Showing posts with label freedom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label freedom. Show all posts

Friday, January 15, 2010

it is for us to finish his work (7)



It is for us to finish his work

(In view of the revelations of the last few days, I feel compelled to warn you that this is an activist presentation. It is my sincere hope that I do not scare you with my excessive concentration of melanocytes in my skin or my tendency to lapse into some variation of negro dialect from time to time. Perhaps it’s a good thing that I never wanted to be president or be complemented by the likes of the inartful Harry Reid.)

In 1963, a thirty-four year old Martin Luther King stood on the steps of the Lincoln Monument, in the nation’s capital and announced in poetic speech that the “Negro” had come out of the corners of American society, had come, in fact, out of exile in their own land, to cash a check.

At that historic moment, the young Georgia preacher became transfigured; became illumined from within by the socialized well-spring of African-American life; by the instincts, primordial emotions and deep collective images of African and American humanity.

In that moment, his avidity for power, his desire to increase his selfhood and the scope of his authority was transmuted as he truly experienced the magical identification of his innermost self with his God and with his people.

He became translucent, his mind and soul transubstantiated and made like crystal; as a lens to focus the yearnings and aspirations, the hopes and fears of the African dwelling in America for nearly three hundred and fifty years.

With an eloquence tempered in the white-hot fires of the gospel, shaped in the twin crucibles of the American Baptist seminary and the black church, Martin King proclaimed that when the founders of our republic scripted and signed the “magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence” they also signed a promissory note.

They had in fact signed a contract where they made an unconditional promise in writing to guarantee all Americans the "unalienable Rights" of "Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." They promised to deliver either at a fixed or determinable future time or on demand and under specific terms the riches of freedom and the security of justice.

King said that America had failed to honor that sacred obligation; had given America’s citizens of color a “bad” check and they had come to Washington on that August 28th 1963 day, in more than 2,000 buses, 21 special trains,10 chartered airliners, and uncounted cars, bringing crowds that swelled to almost 300,000 people, 80% of whom were African American, to present again to America, that check, because they refused to believe “that there …[were]…insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation.

And then before the mesmerized hundreds of thousands before him and the millions watching on television or listening on the radio, he began to speak sooth! He gave over his voice to the yearnings, aspirations, hopes and, yes, dreams ensconced in the African American collective unconscious.

More compelling than the ancient Roman augur taking auspices from the flight of birds, or the pre- and retro cognitions of the modern clairvoyant, Martin Luther King took the psychic elements of the African American soul and like a skilled “father of secrets” tossed them onto the opon ifa of his oratory which semantically and systematically organized what appeared to be disjointed, random facets of the African American experience into a lucent, lucid and prognosticating dream.

He revealed in that dream a vision of equality that this generation and no subsequent generation before this one has yet to achieve. A vision of social equality – the just and equitable treatment of all of our citizens regardless of skin color, gender, sexual orientation, linguistic difference, social status, and ability.

For even though modern science has confirmed that homo sapiens sapiens walked out of Africa 150,000 years ago and again, 80,000 years ago and populated the globe -- that all modern humans are, in fact Africans -- America, the greatest of the world democracies, is still rife with daily instances wherein one individual intentionally or unintentionally targets another for negative treatment because of skin color or other group-based physical, linguistic or religious characteristics; that systems of social structures still produce cumulative, durable, race-based and culture-based inequalities.

The election of Barack Hussein Obama as president of the United States is, perhaps, the signature achievement for many Americans, and most African Americans, of the first decade of the twenty first century. It is an achievement that all Americans should draw considerable pride.

But the real and symbolic value of an Obama presidency does not obfuscate the continuing racialization of poverty, income, space, housing, and land use, the absence of high quality childcare for low income families and children of color, low African American male graduation rates, employment discrimination, racial disparities in sentencing, redlining, disproportionate healthcare, voter suppression, the prison-industrial complex and the pervasive segregation across the entire spectrum of education, among other glaring inequities.

The Obama presidency has drawn millions of marginalized people, and especially young people, into the political process, re-energized that process, appealed openly and consistently to the best, rather than the worst, in us.

Some of the more jaded among us, myself included, who thought his life was forfeit the minute he accepted the nomination, are becoming more cautiously optimistic that he may survive not only his first term but may live to run and win again. His achievements in the first year of his presidency are already more substantial than any other modern president, Roosevelt, Reagan and Clinton, notwithstanding.

But Obama, his administration and even congress itself, are not enough to make King’s dream an every day reality. They collectively do not have the capacity. That endeavor requires the energy, commitment and efforts of all like-minded Americans who believe that racism, individual and structural, sexism, heterosexism, linguicism, ableism and all other forms of social inequity should be dismantled and eliminated.

Martin Luther King, jr. was taken from us by an assassin’s bullet forty-one years, nine months and ten days ago, killed while standing on the balcony of his motel room in Memphis, Tennessee,
too soon and before his work was done.

