The House of Representatives is expected to renew talks concerning the landmark Voting Rights Act; this act enabled blacks and minorities the right to vote. The 25 year extension to the bill was expected to sail through Congress. However, a small group of southern representative, including FL, objected to the extension, stating that some of the southern states would be singled out and forced to pay for errors from the past they claimed they have corrected. One of the provisions calls for some of the southern states, such as TX, FL, and GA among others, to have to seek clearance with the Justice Department before implementing and changes on voting rules. The benevolent southerners feel that they are not receiving credit for the strides they have made over the years towards civil rights. They further contend that it would be Justices Department burden to prove why these southern states have to go through this extra scrutiny. Click here for one of the stories.
Ok, for one, thanks to a southern state like the one I live in, Florida, we single handedly gave George Bush the presidency in what will probably go down in history as one of the biggest most embarrassing voting scandals. We still don’t know where a bunch of those ballots went. So you expect me blindly to trust state voting officials to do the right thing? I think not just the southern states should be held to this scrutiny, but all the states. Let’s not pretend we haven’t heard of last minute voting pole location changes in largely black districts to make things not so easy for us. Many voters even miss out on voting because of messes like this, sending me from one place to another until there’s no time left. Why is it such an inconvenience to have to report every voting rule change to higher authorities? Do we not feel we have to answer to somebody, at least people we represent, which brings up the real reason this is such a problem for some Republicans. The reason they have a problem with this is because they would seem extremely obvious in their gerrymandering tactics, which is a clever way to minimize the minority influence in politics.
Another provision they object to is one that requires states to print out ballots in other languages if that state or region is heavily populated by non-English speaking citizens. They contend that since immigrants are supposed to be proficient in English, there should be no reason for a ballot printed out in Spanish for example. For another article click here .
Let me just say this, I guess proficiency in the English language would be a requirement to become a citizen. The problem with that word would be how you define proficient. There are many people in this country that may very well have the ability to carry a conversation in English with you, but does that mean they feel comfortable reading in English? Last time I heard, you don’t have to be literate to cast a vote, oh wow, thanks to the Voting Rights Act, so why should you be subjected to cast your vote, and maybe not be sure how you’re voting because the ballot is not printed in a language you’re most comfortable with. Let’s not forget about some of our older citizens that have been here most of their lives, yet haven’t been able to dominate the language. You cannot say that these people are dumb or un-American. There’s a big difference between learning a couple of words, understanding a language, and completely mastering a language. Scientific research shows that language development occurs in the frontal lobe of the brain; this part of the brain takes some ten to twelve years fully develop from the time an infant is born. Multi-language mastery is most successful in children, up to the ages of 10 or 11-years-old without any visible accent in any of the languages learned. Once the frontal lobe is fully developed, language mastery becomes a bit more difficult, not impossible, but more difficult. The older you are, the harder it will be to learn a second language; this explains why some people that have been here since early adulthood still have problems dominating the language. Whenever you see a person who can dominate more than one language without any visible flaws in any of them, that person positively learned the languages at a very early age, and used all languages on a frequent basis. So it’s not so much that foreigners are stupid or slow, but it’s more of a biological limitation that all humans have. I would argue to say that they’re pretty smart for coming to just understand the language. Having lived in Puerto Rico, a commonwealth of the U.S., I know for a fact that nobody speaks English regularly in the Island (other than hospitality employees), yet all Puerto Ricans are citizens, and millions of them live in the states, what do we do them? Call them non-citizens? My mother would’ve fit this particular scenario very well (rip).
The bickering over these 2 provisions is so freaking childish, it should be an insult to all Americans alike. What is it that we’re trying to do here? Turn the clock back in time? As far as I’m concerned, this Act should be made permanent, not extend it 10 years, or 25 years, or whatever, make it a permanent fixture. Even though many of us are living under a presidency we did not vote for, it is our right, and responsibility to continue to vote in the future, and we should make sure that our rights are not temporary. The loss of power is scaring the crap out of elite, but let’s not let anything intimidate us. Make it permanent; things may change for the better, maybe not for our generation, but for our children.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Monday, July 10, 2006
THE MAN IN THE MIRROR
Some time ago I was hanging out with a Latino friend of mine, and for some reason we began to talk about different people and their attitudes. Right now the specifics of the conversation are a little blurry to me, but I know my friend began to speak about African-Americans being too sensitive when it came to race relations, she mentioned something about letting things go, that things weren’t as bad as they were. Needless to say I began to explain to her some things about internalized oppression; statistical data that reveal how much lower minority incomes were compared to European- Americans. I talked about the institutionalized oppression and how our prisons are overpopulated with brothers doing time for pity crimes; I also spoke about how much more we spend on building maximum security prisons than on good educational programs that would intern give young people more options before turning to crime. The conversation got deep, and my friend asked me why I was so passionate about the subject, I replied that the subject was part of who I was, and that led to explaining to her about my background, how I was raised Puerto Rican, but in reality I was African-American. This revelation took my friend by surprise, for one, she was amazed at how good my Spanish was, but until then, she wasn’t quite getting why I was so high strong on speaking about race relations.
