Mama Africa

Mama, I sometimes forget how beautiful you are.

How your eyes still glow bright like the Sudanese Sun.

Mama, you are Mama Africa.

That if God lowered the tempo of my chest to a slow hum

I would ask him, keep drumming, lower your gun!

If he’d just let me say bye to Mama Africa.

How those hands have stirred many ugalis,

Those tips have been burned by the heat of many chapattis

Those scars on your skin are remembrances

of the battles you fought to be free.

When I see you in pictures I just freeze.

Those muzungus you work for

have no understanding

that even in life and death  you smile and are at peace.

Mama, you are Mama Africa.

Even with my western education, I still ask for your wisdom.

What is success if one is not humble?

Help, I am lost in this unknown land!

Turned to walk away, but could not stand.

Mama, you are Mama Africa!

Your thick blood has been shaken,

Feet hardened, back broken,

Like the Nile you flow, never stopped by your sickness.

Mama, you are Mama Africa!

You listen to the traditionalists

The men roaming, their hands up in fists

Deciphering what it takes to live

I want to have that with my kids.

Mama, I sometimes forget how beautiful you are.

Those sambusas you make must have the ingredients only found in your yard.

In the cold now, you seem so far.

Mama, you are Mama Africa.

Memorializing War: Is Black America at War?

I have been reflecting on the basis of war recently. This weekend I watched as many remembered the fallen soldiers of America’s wars, and wondered if in doing so were we memorializing war.

I believe that war is a necessity in today’s global market. That’s correct, global market. War is often a need for economic or geographic control, and as much as we hope and reassure ourselves otherwise the underlining goal is usually economic gain.

I recently watched the film Crips and Bloods: Made in America, and wondered is Black America at war? The short answer, I believe, is yes. This is more of a personal assessment then an analytical governmental assessment. I know that Chicago’s Black community is at war as is the Chicago Latino community. We recently memorialized the death of the thirty sixth Chicago Public Schools student May 1st, when Alex Arellano was chased, beaten with baseball bats, run over by a car, shot and burned. The irony of these deaths is that they are often caused by those of the same economic and ethnic group.

Crips and Bloods: Made in America, is the brainchild of NBA star Baron Davis who overcame his own challenges at the center of south LA to become a prominent basketball player. It also brings to light the internal struggles of Blacks in America.

Watching this film reminded me of Africa’s own struggles and further illustrated the need for gun control. However, I have had various discussions with other African and African American activists that consider the right to bear arms a part of their own struggle. This reminded me of the Martin Luther King Jr. verses Malcom X debate. Should black people own guns?

I have found that often one makes the decision to own a gun under very emotional and unstable conditions. Often it is the affect of having been assaulted or humiliated, or worse having been absent as a loved one was battered or murdered. If there was ever a reference to hate, would this not be one?

I have had my own incentives for owning a gun and they were always based on getting revenge. It is possible as many in the black community have said that Black America is at war. However, there is a grey line in defining our enemies and our allies. War, much like death, is ruthless and bitter, and often leaves the innocent to bear the burden of reconciliation and forgiveness.

The interesting thing about the Black War between the Crips and Bloods is that it is strikingly reflective of the internal wars in Africa. Whereas our African wars delve into tribal and political disputes, Crips and Bloods fight for power and economic benefits by selling crack and controlling neighborhoods. Both of these wars have the underlying necessity of maintaining and expanding geographic control, much like other wars around the world, and often recruit young soldiers to sustain such power.

To be fair Malcolm X and Martin Luther King Jr. came from very different backgrounds. While they both experienced racism first hand, Malcom X came from a broken household. His father was constantly threatened for his work with the Universal Negro Improvement Association, and when he died Malcolm’s mother suffered a nervous breakdown that caused Malcolm and his siblings to enter the foster care system. Malcolm also had an internal struggle with the complexion of his skin, and would note that his parents treated him differently for being the lightest of their children.

Martin Luther King Jr. came from a middle class family, where his parents struggled to provide the best education for their kids. Much like Malcolm X his family dealt with the bigotry of daily racism. However, it was his admiration for Gandhi’s non-violent activism that caused him to advocate for non-violent solutions.

Often Black American activists argue that we are fighting against “the man”, or government. Government or “the man” often delves into police violence, economic and political clout, and lack of basic necessities. Is this not what the Black Panthers were fighting for? The difference between the Black Panthers and other activists of their time was the principle of self defense. This was the justification of bearing arms.

The irony of this revelation is that 1) this is the argument gangs like the Crips and Bloods use for justifying their violent reign over neighborhoods, and 2) government used  as justification for disbanding the Black Panthers. While many may argue otherwise, recent investigations suggest that government directly influenced the collapse of the Black Panthers; with speculations leading up to assassinations.

