Black Angry Women

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August 2014 IS THIS THE FACE OF A KILLER KOP? ‘White’ DARREN WILSON in Ferguson, Missouri….

Wilson was earlier identified in a photo shared on Yahoo!, that was originally uploaded to Facebook by his father

 

IS THIS THE FACE OF A KILLER KOP? — The Ferguson, Missouri 6-Year Veteran ‘White’ Police Officer DARREN WILSON whose gun reportedly discharged multiple times and ended the life of Unarmed ‘Black’ 18-Year-Old Michael Brown on 9 August 2014.

NBC News has verified photos of Darren Wilson, #Ferguson police officer who killed #MikeBrown http://on.msnbc.com/1mXDPna
6:47 AM – 17 Aug 2014

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August 2014 IS THIS THE FACE OF A KILLER KOP? ‘White’ DARREN WILSON in Ferguson, Missouri….

BlackParentSpeaks has been aware, involved, lived and remained ‘Black’ long enough to witness the repeat of history over and over and over again.  White America continues to grapple with its racist past, present, and future. The 9 August 2014 killing of unarmed ‘Black’ 18-year-old Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri by Ferguson six-year veteran ‘White’ Police Officer Darren Wilson is a typical in-our-face reminder of racism and everyday life in America.

Overstanding the message sent as a result of the killing of unarmed 18-year-old ‘Black’ Michael Brown by ‘White’ Police Officer Darren Wilson, BlackParentSpeaks has visions of the 1967 Washington, DC Police killing of another Black youth – c. 18-year-old Clarence Booker. Youthful and unarmed Clarence Booker was shot and killed ‘allegedly’ as a result of the most-grievous crime of littering.  BlackParentSpeaks was one of the many many many Black folk who proactively ‘took to the streets’ of DC, organized, and demanded and ‘successfully’ helped in holding White folk accountable for their racist actions. OUR unrestricted and unlimited actions helped in forcing ‘real’ change in our nation’s capital.

This BlackAngryWomen post is written to the Black people of Ferguson, Missouri:

Do NOT let the media, White-thinking folk or others choose your words or actions.  White folk riot — Black folk do not!  We Blacks are involved in a rebellion — not a riot!  We have overwhelming reason, justification, and purpose for the actions we take in rebelling against injustice and racism.  WE Blacks are the victims of White racism.  WE are the victims of 400 plus years of slavery, discrimination, unpaid forced labor and more….  Black people can never even come close to reclaiming all that is owed us and our people!  That said….

Before any settlements or talks of settlements are had, BlackParentSpeaks offers the following bits of wisdom.

1. Demand and get in writing a legally binding agreement with ALL law enforcement agencies (local, City, County, State, and Federal) that clearly guarantees that NONE of the demonstrators, protesters (so-called “looters, etc.”) will be prosecuted for ANY so-called illegal activities that followed the killing of ‘Black’ Michael Brown by Ferguson, Missouri ‘White’ Police Officer Darren Wilson. This demand should be NONnegotiable. If not, the Police will pick you off one by one and file charges against you once the eyes of the nation and world are no longer watching or interested in the events in Ferguson, Missouri.

BlackParentSpeaks also strongly suggests that you require a public statement by a government official (perhaps your overseeing ‘White’ Governor Jay Nixon) expressing that the people’s anger and actions were overstandable and no prosecutions or charges will be imposed against any of the protesters or demonstrators or so-called “looters, etc.” who took to the streets following the killing of ‘Black’ Michael Brown. Further, any and all already filed charges or prosecutions will be dropped and/or dismissed. Note: Missouri ‘White’ Governor Jay Nixon might want to include in his statement a piece about ‘us all working together to heal the racist divide’ that has PUBLICLY surfaced as a result of the ‘White’ officer shooting and killing of unarmed 18-year-old ‘Black’ Michael Brown….