Since January 20, 1986 and for thirty-three subsequent years America, in spite of the opposition of Republican Senator Jesse Helms of North Carolina and John McCain of Arizona, in spite of the reluctance of Republican President Ronald Reagan to sign the holiday into law, in spite of the resistance of Arizona, New Hampshire, Virginia and South Carolina to formally adopt and celebrate the King holiday.

We have come together in various venues resolving to make his dream real. We have sworn a thousand oaths; we have resolved to do better, we have even created activity days to better commemorate the King holiday. So powerfully intoxicating is that dream that we often forget the enormous individual efforts and achievements of the man himself as an example of the kind of energy, effort and commitment it might take to help flesh out this dream.

In 1954, Reverend King was a 25 year old pastor of the Dexter Avenue Baptist Church in Montgomery Alabama, completing his doctorate of Divinity. Although his ministry was always a social action ministry, being a member of the executive committee of the NAACP, the murder of fifteen year old Emmett Till on August 28, 1955 (eight years before the March on Washington to the day) and one hundred days later, the arrest of Rosa Parks for refusing to give up her seat to a white man on a Birmingham bus, propelled him into readiness in December, 1955, to accept the leadership of the first great African American nonviolent demonstration in the United States, the Montgomery bus boycott.
.
The boycott lasted a year and seventeen days. On December 21, 1956, after the Supreme Court of the United States declared unconstitutional the laws requiring segregation on southern buses, African Americans and whites rode the buses as equals. The personal cost to King? He was arrested, his home was bombed and he was subjected to all manner of personal abuse, but at the same time he emerged as one of the most important black leaders of the day.

In 1957 King was elected president of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, an organization formed to provide new leadership for the sprawling American civil rights movement.

Between 1957 and 1968, King traveled over six million miles and spoke over twenty-five hundred times. He authored five books and numerous articles. In these years, he led a massive peaceful protests in Birmingham, Alabama, wrote the "Letter from a Birmingham Jail", called by some the manifesto of the African American revolution.

He planned and led numerous voter registration drives in Alabama, co-directed the peaceful march on Washington, D.C., where he delivered his "l Have a Dream" speech. He regularly conferred with Presidents Kennedy and Johnson and was present when Johnson signed the 1968 Civil Rights Bill into law.

King was arrested twenty times, assaulted at least four times awarded five honorary degrees. He was named Man of the Year by Time magazine in 1963 and was awarded the Nobel Peace prize in 1964.

What can we do individually and collectively to transform the King dream into an American reality? As a community of learners,
the Miami Dade College faculty, staff and administration, just as we mobilized to develop and implement learning outcomes, we can
1. Come together to identify and address structural racism and structural inequality as the key civil rights challenge for the 21st century.
2. We can organize our productive conversations around the premise that
a. opportunities exist in a complex web of inter-dependent factors, and that to alleviate inequities in any single area, we must first consider the entire structure that supports these inequities.
b. everyone should have fair access to the critical opportunity structures needed to succeed in life; and that affirmatively connecting people to opportunity creates positive, transformative change in communities.
3. We can infuse our respective disciplines with content that brings to the surface the geographic and ideographic footprints of inequality. Social justice issues are never static and new challenges and issues are constantly emerging.

Martin Luther King did not live long enough to see his beloved nation rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed. He did not live long enough to see the sons and daughters of slaves and slave master sit together comfortably and by choice around the table of brotherhood. Nor did he live to see the pockets of injustice and oppression, whether in Mississippi or wherever they festered in this country, transformed into places of freedom and justice. He did not even live long enough to see his four children grow up.

It is for us to finish his work. Can we do it? Are we up to it? Cynics might say that it will never happen. Who could expect such from the powerful historical exploiters, the villains or the ne’er-do-wells. Who could expect such from the oppressed, dispossessed and disenfranchised. I take courage from poet Countee Cullen pondering the mysterious movements of God:

I doubt not God is good, well-meaning, kind
And did He stoop to quibble could tell why
The little buried mole continues blind,
Why flesh that mirrors Him must some day die,
Make plain the reason tortured Tantalus
Is baited by the fickle fruit, declare
If merely brute caprice dooms Sisyphus
To struggle up a never-ending stair.
Inscrutable His ways are, and immune
To catechism by a mind too strewn
With petty cares to slightly understand
What awful brain compels His awful hand.
Yet do I marvel at this curious thing:
To make a poet black, and bid him sing!


And James Weldon Johnson who extols in two stanzas the achievements of a people brought so low:

O black and unknown bards of long ago,
How came your lips to touch the sacred fire?
How, in your darkness, did you come to know
The power and beauty of the minstrel's lyre?
Who first from midst his bonds lifted his eyes?
Who first from out the still watch, lone and long,
Feeling the ancient faith of prophets rise
Within his dark-kept soul, burst into song?

