Hi, I am Aiyana Jones. I like playing with my brothers, going to school, jumping rope and helping my grandmother clean around the house. Like a lot of kids, I got me some BIG DREAMS for when I grow up. I want to be a doctor, lawyer or maybe the first black female President of the United States.
Too bad I won’t get the chance because on May 16, 2010 while I was asleep on my grandmother’s couch, a bad man, who was a police officer, decided it was time for me to die and shot me in the head with a 9 mm.
Some people say the police officer was showing out for the A&E Next 48 TV crew that was tagging along with the police. I don’t know. I do know that I didn’t want to die and that I miss my family and friends very, very much, especially my granny. And that bad police man who killed me is still walking around with a gun, I hope he don’t kill another little girl.
I’m too young to know what justice is, although I hear people talking a lot about it, saying things like “Justice for Aiyana Jones”. But I hear others saying there is “NO JUSTICE, NO PEACE, NOT IF YOU’RE BLACK AND POOR”. I don’t know, maybe it’s true. But it don’t seem right. What do you think?
Every day from my Father’s lap, I look through the clouds to see if there is such a thing as justice for a poor, black little girl shot in the head by the people who were supposed to be protecting me and my family.
Oh by the way, I would’ve been 10 this year, but if you ask me what I want for my birthday, I’ll tell you, this thing ya’ll call justice.
Lend your support to the Justice for Aiyana Jones campaign at email@example.com
Click on http://sfbayview.com/2011/justice-for-aiyana-jones-now/ to read story originally published in VOD on JAJC aerial protest commemorating the first anniversary of cop murder of Aiyana Jones.
Following in the wake of the Trayvon Martin tragedy, a new dialogue with a 400 year old theme has been making the rounds in the African-American community, especially in the homes of black families with sons.
Similar to the sexual primer most mothers or fathers give their daughters that basically adds up to, “keep your panties up and dress down till you’re at least 40 and out my house,” the conversation these African-Americans have been having has centered around the hot button topic of “racial profiling” and more specifically the steps black families are taking to protect black boys and men from those who so often view them as inherent threats, often for something as simple an inoffensive as wearing a hoodie.
These parents are busy instructing their sons how to deal with the police and with the inevitable sting of racial profiling when it happens to them. Not if but when.
A black family having “the talk” with their sons at the dinner table
As I read these articles making the rounds in the USA Today, Wall Street Journal and Essence, I thought about the times in my life when I had been “racially profiled” and automatically treated as a criminal guilty until proven innocent by virtue of my race and gender.
The funny thing is that two of my most memorable experiences with racial profiling outside of the criminal just-us system occurred in Wal-Mart stores. One in a store right outside of Houston in Pearland, and the other at a Wal-Mart in Louisiana.
Ten minutes from my home in Pearland, there is a 24-hour Wal-Mart Supercenter, directly across the street from a 24-hour Super Kmart. The fact that these stores where both 24 hours made them two of my favorite late night shopping destinations.
One night along with two friends I went to the Wal-Mart Supercenter for a little late night shopping. A few days prior to my trip I had purchased a new Nokia electric drill from a friend of mine that needed a set of drill bits. Entering the store I made a mental note not to forget the drill bits. At the time I was in the process of installing a new Hollywood type vanity in the restroom of my home, which was the reason I had purchased the drill to begin with.
After spending an hour or better in the store buying a bunch of things the likes of which I can no longer remember me and my two friends made our way to the counter with a fully loaded basket.
What I do remember was that the everyday low prices added up to a $166 dollars worth of merchandise. I further recall that the entire time I was in the store, the only store employees or sales associates in Wal-Mart that I saw were three middle age Caucasian ladies.
Now by way of disclaimer, I’ll freely admit that looking back at me and my two friends compared with these three women an alien could’ve been forgiven for surmising that we were two sets of different species from different planets.
Steeped in urban street culture and dress, me and my two buddies were decked out in the latest urban fashions, and one of my friends had at least six gold teeth with both arms covered in tattoo ink, not to mention our strong use of slang and ebonies. The flipside to our dress and demeanor was that these three white ladies working at the store on this particular night were as plain as homemade vanilla.
After paying for my items I pushed the basket full of goods to the door. As soon as we went through the door a alarm sounded. Realizing the cashier must’ve failed to remove one of the theft proof bar codes, I calmly rolled the basket back up to the counter.
