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Everything posted by Gibran

  1. Gibran


    FEAR Nothing is more intimately related to the emotional welfare of the black male than the sum of his fears. From the start, it would be rather amiss of me if I didn’t relate that what I have discovered about fear is that fear can be either a life experience or a life sentence dependent upon the torque and velocity of that particular fear. For example, my fear of fire has prevented me from foolishly thrusting my hand into an open flame, and it is precisely fear of this nature that has proven to be a life-affirming experience. Then you have, on the other hand, those fears that are so mind-numbing they are a “emotional” life sentence. I am not certain about this, but I do honestly believe that fear is more of a threat to an introvert than to an extrovert due to the intensely brooding demeanor of an introvert. Anyway, my fears introduced themselves to me quite early, and one of my first fears was that I would not be allowed to be what I wanted to be. As a shorty, thanks to Perry Mason, I wanted to grow up to became a lawyer. but I remember clearly what I was quietly told by my beloved Grandmother. She sadly informed me “colored boys couldn’t be lawyers”. She told me that I needed to focus on becoming a brick-mason. I do recall that it was shortly after I had gotten this piece of bad news about my future vocation that I stood in front of the class, and when asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I solemnly replied that I wanted to be a “flim-flam man!” I am quite convinced that I had no idea at the time what a flim-flam man was, but I had heard one of the older neighborhood boy say that that was wanted he wanted to be, and since I looked up to Greg, I thought that it might be nice if I became a flim-flam man as well. It was Greg who taught me how to steal out of stores after I had gotten busted at nine, stealing a horn out of Pep Boys, but more about him at a later time. Despite the fact that I possessed other fears, such as the universal childhood fear of walking through a dark alley, or the more ethnically black fear of snakes, the one fear that was constantly being imposed upon me consciously, unconsciously, and subconsciously was the fear of the white man. Notwithstanding the fact that at that time in my young life, I had had zero experience with while folks, I got the message. Without even understanding the nature of the threat the white man posed to me, I was subliminally seduced into knowing, without any shred of doubt, that he, indeed, was one. One evening while me and the crew were assembled in the coal shed in my backyard, the subject came up, and one of my “play” cousins schooled us. He said that it wasn’t so much the fear of the white man that counted. What did count, however, was the fear of “what the white man could do to you.” Given that scenario, it would be relatively easy for a young brotha of that era to entertain the notion that yes, the white man, could put “his black ass in jail” since all the police were white, as evidently were all the lawyers, not to mention the prosecutors and judges. Yeah, no doubt, the white man could rock a brotha’s world, but what about the other extreme such as the fear of needing the white man? In the same tradition as all the police were white, so were all the fire men. If your house caught on fire, you couldn’t expect any help from brothas, so what if the white men–--the firemen--–didn’t come? How would you eat if the white grocers removed their stores from your block, What about if you got sick, or needed to catch a taxi? The fear of needing the white man became an acquired taste that prematurely gave birth to the notion of the white man as a “savior!” which black women instantly embraced. For the baby girl, it’s Santa. To the sista on the block, it’s Uncle Sam with his welfare check, and to the sista in the church, it’s Jesus. It’s funny now, but when I was young, mannish boys didn’t get threatened with the bogeyman. We were told, instead, about the white man getting us. I sadly recall being told that by my Moms although she wasn’t talking directly to me. What had happened was that I was coming down pretty hard on my sister for wearing one of my jackets without my permission. My Mom ended the argument by telling my sister that she wouldn’t have to worry about me much longer “because the white people were going to get me” . I had been twelve. By no stretch of the imagination, did I, for one second, think that she meant that the white man was coming to rescue me as a savior. Nope, that wasn’t the intended message at all. Let me tell you about another incident that happened to me when I was twelve that so aptly demonstrates how the magic of “white superiority” is so subtle that once it manifests itself in any form whatever, the results are so powerful that it is almost irrefutable. Now, this is my story about how I was unconsciously, and perhaps subconsciously, victimized by the fear and awe of the white man that begins to