Faithful Boardwalk Empire viewers are familiar with the story line: violence, corruption and greed in a Prohibition era port city. One of the subconflicts to emerge this season centers around the series’ lone black lead, Chalky White (played by Michael Kenneth Williams) and the show’s centerpiece, the ever duplicitous Nucky Thompson (played by Steve Buscemi). They are, in a sense, business partners. Nucky supplies Chalky with access to liquor and protection; Chalky supplies Nucky with easy access to the black electorate. As season 2 begins, White, the de facto Mayor of black Atlantic City, and his bootlegging associates are ambushed by the KKK. Chalky is effectively put out of business, though not before fatally shooting a Klansman, which in turn incites a mob of angry whites to seek revenge. In order to protect his associate and/or his interests, Nucky is forced to arrange Chalky’s arrest. Once released, Nucky prevails upon an enraged and humiliated Chalky to lay low. Nucky can’t be bothered to explain the finer details to Chalky but nonetheless expects his loyalty and trust. Chalky senses Nucky’s insincerity and resents his paternalism, but restrains himself — for the time being at least — because Nucky is his meal ticket and Nucky has the power to dispose of him at his leisure.
I thought about the Chalky-Nucky dilemma after speaking with three African-American friends who, on separate occasions, made essentially the same appraisal of Occupy Wall Street: ‘No, thank you. It’s not my fight.’ Read the rest of this entry »
About a month ago I was in line at Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson Airport waiting to enter the terminal when I noticed one of the TSA’s new Advanced Imaging Technology machines looming ahead. Currently, the two types in use are the “Millimeter (Wave) Unit” and its more unfortunately named relative, the “Backscatter Unit”. The Millimeter bounces “harmless” electromagnetic waves off the body to create a black and white three-dimensional image. The Backscatter projects “low level” X-ray beams over the body; thereafter a reflection displays on the monitor. Mine was a Millimeter.
The Millimeter Unit (left) and the Backscatter Unit (right)
This was my first time going through one of the devices and since no one else seemed to have a problem with it, frankly, neither did I. It didn’t even occur to me that I could or should refuse this procedure. And when my turn came I casually walked into what looked like a Star Trek transporter and assumed an unfortunately familiar legs spread, hands-above-head position. My image captured, I proceeded out of the unit. Done and done, right? Not exactly. This is where things got sticky. The officer standing at the exit of the until suddenly halted the line, curled his head into the transmitter attached to his shoulder and began speaking to someone somewhere. Then he looked at me. I knew the look. Knew it well. I’d been flagged. In just a moment I was going to be asked to step off the line and submit to a special pat down. Sure enough I was directed to a special seating area and told to wait. Shortly thereafter a second officer — interestingly enough, an African-American man — appeared. He asked me to have a seat, which I did. But I also politely asked him what was the problem. This is usually where the law enforcement officer ignores me until he’s good and ready to tell me why I’m being detained. And where I start to ask over and over again until he realizes I’m not going to stop until I’m satisfied. He spared us both the aggravation and told me the deal. Apparently, and unbeknownst to me, I had moved while I was inside the unit, causing my image to blur. He now needed to perform an enhanced body search in lieu of the screening device. Now, I may be a lot of things, but a fool it not one of them. First of all, the only time I’d moved inside the unit was when I, like everyone before me, lifted my arms above my head. Second of all, if my image didn’t render clearly then why not simply send me back through? That is, after all, the way the old screening process worked: if you set off the system, you simply removed whatever typically metal object you were still carrying on your person and re-entered the unit.
“That’s not possible,” the officer told me. He had to perform a search. And search he did. Read the rest of this entry »
Across the Anacostia River, out of sight and out of mind from the Washingtonians that run this country, an Islamic tide strengthens its swell. Thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, of teenagers have converted to Islam. For these converts, mostly male age 15-24, announcing Allah as their one true savior is an act primarily in words. While some change their names and stop eating pork, many refuse to change their behavior; continuing the robbing, smoking, and fighting they’ve grown accustomed to. Identifiable by their knit cap “kuffis,” these teenagers claim allegiance to a new gang, a gang that offers protection and a newfound hope in the afterlife. Teachers, police, and community leaders familiar with the situation are quick to label Islam a fad, “like buying a pair of Jordans.”
An attempt to rationalize men’s pre-existing notions about previous Perry productions.
An in-depth historical/chronological critique of cinema, African-American achievements, etc
If this is what brought you to this article you may stop reading post-haste. I will not think the less of you 😉
I’m going to try and keep this as short and sweet as I can. (For all other inquiries please refer to Kevin Powell’s comprehensive review of the movie. Please be advised you’ll need 17 hours of down time, 3 espressos and 2 8-balls of coke … thanks Pito 😉 ) Overall I thought the movie was good, but not great and I give it a 7 on a 10-point scale. Here is why:
There are some awesome performances. Coming in first, Ms. Kimberly Elise. Second, Ms. Phylicia Rashad. Third, (believe it or not) Macy Gray. Fourth, a close tie between Anika Noni Rose. Fifth place Thandi Newton.
Everyone else played an emotion and not a character.
This movie had as much tears as Passion of the Christ had blood. I’ve seen Shange’s play several times and I don’t remember that much crying in any of the performances. I mean, damn. I once had an acting teacher who said, “If great acting simply meant shedding tears than the world would be filled with Academy Award winners.”
This is a movie that, despite people’s reaction’s (be they positive or negative), needed to be made. These are not only the stories of “colored women,” but of women all over the world.
