Monday, January 12, 2009

The New Open Season On Black Men:
Is It Obama Related?



“The fact that justice is blind
is a thing to which we blacks are wise,
her bandage hides two festering sores
that once perhaps were eyes.”

- Aimé Césaire


I don't know Johannes "Johnny" Mehserle, the 27 year old San Francisco Bay Area Rapid Transit (BART) cop who shot dead 22 year old Oscar Grant in the back on New Year's Day at the Fruitville Station. Grant lay face down and pleading "please, please don't Tase me."

Instead, Mehserle, accompanied by other cops including one who had his knee on the victim, straddled Grant while standing, pulled out his gun and shot him in the back.

The bullet pierced Oscar Grant's lung, exited his body, then ricocheted from the floor and back into his body, killing him almost instantly.




One video I saw no longer on YouTube, clearly showed that Grant was handcuffed at the time. Other reports say something more bizarre and unbelievable - that he was handcuffed after he was shot.

Speculation has been that it was an accident and he thought he was pulling out his Taser.

That film and the others I've seen looks like unpremeditated murder to me, much like violent domestic abuse cases and feuds between neighbors where someone snaps under stress, and on an impulse, kills.

In the eyes of the law, this is 2nd degree murder.

Oscar Grant had some history of prior arrests. He was allegedly involved an argument or simple, stupid fight between two groups of unarmed young men on the subway. However, even though he may or may not have been "an angel" by his history as defined by this culture, he was not resisting arrest.

There was no reason for him to be Tasered, much shot execution-style while complacently lying down and probably already handcuffed.

I'll focus of this story more after the next two.


****************************


As much of the world celebrated New Years Eve with fireworks and parties, at midnight on January 1st, twenty-two year old Adolph Grimes happily arrived to his grandmother's home in New Orleans after driving five hours from Houston, where he relocated after Hurricane Katrina.

This CNN article says that around 3 AM,

"Grimes had just walked out of the house and was in a car waiting for his cousin, according to family members, when nine plainclothes officers -- part of an undercover narcotics task force driving around New Orleans on New Year's Eve -- surrounded Grimes' vehicle... The Orleans Parish coroner said Grimes was shot 14 times, including 12 times in the back... Shots rang out; New Orleans Police Superintendent Warren Riley said Grimes shot at police first.

The Grimes family disagrees, saying police executed a loved one as he ran for his life.

"It was like someone was a murderer, and they finally caught him," said Grimes' mother, Patricia. "I ain't ever seen anything like this. And the worst part about it was I had to wait for the 5 o'clock news to find out my son was murdered."

Damn. How cold is that?

And I don't know about you, but the average man, and particularly a black man, who is suddenly surrounded by nine armed men of any race and not dressed as officers might think his life was in serious danger.

Also if I recall, it's legal for Texas residents to carry a gun, so he probably did have one to protect himself from criminals. He wasn't one of those, as he no prior arrest history.

So, did he fire a shot first, as the police said, and if so, was it like a warning shot - since none of them were injured - in hopes this mob of white men would back off?

Or had one or more of them fired at him first, since two of the bullet wounds were in front side of body while the other 12 bullets were in his back from him running from them.



Adolph Grimes, like Oscar Grant, left behind a fiance and 17 month old baby.


********************************

Then there's the fresh case involving the son of Bobby Tolan, a former famous baseball player for the St. Louis Cardinals and won a World Series title in the late 1960s.

His son, Robbie Tolan, is 23 years old and new in his baseball career. On New Years Eve, he and his cousin arrived home from a fast food place, unarmed and minding their own business.



This MSNBC article says the police had a report of a stolen SUV in the area. This is how the jackass wearing a badge handled it:

As they walked up the driveway to their home, Anthony Cooper said an unidentified man emerged from the darkness with a flashlight and a gun pointed at them.

"We did not know it was a police officer," said Cooper. "He said, 'Stop. Stop.' And we were like, 'Why? Who are you?'"

The officers ordered both men to lie down on the ground. Tolan's parents heard the commotion and came outside. Police will only say an "altercation" took place. Tolan's family say it involved his mother.

"The cop pushed her against the wall," said Tolan's uncle, Mike Morris.

Relatives say Tolan started to lean up from the ground to ask the officer what he was doing to his mother.

That's when the family says Tolan was shot in the chest, the bullet piercing his lung and then lodging in his liver.

"He was the victim of the worst case and worst kind of racial profiling," said community activist Quannel X.

The Bellaire Police Department has called the shooting "tragic" and put the officer involved in the incident on administrative leave.


Robbie Tolan got a bullet lodged in his liver for simply looking up and asking "What are doing to my mother?"

The trigger-happy white cop who shot him "is a ten year veteran with an excellent record", according to the Bellaire, TX Assistant Police Chief, who looked tired but utterly comfortable with his conclusion in this video, where he also stated, "As far as any allegations of racial profiling, I'd say that's probably not going to float."


How in the hell does he know racism wasn't involved? Or won't "float"? And does he really know what's in the heart of his staff?

Eye witnesses said that cop shoved Tolan's mother around and then wrote his version "there was an altercation". Yeah, sounds like he started it too... and does he have a history of shoving white folks who ask questions when their family members are thrown on the ground in their driveway?

This kind of injustice happens all the time in black communities. Every hour of every day. So why should the public believe this cop led a squeaky clean career? Chances are, citizen complaints were never made out of fear of retaliation or hopelessness that nothing would come of it, or were made but dismissed by other like-minded bosses ever-ready to dismiss the possibility of racism.

This would account for so many "clean records" of cops caught on video, like the Oscar Grant case, or in high profile cases like Robbie Tolan. There was no video and he didn't die, so you can bet the bank we had never heard about it if his dad hadn't once been a famous baseball player. It would have just been another abusive white cop and the family's word against the theirs, and totally ignored by the media.



***********************


My gut reaction when viewing the Grant videos a few days ago was "Racism! Bastard! Look at that! All of them! Haters swarming around him like predators out for blood! How could they?!"

I still frankly feel that way.

And when I learned of the other two cases over the weekend, I thought:

"Racist bastards. They're probably Obama haters and can't stand it that a black man won the Presidency. This could be the collective aftershock and blowback I feared months ago because Fox News and fixed news and the McCain campaign stirred as much of the white population into a hate frenzy as possible."

The pitfall of thinking this about those specific cases is they're factless-based assumptions. A good assumption will have some evidence that could point to the truth.

However, not a thing I've read about those cases indicate those white cops had or were placing any Obama-related hostilities on the public, whom they are supposed to protect and use the least violent means necessary when making arrests.

What I can do, however, is consider a growing trend of white male police aggression toward black males, and ask, "In this decade, what could have triggered it?"

Stick with me, and I'll give you much to think about.

We have history, and we have recent history of an increase in anti-black hate crimes from the Presidential Election.

I trace the genesis of the recent problem to Hillary Clinton, with her race-specific appeal to "white, working white, voters" to vote for her, her refusal to drop out of the primaries, and for no reason whatsoever brought up how Robert Kennedy was assassinated in the month of June (1968). She did that on three different occasions before the media took note of it in this interview.

It's like MSNBC Keith Olberman said, and I'm paraphrasing: She was hanging around and hoping someone would get the hint and take him out for her.

She also lied back then that she didn't know if he was a Muslim or not. Hell, if I knew Barack's religion, I know she knew.

Because Hillary used an old Southern-style racist campaign strategy that appeals to fears and bigotry, I have never felt comfortable when Barack selected her to be Head of State, but maybe his motto is keep your friends close to you but your enemies closer.

Then there was Mike Huckabee, who cracked a bad, dangerous joke after hearing a noise while giving a speech to the NRA, saying, "That was Barack Obama, he tripped off a chair, he's getting ready to speak and someone aimed a gun at him and he dove for the floor."

Obama wasn't even there, but I wondered when I saw that video if Huckabee's heart wished for something like that to happen, just as I wondered about Hillary's heart. Huckabee, by the way, was 'rewarded' with his own show at Fox News several months after that.

Also on Fox News, commentator Liz Trotta, after mixing up the names Osama [bin Laden] with Obama, said, "We'd knock off both, if we could," and then laughed at her own gaffe.

No outrage was expressed by her colleague, who didn't miss a beat in chuckling with her and continued the interview.

Hell, if they talk like that in public, I shudder to think how they speak and think amongst themselves.

Worse, these public "jokes and gaffes" about the assassination of a candidate running for President was unprecedented.

In late May, I did a post on those three incidents, pointing out it was trend of planting seeds in the minds of the American public that talking like this about the black candidate was okay.

Then along came John McCain and Sarah Palin. My oh my, weren't their rallies like hate fests? I'd have been scared shitless to attend one. They got so bad that even the mainstream media did a double take at their fans, who freely used the word nigger, and some who yelled out kill him and he's a terrorist!

Miles away and watching cable news, I could smell that Nazi-like odor of hate permeating through the crowds along with much of the nation and the world.

