Living Black and Loving It: Lift Every Voice and Sing!

“What will you do with today?”

This question came to me as I thought on the events of this week. I pulled up the shade of my past and thought of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. the people, the suffering, and the struggles he represents. I considered the shutters of my future, a future of hope personified in the person and the persona of President Barack H. Obama.

I look into the faces of young people and see the joy of youth; I hear their laughter as they walk through school hallways or down city streets. I wonder, as I watch them, “What will you do with Today?”

I try to remember what it was like to be their age, but the cacophony of time has muted my youthful voice, still I can almost hear the whispers of my mother, my teachers, my community, and my ancestors who were torn away from their history and transported into a future full of unknowns, “What will you do with Today?”

Will you dare to be different? Will you choose the road not taken? Will you climb the rough side of the mountain? Will you come alongside to walk with that one who is labeled “outcast?” Will you speak to the one others shun? Will you practice genuine tolerance?

“What will you do with Today?”

A voice from my past, the voice of Robert F. Kennedy, parallels my question: “Some people see things as they are and ask ‘Why?’” I see things as they could be and ask ‘Why not?”

Why not dream the impossible dream? Why not pursue excellence? Why not push yourself beyond your limitations or the expectations of others? Why not accept that challenge to be better, to do better?

I noted the history in the crowd at the inauguration. The Tuskegee Airmen who so long ago dared to soar above the surly attitudes of those who said they did not have the intellect or the physical skill to become pilots. I watched John Lewis stand, he who was one of the Big Six during the Civil Rights movement, a young man who headed SNCC (Student Nonviolent Coordination Committee) and worked alongside Dr. King during those days of tumult and resistance. I heard the sacred intonation of a beloved song in the prayer of an old warrior and I asked myself, “What will you do with Today?”

Langston Hughes asks, “What happens to a dream deferred?” I now realize that dream deferral does not mean dream denial. Dreams deferred are sometimes just dreams on hold. Deferred dreams are nurtured and protected by a dreamer who dares to labor in faith over them each and every day without a clue as to when, or if, they will come to pass. Sustained by hope, deferred dreams lie dormant until the time is right for them to bloom and blossom. No, Dream Deferral is not Dream Denial.

"What will you do with Today?"

Living Black and Loving It, Again

"I have never been so naive as to believe that we can get beyond our racial divisions in a single election cycle." The struggle for racial justice is far from over.” Barack Obama

I discovered this quote just a few days ago. In light of my last blog about the expected “change” in the America psyche about race and race issues, I also expressed my concerns about how things will not change overnight. I am glad to see that Mr. Obama also realizes that the desire for change can happen in a nano-second, but the process of change will take just a teeny bit longer.

Living Black in America is a two-edged sword. One edge speaks to the delights of our culture, the sweet nuances of our language and the laughter of older women who whisper secrets to one another over sweet potato pie and coffee in a girlfriend’s kitchen, the swagger of the older brothers who jump sharp on Saturday p.m. in their pointy toed Stacy Adams shoes with their snap-brimmed hats jauntily tipped to one side as they lean against the counter of the local juke joint while their Sunday go-to-meeting saintly wives head for church Sunday a.m. swathed in fur cuffed suits with those dramatically glorious hats that bring their own drama perched on perfectly coiffed heads. I love living Black in America and I love living it out loud in the midst of my people.

I want to shout like Sister Sue over in the corner who is so overcome by the fervor of the moment that she does not remember later that she had to be extracted from between the pews where she fell after she passed out. I want to dance up and down the center aisle of the church until I have to kick off my shoes LaBelle style and wait for the ushers to escort me out of the sanctuary so I can catch my breath (or stick a shoe under my nose to revive me). I want to eat black-eyed peas on New Year’s Day with gumbo as a side dish. I want to laugh until I cry with my sister-girlfriends even if that laughter is tinged with heartache. I want to passionately kiss a man until we both have to come up for air. I want to wear the bright colors and all the bling my wrists can bear and my ears can hold. I want to step into a conference room in all my ethnic confidence and then astound the skeptical gathering with my knowledge and expertise. I just love living Black.

But there is the other edge of that sword to think about. The edge that has shamed us with a history that was not of our making, the edge that has made us fill less-than even as the economy of a nation was being built on our backs. This edge of the sword has sliced away and denied me my humanity. The tip of the sword has pointed out the texture of my hair and the color of my skin and has dared to make me ashamed of both. I have been forced by prevailing stereotypes to act against type when in the company of the majority culture so that my race is not stigmatized by my individual choices. This edge of the sword drew a line in the sand of democracy and dared me to step over it. The weight of my color is ever present when I am the only person of color in a meeting or a conference or a restaurant. I am aware of the dichotomy of democracy as I see my young brothers hanging out on the corner in the middle of the day, when I hear my young sisters angrily use obscenities that were never spoken in my presence back in the day and even then only old men used such language. I note the despair and the anger and the decimation of a culture and I feel the pain of the sword’s edge that condemns me for daring to be Black in America. This is also what living Black in America is all about. This is the part I hate.

The desire for change has always been a present and persistent hope in our community. Mr. Obama declared, “Change has come to America.” It remains to be seen how long it will take for change to overtake and vanquish the nasty consequences of living Black in America. Sam Cooke sang it in the 60s and Seal reiterated it in this millennium, "Change gone come." It can't come soon enough for me. I've been waiting a long time for change to show up. I anticipate its appearance any day now, but while I am waiting, I will love every exciting, exasperating, and exhilirating moment of living Black in America.