Supreme Discrimination

I heard it first from Afro-American Writer in her weekly wrap-up of the news. I then checked out the information that she presented. It is more than reasonable to conclude that Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia is a dangerous man. Unfortunately, he is not alone. He has an entire panel of cronies, er . . . justices at his side. THEY are a dangerous team! There was a decision made on April 28, 2008 that upheld an earlier decision by a lower court to require Indiana residents to provide photo-identification in order to vote. The vote was split 6-3. Justices Samuel Alito, Antonin Scalia, Clarence Thomas, John Paul Stevens, John Roberts and Anthony Kennedy voted to uphold the lower court decision. Dissenting were Supreme Court Justices Stephen Breyer, Ruth Bader Ginsburg and David Souter. While the state of Indiana offers free photo identification, residents are first required to provide proof of residence. The Indiana Primary will be held this coming Tuesday, May 6, 2008. Is there time enough for the elderly, minorities, and the poor to obtain the proper identification by May 6^th? It’s doubtful.

How many of us actually know how much power The Supreme Court holds? When a position becomes available and a candidate is offered, how many of us get involved? It’s time that we understand the inner workings of the court. We need to understand what consequences arise from the decisions made by our justices. We need to understand that the decisions made by these justices, for the most part, are the key elements of the disenfranchisement of the elderly, the poor, and minorities.

The first thing that needs to be understood is that the justices who make the decisions that affect our lives do so with their own personal ideals and their own personal sense of reasoning. That means that what a particular justice believes in his or her heart influences the way in which they decide. That’s only natural. While it is difficult to determine what a person feels in their heart, it is important to understand what he or she outwardly feels. One would argue that a potential judicial candidate, much like a politician, can say just about anything that the citizens want to hear. So, how do we go about the task of making the decision as to who is best for the job? It is accomplished by reviewing past decisions that were made when they served as justices of a lower court.

The consequences which arise from the decisions rendered are far-reaching. What is of utmost importance is the realization that The Supreme Court is the highest court in the land. When The Supreme Court rules on a constitutional issue, that judgment is virtually final; its decisions can be altered only by the rarely used procedure of constitutional amendment or by a new ruling of The Supreme Court. That means that once The Supreme Court makes its decision, that’s basically it. There is always the option of appeal, a rare occurrence, but that only means that you are sending the case back to the same justices who ruled upon it in the first place.

That brings us back to the primaries of Indiana, and the idea of legal discrimination as a result of disenfranchisement. That is precisely what The Supreme Court did to the voters of Indiana on April 28, 2008: the institution of legal discrimination. This sort of thing can be avoided. We must pay particularly close attention to who is being offered up as our supreme decision makers. We must review the rulings that that they have handed down before being nominated for The Supreme Court. We must look at their records and ask ourselves the question “Is this a person with whom I want to entrust my life? The question must be asked “How has his or her previous rulings affected me and those about whom I care?” You must ask yourself whether this person is looking out for your well-being or is this person looking to use The Supreme Court as his or her own playground, a playground in which they realize all too well that they are the supreme rulers. Do any particular justices names come to mind?

I will return soon with more information regarding Supreme Discrimination.

This is blackstarr saying “Vive La Renaissance!”

Blackstarr52@gmail.com

copyright © 2008 blackstarr

Renaissance, New Millennium, Scalia, Thomas, discrimination, Indiana, The Supreme Court, Alito, justice, disenfranchisement

Harlem Renaissance: Part 4 of 5

Zora Neale Hurston (1891-1960) was born on January 7, 1891, in Eatonville, Florida. Her family wanted for little and they lived on five acres of land in an eight-room house. Eatonville and her experiences there provided the inspiration for several of her novels, including Dust Tracks on the Road (1939). While she grew up in Florida, Hurston made her fame in New York as a writer in the 1920s and '30s during the Harlem Renaissance. She attended Morgan Academy (now Morgan State University) in Baltimore. There, she completed her high school requirements, then studied at Howard University in Washington, D.C. Her first publication came in May of 1921, which caught the attention of writer and professor, Alain Locke. Impressed with Hurston's storytelling ability, he recommended her work to Opportunity editor, Dr. Charles S. Johnson, who invited Hurston to submit material to Opportunity. She obliged, and later, at Johnson's urging, Zora packed her manuscripts and clothes and headed to New York.