Sometimes a movie cannot only bring about discussion, but change. Take, for example, Cry Freedom, a film about South African apartheid starring Denzel Washington. One-third of the way through the movie Steven Biko (played by Denzel) dies. The remaining 100 minutes is about a white newspaper editor (played by Kevin Kline) and his family attempting to leave the country in order to publish a book about Biko. Considering the complexities of apartheid, South African social relations and the widespread violence, sweeping across the country, the least important storyline that the film could have focused on was a well-to-do family’s difficulties fleeing the country (as well meaning as they were). However, we must remember that this movie was made in 1987; the process to abolish apartheid didn’t officially began until 1991. Sometimes a medium is needed to raise awareness and consciousness concerning a topic/issue/phenomenon that might otherwise go unnoticed. For Colored Girls has that kind of power. Admittedly, it may not necessarily usher in change, but if it has the creative fortitude to produce discourse among people then it may have accomplished its mission.
Yet again Tyler Perry has proven that he does not know how to write male roles. Perry and T.D. Jakes have the market cornered on the broken black woman who rises despite the blows that life has dealt her. (I’m still waiting for them to collaborate and make Woman Thou Art Madea!) What I want to know is when they plan to write a script that offers as many dimensions and layers to the men? Every man in For Colored Girls echoed variations of the same 4-6-word phrases:
“C’mon baby, I love you.”
“Baby you know I need you.”
“I’m trying my best … baby.”
“Whatchu talkin’ ‘bout Willis?”
In fact, the only time a male character had a voice in the movie was Carl (played by Omari Hardwick). After being caught in a ‘down-low’ relationship, he offered a compelling monologue to his wife, Jo (played by Janet Jackson), in which defended his manhood. I found it interesting that T. Perry gave this particular character the most voice … coincidence? I’ll let you be the judge.
Finally … and I’m going to go on record and say that this shouldn’t (necessarily) be a strike, but the audience made this movie very difficult to enjoy. Every movie allows you the opportunity to get your “Oooohs” and “Aaaaahhhs” out. Other than that … and I’ll say it … we as a people … both rich and poor … dark-skinned and light … skinny and fat … sexually proficient and sexually inept … WE NEED TO SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LET PEOPLE HAVE THEIR OWN MOVIE-WATCHING EXPERIENCE!!!!! NOT YOURS!!!!!! G-DAMNIT!!!!!!! Now that I’ve gotten that off my soon-to-be-bulging chest, who do I blame for this travesty? Ahem.
Tyler Perry. Mr. Perry, coming from the gospel-play tradition, has learned … nay, mastered the art of garnishing a response from the audience. He has literally conditioned his audiences, not only how, but when to respond to his antics. The opening scene in the film begins with a scantily clad, muscle-bound man climbing out of the bed after having a one-night stand with Thandie Newton’s character. *Enter women* “Ooooooooohhhhhhhh … Daaammmmmmnnn Girl … Dat’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout!” All I’m saying is be bigger than stereotypical expectations. Let’s be respectable moviegoers with hints of hood hubris.
Us. We (as a community of Africans in the Diaspora) are responsible. We’ve all made (what we thought to be) hysterical jokes about serious moments in black drama. Honestly, who hasn’t referenced a line in The Color Purple to drive in a punch line?
“Oh, Miss Celie, I feels like singing!”
“You sho’ is ugly.”
This only perpetuates our proclivity to make light of critical moments in the human experience and dulls our sensitivities for the future.
To his credit, Tyler Perry does a remarkable job of weaving the heightened language of Ntozake Shange with modern syntax. He should be commended for his effort and not condemned for his shortcomings. Less we forget, it wasn’t too long ago that we longed for movies that showed us as more than thugs, drug dealers and prostitutes (ex. Boyz N the Hood, Menace II Society, etc.). Now we have the wherewithal to complain while we watch black folks function as chiefs of industries?! I actually believe that we are simultaneously maturing as much as a people and film-going audience as Perry is as a director, producer and writer. In that light, perhaps we should afford Perry the same latitude of grace and expectancy that we would want people to provide for us.
I will, nonetheless, admit that as a man some of the poetry was lost and even came across as, and please don’t misunderstand me, ‘woman banter’. My chauvinism notwithstanding, to the men like myself who have problems digesting this material, I offer the following bit of advice from Gilda (Phylicia Rashad) to Crystal (Kimberly Elise): “You have to take responsibility for some of this. Now how much [responsibility] you take is on you. But you gotta take some of it.” Given that the majority of us (meaning men) have done a bang up job securing and reinforcing the negative stereotypes women have of us, our first order of business in nurturing the next generation of future mothers might just be to analyze our roles: What role have you (meaning YOU, my brother) played in driving women to such extreme measures?
For Colored Girls doesn’t offer a prescription to the problems that face women, but it does provide a platform for us, as a society, to engage as active participants in the creation of the egalitarian society we claim to want for our sons and daughters.
If the Dallas County District Attorney contest hasn’t registered on your radar yet, then it should. In the past month the race between Democratic incumbent Craig Watkins and his Republican challenger Danny Clancy has morphed from perfunctory formality to a hotly-contested school yard brawl replete with all of the finger pointing and name-calling one would expect from a local election. Clancy has repeatedly called Watkins a “celebrity politician” with a taste for the high life. In response to a question about he and his adversary’s fundamental differences at a recent debate, Watkins bluntly said, “I have a backbone, and I have a brain.” Don’t be fooled by the seemingly pedestrian dispute, though. This isn’t your typical local Democrat vs. Republican dog fight. On one level it can’t help but be about race. After all, Clancy is white, Watkins is black and Dallas is still the Deep South. As Lebron James astutely noted this week, “It’s always, you know, a race factor.” These two particular candidates couldn’t be more diametrically opposed. Clancy is as non-threatening as they come–a pudgy, middle-aged family man without any clear political virtues other than the tried and true “experience and integrity” rigmarole. Watkins is a large, dark outspoken black man with a massive chip on his shoulder and unapologetic ax to grind.