McCain had to reign in his race-based fear campaign, but it was too late. The loonies were really coming out of the closet.

Most memorable
were the two dimwitted neo-Nazi's who planned to execute dozens of innocent blacks before proceeding to snuff out Obama, and the homely, pathetic McCain volunteer who carved the letter B on her face and blamed a non-existent black male assailant who allegedly robbed her, then mutilated her when he saw her McCain bumper stickers.

Fox News ran that story day and night - until it was confirmed it was a lie, and then dropped it like a hot potato. Hell, it was just getting good then.

The haters at the fixed news tv and radio shows, sites and blogs didn't want the truth, or consider how lies like that make it dangerous for black people to live in peace and safety - from random violence by whites, to vigilante mobs and more than plausibly, from a small but significant number of men who have no business working in law enforcement.

I haven't seen stats on in this, but in my area, the police began stopping more black men than usual as a McCain victory looked impossible. That's the from Eyeball On The Street crowd - the locals I know, including me and my own two kids - who have seen more blacks pulled over than in previous years.

In October 2008, when it became clear to most that Barack Obama would be the next President, gun and ammo sales were better than ever; so much so that gun stores couldn't keep enough in stock.

What caused this?

The lie that Barack Obama would take away everyone's gun rights?

No, that was fixed news propaganda to hide the real reason.

If that were true, men of all races would be stocking up in the same proportion as they always have. Instead, purchases from blacks, Latinos and Asians remained consistent, but the spike in sales was caused by white men. [Note, when I find the best link to that specific story I read in November, I'll put it here.]

Given the timing and the millions of discussions on the 'net and in the press, I'd venture a guess that most of these guys were and are scared of change.

Thus, how could this not include the few, scary and scared or outright hateful, racist white men who carry a badge and a gun?

Their mindset makes it inevitable that more cases of police brutality and unpremeditated or even premeditated murders will occur in the first few months that Barack is office.



*****************************


I've heard the question, "What's the big deal or difference? It's just a tiny few cases, and black males get killed every day, nearly always by each other."

In this great country, there are laws designed to protect all citizens so that we may live in peace and safety. When the police and courts abuse their power, the powerless and those who love humanity and the Constitution lose trust in the system, and sometimes respect for the law. The attitude becomes, "They're doing the same shit we do and getting away with it. Eff 'em. I'm gonna do my own thing too."

And how the powers that be have gotten away with violence, thievery and corruption since 9/11 and brutal invasions of Iraq and Afghanistan, and right up to the greed that caused the collapse of housing and credit markets, the demise of Wall Street, and supporting the walling off of Gaza, semi-starving Palestinian citizens late last year leading to blowback, and now supporting the current bombing of Gaza back into the Stone Age.

Tell me how the thugs in charge are any different from the teen and young adult thugs on our streets? Both groups want what they want and justify taking it by any means necessary with no regard to the victims they leave behind.

The young take their cues from their leaders, and our leaders have been miserable examples for them to follow. The message has been clear: human life is not valued.

Combined with being frequent targets of racial profiling, racism, the kind of unemployment levels that whites are seeing for the first time since 1945, or simply watching the rampant racism in the news last year related to the election process, is their no wonder that so many blacks are doing so badly? Or that a lifestyle of intense pleasure-seeking aka hedonism, which may or may not include using hard drugs, is their escape from unhappiness?


*****************************

I give enormous credit to the many whites who are sick of the generations of racism and injustice and want no part of it.

Ever heard of the Hatfield's and the McCoy's? They were two hillbilly families who had feud. It lasted for generations, and only ended because the young'uns got sick and tired of this poison that harmed their families.

So it may be with the Oscar Grant case, shot dead while not resisting arrest.

A massive protest with some property destruction began on January 7th. The protest to end the symbolic feud between the races via police brutality, which turned into a riot could have been avoided if the Mayor hadn't screwed up so badly, according to this eye witness:

"We got to Civic Center, completely surrounded by riot police, buzzed by 4 helicopters with bright white lights shone in our faces. Someone yelled that the mayor wanted to speak. That we should all go sit down in the amphitheatre.

Someone else said, "sit down? you want us to go sit down?" We didn't. But we did gather around Dellums, as he stood on the steps of City Hall and spoke very quietly into a bullhorn. Some people were yelling and joking and making noise, other people yelled, "let the man speak! Let him speak!" Most people were quiet. Still, we couldn't hear 90% of what he said.

He held a lot of power in that moment. I felt that people were proud that he was there, walking the streets with us. All he needed to say to this Peaceful gathering of people was, "I hear you. There will be a transparent investigation. I will help fight for justice."

People would have listened.

Instead, he said a few condescending words:

"We have to talk to each other with respect... We are civilized people, we are a civilized community. I know you're upset because of something you think you saw," to which people responded, "We know what we saw! You saw it too!"

And then he turned around, walked into City Hall, and left us alone with angry, scary cops. I thought I could feel the crowd panic."



Let me pause here to talk about leadership. This is where it almost always shoots itself in the foot and perpetuates the problem of any kind of injustice.

The official leader insults the intelligence of those who know what they saw by insinuating that somehow their eyes are lying. No one likes to be played for a fool, or brainwashed.

Done enough times to enough people under the perfect circumstances where the 'new generation' is sick of the injustice that poisoned their previous generations, revolutions are born.

"Someone said, "now we're in for it." People stood stunned for a minute, and then some ran down 17th. I heard some smashing glass. I heard someone say, "here it goes."

And so it did.

"Some more people ran towards the noise, and the rest of us looked at each other and walked over there. The riot cops followed us in formation. We stood in the middle of Frank Ogawa plaza and some of us talked, most just stood quietly. I didn't see any other glass breaking/mayhem. Then someone said loudly, "Tear Gas" "Tear Gas" so we all walked quickly away.

Someone yelled, "they'll rush us after they throw the gas."

Then I saw a man pick up a very big wooden sign and throw it at a car. I decided to leave. I walked down 17th towards Broadway. Then I heard a noise and turned around. I saw about 30 people running straight at me. So, I started running too. I stepped on something and twisted my knee, so then I was hobbling. A couple people ran by me, but most people stopped running about then.

When I turned around, I saw a couple teenagers jumping on a car and smashing the glass. I walked up Broadway towards the Paramount. I'd turn around periodically and see people running or walking down 17th across Broadway.

I sat down at the bus stop to wait for the bus, and about 5 minutes later saw the armored car drive by. It's like a cross between a Hummer and a Tank and the Batmobile from Batman Begins. 6-8 cops were hanging off the outside of it.

Then I went home: about 1/2 a mile away in a totally different world. My beautiful tree-lined street was quiet, with no one out. Yeah, I live in the suburbs. No, I didn't grow up here. But a man was shot point blank in the back, and that's something every race, every gender, all socio-economic groups, all neighborhoods should be outraged by. We need comprehensive systemic change."


I couldn't agree more.

I also think that young man who wrote this was lucky his skin color was white, not brown. Otherwise I can't help but wonder if he'd have been rounded up with the other over 100 rioters earlier, or while sitting at that bus stop, waiting to retreat to the safety of his home.

Meanwhile, Oscar Grant's willing or accidental killer, Johannes Mehserle has retreated in safety too.

The last report is he's using the "Taser defense", claiming he thought he was holding his taser, not his gun.

BART appears to be trying to drum up sympathy for him by saying Mehserlie and his family have had death threats. Wouldn't surprise me if this is true.

They're also doing damage control.

"We must learn from our mistakes and we must make sure this never happens again," Director Carole Ward Allen told the crowd. "I want to hear everything you have to say. You have every right to hold us accountable."

Mistake?

"Whether it was a tragic accident or something else is a question that the investigations hopefully will answer," said board President Thomas Blalock.

Something else?

Hell, if I didn't know what the story was about, I wouldn't have clue he was talking about the high probability this was a unpremeditated act of murder.

I ain't the jury, but if I were on it, after seeing all four available videos, I don't know how I could get my brain to contradict what my eyes saw.

This gets to language and the mistakes of leaders and their embracing Orwellian double speak.


Afraid to spell out the unspeakable act that could have happened, they use different words to dilute or cloud what could have happened, and further create suspicion and more anger.

Those BART officials didn't learn from the mistake of the Mayor, or from current Bush Administration that you cannot fool all the people all of the time.

Even the San Francisco Chronicle news article jumped on the bandwagon of protecting BART by titling that story, BART Directors Apologize To Slain Man's Family.

The words apology or apologize appear nowhere in it except the paper's interpretation of what was said and written into the title - for folks who don't read beyond the first paragraph.

Those are the ones who might be fooled. As I hinted at earlier, you can fool all of of the people some of the time, some of the people all of the time, but never all of the people all of the time.

SF Gate newspaper should know better, but the don't. They appear too invested in maintaining the social hierarchy and keeping the unwashed masses quiet.

This same giant newspaper ran a story today titled, BART Cop Recalled As Gentle Giant As A Kid.

