Black sororities forbid members from wearing Greek-letter paraphernalia during protest

You can’t wear your Greek-letter paraphernalia when you protest the deaths of Michael Brown and Eric Garner.

That’s the official word coming from the heads of Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority Inc. and Delta Sigma Theta Sorority Inc.  Both sororities have stood on the frontline in promoting community service and social justice in the black community. Why would the women wearing green and salmon (AKA) and cream and crimson (DST) forbid their sorors from promoting their participation in the protest against police brutality?

What damage can come from sporting a t-shirt with those celebrated Greek letters?  Is the official word from the big shots a statement against the protest, or is this a way for the more seasoned membership to keep youth in their proper place?

Translation, don’t mess with the corporate brand.

Recent actions of black institutions expose a deep generation divide that could impact the future of black activism. As older black leaders seek ways to manage protest, youth are outraged over the criticism they receive after putting everything on the line for the cause? A variety of assumptions are made regarding youth that feeds the expansion of the schism between older leaders and youth.

In Columbia, Missouri, members of the local chapter of the NAACP challenged college students not to march after the grand jury decision related to the death of Michael Brown was read.  Mary Ratliff, state president of the NAACP, informed students their planned march wasn’t sanctioned by the national body, and there was no way to assure their safety.

She asked them not to protest.

“This is not a youth movement,” Ratliff informed those gathered at the Second Missionary Baptist Church to hear the ruling. “It’s up to us who have done this before.”

The protest couldn’t wait for corporate approval.

Youth showed up after members of the NAACP marched 130-miles from Ferguson, Missouri to the Missouri State Capitol.  Seventy-five dedicated people endued all kinds of weather and racist confrontations along the way to the capitol.

“We march because all, all, all, all lives matter!” Cornel William Brooks, president and CEO of the NAACP, shouted to the cheers of 150 people.

Tension began to swell when Roslyn Brock, chairman of the NAACP’s National Board of Directors, made an assumption about the youth in the crowd.

“I want you to think about the consequences of your actions, because too many folks died for the right for us to be here,” Brock said. “The time is now, because courage cannot skip this generation.

What did Brock mean by confronting youth regarding the consequences of their actions? Was she blaming those in the room for looting and rioting? Her words reflected a deep disconnect with youth. Her words were perceived as disrespectful of the hard work of youth in organizing and showing up in Ferguson soon after the death of Michael Brown. 

Michael Hassle challenged the NAACP marchers not to take pride “in marching 100-and-something miles, when we’ve been out there protesting for over 100-and-something days!”

The Rev. Cassandra Gould, pastor of Jefferson City’s Quinn Chapel AME Church, told the crowd she understands the “passion” of the younger protesters. 

In Ferguson, youth managed violent protest the best they could.  Youth organized on college campuses and communities across the nation.  They have done so devoid of the support of adults.  This is why youth dismiss the opinion of many civil rights icons.  It’s why they asked Jesse Jackson to leave and question the motives of Al Sharpton.  It’s why many turn a deaf ear to the voice of black clergy.

Many showed up too late, and many who showed up failed to consistently show up.  Youth are demanding accountability, while older leaders are demanding respect for what happened long ago.

Brock told youth not forget those who led the civil rights efforts of the 1950s, ’60s and ’70s “to move this nation forward, not backwards.”

Youth want to know why many failed to show up before the cameras took over. 

“The time is now, because courage cannot skip this generation,” Brock said.

To that youth are asking a deeper question.  Where have you been? Youth are not waiting for the baton to be passed on to their generation of leaders.  They have created their own way, and aren’t looking for or asking for permission from those still stuck in an old strategy.

Instead of telling youth what to do, take notes.

The AKA’s and Delta’s are attempting to define the terms of protest.  They want youth to keep their name out of the movement for justice.  They don’t trust youth with their corporate brand.  They’re afraid a picture will be taken with a looter wearing a t-shirt with their Greek letters.

They don’t get it!

This is not an AKA or Delta movement. 