A week went by and I hung out with a larger crowd of Latino friends, so that night at the party, one of topics of conversation was my race; evidently they got to talking about it in my absence. So another one of my friends comes up to me and tells me, “Yo Jay, I didn’t know you were black, I thought you were Puerto Rican”. Don’t get me wrong, they weren’t trying to be nasty with me or anything, but the news seemed to surprise everybody, so instead of introducing me as usual, they began to introduce me as: “this my friend Jay, he’s black, can you believe it?, and he speaks better Spanish then me” So the party went on, the introduction took place a couple of more times, and the fact that they were mentioning it so much began to bother me, I just felt like suddenly they had a different perspective about me after learning about my roots, I didn’t know what to think about what they were saying and how they were going about the whole situation. Later on, after sobriety went out the window, we were all having a good time, and one of the people in the party was chilling with me, cracking some jokes and what not, when she said to me that it didn’t matter where I came from or if I was black or whatever, that I was still a cool guy.
The next day I woke up with a lot on my mind. For starters, the night before showed me once again how race changes peoples perception, sometimes for the good, a lot of times for worse, what a power lie the notion of race still is. But more importantly, I was racking my brains trying to figure out why their comments about me being black bothered me. I felt like after knowing these people for some time already, it was like they met somebody completely new just because I was black and not a “pure Puerto Rican” whatever that means. Let’s keep in mind that I was the one who opened up this whole race door. After some more reflection, I was able to see that they weren’t really trying to hurt me, and their friendship and affection to me is still to this day unchanged; these people are truly good people who I consider very good friends. But there was still something bothering me, what was it? Why was I upset about this whole black thing? So I literally looked at myself in the mirror, did it for a long time, thinking about this whole thing, until I finally saw what I needed to see. I saw a black man, a handsome one I might add, lol. You see, you can tell yourself all kinds of lies, some lies you’re taught early, other lies you hold on to because they are more comfortable for you, because you have an excuse, because you didn’t have a say, you were just born into a crazy world. Sometimes you just don’t know where you’re going to wind up, a maze sometimes. But the truth is the best way back into sanity, if you’re strong enough. For a long time I stood on the fence, what am I? Back? Latino? Asian? Which is better? Hmm….. Through lessons, hard knock lessons, sweat, tears, scratching for some room to breathe, I’ve come to understand who I am, how does society look at me, and grown some pretty tough skin. So I looked at myself in the mirror and finally came to terms with myself, I embraced my blackness, it’s who I am no matter where I was raised or how many languages I can speak. A black man is black man here, in Puerto Rico , in China Nigeria
Later on I began to think about my younger days, and I was able to see how differently I had been socialized. I mean, I grew up worshiping Latin girls, and that’s understandable having spent some time in the island, but what was amazing was that yeah, I can remember having crushes on white girls too, and those Playboy magazines where some of my favorites, occasionally I would see a pretty black girl, but for a long time I never even dated black girls. My first sexual experience with a black woman wasn’t until my mid-twenties. What I’m getting at is that I was never taught that black was beautiful, never; all I liked was always lighter than me. I guess that would’ve made me invisible when I looked at myself as a young man, that’s pretty fucked up, what can I say, ok you’re influenced to think one way, and then on the other hand from time to time you get treated like you’re less than dirt, that can be very confusing for a teenager you know.
So now, as a grown up, I’ve come to terms with that man in the mirror, and I see exactly who I need to see, me, and I love everything about it, and love my sisters, and I’m sorry I ignored them for so long, that was really my loss, black is beautiful, feel me, and I’m not just saying this, I mean it with all of me. I’ve learned so much about myself, that in all honesty, I wouldn’t want to be anything else but black, if I come back in another life, I hope I’d come back black again, that’ how rich this is……..More on this later……
Thursday, July 06, 2006
THE JOBS AMERICANS WON'T DO?
