your class because my sister ain't have no babysitter so I stayed with her kid. I'm tryin', Miss, I really am but they don't make it easy either. I talked to the lady in financial aid and she gave me a silly face saying she can't help me. I want to do better but if my life depends on it, I'm going back to sellin' and I know you gonna tell me about the consequences and all dat but my life depends on it, Miss. I'm tryin' and I wanna stay out of jail. Right now I got a felony on my back that I'm fightin' but if I gotta do it, I'ma sell again. Either that, or I'ma go to the army and take my anger out on some people in that war. I gotta do somethin' but this school thing seems like it's so hard. I'm tryin to stay out of trouble and away from these kids who are a bad influence but it's not workin', Miss. Not when my family gettin' evicted and I can't buy my books for school and it ain't like my sisters went to college so they not helpin'."

My heart was completely shattered as I watched him fight the tears. This kid is really trying and there was very little I could say to him to give him encouragement. Nobody at the school really understands the plight of this kid. See, he was charged with assault (he beat some kid with a bat) and he was sent to jail for 2 years. The contrast to that is that another kid in the same class (white) and his friends gave a guy a heavy beat down and he got 29 days and probation. Justice seems to have a heavy hand when it comes to certain children, but I digress. This young man is trying and he wants to stay out of trouble. It's just sad that with all that he has poured out to me, I still can't figure out where to begin to help him. I can't pay his tuition, I can't talk to his counselors because they won't talk about specific students, and I can't keep his family from being evicted. But when I look at him, I see a brother, a nephew, a cousin, and I can't help but feel responsible to at least do something to help keep him out of the hands of the justice system. After all, he's only 18! Look at what life we can hand him if we give him a college education, as opposed to letting him go and allowing the system to take his life and liberty!


This is the burden we all should share. We should be considering ways to help young people, such as this kid to get on the straight and narrow. Now we know he made choices before and his choices were not the wisest but is there any among us who will take a stand to help put this kid and those like him back on the straight and narrow and take them off the streets? He only sees two options outside of college: Jail and Jail because to me, the army is just another institution that is set up to "protect" us by putting our youngest, most talented men and women under a sentence that they can't seem to get out of. These shouldn't be his only options but they are. And the burden is mine to figure out if there is just one or two things I can do to help ensure that he stays the course because he is, afterall, really really trying. These are the situations that make me angry and sad and frustrated with our "system" of education and government. There is no rehabilitation: If you were always a miscreant, then you rarely have a chance at changing your life and doing what's right. The streets are calling our kids. In fact, I fight against the streets everyday! I remember when I was about to become a teacher in New York City and I did a small scale study of the area in which I would teach. I interviewed a drug dealer on the corner, who happened to be a fellow high school classmate of mine. He looked me squarely in the face and said "Keep your foot up their asses because I got my hand in their pockets. Your greatest enemy everyday is ME and I ain't gonna quit so you better not either." And I have NEVER forgotten that lesson. It was the most honest lesson I learned as a teacher. No seminar or book by any prominent professor could have broken down education theory and philosophy to me so simply as Face, the drugdealer in Brooklyn. "Keep your foot in their asses...I'm your greatest enemy...I ain't gonna quit so you better not..." I'm still fighting and will continue to do so; I just wish I had more ammunition.
$.02.