It’s a “Hands Up, Don’t Shoot” and “I Can’t Breathe” movement.

Word of wisdom to old leaders - stand back and watch.

You showed up too late, and your baton is too short to pass on to these youth. 

They carry a big stick.

And, in case you missed it, the stick isn’t used to beat people.  Like Moses, youth use that big stick to point the way to justice.

They show up every night.  They keep fighting, and they don’t need your permission.

That’s called a new day.

This feels like strange fruit dangling from a tree

I feel numb.

That is the only way to describe what I’ve been carrying for the past week. It’s been hard to move.  It’s even harder to speak with clarity related to what just happened – two grand juries ruling not to indict white police officers in the death of unarmed black men.

My numbness is not caused by shock.  It’s the outcome of hauling painful luggage for as long as I can remember.  I’m saddened even more by the knowledge that I’m not alone.  Most black men share the burden of stuff so deep and old that we can’t frame words to define the angst in our souls.  Black women bring feelings compounded by anxiety related to witnessing their sisters beaten and killed, potential husbands broken, and their children and other kinfolks opposed by a system rooted in enduring hate.

I simply don’t know how to feel.  What I do know is how the madness impacts the assumptions I bring to the work I do. My work as a journalist forces me to discard many of the ethical expectations we embrace when we say yes to this work.  I’ve abandoned the desire to be impartial in my reporting and writing on the stories involving the death of black men and women.  I’ve rejected the need to get the other sides of the story.  I’m critically aware of how all of this influences my credibility as a journalist.  I get all of that, but I’m too numb to make the transition back to the land of impartiality.

I’m not sure if it is possible to keep yourself out of the story.  Journalists are taught not to make the story about you. I’m long past violating the sacred trust of locating the real story and allowing readers to come to their own conclusion.

I get it. I embrace all of it. I teach it, and I want my students to enter the field with eyes pointing beyond their assumptions.  All of that is true, but how can I commit to that vision?

This story has impacted me personally.  I carry the commentary regarding the deaths of Michael Brown and Eric Garner with me each day.  The images of their dead bodies follow me to work, to school, and the places I spend money.  My faith is measured by their deaths.  My willingness to trust is impacted by the disappointment of no indictments.

It is about trust.

I’ve been seeking clarity regarding this numbness. Where did it come from? What can be done to overcome this pain that has my heart beating faster than it should?

It came to me after listening to Charles Barkley dispute Kenny Smiths contention that we shouldn’t bring up slavery whenever problems like this show up. Smith penned an open letter for USA Today to address some of the comments made by Barkley during a recent broadcast of NBA on TNT. Barkley called those who looted stores in Ferguson, MO “scumbags”

Barkley apologized for going too far by calling looters “scumbags”. What followed was an enlightening conversation that displayed the complexity and diversity of responses in the black community.  Smith questioned why the media quotes Barkley as an expert on black life and thought.

The conversation shifted when Barkley stated his opinion on slavery.

“The only problem I had with Kenny’s, umm, open letter was, umm, I don’t think anytime something bad happens in the black community we have to talk about slavery,”  Barkley said during Thursday’s broadcast of the NBA on TNT. “Listen, slavery is, uh, well, I shouldn’t say one of the worst things ever, because I don’t know anything about it other than what I read or what my grandmother told me,”

That’s when it hit me.  The tension in America is about slavery.  Barkley suggest we shouldn’t bring it up whenever there is a problem in the black community, but is it possible that all of the tension is the result of the lack of trust related to treatment during slavery?

Is that the foundation of my personal numbness? I can’t trust that America won’t treat me like my ancestors during slavery.  So much of the evidence authenticates the legitimacy of my fear.

It’s like a person in an abusive relationship.  We tell them to leave before it’s too late.  If he beats you once, he will do it over and over again. Despite the warning, she comes back.  Isn’t that what we feel? Has trust been shattered due to the constant attacks after we come back home to try again?