The lady at the cash register apologized, looked through my bags and realized that she had failed to take the bar code off the $6 pack of drill bits which she promptly did. To error is human. No big deal right?
Thinking that was all there was to it, which it more than likely would’ve been – had it not been for our unique make up coupled with the peculiar place black males hold in this society., peculiar in that one is always forced to prove that he isn’t a bad guy, or that he belongs. Just as Harvard professor Henry Louis Gates had to prove he wasn’t a burglar and that it was his home that he was trying to enter and not someone else’s as the 911 caller suspected.
Following the alarm incident I rolled the basket to the car and got ready to leave. That was when I noticed one of the ladies come out of the store and began to gather baskets. Perhaps this wouldn’t have been strange if it hadn’t been 3 AM in the morning. While in the process of gathering baskets I saw her slip a small yellow post-it note pad out of her pocket and discreetly write down the license plate number of our vehicle.
Knowing this could only mean one thing, an accusation of theft and that we would be even more suspect if we left the store, I got out the car, approached the lady and asked her why did she write my license plate number down. Petrified she began to protest that she didn’t write it down. So I said, ”Lady, I saw you do it. Pull that yellow pad out your right pocket.”
Still she continued to deny it, “no sir, no sir” and all at once she sprinted back toward the store as if I had suddenly morphed into Freddie Kruger, Jason, the Bogie man, and Norman Bates all in one.
Not satisfied with her denials which were really a insult to my intelligence when I had just seen her taking down the license plate number, I grabbed the three bags of everyday low priced junk and went back into the store and tossed it all on the counter, “everybody black don’t steal, I don’t gotta steal a damn thing, go through all that shit!”
The three ladies huddled together, eyes wide with fear, nearly hugging each other for protection, no doubt expecting some type of violent confrontation. “Please leave, please leave sir, we’re not accusing you of stealing anything.” Which totally ignored the fact that one of them was just out in the parking lot writing down my license plate number, so obviously they were accusing me of something.
Finally I accepted the fact that trying to talk to them was about as productive as trying to reason with a bolder in Yellowstone National park, so I grabbed my bags and calmly walked out the store.
We had made it about two blocks from the store when four police cars with emergency lights on and sirens blazing passed us by at a high rate of speed on their way to apprehend the bad guys. Seeing our car they made a hard U-Turn and pulled us over.
By now I was so upset that I completely forgot what my own parents as well as hard earned experience had taught me about dealing with the police. Without thinking I hopped out the car (I was riding in the back seat) and began walking up to the police cars ranting and raving with my arms flaying wildly over my head. I don’t think that I have to tell you that this is a very good way to get yourself shot and killed by a police officer in Houston. The officers were so startled that instead of getting out they remained in their patrol cars while one of them talked over the PA system, “Sir, please calm down and return to your car, calm down and wait for us to come to you.”
I returned to the car and watched through the side windows as the seven or eight officers took defensive positions on either side of the car with their hands resting on their gun handles. Ready to add me and my friends names to the long list of young black men who have been murdered by police officers in Harris County.
Finally, one of the officers approached the window and I tried as best as I could to explain to him what was going on. To his credit he wasn’t a asshole about the whole thing, and simply said, “I’ll tell ya’ll what, lets all go back to the store and we’ll try to get this sorted out.”
So with four police cars in tow we returned to the Walmart. Back at the store me and my friends stood around the car with three or four officers while the other two or three went into the store to talk to the ladies who had begun all this mess in the first place.
After about ten minutes, the officer doing most of the talking came out of the store and said, “Everything’s okay, it seems like it was just a big misunderstanding. You guys can go ahead and leave.”
Big misunderstanding, huh? What the officers didn’t say was that three middle age white ladies saw three young black guys shopping at 3 in the morning and automatically assumed we were engaged in some type of nefarious criminal activity. lt was as if on this particular night, these ladies’ worst fear had materialized and they had their first encounter with the proverbial “bad nigger” which was in itself a reason to call the cops and huddle in fear. When you think about it, this is the same thing that George Zimmerman did to Trayvon Martin when he saw a young black man in a hoodie and assumed he was a burglar, another bad nigger in his good neighborhood.
My second brush with racial profiling happened at another Wal-mart in Louisiana. Late one Sunday evening after attending a seasonal crawfish festival with several friends, I was in the lead car in a five car caravan headed back to Houston when I spotted a Wal-mart right next to the highway.