Heart of what slave poured out such melody
As "Steal away to Jesus"? On its strains
His spirit must have nightly floated free,
Though still about his hands he felt his chains.
Who heard great "Jordan roll"? Whose starward eye
Saw chariot "swing low"? And who was he
That breathed that comforting, melodic sigh,
"Nobody knows de trouble I see"?


©Joseph D. McNair;2010




Saturday, September 12, 2009

remembering martin (8)



remembering martin



…his spirit must have nightly floated free
though still about his hands he felt his chains.
who heard great "jordan roll"? whose starward eye
saw that chariot "swing low"? & who was he
that breathed that comforting, melodic sigh,
"nobody knows de trouble i seed"?
james weldon johnson


no supernal presentation marked yr birth.
no special alignment of known planets. no
shield of david pressed upon a grand cross
no eight pointed star. no angelic hosts no
magi & none foretold yr coming. yet were u
born the first son & second child into a black
middle-class family of kings. the son of the
son of a preacher, three & twenty days past
the winter solstice, in the season of christ
& caesar, on 501 auburn avenue ne. atlanta.
no one knew then, michael, that u would
change yr name; assume a nom de guerre
for yr appointed social role: michael to
martin, the quintessential protesting cleric –
not against a corrupt universal church & the
purchased forgiveness of sin, but against
inertial forms of personal & social living
that resist acceleration & change; against
the forms of overt & institutional racism
that seek indulgences; the remission of
punishment. no one knew then, michael,
that u would be the focus,the coxswain,
the shepherd of the transforming & creative
response of spirit to a disparate &
disintegrated people; rootless, aroused &
demanding africans wandering in the
wilderness of america’s intellectual
generalizations, formulas & standardizing
regulations – suffering in the midst of
plenty. no one knew that u would utter a
new logos, a new word of power to project
on all unintegrated americans; unleash the
power of a dream.
neither did u, martin, perforce the more-
house college maxim: to uplift the human
race through responsible citizenship; was
naught but a subliminal goad when u tarried
there. nor did crozer & a divinity degree
bring sudden disclosure of the meaning of
yr destiny. no, non-disclosing spirit piqued
the course of yr life’s events. that same
spirit gave resonance to yr message;
made it the answer to the needs of the
millions unable to accept, to endure
american social living.
it focused & projected a new kind of
humanity, a new kind of personhood; it
activated new human faculties. but it
revealed itself to u, first, when the
stubborn courage of an alabama seamstress,
too tired to give up her seat for oppression –
whose wholeness unmasked in an instant of
resistance her essential identity – induced
in u a charge u were compelled to keep;
raised yr vibratory rate, made u shine
with an inner light – the light that alone
integrates the chaos of the world. the rest,
as they say, is vulgate history. that light,
though, was the substance of yr message
& yr dream. we clamored for freedom, but
u dancing, like a drum major at the head
of the parade, like a will–o’–the–wisp,
showed us that freedom isn’t free; that it
is dearly bought & paid for in the often bloody
coin of personal integrity & responsibility.
yr message & yr dream was about being
free & whole; about discovering one’s true
identity; about refusing to be turned around
or away, steadfastly adhering to life, love
& freedom as interchangeable elements of
righteousness. spirit has acted, martin, in
& through yr life. has impregnated yr dream;
bestowed its most wondrous gift to a confused
& oppressed humanity – that divine spark
which arouses, animates & sustains; the
honey'd taste of freedom!



© Joseph McNair; 2009

Thursday, September 10, 2009

requiem æternam (7)



requiem æternam



for rosa parks


mama rosa,
what ephemeral hands & fingers stitched;
fancy sewed together pieces of the life
your designer self prepared;
a life turned lens & symbol
where
A people's spirit,
A people's hope & humanity
converged as after refraction
or reflection into a clear, sharp image
of selfhood.

that spirit, hope & humanity
washed in the blood of an
innocent emmett murdered 100 days before
was quickened; was felt to move in
the womb of your rebellion.

your charmingly odd & artful rebellion —
when weariness of soul & body
bade u keep your seat &
defy hurtful, heritable racism;
put your delicate hips in jail —
was sewn with a single thread;
your exquisite insurgency —
a running stitch turned
decorative embellishment —
engendered a bus boycott, the meteoric
rise of one who rendered our aspirations
in clear outline & sharp detail in
a dream whose designs & pictures
were wrought from colored threads
of pathos & poignancy;
injury & injustice
permanently stitched into the layered
fabrics of our lives.

well done, mother.
u have given the best of your service &
come to the end of your journey.
shake off life's weariness now & rest.
your part in this struggle is done!