color the social perspective of black men from the moment of inception. We were living in the projects by now, and for the very first time in my life, lived in a house with hot running water! Prior to this, in order to take a hot bath, we had to heat water up in a foot-tub by placing it on the pot-bellied stove. Having hot water was cool, but the feature of the house that fascinated me most was that I could cut the lights on and off with a flick of a switch on the wall rather that pulling a string attached to the light. Man, that was progress in 1964 for a brotha coming from First Ward. Okay, the story is this. It was a wonderfully, pleasant fall evening, and I was simply roaming the neighborhood, having nothing better to do. For some reason, I stopped at the house of a family friend. Anyway, the Potts family were upstairs doing something which left me alone to watch TV. The nightly news was on, and when the news was on, it was on all three channels so there was no escape from the news. As it turned out, this was when they were getting ready to commence daylights saving time. I was visibly impressed, albeit a wee bit silly. You can laugh if you so choose, but I somehow thought that the white man was going to get into one of his rocket-ships, fly into space, and then to manually rotate the earth on its axis to alter time by one hour. Quite assuredly, if I would have stuck around for the rest of the broadcast, I would surely have learned that despite my fanciful version of DST, all that was required was that you merely reset your clocks. But I didn’t stick around. Why should I? How could I? After hearing this, I had first-hand knowledge of the white man’s absolute power. Damn, the white man was a bad man. In a fit of stupid euphoria, I stumbled out of Miss Charlie Mae’s house, out into her front yard., and stood there, staring in the skies, transfixed. “The white man was going to turn back time.” You didn’t get any more powerful than that. At that moment, this was real. This, for me, was no fantasy, and I needed no more convincing: The white man was the bomb! Needless to say, it probably didn’t help matters much that one of the biggest TV programs of that era had been Superman, and there was this one scene, in particular, where I vividly recall Superman all up in space, twisting around one of the planets, probably earth to save it from I don’t know what. Emotionally, I equated the white man with Superman. And how could I forget that other bastion of white maleness, Tarzan. When I was younger, still living on 6th Street, I was cheering Tarzan on as he fucked up a whole tribe of brothas. My Mama got angry with me and told me that no white man could beat up that many ‘colored’ men. There is perhaps a sizable number of black men from that era who absorbed lessons of this sort, “mythifying” the white man. After all, how can you defy a man which you had mythified.
  2. Wow....Brotha Troy, I see that you are 100% committed to the mission of exposing Amazon. Continue to teach. I remember clearly when you first informed me personally of Amazon's penchant for dealing from the proverbial bottom of the deck. That was many years ago before I stepped away from writing and all related activities. It was you who told me how authors leave money on the table when dealing via Amazon, and that got my attention because as a hustler, I never enjoyed the thought of someone taking something from me. Being that I considered your advice valuable, I even managed to open my own online bookstore for a while. I, currently, am embroiled with the company in question over certain of their practices. For a fact, the transition from CreateSpace to KDP was by no means seamless. During the conversion process, the interior of some of the books were disfigured. In some places, there were blank spaces between sentences, In other places, entire sentences were squeezed together as if a single word. One book that was previously printed is now blocked. Herein lies the problem. Writers, such as myself, who are not tech-savvy are eager to turn over the reins to someone else, especially when the major publishing houses are seemingly out of reach, and writers, such as myself, viewed Amazon as the McDonald's of the self-publishing world so the lure is practically irresistible. To a rookie in the game, such as myself, finding a One Stop Shop for all my publishing dreams was better than getting "fries with my milkshake. Man, this was Wal-Mart! I don't care what the industry may be, but any time a single business entity can make you believe, whether by clever advertising or by brute force, that they are the future, then total control is there for them to seize. In any event, writers, such as myself, are mortified at the notion of having to do more work after finishing the book, and Voila, there is Amazon, the "too-good-to-be-true" babysitter for your book. Yes, brotha Troy, you need to teach! Writers must be educated to know that success in writing a book must be accompanied by the success of getting the book into the hands of readers.