Even ABC news did their bit with this video news story titled, Rights of Officers Who Are Accused Of Crimes. They also continued the myth of BART's formal apology.


One audience member, a community member, hit the nail when she said in confrontation,"You need to watch the tapes of your faces in the hearing, because your faces don't look sensitive."

I agree. Some of those azzholes had smirks.

My message to the old guard, head-in-the-sand mainstream media:

Gimme a friggin' break. Run an article or broadcast news story about how Oscar Grant's baby daughter will grow up without a father, who may have been a gentle kid himself before he learned that the deck was stacked against him because he had brown skin, and had his short life end brutally like a deer trapped by hunters.

I don't know the now ex-officer who did the bloody deed. I suspect it was unpremeditated homicide because of the stress.

HOWEVER, even though people do snap under stress, why is it that you never, ever read about a 'stressed' black cop 'accidentally' shooting and killing a white guy he's trying to talk to or arrest?

This begs the question: are a higher number of white cops afraid and/or hostile toward black men, get 'stressed' more easily and as a result, are more Taser or trigger-happy? And is this a result of their own hidden racism which they may or may not acknowledge to themselves?

Johnny Mehserle quit his job on Wednesday, January 7th, and BART no longer can make him talk. His attorney has said little about the case. He's hiding out and safe. Because of four videos showing his crime, he'll probably do time, but at the same time, I won't be surprised if he gets off with a suspended sentence and probation - which is what you might expect for a minor marijuana possession charge.

Oscar Grant was buried on the same day, may he all the victims rest in peace, and their loved ones left behind find strength.

Meanwhile I ask, why, why, why?

In tears, I ask why, but I know the answer: it lies in the quote at the beginning of this article.








Update/Addendum, Friday 1/16/2009:


The riots and protests sent a powerful message that justice could not ignore. On 1/14, Johannes Meserlie, the now ex-BART cop, was arrested on a fugitive warrant in Nevada, and charged with the murder of Oscar Grant. He is being held without bail.

I can't hep but wonder if he's also an Obama hater - not because of policies but because of his race, and his resentment mushroomed and compromised his duty to equaly protect and respect all citizens.

Even if it's only a few nasty, racist cops out of a hundred, those numbers add up, especially when they are protected by the system. It turns out that Meserle had another victim report brutality at his hands. Read that link if you want to know details. Here's a brief excerpt:

"Ken Carrethers told ABC7 News in San Francisco that he was arrested after complaining to another passenger that his car had been broken into twice in the parking lot and the transit police did nothing because "they're standing around with their hands in their pockets."

To make a long story short, Meserlie overheard him, took it personal, allegedly got in his face and said, "I think you're drunk" (he wasn't), to justify abusing him and then falsely arrested him.

Carrethers, told CNN, "Had someone listened to me at the time when I first began trying to get help, there just might have been a chance that Oscar Grant might still be alive."




Thursday, January 8, 2009

The Twelve Days of Barack's Inauguration


We're twelve days away from I-Day! I made up this sorta satire of our await for Barack's Inauguration, to be sung to the tune of The 12 Days of Christmas... as much as humanely possible. By the way, if this year you were a member of his site, you'll "get" the 'My Obama' part and frequent emails sent to you.

This is also unquestionably the silliest post I've ever written. What the heck! Enjoy.


On the first day of Barack
My Obama sent to me
Promises that 2009
"would be one of those years
that come along
once a generation"
And an email about his Inauguration.

On the second day of Barack
My Obama sent to me
Two plans to double
alternative energy
One promise that 2009
would be a doozy
for this generation
And an email about his Inauguration.

On the third day of Barack
My Obama sent to me
Three plans to expand
roads rails and bridges
Two plans to double
alternative energy
One promise that 2009
would be a doozy
for this generation
And an email about his Inauguration.

On the fourth day of Barack
My Obama sent to me
His four year list
of stuff to do
Three plans to expand
transport infrastructure
Two plans to double
alternative energy
And an email about his Inauguration.

On the fifth day of Barack
My Obama sent to me
Five $300 billion tax credits
for parents...
and individuals...
and businesses...
and unemployment benefits...
and for the poor
Four year list of stuff to do
Three plans to expand
transport infrastructure
Two plans to double
alternative energy
And an email about his Inauguration.

On the sixth day of Barack
My Obama sent to me
A half dozen comments
that didn't reveal that much
about the turmoil
in the Middle East
Five $300 billion tax credits
Four years' list of stuff to do
Three plans to expand
transport infrastructure
Two plans to double
alternative energy
And an email about his Inauguration.

On the seventh day of Barack
My Obama sent to me
Seven promises he stopped
using his Blackberry
but we know it's his Crackberry
Six "no comment" Middle East comments
Five $300 billion tax credits
Four years' list of stuff to do
Three plans on transportation
Two plans on alternative energy
And an email about his Inauguration.

On the eighth day of Barack
My Obama sent to me
Eight condolences to the G8 nations
for all the damage Bush did
with guarantees he'll be different
Seven Blackberry promises
Six "no comment" Middle East comments
Five $300 billion tax credits
Four years' list of stuff to do
Three plans on transportation
Two plans on alternative energy
And an email about his Inauguration.

On the ninth day of Barack
My Obama sent to me
Reassurance that he's like a cat
blessed with nine lives
so to please not to worry
about the Obama haters
Eight condolences to the G8
Seven Blackberry promises
Six "no comment" Middle East comments
Five $300 billion tax credits
Four years' list of stuff to do
Three plans on transportation
Two plans on alternative energy
And an email about his Inauguration.

On the tenth day of Barack
My Obama sent to me
Ten economic warnings
for ten American states
already or about to go bankrupt
along with the DOW plunging more
where my friends lost all their money
along with their homes foreclosing
or losing their credit card accounts
for no reason
Nine reassurances of his safety
Eight condolences to the G8
Seven Blackberry promises
Six "no comment" Middle East comments
Five $300 billion tax credits
Four years' list of stuff to do
Three plans on transportation
Two plans on alternative energy
And an email about his Inauguration.

On the eleventh day of Barack
My Obama sent to me
Eleven Yes We Can's
from his Team Obama
that say they ain't for drama
enough of that already
from the past eight years
where Bush & Co. stirred up our fears
and made most come true
thank God those pirates are gone
Me n' Barack singing so long
And ten economic warnings
Nine reassurances of his safety
Eight condolences to the G8
Seven Blackberry promises
Six "no comment" Middle East comments
Five $300 billion tax credits
Four years' list of stuff to do
Three plans on transportation
Two plans on alternative energy
And an email about his Inauguration.

On the Twelth day of Barack
My Obama sent to me
Twelve hours of being there
at his Inauguration
I could hardly see him
in the audience
of over 4,000,000 people
I really didn't care
'cause I got TIVO
Except I couldn't find
a Porto Potty
Of all the twelve days
Why couldn't he plan
for a place where I could 'go'
It don't really matter
My Obama's in White House
And still sneaking emails
On his Blackberry
And this I think true
Cause he thanked me
Or maybe it was Michelle
Lord I love her too
Hugs to their fam
and all us who voted
for making possible
Barack Obama's Inauguration!

~ Kit

Saturday, January 3, 2009

Learning Through Nature
And Listening To God In 2009
When Pondering The State Of The World


We are many things, and one is that we each are only one grain of sand on this beach of humanity. The waves of life crash upon us, but collectively we survive.

I live in a nation where the first hint of a coming tsunami has made itself known. If you've ever seen or read about them in the world of nature, they are caused by sudden, shifting plate boundaries on the crust of the earth. On dry land, sudden plate movement causes an earthquake; when on the ocean floor, the result can be tsunami. We don't read or hear about many of them because they occur in the middle of 'nowhere' - the ocean, and don't affect coastlines.

Like politics and wars, some ocean earthquakes are near enough to us to affect us.

Just before a tsunami strikes, the ocean shoreline is sometimes is sucked back far away from the beach leaving the view of shallow water. Islanders have learned that's the time to run like hell in the opposite direction of the beach. For the ignorant or the curious who remain to see what is going on, many sealife animals are revealed: starfish, clams, other shelled creatures left in the sand.

And then it happens. The mega tons of water that pulled back now rush forward in a giant wall moving at tremendous speed back toward the land. The result is destruction to man-made habitats and man himself, if he's in the way.

Unpopulated areas rarely if ever suffer total destruction. The age of the earth is thought to be over four billion years old. History is unwritten and animal and plant life goes on. Mankind is but a blip in the life of this planet.

Similar to an impending tsunami, our economic resources are being sucked out of the system. We face a Great Depression far greater than our grandparents or great grandparents did. We may even see the collapse of our currency and the fall of this neo-Roman empire.

For every action, there is a counter action.

We are many things, and we are also each a drop of water in the ocean of humanity.

Like a great wall of water, we will rise up and crash upon the shores of the future. Many of us, including me, will likely be part of this, for the fall of every great civilization sucks up its citizens like a tsunami and sends them crashing to whatever fate lies in wait.

