A Place Where I belong Pt. 2

Time did what time always does, it moved on. The murder of my family passed and I was seamlessly pressed into slavery. The leather collar which has become natural to me, was given to mark my new place in society. They broke me, they broke all of us. We walked barefoot on concrete roads through the summer, until we left behind footprints with our own blood. We were worked for hours during the heat of the day. The elderly and children were fortunate in their frailty, their weakness liberated them first.
The meaningless labor did not create suffering for me. The agony of back-breaking work helped to reinforce my existence. My suffering affirmed my being. When I ended my thoughts of freedom, a deluge of new ideas flooded my consciousness. I observed a wicked facet of humanity. What disturbed me, as a slave, was watching everyone else operate like nothing had happened. No one inquired of my background or family. I was not hidden. I was not relegated to a field where no one could see me. I was not held in a shack. I interacted with society, but had no more sentience then a sack of grain.

Jokes aside

When are we going to take poverty seriously in our country? The statistics are appalling. Have you ever been to our poor communities? Whether urban or rural, there is a lack of hope. The question which starts early and grows within a young mind, “what is the point?” This lingering question, if unanswered drains the child of purpose. Hopelessness is a parasite, it devours the life of the host and spreads faster than policy can be created. Poverty is the oldest institution within the United States. It seems as if we have embraced the destitute as a natural byproduct of our free market. We treat the poor as an unfortunate but ultimately unavoidable reality of our economic system. This type of thinking is exactly the type of thinking which focuses resources on palliative care rather than a systemic restructuring. As long as we have organizations and programs dedicated to poverty relief, we passively agree to keep poverty in our society. When are we going to get serious?

Have you ever been to your cities public housing? Have you ever walked around the cracked sidewalks? Have you seen the dirt plots? Have you seen bare clotheslines and cheap plastic toys left out as if the owners were raptured? Have you ever seen a man with sunken eyes and skin that hangs loose from his skeletal frame? Children are the ones who must make sense of this world. These children grow up having to reconcile the constant dichotomy of their existence. On one hand they are in one of the safest nations in the world, but they must sleep on the floor to avoid the possibility of bullets in their bedroom. They are bombarded with propaganda at school which tells them they can be whatever they want. Then they get off the bus from school and are solicited by gangs to join or face violence. Do you know how much they run? Not as a game, but to preserve their bodies. These children are not safe. Yet, we pretend as if it is not they are. I teach students who have already been shot. I teach students who are almost seemingly devoid of empathy, out of necessity, to remain sane in a violent and apathetic world. Our children are disillusioned with the American system because they are the discarded. They know if they do not take responsibility for their safety and wellbeing, no one else will. When are we going to get serious?

Rural poverty is simply a different accent of the same language. Social mobility is a fable. They have three legal options: keep doing what your parents have done for generations, work 30 years to secure a middle management position from a service sector job, or find any number of odd jobs to make ends ad infinitum. These options barely require a high-school diploma. Why invest in education when you’ve watched your future in your parents? Leaving is an option but what about the people you know will stay? Do you give them up in order to succeed, especially when family is the backbone of the community? Children should not have to choose between their family or the possibility of a more fulfilling existence. The options are not good enough. When are we going to get serious?

This is a snapshot. This is a cry for decency, an appeal to those in power, change this system! Measures that alleviate poverty but are not working towards eliminating poverty are wasted efforts. We need to be the role models our children deserve.

Poison

Carbon monoxide is flammable and lethal, yet we breathe it in constantly. From parking lots to campfires we expose ourselves to a deadly substance. White supremacy is all around us. It's in our restaurants and universities, affirming and celebrating white citizens, while slowly debilitating the resiliency of non-white Americans. As a result, the darker Americans, gather at HBCUs, Quinceaneras, mosques, and churches to celebrate our humanity. Despite the effects of the poision of white supremacy, we get advanced degrees and build wealth as an effort to normalize non-white success and re-establish our humanity. However, for us to thrive in a system meant to advantage white citizens means the system is failing. Steps to equity for us are accurately interpreted as a deconsolidation of power from white citizens, igniting the hearts of Dylan Roof and James Fields Jr. We should condemn their actions and all of the violence perpetrated against browner skinned humans in this country. We, the mass citizenry, are also culpable. We have pursued comfort more than justice. We have loved ourselves more than others. We have tried to make the most of a system which clearly advantages one group over another, rather than calling for it's removal. White supremacy is in all of us, how will we respond?

"The Dilemma of Success"

Being a man in America gives me access to power.
Being a black man in America gives me unwanted fear.
People fear me, and I fear them, so I meet strangers and encounter danger.
When black men are seen as threats America gets trigger happy.
I keep history in mind and make myself more palatable, more family friendly, more WHITE.
So I exchange slang for language more tame, leaving a bitter aftertaste.
Selling myself for limited success.
Unless, you spend your life making change through entertaining the lighter shade.
Wearing jerseys, telling stories, making millions.
And if you're great, they'll tell your story.
Glory can be yours.

But.
If I don't make it in entertainment, what's left for me?
Being in an office where I'm hired for diversity?
Why aspire to be profiled by clients, and misunderstood by colleagues?
I don't need a degree to be an outcast.
Corporate America wants my color not my culture.
So hoop dreams are my way of combining dignity and wealth, authenticity and occupation, self-respect and self-determination.
Making it big in a sport, in music, or on the screen is a one in a million chance.
Working a 9-5 for several decades, where I'm tolerated rather than embraced, is an everyday torment.
With broken dreams from my childhood and unmet expectations in my present, I pray the future holds a third option for me.