Soft, Black & Faithful

Watching James Brown interview Mike Vick for 60 Minutes truly pained me. Vick took full responsibility for his actions as James Brown took on the role of a person attempting to be simultaneously tough and fair. Yes, he had to please those persons cheering for Vick and too, those persons wishing to see Vick suffer more. Brown had to appease his employers and not disappoint the Vick fans. After all, some people still want to be like Mike.
Vick appeared sincere, but prison has to be the best place in the world to learn how to wear a mask. Sure, this is debatable. Besides, he has a team of people who see his worth and depend on his potential for their livelihoods. A little coaching was necessary and I am glad that he is, now, able to articulate a thought despite how simplistic his answers may sound. No doubt, the time helped him to focus. The nights of crying in a lonely cell did him some good. Becoming familiar with himself for the first time was possibly the best thing that could have happened to him. The distance between Vick and his lord challenges the notion of him mistreating dogs when we consider the fact that the crime was the mistreatment of dogs. This is sad when we ponder the lives that are lost to senseless crimes. And too, the fact that we are led to believe that we occasionally find ourselves in the trenches because we do not trust something or someone that we have been told is more supreme than ourselves is unrighteous. Vick is fortunate to have Tony Dungy to offer him guidance, but the public should question the inefficacy of faith based programs. As for Black men, the idea of being soft, meek and fearful in an effort to comfort nonBlacks should be disposed of.

For the Love of Amerika

When I was a kid… I recited the pledge of allegiance as if it was written for me. Hell, it was, seemingly, the right thing to do. As I began to age, the pledge and the Lord’s Prayer carried less of a priority as I began to scrutinize their significance. Of course, I had learned of court cases, viewed footage of dogs attacking people who looked like me, read of marches and bombings, feared dudes in white sheets, dreamt of being a firefighter, imagined myself scoring a touchdown for the Dallas Cowboys and eaten hotdogs like they’d make me stronger. Yeah, I did some Amerikan stuff. Ironically, Amerika never noticed me. Not the essence of who I am. Because Amerika and Justice were never blind. I had been raised to appreciate oppression, suppression, and aggression. Strange, it is, that I had been brainwashed to accept abuse. Had I given it any thought - I would have never believed that loving Amerika was necessary, because I realized that Amerika didn’t love me the way she loved those recognized as Amerikans. After all, they were her children.
Now - I am different. I have been in the bowels of Amerika. I have given service to Amerika. I have allowed Amerika to miseducate me. I have given almost half of my earnings to Amerika. I have shown much love to Amerika. Amerika has overlooked my sacrifices and abused me verbally and physically. I have been her scapegoat. I have been the burden of her lover. To think that I have endured any hell that Amerika has offered me is reason enough to not love Amerika. Am I attracted to someone who doesn’t love me?
Yeah, I am here in Amerika. And truly, I could be anywhere other than here. My love and loyalty could wander. I assume that Amerika doesn’t love me. Damn! Why did it take so long for me to realize that she is nothing like my mother? Amerika is never satisfied. I just can’t do enough. Why am I confused when Mother Afrika taught me so much? I guess compassion blinded me. I will not mistreat Amerika, but she must know that I love Afrika - unlike I could ever love her.