  3. January 1st Don’t believe the hype! There are only 7 days a year. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday. It’s just that they come at U 358 more times in a bewildering array of brilliant disguises. -Ali- Until you have made a happy landing at that place called YOU, there is no need to even consider making resolutions. You don’t know who you are, so how can you choose wisely? Without intimate knowledge of your real needs, you will tend to choose what speaks loudest or sparkles brightest. There must exist a continuing sense of loyalty to yourself, and then you must crush all the remnants of the person you were molded to be by others. Then you work with what’s left. That’s the framework that leads to YOU. HAPPY LANDING! January 2nd Anything is something when you have nothing on your mind -Ali- Be Real! When you begin to take meaningful steps to throw off the shackles of oppression that yoke you spiritually, physically, mentally, financially, you must accept the fact that affirmations, no matter how potentially powerful, do not work unless you are on a level playing field. Be real about that fact. Too many people start the year under the false illusion that affirmations are some sort of “poetic” genies and that if they shout them loud enough or often enough, seeming magic will occur. Not hardly. Be real. An affirmation concedes nothing without the dirty work that must precede it. January 3 Life is a point between birth and death where nuthin’ exists beyond good and evil except The miserable failure of men who throw themselves in open competition with God. -ali- Consider this: one reason for the low self-esteem of many black women is that they willingly participate in the condescending ritual of allowing the black man to set himself up as a rival to God. In the name of love, they silently watch as their existence is slowly diminished while they are emotionally murdered. God, in His Infinite Wisdom, created woman to be a queen, a mother, a nurturer, but merely because man, in his puny arrogance, feels he can make better use of her as a “ho” or a dope fiend, she permits herself to be transformed. Why? Because of the foolish desire to love someone not her equal!
  4. THE TRUTH HURTS What we have here is the abject failure of those who make the laws to keep in mind the laws of karma. Thanks to hard-hitting, soul-taking punitive laws, we are now experiencing the natural outgrowth of the seeds spawned by these draconian measures. Ever heard the old adage about “the same thing that makes you laugh, makes you cry. Right now, we are at the crying part. No so very long ago, politicians and other law-and-order folks, were patting each other on the backs, and celebrating just how successful they had been at enacting the most stringent criminal laws in history. Now, we shed tears because we are currently living through the holocaust conjured up by these laws. I cannot even begin to imagine how many times some judge in some courtroom, somewhere in America has looked down on someone he was about to sentence, telling the guy about how ‘actions carry consequences’. Well, what I’d like to say right now to those judges is “that’s back at ya! If I was a drinking man, I would raise a glass in toast and say, “Here’s looking at you, kid, your fucking chickens are coming home to roost!” There was a bank robbery yesterday in a town a few miles from Charlotte where the robber decided to shoot it out. In the process, he was killed. He held court in the streets. Get used to it, because this is a trending lifestyle in the criminal world. A’int nobody got time to go to prison no mo’, so crooks are taking it upon themselves to see to it that they get a fair trial in the streets. Blood is going to flow because what possible judicial incentive can there even remotely be when you know before you even plan the crime that there is no parole? Given that reality, getting killed in a shootout offers a double bonus. One, you get to avoid prison time, and secondly, you get the chance to take others, preferably the police, to hell with you. This threat is very real, and it is one that has been in the incubator, warming up since the seventies. I remember Comrade George Jackson, who was killed while in prison. saying in his book of that era about how he was going to shoot it out with the cops if they ever tried to arrest him again. He said that he was going to put us such a firefight that the cops who finally did manage to slay him would get congressional medals of honor for outstanding valor! And now for a moment of confession. I know many who are of the same mind. I have a friend who, like me, no longer breaks the law, Thank God, because if he still did, this is what he said he would do. He said that he was tired of running from the police and if he had committed a crime, and they were looking for him. he would not run a single step. He would strap up, meaning he would get a vest of explosives, and walk right into the police department, and blow the bitch up. I realize how harsh and unforgiving that may seem, but that it precisely what he would do. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. He would feel like so many others do, that he don’t have a choice but to hold court in the streets. Even in diplomatic circles, when two countries are embroiled in a conflict, the country on the losing end must be allowed a way to save face. He will concede, but he must be permitted to save face. Well, back in the days, parole, probation, and leniency, were all “plums” that permitted a criminal to concede and still have something to look forward to in court. But not now…….so why even bother when you can hold court in the streets where you can be the judge, the jury, and executioner. If you wonder why the streets are so unsafe, don’t take the easy way out by merely pointing at the actions of the powerless without assessing the damage caused by those in power whose took away the safety valves, and opened the floodgates. The police, no matter how well-founded their intentions, will be helpless to stop crime because they don’t understand the psychological culture of what is happening right under their noses, let alone the emotional mindset that engineers everything. Anyway, just like in the Bob Marley song, “every day the bucket goes down to the well, one day the bottom will fall out.” Well, in this society, the bottom has fallen out. So how much worse is it gonna get? Who knows. You know it’s pretty darn bad any time you live in a so-called civilized society, the greatest on earth, and you are terrified of going to court. At one time, this proverbial ‘day in court’ was one of the most famous linchpins of modern-day America. Now, it is the most feared and unpopular. What else must be noted is this and it is vital. Prisons are bad, okay, and no one wants to go back but no one wants to be poor in the free world either. In a nutshell, you have hell fixing to break loose because when you have terrible laws on one hand, and lawless prisons on the other, what you have then is a vow that some prisoners make upon their departure from prison. This “out the door” , Don’t-take-me-alive, vow becomes the bread and butter of his life. But what anyone outside the culture will probably never understand is that this vow not to be taken alive by the police provides something that is both prized and priceless: Absolute Freedom! Believe it or not, but this “Don’t Take Me Alive” Philosophy allows a man to do whatever the fuck he pleases. He knows what’s in it for him, and once he works out the kinks of his willingness to die, then what is there to stop him for doing as he chooses? He has no restraints. He fears nothing. He is totally free. America, your chicken are coming home to roost. For more, follow my blogs.
  5. O black woman, do you know who you are? It is you for whom the birds sing when the dawn opens itself for inspection. It is the glow in your eyes that the stars imitate when they sparkle. It is the color of your flava that makes the rainbow dull in comparison, and it is via your beauty that we can physically witness God’s artistry.-Gibran- • O black woman, do you know who you are? You are the secret that only reveals itself when a man is truly ready to experience the joy of having his dream transformed into reality. You are God’s private blessing to men who know what to do within the point between birth and death. To dwell within the kingdom of YOU is where heaven begins. -Gibran- • O black woman, do you know who you are? You are both the starting point and the finish line for everything I could ever aspire to be. You are a force of nature that has broken my shackles so that I can walk freely. You have erased my doubts so that I can think clearly. You have repaired my broken wings so that I can soar beside you. -Gibran- • O black woman, do you know who you are? You are the magic that awes the universe, the splendor that amazes the earth, and the glory that makes men heart beat with pride when they attempt to possess u. -Gibran- • O black woman, do you know who you are? You are the beautiful gift that God left on the doorstep of my heart. You are that special moment in time when nothing else matters but most importantly, you are YOU! Unmistakably YOU! -Gibran- • O black woman, do you know who you are? You are the sunshine that lights my life from within. You are the fire that warms every fiber of my being and that illuminates my path so that I am never afraid of the darkness. -Gibran- • O black woman, did u know that when I stare in the skies the stars spell your name? I feel your touch in the wind and I see your face in the clouds. And when I stand under the shadow of your smile, I find shelter from the storm. -Gibran- • O black woman, do you know who you are? You are that warm safe place where all roads lead at the end of a day when I have slayed all my dragons and find that all of my strength comes from you. You melt on my life and I become complete. -Gibran- • O black woman, do you know who u are? You are chocolate, dipped in mystery, a specially-designed flava whose smile is brighter than the rainbow. -Gibran-
  6. Yes, that was part of my upbringing, and those were the lessons we were taught coming into the street Life. In 1964, I was a part of that crowd that entered into white schools for the first time, and let me tell you something, it was stressful. All during the summer of 64, we, (the students) were looked upon as pioneers and it was made clear to us that the whole 'colored' race was depending on us. In church, the sermons were geared to us, telling us about the importance of what was to happen when school started. Basically, they were afraid that the white students would humiliate us by showing just how much smarter they were than us. Brotha Troy, we represented. Still, though, we messed up the hood with the so-called "teachings" of the white coaches