Being somewhat of a green-thumb, I like to keep a well groomed and landscaped yard, something I got from my mother. At the time I needed a sprinkler for my lawn and I also needed a tape cleaner for my tape deck.
Entering the store, I went straight to the electronics section, selected a tape cleaner and paid for it. Which was only seven or eight bucks. If you’ve ever been to a Wal-mart, Target, or the like, then you know that they require you to pay for anything you purchase in the electronics section right then and there in that section. They also give you a receipt for your purchase.
After leaving the electronics section I went to the lawn and gardening area and selected a lawn sprinkler, then walked to the main registers at the front of the store to pay for it.
But before I could do so, the cashier, another white lady with a puggy red face in her late fifties, demanded that I open my other Walmart bag that was stapled with a reecipt on it. I refused, not because I had stolen anything but because I had been to enough Wal-mart to know that wasn’t standard procedure. A brief stand-off ensued. The cashier called for security.
Honestly, I didn’t care if she called Sam Walton. I knew I hadn’t stolen anything. But sometimes you can win a battle and lose the war.
And due to the fact that I was in a different state than my own and that I had about 30 people in five separate cars outside waiting on me, I decided it wasn’t worth the hassle and went ahead and opened my bag. But not before shaking my head at the lady and what her request implied.
However, that was the day that I realized that from the day I was born till the day I breathe my last breath in this country, I will always and forever be considered an “inherent threat.” Guilty until proven innocent. Columbia University Professor Marc Lamount, author of “The Classroom and the Cell: Conversations on black life in America” said concerning the psychic toll racial profiling has on black boys and men: “Seeing what happened to Trayvon was traumatic. There needs to be a conversation about what it feels like to be followed in the store, chased out of the mall, or to not be welcomed on the other side of town.”
I agree. I also believe that any parent that doesn’t have “the talk” with their sons about what they can expect to encounter in this society is doing them a severe disservice, one that can potentially have fatal consequences.
I have a lot of respect for Houston defense attorney Dick DeGuerin. So much that he was one of the first attorneys I attempted to hire, but was unable to afford when I found myself facing the daunting prospect that later became a reality of being “railroaded” by Harris County.
Then I heard the “hero” defense DeGuerin successfully raised in the trial of ex-Houston police officer Andrew Blomberg, one of several Houston police officers eventually fired and charged with “official oppression” after administering a sever dose of, “street justice” to 15 year old Chad Holley back in March 2010. It just happened to get caught on tape, which was the only reason the officers were fired, or even prosecuted. Because as anyone with even a casual knowledge of Harris County will readily admit, police misconduct, judicial oppression and injustice are a way of life for the county’s black and brown population. So much so to where the average, poor African American or Hispanic is living a precarious existence not much different than a Jewish person’s in Germany during the rise of the Nazi party. I promise you, it’s that bad. They simply have no rights legal or otherwise that the powers that be, police, prosecutors, judges etc are bound to respect. None whatsoever.
So, when Dick DeGuerin proposed his “hero” defense, I couldn’t help but think about President Obama’s sudden election time support of gay marriage. And was reminded of the tenet that just like a politician the average defense lawyer, or DA will do or say anything to win a case. Even stooping to the level of calling a grown man and trained police officer caught on video stomping a 15 year old teenager a”hero”. What the !*??!!*
The not-guilty verdict came down with the resulting backlash of anger from Houston’s black community. (Note: The black masses in the United States of America have been mad so long that nobody really cares anymore. The official line is okay get mad, march, protest, wear T-Shirts, and for good measure we’ll even have a meeting with you. How about that? Would you like that? But next week, the nightstick will be right back upside your head. Why? Because you are a irrelevant population. When are you people going to learn that? No one cares about what concerns you.) But I for one wasn’t surprised that a all white jury of Blomberg’s middle class peers found him not guilty despite being caught on camera acting like the very thug his attorney tried to portray Chad Holley to be.
I mean, why should anyone be surprised? Was anyone surprised when a all white jury in Mississippi acquitted the two half-brothers of killing 14 year old Emmet Till for whistling at a white lady, after the brothers bragged about the crime?
Getting beyond the surface, let’s examine what took place from the reality of modern day America. Andrew Blomberg is a married, college-educated, white middle class man with enough disposable financial resources to hire arguably one of the best, if not the best criminal defense lawyers in the state. On top of this he has many supporters in the community and police force who packed the courtroom to add weight to the fact that he’s not the type of guy to normally do what he was caught on camera doing.
