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"F--k tha police, coming straight from the underground. A young brother got it bad cuz I'm brown." -- Ice Cube
Newsflash: A lot of people – law-abiding citizens who happen to be African American – feel this way. I cannot begin to tell you how many of my friends, associates and colleagues do not f--k with the po-lice. Lawyers, doctors (even Ph.D.s -- Henry Louis Gates, ahem) would like to stay as far away from the cops as possible. But before you pigeonhole me, let me tell you about a recent experience with the Boyz in Blue.
Not too long ago, my 14-year-old daughter was walking with a group of friends - there were three boys and three girls in all – one summer evening. It was not yet dark, and a police cruiser followed the group for a block. Suddenly, two police officers jumped out of the car and told the teens to "go over there," meaning to get on a wall, and then asked them, "Who are you going to fight?" Apparently, there had been a shooting two blocks over, but frankly, rolling up on a bunch of kids during the light of day is at best lazy policing; at worst, harassment. Oh, yeah, I'm sure the boys in the group fit the description: Young. African American.
I was livid that my daughter, who is an A student and who has never even been in a fight, would have to endure this type of treatment in her own neighborhood. In fact, a lot of parents just tell their sons not to even move if they are stopped by the police, lest they get shot. It is stories like these that are far too common.
Continue reading African Americans and Police...It's Complicated
VIENNA, AUSTRIA -- With a special rancor reserved for the United States and president Barack Obama, hundreds of AIDS activists and people living with AIDS marched en masse through the Messe Wien conference center at the start of the XVIII International AIDS conference (AIDS 2010) in Vienna, demanding more money for AIDS funding.
Amid shouts of "Obama lied, millions die!" and "Keep your promise, we want to live!" throngs of protesters from around the world snaked through the conference center giving vibrant color and sound to an otherwise staid environment.
Sex workers with red umbrellas, shirtless housing activists, traditional rabble rousers with pink ACT UP triangles on their shirts, and men and women from every corner of the world assembled for the peaceful but spirited "die in" right outside of the doors of the official opening session of the AIDS conference, which included speakers such as Austrian President Heinz Fischer and AIDS activist Annie Lenox.
Continue reading Obama Vilified at Protest During World AIDS Conference in Vienna
Depending on your perspective, the walk that Sheena Wright takes to her office each day on Harlem's commercial corridor, 125th Street, represents progress or the death of a community. The abandoned lots that were once weed-filled eyesores now house condominiums and retail chains. Of course, many longtime Harlemites are hard pressed to afford skyrocketing rents.
A soft-spoken woman with bronze dreadlocks and generous eyes, Wright, 39, is CEO of the Abyssinian Development Corporation, the community development wing of Harlem's historic Abyssinian Baptist Church. Initially born of a deep-seated need for basic amenities, ADC has changed as much as Harlem itself since it was founded 20 years ago.
"In the beginning, we were focused on your basic fundamental needs – food, shelter, clothing," Wright says of early projects, which included a homeless shelter and tenant block associations. In the late-'80s, Harlem was ground zero for a massive crack epidemic, and just about every building in Central Harlem was abandoned. "It looked like Beirut," Wright adds.
Continue reading Sheena Wright: Major Player in Harlem's Real Estate Game
Last night, Attorney General Eric H. Holder and actor Blair Underwood were among those honored at the 11th Annual Thurgood Marshall College Fund Awards held at the Galleria in Washington, DC. The event, held during the Congressional Black Caucus' Legislative Week, awarded Naeshaun Briggs and Jarvis Jones full rides to Howard University.
Sponsor Hennessy presented a $66,000 check in the name of the Henessy 44 Future Leaders Scholarship, which was funded by proceeds from the Hennessy 44 Limited Edition bottle, celebrating the historic inauguration of our 44th President. Eva Marcille of America's Next Top Model presented an award and Sheryl Underwood (no relation to Blair) was on hand for the positive festivities as well.
Noel Hankin, Andy Glaser, Eva Marcille and Dwayne Ashley, President, Thurgood Marshall College Fund.
Continue reading Thurgood Marshall Scholarship Gives Two Students Free Rides
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Try as he might, Marion Barry, 73, cannot erase the fact that most Americans know him as the mayor caught smoking crack on videotape in a 1990 sting operation – the same year Washington, D.C., had the dubious distinction of being the murder capital of the world.