  7. THE OTHER END OF THE STICK The social revolution for the control of the black image had a profound impact on the sistas as well. Oppression was not solely a franchise for the black male because harnessed to his very existence was the black woman. After 1865, once she was no longer needed as a breeder of slaves, she posed a definite threat. By the start of the 19th century, the black woman was no longer viewed as a “transitional” figure in the dark menace. She was the producer of it. And as the creator of this scourge, what to do about her only became a matter of timing. All things considered, white America exercised uncommon restraint regarding the black woman. That, considering their disdain for her sons, was admirable. Initially, white tolerance was exemplified by the government’s ban on having more than two children, ads while this was a blanket decree to all women, it was no doubt a nasty strike at the black population explosion. Yet, black births continued. Once it became apparently clear that black procreation couldn’t be legislated, a vicious sterilization program was enacted. By the mid 1930s, under the banner of Psychiatry’s Racial Purity :aw, over 15,000 sterilizations were performed in this country, mainly by Dr. Lorthup Stoppard, an avowed racist, who believed what he was doing was humanitarian. In 1939, the founder of Planned Parenthood, Margaret Sanger, proposed a plan to eliminate black babies. She hired black preachers with “engaging personalities” to spread the message that sterilization was the solution for poverty. However, just before this phase of the sterilization project could kick off, worldwide protests shut it down as a human rights violation. America would be forced to halt its sterilization program------or to justify it. Conveniently, it was around this time that the concept of IQ was used by Uncle Sam to continue his project under the guise of :scientific justification”. Within a short time, Lewis Terman, declared that blacks were so feeble-minded that they should not be allowed to reproduce. Now, with so-called scientific justification. The program finally had legs, and in New Orleans, black prisoners were experimented on, and given electrode implants. The psycho-surgery was performed by Dr. Robert Heath of Tulane University, who bragged that “niggers were cheaper to use in experiments than cats because niggers were everywhere.” Not wanting to miss all the fun, the CIA funded the infamous Dr. Heath to conduct LSD experiments on brothas in the Louisiana State Penitentiary. Not to be outdone, The National Institute of Mental Health got their licks in by feeding brothas a drug, B3, which is 100 times more powerful than LSD. Some of the brothas hallucinated for 77 days in a row! The Civil Rights Movement helped little as The Mental Retardation Facilities and Communities Health Centers Act was passed in 1963 which placed black school children at great peril. Funded by NIMH, and founded by Dr. Robert Felix, this was white America’s boldest strike against brothas and sistas. This time, they were going for our jugular-----the children. The government, at every level, gave Felix the absolute power to administer powerful psychotropic drugs known to induce aggressive and violent behavior! Dr. Felix’s Mental Health Center’s Act put psychologists and psychiatrists in public schools in ever=growing numbers, and as the numbers increased, the SAT scores decreased. All at once, teachings about morals, ethics, and human cooperation were substituted with a new “value clarification” system devised by who else---the psychiatrists. These programs led to a moral decline as students were conditioned to choose personal choice over social responsibility. And this was merely Headstart. In 1965, “Special Education”classes were established via the US Elementary and Secondary Education Act. Now, let’s pause for a bit of reflection. In 1930, 80% of African-Americans over 14 could read. Sixty years later, after twenty=five years of Special Ed, only 56& of the black population could read. Since Dr. Felix, the suicide rate for brothas, 15-19, has zoomed. Surprised. Well, it was known that the drugs would result in violent and suicidal behavior! On any other planet, it would be astounding that a nation that had tricked unsuspecting black kids into taking mind-altering drugs known to cause violence would a decade or so later want to hunt them down because they were violent and irrational. Additionally, Lonnie J. West, a psychiatrist, formerly of UCLA’s Neuropsychiatric Institute, preached that the violence of black, urban males was genetic, he recommended castration as a remedy. It was only after nation wide protests that federal funding dried up, but it was revived in 1982 when Duke University’s Medical School was provided funding to study aggression in black children. A report by the African-American Coalition for Justice in Social Policy indicates that NIMH’s research parallels the skyrocketing violence in the hood. Jim Brewer of the Coalition stated that “most of the violence in the last three decades has been the results of experiments in the form of drug therapy and psychological school programs. Theses have ravaged our inner cities and manufactured criminals out of young people, all because we unwittingly allowed psychiatrists and psychologists to study behavior in our schools instead of leaving teachers to teach education.” If you, by now, entertain the notion that we have been set up, then welcome to the club.