We will collectively be swept into a new revolution in the weeks to come. It may be quietly loud and miserable, or overtly loud and full of civil unrest.

More states will go bankrupt. Schools will debate shortening the school year or even the week and some will, thousands of businesses will close, and chances are this will include a mall near you. Products you've purchased all your life will be gone.

Due to millions more jobs lost, homes and apartment buildings foreclosed, the difficulty or impossibility of getting loans, credit card accounts closed, more people will become homeless, and life will be hard for many. Dogs and cats will live together, and these groups of unwilling families and friends will be forced to negotiate basic resources like food, i.e., "No Jamal, you can't have seconds, and Keisha, stop using the paper towels so much."

As many drops of water, we might have a prayer of a chance of collectively forming a tsunami - not a destructive one, but one where we crash into a revolution of self-sufficiency, greater tolerance for one another, and random acts of kindness.

The alternative is a Police State, rioting, mass arrests and incarcerations where all Constitutional rights have been suspended, and I don't think death camps for 'trouble makers' and 'undesirables' are too far-fetched of an idea, especially if war occurs on our homeland. We literally could descend into utter social chaos and a new Dark Ages.

The question in our hearts and guiding us through 2009 and beyond could be the challenge of Jesus to live by these words: I am my brother's keeper.




Thursday, January 1, 2009

Pulling The Short Straw On New Years


So, if you got nobody, are you glad that New Year's Eve and New Year's Day are over?

Don't everybody answer at once now.

Fat chance of that. I ain't gonna lie to you. Not having a significant other or a date or a BFF to be with on those two days are a drag... at least for me and a lot of folks I know and have known, clients included.

It can also be embarrassing. Maybe I'm projecting, but I think a lot of bloggers and readers of blogs have been so quiet so everyone would think were busy.

No, not busy working, but busy having fun, fun, fun! Making love, hanging out with at relatives, chilling with friends, dancing, singing, partying, you know the expectations. If you've had a blast, I'm truly happy for you.

However, I like to keep it trill, so I won't lie to y'all. I ain't had shit to do last night or today. Sucks for me. Some years are like that.

I was actually jealous of one of my best friends. Two years ago he began taking Salsa dancing lessons and also encouraged me to. In my narrow mind I couldn't fathom me doing this. I hadn't grown up around it and it wasn't part of my culture or time period.

Oh how times change. Bro can Salsa his azz off now, and had all kinds of party invitations last night from friends he made in his classes and a date.

*Mental Note: Learn Salsa in 2009*

And I have no boyfriend. Have a fella I'd love to love but it never panned out. Lots of mutual liking and respect mixed with occasional flirting, but it just never kick started.

As they say, it be's that way sometime. I can rationalize that he works long hours, has custody of a teen nephew and his elderly, mentally deteriorating mother and her husband live with him, so he's got a lot folks to help.

But if I've learned anything in life, it's that when someone is really into you, they make time for you. Somehow, some way, they find a way. When they don't, for the sake of your own sanity and self-esteem, let it go.

And my friends and relatives had plans or were out of town.

So there sat I, lonesome but not lonely, on New Years Eve and New Years Day.

What a contrast to just before and during Christmas, which was nice and added to my collection of memories that I'll enjoy when I get really old and hit the rocking chair.

My 20 year old son, on the other hand, has been lonesome, lonely and irritable during this time. He's flat broke, which affected his pride. He had girls calling him beginning on the 30th, but I'd hear hear him mumble he was "stuck with relatives".

That would be my boring azz.

Xavier was realling hoping to find a house party, but none materialized. His homeboyz were just as lonesome or broke, calling to find a free place to celebrate. He finally left out here around 10 PM yesterday to meet up with a guy who'd get him in free at a club.

To his credit, he did not return home tipsy, drunk, or smelling of weed. He was still lonesome today as he had no invites, and slept through most of it to avoid dealing with his boredom.

My 13 year old daughter, on the other hand, is still partying. Cassie jet out of here early yesterday and ain't coming back home until tomorrow. She's always had a ton of friends and even more since she made the cut for the girl's basketball team. I imagine they're driving somebody's mother nuts with their giggling, music and girly stuff. Hats off to the New Year's success story in my fam.

To move this essay to a deeper level, what is it about being alone on a major holiday that is so difficult, even for single folks who are otherwise happy in their life?

I think again that it has to do with the expectations - and the symbolism. We live in a culture that places a high value on sharing special moments with lovers, friends, and/or family. Birthdays and special days of the year are widely advertised - and commercialized. We see happy faces on TV and ads, and usually know others who are having a good time - or at least pretending.

We ask ourselves, "Why not me? How'd I miss out? Aren't I just as nice and desirable as those folks?"

Yes, you probably are. Being all alone on particular days, however, can make a large number of people question their worth to others.

In case you don't know, one of the busiest days for in-patient psychiatric admissions at hospitals is Valentine's Day. I've seen a number of older teens and young adults become suicidal because their partner ignored or broke up with them "on that special day".

Eff that special day, especially if it could send you to your grave because it wasn't what you expected.

During these times when you find yourself alone - either physically alone or lonely with someone whose presence makes you lonely - you may feel out of the mix and ponder, WTF happened?

What happened is the luck of the draw.

While you were having the time of our life on some other days and oblivious to others who weren't, on this day you pulled the short straw.

*Mental note #2: develop more hobbies and interests with people beyond your cyberspace friends or boring or too busy real life friends so you'll have more long straws to pull.*

Happy New Year anyway.

We're gonna need all the happiness we can get, 'cause my prediction is that 2009 and 2010 are gonna be a bitch. Shit is so bad politically here and around the globe I'm hesitant to even write about what I really think about it.

For now, lemme just say this: I think our nation pulled the short straw - permanently.



Monday, December 29, 2008

Blogging Lite Thoughts,
And Passing The Award Love
To Two More Bloggers


I've been in my blogger-lite mode regarding political commentaries and analysis since Barack was elected. The reason is I've taking a wait n' see attitude about his choices, and trying to get my bearings on where I am headed with this hobby.

I've also been looking for a full-time job this month (got an interview tomorrow!) and working on other blogger projects yet to be revealed, so please forgive me if I haven't been past your blog. I'll hit it soon, and you know I share the love by leaving comments unless I'm momentarily brain dead on what to say or don't want to tick you off if I strongly disagree.


For now, I got two tips for ya:

1. I spent Christmas dinner at my brother's place. It was a nice family gathering. He's got a first class wine collection and even a wine cellar, and a well stocked bar. When I was younger, chocolate was my poison, but five years ago switched to mocha coffee. I'm not much of an alcohol drinker but will indulge from time to time, particularly at a social event and even then, sip rather than drink.

Folks, I tried something that was so good I had to buy my own bottle. It's called Kajmir Vanilla. It's described as "a smooth blend of premium brandy, fine vodka, and natural vanilla flavors".


I don't even drink vodka or brandy, but this was unique. It comes in a sort of round-shaped bottle and originally I thought the name was Kamir, but it's Kajmir, and it sells for only $15 in my area. My bro served it very cold (I think he had it in the freezer for a few hours), so refrigerate it first and you won't need ice. I'm cracking this baby open on New Years eve.

2. Wait for the DVD rental of the Curious Case of Benjamin Button; it's entertaining and some parts quite funny and engaging, but after the first half dragged a bit and missed an opportunity to pass along more wisdom in the story. One critical funeral scene ticked me off for it's striking lack of warmth or cultural authenticity by Ben, who was raised by a black woman, but I won't say more than that so as not to give away the story.

As a result of all these distractions and pondering about what feels right for me to write about, I've done more essays and fewer political pieces during this time period. On Wednesday, I'll post a large article that I'm working on now.

Today, I am passing out two remaining awards. I'd pass out more but that's all I have for now.


A Kick Ass Blogger Award goes to:

Sagacious Hillbilly. Sagacious is a native of West Virginia who writes about his experiences growing up in this area, and as a rule, kicks ass commenting on the political corruption in this country. His June and July 2008 posts, Hillbilly Review Board #1 thru 4, are a must read - really funny and culturally informative. Any black person following his blog will easily see the commonalities the races share when in comes to class issues, and that's a point he makes without even trying to make it. His current post, Where Does Our Food Come From?, is well worth the read, deeply thought-provoking and memorable.


A Superior Scribbler Award goes to:

V-Knowledge. V is a very nice young brother who does extremely well-written new and old film reviews. Not many of us do this, and I applaud him for trying something different. I don't think a lot of people know about him which is a secondary reason I'm giving him an award. Visit him from time to time, read his take on reviews and leave a comment.


Honorary Mentions


Shouldn't Life Be More Like This? A.Eye is a sister who teaches constantly as part of her life philosophy. She writes well on a variety of issues, and like several other (unnamed) bloggers, is on my list to get an award the next time I have more to pass out.

Very Smart Brothers. Champ and Panama recently won the coveted Best Black Blogger Award. I go there often and would like to see some fresh new faces from folks who don't know about them. They write funny, tongue in cheek posts that hits the mark on relationships, from late Sunday through Thursday around the midnight hour. They're currently on hiatus until January 5th.