In New York, she met the likes of Langston Hughes and Fannie Hurst. Before long, Hurston became an integral part of Harlem, attending rent parties and hanging out with the other newly well-known personalities such as Carl Van Vechten, Countee Cullen, and Claude McKay. She was seen as clever, witty and out-going. She was a person that people wanted to be around. She soon met Ms Charlotte Osgood Mason, an elderly white woman who employed Hurston at $200 a month to gather folk-tales and history of the African Americans of the south. Unfortunately, the relationship with Mason was severely limiting for Hurston. She could only write on subjects that were pre-approved by Mason. It wasn’t until after she severed her financial ties with Mason that her work began to take off.

One of Zora Neale Hurston's best-known works, Their Eyes Were Watching God, was published in 1937. It was deemed controversial because it didn't fit easily into stereotypes of black stories. She was criticized within the black community for taking funds from whites to support her writing. Hurston answered with an essay entitled "How It Feels to be Colored Me." (1928). She wrote: "I am not tragically colored. There is no great sorrow dammed up in my soul . . . I do not belong to that sobbing school of Negrohood who hold that nature somehow has given them a lowdown dirty deal.... No, I do not weep at the world--I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife."

With new-found friends such as Jean Toomer and Countee Cullen, Hurston became one of the "New Negroes." They, along with Langston Hughes, were the black intellectuals demanding equal billing for African-American culture in American history. Many held Hurston with special admiration. A talented young writer who would celebrate that culture through her art, she is said to have personified the movement and was dubbed the "Queen of the Renaissance." She and Hughes took off in a car, headed for the South, an adventure which would produce the folklore for which she was most well-known, including Mules And Men (1935). In 1931, she and Hughes fell out of favor with each other due to a grave argument over the authorship of a play, Mule Bone: A Comedy of Negro Life (1920), on which they collaborated. It wasn’t produced on Broadway until 1991.

Zora Neale Hurston wrote seven books and more than fifty articles and short stories. She was a playwright, traveler, anthropologist, and folklorist. In 1959 she suffered a stroke and was forced to move into a welfare home. She died penniless on January 20, 1960.

In 1973, Alice Walker made a pilgrimage to Fort Pierce, Florida and placed a tombstone on the site she guessed to be Hurston's unmarked grave. The stone was inscribed: "Zora Neale Hurston, A Genius of the South."

This is blackstarr saying “Vive La Renaissance!”

Blackstarr52@gmail.com

copyright © 2008 blackstarr

Renaissance, New Millennium, Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God, Southern folklore, Queen of the Renaissance ,Langston Hughes, Countee Cullen, Claude McKay, Alice Walker, Jean Toomer, Alain Locke

Up, up, and away!

I can remember very vividly the little store that was across the street from our house while I was in grade school. It was like a corner store, but, it wasn’t quite on the corner. You could buy bread, two-for-a-penny cookies, and just about every little household item that came to mind. The thing that I remember the most (after the cookies, of course) was the Philadelphia Daily News. It sold for three (3) cents. After a while, it went up to a nickel. Before long people were starting to say “When it hits a quarter, I’m not buying it anymore”. I haven’t bought one in ages, but, that’s only because I switched to the Philadelphia Inquirer. I don’t know what the Inquirer sold for back then, but, both papers are now up to about seventy-five (75) cents – and the sales are still flourishing.

I got a little older, and I remember riding on our public transit system, Philadelphia Transportation Company (PTC), which was twenty-five (25) cents to ride. That fare also included a pass, if you wanted one. You could get all around town for less than fifty (50) cents. When the price started to rise, everyone said that “when it reaches a dollar, that’s it – I’ll stop riding it”. PTC – it was such a small name. It turned into the Southeastern Pennsylvania Transportation Authority (SEPTA). Its name was not the only thing that grew in size - it now costs two (2) dollars just to get on the bus, then, an additional sixty (60) cents for a transfer, purportedly the highest fare in the nation. It’s the only game in town, outrageously priced, and the ridership is as it was at a quarter a pop.

A few years passed by, and high school came along. That’s when I picked up that disgusting addiction to tobacco. Ah, KOOLS! Now, the neighborhood choice is Newports. Back then, if memory serves me correctly, a pack went for about $1.50. I’m sure that you can imagine what was said when the price started to rise: “When they reach $2.00 a pack, I’m quitting”. I’ve switched to a less rough smoke, now, but, the last time that I looked, Newports were up to about $4.65 a pack. People complain, but, they drop the cash on the counter and walk out with nicotine in hand.