Contact Information for Missouri Governor Jay Nixon:
Missouri Governor Jay Nixon
216 State Capitol
P.O. Box 720
Jefferson City, MO 65102
Fax:(573)751-1495
Tel:(573)751-3222
email: mogov@mail.mo.gov
web: http://www.mo.gov/

2. Demand the return of all cell phones, Laptops, IPads, cameras, film, footage, pictures, text messages, and other items seized, confiscated, and illegally taken from demonstrators and protesters by law enforcement during the aftermath of the killing of ‘Black’ Michael Brown. In the event that any item is not returned in its original prior-to-seizure condition (as determined solely by the victim of the seized item), a lump sum government payment of $2500 is to be issued forthright to the victim. Further, that $2500 will NOT be counted as income to the victim under any charitable or assistance programs, local, City, County, State, or Federal programs or entities. And, the payment is NOT reportable on any income tax returns or used to determine eligibility for any government or private or charitable programs including Food Stamps, Housing, and other assistance and help programs.

All who had their personal property taken by law enforcement should ‘assume’ that texts messages, contacts, pictures, etc. have been copied and could be used in future attempts to create havoc and problems for them. Please do not underestimate the anger of those who are determined to ‘hush’ your righteous cries for justice….

Of course, there are other demands that must be put in place and there remains the charge to hold Ferguson, Missouri 6-Year Veteran ‘White’ Police Officer DARREN WILSON accountable….

I strongly urge the Black folk of Ferguson, Missouri and throughout these United States to recognize that the fight to lessen and end racism is serious business. Know that you are freedom fighters and you are not alone in this struggle. Please do not fall prey to ‘smiling faces’ or words designed to separate us from each other – no matter the race, job, or position of the person speaking the words.

BlackParentSpeaks says ‘Right-On’ to ALL who have taken to the streets in Ferguson. I say use ‘whatever means is necessary’ to get answers and righteous justice.

By the way, the audacity of a ‘White’ mindset to tell Black adults that they must stay inside and not venture outside of their homes because of a racially-discriminatory CURFEW is beyond angering to me! Do not let yourselves be corralled or caged. Simply put, Black people are human beings and Black people have the right to walk and travel the streets like any other people. Please do NOT let others frighten you into accepting  apartheid in Ferguson, Missouri.

‘Don’t forget our reparations’.

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We are all works in progress.

Be Aware!  Stay Involved!


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Black Lulu Learns, Swings, and Gets on Base

Travel Forward to the 1940s, 1950s, 1960s….

Growing up ‘Black’ in ‘White’ Portland, Oregon was not an easy task.  The times were such that the racism could suffocate and devour a ‘Black’ spirit.  Some of the ‘White’ businesses posted signs boasting ‘white only’ or some other equally offensive barrier indicator directed at us Black folk.

In spite of the open racism and the barriers put in place by Whites, Black development managed to flourish and thrive.  My ‘Black’ father started and operated ‘successful’ businesses that helped in supporting and sustaining our increasing-in-numbers Black community.

My father’s moving and storage business provided jobs primarily filled by the Black men and Black male youth of the community.  Daddy’s accounting business handled government-mandated reports and forms for the Black community while also supporting Chinese, Mexican, and Cuban needs.  Our family’s second-hand store (The 3 Js) had a rather steady stream of folk and often the store inventory was simply given away.  Our customers included mostly Blacks, Mexicans, Cubans, and Roma peoples.   The 3 Js also housed the humongous printing press that my father built and taught me to operate.

My mother’s multiple rental properties provided shelter primarily to Blacks, as well as Roma and other nonWhites.  My father maintained the properties – repapering walls, painting, replacing windows and doors, changing locks, laying new flooring, handling electrical and plumbing problems, and more….  While a young child, I often tagged along with my father and helped with maintaining the rental properties as I was able.

I remember one Black lady in particular – a lady my mother met on the street.  The lady was an ‘older’ Black woman who appeared alone and homeless.  My mother invited the lady in and my family soon moved the lady into our apartments.  We went shopping for food and other items necessary to make the apartment a ‘home’ for the lady.  My family made sure there was always phone service to the apartment and we took care of all the utilities and more.  My family also provided the lady – whom we eventually came to know as Mrs. Smith — with spending money.

Often, both my mother and I visited with the lady and listened to her ‘words’ and thoughts.  I felt comfortable in Mrs. Smith’s company and I learned a lot.  Always, my mother and/or I checked the refrigerator and kitchen cabinets and my mother and I would stock and re-stock the foods and drinks according to Mrs. Smith’s wants and decided-upon needs and more.  My mother felt really close to Mrs. Smith.  The time was c.1950-1960.

