I’m an inveterate collector. Books, CDs, DVDs, earrings, watches, wigs, handbags, shoes, photo frames....you get the picture (apologies for the pun). This forces me to clean my closets twice a year in a vain attempt to make room for those items I’ve ‘collected’ since the last cleaning.
While performing this bi-annual ritual I came upon a long-hidden box. This box made the journey with me six years ago when I moved from the US to the UK. It contained photographs, which I hid because it made me too homesick to look at them. I have long since conquered my homesickness, so I dragged the box down from its corner on the top shelf, and dumped the contents onto my bed.
There were Ma and Daddy. They often fought like cats and dogs, but they loved each other – they had each other’s back. A dog-eared picture of me with my siblings at a long-ago Fourth of July celebration...lined up in birth order, arms around each other, forever entwined. And a photo from a block party of me, my siblings, and the East 148th Street gang (from the days when ‘gang’ meant your friends as opposed to the people you ran around with killin’ other folks): John, Eleanor, Trish, Nina, Eric, David, Stevie, Leonard, Denise, Debbie, PeeWee, Gail, Junior, Donald, and the Jackson twins.
What struck me most about this picture was the way we looked like we belonged to each other. A stranger looking at this photo could see the ties that bound us to one another – our unity was a palpable presence that transcended the celluloid it was captured by.
There is a saying: “it takes a village to raise a child”. This was the creed which I, my family and everyone I grew up with lived by and adhered to. We looked out for one another. We took care of each other. When Mrs. Hawkins found me behind the garage smokin’ weed with her kids, she didn’t just whip them, she whipped me as well, then phoned my mother and told her, “I just found Katherine behind the garage smokin’ that funny shit with Edgar ‘n them ‘n I beat all their asses.” My mom would say “thank you Jean” – and when I got home, I got another whippin’. When Mrs. Barbara died suddenly and Mr. Barbara fell into a depression so profound he couldn’t even speak, everyone on the block took care of him: he was fed, his house was cleaned, his grass was cut, and the men of the neighbourhood held him when he cried.
Sadly, some where between the time of my childhood and the time I reached adulthood, that sense of unity disappeared in the black community. No longer did neighbours look out for one another. The extended family – indeed, the black family – crumbled and fell apart, decimated by the demons of divorce and drugs, crack and crime.
Beautiful black people - my people - we need to get that unity back. It’s not an impossible task; our history is filled with kings and queens, princes and poets, idealists and inventors. Our history resonates with the words of men and women who had high hopes and dreams for our collective future, people like Phyllis Wheatley, Frederick Douglass, James Baldwin, Richard Wright, Ralph Ellison, Maya Angelou, Malcolm X and Martin Luther King.
Barack Obama is a man who sees the need not just for blacks to re-discover that unity, but for a nation to discover and embrace unity.
One of my Stateside friends sent me the email below:
While performing this bi-annual ritual I came upon a long-hidden box. This box made the journey with me six years ago when I moved from the US to the UK. It contained photographs, which I hid because it made me too homesick to look at them. I have long since conquered my homesickness, so I dragged the box down from its corner on the top shelf, and dumped the contents onto my bed.
There were Ma and Daddy. They often fought like cats and dogs, but they loved each other – they had each other’s back. A dog-eared picture of me with my siblings at a long-ago Fourth of July celebration...lined up in birth order, arms around each other, forever entwined. And a photo from a block party of me, my siblings, and the East 148th Street gang (from the days when ‘gang’ meant your friends as opposed to the people you ran around with killin’ other folks): John, Eleanor, Trish, Nina, Eric, David, Stevie, Leonard, Denise, Debbie, PeeWee, Gail, Junior, Donald, and the Jackson twins.
What struck me most about this picture was the way we looked like we belonged to each other. A stranger looking at this photo could see the ties that bound us to one another – our unity was a palpable presence that transcended the celluloid it was captured by.
There is a saying: “it takes a village to raise a child”. This was the creed which I, my family and everyone I grew up with lived by and adhered to. We looked out for one another. We took care of each other. When Mrs. Hawkins found me behind the garage smokin’ weed with her kids, she didn’t just whip them, she whipped me as well, then phoned my mother and told her, “I just found Katherine behind the garage smokin’ that funny shit with Edgar ‘n them ‘n I beat all their asses.” My mom would say “thank you Jean” – and when I got home, I got another whippin’. When Mrs. Barbara died suddenly and Mr. Barbara fell into a depression so profound he couldn’t even speak, everyone on the block took care of him: he was fed, his house was cleaned, his grass was cut, and the men of the neighbourhood held him when he cried.
Sadly, some where between the time of my childhood and the time I reached adulthood, that sense of unity disappeared in the black community. No longer did neighbours look out for one another. The extended family – indeed, the black family – crumbled and fell apart, decimated by the demons of divorce and drugs, crack and crime.
Beautiful black people - my people - we need to get that unity back. It’s not an impossible task; our history is filled with kings and queens, princes and poets, idealists and inventors. Our history resonates with the words of men and women who had high hopes and dreams for our collective future, people like Phyllis Wheatley, Frederick Douglass, James Baldwin, Richard Wright, Ralph Ellison, Maya Angelou, Malcolm X and Martin Luther King.
Barack Obama is a man who sees the need not just for blacks to re-discover that unity, but for a nation to discover and embrace unity.
One of my Stateside friends sent me the email below:
Why is it that a black man can create a tiny piece called a filament (the electric light, Lewis Latimer) that allows people to see in the dark? Yet he is not seen as fit to lead a country to the light. Why is it that a black man can create an instrument (the clock, Benjamin Banneker) that all people use to tell time? Yet people don't think it is time for him to run a country. Why is it that a Black Man can design a place for the authorities to meet in (Washington DC, Pierre L'Enfant) and a place for the President to live in (the White House, Phillip Reid)? Yet he is not good enough to lead these meetings or live in this building himself. Why is it that a black man was brilliant enough to do the first open heart surgery (Dr. Daniel Hale Williams) and show the world how to get and preserve plasma (Dr. Charles Drew)? Yet he is not good enough to put a program in place where everyone can afford this surgery. Why is it that a black man was creative enough to design an instrument (the traffic light, Garrett Morgan) to bring multiple people and vehicles to a halt? Yet he is not seen as creative enough to design a plan to bring all this unnecessary and worthless fighting between countries to an end. Why is it that a black man could create the soles (for shoes, Jan Matzeliger) that people walk on everyday? Yet he is not seen as good enough to fill the shoes of a bad president. Why is it that a black man was smart enough and brave enough to teach himself (Fredrick Douglas & Thomas Fuller, both slaves) and others how to read, write and calculate math? Yet he is not seen as smart enough and bold enough to calculate a platform to be President to a country.
My Brothers and Sisters, what I am saying is let us not forget our past, which led us to our present and can definitely be the backbone to our future. We were good enough, smart enough, creative enough, and bold enough then, so let’s give Obama the chance to show that we are still these things and more. We all are as strong as our weakest link, so don't be that weak link that denies our people that chance to show we still can overcome.
To put it simply, it’s called UNITY.
Y’all know what you need to do.
copyright © 2008 KPMCL