The self defense argument is perhaps the greatest justification most gun owners use against gun control. However, the Brady Campaign to Prevent Gun Violence noted in a report this month that in 2006 there were only 154 so called “justifiable homicides”, which is the killing of a felon by a peace officer in the line of duty or the killing of a felon, during the commission of a felony, by a private citizen. The US Department of Justice noted Law enforcement reported 617 justifiable homicides in 2006.  Of those, law enforcement officers justifiably killed 376 individuals, and private citizens justifiably killed 241 individuals. The discrepancies in the reports are remarkable; however it’s even more baffling that an estimated 17,034 persons were murdered nationwide in 2006.

In terms of race the US Department of Justice data from single victim/single offender incidents showed that 93.2 percent of black victims were murdered by black offenders, and 82.9 percent of white victims were murdered by white offenders.

Paradoxically, most Black activists spend years analyzing data and social economic trends within the black community. Many of them are often highly educated and have an understanding for the complexity of Black struggle, but I believe that when it comes to bearing arms they have not done enough to counter the ideology of using guns as a means of fighting against government.

I believe that it was Malcom X’s struggles that led him to profess such violent rhetoric, much like I believe it is most gang members’ struggles that lead them to bear arms. This is not to invalidate the magnitude of Malcolm X’s other messages. I would note that during his time the Black community was perhaps able to achieve the solidity and discipline necessary to prevail a self defensible type war.

However, the Black War of today is one that begins with the understanding of freedom. Today’s black community is often held back by the mental and physical incomprehension of freewill. It is an endless cycle that could possibly be traced back to the Emancipation Proclamation.

Can one understand freedom if they have never been free? I often ask Blacks this question and most are quick to say everyone knows what freedom feels like and what it is. Is living on welfare freedom? I recently met a woman who has lived on welfare her entire life; in fact both her mother and grandmother were on welfare. I wondered if I could honestly blame her for staying in what I believe is a form of slavery for the black community. Did she even understand the context in which I would question such freedom, or was she simply content with the system she had been placed into?

There are various circumstances in which people enter the welfare system, others become drug addicts, and some commit crimes. Often these lives are tangled into cyclic and often similar consequences, beginning with the lack of support and stability in the household and ending with economic struggles.

I believe it is this misunderstanding of freedom that leads us to turn against each other, often trampling past each other in hopes of gathering menial and often materialistic objects. However, it is such wars, as the Black War, which constantly leads to such recurring behavior as the one Alex Arellano’s family is now coping to understand. The belief that one’s freedom has been shattered so that another cycle can begin, that another household can be broken, that another soldier can bear arms.

Alvin Ailey: Modern Dance King Fifty Years Later

Yesterday I had the honor of attending the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater North American Tour performance in Chicago. I was both inspired and saddened by the event. I took my best friend, an avid dancer and choreographer to the event as a gift. The crowd was excited and multigenerational, but what impressed me was the number of African Americans who turned out for this celebration. It reminded me again of how far we have come as a community, how during Alvin Ailey’s time we would not have been given the opportunity to be packed into such a beautiful theatre. How his performances may have been taken out of context as being a black radical approach to the racism of his time. How he would have been stigmatized for using dance as a means of communicating with his fellow blacks and the white community.

Alvin Ailey will always be the king of modern dance, which is both fitting and baffling due to the struggles of his upbringing. Modern dance I believe has its roots in the African spiritual movement; expressing ones soul and belief in a physical manner that leads to an emotional connection with the audience. This is both a leap of faith and fear of judgment, yet it is the dance that reflects the black struggle and revolution. Isn’t this what religion is to the black community? The song that most reflected my belief was titled I Wanna be Ready, Arranged by James Miller, and adapted into Ailey’s famous Revelations masterpiece in which a male dances to the reflection and proposal of death, letting go of ones sins, and gambles.

Alvin Ailey was a man that saw the world fold before him, but did not filter within its cracks. He was an adamant choreographer more then a dancer, often expecting perfection and then criticizing that perfection. His dances were filled with his religious beliefs, but also with the art of human form. Extensions overarched, and shapes constantly revolving, it’s as though he saw the human body as a sculpture to be mended with and reexamined, and often even broken down into new forms. He looked out into the stage of dance and envisioned a world beyond Texas, his hometown, and New York, which later became his base. He realized that dance had to be accepted on a universal arena, and to do so he emerged with an idea to show the world the power of dance by offering a touring dance company.

His most noted work, Revelations (1960); I believe is Ailey’s dance autobiography. It reflects the struggles of his youth in Texas as well as the technique he received at the Horton Dance Company. This piece strokes broadly into Ailey’s life; from the great depression, to segregation, to finding ones footing in the world. It also reflects the sadness that follows the death of an inspirer and mentor.