Last year the President of Mexico, Vicente Fox, caught a lot of heat from the African-American community for making some very bold statements; he said "There is no doubt that Mexicans, filled with dignity, willingness and ability to work, are doing jobs that not even blacks want to do there in the United States," click here . He later called Al Sharpton, as well as Jesse Jackson to apologize for unintentionally offending the African-American community. Where Fox went wrong was perhaps in not taking into account how our great nation came to be what it is; it was built on the backs of our ancestors. So in reality, there are no jobs black people haven’t had to do in this country, and for many years they were forced to work for nothing at all. Now, I do want to say that what Fox said took a lot of courage and is not entirely false. As many of us have noticed and commented on, all minorities have been able to benefit from the sacrifices made by the African-American community. Thanks to the civil rights movement, as well as the feminist movement, all legal minorities have some sort of voice; they have rights, at least in principle. I’d be upset too, if someone wasn’t careful with their choice of words, making my people look lazy, as if we didn’t have to put up with enough bullshit, we still are. This is where I somewhat agree with Fox, we don’t do these jobs not because we’re too good for them, or because we’re lazy. We don’t do these jobs because those jobs simply don’t pay enough for us to live off. As it is, 26% of African-American men and 36% of women hold poverty level paying jobs, click here. We fought with our lives just to get this far, and we got so much more to go, why in the world would we do jobs that pay below minimum wage? Thankfully, many of us do not have to go work at a farm, or kitchen, or in the back of a landscaping truck, or out in the sun in some construction site. There are some of us that may just have to do whatever it takes to make things happen.
I have a friend who happens to be an illegal alien; he simply overstayed his visa, and has been working under the table ever since. Now he doesn’t have the worse paying job, but very demanding, physically that is. He works for a pressure washing business, the owner of the business has many contracts with local car dealerships; the task is to pressure wash all the cars on the given lot, and then dry the cars up with a shamy so they won’t stain. This is not a detailing job; it’s simply to keep the cars looking shiny and dirt free, if the car is sold, it will get detailed then. On average, he washes some 700 cars a day. Being the crew leader benefits my friend quite a bit given his illegal status, he does most of the pressure washing, plus he gets the pay his help whatever he thinks they deserve. My friend is from South America, but the help he affords to get mostly are Mexican helpers; he pockets a reasonable amount, some $700.00 a week, while paying his helpers $350.00 per week. Sounds like good money doesn’t it? Let’s see what he doesn’t have: He has no holidays, no sick pay, no insurance, and no guarantees at all. The job is extremely demanding on the body; you’re constantly wet, yet you’re out in the sun, the water sprayed on the cars gets hot very quickly, so while you’re drying the cars it feels like you’re in a steam room, you’re shoes also get wet, to the point of getting that wrinkle effect from over saturation. It doesn’t get any better in the winter time where you would still be wet, only freezing instead. This is what many illegal immigrants have to do for a piece of the pie. In my friend’s case, his helpers only make $70.00 a day, which may be a lot compared to what an orange picker makes. Imagine having to work for that amount of money and knowing that if you get sick or hurt, you won’t be covered and you may even lose your job because of it. These workers almost represent what our ancestors had to go through 400 years ago, and we would probably be getting paid by the same standard had it not been for the civil rights movement. Some of us may still be under similar circumstances, only we have rights; we can assemble and create grassroots efforts legally to force change. Yet what amazes me the most is that some of us still have to resort to working for nearly nothing because that’s all we can do.
The job I currently hold right now is more of a weekend job, I get my 40 hours, but I rack them up while everybody else is resting. My full time job is from Thursday to Sunday. I do get to rest for three day, which is how I was able to earn my degree. I do realize that what I make at my job is not a bad salary, and I know there may be people out there in way worse circumstances than me, and for that I am extremely grateful. However, almost half of the money I do earn is automatically taken out of my paycheck to pay for child support. When it’s all said and done, Uncle Sam and my children have consumed 60% of my earnings making things extremely tight for me to manage my own expenses. I’ve already tried to come up the ranks with my employer, and the process has been one filled with bitter disappointments. I’ve been turned down some 5 times for supervisory positions. Not that I’m crazy about becoming a supervisor, but given my time with the company, my experience and my education, there’s no reason I couldn’t do the job nor should I be denied since I’ve already been given a leadership role as it is, only I don’t get the pay I deserve for it. It seems that I’ve hit the glass ceiling, and no matter what kind of spin I put on things, how much I’ve tried to convey my work ethic and mental capacity, all they see a dark man they can’t seem to connect with, intimidating perhaps. But my bills and my everyday needs are not their problem, so the rent barely gets paid, robbing Peter to pay Paul, that’s what I gotta go through to make it happen. I will see redemption someday, maybe at my current employer, but not likely. In the meantime, I’ll just have to hustle, do whatever it is to stay afloat, even it means working every day of week, even if it mean having to wash cars for $70.00 bucks a day. So what kind a man with a degree gets reduced to having to work out in the sun all day? A black man like me, and I’m not ashamed to of it, I can get my hands dirty, it’s all good, I can handle the looks I get from car buyers when they see me all wet and sweaty, if they only knew, it just reinforces a life lesson, nothing’s ever given, nothing comes easy, but I will die trying, you feel me? I’m only trying to eat what they’re snacking on.