Now compare all that with the 15 year old victim who was a poor, black kid from a single parent home, burglary suspect and alleged gang member at the time of his assault by Houston Police officers. On top of that he’s dragging the weight of history with him and every stereotype and prejudice that the average white mind harbors about young black males.
Put another way in the eyes of this society Andrew Blomberg is a “somebody”, even a “hero” according to his attorney. While Chad Holley was and is viewed as a nobody. Just another unemployed, young black thug (code word for nigger) who was committing a crime and got what he deserved, a good old-fashioned butt whipping. Sure, in our political reality, never say what you really feel or think, no one in society will admit this – not the DA, defense lawyer, police officer, Blomberg, or his friends and family, but I would bet a small fortune that deep down, this is how they all really feel.
Undoubtedly, it was how the jury felt when they chose to acquit Blomberg.
Until people get real about what’s really going on with the police department and the criminal justice system – and how very little has really changed in the hearts and minds of the people of this country, despite the election of the nation’s first black president and all the post racial nonsense pundits like to sprout – men like Andrew Blomberg will continue to be “heroes” despite their actions to the contrary. While the Chad Holley’s and Trayvon Martin’s among us will remain endangered species under a official order as in Blomberg’s case, or unofficial as in Zimmerman’s to seek out and destroy where ever they may be.
No Justice. No Peace.
“WHEN NOBODY LISTENS TO A COMPLAINT THAT APPEARS TO BE LEGITIMATE, WHEN NOBODY TRIES TO RECTIFY A BAD SITUATION, A VIOLENT ACT IS PERHAPS THE ONLY WAY LEFT TO FOCUS ATTENTION ON THE WRONG, AND HELP SOMETHING GET DONE ABOUT IT” — John Langone
When 23 year old Mohamed Merah went on his bloody Jihadist rampage in the French city of Toulouse that left seven people senselessly dead, three of them children, I wondered if this was how he felt? As if his legitimate grievances and the grievances of his people were continuing to go unheard. Before dying in a hail of gun fire at the hands of French special forces soldiers the young terrorist told a negotiator, ”you kill my brothers, now I’m killing you.”
While it’s probably impossible to pinpoint the exact motives for his attacks, righteous indignation, hatred of French society, or just youthful frustration – I can tell you exactly what is driving the protest that have erupted all across the country in the wake of the Trayvon Martin killing in Sanford, Florida by 28 year old George Zimmerman the trigger happy neighborhood watch captain.
Trayvon who was 17 years old and unarmed when he was gunned down insides of a gated community was killed for being black in a nice neighborhood which in the eyes of George Zimmerman automatically made him suspect.
In America we have DWB (Driving While Black).
Which will get you stopped and possibly ticketed on GP (General Principle).
WWB (Walking while Black).
Which will get you Id’ed and frisked.
And plain old BB (Being Black).
Which in Trayvon’s case got him a bullet in the chest.
Same thing with Emmet Till, Rodney King, Sean Bell.
But as the protest that have rocked this nation from one side to the other following Trayvon’s senseless killing attest.
Black people have reached a breaking point.
We are tired of being murdered by police.
Tired of being murdered by the George Zimmerman’s and Joe Horns of the world.
And tired of being gun down senselessly by each other. Enough is enough.
Like Mohamed Merah in France, the African-American community has reached a breaking point. A point were the pain of doing nothing is far greater than the pain associated with change, meaningful change.
The abolitionist and ex-slave Fredrick Douglass said, “Find out just what any people will quietly submit to and you have the exact measure of injustice and wrong that will be imposed on them.”
For too long that’s what the black community has been guilty of quietly submitting. Quietly submitting to our sisters and brothers being railroaded by the criminal justice system on trumped up charges, the same justice system that allowed George Zimmerman to walk away after killing a unarmed defenseless black teenager. We quietly submit to the constant assault and killing of black men young and old at the hand of the police. Quietly submit to one form of injustice after another.
Until now, finally the community has reached a breaking point. A point to where all 13.5 million of our voices young and old are saying a COLLECTIVE NO MORE.
NO MORE TRAYVON’S, SEAN BELLS OR RODNEY KINGS. NO MORE ANTHONY GRAVES’.
NO MORE INJUSTICE.
Martin Luther King said, “an injustice against one is an injustice against all.”
Which makes us all Trayvon Martin.
