I Dream of Detroit

I dream of words unwritten;
      In a language where periods need not be dotted
      Where “t’s” need not be crossed-
I dream of dialects unspoken;
      In a voice enunciation need not to be stressed,
      Where infliction is definitions-
Sight through subconscious is unfathomed to the minds eye
Leaving dreams to be safe from
For what can one feel in the absence of a body?
The lack there of? Or the presence of obscurity?
I dream of music unplayed;
      In a sound only heard through script,
Where distance articulates quality-
I dream of things unseen and not to have happened;
      Retention is a curse, and the forgotten is blessed-
But as I rise from once was;
      I’ve lost it all-
I dream of words unsaid;
      Cursed by memory.
      Decided through ignorance.

Excuse Me House Nigga

It is important to realize and comprehend that slavery is over. I, in no way, approve of the tactics nor execution of slavery but as in those times, there are two basic types of blacks; house niggas and field niggas. Since slavery, in the physical sense, has ceased to exist in America, it is also very vital to know the definition of a house nigga or a field nigga is not solely defined or characterized upon skin tone, but rather, more importantly, ways of thinking.

According to W.E.B. Dubois, each and every black person has a dual conscience; black and American. In the American conscience, blacks have concerns, considerations, and pride for being an American. In the black conscience, blacks have concerns, considerations, and pride for being black/ descendent from enslaved Africans. Basically, your conscience mind fights over which conscience to follow; culture vs. the establishment. For the sake of the length of this argument, the establishment will be considered your American conscience and your black conscience will be black culture.

A house nigga, in these times, is an individual of the black Diaspora who values the establishment over black culture. For example, a house nigga carries an umbrella on a sunny day to prevent themselves from getting darker because American society says the lighter you are, the more socially acceptable you will be. A house nigga is so caught up in chasing equality that they overlook their own people’s potential supremacy. A house nigga determines beauty from the standards of American society instead of finding beauty in their own culture. A house nigga is offended by the word nigga because they truly believe and live by the standards and definitions of American society. A house nigga has forgotten the 4 girls in Birmingham, a house nigga neglected the events in Jena, a house nigga doesn’t care about Derrion Alberts.

I write this not to change you of your ways. I write this to offend you. If you are offended consider yourself a house nigga. Instead of anger, find the closest field nigga and ask them what you must do to be saved.

As a field nigga, I inherently love all blacks and could care less about the establishment, but the fact that I walk the halls, sit in classes, live, and eat next to stubborn house niggas is going to kill me faster than the U.S. governments many attempts. Ladies and Gentlemen, I go to school with house niggas. If you don’t believe me, check out the bleaching crème in the bookstore.

Sacrifice

How much are you willing to sacrifice for your convictions? Friendship?....Money?... Love?,,,, Social acceptance?....Life?.... When entering into new spectrums and facets of life, one must ask themselves the aforementioned question. If not, one will never truly experience what the new facet and spectrum of life has to offer completely. If you truly believe in something and hold that something to be right, than in theory, nothing should differ you from practicing in what you believe in. The question that now arises is “how much are you willing to sacrifice for that belief?” In you asking yourself that question, two major actions should arise in the intellect of your mind. Your first response would be to automatically answer the question, but the deeper meaning of the question is for you to question your convictions. “No struggle. No Identity.” This statement that I live by is not exclusive to physical struggle, but inclusive to the emotional and intellectual tug-o-war that occurs in your mind about your convictions.

For example, in order to become more independent from societies silly standards, I refuse to wear matching socks purposely. Oddly but expectantly, I gained a lot of criticism for my choice to not wear matching socks. My emotions told me I did not have to endure such scrutiny over socks, but my intellect told me bear the pain and follow my own ethics. (I am not stating that your emotions are always wrong, but in this situation, they are.) In law, most cases are decided through analogous precedent; meaning that there was a case similar to the one being decided and that the decision in that case can be implemented in future cases. In reference to my socks, which may sound silly to you, if I gave up on this small conviction, this small ethic code, what else will I give up for the acceptance of society. According to law, if I quit socks for social acceptance than I quit religion for social acceptance; I quit racial passions for social acceptance; I quit being who I am for social acceptance. Hence, I am willing to sacrifice social acceptance for this conviction because I am willing to sacrifice social acceptance, at the least, for all of my said convictions and beliefs.

Though this is a small faction of my life, it is a microcosm of my personal beliefs. When upon reflection of your own beliefs, know that the strength of your convictions are based upon what you are willing to sacrifice.

MIA

I am from which I was created. Do not judge me on my exterior for it is made with flaws. Instead, judge the actions I accent with the words I write. But the words I write do not reflect the action I do. Just as any other human being, I make mistakes everyday. As I said before, what good is a man who contradicts his own efforts.

At that point, I was talking on the vitality of effective leadership. A more personal issue ha arisen. I fear I have lost my best friend because she is exactly what I am becoming; heartless. It is obvious that my emotions are gradually slipping out of my grasp. My walk is more stiff. My speech is lees motivating. My writings are less powerful.