But race, I submit, is just a subtext, a side show, a secondary issue. This is one local election that has national policy implications.
Four years ago then 38 year-old Craig Watkins became the state’s first ever African-American District Attorney. He was part of a class of fresh-faced, post-civil rights era politicians that included then Senator Barack Obama, Massachusetts Governor Deval Patrick, Newark Mayor Cory Booker and Washington, D.C. Mayor Adrian Fenty. Almost as soon as he took office, Watkins established the nation’s first Criminal Integrity Unit in conjunction with the Innocent Project of Texas. In the past four years the unit has overseen more DNA-based exonerations — 20 — than any other county in the nation. He’s become a celebrity, a prominent face in the justice reform movement, and an inspiration to frustrated lawyers and lay people alike. He’s received numerous awards from a range of organizations. He’s been profiled in The Wall Street Journal, The New York Times, and on “60 Minutes.” In 2009 Investigation Discovery launched “Dallas DNA,” a weekly show featuring Watkins and his team of ADAs working in the Conviction Integrity Unit.
Additionally, Watkins has leveraged his so -called “celebrity” status to secure more than $8,000,000 in grants to the county. His efforts in Dallas County have also instigated systemic reforms. The Texas Criminal Appeals Court established the Texas Criminal Justice Integrity Unit a year after Dallas rolled out its integrity unit and this year newly elected Manhattan D.A. Cy Vance launched a comprehensive Conviction Integrity Unit in order to “re-examine closed cases where claims of innocence have been made and to establish standard procedures for new cases to prevent wrongful convictions.” Most importantly, perhaps, the unit’s success has opened the door for the review of non-DNA cases, three of which have resulted in exonerations, the latest of which, made headlines this past week.
This past summer I had the chance to sit down with Watkins for a candid, off-the-record interview about his work. It became clear to me during our conversation that his vision extended well beyond merely freeing those who have been wrongfully convicted. Exonerations are the tip of the iceberg. As I interpret it, his mission is to combat the culture of hyper-incarceration that have disrupted countless families and destroyed millions of lives. While his mission is by no means racially exclusive, he did readily acknowledge his concern about the state of black families and black males.
The spike in incarceration rates correlates with the War on Drugs. According to Michelle Alexander, author of The New Jim Crow, drug offenses account for roughly 2/3 of the increase in federal prisons and 1/2 of the increase in state prisons.
Michelle Alexander’s research has also yielded the following:
*There are more African Americans under correctional control today — in prison or jail, on probation or parole — than were enslaved in 1850, a decade before the Civil War began.
*As of 2004, more African American men were disenfranchised (due to felon disenfranchisement laws) than in 1870, the year the Fifteenth Amendment was ratified, prohibiting laws that explicitly deny the right to vote on the basis of race.
* A black child born today is less likely to be raised by both parents than a black child born during slavery. The recent disintegration of the African American family is due in large part to the mass imprisonment of black fathers.
*If you take into account prisoners, a large majority of African American men in some urban areas have been labeled felons for life. (In the Chicago area, the figure is nearly 80%.) These men are part of a growing undercaste — not class, caste — permanently relegated, by law, to a second-class status. They can be denied the right to vote, automatically excluded from juries, and legally discriminated against in employment, housing, access to education, and public benefits, much as their grandparents and great-grandparents were during the Jim Crow era.
After 1990 crime fell dramatically and yet the number of prisons and prisoners continued to climb at alarming rates
Even as drug prices fell, suggesting more availability and an abject failure of the War on Drugs, rates of incarceration of drug offenders escalated precipitously, suggesting a limitless supply of street-level drug dealers ripe for imprisonment. Special note of thanks to Dr. Glenn Loury, whose Tanner Lectures I plucked these stats from.
The challenge is convincing Americans whose only contact with courts is through voyeuristic, sensationalized television shows and movies and who honestly believe justice is meted out fairly and equitably that our system is fundamentally fractured at its core. The dismantling of the mindset that acquiesces to and the institutions that support the furtherance of mass imprisonment is delicate work. I equate it to an intricate surgical procedure to remove a degenerative tumor deeply embedded in our national psyche. In order for the tumor to be successfully exorcised, the anesthesia has to be administered appropriately and the surgical team has to work together seamlessly. Any disruptions in the surgical process can result in disaster. Likewise, any disruptions in the justice reform movement opens the door for its critics to cast doubt, which in turn threatens the legitimacy of the movement itself.
Danny Clancy has a fighting chance to unseat D.A. Watkins in part because the Democratic Party has stumbled, in part because Americans have cooled on the idea of post-racial politics and in part because the chip on Watkins’ shoulder can at times block his ability to make decisions that will preserve and extend his important work. Just a few days ago the Dallas GOP launched the CaseAgainstCraig.com. The site is nothing more than a bare bones anti-Craig Watkins clearing house. And while many of the most damning claims being made — “soft on crime,” “hardly working,” “unethical behavior,” and “questionable character” — 1) are being levied by the Fox affiliate in Dallas and 2) steeped in hackneyed racist stereotypes ( ie. shiftless, lazy, and untrustworthy), they are hardly baseless.
These are a few of the more damaging charges:
1. Family members on his campaign payroll.
Dallas County District Attorney Craig Watkins has paid family members or businesses they own more than $85,000 from his campaign funds, according to Unfair Park’s review of his campaign finance reports.