I had to pause to contemplate my thesis.  Is it the same? What do I feel when I witness the body of a dead black man burning on hot pavement?  What are my thoughts connected to watching a police officer chokes a black man after he cries “I can’t breathe”? What do I carry, deep down, when I watch until he stops moving? How can I move on when I see it over and over again, and each conclusion ends the same?

No indictment.

That’s when it hit me.  This is our strange fruit.

That’s why I can’t stop crying. It could be me dangling from the tree.

Its bullets instead of nooses made from rope. 

Slavery officially ended in 1865, but it feels like we’re beaten whenever we attempt to run from the grip of the white man on the plantation.

That may be an unfair assumption, but those are the emotions behind this numb feeling.

How can I move toward the future when the past stands in the way?

A white man's apology and a black man's resignation?

What happens when you take a white man’s apology and cross it with a black man’s resignation?

A heap of speculation.

When Ferguson Police Chief Tom Jackson apologized to Michael Brown’s family for taking four hours to move their son’s dead body from the hot pavement, you could hear a thunderous roar – what took you so long? Why now? What up with that? Keep your apology to yourself, and, while at it, put it where the sun don’t shine.

Did you feel the rage coming? Why did it take you 48 days? Why release it on video? Reach out to the family. Take it like a man and face the expressions on their faces as you feed them that lame “I’m sorry dude”. While at it, there’s a long list of things to apologize.  How about showing regret for tear-gas, rubber bullets and police pointing guns at protestors.

You got some nerve.

As Jackson released his video public relations maneuver, Eric Holder was preparing to resign his post as US Attorney General. It would be presumptuous to suggest a correlation between the two, but Holders resignation felt like one of those kiss my black caboose moments. It felt like that moment when you’re fed up, sick and tired and unwilling to take any more of the mess.  It felt like that second you want to slap the collective face of all who stood in your way by screaming “I’m out!”

We don’t know the reasons behind Holder’s decision.  It could be health related.  I could be he wants to spend more time with family.  As much as inquisitive minds want to know, it’s none of our business.  With that being said, can we blame Holder if he’s fed up with dealing with lunatics incapable of seeing life beyond their hillbilly privilege?

It has to be grim contending with gun pushers after the death of elementary students. Instead of rallying for gun legislation, many sought more gun freedom in response to mass murder. Yes, take this job and shove it.  It doesn’t stop there. Holder was engaged in a battle to overcome mindsets and ways that refuses to concede the implications related to assumptions involving race, racism and privilege.

That stuff shows up in the way the judicial system enforces laws.  It pops up in the way lines are drawn in disparate ways in the handling of crimes.  Holder attempted to attack how race decides punishment. He tried, the best he could, to undo decades of policies that adds to black incarceration and unfair treatment.

The brother could not do it alone. There are layers of abuse that shows up with racial profiling, assumptions of judges, prosecutors who bury evidence, and citizens unwilling to assume innocence until proven guilty.

Could it be Ferguson was the last straw?  Could it be it was enough to convince the nation’s top-cop it’s too much to undo?

To his credit, Holder did his best in keeping it real.  He attempted to tell his personal story in a way that helps people understand the burdens associated with being a black man in America.  Yes, it is common to get stopped for no other reason than walking while black. 

Being real, while serving in high places, isn’t met well by those who prefer it when black folks keep their feelings private, act in a way that reflects appreciation for the hard work white people have done to understand. The proper political position is to talk about Dr. King’s dream versus our nation’s continued nightmare.

Holder showed up in Ferguson, MO to show he understands.  Those who needed his presence felt the force of the White House.  They wanted Obama to show up, but knew it’s hard for a brother due to the constant criticism for talking about being black in America.

Maybe Holder is fed up with pretending?  Maybe he needs space to say what’s really on his mind.  Maybe politics took a massive toil and he’s sick of mending wounds he didn’t create.

Maybe he’s fed up with dealing with police officers killing black men like its hunting season.  Maybe it’s too much pain to carry while knowing there isn’t much one man, especially a black man, can say or do.

