Black Boy Poems Page 6

  Aspiring allies who find themselves out of bounds in this way are guilty of appropriating our struggle—exactly how Iggy Azalea has made her living via "cultural smudging" according to Azealia Banks. Banks went in hard on Ms. Iggy, whose claim to fame is doing a horrible black faced/black voiced interpretation of a southern female rapper. This woman is the farthest thing from black; she's a super-white Australian, accent and all. Azalea has exploited black culture to garner fame and wealth but shows no connection to the people and struggles of the people who created her path to short-lived fame. This Iggy Azalea-like cultural smudging happens in movement work as well. "Activists" can be found using the black struggle and culture of black liberation movements to forward their own agendas. These cultural smudging activists take up space that should be held by a competent black man or woman or true dedicated allies.

  In 2015, we also saw another phenomenon in our communities of struggle. We have a few people running around the black struggle movement who are experiencing Dolezal syndrome. That statement is not meant to belittle Dolezal, but what she did was wrong. In the abstract, one can respect her active contribution to black liberation. She did put in time and work to better the condition of blacks in America. However, her contribution wasn't in the abstract; it was in a context of white supremacy and white privilege. She used her white privilege to become a crusader for black folks and eventually began to masquerade as one. That's the violation. Blackface is blackface; it doesn't matter whether you are putting on blackface for beneficial or harmful intentions. It is still blackface. The only real exemption would be for scientific reasons. A few researchers have attempted to darken their skin to live as a black person to publish their experiences with race in America.

  Dolezal was not doing this for science. She black-faced herself to a position of leadership in a community that would've accepted her and her contributions as a white woman. They would've accepted her as a white woman who loved black people and culture and wanted to be surrounded by all of the above for the rest of her life. Instead, she falsely claimed to be black. In doing so, she used the privilege she has as a white woman to exploit the experience of black people. That's a huge problem. It is not to be excused because it was well intentioned. She could've accomplished much of what she aspired to achieve in the black liberation struggle as a white ally, but she co-opted, violated, and perpetrated one of the craziest blackface episodes witnessed in American history. There are others who are on their Dolezal, co-opting and taking up space where they are not needed or simply doing too much when they can perform similar tasks as an ally.

  And this is one of the problems of movements in the modern world. Social media and technology make it easy to become a hashtag revolutionary. Our struggle at times is so thirsty for a voice that folks will listen to that we sometimes allow this to take place. This is dangerous because we know our movements have been infiltrated in the past by informants and government agents. COINTELPRO was very real. The federal government has actively worked to prevent the rise of strong black liberation movements. We can't afford to be so naive and believe all folks who step up have our best interests in mind. We don't know these people, nor do we know where they came from. We can't trust their intentions. We must control the message and direction of our movement. With all sincerity, aspiring allies, you might have an audience, and when you speak people listen, and that is a great resource, but it does not entitle you to anything. If you thought this, then sadly you are ill informed. You are not of us, and therefore don't speak for us. It's a trip that black people seem to be one of the only, if not the only oppressed group that others feel they have a right to speak up for in advancement of their struggle. This is completely antithetical to anything that ever happened in the history of the black movement.

  A very elementary lesson that can be learned from arguably the two most-celebrated figures of the black liberation movement in the twentieth century, Dr. King and Malcolm X, is they put work in. Neither one of them became who history knows them as now upon day one of entering their movements. Malcolm worked his way up through the ranks of the NOI and was eventually granted the position of national minister by the Honorable Elijah Muhammad. MLK spent time organizing in southern communities and was eventually selected by his community to lead. That's organic leadership. Both men were under heavy surveillance by the government and dealt with informants in their organizations. There are informants and surveillance now. If both Malcolm and King had to go through a process of acculturation and were held accountable by the communities they were selected to lead, then white allies or other allies are way out of bounds for thinking they can use their privilege to advance in any movement without going through the process of paying dues. They are sadly mistaken. Take your privilege and move to the ally section and wait your turn. If this is not to your liking, then you can leave.

  Race Relations Enthusiasts

  A smaller but still related issue to that of the race scholar and the out of bounds ally is that of the race-relations enthusiast. All of these types are problematic in their own way, but this one is uniquely flawed. The race-relations enthusiast is a person who enjoys or finds satisfaction in the discussion of race-related issues. The subject matter of race is fascinating to them. It's something like a hobby; race is intriguing and stimulating discussion material, an interesting conversation piece. Miss me with all of that. They want to discuss racism like some discuss their favorite athletes or favorite movies. You might hear one say that they like to hear other people's opinions on the matter of race. Others like to broach the subject to elicit a certain response in others they are talking to. Either way, the relegating of a very real matter to that of a sport or topic of interest is insensitive and idiotic.