Ever wonder how brothers wind up selling drugs? Is it by design or by need, or both? How do these drugs get to the ghetto? There isn’t any real money in the ghetto? If there was any real money, it wouldn’t be the ghetto. So you take the bait, you get caught with a rock, and then the system chews you up and spits you out like garbage. You get to work for nearly nothing, picking up trash from the highway or something like that, with some pig watching over you (sound familiar?). If you’re lucky enough to get out, your worth is less than zero, you might never be completely integrated back into society, so now you may have to take that $5.00 per hour job as your main source, and the cycle gets repeated like your Kenmore. Yeah, I’ll wash cars on the side, but I will not be branded like cattle, and I will not be kept down forever.
As for the 11 million immigrants in this country, the government would rather not give them rights at all; it would violate the 1st commandment of Capitalism, Thou shall not pay for labor fairly. I wish my brown brothers all the success in this struggle, continue to fight, you only have until November to force something. This is all about big business and the conservative movement. Fight for legal status, it’s where it needs to start. Mass deportation is out of the question, we can’t afford it from any angle, but let’s make sure we get something fair that will allow illegal immigrants become legal instead of paid slaves.
P.S. I’ve been busy making some paper, but I will be posting more often, holla……
I have a friend who happens to be an illegal alien; he simply overstayed his visa, and has been working under the table ever since. Now he doesn’t have the worse paying job, but very demanding, physically that is. He works for a pressure washing business, the owner of the business has many contracts with local car dealerships; the task is to pressure wash all the cars on the given lot, and then dry the cars up with a shamy so they won’t stain. This is not a detailing job; it’s simply to keep the cars looking shiny and dirt free, if the car is sold, it will get detailed then. On average, he washes some 700 cars a day. Being the crew leader benefits my friend quite a bit given his illegal status, he does most of the pressure washing, plus he gets the pay his help whatever he thinks they deserve. My friend is from South America, but the help he affords to get mostly are Mexican helpers; he pockets a reasonable amount, some $700.00 a week, while paying his helpers $350.00 per week. Sounds like good money doesn’t it? Let’s see what he doesn’t have: He has no holidays, no sick pay, no insurance, and no guarantees at all. The job is extremely demanding on the body; you’re constantly wet, yet you’re out in the sun, the water sprayed on the cars gets hot very quickly, so while you’re drying the cars it feels like you’re in a steam room, you’re shoes also get wet, to the point of getting that wrinkle effect from over saturation. It doesn’t get any better in the winter time where you would still be wet, only freezing instead. This is what many illegal immigrants have to do for a piece of the pie. In my friend’s case, his helpers only make $70.00 a day, which may be a lot compared to what an orange picker makes. Imagine having to work for that amount of money and knowing that if you get sick or hurt, you won’t be covered and you may even lose your job because of it. These workers almost represent what our ancestors had to go through 400 years ago, and we would probably be getting paid by the same standard had it not been for the civil rights movement. Some of us may still be under similar circumstances, only we have rights; we can assemble and create grassroots efforts legally to force change. Yet what amazes me the most is that some of us still have to resort to working for nearly nothing because that’s all we can do.