On a consistent basis – sometimes oftener than monthly – Mrs. Smith telephoned our family home and spoke of the government listening to her thoughts and spying on her via the walls of her apartment….  At those times, my father simply packed up supplies – including wallpaper and paints – and we went to the apartment and repapered and repainted the walls to Mrs. Smith’s peaceful delight.  My daddy told me that what Mrs. Smith said could be true – the government could easily be spying on her and others of us.  Daddy advised that we not discuss Mrs. Smith or her whereabouts with anyone outside our immediate family.

Daddy always seemed to have common sense solutions to any and all problems and he always showed patience and overstanding.  My mother and father took care of Mrs. Smith, who stayed in our apartments until the day she ‘gave up the ghost’….

The evolving names of my family’s businesses included the Williams Avenue Development Company, Stroud Service System, Stroud Moving and Storage, and more.  Although Daddy initially ran the businesses from our family home, he soon rented and leased buildings to house our businesses as well as the local NAACP…. Eventually, Daddy moved his businesses into a new building he contracted to purchase.

During the early days of our family businesses, Daddy and Mamacita used the same phone number for our house phone and our business location phone.  However, due to the volume of calls coming in, Mamacita and Daddy had sequential number phones installed at both our home and business locations.  And, as the population of Oregon grew, the number of digits in our phone numbers also increased.

My father was creative in all that he did.  Whether on the golf course daily and walking from hole to hole on his hands or doing pushups on the course while lining up his balls on the greens, Daddy was creative.  The ‘White’ golfers marveled at my father’s exceptional abilities on the course and often challenged Daddy in their veiled attempts to deflate what they perceived as Daddy’s unwavering ego.

Daddy was always a ‘family’ man and enjoyed the company of his children wherever he was.  Daddy often said ‘If I can’t take my children with me to a place, then your Daddy does not need to be at that place….’  Rose City Golf Course in Portland became what my siblings, my mother, and I jokingly dubbed ‘Daddy’s second home’.

Because Daddy was often at Rose City, he often conducted various aspects of his businesses from the club house.  Daddy was adept at all he did and he worked out the details of moving jobs, storage costs, and more by way of the phone located in the club house.  In fact, Daddy was so good at what he did that he seemed to always be on-target with regards to the time needed to complete a job, space requirements for storage and so on.

As a child, there were times when I went along with the moving men on moving jobs.  Although I was a child, I ‘carried’ my weight – lifting and moving household items and helping to pack and unpack the moving vans, etc.  And, at the end of the day, my father gave me the authority to pay the workers and I maintained the receipts and records.  Math was a favorite of mine and I was better-than-good at calculating.

My earliest memories include my father’s teachings.  Daddy taught me how to think.  Daddy taught me Math, English, Science, how to type, how to operate the printing press he had made, and more.  As a result of my father’s teachings, I was somewhat beyond the course offerings at the ‘White’ elementary school my ‘Black’ family was legally required to help integrate during the 1950s.

Integration at Irvington Elementary School in Portland, Oregon was unpleasant at best.  I was a third grader and faced the racial hatred of both the ‘White’ community of Irvington and its ‘White’ parents and their non-thinking and cruel children.

At lunch time, the White kids would open their milk cartons and splash the cafeteria floor with milk in hopes that I would slip and fall while walking in the cafeteria.  Always, when I was ‘allowed’ to get up from my ‘assigned’ seat to get my food, I prepared myself for the inevitable and somehow managed to avoid falling although I was often splashed with the milk thrown by the White kids.

The White adults in the school cafeteria refused to offer me protection.  Instead, the adults laughed along with the White children and encouraged more and more of the children to toss their milk in my direction.  And, at times, one or more of the adults would even dare to toss milk in my direction.  No matter the route I took to the food line, it seemed I was always subjected to such abuse and ugliness in the Irvington Elementary School cafeteria.