Despite this humiliating and seemingly career-ending circumstance, today Barry is as beloved in Chocolate City as ever. Most recently, he was elected as a city council member for D.C.'s poorest area, Ward 8, his third successful election since that 1990 scandal. His political presence also provokes vitriol from many corners of the city.
Barry's phoenix-like political career, and his fascinating and flawed personal life, are chronicled in the documentary 'The Nine Lives of Marion Barry,' which premieres tonight on HBO. It highlights not only a politician rocked by scandal but a brilliant young man who overcame bitter circumstances to work in the civil rights movement and serve in public office.
South Side Chicago landmark Apostolic Church of God served as the site of the kick off of the National Urban League's annual convention last night. Urban Leaguers, church members, the press, business leaders and politicians – including Illinois Gov. Pat Quinn – packed the 5,000-seat place of worship as inspiring words flowed like manna on how to best shape the economic and social future of African Americans.
The church swayed to the sounds of a booming and melodious gospel choir, while speakers like Chicago Urban League CEO Cheryle Jackson and 15-year-old DeMarco Diggs showed the best of Chicago's young leadership. Marc Morial, president and CEO of the 99-year-old advocacy organization, delivered a rousing keynote to officially kick off the four-day convention, themed "The Path to Power."
Notable participants in this year's conference included Soledad O'Brien and Roland Martin, U.S. Secretary of Education Arne Duncan, NAACP President and CEO Benjamin Jealous, Bank of America CEO Kenneth Lewis, Earvin "Magic" Johnson, Rev. Jesse Jackson, Rev. Al Sharpton, Chicago Mayor Richard M. Daley, Ne-Yo, Tracee Ellis Ross, Terrence Howard, Tyra Banks, Illinois Attorney General Lisa Madigan, Vice President Joe Biden and many more.
A few days before the convention, Morial spoke with BV to talk about the future of civil rights organizations in general and how the Urban League has been impacted by the economy.
What are the biggest challenges facing the Urban League this year given our current economic situation?
Our big challenge facing us, in these tough times, is that the number of people who need our services has dramatically increased. Let me give you a number. In 2008, we served 2 million people; in 2007, we served 1.3 million. So we had a 50 percent increase in the number of people served. That's significant. The challenge is we need resources. We're not a volunteer movement, we're a professional movement. People work for us full time. We have educators, social workers, public administrators and workforce development specialists who work in our offices around the nation. And the challenge we face is that demand is up and money is tight.
Continue reading Marc Morial and National Urban League Kick Off National Convention in Chicago
In what has been a whirlwind week of coverage, Black Voices has been quoted in the New York Times as well as in a segment on the CBS Evening News with Katie Couric regarding the newest Disney movie, "The Princess and The Frog" which presents the animated studio's first African American princess, Tiana.
Black Voices has proudly been on this story since 2006, before there was even a movie to speak of. Back then, the community boards were abuzz and this mother of a young girl who never saw herself reflected in all the plethora of Disney princess memorabilia wanted to know when, in fact, we were going to get an African American princess. A year later Disney decided to make 'The Princess and the Frog,' and unfortunately, the movie has not been without its controversy.
When the movie was first announced, the princess' name was "Maddy" and she was a maid in 1920s New Orleans. After a bit of an uproar, her name was changed to the more African American sounding "Tiana" and her occupation became chef. As details of the movie (which is not slated to come out until December 2009) leaked out there was yet another wrinkle -- Tiana's love interest was not an African American prince. His name is Naveen (Indian), he is voiced by a Brazilian actor, he comes from a made up land and he could be Dominican.
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"You are what you eat," or so the saying goes. And that's doubly true for brain food. A few generations ago, it was inconceivable that a black man would be president of the United States. In fact, Sambo and Aunt Jemima were among the more positive portrayals of African Americans at the time. For decades the nation digested images that nourished bigotry and worked their way into our cultural DNA. Yet, the converse is also true. That is, with different images of blacks in media, African Americans could be celebrated, trusted and even loved.
Over the last 60 years there has been a profound shift in perception wherein Americans of all stripes literally looked up to black men and women -- on posters, movie screens and stages. Popular culture (including sports) chipped away at misperceptions, prejudices and just plain fear, while "real-life" society and politics simultaneously reflected a more integrated society. So in this year's historic election, instead of the "Bradley Effect," we got the "Cosby Effect" and instead of politics as usual we now have Barack Hussein Obama as our president, due in no small part to TV, ads, music and movies -- that and the fact that he was supremely qualified for the job.