The job I currently hold right now is more of a weekend job, I get my 40 hours, but I rack them up while everybody else is resting. My full time job is from Thursday to Sunday. I do get to rest for three day, which is how I was able to earn my degree. I do realize that what I make at my job is not a bad salary, and I know there may be people out there in way worse circumstances than me, and for that I am extremely grateful. However, almost half of the money I do earn is automatically taken out of my paycheck to pay for child support. When it’s all said and done, Uncle Sam and my children have consumed 60% of my earnings making things extremely tight for me to manage my own expenses. I’ve already tried to come up the ranks with my employer, and the process has been one filled with bitter disappointments. I’ve been turned down some 5 times for supervisory positions. Not that I’m crazy about becoming a supervisor, but given my time with the company, my experience and my education, there’s no reason I couldn’t do the job nor should I be denied since I’ve already been given a leadership role as it is, only I don’t get the pay I deserve for it. It seems that I’ve hit the glass ceiling, and no matter what kind of spin I put on things, how much I’ve tried to convey my work ethic and mental capacity, all they see a dark man they can’t seem to connect with, intimidating perhaps. But my bills and my everyday needs are not their problem, so the rent barely gets paid, robbing Peter to pay Paul, that’s what I gotta go through to make it happen. I will see redemption someday, maybe at my current employer, but not likely. In the meantime, I’ll just have to hustle, do whatever it is to stay afloat, even it means working every day of week, even if it mean having to wash cars for $70.00 bucks a day. So what kind a man with a degree gets reduced to having to work out in the sun all day? A black man like me, and I’m not ashamed to of it, I can get my hands dirty, it’s all good, I can handle the looks I get from car buyers when they see me all wet and sweaty, if they only knew, it just reinforces a life lesson, nothing’s ever given, nothing comes easy, but I will die trying, you feel me? I’m only trying to eat what they’re snacking on.
Ever wonder how brothers wind up selling drugs? Is it by design or by need, or both? How do these drugs get to the ghetto? There isn’t any real money in the ghetto? If there was any real money, it wouldn’t be the ghetto. So you take the bait, you get caught with a rock, and then the system chews you up and spits you out like garbage. You get to work for nearly nothing, picking up trash from the highway or something like that, with some pig watching over you (sound familiar?). If you’re lucky enough to get out, your worth is less than zero, you might never be completely integrated back into society, so now you may have to take that $5.00 per hour job as your main source, and the cycle gets repeated like your Kenmore. Yeah, I’ll wash cars on the side, but I will not be branded like cattle, and I will not be kept down forever.
As for the 11 million immigrants in this country, the government would rather not give them rights at all; it would violate the 1st commandment of Capitalism, Thou shall not pay for labor fairly. I wish my brown brothers all the success in this struggle, continue to fight, you only have until November to force something. This is all about big business and the conservative movement. Fight for legal status, it’s where it needs to start. Mass deportation is out of the question, we can’t afford it from any angle, but let’s make sure we get something fair that will allow illegal immigrants become legal instead of paid slaves.
P.S. I’ve been busy making some paper, but I will be posting more often, holla……
Sunday, June 25, 2006
MY OWN REVOLUTION
This blog will be dedicated to one thing only, and that is to speak my mind on whatever race related topic I feel the need to address. The blog is simply a way for me to get things off my chest. Lately, I’ve had too much on my mind, good, bad, and indifferent, but nowhere to let out all this steam, well almost nowhere. I’m a sociologist at heart, so most of my daily interactions, thoughts, and scenarios will come from a sociological perspective. I named my blog my own revolution because I often think that’s what needs to happen in order to see real change in society. But where are my revolutionaries, where are the Luther Kings, the Malcolm Xs of today, the Fred Hamptons, people that really care about what happens in our communities, people who are aware of the oppression we are still under, and this is not just the brothers and sisters only, it goes beyond that. In the midst of an election year, I see no hope in sight for real change from this bullshit we have to put with today. The war, our education system, our president and who he represents, the fact that racism is still alive, and how it attempts to still keep us oppressed through unfair disadvantages, laws that are designed to keep us in prison and further cut us off from mainstream society. This is the kind of stuff keeping me awake these days, it isn’t anything new, but a lot of us are just sleeping through this. Who’s speaking for us? Really, who is?
I was born in Brooklyn, New York, and I was partially raised in Carolina P.R. where I lived for about 10 years. My story begins back in Brooklyn where I was given up for adoption at birth. My father was African-American and my mother was of Asian descent; the result of this mixture was an orphan child, not wanted by his birth mother, probably because I was too dark, it’s my best guess considering the polarity that even to this day exists between these two races. As for my father, I don’t really know what the deal was with him, don’t know if he had another family, or if he was in prison at the time, that’s anybody’s guess, but that’s a complete separate subject, I’ll have to post some solely dedicated to that.
