Give Yourself A Black Eye

W.E.B. Dubois writes, “One ever feels his two-ness, an American, a Negroe; two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings, two warring ideals in one dark body…this longing to attain self conscious manhood, to merge his double self into a better and truer self.” Ladies and Gentlemen, there is a split between your Black side and you American side and, these two perspectives are constantly and consistently at war with each other’s conflicting view. The question now rises, “Whose eyes are you looking through?” The eyes that you look through, either Black or American, determine how you see your people. I would be willing to bet my tuition that there are some of you reading this column that are looking at your own people through the wrong eyes. In order to appreciate, consider, and change the wrongs of black people, you must look at black people through your black eye.

In the 1960’s there was an intellectual revolution in which students, like us, fought for a new field of education called Black Studies. This effects of this revolution brought classes such as Black in the Arts, Black politics, Black Psychology, and Black Political Theory. The students who fought for these classes realized that classes taught about black phenomenon could not be taught from an American view. In other words, the American eyes see things according to their ideals, concepts, and values. Those ideals being the democratic theory; one man, one vote, those concepts being pluralism; the fight for political power through numbers, and those values being individualism; the basis of the “American Dream.” These ideals, concepts, and values are all included in the American eye but can not adequately express the ways of Blacks in America. There is a point of view that these Black Studies fighters realized. That view point is the black eye and our perspective can not encompass the ideals of the Democratic theory because for most of American history we were not considered man and surely did not have a vote, our perspective can not involve the concepts of pluralism because never in American history have we had the number to fight for political power, and our perspective’s values can not be individualism because we are collective by nature and history. In simpler terms, the founders of Black Studies realized that it was impossible to teach the struggle of Blacks through American eyes. So I reiterate my question, “Whose are you looking through when it comes to looking at your own people?”

Before we conclude this argument, we must discuss what is Black and how there is a separation between Black and American. Black is the connection between an individual and the Black struggle, Black glory, Black demise, and Black history since the first enslaved Africans arrived in America as indentured servants’ in1619. The connection must be genuine for the individual to be considered Black regardless of skin tone and phenotype. Skin tone and phenotype are secondary requirements only seen by the eye. Primarily, Black is our struggle, our glory, our demise, and our history.


Once again, whose eyes are you looking through when it comes to seeing your people? It is easy to accept your American eye because that’s what you have been socialized to do through American education, American government, and American media. But as strong Black men and women, we must do as the Black Studies fighters did and realize that our American eyes can not adequately explain our people. We must make the disconnection between our veils and “attain self conscious manhood.” So the next time you hear that beautifully unique name on the roll before class, use your black eye to see its worth instead of using your American eye to call the persons parents’ ignorant for naming their child that name. The next time you think of beauty, use your black eye to see your beautiful naps instead of using your American eye to define beauty as you pick up that perm box. The next time your American eye tells you that Black struggle is over, racism ceases to exist, and you are equal to every American, ignore your American eye, and give yourself a Black eye.

Ice Cream Daze

I live in a world where thuds from a passing car’s subwoofers play the bass and sirens from rushing emergency vehicles play the treble in the soundtrack of my life. A world where beauty is most often found in death and despair’s residence: a funeral, but conversely, a world where deceit and depression are conceived where fake smiles and forced tears live: a wedding. A world that is filled with individuals who live and die by their own various ethics and morals but the easiest combination of variation is negligence. And since by human nature we all want things to be easier to some degree, one could say the world doesn’t give 5¢ worth of shit about anyone else. I know you’re saying, “Damn this guy is depressing!” but secretly, you agree. As a child of maybe up to 12 years old, I could never remember thinking these thoughts. So what happened?

The same world existed when I was child if I think retrospectively, but to my youthful senses, there was one sound that cut through the noise of despair and depression, one sight that could blur out the sight of emergency and broken hearts, and one taste that would numb out the flavor of uneasy laughs matted by tears. That sound, sight, and taste was Mr. Johnson’s ice cream truck in the summertime. When the sound of those trucks bells and squeaky tires registered with the signals in my brain, my impulse was always to get up, run, and chase that truck. I’m guessing that as a child I never realized the world for what is was because I was too busy chasing after what I wanted.

When those hot summer days ended and warm school days began, I had the education of my logical brain to keep my senses distracted from the truth of the world. But somewhere through this education, my ears finally heard, eyes finally saw, and tongue finally tasted what was really going on. My mother calls this my welcoming ceremony to the real world. Again thinking retrospectively, I always thought the real world was completely comprised of people who woke up early, put on business attire, got stuck in traffic, complained about traffic, work in a boring office, had meetings, got stuck in traffic coming home, complained about traffic, complained about unhappiness, washed, rinsed, and repeated. In that aspect, I still think like the 8 year old me. I don’t want to be in that real world. I wanna chase after that ice cream truck all day. To you real world people, this probably sounds ridiculous but if we all chased after what we really wanted, maybe the world would sound, look, and taste better. With that being said, chase after your own truck in hope that you catch it and embrace it.