Is there anything illegal about hiring family members or paying them for services rendered? No. Given the social and political climate in Dallas, is it a good idea? No. It’s one thing if you’re an athlete or entertainer. You can hire whoever you want and the worst that’ll happen is people will call you a fool. Politics is different. Paying your brother’s company $25,000 for campaign sweat shirts and hats offers the opposition easy ammunition. Watkins may very well feel he should be entitled to hire whoever he chooses, especially considering Texas’ history of political nepotism (Bush I and II for starters), but when you’re trying to transform an entrenched and systemic culture of mass imprisonment in the heart of the South, you don’t have ammunition to spare. Martin Luther King donated his Nobel Peace Prize earnings to the charity as did Barack Obama. They understood that they could not take the money and do with it what they wished, not when the world was watching and waiting for them to slip up. Watkins has to understand this as well, as does his family.
2. Conflict of Interest
In July of 2008 Fox’s Dallas affiliate reported that Watkins renewed his escrow officer’s license after taking office. Texas law forbids prosecuting attorneys from engaging in the private practice of law. Watkins contended that his wife continues to run the couple’s title business, however he was seen at the business on several occasions and sometimes remained there all day. Watkins’ critics argued that because his escrow license is dependent upon his law license he is, in fact, engaging in the private practice of law. Moreover, because his wife is not an attorney, her license is also dependent on his. Watkins countered by insisting that “owning a title business and closing real estate deals is not the practice of law, especially since he doesn’t represent anybody. No formal charges were ever brought against the D.A., but the brief scandal the allegation produced was bad enough. Again, an alternative would have been to either shut the business down or sign the business over to a third party.
3. Selling Access to his office
At the close of his first year in office, Watkins threw a birthday party for his staff that included donated elaborate door prizes from several corporations — American Airlines, Blockbuster and Coca-Cola among them — and at least one criminal defense attorney. Again, Fox investigated the situation and alleged that the District Attorney’s solicitation of gifts in exchange for “face to face” interaction with him was tantamount to a public servant asking for or accepting gifts from someone subject to an investigation. Even though none of the corporations listed in the reports was actually “subject to an investigation” at the time, critics suggested that they may be in the future and therefore the gifts could create a conflict of interest. Watkins refused to admit any wrongdoing pursuant to the receipt of the gifts and proceeded to point to an exemption that allows staff members to solicit and receive gifts so long as they are given “because of a relationship independent of the official status of the recipient.” Again, the allegation eventually died down and no formal charges were brought against the D.A., but the stain remained. Rather than have to rely on a specious exemption, Watkins could have avoided the entire scandal by simply throwing a modest shindig.
4. Refusal to prosecute:
No one expects a police chief to be out chasing down criminals or conducting interrogations or school superintendent to be in the classroom teaching lessons, so why would we expect a D.A. who has no previous experience prosecuting felonies but does have a staff of 242 experienced prosecutors (not to mention 72 investigators and 128 support staff) to be in the court room prosecuting cases? By and large, the D.A.’s job is to ensure that his staff has the resources to carry out the mission. And arguably at least, Watkins’ work outside of Dallas benefits the county by highlighting the progress the county is making, supporting other counties in pursuing their own reform policies and generating money for the expansion of his programs, all of which he’s done admirably.
On their own these and other allegations appear nit-picky and racially motivated. However, taken together — and there are more — they begin to paint a less than stellar picture of a man who, on the whole, has done incredibly important work in a very short time. And while Watkins has always readily acknowledged his shortcomings, the concern I have now is that the mounting criticism and pressure to win re-election are conspiring to turn a visionary into yet another politician:
1. Change in Death Penalty Stance
When Watkins took office in 2007 he stated that he was personally opposed to the death penalty on moral and religious grounds. Now he’s had a change of heart.
“I came in with a certain philosophical view. I don’t have that anymore,” Watkins told The Dallas Morning News recently. “From a religious standpoint, I think it’s an archaic way of doing justice. But in this job, I’ve seen people who cannot be rehabilitated.”
Frankly I don’t understand what he’s trying to say. It sounds equivocal, like he’s saying that he doesn’t agree with capital punishment but understands why it exists. But if he’s not implementing his values into his job, what’s he being guided by? What’s also troubling is that he uses the word “philosophical” when in fact he originally opposed capital punishment on moral and religious grounds. I’m willing to accept a change in heart, but when the change occurs in the midst of a heated campaign I have to wonder about its motivations and the sincerity of the candidate.
2. Failure to participate a televised debate
After initially agreeing to participate in the debate with his opponent, Watkins elected not to participate due to a “scheduling conflict.” I don’t know whose decision this was, but it only makes it appear as though the D.A. either has something to hide or is intimidated by his opponent.
3. Questionable indictments
Earlier this week Watkins was questioned about the timing of the Stephen Brodie exoneration. Now he’s being questioned about the timing of the indictments his office handed down to the officers involved in the beating of a motorcyclist that was caught on video:
Key lines from the story:
Usually it takes six to eight months for a grand jury to even hear a case. It’s unusual for indictments to be handed up so quickly.
There are other cases of officers facing serious charges that have yet to go to grand jury, so Watkins — who faces re-election next month — was asked if politics played a role.
“If politics played a part in this, then we wouldn’t pursue cases for the whole year,” he said. “This is an election year, but just because it’s an election year, we can’t stop the justice system.”
Watkins may be being honest and in all fairness, he’s doing the right thing in pursuing the indictments. But it’s hard to argue that at least a hint of political jockeying isn’t taking place, especially when earlier this year it was revealed that Watkins’ office delayed an investigation of two Democratic county constables for two years. The constables allegedly used their positions inappropriately and maybe even illegally but Watkins, whose office had jurisdiction over the matter, dragged his feet on the investigation, leading his critics to wonder if he wasn’t looking out for his political mentor who, happened to be representing one of the constables. Watkins eventually handed the matter over to a special prosecutor.