  8. <<<<<< And what about the beloved black woman? No doubt, she still represented a sizable threat, and there was no great willingness on the part of white America to insanely believe the ‘black male’ problem could be effectively neutralized or fixed by their pet projects (sterilization, mental health centers, prisons) so they had, by necessity, to adopt a more proactive approach when it came to dealing with the black woman’s complicity. Here is the essential point. And in all fairness, it must be understood that the black woman, like the black man, is a finished product of white racism, so at best, many of her reactions/responses are instinctual/automatic. Having said that, the black woman is ‘possessed’ with the most idealized concept of the white man as a savior-in-waiting. To the older sista, it’s Jesus. To the sista in the ‘hood, it’s Uncle Sam with his welfare checks. And to the young sista, it’s Santa Claus. Sadly, this super-sized Mighty Whitey image is still alive and well in certain circles. What’s worse is that sistas are extremely disillusioned with brothas-----or at least our capacity to address, or even better yet, to satisfy their expectations of us. Since day one, there has been little doubt about what black women wanted. Sistas have always demanded security, and had every reason to initially believe that we would be able to sponsor the notion. And why not? The black woman was no idle spectator in what black men had done for the white man. She, indeed, was a personal witness to the manner in which we had labored to grow this country from nothing. She, with her own eyes, had seen the magic emanate from our hands as we had conjured up crops from a barren earth. At no point was the sista absent as we went about the business of making cities out of wilderness, of making cotton king, or of making the white man wealthy. So after this visual testimony, how could the black woman expect less from us. CHAPTER 6 The Blank Slate/Full Plate Syndrome One of the primary difficulties facing the post-slavery black female was the ability to make herself a woman. Slavery, no doubt, where sistas had toiled in the fields as long and as hard as the brothas, rewarded her nothing due to gender. Sure, sistas gave birth and, for a period, raised children, but more times than not, the major characteristic of sex was to breed which was simply another chore to be performed. The end of slavery should have brought about, for sistas, a return to femininity, but just what was it? After a lengthy 250 years of being treated as chattel property with no true opportunity to grow psychologically as a woman, black women had no clear knowledge of the African rituals and customs that defined womanhood, and since black womanhood was heretofore unknown on these shores, sistas were left with a blank slate on which to define themselves. But how was this to be accomplished? Since she had worked as an equal in the back-breaking work of the field, had shared equally the horror of servitude, had eaten the same coarse food, and had worn equally coarse, unflattering clothes, did sistas demand full equality with brothas? Or did they borrow heavily from Miss Ann, the slave mistress which provided the only comprehensive view of womanhood that black women had ever seen? Either way, ultimately, black women would be compelled to become feminine, and essentially this shift in perspective would be as traumatic for sistas as learning to be breadwinners would be for the brothas. For certain, both these factors had an obvious impact on the complexities of black life today. Notwithstanding anything else, black women had to acknowledge that the essence of womanhood did not evolve from the authority of their vaginas because on the other side of their fertility, there were such subtle cues as hair, makeup, nails, attire, etc, whose proper use tended to legitimize the arts of feminine seduction. Since sistas had no experience in this, the arts of femininity would have to arise out of the black woman’s imitation of Miss Ann since they possessed nothing from their personal experiences as slaves that could provide them the wealth of information required to become more than ritualistic caricatures of true womanhood. Titties and ass only set men off in pursuit of them sexually, and though physical assets may not have offered the true secrets of femininity, they became the initial building blocks of black femininity. With not much else, titties and as became the physical electives that awarded sistas the ‘everlasting life’ of womanhood. The invention of a black femininity, never accomplished in the new world would not be easy following a lifestyle of being a sexual object. Additionally, when compared to Miss Ann, sistas could not identify anything about themselves that would brand them as sexy. Their entire image was organized around the ‘plantation mammy’, an apron-wearing, dirty-faced, rag-headed matron. Surely, no pin-up model, and hardly the ideal on which to base their collective worth. And what of the ethical behavior that would, most definitely, have to accompany the new, black femininity? Sistas simply could not establish an image without the underlying ethics to maintain it since the freedom to be true to themselves would be more a condition of good decision-making rather than physical attributes. What would be crucial when black women made their new covenant with themselves would be---for the most part---how much slavery had affected their opinion of themselves on three very vital levels. They undoubtedly would have to determine how bondage had affected them as (1) humans,(2) as women, and (3) as black. And since all three were closely related to their most innate sense of being, if anything that had happened during slavery which could not be rationalized or repressed on any level, then they would lack the power to confirm themselves as complete or healed. There can be no argument that bondage was a unique experience for the black woman, one where her capacity as a human was ignored, her womanhood denounced, and her blackness pronounced a curse. Admittedly, not much to kindle optimism, but the sista had to be reborn out of these ashes. But what kind of self-worth could possibly evolve from a prior life where she had been a possession of the white man, and an obsession to the black man?