Awaken

[insert name],
While you sleep, while your mind slowly slips into the unconscious, while your psyche forgets about the present reality and you wonder aimlessly within your dreams, someone thought of you. These thoughts are ones of sincerity and affection. Before these words made contact with this processed tree, the creator laid out a plan that made an impact on at least one. This letter makes no attempt to express the sappy emotional connection between two people that others call love for; the feelings of the writer do not reflect these emotions. But as my favorite saying goes “Who knows your feelings like your actions?” In other words, fulfilling your wishes requires neither genie nor fairy god-parent but simply acting. As you wake and as your mind painfully eases itself from the sometimes confusing subconscious, realize that you are a child of God and were meant to do great things. All that being said, continue your day with excellence and be relentless in chasing your dreams for they are the only things that keep you away from the ground.



Resisting gravity,



Bryant Brown

Reflection of My Preperation

I am a member of the Howard University “Showtime” Marching Band. Since the initial thought of Barack Obama winning the Democratic nomination for the presidency of the United States, I was a member of the Howard University “Showtime” Marching Band. I watched the first and third debate between Barack Obama and John McCain on the second airing due to being a member of the Howard University “Showtime” Marching Band. When Barack Obama told the world “Yes We Can,” and promised hope for re-building America, I played my saxophone a little better and a little louder so that I may give hope to my fellow band members to build a better band. When Obama supported the $700 billion bailout with a look of discontent, I lifted my legs a little higher and practiced a little bit harder so that I would never need a bailout. When he won and others celebrated, I served the band that I love so much because I realized that there was still much work to be done. Even during the inauguration, I gave my full attention to the Howard University “Showtime” Marching Band. But something changed during the inaugural parade. As I marched past him in seemingly perfect marching condition, I saw through that glass a reflection of my preparation. And it was at that moment that I realized that Barack Obama, full of hope, inspiration, and seemingly perfect preparation, was and is my black president. If he had prepared like I prepared for those brief moments during the parade then I have no hesitation that Obama will lead this country to greatness.

Ah

It never ceases to amaze me when I see a blank page and a keyboard awaiting my percussive strokes on the various letters.

In the essence of time, my space is insignificant. Therefore, as a man, I should not do things for personal glory. My Father and father told me a long time ago that a man is one who keeps his eyes on the the Lord, takes cares of his responsibilities to his family, and uplifts himself as a part of his community. Therefore, what am I? It is easy to SAY you are a man. As my best friend once asked me, "What are you doing?" At that time I said nothing.

As a human being there are three different types of decisions we make as individuals. There are small decisions: left or right. There are medium decisions: pants or shorts. There are hard decisions: yes or no. Honestly, there are some decisions that we as humans can not make. I believe that history is written before the books are published. What a person does is already predetermined. Life is not how breath commenced in one's infant body or the last breathe in your lungs. The goal is set. The bar has been put to its maximum height. Life is not the preface or the afterward. Life is the novel. Life is not the capital letter or the punctuation. Life is the adjective. In other words, life is the process.

In many and abundant ways, a man's actions are much more potent and concentrated than his words. So why is art so important to the survival of one's individual mind? Many people tend to conform to the rules and regulations of society. Some of these rules are vital to the survival of the individual. On the other hand there are unwritten rules of society that people don't have to follow, but choose to follow regardless. These rules are pointless and have probably been instilled into the minds of most individuals. Why? It is perfectly fine to follow these rules but ignorant to follow any rules without questioning the foundations of the institution. That's where art is the main means of survival in an ignorant world. Only through art can an individual appreciate something for what they want it to be. Only in these words can a person analyze, depict, destruct, and destroy any concept known to the mind of man.

All together.

Today I was asked, "Who are you?". In the context of the conversation, the question was supposed to be hurtful and have an underlying point of saying I have no identity in the mind of the individual. Men make mistakes and men understand the concept that life is much more than one decision. What I do in one situation can not outline nor define me. The definition of me is so complex so complicated that the essence of an adjective could not depict the nouns that surround the overall presence of the smallest atom in this shell called my body. The definition of me could not be fathomed by the descriptive adverbs that help the verbs complete actions that are pointless and yet so potent in action. The definition of me could not hold the concept of defining an article that is neither definite nor indefinite but definitely one of the above. Therefore causing an inverted and self-inflicted identity crisis in concrete words such as 'a' or 'the'. My art outreaches the nucleus of your ignorance, so I would advise you to never question or attempt to form words to define me. or you will be lost.