Ultimately, perception can be more damaging than reality. Every single one of Watkins’ choices in recent weeks may be on the up and up. Believe me, I want to see the man succeed. I want him to continue to do his part to dismantle the culture of extreme punishment plaguing communities of color that we’ve grown so blithely accustomed to. But I want to challenge him to make better choices; to not fall back on the excuse that he’s being treated unfairly because of his race; to live up to the ideals that guided him to this point. As important as D.A. Watkins has been and should continue to be to the criminal justice reform movement, he is not indispensable. No one is. If he’ just going to devolve into another embattled politician who can’t get anything done because he owes too many favors and is more concerned with maintaining power than making the system work, then he may as well step aside now. (Robert Penn Warren already wrote the story of the idealist lawyer turned corrupt politician; we know how it ends.) At least he will have set a course that others can follow, nurture and advance.
Mayor-elect Gray and Fenty share a rare soul shake
In booting incumbent Adrian Fenty from his mayoral perch this past week, Washington, D.C. Democrats made a loud, clear statement about the kind of leadership they will not tolerate. Aloof? Arrogant? Determined to make change? Results-at-all-costs oriented? If so, then don’t bother applying for the mayor’s job. That role is still strictly reserved for applicants who can, first and foremost, make folks feel good. In actuality it’s a job requirement befitting a city that is ostensibly owned and operated by the federal government anyway. Let’s be honest here. If at any given moment Congress can terminate the city’s home rule charter which would in turn nullify the authority of the mayor and city council, what power does the mayor have other than that which is ceremonial anyway?
Okay, fine, I’m exaggerating the situation. And I’m sure the new Mayor-elect, Vincent Gray, will do a fine job. He’s certainly proven his commitment to D.C. through his long public service career. Still, it seems appropriate to step back a moment and actually look at what Adrian Fenty accomplished in the last four years:
Streets are cleaner and safer
Crime rates are lower
Schools have improved, in some cases dramatically.
In the last several years, there have been quite a few healthy tomes written about hip hop culture. Unfortunately, a large portion of that bunch tends to place hip hop culture outside of Black culture. Much of what is written about hip hop culture seems to remove it from the context of Black history particularly. Of course they point out how hip hop is a Black and Latino manifestation of an oppressed creativity but they leave it at that. There is no connection made to the Black Arts movement or the Black Freedom Rights struggle of the fifties, sixties, and the seventies. Dax Devlon Ross, a prolific and independent writer, brings it all home in The Nightmare and the Dream.
In one book, Ross summarizes points made in Harold Cruse’s classic The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual, W.E.B. DuBois’ Souls of Black Folk, and Dean E. Robinson’s Black Nationalism in American Politics. What makes The Nightmare… stand out is how Ross connects the dots to Black Nationalism and hip hop culture. Using the Hegelian dialectic, Ross uses Nas and Jay Z as his subjects when discussing the internal conflict in Black America between Black Nationalism and assimilation. Like Robinson, Ross does a careful deconstruction of Black leadership in the United States. He does a wonderful job of explaining DuBois’ double consciousness, but Ross does not stop there. Read the rest of this entry »
“The Nightmare and the Dream charts new ground in analyzing the impact of hip-hop on African-American political culture. By going beyond a mere inquiry into the dynamics of hip-hop in the post-Civil Right era-a limiting perspective that a majority of contemporary hip-hop works fall prey to-Ross goes back in time to the nineteenth-century and locates a recurring phenomenon that has continued into the twenty-first century. The Dyad Syndrome of dual conflicting political leaders has plagued black communities from the era of Frederick Douglass and Martin Delany to the life and times of W.E.B. Du Bois and Marcus Garvey, Martin Luther King, Jr. and Malcolm X, and Jesse Jackson and Louis Farrakhan. According to Ross, this syndrome haunts the Weltgeist, or world-spirit, of hip-hop as well, whether we talk of the tensions between Notorious BIG and Tupac Shakur, East Coast and West Coast rappers, or artists such as Lil’ Kim and Foxy Brown. Ross provides a moving narrative that weaves in and out of well-known black figures in addition to musicians and politicians whose lives have been disavowed in historical memory. Select figures represent archetypes of a “Dream” vision full of the Horatio Alger story in blackface, while others embrace a nihilistic conception of the “Nightmare” reflecting the realities of rampant injustices facing black agents since the founding of the American republic. So where do we go from here? With Du Bois’s ideas of double-consciousness and second sight serving a mediating role, Ross details the tensions and ultimate public reconciliation between Jay-Z and Nas as a prime example of how hip-hop, like black politics, can progress forward positively, in solidarity, despite the obstacles. Ross’s final tale is not a nihilistic one such as that of the mythical Sisyphus, bound forever to repeatedly push rocks up a hill only eventually to fall down. The Nightmare and the Dream uniquely spells out a radical existential injunction made famous recently by Toni Morrison, Cornel West, and Barack Obama: hope can result after we come to terms with the dialectics of partisan conflict. Dax-Devlon Ross’s brilliant textual achievement is a must read for anyone concerned with the future of hip-hop, African-Americans, and new directions in late modern America as a whole.”
-Neil Roberts, Williams College
Co-Editor of the CAS Working Papers Series in Africana Studies
The first thought that came to my mind when I heard about the Sean Bell shooting back in November of 2006 was, not again. My second thought, there must be more to the story. No way a mere seven years after the 41 shots aimed and fired at Amadou Diallo provoked citywide uproar were 50 bullets (paid for, once again, with taxpayer money) going to be aimed and fired into the body of another innocent black man. Not in the new and improved, post-Guiliani New York. The previous mayor was, after all, the purported embodiment of a kind of smug indifference to black and brown life that, for all intents and purposes, created a climate in which one could say it was “open season” on black and brown males with a straight face. Comfortable with my initial impulses, I deliberately, and perhaps willfully, disregarded any news about the trial, including the ruling and the ensuing protests.