  The reason why I think I despise this type so much is because they have the audacity to trivialize a "subject matter" that literally means life and death for millions of people. This illogical, selfish, uncivilized madness of racism is my reality, and the reality my people are faced with. You do not get the right to trivialize it into a subject for leisurely coffee table debate. Millions and millions of black people and other peoples have lost their lives, cultures, minds, and ways of life over the horrific abomination of racism that was created and patented by white Western civilization. We are not here for your academic review and theories. We are not here for you to pontificate over whether or not racism is real or if reparations are necessary. Racism is real, and reparations are definitely necessary. Our lives are not for your intellectual entertainment or for you to pass time with a robust clash of differing opinions about race. My people and I are in the field trying to survive while you sit comfortably at places of privilege or fire off comments online. Your posturing is pathological and disgusting. To sit and do nothing but talk for sport while people literally die is hideous and barbaric. And no, I will not be talking to you about this book.

  That's why these words are solely directed at the hearts, minds, and souls of my people. As Ms. Toni Morrison told the Guardian's Hermione Hoby in 2015, "I'm writing for black people, in the same way that Tolstoy was not writing for me, a 14 year old colored girl from Lorain, Ohio. I don't have to apologize or consider myself limited because I don't write about white people."

  I know white people and other non-blacks will read this text. Upon reading, they might experience a shock. The shock will be felt more by white society because the stories are not about them. Western civilization has fooled them into believing everything begins and ends with white people, but once they are able to get over that initial shock, they can find nourishment. That nourishment is necessary because we can all learn to be better, and there is a growing number of white and other non-black parents who have mixed and or black children. Ignorance is not an excuse, nor is it a shield from the plight your black child may face once they step outside your door. Your privilege might protect you, but it will not extend to your black loved ones. You better know the potential dangers that await your child. Their lived experience will be differen
t from yours, all because the larger society perceives them as black. That simple fact is the very reason why the hatred that America holds for black bodies just might show up at your doorstep draped around the neck of your child. You better pay attention and do what you can to arm and protect your offspring. This is exactly what black families have been trying to do for four centuries. Welcome to our world.

  Although the words that follow are for black people, the undeniable reality is these are stories about people. The human condition is the same, regardless of degree of melanin, time, place, and space. The one empirical fact that we as a society have yet to accept is that we in the human species are all the same. Western society has falsely chosen to erect imperialist dichotomies that have led to the stories that follow. So regardless of who you are and what you look like, if you look deep enough in these words, you'll find you.

  However, Black Boy Poems is for my fellow brothers and sisters who have been kissed by the sun, and covered in all the hues of that sublime blackness from head to toe. There is no word or form of manmade art that can truly describe our beauty and greatness. This is for us. I humbly present to you all, my family, the poetic fruit buried deep in my bosom by our loved ones who came before us. The themes of the narratives will be familiar because it is our experience. We know our problems extremely well because we've been confronted with them in the American context since 1619. We are almost 400 years into the experience of black in colonial and constitutional America. We are still fighting for the same things that we were stripped of once we were placed on those slave boats and shipped from our motherland to this new land, which held never-before-seen horrors and terrors that we would have to survive. We are still here! We are still surviving despite every attempt the system has ever made to ensure our demise. We are living and breathing miracles. We have found life in the most inhospitable of soils. We have thrived in a land that has envied and attempted to stifle our greatness. A land that has taken steps to silence our importance to the growth and development of this society. We are the hated bastard offspring of America. And to America's surprise, her hate and disdain for us has only made us stronger and more exceptional. We have been fashioned into the personification of black excellence. We will continue to be just that well beyond the days her hateful ways can no longer touch us. I am a proud Black Boy, and these are my poems for my people. May they be filled with the wisdom of our ancestors and enriched with a spiritual medicine to heal us all.

  41 Shots (1999)

  I speak to beats composed of African cries,

  spilled indigenous blood,

  horrified shrieks,

  prison doors locking,

  legalized lynchings

  police ammunition flying through the skies

  to contact black skin.

  Let's examine that last line once again.

  Police ammunition flying through the skies

  to contact black skin.

  My name is Amadou Diallo

  41 shots

  hit

  19 times

  these are simply the facts,

  now we are forced to ask a question

  what was my crime?