  9. <<<<<< The theory goes that the road to our self-hatred had been paved long before this, and that black on black crime that was an offshoot of this mentality had actually been seeded with the actions of a tiny elite: the integrationists , and the athletes. With hindsight, we all realize that integration was not the sacred cow black leaders had hoped it would be. For some reason, integrationists, acted on the principle that our problems would be solved by living next door to Mr. Charlie and Miss Ann. Never had our leaders been so wrong. 1964. In 1964, American politics were a constitutional hodge-podge, and it is highly unlikely that Congress was unaware of what would ultimately happen once HUD{Housing and Urban Development}, without ceremony, crashed the gates of black America to raze the slums to the ground. More than anything else, the cranes and the bulldozers should have been welcomed, and the demolition crews applauded as hard-hat heroes. What happened next was social genocide, the heady stench of white folks trying to perform a miracle of doing good to a people they didn’t know a damn thing about. Sometimes, the charity of white people can be a harrowing experience. When the urban renewal program came thundering through the hood in 1964, the bulldozers which were the precious toys of integration also knocked over black, family life because white researchers failed to recognize how tight-knit black communities were at that time. Despite all the lavish spending to integrate blacks into the social fabric of America was socially spoiled because no one wanted the black youth------except white coaches! For them, integration was a sports bonanza, and at last they had gotten access to the fabled nigga athlete. Dreams of a sports dynasty danced in their heads. To the black urban male, sports was the most masculine endeavor he could envision, but white coaches re-created the values these youth had been taught to cherish. Everywhere in the hood from the preachers, the pimps, playas, and coaches, the youngbloods were taught the etiquette of black sportsmanship. You never kicked a man when he was down; you never hit below the belt; you always gave a man a fair fight. In the hustling world, it was preached that you never took a man’s last, and that you always gave him a little something to go home with. This was “street” wisdom and there was nothing shabby about it. Even as a foe, the black man was first and foremost, a brotha. The atmosphere in the white world was totally different, a complete reversal of the teachings in the black community. White coaches preached the theory that coming in second was for suckers, that you win at all costs, that it was your duty as an athlete to succeed by any means necessary. You kicked your opponent when you had him down, you punched him in the balls, and you took everything he had. The quality and diversity of this new gospel sounded exotic to the black youth who swallowed it up, figuring that, at long last, they had found the Holy Grail, the esoteric knowledge that had granted the white man the power to do all the great things they had done. The black athlete felt privileged to finally have this key to success because If these pearls of wisdom had worked so well for the white man, surely they would work for him. And it was then that black neighborhoods became the testing grounds for these new-fangled teachings. Like the Golden Horde that poured out of the Mongolian steppes, black athletes, already aggressive, bumrushed the hood and turned it inside out. Learning from scratch, these brothas went about the destruction of black America with uncommon arrogance. Methodically, these brothas sought out the rules to becoming king-of-the-hill with the same intensity of an Einstein in search of the theory of relativity, or a Newton hunting for the laws of gravity. For the first time, blacks made it a career to taking advantage of other blacks. Even during slavery, the question of stealing from another black was a not a question at all. It was a foregone conclusion. Taking from the white man could never-----under any circumstances-----be deemed stealing. It was stealing only when you took from another black. Before 1064, and the teachings, most black on black crime were crimes of passion; unfortunate lover’s quarrels, or juke joint murder where the liquor got to talking a little too loudly. Hardly ever did blacks prey on one another, if not out of brotherly love, hen out of the notion that “niggas ain’t have shit worth taking noway.” Either way, black property was safe from the hands of other blacks. True enough, we started defecating where we laid our heads.
