"They tell us we are all citizens, that we were born in this country. Well a cat can have kittens in the oven, but that doesn't make them bisquits."
-Al Hajj Malik El Shabazz aka Malcolm X.
Politics for me has been quite easy to understand for one stark as well as sad reason. As a Black man, I was born into politics, bred and bled into the sad political atmosphere we all know to exist today.
From the moment we are born into this country and given a social security number, all Americans, not just Black Americans are considered a "Unit of Production." For my political education I was given a boost from my community as well as family to survive any political irelevalance or as I say political incorrectness I might face against me. For this reason as well as others found in the history of oppression and togetherness, I hold the idea of Community and Family that much more dear.
This is simple blog about what it's like to be a Black guy, any more dissection of the facts might prove too difficult for understanding, although factual, or perhaps too difficult for some to digest.
From birth my education exceeded and superseded any following messages that were thrown at me, for one, I was taught that Black is Beautiful from the git and my father tells me of two times I was affected. My first preschool, where the teachers punished me and we're mad that I could count very far, yet did not know the concept of zero, I remember well. My mother ran a daycare before she chose to leave at age 4 1/2, and I learned reading and arithmetic early. Yet that one day in preschool it escaped me. I remember my first school crush was a White girl with reddish blonde hair named Magan however I didn't know until a teenager that I had asked my father what a Nigger was, for I was called one multiple times and that was the reason he removed me from Palo Verde in Palo Alto and enrolled me in the Schule, a great Afrocentric approach to education.
The second time I had an issue with what we know today, taught as "Race relations," was when a young friend of mine, a little girl, as Black as any I've seen told me that she was not African. I had a serious issue with this at age six, as I knew all people of the diaspora coming from the continent in slave ships are indeed African, a blanket term used to identify a people whose region of ancestry, culture and language was not apparent, in the Black American's case, raped, stripped and whipped out of. Not to mention the millions that did not make the cross-Atlantic journey of tears with sharks trailing ships. Note: sharks still follow large ships til this day, as the atrocities were so herrendous, we, the Black People are embedded in their DNA.
My folks Justin Hunt aka JustBlack from the San Diego based rap group Boon League and fellow academic from Spring Valley Middle school relates his experience as "the only black kid in the class" in a recent post, as he tells the readers, pleads with them not to respond with the escapist yet supposedly inclusive jargon of All Lives Matter. The fact that he has to ask many to try to have more understanding and compassion while he relays his experience of racism in school is a learning lesson in itself, a reality which expresses our sad political state, which I have coined "The Saddest Political Satire," yet I know of other peoples as well that have experienced extreme injustice, violence and death, many still, just for the simple right to exist. Ours however, the Black struggle is one that affects all of humanity, as we were chosen to be one of the key ingredients in our good ol' American Apple Pie, yet we are in no way American, in fact, we are more, more than any definition placed upon us!
In my upcoming book "The Key to Seasoning Life," written for young Black Men as well as anyone else that wants to revisit how to be the right 🌟 Shining Star of the Party, Job place or Institution, I will address in-depth these ways that we all can achieve to be the ultimate key ingredient for personal fulfillment and success. Now back to the subject at heavy hand. How is one to present themselves with opposition and prejudice? Kaepernick learned the hard way, yet he chose an honest route while uplifting the community around him.
The church I am taught was used as a tool of of oppression for blacks, to, "get them back in line," and "remind them of their place," as slaves and servants of an elitist racist society however my experience with an institution which is supposed to teach "Brotherly Love," as Christ himself teaches us was non-existent. As a young historian, I've added some of the earliest dipictions of Jesus Christ, the one that teaches forgiveness and to turn the other cheek. Natually I have learned forgiveness yet a man with my sharp memory can never forget! I was 9 when my mother forced me to go to church, something she once, as a former practicing Buddhist, told me I did not have to do. I once received Gojikai and was a young Buddhist at one point, visiting a Large Beautiful temple with monks, and as the congregation from a Buddhist breakoff church called NSA, my leadership qualities were observed and used, as they wanted to teach an 8 year old a song to encourage the younger kids to "receive Gojikai" and something called Shakabuku. I was a skeptic, to everything and everyone, wanting to know why they were praying to a box with Japanese words which no one knew the translations for or questioned themselves.
