20 Years Later: “Can we all get along?”

It’s been 20 years. 20 years since I was a senior in high school. I went to Shaker Heights High, in a suburban part of Cleveland, Ohio. At the time, the Rodney King beating was a blur on the TV screen. The riot that followed was a distant reminder that America’s racism was still showing. 1992.

I wish I could have that year back. Many people say they don’t have regrets, they have “what ifs”. No, I have regrets. Choosing the wrong college, choosing the wrong boyfriend, not hanging with the nerds, and not taking my SAT seriously enough. Regrets. I’m quite sure Rodney King, the LAPD, and the people who lived near Florence and Normandie back in the day, have regrets.

Rodney King had no control over his beating, to be sure. He had even less control of the out come of the case which acquitted the four white officers, that unknowingly brutalized him on camera. And he had zero control over the way black Angelinos handled the travesty of justice. People 20 years ago lost their minds.

I remember at my high school, there was a platform set up for students to speak their minds about the tragedy that was happening 3,000 miles away. I said something about the need to build up our community instead of tearing it down. I remember also not being so eloquent. Regret. Not what I said but how I said it. I was stirred by what I saw, the flames on television, the rage on the faces of folk that lit the blaze. They showed no self-control. I wasn’t in control of my nerves, so I wasn’t that memorable, I missed my moment.

In the same way, 20 years ago Rodney King stood before a podium, to address those who turned to violence in response to this reminder that black Americans hadn’t reached the mountain top. But I remember his trepidation, his dis-ease, the pressure, and I remember the jokes that followed. “Can we all get along?” was King’s plea, but it was mocked, by black comedians, even I chuckled at the oddity of the statement. It was too simple to be effective.

As buildings burned, people looted, and killed and maimed one another, and police sirens screamed into streets that were suddenly at there mercy, King simply asked “can we all get along?” In that moment we all couldn’t. No way. So it seemed to be a ridiculous request. The verdicts ignited rage in black people, the riots drew concern even embarrassment in our community. We were trashing our neighborhoods, because they were there and they still aren’t good enough.

Opportunities to do better eluded those that looted, and reactionary people, fueled by discouragement, racism, bitterness, and a lack of knowledge, found a place for their own pint up infernos, within the walls of south central LA.

The nation, the world watched racism’s anger burn. 20 years later, racism still haunts our neighborhoods, it hangs on the corner of Florence and Normandie, disguised by a now clean street that still holds no promises to its citizens for a better life. And people still don’t get along. There is still a racial divide that pits white against black against Latino, in the city.  The fire that burned 20 years ago, has been reduced to a simmer, as black people, according to the L.A. Times face even more dire times now.  The median income has dropped and the unemployment rate, which was not good in 1992, has increased. In two areas of South Los Angeles — Florence Graham and Westmont — unemployment nears 24%. Back in 1992, it was 21% in Florence Graham and 17% in Westmont.

Some say black people are too tired to explode, to run over to raise up again, to watered down to ignite. “Can we all get along?” King’s questions haunts those streets, as too many black people try to get along, as best they can in a nation that seems to have forgotten them not their tragic piece of the past.

I wonder about the rewind, the regret I no doubt possess along with others. If we could go back, and do over, been as eloquent, articulate, channeled the rage, where would we be? Getting along, I would hope.

Trayvon, Another Young Black Man Denied the Right to Be

I signed a petition today. I don’t usually do that. I was trained as a journalist, and you don’t take sides. You tell the story. You don’t root for teams, you talk about the game. You don’t relish a courtroom victory, you describe the reaction to the verdict. You don’t push a candidate, you talk about their platform, and that of their challenger.

Over time I’ve slowly let those things go. It felt like I was in a way denying myself, being me. In some small way that’s something I had with Trayvon Martin, who was shot and killed February 26th. The 17 year old African American high school junior was killed, shot by a 28 year old man named George Zimmerman, reportedly Hispanic, who claimed he was protecting his neighborhood, as the head of the neighborhood watch. He wasn’t protecting Trayvon, who lived in that neighborhood. No Zimmerman denied his right to be. Trayvon for walking alone in the rain was devalued, viewed as a threat to the integrity of that ‘hood. Trayvon lost himself, to Zimmerman’s bullet. He can’t recover. By I can. I can come out from behind the shield of journalism and state my opinion, my outrage, at the fact that Zimmerman is neither sad, nor somber. He believes he sits on the side of right, while Trayvon, some mother’s child, sits on the right side of heaven. 17. It’s enough to make you sick, come undone, and cry out for justice. So I signed. It is of no consequence to Trayvon now. His journey is unfortunately over, but Zimmerman has to walk the line. He has to. And I had to harmonize with those voices of loved ones, and strangers who care, crying out in unison, for justice.