Thursday, December 25, 2008

The Gift of Divine Intervention

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Friday, December 19, 2008

Waste Not, Want Not:
A Lesson Learned Too Late
By Broke Azz Nation


Civilizations throughout the ages had periods of feast and famine. People who survived did so by a combination of luck, planning, and saving their resources for the times there would be little.

"Waste not, want not," my grandmother used to say.

She endured losing her first husband during the 1919 Spanish Flu epidemic which left her with an infant (my mother) and three young kids. This was during WWI. Ten years later, the Great Depression hit. By then she was remarried and had two more surviving children. That woman knew how to stretch a dollar.

Grandma may have been the first to pass along this lesson to me. Too bad I didn't take it to heart. I've done okay in life, but not nearly as well as I could have in stretching those dollars, which convert to resources.

Like many people born since WWII, our country has been blessed with an extraordinary long period of feasting. Collectively it harmed us - we have millions of folks, young adults in particular but also hoards of middle aged baby boomers, who lost the art of guarding and saving their resources.

Brace yourselves, for the days of feasting will soon be like the ghost of Christmas past. The world is about to enter very dark days that will last for years, as the jaws of a more malevolent Great Depression descends upon us.

Our incoming President, Barack Obama, can no more protect us from the first few years of this than he could stop a tsunami. I am convinced he will spend his first term doing damage control, and it won't be until his second term that we *might* get some relief.

I've been reflecting on my past half century of living and all the things I've wasted. Time. Youth. Money. Even love.

I am not alone, nor will I be alone as many of us will be living frugally and with regrets, the kind where you lay in bed at night and think of all the dumb shit you bought and didn't need.

Recently I did an inventory. It's amazing. I have three computers, two monitors, and a laptop. I called them upgrades, but only use one rather than getting the others repaired or buying larger hard drives.

I probably own 20 lamps. Ten are sitting in storage and must be older than my 9th grader. Got tired of looking at those and got newer ones. I should have bought new lampshades instead.

I think of that lifetime spa membership I bought - and never used after the first three months. It would cost me $129 to reactivate it, but I'll bet I won't go more than a few times and quit.

Friends are a resource too. I've squandered quite a few of those over the past 20 or so years by simply not keeping in touch. These include old love relationships that ended, but not so badly I couldn't pick up the phone once or twice a year and say, "How ya doing? Let's have lunch together."

And speaking of food... Hell, I've bought enough junk food and enjoyed feasting at restaurants in my entire adult life to buy a brand new mid-priced car. This includes those $5 to $8 cheap lunches while at the office, when instead I could have brought a sandwich and juice in a thermos.

I am thankfully not a shopaholic. I hate shopping as much as most of my girlfriends love it. However, I went through a fat phase and what did I do? Bought clothes way too small and have never nor will ever fit. Hell, my daughter can't even get into some of them. Now, I was a tiny thing at one time, but not that damn tiny.

My dog is, however. He has three jackets. Did I really need to buy him that many? Two would have been plenty, and he could have gotten by with one during these cold winters.

And back to my daughter - and son... I bought enough toys, board games, video games and Disney movies for them when they were younger to supply a small village. It was sinful.

The result is that my son is extremely materialistic and money burns a hole in his pocket. He takes it for granted - which is financially dangerous. I wised up in the nick of time to save my daughter, who is 7 years younger, from this toy orgy.

Speaking of Disney, I've been to Disney World and other vacation spots a bunch of times. Too many times... Shamu the Whale probably remembers all of us. I discovered the hard way that kids love this stuff the first two times, but after that they expect it and take it for granted. I should've skipped some of them and would've saved a bundle on those hotel and air fares.

Shoulda coulda woulda.

Sharing my wasteful habits are friends who bought time shares they only used once, two and three cars they don't need, and several have vacation homes but only use a few weeks each year but never rented out since they didn't want anyone messing up their stuff. One relative has two houses and lives in both. They're all kicking themselves for excess spending since they're worried to death about getting laid off and their credit is maxed out, their stocks plummeted or worthless, and their real estate devalued.

Virtually every single person I know has so much junk in their house, garage, and closets that they hardly ever use. Ice and roller skates, skis, camping gear, expensive tennis rackets, guns, etc. Kitchens are another place of excess.

One reason we have so much junk is sometimes we get gifts we don't need. This happened to me many times. Rather than return them to the store for cash or something I could actually use, I kept the gifts in case what I already had, broke. As a result, I have an extra TV and boombox, two coffee pots, two electric can openers, stupid crystal stuff for formal dining I've barely used, and I would own two microwaves but one actually did break.

Wait... is that Ebay I hear, calling my name?

And meanwhile, there's stuff I really need but don't have: new sheets, towels, dinner plates, a vacuum cleaner, and a new car since repairs on the old one cost me an unexpected chunk of money last month.

Junk rich, cash poor. Collectively we are on the verge of becoming Yardsale Nation. I think James Kunstler came up with great term. Like me, he's dead sure we're sliding down into a bottomless pit where life won't be the same again for a very long time, if ever.

In a spiritual sense, I wonder if this is a time meant for reflection. So many of us, even those of us who have been so-called working class, have wasted so much in our lives. The time of want is almost upon us, and the time to save is now, if you haven't already been doing this.

I don't recall which blogger I read in the past week or two who said a lot of the people running businesses are no different from us. They expanded when they shouldn't have and got in over their heads. They got greedy and wasted, just like us. We shouldn't be surprised; people are people.

Of course, there are the sharks who deliberately preyed on the public trust. They've been running ads for years to make us think we needed stuff we don't, and to give us credit cards and predatory loans we don't qualify for.

These bastards got theirs and are ready to close shop and move on, leaving tens or hundreds of thousands of workers without the $20K to $60K in pension money deducted from their paychecks. Retirees from this companies will be totally wiped out and become dependent only on a measly monthly social security check to survive. Hell, that will only pay for their food.

Here's a heads up, folks: the new face of homelessness will be an elderly person who worked all their lives and was working or middle class. Could be your parents, grandma, Uncle Mike or Aunt Jackie. You might enjoy their company for a two hour visit, but whatcha gonna do when they wipe their tears and swallow their pride and ask if they can sleep on your sofa or have that spare bedroom? You gonna turn them away and into an overcrowded shelter or the streets? Or are you gonna suck it up and take them in?

Kit's prediction for 2009: Dogs and cats will be living together.

This includes your brother who used to pee on your side of the bed or your sister who'd borrow your clothes without asking, and their kids who get your kids in trouble. Don't forget cousin Jamal who plays his music too loud and has an outstanding warrant but promises he won't smoke weed in your crib, or your fanatically religious half-sister who'll be trying to save you 24/7, or your best friend forever who sneaks in their boyfriend or girlfriend at night, whom you accidentally and unpleasantly discover in your shower - using your shampoo.

The newest highly visible group of all ages to get economically shocked and awed will be the soon-to-be former employees of the almost dead Big Three Auto Makers. They're just one of the early Titanic ships running into the tip of the iceberg. Many of these middle aged and older retirees had planned for their old age, and got or are gonna get screwed badly.

Thanks to the sweat shops the fat cat mega-corporations set up overseas along with deregulation and organized piracy since the 1970s, we benefited. We became Consumer Nation, but we're now in a free fall into becoming Broke Azz Nation.

I did a little modest Christmas shopping last evening. Most of the stores had 50% off sales. That is phenomenal. Even so, the mall was far from packed. Earlier I was in an Office Depot to pick up some office supplies. This one is scheduled to close. Good sales... but I was only one of four shoppers in there. I kept thinking this is what's coming... we'll see many more businesses go down, and with them jobs held by people who will be desperate for work, have families to feed, rent or mortgage and car notes and insurance, and maybe medical bills to pay.

How on earth will all of us make it?

If times get hard for me next year and the years after that, I know I don't want to spend that time wallowing in regret. I think it's somewhere in my Bible, or perhaps it was a Bible lesson that taught me the wisdom, "fear and regret are the twin thieves that rob us of today."

We can reflect on our past wastes, but that won't pay the rent or fill our stomachs in the future.

It's not quite here yet, not in full force anyway.

Most of us with the luxury of Internet and time to read blogs still have time to reflect and prepare, so in the very, very near future we won't be over-burdened with regret and fear.

It is a historical inevitability that unimaginable mass poverty is coming on a scale few of us have ever seen in America.

I can feel it. Can you?

Are you ready?




Friday, December 12, 2008

Hard Rocks Love 8:
Madness Runs In Couples
And It Runs Both Ways


"He may be an felon with a history of murder," I said to the judge, "but that doesn't automatically mean he abused this child.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The names and details in this story have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.


"How did you meet him?", I asked.

"Between classes," she answered. "I was sitting outside. He walked right over to me and started talking. Said he was he was thinking about signing up for the summer. Asked for my phone number."