With my name alone Sekou Black, I became the head as well as the butt of many jokes in and out of school, yet when asked what my name meant, I would proudly look them in the eye with a serious stare telling them "Wise Leader," so when I was forced I mean indoctrinated into Christianity, I was solid enough to grasp what Jesus Christ meant and my knowledge of the Black struggle helped me understand the Sacrifice portion of the teachings at Mt. Erie, the church my step dad at the time went to. This marriage and what entailed with exorcisms in the household and other madness, which is hard for many to comprehend is another story. I have found sanctuary in nature as well as the power of prayer, for I would not be here without it.
I was with my best friend Josh at the time when I fully encompassed and tried to accept the White church with White idea of Jesus, as I understood the base of it the megachurch at Faith Chapel in Spring Valley, yet was surprised when the institution based on "Brotherly Love," kicked me out for throwing a basketball at the hoop, after an asshole by the name of Tom, blew his whistle at a faith youth group Bible study. This was not my first experience of "Blame The Black Guy," as I learned, also with Josh at Bonita Valley Christian, how this type of blaming was normal, as I was kicked out of the youth group there and told not to return for allegedly "lieing," about winning a game, where we were tasked with carrying an egg on a spoon while the spoon was in our mouths across a grassy section of the church yard. I won yet one student, a white student, as there were few Black kids there, insisted that I cheated. Did Uncle William or other church members come to my defense? No, as it was a social status thing, and the same bullshit pastor did not show up to deliver the eulogy at Josh's mothers funeral, as I was pall bearer in the place of the Men, relatives that were either too weak or not man enough to assist with the task.
I can recall, as I was coming into my manhood and had my Cutlass Supreme at the time, the way in which I was kicked out of my friend Max's house, as his mother, Debbie whom I now lovingly call Aunt Debbie, used to blame me for things he as well as his other roommate, a "Sharp," skinhead, not to be confused with the neo Nazi assholes, would eat food not belonging to them. Awakened at the time with Debbie's classic and very funny scream of "Son-of-a-Bitch," I was blamed and asked to leave, only to find sanctuary with Josh, a guy forced to take care of his racist sister since teenager, since his father left them after his mother's death for New York. For starters I was just thankful that I had somewhere to go both times. All people mentioned in this are better and very different people, as growth happens at any age when a mind reaches realizations and heart is allowed open. I was only 20 at the time yet a young leader in the place where I worked, landing me tv spots and news reports from the programs I started to help At-Promise, as I like to say instead of at-risk homeless youth at SDYS, as I was promoted to Core Outreach Worker, helped design a curriculum to teach HIV/STI awareness and was known in the streets and San Diego community for my methods and persistence for helping those in need.
At this time in my life it was hard for them to point fingers and I quote "Blame The Black Guy," as I was making their institution look good, yet understood how important it was to be the "token" of success, as my friend Max explains it, I was the "Well Spoken Black Guy, as his uncle told me." Today I face other challenges, as without being told directly, it is my fault for being in a tragic accident and having to deal with messed up realities with current disabilities, as my father is at the end of the line and wants me out soon so he can enjoy his life, something which as an adult I can understand. Like a child not asked to be born into this world yet having to wake up everyday to harsh realities, I didn't ask for any of this, yet fully man enough to understand and take it all in stride, as I have everything else. I thank my community in East Palo Alto, my large extended family as well as those who share similar blood for who and what I have become today. I thank my wife to be for for her help and encouragement everyday, for her recent experiences have had a harshness as well. Who knows where we'll be in the next few weeks, yet if interested, tag along, sing a song, have an ice cold drink or some type and enjoy the ride...
Babies coo in recognition of love received
As grown men get no reprieve
Where is Lady Justice?
Where found it is just us that we need
In strange lands filled with hope
False senses of progression
Where agression and injustice is all well
Where the coldness of hearts can be felt
Screams from innocent
Bounce off of walls in blood-curdling yells
Ancestors from all sides weep, turning
As caskets grow moist from dead tears
First Nations know tears as we trail also
On paths knowing no fear
Choked by ropes we once braided
Words in slave songs do not sound elated
Playing the part for masterful role
The sick art of greed and control
As we, people also desperately hold onto Hope
While young bronze children firsthand
Learn the sad list of demands and grow
Stronger with testament
The true weight of the precious soul
Hands clap with hope which once knew neglect
For the moment innocence left
Was the moment they choose to acknowledge the disrespects