The man in this 1863 picture is an escaped slave from the Mississippi Delta, named Gordon, whom I like to think of as a distant relative. Even if the connection we share isn’t of the molecular one composed of hydrogen, oxygen and carbon combined in the double helix better known as DNA that CSI NY has so many of us assuming we are familiar with, even if we failed high-school chemistry.
However, the connection that me and Prince Gordon share is a soulish one as we’ve both been victimized in the country of our Birth .
When you see the flesh of Gordon’s back cut open into a thousand pieces, what’s the first thing that jumps into your mind?
One person may wonder aloud, “what did he do to possibly deserve such vicious, inhumane treatment?” While another would protest vehemently that there was no offense that a man could commit that would warrant such treatment. Another person might bemoan the injustice of the entire American slave system and its aftermath that declared some men as masters and the others as beast of burden with absolutely no say so over their lives based solely on the color of their skin. Each would have a hold on a small fiber of the truth.
When I encountered the portrait of Gordon eight years ago, I was immediately drawn to the regal grace and kingliness of the man. And I saw the welts on his back representing not a source of shame but pride. A crown of splendid glory carved into his flesh as majestic as any that was ever worn by the Kings and Queens of Europe. For Gordon’s crown is emblematic of his quest to be a man, in a unjust soul-crushing system that refused to acknowledge him as such.
The more I studied the photo, the more mesmerized I became with who this man was and what he had endured in the name of manhood. It was then that I realized me and Gordon were kindred spirits and that the scars on his back represented the wounds of my very own soul.
Like a ghost from beyond the grave Gordon’s spirit was a light onto my feet. Showing me the way. The way of all those who refuse to turn back, lay down, let up, shut up, or give up come what may even the hated twin foes of bodily injury and death.
In essence, Gordon was telling me and all the world that yes, he was beaten, but he was UNBROKEN. That his head was bloodied, but UNBOWED.
From the seeds of Gordon’s courage came the inspiration for my publishing company UNBROKEN UNBOWED PRESS, with Gordon as the company’s figure head for his life represents the highest aspirations that UNBROKEN UNBOWED PRESS seeks to embody.
A publishing company for all the kindred souls who refuse to take no for an answer, who refuse to turn back in the face of adversity – for the outcast, social lepers, misfits, convicts, and all the men and women which a Gordon Spirit who retain their dignity, pride, hope, courage and grace even in the face of unimaginable hardships and adversity. UNBROKEN UNBOWED PRESS is for them and all the Gordons of the world.
At UNBROKEN UNBOWED PRESS, we agree with the eminent late black scholar Manning Marble who said, “KNOWLEDGE FROM THE VANTAGE POINT OF THE OPPRESSED, MUST NOT ONLY INFORM, BUT TRANSFORM THE REAL CONDITIONS OF DAILY LIFE IN WHICH PEOPLE LIVE.”
If you are anyone you knows has a Gordon Spirit check us out at http://www.wix.com/unbrokenunbowedpress/home as well as Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Unbroken-Unbowed-Press/365012860183016
According to the FBI every year 273,985 people color are reported missing with 8 in 10being African-American, of the 58,000 children who are victims of abductions, 65 percent are black. However, when Phylicia Barnes, who was a 17 year old college bound teenager came up missing a few days after Christmas in 2010, or Stepha Henry, who was a recent college graduate on her way to law school, disappeared while visiting family in Miami, they never got the national press or constant media attention that Natalee Holloway or Elizabeth Smart did. Why?
Race was undoubtedly a factor as both Phylicia and Stepha were black while Elizabeth and Natalee were white. But another factor was classism, as America is essentially a stratified society in which the lives of some are valued more than that of others. But while society as a whole may be slow
change, we all can do our individual part to bring about the changes we want to see. As a father of two teenage daughters, I was disturbed when I learned just how little media attention was dedicated to people of color who go missing more than any other race in this country every year.
How many of us had heard the names of any of the 11 Cleveland women who went missing before their bodies were found in convicted serial killer Anthony Sowell’s house? Exactly. They were poor black women, from a poor black community, many with a history of drug addiction, and as a result they were treated as nobodies with the bulk only receiving media attention when their bodies were found.
As a victim of injustice I feel a personal connection with all those who have been wronged and have a strong desire to stand shoulder to shoulder with them. Whether it’s seeking justice for Trayvon Martin or marching with Occupy Wall Street, my spirit is forever on the front lines. With my weapon of words organized into a verbal sigh and protest, I find myself repeatedly turning to my pen to express solidarity with these causes that are near and dear to my heart.
