Our minds are gone. Technology has taken the place of voluntary brain activity. How can I say this? Because I just recently—once again—witnessed it with my own eyes. I don’t know how much more of this I can take ya’ll. It’s getting harder and harder to breathe [© Maroon 5].
*hooking up to respirator*
OK, now that I’ve pumped air back into my lungs, I can continue. This is how it went down, and why I’m pretty much rethinking why I ever thought that bringing children into this world was such a good thing.
The money. The house. The cars. The clothes. In America, that's what makes the majority of people. Pay no mind to the reality . . . that outside these material acquisitions the individual is empty. Empty of love. Empty of humanity. Empty of true family and friends. Empty of empathy and understanding. Emptiest of all, of knowing what they are in the quest for knowing who they are. That is the end result of the American Dream or, better yet, of trying to achieve what we've been told is the dream of all dreams.
There's nothing new under the sun. What I think has already been thunk. Most of what I do, somewhere, somehow has already been done. I'm just a new conduit. That's why when I read the following excerpt taken from John Taylor Gatto's book Weapons of Mass Instruction: A Schoolteacher's Journey Through the Dark World of Compulsory Schooling, I saw many of my own thoughts and realizations. I saw the words of my mother, a former schoolteacher. I also saw the words of many former and current schoolteachers who have shared with me their honest perspectives.
It's become such a regular occurrence, it could almost seem natural if it weren't so unnatural. As much as I'd like to think I might be a unique oddity, tautology and all, I know I am not. It happens wherever sisters come in contact with other sisters. I'm talking about those sisters who pass other sisters and don't speak. The ones so dead set on not speaking that they'll completely turn their heads Exorcist-style to avoid doing so.
Getting to the bottom of anything takes work: lots of research, digging and observation. In the instant society in which we live, many people aren't willing to do such intense, time-consuming work. But it is something that is sorely needed, especially as it regards black male/female relationships.
For some time, I've sought answers to the question of what creates a weak, black male. Is it simply because daddy isn't there? Or are there more complex issues at work? What is the role of the mother? The role of the extended family and the community--if one exists? In the end, where does the blame lie? On the backs of those weak, black males, their mothers, fathers and communities, in general, or does it lie on the backs of everyone involved? If the latter be the case, on whose backs does the majority of the responsibility for developing these males into solid, black men belong?
First let me say that the above title was only meant as a draw. I do not believe that the single black woman carries a burden any greater than the Black woman, period. And since I have been single and am a Black woman that gives me a right to offer up that perspective, whether others agree or not. But that's not what I'm here to debate. What I am here to do is share my response to a posting on another site, as it regards a Black man's response to how Black churches are keeping Black women single and lonely. There was a chick who bashed the brother's response, a response that I felt was well thought out and well stated. Her comment reminded me of why Black women have been accused, oftentimes correctly, self included, of hearing but not listening. The sistah's immediate response was to jump down his throat and superfluously toss out her belief that Black men should be taking this up with the "white" man. Because I do not have permission to reprint her comment or the brother's response, mine alone will have to suffice.
Without further ado:
One of my daughters recently posted a Facebook status in which she and her "bestie" are headed to get their nails done. I began to read the status with a smile because I was checking what she was up to, but unfortunately, ended with a frown. I frowned because sometimes, although you know it, it's hard to digest the fact that one of your children loves the system so much, they'll participate in it to their detriment.
In observing the world around me, I've drawn the conclusion that many of my people suffer from a disease called conspicuous consumption. In the case of my daughter, she sees no problem with having chemicals painted onto and absorbed into her nails. No problem with the fact that the nail shops she patronizes don't contribute anything to her community. No problem with the fact that she lives in a blighted area and the most important concern of the people who can least afford it is getting their nails done and purchasing color-coordinated outfits to wear to clubs, funerals and weddings. *sigh*
By Sir Hilary Beckles
I am very keen to provide an input into this exercise because for too long there has been a popular perception that somehow the Haitian nation-building project, launched on January 1, 1804, has failed on account of mismanagement, ineptitude, corruption.
Buried beneath the rubble of imperial propaganda, out of
both Western Europe and the