  10. Peace: Yes, it has been quite a while. I was completely out of the loop as far as the book world was concerned. Man, it is a jungle out there. I met more unsavory and shady characters out in the business world than I ever confronted in my 35 years in prison. I'm traumatized and may need therapy to restore my faith in humanity. Well, it wasn't quite that bad, but I know that you know exactly whereof I speak. As far as the books, I did myself a real disservice by opting to convert some of my work to conform to the taste of the street lit crowd. I was influenced by the work of The Harlem Renaissance,and I fully intended for all of my work to reflect that, but it is what it is. Basically, I'm reforming my work. so I have done away with some of the earlier titles. I will make sure that I send only the links that matter. Take care. Happy New Year
  11. A New Day Has Dawned In The World Of Urban Literature With SoulFire Books! Soulfire Books CHARLOTTE, N.C. - January 1 2019— At SoulFire Books, our mission is to elevate and to evolve African-American literature by being fundamentally committed to being at the forefront of a new direction in our literary progression. At SoulFire Books, we acknowledge the awesome power of language simply because we understand how words shape and influence our behavior. And with this in mind, we fully intend to explore and to exploit the richness of the English language in a concerted attempt to breathe new life into the narrative of African-American literature. At SoulFire Books, we will teach, we will heal, and we will be unapologetic about our mission to introduce and to acquaint you with some of the most progressive African-American literature of our times. SoulFire Books, a vehemently strong advocate of social consciousness, is the direct outgrowth of our burning desire to reform African-American literature, and to that end, Soulfire Books is here to free urban literature of its rigid reliance on sexual gimmicks, predictable plots, and unrepentant repetitiveness. At SoulFire Books, we have built a strong body of work that will not only complement the work of the Harlem Renaissance, but will complete it. Gibran Tariq, CEO and Founder of Soulfire Books, who has spent 35 years of his life in some of the toughest prisons in the country, emphatically declares that, "Any time the literature of a colonized people does not aggressively confront the conditions and plight of that people, then their writers have failed them." Tariq adds that from the very onset of the literary tradition of black people in this country, the primary focus of the written word has always been to inform, to educate, and to warn. Explore the vast literary world of Soulfire Books where black literature has a purpose. Expose yourself to urban lit with a conscience where we don't merely welcome your literary presence, we celebrate and enhance it. Check out any of the works we offer at SOULFIRE BOOKS and see for yourself if we stand up and measure up to our boast. We are utterly convinced that what you will discover to your total satisfaction is that we practice what we preach! GET WOKE! Visit our website for more information and let us satisfy your literary desires. www.soulfirebooks.com MEDIA CONTACT: soulfirebooks09@gmail.com 980 299 0867
  12. Author: Gibran Tariq Book: The Unmaking Of The Black Man (and the negative impact of image in America) ISBN: 9781732454903 Publication date: June 14, 2018 Link to book: http://www.soulfirebooks.com/picks/books/the-unmaking-of-the-black-man_full.jpg ATTENTION: The Unmaking of The Black man is a searing commentary on the negative image of the black man in America. The Unmaking Of The Black Man is an unapologetically precise exploration of the reasons why the black man will never achieve any emotional peace in this country until he, at last, controls and protects his image. This book offers countless observations and page-by-page examinations of just how much the emotional lives of black people in this country have been damaged by an image that was constructed out of the fears of white America. In all cultures known to man, most of the emotional strength of that culture is derived from the image of that culture because throughout recorded history, nothing has suited man more than an image he could trust. Image, like your name, takes effect upon birth. A good one is added security to the right that are the naturally-occurring rewards of a strong image whereas a bad one acts as the burial rites for all your hopes and dreams. No matter your religious belief, it is pretty much agreed upon that the very first gift God gave to man was image, but during antiquity, this spiritual image collapsed at the end of the sword, and now that man was free to reinvent himself, the inevitable happened. He altered his image from God-like to man-made, and once the heirs of this innovative concept discovered that survival was much easier when pursuing an offensive policy rather than a defensive one, the beginning of the “Might makes Right” era was ushered in. Although the pattern of peoples starting over again has been repeated countless time throughout history, we would be the first people to attempt it without the “hereditary gift” of a good image which meant we had to draw upon memory to chronicle our new history, but when it comes to remembering, what was there except the convulsive reminders of our total powerlessness. Now is the time to read this book!
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