That’s a bunch of speculation. We may never know why Holder quit. 

As much as many of us hate it, we understand.  I can’t blame him if he’s sick of carrying the burden of America’s mess.

Many of us feel like quitting. We get it.

So, chill brother.

Political cartoon in the Columbia Daily Tribune is an example of lazy journalism

I wasn’t surprised when the Columbia Daily Tribune, my hometown newspaper, printed a political cartoon that many deem cruel and racist. It simply reflects the news culture in Columbia, Missouri, a town only 117 miles from Ferguson, Missouri.

The cartoon portrays protestors in Ferguson holding signs that read “Burn Ferguson”, “No 60” Plasma TV, No Peace”, and “Steal to Honor Michael Brown.” The cartoon appeared during the peak of tension between protestors and law enforcement.  During those stressful days in Ferguson, some looted, and officials reported witnessing protestors throw Molotov cocktails.

The news cycle was replete with tails of violence among protestors, and numerous news sources focused on this aspect of the story. Many wondered why reporters failed to dig deeper into the root causes of rage among protestors, and inquired into why law enforcement employed military tactics to control peaceful protest.

The Columbia Daily Tribunes decision to stress the looting and burning angle represents the type of lazy journalism that has obstructed the reporting of this story.  The cartoon communicates what is felt by many readers – that the protests in Ferguson made looting the primary agenda. This slant is imbedded in the perception of readers already guided by stereotyping that makes it difficult to concede the concerns of those protesting in Ferguson.

This story is, at the core, a reminder of how race and perceptions related to racism can significantly impact judgment.  The editors at the Tribune failed their readers by poking fun at a minor slice within an extraordinarily complex story. The reporting on Ferguson, as with all stories, should be placed within both a historical and contemporary context.  Newspapers are responsible in getting the story right when those witnessing from the outside become engrossed by their assumptions.

I call this form of reporting lazy due to its readiness in declaring the message of the status quo.  Lazy journalism follows the line of what others report.  The national news media was quick to endorse the stance of law enforcement in reporting related to looting and the launching of Molotov cocktails.  Many among the protestors have reported a different story – that water bottles were thrown, that many of the attacks were initiated by law enforcement, and that looters were outsiders who came under attack by peaceful protestors. 

Credible journalism struggles with assumptions, and seeks to get at the why behind the what.  The Columbia Tribune missed the mark by failing to report on the ground.  The paper’s error isn’t as much about printing the cartoon – something papers in other states may have done – but relates more to failing to take the story seriously by having their own reporters present.

As a paper located in Missouri, The Columbia Tribune owns responsibility in reporting on the Ferguson story.  The paper owes the community reporting that places the story within a communal context.  The lazy approach is to pull news from the wire service, seek a few local angles, and feed readers a localized version of what is being reported by national news outlets.

I expect more from my hometown paper.  Sadly, the Columbia Tribune isn’t positioned to engage in a high level of reporting related to questions involving race.  Pondering the implications of race and racism are low on the Columbia Tribune’s agenda, which reflects Missouri’s culture of running and hiding from stories about race.

Jim Robertson, managing editor, and the staff at the Columbia Tribune, had no intention in communicating a racist agenda.  Their lack of sensitivity is not a variable of a mean intended attack on black people.  It does speak to how assumptions of privilege show up when race fails to become a priority in how we report the news.  You can’t blame Robertson for not knowing the cartoon would be read as offensive.  You can blame Robertson, and the Columbia Daily Tribune, for failing to employ people with keen insight into that culture. 

This is what happens when black people are absent.  It’s what happened in Ferguson, Missouri.  Sadly, it’s happening in Columbia, Missouri. We fail to see it due to the way matters related to race is addressed in Missouri. 

You don’t talk about it until it’s too late.

And, that’s just being lazy.

"The Bible says black people are cursed": a minister said in Ferguson, MO

“The Bible tells us black people are cursed,” a minister said while surrounded by a group that looked like they had been transported from another era.