I stated in an earlier blog that I am trying to get back to the man I used to be, but as a wise woman told me, "Make sure that man you are attempting to be is worth getting back to." But he is not worth it. Honestly, I have caused too many tears and see many more awaiting me as I travel down this path. The question is "Do I cause tears for others or carry on to my own emotional demise?"

I am from which I was created. My father's father's father was known as a man of great motivation. As they say in my father's hometown, these motivational tactics have only grown through the generations of Browns. As you know, I am BeMoBrown meaning exactly what it says. I follow a lineage of greatness and I am in constant strive for the highest. But in this 20th year of my life, I fear that I am becoming exactly what I demise the most. Heartless.

Beautifully Spoken

I went to church on Sunday and my overall standpoint was confusion. After studying and hearing many lectures on the black church last semester, I went with a new outlook and understanding. The black church was created during the era of slavery as a way to spread culture and social understanding throughout the enslaved Africans and the so-called new Americans. It was in these initial groups that blacks became socially and politically conscious. As time continued, the social gatherings became more than sneaking out at night to meet with others and developed into a more organized structure in which religion was practiced. As I sat in church, I could see how the origins of the black church are still practiced in the black church today. All types of black folk gathered in this church house to fellowship and share cultural and political ideas with one another. From talks to how to make cornbread fluffier to heated arguments about individual’s political fundamentals, I was amused and elated to see that in this structural compound our ancestors’ effort were not lost. Beautiful music was played as people rejoiced and praised the God they worshiped with no fear of prosecution or social judgment. The tears nearly came to my eyes when I realized that the ones that came before me were, at one point, happy because in this place, this house of worship, blacks could be themselves.

But on this Sunday, I heard a sermon that bothered me. The minister preached and made a point stating that blacks should change their language patterns in order to be more successful in the modern world. To me, this is a message of assimilation. Since I claim to be a free thinker, I sat down and thought about the minister’s point. In this world there are things that are socially acceptable and culturally acceptable. On the other side, there are things that are socially unacceptable and culturally unacceptable. All this meaning that there are certain things one can do it their culture that are not socially acceptable and there are things one can do in society and are not culturally acceptable. When pertaining to blacks, there are some things that blacks do within their culture that are not acceptable to American society's culture and there are things blacks can do in American society and is not accepted in their culture. One of those things is the use of broken English, slang, or Ebonics. According to society, by using this broken English you are lowering your standards and your social status. In essence, society's impression of you is low. This minster says blacks should change their culture from speaking broken English to speaking perfect English in order to fit in with the rest of society and be socially acceptable.

As my mother taught me a long time ago, in many situations, there is a time and a place for everything. When one wants to sound intelligent one speaks intelligently. Does this mean your English must be perfect? In my opinion, no. As a black, you have to know to play the game. The black culture does not hold the majority in American social culture. Therefore, we can not expect everyone to understand the English language we have adapted. When we go into different situations, we speak different ways. This does not mean we discard that part of ourselves entirety in order to fit in with he American society culture. This minister bothered me because he argued that in order for blacks to come off as intelligent to the majority, whites, we must change our language and assimilate it with the majority. The way blacks speak is full of passion and emotion and while it may not be textbook, it is beautiful. Take into consideration I am not talking about all blacks. I am merely speaking to the ones who defy society and choose to embrace ebony phonics.

In an intuition in which blacks, historically, can be themselves this minister tells me I should not. He tells me to conform and forget a part of who I am. He oughta be shamed of himself.

Emergency

I saw my first black firefighter the other day. As I was walking down that oh-so familiar street of rebellion, past the corner of thought and frustration, towards home, I heard the sound. Upon hearing this sound, I knew that an emergency was amidst. That somewhere, unknown to my presence, someone was in distress, discontent, and disorientation ;and needed to be saved from either themselves or from an aspect of their environment. The sound approached from the back but I had no interest in looking back because I knew what approached. First I recognized the front of the vehicle and knew that it was a red engine firetruck. For a moment time stood still and my mind reverted to a memory of my childhood.
When I was in kindergarten, I was sick the day the class went to the fire station. Therefore, I had not seen a red engine fire truck when the rest of the class did. Needless to say, the rest of the class did see a red engine firetruck. The day I returned to school, I distinctly remember playing on the third rung of the jungle gym. The same sound that was entering my ears in my conscience mind was playing, the fire truck engine siren. I looked in amazement in hope to see the red engine fire truck that I had not seen before. As soon as the red of the truck could be processed in my 5 year old mind, the little boy next to me said, "Oh that's no big deal, we saw those yesterday." And all the other kids continued back to their games of tag and other childish follies. From that point on, red engine fire trucks never amazed me.
So in non-amazement I watched the front of the red engine fire truck pass by, but as the red engine fire truck passed, something caught my eye. And until that moment I never realized that I had not seen one. Hanging from the back of the truck was a black fireman. To others he just looked like another black man, but to me he was a superhero. To me he was the real life John Henry. A black man that was often overlooked because of his skin complexion, but would do his damnedest until his heart gave out. And I stood on the sidewalk like a 5 year old kid in awe of my childhood hero that I met 14 years late. I say all that to say, do not let society make you forget that black heroes are more than people on T.V. that where suits and give speeches. My heroes are those with wisdom, not knowledge.