© Joseph McNair ; 2009

homer plessy: man/event (5)



homer plessy: man/
even
t
(1862-1925)

i
homer plessy:
man/event, centercore & connection;
throughput for more legal white racism &
retrograde justice.

homer plessy:
a lens through which an entire
american past focused in an experience
of intense & frightening awareness;

june 7, 1892:
an expectant afternoon bore witness to
a creolization of consciousness;
a syncretism of subjugate fear &
bleak despair with defiance & rebellious resolve!

june 7, 1892:
a creole man & member of comité des citoyens,
stepped into the white only car of the covington-
bound east louisiana railroad train &
took his seat.

ii
how like spirit is freedom:

for the slave...


whose freedom lies in the latent content of
dreams; whose reality is mind conditioned to
reject the personal/universal innerspeak of
dreams.

for the freedman...

whose freedom is like the scent of flowers;
the substance of the wind eluding his propitia-
tory grasp & the poignant verisimilitude of
certain death.

for the oppressor...

whose freedom lies in interfering without inter-
ference; in controlling without being controlled;
in thinking, judging, believing, acting & sexing
while legally suppressing the same.

iii
how long did homer relish his freedom?
before reaping the whirlwind? before the conductor
tried to banish him to the colored car? before taken
into vertiginous custody & held in an existential cell
in a station on boulevarde elysian fields.

how long? not long!
about as long as a flame survives the gale; about as
long as a drunk honors his pledge & abstains from
demon rum; about as fast as racist justice could
railroad his case to the supreme court.

how long? not long?
about as long as it took the court’s 8-1 majority to
decide; about as long as it took to hamstring amend-
ments 13 & 14; about as fast as iron-footed morning
stomps on a black man’s freedom dreams.

homer plessy:
man/event, centercore & connection;
throughput for present-centered black
awareness; seed of civil disobedience!

©Joseph McNair;2009

tryptych (2,3,4)


tryptych

1857
round de meadow am a ringing
de darkeys mournful song...
stephen foster

alas, dred scott, valued if intransigent
property of the widow emerson;
did you weep when massa john died?
did your lamentation ring the meadow
like a morning mist; & seep into the cold,
cold ground; into his deathsleep; into a psyche
so perverse that only in death might he debit
the imagined sorrow of his slaves for surcease.
well you know, dred, that crocodile
tears are tears just the same; you wore their
tracks like tribal marks when you sued
missus Irene for your freedom. had you
not parked your slavery at the
borders of Illinois and Wisconsin
living in freedom's cut for nearly nine years?
once free, always free your facile mind reasoned
trespass vi et armis!
u shook america to its core, dred;
u brought her to the brink of war!
but the crystal clear language of
amendments thirteen, fourteen & fifteen
was not yet writ;
& not yet writ was silent when
the court supreme asked:
can a negro, whose ancestors were
imported, sold as slaves,
be a member of the bodypolitic?
no! said justice roger b. taney;
no! chorused all but two justices
the negro is not a citizen;
merely personal property!
"once a slave, always a slave!"






1865
i come from alabama wid my banjo on my knee
i'se gwine to louisiana, my true luv for to see...
stephen foster

civil war! & with one stroke of presidential pen
millions of africans are set free!
the war is over... & the huddled, breathing
african masses -- the wretched refuse of
warfare, capitalism & white supremacy --
they, too, dreamed of a beacon-hand,
a world wide welcome from lady liberty.
they, too, ached to embrace, to possess
a stately torch holding, tablet bearing,
crown wearing mother of exiles;
but the big apple was too distant, too
abstract for most of america's africans.
new orleans, though, was closer.
they came from alabama, from georgia,
the carolinas, & mississippi to the big easy.
they came bearing their banjos, bones,
tin whistles & fiddles from the south over
to ride the streetcars, go to public schools, vote,
even marry white folk.
in new orleans more than anywhere else
america's africans looked upon the face of freedom,
their suzannah, their lily of the valley,
their true love for to see...
yet freedom, however close she seemed, was
as remote, as abstract as the three hundred foot
concrete white woman wading the waters
of new york harbor.




1877
weel a-bout & turn a-bout
& do just so.
every time i weel a-bout
i jump jim crow.
anonymous

jump jim crow!
see the terrified white men in black face
trying to be funny. see their crass
caricatures cavort on america's stages.
life, indeed, parodies art.
jump jim crow!
america niggardly revoked her promise.
gave the african a pittance, stole it
while he slept, then punished him
when he woke up for losing it !
jump jim crow!
write your bloody script; place your white
supremacist ward on the portals of toilets
resturants, theaters & polling places
to repel african spirits.
jump jim crow!
send your hooded spooks, your cowardly knights
to practice their murderous chivalry.
sow your grand dragons teeth
that you might keep america white & pure.
jump jim crow!
jump, jump, jump, jump, jim crow!
then jump some more! keep on jumpin'
'cause one day you gonna get tired!


© Joseph McNair; 2009