I remember my teacher Mrs. Spear especially because of her sheer ugliness towards me.  The White children in my class were relentless in their abuse of me and I attempted to get help from my White teacher, Mrs. Spear.  Needless to say, the teacher proved to be just as abusive in her racial hatred.  Mrs. Spear not only refused to help me, she heightened the abuse and enabled all of the White students to do to me whatever they chose.  Mrs. Spear openly stated that ‘my kind’ should not be going to Irvington School, etc.

Although I was a youngster, I knew that I had to be my own protector while at Portland’s ‘White and racist’ Irvington School.  The daily abuse I was subjected to was forming a knot in my stomach.  I knew that I was on my own and that I would have to do something to stop the abuse both in class and in the school cafeteria.

My father had always schooled me relative to racism.  Daddy had prepared me and he had told me that when I was ready to put an end to the racial abuse at ‘White’ Irvington Elementary School, I would know what to do….  Daddy had explained that he could not be with me daily at school, however, he would support whatever decision I had to make in order to protect myself.

Well, that moment of truth finally came.

One day, after continued abuse and mockery and more in ‘White’ Mrs. Spear’s class, I made one last ditch effort to solicit help from my teacher.  Mrs. Spear not only did NOT help, she pushed me and spoke ugly and uglier words to me while the ‘White’ students laughed and joined in.  Mrs. Spear told the class that they could take whatever they wanted to take from me, etc.

Following Mrs. Spear’s angry push, I stumbled back to my desk.  A White student named John came over to my desk, hit me, and ripped my pencil out of my hand. The lead from the pencil cut into the skin covering my hand.  John and the other White students laughed loudly and began to chant and tease me further.  My teacher Mrs. Spear also showed amusement before glaring at me angrily and speaking more ugly racist words.

As my stomach churned, I reached into my desk and took ahold of my ruler before approaching the ‘leader’ of the racist pack of White students – John.  I politely asked John to give me back my pencil – a pencil my father had engraved with the name of our family business.  John refused, laughed, and spoke ugly and uglier words as he threatened to ‘beat me up’.

In short order, I again demanded the return of my property.  John grew visibly angrier as he balled up his fist and attempted to hit me.  Needless to say, I was quicker and faster as I blocked his punch and simultaneously, as other ‘White’ students moved to descend on me, I took a firm grasp of my 3-edge ruler and swung it across John’s forehead.

The ruler broke off in John’s head and blood appeared to squirt out from his head as John proceeded to fall to the floor.  And, as John fell, I grabbed my pencil from his hand and ran out of the classroom, through the school and out the front door with a mob of Whites – including the teacher – in hot pursuit.

Being fast, I outran the mob and – thank God – my father was home when I dashed through the front door of our house.  I screamed to my Daddy that the Whites were going to “lynch” me because I had killed a ‘White’ male classmate – John.

Daddy calmed me down and assured me that no one was going to “lynch” me….  Daddy expressed that anyone so intent on doing me harm would have to kill him first.  Daddy asked me to tell him all of what had happened.  After that, Daddy took me back to school and we went directly to the Principal’s office.

The White Principal reached out to grab me when he saw my father and I enter his office.  Daddy, however, blocked the Principal’s hand and directed me to sit down.  Daddy sat down next to me as he listened to the hate-filled words the ‘standing’ Principal spoke.

During the course of the Principal’s tirade, the Principal stated ‘we all know John was NOT at fault because John comes from upstanding parents in this community….’  Quickly, my Daddy rose from the chair he was seated in and stood face-to-face in front of the Principal.  Daddy calmly and pointedly told the White Principal that ‘Lulu comes from UPSTANDING parents in this community….’

Near the conclusion of the meeting, Daddy told the Principal that he, my Daddy, was going to buy me another ruler just like the one that had broken off in John’s head.   Daddy then told the Principal that he was again directing me to use the ruler to protect myself if and when needed.  And, Daddy told the Principal that if he – the Principal — or any other White adult ever again attempted to harm me at school, he – my Daddy – would personally handle the adults himself.

Word of what had happened, my reaction, and my father’s response quickly traveled throughout the Irvington community and beyond.  Black adults openly applauded me for my bravery and strength.  My mother – who was ‘fragile’ — feared for my safety.  And, the racist non-thinking White kids at Irvington School decided to leave me alone as they quietly whispered to each other “Lulu is crazy”….