I was proud to be the Valedictorian when I graduated high school, but, the summer following the 11^th grade found me and my best friend forced to attend summer school to make up for our lousy math grade. It wasn’t that the grades were so bad (although I hated and stunk at math). We angered our math teacher, missed an all-important test, and he refused to budge. My friend had his driver’s license, so his dad allowed him to use the car for us to get back and forth to school for the summer. Now listen up, young’uns, because I wouldn’t lie – we pooled my fifty (50) cents and his fifty (50) cents to get gas. We went to school, drove around the neighborhood afterwards, and still had plenty gas to make it home! Everyone said, when the price started to rise, “When it reaches $1.50 a gallon, I’m going to have to find another way around”. Today, when I got gas, the price was a whopping $3.59 a gallon and, I had to wait in line at the pump!

This is where it stops. I’m not sure what the solution is, but, we need one and soon. If anyone has any suggestions, by all means, speak up. For now, I am starting a nationwide boycott – the Great Gas Out. Not to worry, as I don’t mean tomorrow. Here’s what I’d like to do. We had a Black Out last summer, a boycott in which no one (at least African-Americans) was to buy anything on that particular day. The point was to show that we had great economic buying power and that power needs to be recognized. I want to start one in the same spirit, one which is all-inclusive - the entire nation. I’m going to need your help to spread the word. I figure that Saturdays and Sundays are the days when most people can most afford not to gas up, considering the fact that just about everyone has to be to work during the week. I want to shoot for Saturday, June 14, 2008. That should give everyone enough time to spread the word. We will not stop at the pumps on that day and see what effect it has on the pockets of the greedy. If it works, and it should, we’ll do it again on Saturday, June 21, 2008.

Every time you send an e-mail, put a note/reminder at the bottom of it to let everyone know about the boycott. Blog about it – The Great Gas Out. Put a reminder at the bottom of your posts, reminding people of the Great Gas Out. Spread it by word of mouth. Tell your loud-mouthed neighbor. Send a text message to anyone you can. This may not be the best way to go about things, but, it’s a start. Besides, I said that when gas reaches . . .

This is blackstarr saying “Vive La Renaissance!”

Blackstarr52@gmail.com

copyright © 2008 blackstarr

Renaissance, New Millennium, Black Out, Great Gas Out, corporate greed, inflation, Philadelphia Daily News, Philadelphia Inquirer, boycott, June 14 2008, June 21 2008

Father Figure

Kenny kissed me on the cheek before getting out of the car
a gentle kiss
in a space on my face where the cheek ends & the lips begin.
“yo, I’ll call you” drifted lazily over my shoulder as he strode across the street
hipshot & arrogant
his hat cocked back at an angle that said he was large & in charge.

the spot on my face where he’d kissed me tingled with warmth.

I watched him cross the street, a remnant of my big sistah role
other men nodded at him respectfully, & women black & white
furtively flirted & followed him with their eyes.

& I felt surprise:
somewhere along my path of acquisition & ambition
he had become a Man.

echoes of my girlfriends’ voices whispered in my head:
“girl, yo brotha is fine”
even Sharon, & her & Kenny had never gotten along.
I watched him make his way across the street, & my eyes told me the voices spoke true –
he was fine:
tall & thick & long of limb,
his frame graced by Adolfo suits, Pierre Cardin shoes,
his neck caressed by thin expensive gold chains,
exuding confidence & Polo.

a Man had replaced the brother who’d given insulting names to all my boyfriends,
bitten all the fingers & toes off my Barbie dolls, then arranged them in obscene positions
with his G.I. Joes.
surely this black Adonis was not the brother who’d given me a 10-pound bag of Vigaro,
telling me it would make my chest grow.
enraged, I’d told my parents – who did nothing.
only son of my mother, she’d ruffled his hair.
only male issue of my father’s loins, Daddy never even lowered the paper he’d been perusing,
merely mumbled from behind it that
“yo’ brotha got a point, men like wimmen wit big titties.”

they never did grow, but Kenny did.
& with the bestowal of that kiss, it was declared that
the brother of my childhood had been laid to rest,
replaced by this man elected by primogeniture to assume the role of Father,
now that the real Father was dead.