Many have tried to hide the fact that Alvin Ailey died of Aids at the age of fifty-eight (1989), in fact he is one of those many that tried to hide this truth. He asked his doctor to announce that he died of terminal blood dyscrasia to spare his mother the humiliation that came with the disease. As Alvin Ailey’s dance company celebrates its fiftieth anniversary, I think it is time that we begin a bigger dialogue regarding the Aids epidemic in the black community.

We have lost a lot of our entertainers and family members through silence. I believe if we are truly to honor the work that Ailey aspired to and provided, one would have to look at the education he provided to his own community. The times have changed since Alvin Ailey first came to terms with his disease; the humiliation of having HIV/Aids in America is coming to an end as we encourage each other to be tested and enforce HIV/Aids education. It saddened me to realize that his own company continued to live behind the curtains regarding his death rather then vocalizing the need for a dialogue. I hope that as we continue to celebrate Ailey’s work we also look at his short life as one that could have been spared and embraced much longer had we taken the time to discuss sex education within our community.

Idiot of the Week: Hamid Karzai

i was thinking that the world had gotten much better, with countries vowing to set aside differences and work with the new Obama administration. Sometimes i think i should stop reading the news. It’s like being stabbed and kicked down a hill as you roll over rocks and leaves, scarping flesh and cursing inflammatories into the air; hoping that where you land will be a sea of four leafed clovers waiting to be discovered. Maybe being a woman makes us a bit inferior physically but we make up for it by our intelligence and loyalty. i think being invincible is more attractive then being humiliated and tarnished for something we have no control over. Is it true that starting a sentence with the noun i is an assertion of oneself? Maybe it’s more a of a proclamation? That’s why some men hate when we do it. In that case perhaps placing a lower case i would make me less assertive. i have decided that Hamid Karzai is the Idiot of The Week.

For those of you who do not know Hamid Karzai is a stout man, often well dressed and topped with a karakul hat. If you ran into him on the street you would think, bold, fashionable, and perhaps soft spoken. If you spoke to him at a bus stop or perhaps a high end cafe as he is more likely to frequent the establishments of his class, you could fluidly trounce between French, Persian, Hindi, English, and Pashto- his native tongue.

In reality he is both manipulative, sneaky, and discriminatory. Which is ironic for a man that married a former obstetrician. But, he is most notably known for being the current president of Afghanistan.  This week President Karzai signed in to law legislation that allows men to rape their wives. Many speculate that this law was geared towards swaying Shia votes during the upcoming presidential election.

The law passed both houses in Afghan’s parliament, however the United Nations has yet to see a copy. Many have argued that the law was rushed in for a vote and there was little discussion allowed.

Note: While the Afghan constitution guarantees equal rights for women, it also allows the Shia community, thought to represent 10 per cent of the population, the right to settle family law cases according to Shia law.

Negro Girl

I keep thinking of how incredibly close and exceedingly violent we are. I keep walking the streets looking for a victim. I realize now that enlightenment can’t cure grief. What if I can’t stop thinking, if I wouldn’t wonder between the dead and living? I wish people would stop using certain words like love, and husband, girlfriend, and spouse. They are to close. Like two codependent robots waiting for assurance. I think of the things I think I love, like tea. How the sweetness slides down your tongue and sometimes burns for days. Is that what love is? Or am I mistaking it for revenge? I imagine that you are somewhere watching in the distance and thinking I have forgotten our dreams and hopes and worst of all your smell.

I remember the first week I had an obsession with smells. How I would smell the racks of soaps neatly aligned at the local grocery store. How I sat sniffing over photos and past notes, and costumes I once wore in front of you hoping that the ghostly fragrance will reappear. But, it is like a rain drop that swims away until it has vanished into the unknown. I thought of the things I should have taken when I left: a shirt, a comb, a lock of hair, maybe your blood stained wallet. Sometimes I think I have forgotten those wishes and desires, but in reality they toss and turn like a wave coming thorough- in and out of my pours like a bad dream or a reckless car chase.

I know that you would deny it if you saw me now, typing frightfully in an empty studio. The truth is: I am a monster. I have turned into something that I can no longer control. I used to run past strangers and sneak into cafes assuming that someone would remind me of you. I would screen through the colognes at the retail counter imagining that I could bring you closer to me. I realize now that the mind plays tricks on you, like a mothers lost perfume where you are left questioning why she stopped wearing it. How phone messages accidentally get erased and CD’s scratch and memories become lapsed. What will I have left once that old picture turns brown and dusty? Honestly, I used to think that your picture was ingrained into my pupils, where I would close my eyes and remember the last conversation, how you smiled, how you laughed, how you argued. Now I question those conversations. How did they start? Was it a question or an answer? Did you smile with your eyes or from the side with your head tilted? Was it the laugh from deep down in your belly that got me laughing hysterically or the hidden light giggle of an afternoon? Did you always wait and think of your arguments or argue as I kept you up at night?