‘Don’t forget our reparations’.

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We are all works in progress.

Undying love for Black people!

 

 

 

 

 

 


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Black Enough Is Simply Not Enough….

Black Enough Is Simply Not Enough….

All questions have answers – even if you do not know the answers or do not like the answers.

There is seriousness in jest.

Being resilient does not mean that Black people should ever forget our horrendous and inhumane enslavement by Whites. Black resilience does not mean that we portend to not recognize racism.

Black people have been — and are –oppressed as a race; we do not have the choice or the luxury of individualism.

Black unity does not mean Black uniformity.

I have been asked if the end justifies the means. My answer is ‘No’. It is the ‘means’ that justify the end.

We who are Black should not be forever in the mode of, without compensation, teaching White folk about race and racism. I am tired of so-called White ignorance and the pretense of race ignorance coming from White lips. I am tired of the multitude of excuses made for racist White folk.

Racism is ugly and dangerous. Racism should not be excused or tolerated. And, if White folk or others want an education relative to what racism is and more, they should expect to — want to — pay for that education.

Reactions and responses to BlackAngryWomen have been both educational and reflective.

One of the more recent ‘Black’ interventions involved a racist posting in the workplace. In that situation, the White supervisor quickly apologized in writing to the Black employee, removed the racist workplace posting, etc.

BlackAngryWomen commends the Black employee – a ‘Black’ woman – for stepping forth, expressing her anger in writing, and making a difference….

‘As long as there is breath, there is hope….’

Be Involved!

‘Don’t forget our reparations’.

Feel free to share this BlackAngryWomen blog with others. We are all works in progress. Do YOU know what time it is? http://BlackAngryWomen.com/

Undying love for Black people!

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A Black Woman’s Strength

Looking back at the 1960s – 1970s Black ‘Movement’ from my most-intimate and involved vantage point, I am now comfortable in stating that there were sacrifices – great sacrifices.

My Oregon parents and their neighbors were questioned regarding me.  There were threats from America’s law enforcement community to my livelihood, my life, etc.  I was offered money, a leadership position, and ‘protection’ to sell-out.  My home was entered while I was away.  At least one attempt was made on my life.  I was relentlessly followed.  And, yes, there was more.

It was not uncommon for me to look up from my paid job with the Neighborhood Legal Services Program and see FBI agents coming to take me into custody.  At times, I was placed in handcuffs.  At other times, I was not handcuffed.

I was often escorted from my job, driven away in a car, and questioned at a different location – usually in a downtown DC building.  There were sometimes veiled threats.  At other times, I was told outright that I could or would be harmed if I did not cooperate.  Needless to say, I NEVER knew anything.  Therefore, I was NEVER able to give any information to the FBI or any of the other law enforcement ‘agents’ assigned to follow and monitor me.

I recall one occasion when I was taken away by two FBI agents and interrogated relative to an ‘alleged’ relationship between Muhammad Ali and a ‘Chicken Man’….  Although I responded that I had never personally met Brother Muhammad Ali and I had no idea who ‘Chicken Man’ was, the futile questioning continued.  Finally, after repeated questions, I was told that my life was in danger ‘because of my refusal to cooperate’ with law enforcement.

My position in the ‘Movement’ commanded a keen sense of awareness.  I was trusted with ‘sensitive’ information.   At times, I had to make split-second decisions.  I can truthfully say that never did I waver nor have I ever regretted any of the decisions I made with respect to the ‘Movement’.

Encouragement – for me – came from a c.93+ year old Black woman who mailed us (Stokely ‘Black Power’ Carmichael and me) a note with two dollars to help in the ‘Movement’.  Her note expressed her gratitude and faith in us to keep up the struggle.  She wrote that she could ‘die in peace’ knowing that we were continuing the fight for our Black people….  Letters and sentiments like that brought heaviness to my heart and tears to my eyes.  Our elder sister’s words-on-paper reinforced my commitment to righteousness.  Indeed, I was privileged and ‘chosen’ by a power beyond man….