I drove home on auto-pilot,
slowly & in awe, thinking, “Kenny grew up!
Do I have to grow up now, too?”

copyright © 2007 KPMCL

de promised land

you laugh too loud
you smoke too much
& wit’ yo nasty walk & such
you can fuhget about de promised land
you’ll nevuh reach de promised land

yo’ head is hard
yo’ temper’s quick
yo’ dirty jokes just make me sick
you can fuhget about de promised land
you ain’t gone see de promised land

“what I do makes me happy,
& this you’d begrudge?
when did God die & make you my judge?
all I’ve done, all I have
was done by my hand,
right now I’m in the promised land
I am in the promised land.”

you talk too much
yo’ words are brash
& yo’ deeds ill-thought & rash
you can fuhget about de promised land
you’ll never make it to de promised land

you foreswore yo’ father
you neglect yo’ mother
you deny yo’ sistah & brotha
you can fuhget about de promised land
you ain’t wanted de promised land

“how I live
is my own affair.
for your words
I have no care,
cause I’m livin’ in the promised land
I’m already in the promised land.”

you drink too much
& you smoke weed
fo’ others’ thoughts you have no need
you can fuhget about de promised land
you ain’t fit fo’ de promised land

yo’ only concern is
yo’ wants, yo’ goals
& you pursue both at the cost of your soul
you can fuhget about de promised land
you don’t belong in de promised land

“if narrow-minded people
like you can get in,
then I’m better off
with what you call sin.
I’ll make my own promised land,
I’ll make my own promised land.”

copyright © 2007 KPMCL

it's probably just coincigenocidal

In light of the acquittal of the police officers who murdered an unarmed Amadou Diallo, I offer “coincigenocidal”. Their acquittal is the proof that African-Americans are systematically being wiped off of the face of the earth . . . legally.

In light of the acquittal of the police officers who murdered an unarmed Sean Bell, I offer “coincigenocidal”. Their acquittal is the proof that African-Americans are systematically being wiped off of the face of the earth . . . legally.

In honor of all of the unarmed African-Americans killed by police officers in cold-blood, those unarmed African-Americans who will never receive justice, I offer:

coincigenocidal

perhaps it’s me, but,
i don’t doubt that it’s not.
perhaps it’s silly,
but, then,
i’m just not the type,
to simply fall for the hype.
there’s more to this than meets my eye,
and, i’d say that i know the reason why,
but, it can also happen to the little guy,
as easily as
to anyone else.
to stay alive, to survive,
it’s expedient not to accuse,
for to do so can be suicidal.
therefore, all i can say is that things
are, perhaps, not as i thought.
it’s probably just coincigenocidal.

this is my
beloved ghetto,
it is my
peace within chaos, my home . . .
that diminishes
daily.
they say that our drug addiction is suicide,
as clearly no government practices homocide.
therefore, that means
that we
are the systematic geniuses,
thus, we
the chemical masterminds
that gave us this drug called crack,
taking lives that we’ll never get back.
but hey, . . . sometimes, i’m super suspicious.
it’s probably just coincigenocidal.

those were my
beloved leaders,
they were my
hopes of holding my own, my guides . . .
that quickly faded
away.
they say that we have a way of killing off our own,
or, that our leaders were killed by assassins acting alone.
malcolm
had courage,
and, he made the x change,
and, martin
would be the one
to soften that change,
and make it all click,
until one day we got jealous, and gunned malcolm down,
and, then, martin made speeches on the wrong side of town.
so . . . pardon my paranoia:
it’s probably just coincigenocidal.

copyright © 1997, 2008 blackstarr

blackstarr52@gmail.com

Renaissance, New Millennium, coincigenocidal, genocide, conspiracy theory, racism, Amadou Diallo, Sean Bell, unarmed, acquittal

Ace of Trump (the race card)

I was at a friend’s "Windows Live" space the other day and she had made a post about an eighteen-year-old Caucasian on trial for displaying nooses on his truck. The display was an attempt to intimidate protesters who were waiting for a bus to return them to their hometowns, after the Jena 6 protest. This friend’s post included the term “playing the race card”. Every time I see that phrase, I am all too ready to hop up on my soap-box in an effort to make the world understand that “playing the race card” has its place, and that it should not be frowned upon as much as it usually is. I suppose that it depends on the definition that is employed. My use is not the idea of turning an issue into a race issue, but pointing out the fact that racial discrimination is at the root of the problem being discussed. The purpose, in my case, is to enlighten those who have not had the misfortune to have been at the wrong end of discrimination, and to point out the fact that things are not as "honky dory" as is claimed by the very ones who haven't been at that wrong end. Why do I do this? I do it because, inevitably, the question always arises "Why must you always bring race into the equation?", and it is a question that never seems to go away.