People are starting to notice, I think, because they no longer look at me as human. There’s so much I want to tell you that I think you will assume I am a different person. For example I am now obsessed with punctuations: Because; they say so much. And, so little. Sometimes I forget how to scream! Other times I force myself into silence… I may be paranoid/ scared but I am not delusional. People’s voices are now lower as though they are waiting for the moment that I return to humanity. I am mostly afraid of you. I keep thinking that I will look up and find you staring at me. Or, even worse, miss you running past me. Sometimes I jerk my head up to get a glimpse of reality, or imagine that maybe I will catch the in-betweens of life and death.

I listen more now. I can hear voices that I haven’t heard before, and I’m beginning to think that I’m not alone. I imagine the scenes and sets of the afterlife. Is it like it is here? Not that I am afraid of the unknown. I am afraid of having truly lost you. I imagine the darkness. I imagine the light, but there is only lonesomeness. The embodiment of my monstrosity. There are others like me. I am afraid of them too, but I dare not let them notice. They will only remind me of my transformation, and I do not want to be reminded of the past. At least not now. I hear them often on the train as I am looking down, as I usually do to the different classes of human shoes. Slipping into an uncontrollable brawl; thinking of you. I am often able to regain control of my wailing, but this is only to ensure the humans that I am harmless lest they shoot me too. I have tried a few times to reach out to others like me, but we speak the same language of silence, and solidarity in silence is most monstrous. The other day I heard one cry out on the south side of Chicago. I couldn’t pin point the exact location but I knew it wasn’t far from 61^st and Ellis, where I’d lost you. I wanted to run out and help, but I knew that I would not be able to control my nerves and I would only be putting humans’ lives at stake.

I am not your average monster. I say this because I have been a witness of what I would consider other potential monsters. I wish they would understand this, but it is hard for me to explain. I keep leaving clues for them, but they are always on guard. I’ve tried doing human things to remind them that I can be tamed. I smile sometimes when they are watching, I eat with them when I am free, I have even made attempts to reconcile bad human relationships from the past. But, to my disbelief, the sobs and rage accidentally drift in and out of our conversations. I sometimes want to howl, and I force myself to run away into a dark or lonely hideout until it passes. Sometimes I can’t hide, because I know that they are everywhere. I try bathrooms, but the doors swing in and out and I begin to count how many of them have entered, and how many have left, and whether I’ll ever be free. I try hidden staircases, but I hear the bellow (from within) echo and I begin to wonder if I am truly alone. Trouncing amongst humans and monsters.

I used to hear humans talk about their encounters with monsters, but I never believed it until now. I am a walking testament of their faith in us. The truth is there’s no pleasing humanity. You have taught me that. They are walking luxuries always wanting to be upgraded. I’ve seen them rape, strike, and slaughter. I know what you would say -there are a few that understand. But this is because I believe they have evolved into half species. I hear about them on the news sometimes, they are the ones helping us cross the border or pushing us into their basement hideouts. They have been renamed by their own as Borderline Monstrosities. I used to care about them too, but my transformation has forced me to look at all humans indifferently. I am no longer afraid of their weapons, intellect, or strength. I now realize that I too can have all of those. I know that I can become anything I want and they can’t stop me. After all I am a monster.

I am now a hunter too. Everything changed for me when I saw you being sent home, scarred and lifeless. I never imagined you would return a lion with shackles from the new world. You were the only person that could have stopped my transformation and yet you helped me complete it. It is because of you that I became a hunter–for which I am preying on my next victim with precision and patience. I only have one victim. He is the only one that could have left you bound with no remorse.

I have practiced my attack for weeks now. At first remembering our last encounter at the el. How the whimper of the new fall season and the stench of a passing summer filled the air. The memory is a blur; funny how your absence disguises life. How I have started reinventing days and questioning the passing of time. Was it day or late evening? Early morning or night? Was this the mark of a passing? I have become obsessed with details; for which I no longer love. Was it a blue shirt and black slacks or grey slack and white shirt? Like a monster I look for clues, but they are only presumptions of death. Because I know that I will one day rediscover you.

I almost went out that night, looking to practice my new found patience on humanity. A monster controlling oneself. I imagined that I could even act human, if I were forced into an uncontrollable state of animosity and disgrace, but instead I fell into a cavernous sleep in which I dreamt only of my victim.