She positioned the infant boy in her lap more comfortably. Her seven year old daughter played quietly with the dolls on the floor, but I could tell she was listening. They almost always do.

"Things moved quickly in a year," I suggested, nodding toward her baby.

She nodded. "We fell in love really fast."

Her daughter used a Ken doll to smack a Barbie doll.

"When did he move in with you?"

"Right away," she said.

"How was it, at first?"

"Oh, it was great! It still is..."

Ken was kicking Barbie now.

Brandi, the mother I was speaking to, spoke sharply to her daughter. "Stop that! You going to break up her toys!"

I distracted her with another quick question. "Brandi, how does your family feel about your boyfriend?"

"They don't like him," she answered dryly.

"Was this before or after the allegations?"

"Before," she said, frowning. "They're mad at him because I flunked out in the fall. They blame him, but it's not really his fault. I was just depressed and confused... I didn't really expect to get pregnant again."

Ken whacked Barbie across the face.

"Ms. Kit, he didn't do what people said."

She turned to her daughter and said, "It was the babysitter, wasn't it, Sherry?"

"I don't remember," the child answered.

She threw Ken and Barbie to floor, stood up and snuggled next to her mother. She stuck her thumb in her mouth and stared at me.

Brandi smiled and rewarded her daughter with a hug.

This must have been my third interview with this family. I'd met with mother and child both separately and together. The one good thing was that Sherry had been very consistent in answering another the question to police, the emergency room staff, and me, "Has anyone ever touched your vagina or private area," and she'd say "No, I'd tell on someone if they did that!"

Brandi, the mother, had also shared her extensive history of being harshly disciplined and getting occasional severe beatings by her own mother, which she generally did not perceive as abusive, although those events described otherwise.

The police believed that her live-in boyfriend, Karl, and severely beaten seven year old Brandi with a belt. The doctor who examined her thought she had been whipped naked. Supporting photos showed numerous welts and lacerations around the child's private area and buttocks. To study the photos, one might speculate that whoever did the deed hated females. For whatever stupid azz or complicated legal reason, this man was still living with Brandi, Sherry, and his new baby.

I bit the bullet. Therapy was going nowhere.

I said, "I need to meet with Karl."

I didn't have to do this. Karl had been court-ordered to see his own therapist. From the court's point of view, Sherry's father wasn't even the picture since he was verified to have been at work when the abuse occurred, although he was involved in Sherry's life.

Brandi looked surprised. "You want to meet him?"

"Yeah, tomorrow. Sherry's daddy too, separately, as soon as possible. It's part of what we do."

Not quite a lie, it was a stretch of the truth. She bought it.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Karl looked like he might be crazy. He tried to talk a good game to prove otherwise.

"I did not beat Sherry," he said with conviction. "I love her like I would if she were my own daughter."

"That's admirable," I said. "Tell me more."

Karl grinned. "I went to jail for that little girl," he said. "She knows that. They both do."

"What do you mean?"

"I could have skipped out and they'd never find me, but I know I didn't do nothing. They had no proof; that's how I got released so fast. It was that babysitter. Bitch is lying. I picked up Sherry and didn't know she had been beat so bad 'cause she didn't say nothin' to me. Brandi found the marks when she gave her a bath that night."

"How did she act when she saw them?"

"She cried! I told her the babysitter or some nigga in that house had to have done this."

"Then what happened?"

"Brandi called that lying bitch. They're sorta friends. She didn't know what to believe."

"Why didn't she call the police right away?"

"She didn't want them thinking I did it."

"Why would they think that?," I asked.

I knew why. I just wanted to hear him say it.

"'Cause of them murda charges."

Karl, who was not even 30, had been locked up twice on two separate murder charges. Each time he was released in less than three years. This is why I hate laws that lock up non-violent, petty offenders for long periods of time. The deadly serious criminals get out of jail so much faster, or at least they did less than ten years ago. Probably still do, depending on the state, judge, and attorney.

"Tell me again who called the police?"

"Sherry's daddy's grandma," he replied. "I told her not to take that kid over there for the weekend. She didn't think Grandma would give her bath and even told her that Sharon had just had one."

He shook his head in disgust.

I said, "So she was clearly upset. How did Sherry's father react?"

Karl smiled a big smile like the cat who swallowed the canary.

"I explained the situation to him," he said. "We a'ight. He don't cause me no problems."

This almost gave me a chill. I imagined that the kid's father was terrified of his baby's mama's killa boyfriend.

"Do you think that maybe, just maybe, Brandi did it? Perhaps the night be she took Brandi to the sitter's?"

I could see his mind ticking at this possibility, not because it was a likely possibility, but because if backed into a corner, he could blame her. He's shrewd though, and had learned to not complicate already complicated situations.

"It crossed my mind once," he said, "but no, I think it was the sitter or someone in that house..."

"Karl, can you see me again tomorrow? We're running out of time. And by the way, I'd like permission to speak with your therapist."


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Sherry's father was sweating bullets before he even sat down on my couch.

"Is it too hot in here for you?", I asked.

"No," he answered. "I'm okay."

"Good," I replied. "What would you like to tell me that could be useful in helping your daughter?"

He sighed and shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "She acts like she don't remembah nothin'."

"Do you think it's just an act?"

His eyes got big. "I didn't say that."

The man was scared as shit.

"Who do you think did it?"

He shook his head. "I don't know."

"Do you think the babysitter or your own mother did it?"

"My mother? No way. She's never spanked any of us. And the babysitter? I know her. I really doubt it."

"A lot of people live in the sitter's home. What about any of them?"

He shrugged.

"Do you have reason to think Brandi or Karl did it?"

He dabbed the perspiration on his forehead and looked around the room as though looking for an escape.

"No."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Karl's therapist finally returned my call.

"What do think?", I asked.

"I think he's capable of it, given his history," he said, "but he covers himself well."

"How did he get out of jail so soon from those murder charges?"

"They happened in two different states, so one jurisdiction didn't know about the other. Gangstas killing gangstas, neither first degree murders and elements of self-defense. He got lucky on sentencing."

"He ever talk about domestic violence?"

"No, he makes a point of not talking about anything except he thinks the babysitter did it."


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Karl looked utterly comfortable on my couch. He was playing the roles of innocent bystander and being my friend, to help me figure out this mess. Sociopaths - people without a conscience - do this sort of thing all the time.

"No kid is perfect," I said casually, "and Sherry is no different. I can see that."

"Yeah, you got that right!"

I nodded. "Kids need discipline," I said. "In the past, who spanked her when she was bad?"

"We all did," he answered too quickly. Then he added, "but not that hard."

He began talking faster to clean up a possible mistake. "Just a light tap on her rear. That's all. Me 'n Brandi were both abused children. We don't want to put our kids through that."

"Brandi told me about her childhood abuse," I said. "Where'd you grow up?"

"DC!"

"Incredible place," I replied. "How many brothers and sisters you got?"

"There's ten of us..."

Chances are, Karl was lost in that crowd.

"Your mama raise you?"

"Yeah, all of us."

I nodded. "Karl, if you don't mind, I'd like to draw a genogram. I can keep track of who you're talking about. What's your mama's first name?"

A genogram is like a family tree. He told me all of their first names as I drew squares for the males and circles for the females... brothers, sisters, mother, fathers. Lots of fathers... eight of those ten kids, all taken care of by one woman who lived in poverty.

This suggested that his mother may have had a mental problem or a low IQ or both. Women like this are sitting ducks for exploitation.

Perhaps without realizing it, as Karl spoke further, he confirmed he was raised by a woman with a bunch of problems. This means he missed out on a normal childhood. He grew up in one of toughest sections of Northwest DC before it got gentrified. Even cops didn't go in his 'hood except in pairs. The slumlords who lived fat in Maryland and Virginia had allowed those tenements fall into utter disrepair for decades. Crime festered. When crack hit DC around 1986, a lot of souls were lost - including the souls of neighborhoods that became host to transient populations where folks became more hesitant in looking out for one another.

Karl loved talking about his childhood. He rightly saw himself as a survivor.

"How'd your mother keep all of you line?", I asked. "All those kids must have been hard on her nerves."

"She'd beat our asses," he said proudly. "Most of the time though, we weren't in house, at least not the boys. I lived in the street. The street raised me."

"That sounds hard, at least some of the time."

Out of the blue, he revealed a secret.

"The worst time," he said, "was when I got raped. I was 14 and thought I knew everything."



He shared how it occurred. Alcohol and PCP were involved, and he was literally too out of it to fight off his assailant, an adult dealer who coaxed him with drugs to rape him.

"I'm surprised you're telling me this," I said sincerely.

"Men don't like to talk about it, but it happens."

What was missing was any sadness in his voice. No shame, no embarrassment. It was odd. At the same time, I didn't think he was lying.

"Did you ever tell anyone? Your mother or the police?"

"Shit. No way. It be too embarrassing. Niggas be trying to punk me after that."

"What happened to the man who did that to you?"

He shrugged. "I let it go."

"Did you ever get therapy for this?"