Why, especially since I am a black man who works and lives in New York City with youth of color, cares deeply enough about social justice to teach and write about it, has himself had his share of run-ins with law enforcement, and is still fairly young, was I not among the loudest voices in support of justice for Sean Bell? The answer lies in the question itself. It is precisely because of all the things that I am, do, believe and have been through, that I have, up to now, recused myself from commenting on or writing about the case.
Albert Einstein once defined insanity as doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. For me, participating in an uproar over Sean Bell with the expectation that a collective cry of outrage would register in the halls of justice was a doomed enterprise. But it was the automatic comparison people made (and continue to make) between Bell and Diallo that really irritated me. It was, in my opinion, like setting a dinner table when you know good and well that the cupboards are bare.
Sean Bell was not Amadou Diallo. He was not reaching for his wallet on an otherwise empty, unassuming street when he was sprayed with bullets. He was leaving one of the seediest strip clubs in New York City at 4 o’clock in the morning. Is that a crime? No. Is it a significant detail that should be taken into consideration? Absolutely. Not because it suggests Bell or his entourage had a proclivity for crime but because the club itself was a known criminal hang out. Is it sad that this was the night before Bell’s marriage? Yes. Is it relevant to whether the offending officers were guilty or not? No.
The danger in comparing Bell to Diallo is (at least) six fold. First, it discourages and frustrates any meaningful and constructive dialogue about the facts of the night of the shooting, and how the law was applied to those facts to reach this particular decision. Second, it conflates completely distinct situations into a one-size-fits-all “fate of the black male” narrative, in turn perpetuating dangerous myths about the value of black life. Third, it reinforces a victim mentality among black people. Fourth, it reinforces unwarranted feelings of shame and guilt among whites. Fifth, it abstracts the “police” into an amorphous body of untrustworthy hyper-violent thugs out to get people of color. Finally, it alienates anyone, like myself, who has an opinion that deviates from the norm.
•1. Encouraging meaningful and constructive dialogue about the law and its application.
Under our rule of law, the prosecution must prove its case beyond a reasonable doubt. “Beyond a reasonable doubt” means that a “reasonable” person would be convinced based on evidence that the accused is guilty. It is not absolute certainty but it is also not mere uncertainty. This burden of proof exists to protect both jurors and the accused. Is it foolproof? No. Is it a tremendous advancement over trial by fire or by combat? Without a doubt. In the Bell case, the prosecution’s job was to prove that a “reasonable” police officer in a similar situation would not have opened fire on Bell’s car. The presumption, therefore, is that the cops were justified (re: innocent until proven guilty). In the judge’s opinion, the prosecution failed to prove that the officers were not unjustified. (This is not the same thing as saying the cops were justified.) The judge came to this conclusion based on what he called “significant inconsistencies” in the testimony of key prosecution witnesses. Chief among the factors Judge Arthur Cooperman listed as influencing his decision were:
1. Prior inconsistent statements by witnesses
2. Inconsistencies in testimony among prosecution witnesses
3. Criminal Convictions
4. Demeanor on the witness stand of witnesses
5. Motive witnesses may have had to lie and the effect on truthfulness. (key witnesses had already filed a civil suit against the NYPD for $50,000,000 and were receiving payments from Al Sharpton).
Here is where we as a community could use the trial as a teaching tool: Without sugar-coating it, and taking into consideration the judicial system’s record of unequal treatment toward blacks and other people of color, Sean Bell’s friends blew the trial. Leaving aside the motive key witnesses may have had for the moment, the conflicting stories some offered, the criminal records others carried, and the manner in which certain key witnesses conducted themselves on the witness stand all speak directly to the lack of respect, lack of honesty and contempt for authority we as a community are trying to address day in and day out. In a perfect world, maybe prior criminal records would not matter; in our flawed world they do. In a perfect world, maybe a witness’s “demeanor” should not taint the way a judge or jury perceives their testimony; in our prejudiced world, it does. On the other hand, in a perfect world I hope that consistency of testimony always counts. As for the witnesses who filed a $50,000,000 civil law suit several months before the criminal trial even began, I can only scratch my head and wonder who was advising them.
Race and culture impact our judicial system. Anyone who denies as much at this stage of the game probably isn’t worth trying to convince otherwise. However, we do a disservice to the next generation when we tell them the justice system failed Sean Bell because he was black without talking about the company he kept. It doesn’t do any good to preach about the value of respect and honesty when we ignore the role those character traits (or their shortage) played in the outcome of the trial. We need to tell our students that the company Sean Bell chose to keep brought him down in the end. They didn’t pull the trigger and I have no doubt that they loved him, but when they could have risen to his aide in a court of law, their past baggage weighed them down. By addressing all of these issues we not only talk about personal responsibility and integrity, but about the way the law works.
•2. Resisting the Myth of the Meaninglessness of Black Male Lives
The Diallo-Bell association, though attractive and momentum building, makes it seem as though black men are just being randomly gunned down in New York City. Speaking as a black man who has had his share of police firearms pointed his way in his 33 years, I steadfastly repudiate this gloomy fate. I refuse to accept premature death as a natural life process. I reject those who say such things like, “Black male lives are meaningless in America.” These false notions only perpetuate a sickness I see in too many young black men (and women) on a daily basis. That their lives are expendable; that they aren’t going to live long anyway; that death (along with prison, poverty, disease and job discrimination) is lurking around the corner. This kind of thinking only feeds a pessimistic world view that we as a community are fighting to put to rest. It also removes any and all responsibility young people have in their encounters with police. They have choices. They always have choices. But when we tell them that they’re no better than target practice for police pistols, we’re in effect telling them that they have no control, no choice. We can teach them to kill cops with kindness whenever their paths cross; to be polite; to even smile-whatever it takes to allow them feel like they are in control. Whatever it takes to live.