Black History Pioneers Leave us Waiting and Hoping for what’s next

Today is the first day of Black History month. It also the day the music died, or at least quieted a little bit. Music icon, and Soul Train creator Don Cornelius, died today. Reports claim he tragically took his own life at the age of 75 years old. I’m not sure if the day, being the beginning of Black History Month, meant anything to him, but the legacy of his history making show Soul Train got me to thinking.

In 1970, Cornelius, a known radio DJ, took an idea and mixed it with a little gumption, the result was a musical program that showcased primarily African American talent. A who’s who of musical legends from Michael Jackson to Aretha Franklin, to James Brown, even Prince! The show, which ran more than three decades, said black music mattered, and musicians of color who were often denied a place on television to prove just that, relished the opportunity Cornelius’ show granted them.

Cornelius for that reason fit in a unique club, one with fewer members, now that he’s gone. It’s those African Americans who made a cultural dent in American society as a whole. These black folk built business, empires even, and truly excelled by embracing the philosophy “for us by us”. The late, John H. Johnson, was one of the first of the group. He founded the Negro Digest with a $500 investment in 1942. He followed that up with Ebony and Jet magazines, and went on to build a publishing empire that landed him the title of “first African American on the Fortune 400″ list in 1982.

Around that same time Bob Johnson and his former wife Sheila, were breaking ground with Black Entertainment Television. Taking the Soul Train idea to another level, Johnson developed a network that showed black music videos that were routinely rejected by mega music channel MTV. The Johnsons went on to become the first black billionaires in the nation.  Cathy Hughes, did for radio what Johnson did for television, after she brought Radio One and groomed it along with son Alfred Liggins III into the sole African American owned radio network.

These black Americans paved a way out of no way. They made history, and progress, thus the title pioneer. Looking at a younger generation that is less invested in filling the voids in the black community, than selling to the highest bidder (which by the way, is what made the Johnsons billionaires.) It makes me concerned. No one is building on the success created and sustained by the aforementioned. And I wonder why, because really we have not come that far. I remember as a little girl watching Soul Train, wanting to dance to the latest grooves and swoon over my black musical heroes. I can recall reading cover to cover Ebony and Jet at my grandmother’s house. And watching Video Soul on BET with Sherry Carter and Donnie Simpson, feeling as if this was something meant for me. For us by us.

Don Cornelius is gone. His legacy unfortunately marred by the way he left this life, but his contribution to the lives of millions around the world cannot be denied. After every show Cornelius wished us peace, love and soul. I hold on to that wish and continue to hope someone will pick up the torch and keep running.

They’re Only Human

The SAG Awards are tonight. A celebration of celebrities. Those actors who turn a well penned script into a committed performance. The awards go to those who do so extremely well. They make us believe in the story. They make us believe in them. We celebrate, even envy these talented, beautiful people, that take fiction and make it “reality” tv, and film.

The awards show, often starts with the red carpet show. The actors show off themselves in front of crowds and camera, it’s tradition. We ooo and ahh at their exquisite gowns, and dapper tuxedos, their perfect-looking spouses and even covet first sightings of the beloved off-spring that they blow kisses to from their perfect on high.

But just like us, they have issues. We tend to forget that on these celebratory nights. I often have struggled with watching some of the most famous actors become suddenly oblivious to their real life full of scandal, once a trophy comes into the picture. Hollywood is very forgiving. Like Robert Downey Jr., Hollywood is awaiting the triumphant return of Charlie Sheen.  While behind the scenes, but on the cover of People Magazine, we are scared for Demi Moore who was not in her traditionally stunning, gown covering her incredibly emaciated looking figure at this year’s SAG awards. We mourn the couple crisis of Seal and Heidi, Demi and Ashton, and Russell and Katy. On the red carpet, the partners with whom, the beautiful people pose often change.