"No."

"Have you ever been diagnosed with depression or anything else?"

"A doc in jail said I was bipolar."

"Are you on meds?"

"No. Hate 'em."

I'd have to chew on this information before pursuing it further.

"Karl, how did this affect you, being raped?"

"I don't take take shit from nobody," he said. "I'll kill a mothafucka who crosses me. You already know that."

"You ever beat Brandi? Or other women?"

"I'd never touch Brandi," he said. "I did beat a girlfriend before that."

In my mind, I debated giving him a point for revealing this. Brandi had already told me he'd beaten a past girlfriend. I no longer recall why, but remember thinking it was a warning sign she ignored when first dating him. I could also picture him grilling her for every single thing she said to me in our meetings.

Now I asked him, "Why?"

He shrugged. "I don't wanna talk about it."

"Fair enough. With your mood swings and history of violence, however, I think meds might not be a bad idea. They have new ones that you might like better. Has your therapist ever mentioned this to you?"

"I don't talk to him or tell him anything personal like I've told you. He's an asshole, just passing time to pick up a check."

"Will you consider meds if I recommend a doctor for you to see?"

"Probably not."

That evening, I wondered if he were truly Bipolar, of suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or both. He had, after all, been raised in a war zone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Brandi's spacious apartment was clean and sparsely furnished. She showed it off proudly.

"This is real nice," I said. "The rooms are huge. I wouldn't mind living here myself."

At the time, this was true. I love apartment living. Her development was beautifully landscaped and located in a pretty, multicultural suburban neighborhood with excellent schools, and a block away from the bus stop.

I bent down to her daughter Sherry. "Can I see your room?", I asked.

"Yeah!"

She grabbed my hand and escorted me to her toy-filled bedroom. Pink curtains and bedspread in a princess theme made it look very girly. She had a bunch of Barbie and Ken dolls too. Some of them looked like they had been through toy hell.

Karl was late, but entered the home during my visit. Sherry didn't appear to be the least bit afraid him. He scooped her up and his baby son too, and each child smiled and laughed with glee.

Any outsider would think the family dynamics looked normal... but there was something I picked up on. The child, Sherry, was less connected to her mother than Karl.

I'd seen this distance in our therapy sessions too.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


So who beat Sherry, the seven year old, black and blue on her buttocks and private area?

Was it Karl, who had a bipolar disorder and was unmedicated, and was a two-time murderer with a history of childhood abuse and early adolescent alcohol and drug abuse?

Or Brandi, the young community college student and mother of two, who had a penchant for bad guys and a history of living in fear from her mother, whom she loved?

Or perhaps, Sherry's father's mother, who reportedly never spanked her own kids and was the first to call the police?

Or Brandi's friend, the babysitter, or someone in that home?

And what, if anything, did Sherry's "I'm scared of Karl myself" daddy know?


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


I half-way expected to die on the day I showed up to the court review hearing with my report and recommendations.

Karl made a point of sitting next to me outside of the court room. He carried a gym bag that appeared heavy and bulky enough to have several guns in them. This would have been easy, because in that county in the pre-9/11 days of the mid-90s, the Court House did not check bags. The place was wide open.

Brandi was no where to be seen. Not a good sign.

"I'm not ever going back to jail," he announced.

"Have the police investigators concluded you abused Brandi?"

"I don't know."

"Who did it? Fo' real?"

"I don't know."

"I thought you'd say that."

He grunted a laugh, then looked worried again. "I really ain't going back. I'll die first."

"This hearing ain't about this. It's only about whether you should continue to reside in the home of your girlfriend while the police continue with their investigation, and if Sherry has been following the earlier court order of parenting classes and made progress. Why isn't she here?"

"I don't know," he said sounding irritated. "Maybe she's running late."

Or maybe she knows this nigga is gonna snap today and make front page news by evening, I thought.

"Karl," I said, "I hope you don't do anything today to make a bad situation worse. Whatcha got in the bag?"

His eyes darted around. "Just my gym clothes."

"I hope so. You do have a family, along with me and everyone else in that courtroom. Please try to relax and not sweat the recommendations. They ain't that bad, and this is not the day to go postal. I got stuff to do later and I'm sure you do too."

And the recommendations weren't, at least not compared to jail or suicide. All he had to do was see a psychiatrist, take meds if prescribed, be more active with his therapist or get a new one, finish his parenting class, keep his job, and not live with Brandi and the kids until then, with a court review in 60 days.

I sympathized with him. "That's a lot of appointments that will cut into your free time, but it beats the hell out of being locked up again or worse, stressing out in a fit of rage. You have got to remain calm."

Karl was paranoid as shit and obsessing about losing his freedom. He was clearly anticipating some sort of action by the court that would land him back in jail that morning. He was right to be scared. His history was so dark that I got the sense the defense wanted him locked up until the investigation was over. I gave my report first.

"He may be an felon with a history of murder," I said to the judge, "but that doesn't automatically mean he abused this child."

The defense attorney rolled her eyes.

I continued. "He and the mother have a history of being abused as children, which puts them at a higher risk for abusing their own children. There are other parties who could have done this. The child denies remembering who did it and may be protecting that person. The police need to finish their investigation."

I then gave my recommendations.

As I passed him returning to my seat, I said, "Remember what I said."

Karl was sweatin' bullets on the stand. I was in my chair, watching him intently, 'cause he had that damn bag in his lap and holding onto it for dear life.

You might wonder why I didn't report my suspicions to the court. Karl never took his eyes off me. I had asked him what's in the bag, and he didn't admit to having a weapon. There was no probable cause.

I also had the clear sense that if I snitched my worst fears at any point before or during the hearing, he would have snapped. If I was wrong about him having a gun in his bag, he'd never trust anyone or get the help he needed. If I was right, he'd have blown away everyone in sight before the police could get to him.

The judge looked like he hated him and was dying to find him guilty of something and lock his azz up, but he couldn't, 'cause up to this point, Karl had been cooperative and compliant with the current court order. Clean drug tests, going to N/A, showing up for his own therapist who hadn't been able to get an admittance of guilt out of him either, and cooperating with me, at least superficially by coming to family therapy sessions. He accepted my recommendations. He was also pissed that Brandi didn't show up, but her attorney convinced him to let it go.

My conversation with Karl took place immediately after court. He indicated he was relieved he wouldn't be returning to jail for the time being, but for the first time, really looked sad, an expression he never showed before. I asked him why. He said now he had to move in with a friend and see a psychiatrist, which meant getting on medication.

"What else is bugging you?"

"My family needs me," he answered softly.

"Who needs you the most? Brandi or the kids?"

His voice became softer. "The kids..."

"She did it, didn't she?"

He looked down and grew quiet. I remained quiet, waiting to see if he'd say more.

"I might be a murderer," he added, "but the two guys I killed were murderers too, in the drug game like I used to be. It was me or them. But I ain't no child abuser."

"But Brandi is, ain't she?"

His face looked pained. "I love that woman. Been straight, clean, and working since I met her. I want to marry her if we ever get out of this mess."

"That's fine, Karl, but you can't protect both her and the kids if she's got rage issues. You've seen the welts on Sherry. What happens when Karl Jr. gets a little older? Make your choice. Her or those kids."

"I don't want my baby's mama in jail," he said flatly.

"Slim chance of that, and if so, doubt if it would be much time, and she'd get the help she needs afterwards."

"I ain't saying she did it," Karl said adamantly, "but if she did, I don't want my kid in foster care or put up for adoption. I'd rather die than see that happen. I mean it."

"Can't blame you for worrying about that," I replied. "Maybe Sherry's daddy's grandma will watch your son while Brandi goes through intensive therapy. You work and can pay her. I'll call her and find out, just in case you change your mind."

He nodded in agreement, but continued to look sad.

"Are you feeling suicidal?"

"Not so much now."

"Good."

We parted. I watched him walk away, shoulders slumped down in depression, and clutching his gym bag.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


I watched Brandi wipe her many tears. We were in the women's detention facility.

"I can't believe he snitched on me," she said angrily. "I never snitched on him for the times he hit me."

"Well, you just did," I said. "Did he hit the kids too?"

"I ought to say yes," she said, "just for payback. But no, he never hit them."

"Why did he used to beat you?"

She grew quiet. She shrugged.

I asked, "Was it for beating them?"

"I never hit the baby."

"Why did you beat Sherry so bad that day?"

"She knocked over a whole glass of grape juice on the rug, and those stains don't come out. Management will charge me for a new carpet and we can barely make the rent. I only meant to beat her behind but she kept trying to wiggle away."

"Why'd you beat her naked?"

"That's how I always got my licks."

"Let's work out a therapeutic treatment plan so Sherry can have happier childhood memories, and when Junior's a big boy, he won't go through what she has, or what you did as a child."

She began crying again. "I'm really not as hard on my kids as she was on me. I hardly even remember most of those beatings."

"Denial, or blocking out bad memories is not necessarily a good thing," I replied. "They have a way of leaking out years later, as you see."

