Durham needs marriage counseling

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“What Durham needs is marriage counseling,” Angie Santiago said during a recent encounter at Vaguely Reminiscent, one of my favorite places to purchase gifts for women.

We were discussing the possible renewal of the vows taken at Marry Durham, the legendary event Santiago and I helped organize in 2011. We discussed the changes in Durham since that day and the reasons making it hard to imagine proudly participating in a service dedicated to reveling our love for Durham.

Less than an hour later, I found myself emmeshed in a similar conversation with David Streib, a Durham based musician, artist and craftsman who participated in Marry Durham.

“I miss the community from back then,” Streib said. “I don’t know the people who live here.”

It’s a sentiment felt by many of the people who made Durham home before the wave of new residents cleaned up the dirty that made Durham unique.

We talked about when Whisky, a bar in downtown, was a common gathering spot to listen to Brandford Marsalis and his jazz quartet entertain just because it was a cool thing to do. We talked about when Motorco Music Hall first opened on Rigsbee, and when my son King Kenney and his business partner Jeff Johnson curated Michael Jackson versus Prince, tributes to Marvin Gaye, Curtis Mayfield, Aretha Franklin and customed-themed dance parties.

There’s a sadness in the voices of the people who remember those golden years between 2010-2013. When we gathered in the parking lot of Motorco to marry Durham, it’s because we felt the love. That love is gone after the intrusion of other lovers. Our pride and deep love for community is distorted by a prettier face – taller, new buildings -owned by people from far away.

We miss the Hayti Heritage Center Blues Festival when it was held at Durham Athletic Park, where the movie Bull Durham was filmed and the former home of the Durham Bulls before James Goodman, owner of the Bulls, held the city of Durham hostage with a threat to move the team. The city financed the parking deck for the Bulls and the surge of development south of the railroad commenced.

We discussed when life on Ninth Street was different.

“Have you seen Concrete,” Streib said. “Man, I miss Concrete.”

Concrete is one of the beloved members of the homeless community that frequented Ninth Street before national chains invaded our space. I wrote, Home is a Cup of Coffee, a short story featured in  27 Views of Durham, as a work of fiction based on Concrete’s story.

Streib asked me to send him the vows to the Marry Durham ceremony. His request reminded me of images from the day while officiating the service in one of the robes designed and made by my mother. They counted thousands of people representing the idealism of Durham residents in 2011.

I read my own words before sending them to Streib.

Santiago is right. We need counseling.

For those who remember that day, this is for you. For those who missed it, this is what you missed.

MARRY DURHAM CEREMONY by Carl W. Kenney II on March 19, 2011 

Today, we merge our memories. We gather to collect our thoughts related to the city we all love so much. Our collective memories serve as the backdrop for a day made possible due to our appreciation for what it means for us to be joined by our former days.

The mixture of hues and ideologies is what makes this day a celebration of oneness.  It is our willingness to build beyond our distinction that makes our home a place like no other. We gather to show our love for the myriad of places we all have come to love. We cherish our assortment of places for fine dining- some with seats and others with serving stations on wheels.

We honor the places that educate us: our schools and universities, our museums and libraries and the vast nonprofits dedicated to building hope and teaching a better way. We mark the memories of those who helped build the Black Wall Street.  We remember the lives of those who treaded the rivers of our hallowed union. We stand today a community made better by our difference. We have fought the lure of sacrificing the range of our difference for a façade of inclusion.

The strength of our bond is the clash of colors and perspectives on the canvas called Durham. We are more than communities divided by districts, streets, subdivisions, and roadblocks. We are married by our thoughts. We are married by a love made deeper by the strength of the others in our community. We are more than the labels others create to separate and define. We are married to the truth of universal claims. We are more powerful because of every you in our city.

Today, we marry our city. In doing so we affirm our love for each other. Today, we marry each other. Beyond race. Beyond gender. Beyond class. Beyond sexual orientation. Beyond religion and all other declarations. For better and for worse. In times of economic strength and recession. We love you Durham and we love each person gathered to bear witness to our absolute love for all that makes our happy home.