We must acknowledge this one simple fact. They were born, get this, human beings! Wow, so not perfect, being human that is. The little hiccups that occasionally prove that point, are more than likely glossed over, and that makes me go Hmmmm. Why is Woody Allen’s marraige to his step-daughter acceptable? He’s still making movies and appears on red carpet with his wife/daughter. No problem. Not to be outdone, Morgan Freeman, the 74 year old actor who was most recently honored at the Golden Globes, continues to flaunt a relationship with ex-wife’s granddaughter. Say what?! And is it me of does anyone else wonder why all Halle Berry’s relationships seem to be from hell. One hit her so hard she lost her hearing, she’s had restraining orders for at least three of them, an ex-husband came out as a sex addict, and her baby’s daddy apparently called her the n-word.

Money, has never cured anything accept hunger, and homelessness. Funny that those who are overwhelmed by the later can’t get much attention from Hollywoods haves, unless there’s a red carpet involved. Problems, we all have them. Money doesn’t change that. But it can hide or distract us from the truth. They’re only human, and yes we can forgive them for that.

You gotta have faith

Today is the first day of 2012. It’s also the last day of Kwanzaa, a festival celebrated by African Americans as a commemoration of the first harvest in the motherland. The week long celebration is centered around the seven priniciples of African Heritage or Nguzo Saba. Interpreted from Swahili the are as follows: Umoja (Unity),
Kujichagulia (Self-Determination), Ujima (Collective Work and Responsibility), Ujamaa (Cooperative Economics),
Nia (Purpose), Kuumba (Creativity)and of course Imani (Faith).

These principles are encouraged during this time within the black community to help strengthen black families, bring communities together and look forward to a better day. So it’s appropriate that it end as a new year begins. Black folks need this. New beginnings, new perspectives… hell, a chance! We lack unity, especially downtrodden African Americans, 27 percent of whom are impoverished and need a unified movement to improve their lives. There exists a self-determination but in many ways it seems to be misplaced, shadowed by dreams of grandeur. Many people, not just black people, are determined to live grand as encouraged by Diddy and Jay-Z, and stay determined and denied for a lifetime. Collective work and responsibility, now this one gets me. When I was young, I had heard black people never work together, I have seen the anti-thesis of that theory I’m glad to say. Black people have spearheaded movements, opened charter schools, mastered the march and the sit in, and taken responsibility for their neighborhoods. But…the scale of this collective work, in modern times, is small, too small in fact to claim to be responsible for any good in the ‘hood. Cooperative Economics, sharing the wealth. Let’s just say that’s been another dream deferred. Purpose, black people have one, we all do in fact. But the storied, painful and powerful history of African Americans is too massive to not be purposeful. Do too many of us squander their purpose, especially within the community, no doubt. It is truly the most prickly pill to swallow because I see, and have experienced the spirit of unworthiness, assigned by my people to others like them. Many of our urban educational institutions, colleges, businesses, lack the investment from the community, emotional, physical, and economic investment to realize their true purpose.  Creativity, this one has been mastered by African Americans, despite the lack of credit. From rock and roll, to style and fashion, hip hop culture, even just surviving on less, takes a creative spirit. But it’s overshadowed by the more sensationalized, more disturbing media images of black folk being to desperate to be inspired, or inspiring… so that leaves us with faith.

Faith is a funny thing. Christians, like myself, read a bible that tells us, if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, the smallest of seedlings, you can move mountains. Within the black community, mountainous journeys are as common as sweet potato pie at holiday gatherings. Because of the oft times torturous circumstances, insurmountable road blocks, and isolation that pits black folk against one another, its a hard thing to hold on to, let alone share. From my perspective, which is admittedly cloudy, I am troubled by the lack of faith within my people, and the limited of faith in them to be purposeful, united, determined, creative, economically cooperative, responsible and faithful. It’s troubling because even in affluent black communities, there exist a divide, stimulated by competition, and nurtured by an inferiority complex. True there are adversarial circumstances in all communities, but African Americans were taught throughout the history of this country that we are not as good as… so we can ill afford to be bested by the worst society has to offer. We have so much to overcome, from high unemployment, to catastrophic HIV rates, plummeting income, and increasing violence, we’ve gotta believe in each other to make these problems, even approachable. Bottom line we’ve gotta have faith.