There he was, chained and handicapped by the slave traders of Africa. I laid next to him in a sea of charred bodies clinging to my dress. He smelled of soot, sweat, and desiccated flesh. His skin burned and drabbed by the heat of the east. It was the way I wanted to see him. In a horde of uncanny figures. I wanted to fight him, thinking of his helplessness, of his lack of humanity, lack of iniquity. “What are you now?” I asked. “A nobody!” It came to me suddenly, like an uncontrollable plague. “You are nothing! You are dirt!”I stared up at him, my head wobbling like a dieing fowl… “Are no-body!” I started to laugh manically at first, cling to my stomach frantically, fearing my gut would pour out like the Nile. “You hear me, nobody!” I cried. Chuckling at what little health was left in me. “You are nobody!” But, he did not cry back. He did not clench at the whip as it swept across his back like fine European linen. He stared ahead, not whispering the songs of his ancestry, or whimpering the poetry of his Great Great Grandfather’s father. Great grandfather’s father… grandfather’s father… father.

He was no Oroonoko; he was nobody.

I thought him dead, and would have wished it had I not noticed the blood sweeping across my eyelids. I shook from my laughter being struck across the face by his mannish fist. I saw his frightened eyes piercing down at me with disgust. There I was chained neck to neck and coupled to my victim’s hands. I clung to my bare chest hoping to save my tender breasts as I heard the whoosh of the whip sweeping against the heavens of bodies. I cried out at the sight of my nakedness, at the sight of my helplessness, as the white man leaned against me and poked and laughed. “You are no body! You are a woman! Your nothing; you dirt! A Negro girl!” My victim pulled harder, and I began to feel the monstrosity within me grow. My hands began to shake and I pulled back, my hands stretching out to the skies as I searched for your hand. I clung to my throat imagining my arms stretched out like a rope painting veins across the branches of a leaning willow tree. I began to rock back and forth. Back and forth. Him pulling, me pulling back, I watched the ghosts dance across the distance. In the dark I could make out their figures as they clung to the floor and fell hard like raindrops feeding on the earth. I shivered under my covers, and snickered at the thought that monsters cannot die.

Hello. Goodbye. I love you.

Hello. Goodbye. I love you.

It has been raining all day

And the fog makes the ghosts turn from black, to tint yellow, to grey.

As I walked out this morning I remembered the day that I lost my first patient, and how old age can be such a bitch.

But it is nothing compared to your betrayal, where age finds you begging for forgiveness, peace and freedom from your short lived- life long risks.

They say that if two friends drift apart in a crowd of millions they should have enough decency to say their goodbyes.

If a woman meets her betrayer on the street she should scream hello, or timidly nod with her eyes.

If two lovers catch each other’s glances from afar they shall remember those nights and whisper “I love you”, because we never were unloving.

From a distance I recognize your walk. It’s as though these high-rises couldn’t hide you, even with the fire alarm and the mother-baby talk.

I want you to know that I have found a new friend; as we are drifting apart I will decently write out my goodbye.

I reached out to a betrayer on the street and I timidly nodded “Hi”.

I caught the glance of a lover and silently whispered I love you.

As the night creeps in you are shifting from tint morning yellow, to black, to grey.

I have asked God so many times to give me a clue that you are okay and not lying somewhere brown, red, and in disarray.

I want you to know that this is what betrayal does to you! How can I let go of the dead if like the rain it turns the insides into a murky dirty blue.

Hello. Goodbye. I love you.

Obama’s Inauguration: A New Age for America

Whenever I have defining moments in life that are unpredictable and unconventional in my world of logic I have to find a means of understanding it. Today is such a day. If you asked me four years ago if I thought that a black man could be the next president of the United States I would have probably asked you if you thought we could ever impeach Bush. But, ironically one of those events came true yesterday. I am humbled and frightened as to the future of President Obama and his family. I am humbled that America chose the best man to lead us, but frightened by what Mr.Obama will find in the unseen files of the Bush administration. I know that the transparency that even he wishes for will be a struggle as he begins this historical journey of repair and nurture.

I realize that this is a new age for America, an unflattering reflection of our choices as a nation, and unwavering dignity on Obama’s part to steer us back into the right direction. His unquivering outlook on America’s prosperity is both touching and chilling from the perspective of a man whose grandmother lived through the great depression and father tackled racism daily. His message of the journey of hope is one that only he can deliver, striking back at those who are unwilling to intercept the old way of politics.

I often imagine that I am a dwarf, standing on the shoulder of giants. Looking at how they see the world, how they pause to reexamine a notion before compromising, how they look for clues from the past. Yesterday, I realized that Obama had become a giant in his own right, perhaps having stood up on Lincoln’s and Dr.King’s shoulders as he reevaluated the world all these years. His obsession with history is what guides him to not make the same mistakes, to open doors for enemies and friends alike. This is one giant that I am looking forward to watching and learning from.

Obama’s speech today reaffirmed my belief in the prospect of peace and equality for all. His ability to transcend race and religion in the name of unity gives me the strength to be his shepherd in training. I imagine that I too will run into walls of injustice and unethical regulations but in the process I will think of those shoulders that reigned before mine. Those feet that scotched racism, and scrapped sexism. Those eyes that raided against unequal policies.