I paused to look at them.  Then I looked around to see if anyone else heard what he said.  A black man in his late twenties was placing a banner on the building next to where the group had pitched their tent.  His quick gaze in their direction said enough.

I took a few steps closer.

“Did you hear that,” I asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded. There was nothing else to say.

There was nothing else to be done.  I took a few pictures to document the moment.  Then I went back to the McDonalds in the parking lot next to the congregation praying, preaching and singing about black people.

“Lord, remove the devil from this place,” the preacher hummed like a black Pentecostal.

Maybe it was too hot to care.  Maybe the residents of Ferguson, Missouri were too tired to fight back.  Maybe it was too early after a long night of fighting the fear of tear gas and rubber bullets.

“I’m limping because I had to run from the police on multiple occassions,”Osagyefo Sekou told me after we appeared on the Melissa Harris-Perry Show. “I’ve been hit with tear gas twice.

Sekou graduated from Soldan High in St. Louis years ago.  He still holds the school record for the mile.  Sekou has children in St. Louis.  He’s been gone for a long time, preaching and teaching justice as the Pastor for Formation and Justice at the First Baptist Church in Jamaica Plain, MA.  He is spending the summer as a Scholar in Residence at the Martin Luther King Education and Research Institute at Stanford University.

We talked a lot about social justice work while sitting at the McDonald’s in Ferguson, Missouri.  I reflected on the two journalist arrested by the police while working there.  I watched as police vehicles cruised the streets as if searching for a reason to fight.

“This is a police state man,” Sekou said.  “Churches are supporting it.”

We talked about the limits of the Church, and the disbursement of false information.

“I’ve been here. I’ve seen it first hand,” Sekou said. “We have been peaceful in our protest.  Senior citizens and children have been a part of the protest.  How can you justify tear gas in a crowd like that?”

Our conversation was deflected by the presence of the congregation holding service less than 100 feet away.  There, under a tent, they prayed and preached hate.  They walked into a community besieged after the death of an 18-year old black man, and moralized about the evil of the black people living in Ferguson.

I seemed fixated in another time.  Images of Bull Conner’s message of hate, barking dogs, water hoses, and senior citizens and children marching to make a point, visited me like Jesus on top of a mountain.  I watched as a congregation clapped hands and preached damnation on the black people living in Ferguson.

I begged God to take it away.  All of it.  Take away the misery in the streets.  Take away the pain of Michael Brown’s death.  Take away the rage related to racism, and the hate that compelled that congregation to sing.

Take away the pain in my soul after hearing them call me cursed.  Take away the massive division between those who confess disgust due to their standing on different sides of history.  Take away the anger fueled by rejection, and the tears that swarm because of people to mean to understand.

It was difficult to comprehend the reasons.  Another black boy is dead, and a church decides to preach a message of hate.

I’m closing my eyes and praying that it’s all a dream. A terrible dream.

It’s not a dream.  It’s an unending nightmare.

The return of "Burn, baby! Burn"

Rioters in Watts shouted “Burn, Baby! Burn!” during uprisings that began on August 11, 1965.  The riots within the South Central Los Angeles area resulted in 34 deaths, 1,032 injuries, 3,438 arrests, and over $40 million in property damage.

"Burn, Baby! Burn!" was the trademark of Magnificent Montague, a popular R&B disc Jockey on KGFK in Los Angeles.  Montague would howl “burn” when a song moved him.  Listeners responded by calling the DJ and shouting “Burn” on the air.

They yelled “Burn, Baby! Burn!” to articulate frustration after word spread that Marquette Frye and Rena Price were roughed up by police.  It wasn’t the first time.  It was a common practice – police brutality, not only in Watts, but in black communities across the country.

Yesterday was the 49^th anniversary of Watts.  People are still asking why did people burn and loot in Watts?

Why are people rioting in Ferguson, Missouri?