I know that in some way, no matter how small or insignificant, we can all do our part. Because if anything matters, then every thing matters.
To learn more about how you can do your part, check out the Black & Missing Foundation at www.blackandmissinginc.com
Freedom of Speech as guaranteed by the US constitution has long been a cherished right of most Americans, A*K*A the right to express yourself the way you feel, when you feel like it, with a few narrow exceptions of course. This right has been equally transferred to various other forms of non-oral communication including music, gestures, art etc.
For this reason a large portion of the negative commentary about the President along with the satirical drawings that seem to pop up like weeds in a untended garden everywhere you look are an example of Americans, especially white Americans, exercising their constitutional right to say what they feel about the President – just as many of us, myself included, did with the previous President.
However, the difference with the current political rhetoric and criticism from that of the past is that the criticism leveled at Obama often comes with a strong stereotypical or racial overtone, as the pictures above clearly illustrate. Another unique feature is that it tends to include the First Lady along with the couples’ two children. Prior to the last 3 years in which the nation has had its’ first black President, and first African-American family living in the White House who weren’t employees or servants, this was considered a political no-no. As there were never any satirical or controversial drawings of Laura Bush or her twin daughters; but evidently, when it comes to the Obamas the gloves have come off and political civility has gone out the window.
I wonder why?
A January 31, USA Today column by columnist DeWayne Wickman was further evidence of this current negative trend of individuals showing disrespect for the President and the office he holds. If you missed this latest act, it occurred when Arizona Governor Brewer (the same governor that passed the harshest immigration law in history that later had to be rejected by the US Justice dept. as it allowed any police officer to question any Hispanic about his or her immigration status) raised her voice and stuck her index finger in Obama’s face as he was deplaning Air Force One.
In most corners of the civilized world, people are taught that it is considered disrespectful to point your finger into anyone’s face. As a result, it’s a gesture rarely seen outside of a parent reprimanding a wayward child or an irate couple having a lovers’ spat. Due to its objectableness, the gesture is not even tolerated in the workplace. Take a second and imagine how you would feel if your boss or co-worker turned to you in anger and thrust his or her finger into your face screaming, “now you look here”. Safe to say you probably wouldn’t be too happy about it.
But if that wasn’t enough in itself, what if it was a subordinate doing the finger pointing at a superior? I’ll forgive you if your favorite move from SMACKDOWN suddenly popped into your head, but that’s essentially what Governor Brewer was to the President.
Once the governor’s inappropriate disrespectful behavior went viral, resulting in a firestorm of criticism. In an attempt to justify her actions, she fell back on the well worn racial stereotype of the helpless “white damsel in distress” being threatened by the proverbial ”bad nigger”, by claiming she felt threatened by President Obama.
Let me repeat that SHE SAID SHE FELT THREATENED BY THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
For a second, let’s forget that she was the one doing all the screaming and finger-pointing. Or that her tirade took place in front of two Arizona mayors, a detachment of Secret Service agents, the Presidential Press Corps, and a small group of well-wishers who had gathered on the tarmac.
Ignoring all of that, can anyone explain to me exactly how she felt threatened by the leader of “the free world”, a Harvard Educated lawyer, former college law professor, and married father in the presence of over 50 people in broad daylight?
If governor Brewer had made the same accusation against former President Bush, she would’ve been laughed out of Arizona. But when a white woman says she feels threatened by a black man, even if the black man just happens to be the President of the United States, our history won’t laugh it off.
In 1921, the Tulsa Race riots that destroyed over six hundred black on businesses and led to over eighty deaths was caused when a white woman said she felt threatened by a black elevator operator. The same incomprehensible nonsense got Matt Ingram a black farmer thrown in jail and charged with rape by leering. I REPEAT, RAPE BY LEERING after a 14 year-old white girl said Ingram looked at her in a frightening way.
The same twisted belief that all black men are out to harass, threaten and rape supposedly helpless white women has led to black lynchings and race riots through out America’s bloody history.
Still, here it’s 2012 and another white lady, this one supposedly educated is once again falling back on this outdated racial stereotype to justify her own misbehavior.