It is befitting that Obama reigns on this day, two days after the celebration of another giant, Martin Luther King Jr., whose philosophy of “nonviolence or nonexistence” is still a dominant factor in how we ought to proceed with our world neighbors. Much like Dr.King, Obama asks us to act on our ethical beliefs. To question our government, and demand that our honor as a nation be upheld and our voices be heard.

This is the new age that I look forward to. A new reason to support our representatives in Washington, and our troops in distant lands. It is a sense of gratitude that I have in knowing that he will not stir the waters to prove that we are a powerful nation, but to uphold a sense of freedom.

In the words of our new president:

“America. In the face of our common dangers, in this winter of our hardship, let us remember these timeless words. With hope and virtue, let us brave once more the icy currents, and endure what storms may come. Let it be said by our children’s children that when we were tested, we refused to let this journey end, that we did not turn back, nor did we falter; and with eyes fixed on the horizon and God’s grace upon us, we carried forth that great gift of freedom and delivered it safely to future generations.”

Let the new age begin.

Affirming Affirmative Action

This week I had the opportunity to attend a lecture at Northwestern University titled “Do We Still Need Affirmative Action”. It was part of the MLK Day commemoration. As a preface I would like to add that the description of this lecture was : We have just elected the nation’s first African-American president, other people of color occupy very high posts in politics, business, medicine, and other arenas. So have we progressed enough to no longer need affirmative action and other initiatives to promote diversity in education and business, or do we still have a long way to go? This panel will provide a point and counterpoint in the argument of whether affirmative action is still needed contemporarily.

Below is a list of the panel members:

* Professor Stephen Presser, Esq. – Raoul Berger Professor of Legal History, Northwestern Law
* T. Shawn Taylor – Freelance reporter, former business reporter, Chicago Tribune
* Dr. Arin Reeves, JD, PhD – Diversity Consultant and President, The Athens Group
* Frenita Tolson, Esq. – Visiting Assistant Professor, Northwestern Law, Race and the Law
Moderator: Derrick Blakely, Anchor, CBS 2 Chicago

I entered the lecture hall with preconceived notions regarding affirmative action and looked around to count exactly how many minorities were attending this discussion. I realize that others may consider my behavior as racist,but I have always been a believer that those impacted by certain policies should be heavily involved in such discourse. Ironically this audience was very diverse, many of them students from the law school, and so I contemplated a bit on each individuals reasoning for attending the lecture.

I then set down and scanned the panel participants. The first category in my mind was race.  I use the term category because this was a term that was repeated throughout the discussion and by an upset audience member who argued that affirmative action is a categorical representation of society that hinders everyone. But, I will address this further in my analysis. Again, others may consider my panel review as a form of racism but I could have argued again that it was only fair that African Americans and Hispanics be vocal  in such dialogues.

The truth is I believe I was being racist. I wanted to have this discussion with only minorities. In understanding my own form of racism I realized that we are all racist. We all have biases, and we may not address them with others but they are aggressively swimming through our minds. This reasoning, and the dialogue that proceeded led me to further affirm my support of affirmative action. One white person. Two Black people. A person who I believed may be Indian. Do I consider that brown?

Steven Calabresi touched on two paramount issues in regards to affirmative action. The first was educational reform and the second was institutions of government. To be fair Steven Calabresi is a law professor and I believe he has taken the time to carefully investigate the legal ramifications, if any, of affirmative action within the United States educational system. He stated that he still believes affirmative action is needed, but was a supporter of charter schools and competitive education.  He also argued for racial diversity in government institutions ( specifying judges, senators, and law enforcement). Mr. Calabresi said he was skeptical about some affirmative action employment programs, and disagreed with President Elect Obama’s stance on affirmative action not being necessary for individuals like his daughters who were already living a privileged lifestyle.

I completely agree with Mr.Calebresi’s analysis that our education system needs to be reevaluated and reformed before we can even begin to consider affirmative action as a policy of the past. However, I have never been a supporter of charter schools primarily because of the inconsistency of education, various hiring standards for teachers, and  inability to maintain teachers’ collective-bargaining rights. I believe that these discrepancies in fact hurt the quality of education that most students receive. I also would like to note that often times while charter schools  are offered as an alternative to public schools there is not enough evidence to suggest that students perform better at such institutions. The disparity in funding such schools also bears a burden on our public school system, and does not even begin to address the quality of education provided by schools that are run as for profit institutions. Statistically speaking minorities are the ones who suffer from such reforms as noted in the Status and Trends in The Education of Racial and Ethnic Minorities.

To further address my biases, my second review of the panel was categorizing them into sexes. I realized that Mr.Calabresi was the only male panel member.  Three women and one man.