3. Resisting the Black Victimhood Trap
There is also a deeper, broader and more historically rooted problem with turning Sean Bell into another martyr: it encourages black people to fall back into a mode of reactionary protest that is no longer an effective tool for social engagement or change. In this day and age the civil rights style protest – the march, the sit-in, the boycott, the picket – tends to reinforce the feelings of victimization that prompted the protest in the first place. More often than not, the modern protest lacks a clear objective and can simply be ignored by the media (MLK’s nonviolence was always aimed at gaining global sympathy via the media) without consequence. At best it allows people to grieve publicly, which is important. At worst, though, it allows people to mistake “symbolic” action (marching for a couple of hours, boycotting for a day) for “real” action that requires prolonged commitment to social justice or, worse, to wind up feeling as though social activism is a waste of time when nothing changes after the protest ends. A constructive solution means coming up with a goal-oriented educational and/or advocacy campaign, organizing it and implementing it, which, to be sure, I’ve seen in pockets.
4. Resisting the White Savior/Victimhood Trap
Black people weren’t the only victims of the Bell ruling. White people who care deeply and passionately about social justice were placed in a winless situation as well. In a piece posted on the Huffington Post, a well-intentioned college professor discussed the verdict in her class. After listening to her students (some of whom had never even heard of Sean Bell) discuss the case, she closed the class with the following,
I decided to… test for racism in the Sean Bell case. “Ok, class,” I said, “I have a question for you: would the Bell verdict have come down the same way if the victim of the shooting had been a 23-year old white man?”
The chorus swelled up. “Hell no,” some of them yelled.
And then, Nadine, who today was wearing her hair neatly corn rowed, made the final statement.
“If it had been a white man, the cops wouldn’t have gone after him in the first place,” she said, “and then none of this ever would have happened.”
Amen, Nadine.
Amen.
Huh?! What?! Never in the piece does the professor mention to her class that two of the cops were black or that there is such thing as a reasonable doubt standard or burden of proof or that the Bell case was rife with faulty witnesses. Never. What she does mention, at the very beginning no less, is the Amadou Diallo case. This is exactly the kind of over-simplified politically correct conversation passing for “real talk” that keeps us from confronting race and justice in a way that works towards solutions. This professor reiterates a few limp platitudes and a reputable media outlet passes it off as meaningful commentary. It’s just not as simple as black and white. As well-meaning as the professor was, she only succeeded in reinforcing two dangerous ideas to her class (which was half white and half black). One, white life is more valuable than black life. Two, the average white American has some special purchase to power that black people don’t have and can therefore “save” black Americans by being less racist. Ultimately, it is as important for white people not to buy into the hype of their existential importance as it is for black people not to buy into the hype of their existential insignificance.
White Americans who’ve been raised in the post-civil rights era in particular have learned to walk a fine line when it comes to talking about issues involving race. Some choose to avoid race issues altogether. Some, rather than risk appearing racist in public, quietly take their cues from acknowledged black media personalities like Shelby Steele and John McWorther. Others overcompensate by taking “anti-racism” to such an extreme that black people become either blameless victims or unimpeachable race saviors. None of these approaches removes the stain of white victimhood (i.e. a sense of powerlessness, due to our society’s racist past and politically correct present, with regard to open and candid discussions about prejudice).
5. Mending the Rift between Black and Brown Males and Cops
By linking Sean Bell with Diallo (and others), we only lend credence to the perception – declarations of all officers not being crooked notwithstanding – that the police are indeed out to get young black men. Without arguing whether this is in fact the case, it without questions exacerbates the tensions between young black men and the police by fueling the distrust and animosity within both groups. There is a sense among too many young black men that there is something courageous and justified about standing up to the cops. Courageous is standing up for one’s rights, not simply bucking authority. There is a difference between the two. It’s imperative that we take the time to teach our students the difference. It’s not enough anymore to tell them they have rights or to even hand them a booklet. We need to begin simulating actual police encounters in school. This way if and when one does occur, our students (and the bystanders who often provoke and stoke the unrest) have the tools to diffuse rather than escalate the situation.
6. Inviting Dissenting Opinions
I know I’m not the only one out here who has felt like his opinion had no place in the “Justice for Bell” discussion. Out of respect for the family and the freshness of the wound, I kept my opinions close. I can no longer do that in good faith. There is an opportunity here to move the conversation in a different direction, to educate and challenge, but it won’t get there on its own. We have to be willing to take it there. We can say we invite all opinions to the table, but as long as people don’t feel those opinions will be supported rest assured they won’t be uttered publicly.
In the coming years the Bell trial will undoubtedly become a widely studied case in law schools. They’ll examine the testimony and the applicable law. They’ll take the judge’s ruling apart and put it back together again. Law journals will publish articles about the case. It will be cited in cases yet to come. Middle and high schools have the same opportunity to use the Sean Bell verdict and the passions it incited to challenge students, families and professionals who work with them to move beyond black and white clichés while it is still fresh on our minds. Otherwise, the Sean Bell shooting will calcify into yet another in a series of black male tragedies that are only thawed to remind us of how far we haven’t come.
The Education of an American Revolutionary, 1946-1968
Author: Nelson Peery
Publisher: The New Press, 2007
Black Radical: The Education of an American Revolutionary follows author Nelson Peery’s journey as a political revolutionary in the post-World War II era. The memoir is the sequel to Peery’s award-winning memoir Black Fire, which, among other things, told the story of Peery’s experiences during the Depression and his political awakening as a soldier in the South Pacific. First off, it was a pleasure to read something so earnest, so forthright and unpretentious. If one thing shines through in Peery’s writing it is his style of presentation. Irrespective of his commitment to revolution, Peery’s writing comes across as belonging to someone who genuinely devoted his life to a higher cause—in this case, serving humanity.