Because our lives were intertwined with the ‘Movement’, caution and awareness were employed.  I became an intimate confidant of Stokely’s and Martin’s (Martin Luther King) and David’s (Rev. David Eaton) and others’.

I recall being driven around DC by the son of the Ambassador from Pakistan.  I recall dinners in New York and at the home of Tanzanian Ambassador Gosbert Rutabanzibwa.  I recall dancing with Charles Diggs.  I recall contemplating a move to Cuba and changing my mind.  I recall reading Chairman Mao’s ‘Little Red Book’ and the passage regarding men and oral sex.

I recall being ‘almost’ raped by a well-known ‘Black’ man (deemed a “leader” by the White media) who I fought and struggled with to the point of sweat-ridden exhaustion.  The man finally stopped his vicious assault on my person only after I managed to say that if he stuck his ‘thing’ in my vagina, I would tell the ‘world’….

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Black Dues and Hunger in America

Knowledge of the past can help us to avoid repeating the mistakes as we move forward.

It seems that life has always been about ‘purpose’ for me.  I have tried to be responsible and loyal while allowing myself the freedom to make mistakes.  While I was but a young child, my father told me that ‘it is better to do something than to walk away and later wish you had done something’.  That is one of the mantras in my arsenal.

While working with the Citizens Advocate Center in DC, I found myself in need of a secretary.   There were deadlines to meet and the Hunger In America report, which I was charged with coordinating, was a project of immense importance.  I quickly put the ‘word’ out that the Center was hiring.

After interviewing several Black prospective applicants, I went back into my office to make that all-important decision as to who I would hire.  While mulling over my choices, a rather shy looking young Black woman entered our offices.  I was summoned to the greeting area to meet and possibly interview the young woman for the secretarial position.  Although the lady had arrived late for her interview, I chose to hear her story.

The sister was in her twenties and she had dropped out of high school as a tenth grader.  She expressed that she did NOT know how to type, etc.  In fact, she was convinced that she would not be hired for the job because of her lack of secretarial skills and more.  As tears began to fill her eyes, she fidgeted with her clothes and nervously told me that she knew she should not have showed up for the interview and she apologized for taking up my time.

I quickly handed the young sister a box of Kleenex and got her a soft drink and told her that I had ‘all the time in the world to hear her story’.  After getting as much information as I could from the young woman, I told her that she was hired.  I expressed that her job as my secretary would be to ‘return to school’.  I expressed that she would learn how to file, how to type, English and more while working as my secretary.  As she continued to cry, I told her that she could start that same day or the next day – it was up to her!  And, as a welcome to the job, I handed her money from my purse.

The Executive Director of the Citizens Advocate Center was Edgar S. Cahn – a Jewish attorney.  Attorney Cahn was not initially pleased with my hire, however, after I explained my ‘reasons’, he quickly jumped on board to help.

The young woman I hired was in search of her ‘family’.   Her nine brothers and sisters — all children — had been removed from her care years prior by social workers who discovered the circumstance of their living conditions.  The young woman’s parents were both deceased and the woman had biological children of her own to support.  The woman feared that even her own biological children would be taken away by social workers because the place they were staying in was uninhabitable.

Quickly, I began making phone calls and sending out ‘feelers’ in an attempt to locate the young woman’s siblings.  Attorneys handled the legal turf as Black community activists and others stepped in with support and more.  Within a matter of weeks, we had the entire ‘clan’ together and we secured a large home in Northwest DC for the young woman and her ‘family’.  We furnished the place (two refrigerators were donated) and went shopping for clothing, groceries, and other items needed for their ‘home’.  Our ‘no-walls’ support for the family continued….

Later, I hired another employee for the Center and that sister assisted in putting together a thorough ‘first-ever’ report on Hunger In America.  To her surprise, I made a conscious decision to credit her on the final report.

BlackParentSpeaks contends that God provides us with countless opportunities to ‘do the right thing’ and to pay our dues.  In the Movement, some of us would sometimes quip that we were ‘over’paying our dues and paying the dues for all of us.  And, yes, I do know that there is an African proverb that states ‘behind jest is sometimes seriousness….’

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Don’t Forget Our Reparations!