Ms. Taylor quoted former President Clinton in her dissection of affirmative action. “Mend it, don’t end it” she said. She also addressed the naming bias study, which showed employers were fifty percent more likely to interview white -sounding name applicants than black- sounding name applicants. Ms.Taylor also recognized that economic downturns pushes biases to kick in, and agreed with Mr.Calabresi that we are far away from equality when it comes to education, and would urge government to correct our funding programs for K-12 education. She made a point of opposing the race neutrality  argument, arguing that it goes against affirmative action.

Dr. Reeves took a more legal stance in addressing affirmative action, urging us to look at the difference between law, policies, politics, and individual behavior when discussing affirmative action. She noted that law can not legislate behavior, and further recognized that both President Elect Obama and Senator Clinton steered away from the discussion of affirmative action during the campaign. She argued that we can not use a trailblazer, Obama, as an example of equality. Interestingly Dr.Reeves also acknowledged that people of color and women have our own issues with affirmative action, and suggested we would need to become comfortable about discussing race in order to discuss affirmative action.

My biases led me to ask who was against affirmative action. Dr.Reeves- the supposed Indian seemed to be supporting affirmative action. She is brown correct? And a woman. I understood that I probably had more in common with Dr.Reeves because I too am an immigrant, re-assuming racism. I too had questioned affirmative action, and understood her saying “I want to be very clear, I understand affirmative action. But I hate it! I hate it! Why do we have to tell someone to choose between a woman and a black person?”

Dr.Reeves went on to recognize that this conversation was about privilege. “The privelege of asking a white man to pick an issue: Woman. Race. LGBT.” She argued.  She asked the audience to challenge the conversation itself. “Why is it okay to choose between race and class?” She asked.

I did not know the answer because I have never chosen. I have been black my whole life. I have juggled back and forth from what I consider middle to low class since I was born. I suppose I never had that privilege, and honestly would not know what to do with it.

Ms. Tolson asked us to look at trailblazers as the standard. She also suggested that affirmative action was not that controversial. She insisted that it was still necessary if you simply looked at the statistics. “Majority of African Americans are from lower economic backgrounds. African American women have the highest risk of contracting HIV/Aids.” She stated. She asked that we dictate the affirmative action debate on statistics in the future, implying that her arguments would hold ground.

I realized that this discussion regarding affirmative action was not a debate on the topic, but rather the grounds by which a discussion was needed and the issues that needed to be resolved before such a debate could be had. But, then there was my racism. I imagined that had I simply ran into any of the panelists on the street my instinct would be to question their race. If I read their name my instinct would be to question their ethnicity. Was I a part of the problem? Was I categorically placing society as a way to deal with my own biases? Dr.Reeves reminded us that categories were started by white men; those who had the privilege of naming and stipulating such categories. I admit knowing this gave me a sense of self-assurance that perhaps my own racism was a result of being under priveleged. I recalled the Caucasian man who at the end of the discussion asked “Where was the debate?!”.

In his defense there was no opposing view, but there were concerns that could lead to opposing views. For example where does the white woman stand when it comes to affirmative action? It reminded me of when I cringe at the word feminist. Am I a feminist? What does that even mean?

The moderator asked the panel specific questions regarding affirmative action. One included an Appalachian white woman from a low income background and a black man whose father was a neurosurgeon, both applying to the same law school with the same grades and test scores. He asked each person to decide who they would let in if they were the Director of Admissions and why. Ironically it was Ms. Taylor and Ms.Tolson who were willing to choose. Two black women choosing ? I thought about this . Ms.Tolson said she would choose the black man because of the discrepancies of male to female students in respects to law school. Ms.Taylor said she would choose the white woman because she felt that her overcoming such obstacles was a testament of her desire to improve her well being, she also assumed that the black male would probably be well off economically in the future due to his father’s profession.

Mr. Calabresi noted that these cases were very unlikely because there are various components that come into play when looking at an applicant for law school. He also suggested one cost of affirmative action is that we assume we are doing enough, rather then tackling the K-12 education. For example he noted college entrance exams, which he agreed were necessary but were often reflections of ones education.

This got me even more excited about the concept of reparations. Could one argue that affirmative action is a form of reparation?  Is there a problem with offering reparations to other minorities as well? What about women? Perhaps I was giving ammunition to the affirmative action opposition but I realized that statistically speaking if we addressed education, employment, and diversity in government we would probably no longer need to argue for reparations let alone affirmative action. I believe it was Dr.Reeves who said she read a study that looked into how long it would take for “categorical minorities” like myself to no longer need affirmative action and it stated that would probably be in 400 years. I suppose in the meantime others will have their biases, similar to mine but silently. Until I also see no sign of such biases I will continue supporting affirmative action while try to address my own racism.

One black woman. Black. Woman. Ethnicity: African.