This didn't seem to sink in at the moment. That was okay, there'd be other opportunities for her to learn about the curse of multi-generational abuse.

"My mother loved me, she really did," Brandi said. "She just didn't want me to grow up bad. She was a good person."


I smiled gently at her and nodded. "I don't judge her; she came up in a different time and place. So did you. Take advantage of the help you'll get, and you and your children should be fine."

At her trial, she was given a suspended sentence and placed on probation with many conditions. One was that children not be returned to her for at least six months and only pending the progress she made individual and group therapy.

Karl, also present, had seen a psychiatrist who placed him on a new medication that appeared to alleviate his mood swings. The judge ordered that he also attend a domestic violence program if wanted to be reunited with his family. He agreed.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Dysfunction runs in families, and it runs in many directions. Show me a 'crazy' boyfriend or husband, chances are that the woman has issues too, or she would have sensed it when they first met and avoided getting involved with him, or bailed out when signs of it surfaced. The same goes for men who get attached to 'crazy' women.

Brandi and Karl associated pain with love. That's all they ever knew growing up. This intense combination of feelings kept them from being bored with one another or dealing with their own issues. It was passed down through the generations, making them a perfect fit with one another. Their challenge was to not pass on that legacy to their children.

The challenge of society is not be too quick to write off people but to educate them and to provide them with mental health and other services they need. Nor can we wish them away.

Karl spent his childhood and adolescence slipping through the cracks of school, protective services, juvenile services, and had some monster problems by adulthood. Brandi's situation as a child may have sent out some red flags to others, but if so, weren't addressed. Another crack in the system, and another generation almost lost and possibly doomed to repeat the patterns of their parents.

Tossing kids into foster care or taking them away permanently is also an action of last resort. These two kids were lucky. Foster care is traumatic for most children - which creates more problems in the next generation and fuels fear and secrecy, which in turn makes it harder for many of them to seek out or accept help later when they're older and need it even more. It's a cycle to be avoided when possible.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Sherry's paternal grandmother brought her for therapy. She ran to me and her small hand grabbed mine, and once inside my office, Sherry, the child whose mantra was I don't remember, made an announcement indicating that real therapy could finally begin.

Her small voice said, "My mama and Karl said I can remember now."


~~~~~


Monday, December 8, 2008

Barack Obama: An Answer To
Why Did The Chicken Cross The Road?


There are many versions to the old joke,
Why did the chicken cross the road?


Yesterday, I came across one answer that George W. Bush might have given in the early years of the Iraq invasion:

"We don't really care why the chicken crossed the road. We just want to know if the chicken is on our side of the road, or not. The chicken is either against us, or for us. There is no middle ground here."

Amusing, eh?

But after two terms of his agenda and philosophy, it hasn't been funny at all. Americans got a bunch of clues that his side of the street wasn't really our side, and en masse, we voted out The Party That Wrecked America.

It's not that the younger Bush doesn't love his country, it's just that the lies that got us into an unnecessary, horrible war and policies serving the greediest elements of corporate interests utterly destroyed the economy.

Symbolically, this left much of the country on one side of the road, and the elite on the other. The middle class in the formerly very wide median strip was run over, or is barely hanging on and worried to death about becoming road kill.

It's been so intense for me that last week I spent nearly every waking hour working, looking for more work, and going to a training, with hardly a free minute to read or write for pleasure. By Saturday, I was as fried as KFC chicken (yeah, bad joke) and under the weather with a mild flu-like symptoms for the entire weekend. I'm just beginning to feel human again. Forgive me, please, if I haven't visited your blog lately.

My spirits were lifted when I read this story -
Obama: Workers Staging A Sit-in Are Absolutely Right.

Obama told a news conference Sunday that Republic Windows and Doors should follow through on its commitments to the 200 workers, who say they won't leave the plant until they are assured they'll receive their severance and vacation pay.

"The workers who are asking for the benefits and payments that they have earned, I think they're absolutely right and understand that what's happening to them is reflective of what's happening across this economy," Obama said.

"We never expected this," said Melvin Maclin, a factory employee and vice president of the local union that represents the workers. "We expected to go to jail."


And this story - Obama Means The End Of Blank Checks For Israel: Clinton Ambassador.

"The era of the blank cheque is over," said Martin Indyk, director of the Centre for Middle East Policy at the Brookings Institute who is considered close to incoming secretary of state Hillary Clinton... "there are obligations on both sides (Israel and the Arabs)... [who] will have to respect these obligations."


And this story -
Obama Pledges Massive Public Works Program

Obama said his plan would put millions of people to work by "making the single largest new investment in our national infrastructure since the creation of the federal highway system in the 1950s."


These stories didn't come a day too soon for me. Hope, trust and faith in my leader have been important ingredients in my perception and belief in Barack. Like baking a cake, without them, it's not going to be good or even possible to swallow.

I had expected a regime change in his Cabinet appointments, but the same old faces were selected. If you've researched the histories of these people, you can't help but wonder if they'll be loyal to Obama's interests, or have their own hidden agendas... or even wonder what Obama's agenda really is. More of the same, or the promised changes to truly benefit the American people, rather than the United States Mega-Corporations of America?

In addition, what went down in India in the last week of November made me angry and even bitter; it's a signal that a new war with Pakistan is on the horizon. Barack made it clear during his campaign he'd go after bin Laden in Pakistan, and since early September, Bush ordered 'surgical strikes' in tribal areas in that country. This has been killing innocent civilians.

I'm old enough to remember Vietnam. War is like a cancer and spreads, and it spread to those neighboring countries without us legally declaring war on them... yet our boys, along the innocent and the environment, suffered. Many died.

Should India and Pakistan's age old feud spin out of control and we get sucked into it, as sure as the sun rises each day, we can expect a reinstatement of the draft. If either of my kids ever enlist, I'd be behind their decision 100%, and if death or a handicap is their fate, so be it. In fact, my son, now 20, tried to enlist every year since turning 18, but the rules of this century is that without a GED or high school diploma, he's ineligible.

In contrast, I'd just as soon not have that life experience of a military person knocking on my door to sadly inform me that one or both of my (drafted) children were maimed, crippled or killed in action.

So yeah, I've been so concerned about Obama's Cabinet choices and that act of terrorism in India that I seriously considered giving up ever blogging again about politics. What would I have to say to my bulk of readers who are still - and perhaps forever - in the honeymoon stage with Barack, and see him as incapable of doing any wrong and thus allergic and even hostile to criticism of his decisions?

I noted that my stats nose-dived after last Monday on that Divide & Conquer: India & Pakistan post, with fewer comments than usual. Often it's not what people say, but what they don't say. Silence really does speak louder than words, leaving me to wonder if Kit was in the doghouse.

So be it, I thought. I can just do essays on social issues and relationships.

I've always considered that if folks don't like my message on political topics, I'll consider that any argument that could persuade me otherwise, but if I'm not persuaded from raw facts and analytical thinking that a problem isn't worthy of discussion, I won't pretend otherwise to remain popular. The hits aren't worth it if they're gained by compromising on the larger view of what's going on.

Notice that I didn't say the truth. Who really knows what the truth is in the world of politics politricks. It comes down to any particular blogger giving their opinion, which if it has an iota of responsibility and credibility, is based on the available facts you carefully research, think about, and then synthesize to see the big picture of how masses of people are or will be affected. And hope you got it right so as not to mislead people.

Today's news shows me that Barack Obama has dived head first into the icy waters of the issues I value but surely make the men who control the world cringe and tremble with fear.

He came out for unions.

He used his new Chief of Staff, Hillary, to convey the message that no more blank checks will be written for Israel, and by default, any other country.

He's pushing the rebuilding of our crumbling infrastructure of transportation, which has the double-edged benefit of creating millions of jobs.

Barack made many compromises to get elected out of sheer necessity, from entirely supporting the apartheid-like governmental policies of Israel, to voting FISA, to keeping utterly silent on Dennis Kucinich's efforts to impeach Bush & Cheney, to supporting the first Wall Street Bailout plan, to giving a pass to that traitorous Joe Lieberman who supported the Republican candidate rather than his own party.

He did what he had to do, and even then I understood that if he didn't, he could never get into a position where he could really help us, all of us. Black folks in particular knew this intuitively.

But then I wondered, is he really for us, or for the monied interests?

By his most recent actions, the brotha plays a mean game of chicken, and I think it's safe to say he did something I haven't seen a US President do in my long life. As that protesting factory worker said in the first cited article, "We never expected this... we expected to go to jail."

That is phenomenal. That attitude will catch like a wildfire and fuel the revolution of the People, who have too long been treated as disposable farm animals, like chickens, sheep, and cattle herds. For the first time in a long, long time, we have been given the green light that it's okay to dissent injustice and still be treated like the worthy human beings that God made us.

So why did Barack Obama cross the road?

To join us on our side so more of us won't become road kill, because the habits of a good community organizer and activist are enduring.

And maybe, because God had mercy on his children and sent us this gift.