Continue reading Top 13 Cultural Moments Leading to the Election of Barack Obama
"They would give me an African name, Barack, meaning blessing, believing that in a tolerant America, your name is no barrier to success"-- Barack Obama at the 2004 Democratic National Convention
There will be repercussions from this election for years to come – a more informed and active citizenship, a more "color blind society," Supreme Court placements, and, of course, the fact that the most prominent African-American on earth is not a rapper, athlete or actor.
One of the more obscure but no less significant changes will also be for those whose names fall outside of the "norm" – a significant portion of the African American community, and probably the world – that they may be judged a bit more for the content of their character and not for the name they were given.
The election of Barack Obama means more to children named Hayat, Jabril, Karu or Ayaana than can be estimated. And as the mother of two children with such names, it means a lot to me.
By Aurin Squire, Founder of BodegaAve.com, Special to BlackVoices
I took out my father's .38-caliber pistol and looked around for bullets. Sitting down on the shaggy brown carpet in the living room I rummaged through his slim black gun bag. The pistol was a shiny chrome machine with a cream-colored handle.
In junior high school this was my after-school ritual. Depressed and isolated, I would come home before any one else in my family, take out my father's guns, and fantasize. I weighed the advantages and disadvantages of killing myself as I held the gun in one hand and the bullets in the other.
I was Black, gay, and in un-chartered territory. I went to a mostly White upper-class school. I hid behind sports, academics and music. I was a tournament-winning tennis player, in honors classes, one of the lead debaters at my school; played the violin and viola in a children's symphony; and I wanted to kill myself. Years later I discovered I wasn't alone.
There are studies from Britain, Canada, and the United States that show gay teens and young adults are more likely to commit suicide than their straight counterparts. The problem is not sexuality but the inability to express love in a society where being openly affectionate with your true love interest may illicit verbal or physical violence
At school if you were considered a "flamer" or someone with flamboyant tendencies, you would be taunted, harassed, and threatened with violence on a daily basis. Even if you weren't gay, any overt sign of intellectual or artistic interest was met with derisive calls of "gay," "homo," or "faggot." To this day that is the worst thing you can call a teenage boy.
There was no safety walking down a hallway, going to the bathroom, or standing at your locker. Large crowds posed a threat of public humiliation while deserted areas were places of ambush and attack.
I was not a flamer. I was good at sports, fast, and strong. I was occasionally bullied but managed to laugh it off or turn it into a joke. Still, there was an environment of fear and hate that permeated everything. It was the subtle implication that violence was always waiting for those who spoke out that felt like a constant noose around my neck.
No place was safe. Not even home.
One day I came home crying. Overwhelmed by anxiety and fear, I was incoherent. I stumbled in to my parent's bedroom and found my father lying on the bed watching TV.
Words and tears poured out. My father's face contorted into a look I had never seen before. Humiliation, disgust, and rage shrunk his face into a tight ball of muscles. He hurled words like "manhood" and "strength" and "dignity" and said that I should never come to him like this again or I would be sorry.
As a result, I stayed hidden from my parents. My life, my loves, my concerns were always masked behind a stolid face. Later on when my father's body and mind started to break down from disease and old age, he would collapse into crying jags seeking comfort and solace. My face would contort into disgust and rage. It was my turn to speak of strength, manhood, dignity, but never love.
I look back on those days without sentiment. I remember the details dryly, as if they were happening to someone else.
Some days the reasons for not killing myself were trivial. I argued that I would ruin the family's carpet. Or I became concerned that I'd miss my next debate team meet. There were concerts to be played and I was one of the top violinists in a youth orchestra.
I would set deadlines, give it a week, a month. Eventually I made the decision to suspend debate about the topic for a year until further research could be done as to the quality and potential of my life. Since then I've gone to college, traveled, lived and learned.
Two years ago, I started an online cartoon with Tatiana Suarez-Pico and Tara Lopez. Bodega Ave. was created with the need for love and freedom in mind. The characters are Black, Latino, and multi-ethnic teenagers who are lesbian, gay, and questioning. Most of the teenagers on Bodega Ave. are straight but aren't adverse to friends who are different. If there had been a cartoon like Bodega Ave. when I was growing up it would've been a small step toward easing the tremendous pain that I and so many others felt.