I’m fifty-six (56) years old, and African-American. There are those of us (African-Americans) who are a lot older than I am who have seen a lot more discrimination in their time and probably more than I will have seen in my lifetime, when it’s all been said and done. They have, somehow, found peace with what has happened over the years, as goes discrimination. Their bitterness has not faded into obscurity, but, they are less likely to make a big deal of it than some others – such as myself. I live a marvelous life with the ability to do just about whatever I please, but, I find that discrimination is alive and well. I feel that although it is a bit more contained and subtle now, it still puts me on the defensive at every turn. Therefore, I am quick to “play the race card”.

Subtleness is a very effective tool. One way that its use has proven to be very effective is in advertising. Just about all advertising uses “subliminal messaging” to sell their products. It works very well. We are bombarded with the same message over and over, so much so that we tend to block out those ads, and that’s where the effectiveness takes hold. It is similar to learning a foreign language by listening to tapes in one’s sleep. We don’t realize that the sound is there and we hear them “subliminally”, and, as a result, learn the language without even trying. The subtlety of discrimination works in precisely the same manner.

Let me give you an example of that subtlety that few people even realize exists. I’m not sure if they are still around, but, there once was a product known as “the Invisible Band-Aid”. It was “invisible” because it was touted to be the same color as your skin. Sorry, but, it wasn’t the color of my skin. One might ask “How is that discriminatory?” It is discriminatory by way of non-inclusion. In other words, “if this product does not blend in with your skin tones, then, this product just isn’t for you”. That probably sounds trivial, but, I assure you that it is far from insignificant. I’ve had both the pleasure and displeasure of working in not only suburban areas, but, rural areas as well. During that time, discrimination showed its ugly face almost daily. I have been in a store, in need of assistance and on many occasions, I’ve been told that the employee was already busy with a customer. I’m very cognizant of the world around me and when I know that the Caucasian customer being helped came into the store after me, and I am the last to be waited on, that’s (not so)subtle discrimination at its best. I’ve witnessed that sort of subtlety all too often in suburban and rural areas, although it is quite prevalent in the city as well.

I am most apt to climb aboard my soap-box when I hear a Jewish person speak with such fervor about the Holocaust, and he or she remarks how dreadful it was. They often want Germany put on trial over and over until they feel that justice has been served. I believe deep in my heart that what happened to the Jewish nation was absolutely horrible. It is, by far, one of the worst atrocities that has ever taken place. I have no real problem with Jewish people bringing up the Holocaust. It should be remembered in an effort to see to it that nothing of the sort ever happens again (of course, in light of Rwanda and Darfur, this practice fails miserably).

I have a problem when I’m told to stop bringing up the subject of slavery in America, as “it happened a long time ago. Get over it and move on.” Just about everybody in this country, with the exception of the American Indians, has ancestors who came here from some other country. In each and every case, one can trace their heritage back to some village in another land, down to the great, great, great, great so forth and so on –grand-parents. I do not have that luxury and I never will. When my ancestors were brought here on slave ships, no records were kept. The best that I can do is to go back about three or four generations. Beyond that, I am at a loss. I know that my heritage is African, but, from which country, from which tribe, I am unable to say – and will never be able to say. Like the Holocaust (which is always capitalized as opposed to lowercase “slavery” – subtlety?), slavery was an unforgettable atrocity. So, forgive me if I continue to remind the world that slavery in America was such a devastating event.

This is one of my favorite subjects, and I could digress ad infinitum. Rather than do that, I’ll leave you with this sentiment. When I feel discriminated against, I will speak on it. If I witness discrimination, I will, if feasible, act upon it. No matter how long it gets to be, if slavery and the atrocity of it should come up in the course of conversation, then so be it. If that’s what is meant by “playing the race card”, then, I guess “slavery in America” is the ace of trump, and I’ll never have a problem tossing that card upon the table.

This is blackstarr saying “Vive La Renaissance”.

copyright © 2008 blackstarr

Blackstarr52@gmail.com

Renaissance, New Millennium, discrimination, playing the race card, subtlety, slavery, Holocaust, Darfur, Rwanda