Why? For the same reason that many Americans feel it’s perfectly justifiable to depict the President and the first lady as a pair of glorified apes, or as a Muslim extremist couple, or to publicly joke about doing the President or his family harm. There remains a large percentage of individuals in this country that refuse to see black people as anything other than dangerous, brute beast, who are somehow less civilized or deserving than others, regardless of how many Civil Rights movements take place, or what the law says. In their book, it will always be, “if you white, you alright, if you black, get back”. Governor Brewer was well aware of these sentiments when she opened her mouth to say she felt threatened by Obama.
In Dred vs. Scott, the US Supreme Court Justice Roger B. Taney summed up the view of most of these individuals, governor Brewer included, when he said, “Blacks have for more than a century before been regarded as being of an inferior order…so far that they had no rights which the white man was bound to respect.”
There it is.
Despite his education and eloquence.
Despite being elected by a majority of Americans to be their leader.
For Governor Brewer and all of her kind he is still a black man and as such “has no rights which the white man is bound to respect.”
Not even the right to be free of her finger wagging in his face.
The headline above is real it comes from a November 11, newspaper article about Oscar Ramiro Ortega-Hernande who allegedly fired nine rounds from a high-powered AK-47 assault rifle at the White House.
Oscar Ramiro Ortega-Hernande, Alleged White House Shooter
On a clear sunny April morning, a lone gunman was perched in a makeshift snipers’ nest on top of the Colonial Coffee building on NW 15th st. One block from McPherson Square, two blocks from the seat of American government. The White House.
He had been camped out for three days.
To recreate American history.
At a quarter past ten/he got his opportunity.
“Pst”, was the only sound. The AR-15 sniper rifle fitted with a titanium silencer, laser guided scope and custom barrel barely buckled as it delivered its deadly payload with lethal precision.
Fraction of a second later, the .223 mercury dipped lead missile found its fleshly target. The bullet entered the man’s right anterior lobe, opening up a dime sized hole in its wake. Traveled downward through his medulla oblongata and exited out the base of his neck. Killing him instantly.
Before anyone could blink, or think to respond.
The man who made nations tremble.
The leader of the free world.
Commander and Chief of a two trillion dollar war machine.
The President of The United States was dead. With blood splattering out of the hole in his forehead like a misaligned water fountain.
His body slumped. Felled by a sniper’s bullet. Murdered by an invisible, faceless, nameless enemy.
A defiant act of human will.
The unfortunates close to him, the ones who ended up with fragments of his three pounds of knowledge on them would later describe the day as surreal. Like a bad dream.
But it was no dream. It was an American nightmare.
Conceived and birthed inside of an American torture Chamber.
Nurtured inside one of the nation’s peculiar institutions.
A day that would live on in infamy.
A day no American would ever forget.
Exactly as the gunman wanted it.
The excerpt following the news headline is a passage from my new assassination, black nationalist novel (The Lion of Judah, Createspace/Movastone, 240 pp (December 2011) $14.99 paperback).
It tells the story of 23 year old Immanuel Johnson who was born and raised in the ghettos of West Baltimore. Long before he entered the harsh reality of the Maryland Department of Corrections as a young impressionable 18 year old with a 5 year bid to serve, he was a young man with an overriding sense of destiny. A nagging feeling that he was born for a purpose.
But like a lot of young black men, it was in the crucible of prison that he first encountered the plethora of subversive philosophies that grow unchecked like desert weeds in the fertile cesspool of human misery that is the American prison system.
It was here that this young, intellectually gifted black man would be reborn as Black Jesus, a member of the 5 Percenter Nation of Gods and Earths and discover his true purpose as well as his mission in life.
A mission so profound that it would forever alter the course of American History.
After his five year baptism in hell on earth he emerged from the womb of darkness a new being. A man and God. A self-appointed prophet to the black race in Americana man so dedicated to his fanatical vision of what he believed had to be done to right the wrongs in the land of his birth that he was willing to sacrifice his life to see his vision come to pass. But not before writing a scorching diatribe to explain his actions to the world.
“A deep, dark novel that devolves into the madness that lurks in the human soul, madness often brought to the surface by political ideology.”
Immanuel Johnson is a young, frustrated, black man with a sense of destiny. On top of this he has a Messiah Complex, and after serving five years in a maximum security prison where he immerses himself in black nationalist and radical religious literature, he comes to believe that he is a reincarnation of Christ and that he must sacrifice his life for the salvation of Black America. But not before writing a scorching diatribe to explain his actions to the world.
Now available at Amazon.com for $14.99