Now, as we hold hands in solidarity, we build a human bond of love stronger than all words and actions of contradiction. We claim the command of our communal witness.

I commit to cherish diversity by celebrating the contributions made by so many in Durham. I promise to keep our streets clean and to do all I can to make them safe.  I vow to show love for Durham by shopping locally and by protecting our natural resources. I promise to learn more about and to support Durham’s nonprofits. I will support our local artist by purchasing their work and sharing with others the creative geniuses in Durham. I vow to participate in local government by electing local leaders and holding them accountable to the meaning of our union. I promise to promote the strengths of the city I love rather than to demean and destroy the reputation when I disagree with the actions of others I vow to love. In good weather and during snowstorms, during good days and heated elections-I give myself to you Durham…until death do us part. And, if I relocate to another city, I will spread the word wherever I go-there is no place like Durham.

As we take time to gaze at the city we love so much we proclaim that love.  We begin by sharing our love with each other.  We pause now to share our love by finding a person - a person you have never met -and sharing your love for the city and the people who make this your happy home.

(People share with each other for 30 seconds).

And now, by the power invested in me by the city I love so much. I now pronounce you citizen and city. Let no news article, blog posting or outburst of another person destroy what you have for one another.

You may express your love by shouting from the top of your voice - WE LOVE YOU DURHAM

 

 

  

Racist parties aren't new at Duke University

My son, King Kenney, knows a lot about parties at Duke University.  He made a name for himself, with his business partner Jeff Johnson, as the premier party promoters in Durham.  King shut down his business to move to Austin, TX last year.  He’s not surprised by the news of a racist fraternity party at Duke.

In between promoting his own parties, King worked the door for numerous parties attended by Duke Students.  “Whenever we did parties with Duke Students something happened”, he told me during a recent phone conversations.”

“I was there when they had black face night,” he continued.  “They say and do things that are really offensive.”

He told me about numerous accounts when he was called a nigger after asking students to leave the party.  “One time a student called me a nigger and placed his hands on me,” he said.  “Next thing I knew he was on the ground.”

The Kappa Sigma fraternity has been suspended at Duke University by its parent organization after a party that featured offensive Asian stereotypes, including straw conical hats.

“Things are worse for the Asian students,” King continued.  “White students are intimidated by Asians because they outperform them at Duke.”

An email sent to promote the party had several misspellings to suggest Asian-accented English and a meme based on the Kim Jung-il character in the movie “Team America: World Police,” The Chronicle, the Duke University student newspaper, reports.

This is not just about Asians, one party or one frat,” Ashley Tsai told the Chronicle. “This is a consistent thing happening. We want serious things to be done by the student body and the university so that this never happens again.”

Pictures posted online show people at the party dressed in stereotypical Asian-style clothing and a greeting that imitates Asian dialect.

King told me his departure from Durham was due, in part, to the lack of tolerance among students at Duke.  “People say Durham is the most tolerant city in America, but I was called a nigger more there than ever in Austin.”

He talked about the time he rammed the head of a student on a car after being called a nigger and pushed.  “They think they’re better because they attend Duke,” King says.  “I thought I wanted to go there, but this incident reminds me of why I moved away.”

King is preparing to attend law school.  Duke was on his list of places to attend, but too many memories of life in Durham make it hard for him to consider sharing space with those who play games with race.  It’s cruel.  It’s been going on for a long time.  It needs to come to an end.

Asian students say this type of thing happens all the time.  They’re right.  It happens to often to be swept under a bureaucratic rug.  It’s more than a party.  Students are playing games with race.  Those who play those games should be asked to take their insensitivity to another place.  Be it asking a black woman to thank her grandfather for picking the cotton that made a shirt, wearing black face to a party, or mimicking the culture of Asians, it must be stopped.

Durham may be a tolerant city, but that spirit isn’t shared by those who attend Duke University.  The truth may hurt, but the truth will set you free!