It’s a question we shouldn’t have to ask.  The question reflects a deep divide between the pain of rioters, and the assumptions of those who believe these types of matters should be left to the system to unravel.  Those who ask the question miss the point of the rage.

The system is the problem.

How do you respond when yet another black youth is killed for no reason?  How do you keep that rage contained when confronted with too many examples were justice fails to prevail? 

How do you watch Michael Brown’s mother cry without feeling compelled to respond in a way that reflects your sorrow? How to you respond to those who refuse to listen?  What do you say to those who discount the dignity of the life taken, and use excuses to justify the death of another black man?

What do you say to a nation that blames victims for crossing the line? What do you do when authorities refuse to listen to the witness who watched a police officer kill his friend?

“I saw the barrel of the gun pointed at my friend,” Dorian Johnson, 22, told Trymaine Lee of MSNBC. “Then I saw the fire come out of the barrel.”

Johnson told MSNBC the incident began as an order by a police officer to ‘get the f— onto the sidewalk’ and quickly escalated into a physical altercation and then, gunfire.

“I could see so vividly what was going on because I was so close,” said Johnson, who was within arm’s reach of both Brown and the officer when the first of several shots was fired.

Johnson said they continued walking after telling the officer they were close to their destination.  He says the officer then slammed on his breaks, backed up, nearly hitting them.

They heard him say something to the effect of, “what’d you say?” At the same time, Johnson says the officer slammed the door into Brown, and, with his left hand, grabbed Brown by the neck.

“I could see the muscles in his forearm,” Johnson said. “Mike was trying to get away from being choked.”

 “They’re not wrestling so much as his arm went from his throat to now clenched on his shirt,” Johnson said. “It’s like tug of war. He’s trying to pull him in. He’s pulling away, that’s when I heard, ‘I’m gonna shoot you.’”

 Johnson said he looked at the officer to see if he was pulling a stun gun or a real gun. That’s when he saw the muzzle of the officer’s gun.

 “I seen the barrel of the gun pointed at my friend,” he said. “He had it pointed at him and said ‘I’ll shoot,’ one more time.”

Johnson said he heard the first shot go off.

 “I seen the fire come out of the barrel,” he said. “I could see so vividly what was going on because I was so close.”

 Johnson says he looked over at Brown and saw blood through his shirt on the right side of the body.

 “The whole time [the officer] was holding my friend until the gun went off,” Johnson said.

 Johnson said he and Brown took off running together. There were three cars lined up along the side of the street. Johnson says he ducked behind the first car, whose two passengers were screaming. Crouching down a bit, he watched Brown run past.

 “Keep running, bro!,” he said Brown yelled. Then Brown yelled it a second time. Those would be Brown’s last words.

 Brown made it past the third car. Then, “blam!” the officer took his second shot, striking Brown in the back. At that point, Johnson says Brown stopped, turned with his hands up and said “I don’t have a gun, stop shooting!”

 By that point, Johnson says the officer and Brown were face-to-face. The officer then fired several more shots. Johnson told MSNBC he watched Brown go from standing with his hands up to crumbling to the ground and curling into a fetal position.

“After seeing my friend get gunned down, my body just ran,” Johnson said. He ran to his apartment nearby. Out of breath, shocked and afraid, Johnson says he went into the bathroom and vomited. Then he checked to make sure that he hadn’t also been shot.

Five minutes later, Johnson emerged from his apartment to see his dead and in the middle of the street.

What do you say and do after hearing a story like that? Freeman Bosley, Johnson’s attorney, said police have declined an opportunity to speak with Johnson.

What do you think after Trayvon Martin?  What do you do after Eric Garner was choked to death by police in New York City?  Do you wait?  Do you hope for justice?  Do you maintain trust in the system?

Do you accept the notion that we are experiencing a post-racial America, and that time will prove the police did nothing wrong? Should we indict rioters for overreacting, or is something deeper taking place to reshape the conscious of black America.

Are we experiencing the return of “Burn, baby! Burn!”

Listen to the rage.