Once Twice a Con lets move on.

I support black people of all genders and classes getting together to celebrate our beauty and to develop political platforms but the million man march is a joke. It’s political grand standing and theatre at best. Anyone who would follow that slimy shady, sexist, classist, homophobic, megalomaniac, Louis Farrakhan is a fool. I just have to say it. He has done so much damage his hands are stained with Malcom’s blood. With All the resources he has built through his temple and followers in Chicago their impact on the south side should be 10x what it is. He’s just an old time hustling ass preacher who found a nice con in pushing Islam and claiming to continue Elijah Muhammad’s Legacy. It’s really sad and disappointing to see black folks so thirsty for political attention that we would follow that man for another symbolic March.After all the political activity this past year where is the event to build alliances between recently politically active young people and previous generations? We don’t have to agree on everything but can we agree to stop following snakes who continue to degrade women and poor people for starters? Can we agree to put a pause on useless marchers until we build some strategic alliances amongst ourselves that will have a direct impact on the violence of poverty they are using to keep our people in economic and psychological choke holds? Can we try to do this without people trying to build brands, get rich in the process, or trying to become the next mayor/president. Surely we have realized after multiple million men marches and countless black mayors,senators,and even a president that our strengths and solutions ly somewhere else amongst ourselves outside the trappings of respectability, capitalism, and the american political system.

His goodbye like a punch to the chest

Every post I see about Blake Brockington is like a punch in the chest. Young people are a big part of my life and when one of our young takes their own life it reminds me we have so much work to do.  I know what its like to sit with teens who parents just refuse to accept them. I’ve felt the same sting myself. Its a crime to be pushed so deep into sadness and rejection so early in life. For what I gather, as much love as Blake got from the community as prom King he also became a target in the process  then this week at 18 he decided death was better.

As Spring approaches (even though its still snowing out here), The threat of death is in the air here in Chicago.  I worry enough for my youth in the game or just walking the streets catching bullets the thought of one of them committing suicide… I can’t. When I tell people I didn’t think I’d see 25 they seem like they can’t imagine me feeling that way.  His death reminds me the struggle for life is real. Especially for trans youth and black people. A lot of us suffer in silence and from time to time, no too often some decide to just end the struggle on their own terms.

I didn’t know this young man personally but he was one of our youth. He could have been someone I know and the numbers say one day it will be.  His death the thought of someone like him taking their own life is stirring up so much frustration and grief.  If I’m feeling it like this I can only imagine my peeps who knew him.  Sending so much encouragement to his friends and love ones, to youth, to those struggling for life.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3011077/Transgender-teen-takes-life-year-crowned-high-school-homecoming-king.html

Remembering The Childrens’ March

This month is the 50th year anniversary of the Childrens’ March. The moment in the “civil rights movement”  when brave black bodies, as young as  4 years  old ,stared down dogs and firehouses to fill the Birmingham  jails and brake the back of segregation in one of the bloodiest cities in the country. Watching the movie Might Times was a powerful experience. I was coming off of a busy week and the visuals of the politicized black children being beaten  compounded my emotions.  Below is a excerpt from a longer piece that speaks to where remembering the Childrens’ March took me.

Looking Back 

This Knowledge it overwhelms me

Twists and contorts me

This information each new sentence

Makes me want to burst

placing my perceived intellect in a hearse

Life transforming, Knowledge destiny  bending visions

Glimpse into the past

bring doubts about how long freedom will last

if it ever really was

it hurts to recall the memories

To reminisce on the past

History our story is a sweet bitter pill