$15K in 30 days for American American Males

I have three amazing kids. Krista, I call her “Suga Baby”, exude intelligence. After graduating a year early from Jordan High School, she has moved on to complete degrees at North Carolina State University and graduate work at Columbia University in neuroscience. Lenise, I call her “Sweet Baby” teaches at Dudley High School. She has two Masters Degrees in her pocket and has enough passion to inspire a city.

Then there’s my son King. I call him “Your Royal Highness." After graduating with the highest grade point average in the sociology department at North Carolina Central University, the King relocated to Minneapolis Minnesota to take a shot at life in corporate America. Problem is he couldn’t get the doodles out of his system. His love for all things creative drew him back to his first love. His art landed him a scholarship to attend the School of the Arts Institute Chicago.

To say that I’m extremely proud and often overwhelmed with how my youngins turned out is an understatement. I’ve spent incalculable hours in an attempt to grasp how they blossomed into such wonderful fruit. Saying that acknowledges that behind it all is something more prevailing than my influence. Given all the variables related to the rearing of my children, it’s safe to conclude a higher power was in the room.

There is one consistent theme that permeates that room. They were nurtured in a community that understood and celebrated the clout of education. They watched me and their mother struggle to pave our own path. They watched two young parents fight to make a way for them devoid of the resources to make the journey easy. They watched us grow up with them as they were challenged to do the best they could. They watched us not as parents of privilege, but as two people grappling to do the best we could with what we had.

I wonder if my son’s new project is rooted in the agony of witnessing our struggle. I wonder if it is fueled by the pain of having to suffer as we pursued a dream in hope that we would be able to do more for our children.

King, along with his business partner Jeff Johnson, has set a goal to raise $15,000 in a month to create a college scholarship for a deserving African American male graduating from a local public high school. It’s their answer to combating the miserable truths confronting African American males. At Duke University, 73 percent of the African Americans enrolled are female. African American males aren’t making it to college, and, for those who do, many don’t graduate.

A study released by the American Council on Education in 2010 shows that only 35 percent of African American males who enter college graduate in six years. This compared to 59 percent of white males, 46 percent for Hispanic men and 45 percent for African American females who entered college the same year. As African American males drop out of college, some campuses are left with nearly twice as many African American females as African American males.

Jeff and King are convinced that these disparities are rooted in a lack of consistent resources for African American males. They contend the cost of education has become a barrier for those who would attend college or remain enrolled if not for the cost.

It’s a factor often missed in conversations involving the psyche of African American men. If the goal is too costly, and there is no help to get to the other side of the river, one finds ways to contend with what remains. Could it be that poor academic performance among African American males is correlated to seeing college as an unattainable ambition? For those who do well, imagine the hostility linked to doing well in school, but not being able to go to college because there isn’t enough money left after mama and daddy balances the check book.

It’s a truth I understand all too well. King was born when I was 19. Lenise was born two years later, and Krista came when I was a 26 year-old graduating with a degree in journalism from the University of Missouri. The cost to achieve my goal was brutal on my kids. They watched as their mother ached because she had a passion to finish her degree. We grappled with not finding work that paid enough to provide for all they deserved because we were so young and lacked the education we needed.

How many African American males give up because they have to pay child support or work to pay for diapers? How many can’t go to college because they won’t have enough money to eat and pay the rent? How many cry through the night because they won’t be able to walk in the light of their dream. That dream withers like a raisin in the sun.

They have to raise $15,000 in a month. We should double that amount. If you believe in youth and care about the dreams of those who are told no – find a way to support those dreams. Wipe those tears with your love.

I struggled to make my way. God knows I regret how it harmed my children to have a dad who pushed so hard to fulfill his own dreams. I hope they understand that I did it for them. I was young and lacked the support that so many take for granted.

Despite my limits, thank God for my kids. “Suga Baby,” “Sweet Baby,” and “Your Royal Highness.” God carried them when I couldn’t even carry myself.

Help me by helping my son help others fulfill their dream.