I grew up as a Puerto Rican even though I was clearly darker than the rest of my family. Don’t get me wrong now, I’m not saying there aren’t any dark Puerto Ricans, in fact, as part of the African Diaspora, P.R. has a significant amount of African ancestry as does the rest of the Caribbean, Central and South America. Anyways, my point is that I was the darkest of the family, and you could clearly see that I had no resemblance to my family at all. Growing up I always thought that there was a difference in being black and being a dark complexioned Puerto Rican. Sure, there are cultural differences and what not, but what else is different? Absolutely nothing. I’ve come to believe that part of my reasoning was by design, perhaps my mother (the adoptive one, and the only one I will always call madre) was trying to protect me from some of the things she had witnessed in her younger days. See there was such a time where being African American was categorically unacceptable in many social circles and arenas such as sports, but if you were Roberto Clemente, you weren’t as bad as being a plain ole nigger, you were Latino, feel me? I always knew there was something different about me. See, in Puerto Rico racism is not as noticeable, put it’s still alive and well.
I’ve heard many Puerto Ricans say that racism is non-existent in the island, not so. I can tell you from personal experience it’s there. The number one thing I am asked when people, regardless of nationality, find out I have Hispanic roots is: Are you Dominican? Why is that? Because of my proximity to the Haitian color? As if there where no black people in Puerto Rico, only in D.R.. This image has been created both by people living in the island, as well as second and third generation Puerto Ricans living throughout the United States. The fact is, you can find any type of blend in the island, you’ll have some that look more native, some more Spanish, and some straight out of Africa, all three races and cultures have been blending for over 500 years. As a kid, it was very common for a family member, a loving teacher, or even a friend to refer to me as “negrito”, in English that translates into little black boy, sounds harsh, doesn’t it. But in Puerto Rico negrito or negrita are actually terms of endearment. Is it really? This is true for most of the Caribbean, Central, and South America. The only two influential black figures that I remember distinctively from my Latin childhood were the composer Rafael Hernandez, and baseball legend Roberto Clemente, but I never saw the black character in the novella be the good guy, or the smart one, never but maybe once in a leading role. Now when it comes to comedy, black Latin images are in abundance, even in comic books such as “Memin”, which was a comic book about a little black boy, depicted much like little black sambo, or even famous local actors like Angela Meyer playing characters very much like Aunt Jemaima. All in good fun, right? Shit, they had me thinking all this was normal. Max Weber once said that a series of ritualized norms lived in over time, become natural. So even though I was taught not to react to racism, there were always certain reminders that would keep me in check so that ultimately I would still know I was different. Let’s see, there was always that odd look I would get when seen with my mother in public; she was way lighter than me, strong Spanish features, they never guessed she was my mother, no way, how could that be? One of the most vivid memories I have on race as a kid was a confrontation I had with an older cousin of mine, in the heat of the argument she blabbered out of her mouth “negro sucio”, yeah, she called me a dirty nigger; that happened some 20 years ago, but I’ve never been able to forget the amount of hate that was expressed with those words.
I still believed there was a difference between black and brown, until I got back to the main land in 1990. After a few months back in the states, I lost my Spanish accent, and I noticed nobody ever guessed I was Puerto Rican or anything like that; black people would call me brother and any Latinos I would run into would speak Spanish around me because they thought I didn’t understand or speak the language. So here in Florida I began to make real connections with my own people. I began to immerse myself into a whole new world I had been alienated from up this point. While I began to understand how African Americans were treated in this country, I also saw how in some instances playing the Latino race card could sometimes benefit me, especially in FL. Now, at the end of the day it all becomes a struggle for power between them and us, all of us, blacks, browns, yellow, you name it.
We are all positioned systematically to play a specific role in the grand scheme of things. The socially constructed notion of race becomes real to all of us, to those who never in their lives have to deal with somebody who looks like me, and so very real to those of us who have to follow some norm of assimilation, for those of us who wow any European American when he or she hears us talking like them and interacting in a way they feel comfortable with. Parrots can also mimic people too, and very well I might add. So what are they really impressed with when I speak “white”? What are they really saying? That my intelligence can only be measured by the extent I can sound, walk, and act white? Never mind the four year degree I have adorning my wall. And I’m not just making stuff up here. I can now say that I’m proud to be African American. I’ve experienced blackness in the most beautiful ways, but also in the most demoralizing and insulting ways.