One has to appreciate the book’s sense of balance, which, again, says something about the writer. Peery doesn’t just say he is dedicated to the working class or even live his life among the working class — though he had opportunities to live otherwise — he writes his story from the perspective of a common individual (AKA proletariat). It would have been easy for Peery to have written solely about the Communist Party or about the various social movements of the ’40s, ’50s and ’60s. He could have written heroically about himself, inserted himself into the sweep of history; instead he resists the compulsion to self-aggrandize in favor of the simple, quite often unromantic reality of fighting for change. Revolution, the one Peery lived through between 1946 and 1968 — the period the book covers — involves all of the peculiarities and particulars of everyday life: marriages, divorces, childbirths, deaths, prosperity, action, inaction, depressions. To be a revolutionary, according to Peery , is to be a human being willing to hold steadfast to his/her faith in peace and plenty for all, not just a few. In Peery’s world being a revolutionary requires nothing special. Anyone willing to acknowledge the shortcomings of the present — their own included — and continue fighing for a better world anyway (which we all do!) has the revolutionary spirit already in them.
As history, Black Radical offers a ‘People’s History of the Cold War and the Black Revolution.’ The rise of McCarthyism, the rumblings of the civil rights movement, and the apogee of the Watts Rebellion are all told through the humble eyes of a communist who made his living laying brick. This is not a story written from above the fray or in the warm mist of victory. This is a clear-eyed odyssey through the “Black Bottoms” of mid-century Cleveland, Detroit, New York, Minneapolis, and Los Angeles. Through it all we see Peery’s family torn apart, the wilting of his first love, the disintegration of his first marriage, the disappearance of comrades, the painful defection of others and the countless untold casualties of the repressive Red Scare regime. We see Peery bumping against the currents of the historical moment not only as a working person, intellectual and black man but as a serious radical, all of which, consequently, placed him at odds in practically every social setting he found himself in. In Black Radical the whole tangled mess of this nation’s troubled growth spurt from the precipice of fascism to the edge of revolution unravels against a single, simple man’s life, and it is better for it.
As a meditation on life, BR offers us all important lessons about what it meant to be a revolutionary. It meant keeping your mouth shut even when you’ve been belittled by a condescending ranking white comrade or a bigotted southern cop, getting on a bus to go underground at a moment’s notice, living long periods without a name or a connection to the world you loved, being tracked and trailed by the FBI and its army of informants. We often picture the revolutionary in a romantic light. Doing so feeds our need to believe life can be lived on a grander scale, even if that life is brief and fraught with pain. Revolution, though, is organizing people, educating people, creating consensus among people. It is retreating when your heart longs for a fight, pausing at the critical juncture where the personal risks clouding the political. Revolutionaries bide their time the same way prisoners learn to. They discipline themselves. They don’t waste time pitying themselves. They look forward even when the weight of the past is bearing down on them. In many respects revolutionaries are fanatics and zealots. They must be. History depends on their madness to propell us all forward.
At the same time theirs is also, quite clearly, a life worth living; for the revolutionary ideal, the vision of a future free of exploitation, feeds the revolutionary’s spirit with something that capitalism’s promise of prosperity simply can not. Peery’s life is instructive here. By choosing to be a part of the events of his day — to be accountable for his time here — his life flowed in the direction of the momentous. Leadbelly, Paul Robeson, Malcolm X — these are just a few of the well-known names that pass through the pages of Black Radical. But while Peery acknowledges these heroes respectfully, he does not indulge in sychopantism in order to make himself appear more important by association. He would rather tell us about the nameless and faceless, the few who hold up the wall of resistance while the rest of us wait for the ‘right’ time to join the revolution. In fact, though Peery dedicates this book his late wife, it could easily be read as a memento to a generation of unsung heroes who kept the beat of resistance alive when its pulse teeterd on the brink of flatlining.
As literature, BR picks up where Ralph Ellison’s hero in Invisible Man leaves off. The parallels between Invisible and Peery should not be overlooked by any serious reader. Both stories concern thoughtful and articulate young black men from the South who are attracted to the Communist Party. Both stories culminate in a riot. But rather than give up on both his people and the class struggle the moment he feels betrayed by both, Peery chooses to fight on, and to work to build the party and the movement that he wants. Whereas Invisible virtually accepts his disinherited status, Peery refuses anyone else’s claim of right to struggle for human freedom. BR’s response to IM is that communism isn’t the problem. The people who become communists — middle-class whites who choose to fight alongside blacks who have no choice but to fight, for example — are the problem. As an historical footnote, it is important to remember that Invisible Man won the National Book Award at the height of the anti-communist mania. Despite Ellison’s professed allegiance to art above all else (and the book’s literary brilliance), we can not overlook IM’s politics if we hope to understand its critical success.
As a writer, Peery is more than capable. He does not try to dazzle us with his style. His prose is fluid. His stories at once effectively capture his inner emotion and the spirit of the age. When he dons his polemicist cap it is always within the context of the story itself, always in stride. Peery’s true gift as a writer is to make the complex concrete. He brilliantly bridges the gap between the political theorist and the blue-collar worker as only someone who has lived in both worlds can. Like any skilled craftsman he focuses on the doing the work correctly so that it serves its purpose. All of the bells and whistles that too often mar otherwise important books are, for the most part, left in the bag. As refreshingly straight forward as BR’s style is, however, it is also a luxury: Nelson Peery has a story to tell. He does not have to unearth it or manufacture it or invest it with filler (gatuitous sex scenes, stereotypical signifyin’ scenes, romanticized standing up to the Man scenes) to make up for the life he didn’t lead but would like to tell others about nonetheless. Unlike many, too many, Nelson Peery actually has lived a life worth writing about.
Black Radical: 
The HNIC Report 