Every day someone's son or daughter weighs their options just as I once did. Every day someone's child decides that they would rather kill themselves than live in a world that hates them or wants to keep them hidden.
Each person has the potential to give support, encouragement, and understanding. We must. It can and will save someone's child.
Aurin Squire is a 29-year-old writer/producer who also pens the online cartoon BodegaAve.com.
I took out my father's .38-caliber pistol and looked around for bullets. Sitting down on the shaggy brown carpet in the living room I rummaged through his slim black gun bag. The pistol was a shiny chrome machine with a cream-colored handle.
In junior high school this was my after-school ritual. Depressed and isolated, I would come home before any one else in my family, take out my father's guns, and fantasize. I weighed the advantages and disadvantages of killing myself as I held the gun in one hand and the bullets in the other.
I was Black, gay, and in un-chartered territory. I went to a mostly White upper-class school. I hid behind sports, academics and music. I was a tournament-winning tennis player, in honors classes, one of the lead debaters at my school; played the violin and viola in a children's symphony; and I wanted to kill myself. Years later I discovered I wasn't alone.
There are studies from Britain, Canada, and the United States that show gay teens and young adults are more likely to commit suicide than their straight counterparts. The problem is not sexuality but the inability to express love in a society where being openly affectionate with your true love interest may illicit verbal or physical violence
At school if you were considered a "flamer" or someone with flamboyant tendencies, you would be taunted, harassed, and threatened with violence on a daily basis. Even if you weren't gay, any overt sign of intellectual or artistic interest was met with derisive calls of "gay," "homo," or "faggot." To this day that is the worst thing you can call a teenage boy.
There was no safety walking down a hallway, going to the bathroom, or standing at your locker. Large crowds posed a threat of public humiliation while deserted areas were places of ambush and attack.
I was not a flamer. I was good at sports, fast, and strong. I was occasionally bullied but managed to laugh it off or turn it into a joke. Still, there was an environment of fear and hate that permeated everything. It was the subtle implication that violence was always waiting for those who spoke out that felt like a constant noose around my neck.
No place was safe. Not even home.
One day I came home crying. Overwhelmed by anxiety and fear, I was incoherent. I stumbled in to my parent's bedroom and found my father lying on the bed watching TV.
Words and tears poured out. My father's face contorted into a look I had never seen before. Humiliation, disgust, and rage shrunk his face into a tight ball of muscles. He hurled words like "manhood" and "strength" and "dignity" and said that I should never come to him like this again or I would be sorry.
As a result, I stayed hidden from my parents. My life, my loves, my concerns were always masked behind a stolid face. Later on when my father's body and mind started to break down from disease and old age, he would collapse into crying jags seeking comfort and solace. My face would contort into disgust and rage. It was my turn to speak of strength, manhood, dignity, but never love.
I look back on those days without sentiment. I remember the details dryly, as if they were happening to someone else.
Some days the reasons for not killing myself were trivial. I argued that I would ruin the family's carpet. Or I became concerned that I'd miss my next debate team meet. There were concerts to be played and I was one of the top violinists in a youth orchestra.
I would set deadlines, give it a week, a month. Eventually I made the decision to suspend debate about the topic for a year until further research could be done as to the quality and potential of my life. Since then I've gone to college, traveled, lived and learned.
Two years ago, I started an online cartoon with Tatiana Suarez-Pico and Tara Lopez. Bodega Ave. was created with the need for love and freedom in mind. The characters are Black, Latino, and multi-ethnic teenagers who are lesbian, gay, and questioning. Most of the teenagers on Bodega Ave. are straight but aren't adverse to friends who are different. If there had been a cartoon like Bodega Ave. when I was growing up it would've been a small step toward easing the tremendous pain that I and so many others felt.
Every day someone's son or daughter weighs their options just as I once did. Every day someone's child decides that they would rather kill themselves than live in a world that hates them or wants to keep them hidden.
Each person has the potential to give support, encouragement, and understanding. We must. It can and will save someone's child.
Aurin Squire is a 29-year-old writer/producer who also pens the online cartoon BodegaAve.com.
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