African Americans are 4 times more likely to be unemployed at all education levels. To learn about statistics like this one in college can be very impressionable, put to see it with your own eyes really puts things into perspective. I experienced some of this with an employer who denied me the opportunity to advance into management without any convincing excuse or reason. Why did I not get the chance? The picture we are all sold on is that a college education is the key to success in the workplace, get a degree and the sky’s the limit. Just with that one condition, you manage to cut off over 60% of the black population from competing since that’s the percentage of kids that never make it out of high school. So one day you show up to your job and tell Mr. Bossman that you did, you got a degree. “Can I get a real job now?” But the Bossman says to you that “the timing is just not right” or whatever the heck he wants to say so as to not to let you in. Hmm, the truth of the matter is that many people do get the opportunity to advance into stable positions, many times without any significant qualifications, only they didn’t have to sacrifice their families on the weekends, or work twice as hard just to get noticed. You know what I’m talking about? I’m sure some of you do. I gotta leave that one alone, no more specifics. Kanye said it best, “nothing’s ever promised tomorrow, today”.
This is why “my own revolution” was started. I know I’m not alone in this struggle, in this daily mission, the need to hustle, the need to make a change, the need for a revolution. So I want to put the word out there, if there’s a way to pimp the system out, I want to let it out, and I’m not necessarily talking about illegal activity as defined by our laws, but we can still pimp this mother out for all it’s worth. You see, our government more often than not fails to allocate funds for the needs of our communities, yet the bulk of the taxes collected to run our government comes from middle and low income families. How’s that for pimping? There are other instances where help is available, yet our government does such a crappy job in getting the right information to the people who need it. That’s not a mistake, come on now, but I’ll be dammed if we don’t take advantage of whatever we can get. Yeah they make it confusing sometimes, but that’s just part of the game. So many times I’ll be talking about stuff that’s near and dear to my heart, other times I’ll talk about current events, and other times I’ll be talking about stuff that straight up pisses me off, but also be on the look out for information that can benefit you directly or maybe someone you know. This is Each-1-Teach-1, welcome to “My Own Revolution”.
I was born in Brooklyn, New York, and I was partially raised in Carolina P.R. where I lived for about 10 years. My story begins back in Brooklyn where I was given up for adoption at birth. My father was African-American and my mother was of Asian descent; the result of this mixture was an orphan child, not wanted by his birth mother, probably because I was too dark, it’s my best guess considering the polarity that even to this day exists between these two races. As for my father, I don’t really know what the deal was with him, don’t know if he had another family, or if he was in prison at the time, that’s anybody’s guess, but that’s a complete separate subject, I’ll have to post some solely dedicated to that.
I grew up as a Puerto Rican even though I was clearly darker than the rest of my family. Don’t get me wrong now, I’m not saying there aren’t any dark Puerto Ricans, in fact, as part of the African Diaspora, P.R. has a significant amount of African ancestry as does the rest of the Caribbean, Central and South America. Anyways, my point is that I was the darkest of the family, and you could clearly see that I had no resemblance to my family at all. Growing up I always thought that there was a difference in being black and being a dark complexioned Puerto Rican. Sure, there are cultural differences and what not, but what else is different? Absolutely nothing. I’ve come to believe that part of my reasoning was by design, perhaps my mother (the adoptive one, and the only one I will always call madre) was trying to protect me from some of the things she had witnessed in her younger days. See there was such a time where being African American was categorically unacceptable in many social circles and arenas such as sports, but if you were Roberto Clemente, you weren’t as bad as being a plain ole nigger, you were Latino, feel me? I always knew there was something different about me. See, in Puerto Rico racism is not as noticeable, put it’s still alive and well.