  Some say guilty of being black

  I agree.

  I see 4 plainclothes police officers

  I mean pigs

  approach me and ask me for my I.D.

  I oblige

  they reply

  with 41 shots

  I was hit

  19 times.

  The first shot severed my spine in 4 different places

  paralysis starts to set in

  I can no longer stand,

  an unarmed black man

  lying on the floor,

  never to them was I a threat

  but they still

  feel the need to fire 40 more shots.

  Stop!

  Whatever happened to

  innocent until proven guilty

  yet I am fatally wounded and filthy

  covered in the blood of my ancestors.

  I came in search

  of a better life

  the American Dream

  but Immigration never told me about the 500 year history of this racist nation

  I never heard about brothers and sisters like

  Rodney King,

  Tyisha Miller,

  Abner Louima,

  Fred Hampton,

  George Jackson,

  Bobby Hutton,

  Emmett Till

  Still I say

  I've committed no crime

  but it's illegal to be black in this country

  where they call me

  monkey,

  coon,

  and baboon,

  and scientists create theories to prove the inferiority of my skin tone,

  and police officers named

  pork-chop,

  piglet,

  pork rind,

  and swine

  legally lynch me

  and assassinate my 46 chromosomes,

  That's state sponsored genocide

  I can't even safely walk into my home.

  41 shots

  19 hits

  that's a 46% hit ratio,

  now do you see how these stereo-typical

  beliefs affect me here

  with the fears they associate with black people

  on movies, television, and radio.

  Black people are dumb,

  black people are addicted to drugs,

  black people are thugs with guns

  this is how come

  4 armed pigs can be afraid

  and fire 41 standard state issued nigger killers

  with the intention to kill just one

  innocent, unarmed brother

  I say it's because

  I'm a Black Man!

  __________________________________________________________________________

  Reflections of a Black Boy

  What does one do when compliance and disobedience can merit the same response, i.e. death? What move should one make when doing all the "right" things while in black skin can be just as fatal?

  How does one cope with the ever present and crystal clear reality that the greater society deems the destruction of your body as inconsequential?

  In the United States of America the control, torture, and extermination of black flesh and blood is akin to a national pastime.

  Where does one go mentally, spiritually or in any other way when the all too frequent reminders of the devaluation of black life come to visit?

  __________________________________________________________________________

  Amadou Diallo was killed in February of 1999. I was attending San Jose State, and one of my professors, Dr. Kwasi Harris, encouraged me to write something about Diallo's assassination. He knew I was an emcee, so he told me to put pen to paper and give voice to this public execution of a black man. Up to that time, I hadn't written poetry before, but I went home and returned the next day with this piece, “41 Shots.” Death is painful to deal with, murder is tragic, the constant murder of black lives is both tragic and traumatic. For black people in America we know that our death can be waiting for us at any place, any time. When one of our brothers and sisters is killed we feel the pain in knowing it could've been us. In essence we die a bit every time one of us is killed. As a result some of us have died thousands of times. I wasn't there on the street when the officers stopped brother Amadou. I didn't witness it with my own eyes, but the pain and anger I experienced in this event is clear in the words that I wrote.

  The black experience in many ways is lived vicariously because what happens to one can happen to any of us at any given time. I wasn't on the steps with police revolvers pointed at me, but I still experienced the trauma of an unarmed man reaching for his wallet upon directive from plainclothes law enforcement agents and ceremoniously being executed for doing so. I don't think I even knew at the time of writing the piece how hard his murder hit me. One of the survival
strategies we've learned through generations of American racist hate is to compartmentalize feelings in order to keep moving. We bottle up the hurt and the pain and put it somewhere inside our soul to deal with at another time. Periodically those bottled up emotions are triggered by an experience, and they break through the safety glass, spilling out over any and every thing. This poem was that spill of emotions, the glass shattered from the weight of the fragility of the black life. Amadou's death would not be the only time the safety glass was broken to pieces; I would experience more pain and trauma as more bodies were buried for similar "reasons" right next to Amadou.

  This was not the first time American hatred manifested in brutality or murder of black lives in my lifetime. I had witnessed the beating of Rodney King on television when news channels covered the story for days. I recall the feeling of disgust I felt when all officers were acquitted of any wrongdoing in mercilessly beating King for twenty-plus minutes for a traffic violation. That too, hurt. I was young but not too young to realize in that moment that the black life was undervalued. I couldn't fully comprehend all the dimensions of the racial hatred present in that brutal act, but I knew it was wrong.