Reflections of Past Years

I am obsessed with memories. I have spent the last week in reminiscence. I am perhaps delusional in that I begin my recollections by searching for an aroma that can take me back to the act of my life I imagine I can not forget. Not that the world would know. I am still functional like most humans, robotically living out the various stages of life.

“All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,

Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms;
Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school.”

I recall those stages. The smell of warm milk and powder dancing in the air. The innocence of meeting a stranger or peeking a look at two beings  madly in love; clawing like beasts. The sweetness of a mother’s milk and roughness of a father’s touch.

And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth.

The perceptions of perfumes and morning tea. The muskiness of a man’s arms, and snuffle of a woman’s navel. The scent of a proposal.

And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lin’d,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part.

The foulness of homlessness. The stench of war. The odour of academia.

The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well sav’d, a world too wide

The flavour of meditation. The acridity of self query.

For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.”

The cense of death. Stench of uncertainty. Fetidness of recollections.

note: Poem in black print  is from Jacques speech in Shakespeare’s As You Like It.

World Aids Day

Yesterday, December 1, 2008, marked the 20th anniversary of World Aids Day. I was honored to be invited to a celebration at the Puerto Rican Cultural Center in Chicago marking the 20th anniversary of Vida/Sida Bartolo Hernandez de Jesus HIV/Aids Initiative. I find that the Puerto Rican culture is a mirror of my own culture in Kenya in that we still have a long way to go in addressing the HIV/Aids epidemic. I must admit there has been a lot on my mind lately having recently watched the film MILK starring Sean Penn and being entrenched in the debate regarding proposition 8. I am humbled by how far we have come and enraged at how much work we still have to do.

I believe there are many reasons for the HIV/Aids epidemic in Kenya, but there is also a culture of silence and hypocrisy when it comes to addressing the issue on a massive level. For example in my tribe (the Luo tribe) there is an acceptance of polygamy that many refuse to acknowledge is high risk behavior. I think it is hypocritical to stand up against HIV/Aids and yet continue to marry and sleep around with multiple people. I also realize that often times the women in Kenya do not speak up and take a stand against such behavior.

I know that having lived in the United States gives me an opportunity to examine the societal flaws of Kenyans and I realize that most of these flaws are due to our continual acceptance of idiotic cultural beliefs. I can not force Kenyan women to change their stance on polygamy or to stop returning to abusive relationships, but I believe that at some point these women have to make a choice regarding how they want to live their lives- as victims or as leaders. In America most psychologists say that a woman has to want to leave a situation to be saved just like a junkie must want to be clean to go to rehab. That is exactly how I see a lot of Kenyan women.

Because of this I spend countless hours questioning the concept of freedom. Do we have the right to enforce our belief in freedom on others? Should I stand by and watch others freedoms being taken away? Perhaps it’s a sense of self gratification to die fighting for peoples freedom, to question others cultures as immoral or to enforce a democratic system in ones state. However, what do you do for those that have never seen freedom?

I know that if I died from HIV/Aids it would not be because of my sexuality; it would be because I was tricked perhaps into being trustworthy or because I decided to live on the edge, a life filled with promiscuity and loneliness. Yet the concept of being gay is more frightening to Africa then the idea of living with Aids. I know it is not only in Kenya let alone Africa where this fear runs rapid like the Nile, it’s also here in America- primarily in black and Hispanic communities where we see women who are trapped in unhealthy and risky relationships.

Unfortunately often times it is usually to late for them to leave, when they are battered beyond recognition or turn crazy from being beaten in the head to many times. Other times they have been to emotionally abused to even recognize their own self worth that they can not look at a future of independence. Often they are to focused on maintaining a marriage so that they will not be the laughing stock of the community.

The bottom line is if women banded together and said we will not stand for this it would not happen. If we opened our doors and walked in groups we would not be one victim in a house but a room of women willing to fight the men that turn us into those victims. We would not give our daughters away to marriage to eat for only a few months or work our bodies to death to hand money to the men that abuse us. If we banded together there would not be a World Aids Day.

For me it is a reminder of my family members, especially the ones that have died of HIV/Aids complications in Kenya. It is also a reminder of the effects, the traces of their being in the world. The orphans they produced. The first words they missed, the birthdays candles they didn’t help blow out. The family reunions that seemed empty. We may be human, but we are also animals. We are reckless, unthankful, and irrational when we work alone so why not reexamine our culture and lifestyle. Why not walk up to your neighbors door when you hear a fight or stop blaming the gay community when they pay your taxes? Why not accept your communities unwillingness to talk about HIV/Aids and start the dialogue?

So what?! Lets talk about sex baby! Lets talk about gender roles, sexual complexities, and sexual satisfaction. Lets talk about lost ones and loved ones and forgotten ones! Lets talk about HIV/Aids!

Lets talk about HIV/Aids… Talk about Hiv/Aids… About Hiv/Aids… Hiv/Aids… Aids.