I’ve heard many Puerto Ricans say that racism is non-existent in the island, not so. I can tell you from personal experience it’s there. The number one thing I am asked when people, regardless of nationality, find out I have Hispanic roots is: Are you Dominican? Why is that? Because of my proximity to the Haitian color? As if there where no black people in Puerto Rico, only in D.R.. This image has been created both by people living in the island, as well as second and third generation Puerto Ricans living throughout the United States. The fact is, you can find any type of blend in the island, you’ll have some that look more native, some more Spanish, and some straight out of Africa, all three races and cultures have been blending for over 500 years. As a kid, it was very common for a family member, a loving teacher, or even a friend to refer to me as “negrito”, in English that translates into little black boy, sounds harsh, doesn’t it. But in Puerto Rico negrito or negrita are actually terms of endearment. Is it really? This is true for most of the Caribbean, Central, and South America. The only two influential black figures that I remember distinctively from my Latin childhood were the composer Rafael Hernandez, and baseball legend Roberto Clemente, but I never saw the black character in the novella be the good guy, or the smart one, never but maybe once in a leading role. Now when it comes to comedy, black Latin images are in abundance, even in comic books such as “Memin”, which was a comic book about a little black boy, depicted much like little black sambo, or even famous local actors like Angela Meyer playing characters very much like Aunt Jemaima. All in good fun, right? Shit, they had me thinking all this was normal. Max Weber once said that a series of ritualized norms lived in over time, become natural. So even though I was taught not to react to racism, there were always certain reminders that would keep me in check so that ultimately I would still know I was different. Let’s see, there was always that odd look I would get when seen with my mother in public; she was way lighter than me, strong Spanish features, they never guessed she was my mother, no way, how could that be? One of the most vivid memories I have on race as a kid was a confrontation I had with an older cousin of mine, in the heat of the argument she blabbered out of her mouth “negro sucio”, yeah, she called me a dirty nigger; that happened some 20 years ago, but I’ve never been able to forget the amount of hate that was expressed with those words.
I still believed there was a difference between black and brown, until I got back to the main land in 1990. After a few months back in the states, I lost my Spanish accent, and I noticed nobody ever guessed I was Puerto Rican or anything like that; black people would call me brother and any Latinos I would run into would speak Spanish around me because they thought I didn’t understand or speak the language. So here in Florida I began to make real connections with my own people. I began to immerse myself into a whole new world I had been alienated from up this point. While I began to understand how African Americans were treated in this country, I also saw how in some instances playing the Latino race card could sometimes benefit me, especially in FL. Now, at the end of the day it all becomes a struggle for power between them and us, all of us, blacks, browns, yellow, you name it.
We are all positioned systematically to play a specific role in the grand scheme of things. The socially constructed notion of race becomes real to all of us, to those who never in their lives have to deal with somebody who looks like me, and so very real to those of us who have to follow some norm of assimilation, for those of us who wow any European American when he or she hears us talking like them and interacting in a way they feel comfortable with. Parrots can also mimic people too, and very well I might add. So what are they really impressed with when I speak “white”? What are they really saying? That my intelligence can only be measured by the extent I can sound, walk, and act white? Never mind the four year degree I have adorning my wall. And I’m not just making stuff up here. I can now say that I’m proud to be African American. I’ve experienced blackness in the most beautiful ways, but also in the most demoralizing and insulting ways.
African Americans are 4 times more likely to be unemployed at all education levels. To learn about statistics like this one in college can be very impressionable, put to see it with your own eyes really puts things into perspective. I experienced some of this with an employer who denied me the opportunity to advance into management without any convincing excuse or reason. Why did I not get the chance? The picture we are all sold on is that a college education is the key to success in the workplace, get a degree and the sky’s the limit. Just with that one condition, you manage to cut off over 60% of the black population from competing since that’s the percentage of kids that never make it out of high school. So one day you show up to your job and tell Mr. Bossman that you did, you got a degree. “Can I get a real job now?” But the Bossman says to you that “the timing is just not right” or whatever the heck he wants to say so as to not to let you in. Hmm, the truth of the matter is that many people do get the opportunity to advance into stable positions, many times without any significant qualifications, only they didn’t have to sacrifice their families on the weekends, or work twice as hard just to get noticed. You know what I’m talking about? I’m sure some of you do. I gotta leave that one alone, no more specifics. Kanye said it best, “nothing’s ever promised tomorrow, today”.
This is why “my own revolution” was started. I know I’m not alone in this struggle, in this daily mission, the need to hustle, the need to make a change, the need for a revolution. So I want to put the word out there, if there’s a way to pimp the system out, I want to let it out, and I’m not necessarily talking about illegal activity as defined by our laws, but we can still pimp this mother out for all it’s worth. You see, our government more often than not fails to allocate funds for the needs of our communities, yet the bulk of the taxes collected to run our government comes from middle and low income families. How’s that for pimping? There are other instances where help is available, yet our government does such a crappy job in getting the right information to the people who need it. That’s not a mistake, come on now, but I’ll be dammed if we don’t take advantage of whatever we can get. Yeah they make it confusing sometimes, but that’s just part of the game. So many times I’ll be talking about stuff that’s near and dear to my heart, other times I’ll talk about current events, and other times I’ll be talking about stuff that straight up pisses me off, but also be on the look out for information that can benefit you directly or maybe someone you know. This is Each-1-Teach-1, welcome to “My Own Revolution”.
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