I am today reminded of ‘Black and Beautiful’ Queen Mother Moore!  I first had the privilege of meeting Queen Mother Moore during the 1960s.  Queen Mother Moore was a strong and determined Black elder – a woman who urged us Blacks in the ‘Movement’ to never forget our reparations.  It seemed that almost always after a Black convention or conference I attended, there would stand Queen Mother Moore waiting in the exitway to give me a big hug, embrace, and encouragement.  Queen Mother Moore ALWAYS exhorted me to not compromise our fight for righteousness.  And, Queen Mother Moore always spoke her famous words to me “Don’t forget our reparations”.

Queen Mother Moore was one of the many Black women who supported, encouraged, and lived the Black ‘Movement’.  She inspired me to always remember and to never forget – no matter the pressures and/or inducements to do otherwise.

As I share these words and memories with you, I reach beyond myself to publicly thank Queen Mother Moore and so many many other Black women who lovingly gave and continue to give of themselves.  They – and yours truly — were some of the Black sisters who fought and continue to fight for righteousness.  I am convinced that my life in the ‘Movement’ was and is deliberate and intended – ‘many are called, few are chosen’….

Be Aware!

A trend has developed and is developing that is unsettling at best.  The trend is to have a Black man with White women introduce and present race-related talks and training sessions.  The audience is almost always White or majority-White.  The Black man and White women team receives compensation for enabling the myth that particular Whites are ‘for real’ in their search for knowledge, growth, and racial healing.  Such presentations and discussions are designed to make Whites comfortable … plain and simple.  And, seldom — if ever — does anything significant change following such trainings and presentations.

The Black man with White women presentations almost always applaud those Whites present for their courage in turning out to engage in the ‘most-difficult’ discussion relative to race and racism in America….  The Black man and White women teams express that their presentations are NOT about blame or guilt.  They warn against loud voices (i.e. genuine emotion that could come from any Blacks present in the audience) and urge ‘civil’ dialogue and conversation.

Give me a break!

Applauding Whites for their courage relative to racism is akin to thanking a White arsonist for burning down ‘only’ seven hundred and three Black-occupied homes as opposed to seven hundred and four!  It is akin to thanking a White man for stabbing a 90-year-old Black woman eighty-seven times and not stabbing the woman eighty-eight times.  It is akin to thanking a White person for setting off a bomb at the Boston Marathon rather than setting off the bomb at the Pentagon near Washington, DC!

Reality is that Whites are both historically and currently guilty of racism.  Reality is that Blacks were and are the victims of White racism.  Reality is that Whites were and are the perpetrators of racism.  Reality is that White folk owe Black folk for 400 years of slavery and more….  Fact is that Whites will forever be faced with their own guilt and inhumane ways until they repent-in-earnest and atone.  Blacks are beyond entitled to reparations.  And, until Whites atone for their sins against Black people, Whites will continue on their journey towards hell.

Any ‘real’ attempt at Black and White racial healing in America must include reparations for America’s Blacks.  Individual Whites have the obligation and calling to ‘give’ as able and when able if they truly seek and desire racial healing, peace, and salvation.  The fact is that Whites will continue to condemn themselves and their progeny to perpetual guilt and condemnation as long as they ignore and dismiss their humongous debt to Black folk.  The curse that White folk function under will remain until they do that which is called for, that which is just, that which is right.  Know that the ‘sins of one generation follows the next and generations to come’.

White folk must begin the process of action with regards to reparations.  White folk can start by establishing a Reparations Body-of-Purpose, a body with the sole (soul) ‘initial’ mission of pressuring, influencing, and persuading the US government and US monopolies to pay reparations to America’s Black populace.  America’s Blacks are due reparations and, as a side note, each of us Blacks has the individual right to do with any and all cash payments as each of us chooses!

Do I expect Whites to eventually move in the direction of doing the right thing – to move in the direction of reparations for Black people?  Yes.  Do I expect to receive any of the reparations due me and mine in my lifetime?  No.

‘Don’t forget our reparations’.

Happy Kwanzaa!

Feel free to share this BlackAngryWomen blog with others.  We are all works in progress.  Do YOU know what time it is?  http://BlackAngryWomen.com/

Undying love for Black people!

http://BlackAngryWomen.com/