Shootings on Driver and Spruce St Force a Conversation About the Elephant in the Room

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Bull City Coworking: A Place to Work Where the Coffee is Free

I spent over a grand on coffee last year. What a bargain.

I can feel the eyes rolling with that last statement. How does one justify spending so much on the go go juice, and how can you claim that’s a good deal.

It’s the price people like me have to pay to operate a business. I use Durham’s coffee joints as office space. During the day I move from place to place in search of the perfect ambiance to create the master piece du jour. One day it’s a column for The Durham News. The next it’s a blog post on the Rev-elution. The next it’s a section in my next novel. Go ahead and say it. He’s a writing machine.

So, I pay for that space by purchasing coffee. It’s the least I can do to keep my friends in business. Given my love for all of them, I try to spread the love around. Dorian at the Beyu Caffe get’s jealous when I fail to show up for a cup of his medium roast. Which reminds me, I haven’t paid rent there in over two weeks.

My friend Heather Smith Linton would reprimand me for my caffeine consumption. Linton, a tax accountant, would remind me that it’s not a tax deduction. Good point. It’s hard to justify close to a grand for what amounts to a business expense without being able to itemize it at the end of the year. The IRS wouldn’t understand my attempt to justify the coffee house as my office space.

I’m not alone in this grapple with finding space to get the creative juices flowing. Those coffeehouses are packed with folks like me; clad with laptop and a cup of coffee waiting for inspiration. Many of us stay through the day, taking up valuable space because there is nowhere else to go. We lack the funds to afford our own office. We crave the comforts of a place void of the temptations at home. No television or bed begging me to jump in to take a much needed break.

The 1000 bucks spent for a place to work is a good deal. The problem, once again, is Uncle Sammy doesn’t consider it a deductable expense. Enter Bull City Coworking. Two of my coffeehouse pals have come up with an alternative to my nondeductible expense. They have found space for folks like me to write, drink coffee, access the internet with a tax deduction at the end of the year.

It’s notable that Robert Petrusz, one of the owners of Bull City Coworking, introduced the concept to me while I was sipping coffee and writing at the Bean Trader on Ninth Street. I was sitting on the couch engrossed in writing one of my columns, or was it a blog, or…”What would you think of a place where you could work at a small fee,” he asked. “People like us could share space. The coffee would be free.” Bingo. He had me at free coffee! I can deduct the cost for the space. That will offset the cost of coffee.

I quickly made my pitch to sign up. Where, how soon, how much? Please, please let me sign up. From there they shared the other perks-parking, Wi-Fi, close proximity to downtown, reasonable cost. How reasonable. It all sounded good, but was offsetting the cost of coffee worth the expense. It’s just me, my computer and a prayer for resources to keep me floating. I need a plan that made it sound like more than a pipe dream.

Petrusz and his partner Brian Rascoe aren’t the first to envision alternative space for a growing population of start-up, independent workers. Bull City Forward has space in downtown for small business owners, but the space isn’t laptop and one person show friendly. The American Underground has space for tech heads working to become the next Mark Zuckerberg, the co-creator of Facebook. It’s just me and my words. That’s lurking on the pipe dream.

At Bull City Coworking I can pay by the day, the week, the month or the year. I’m considering the monthly rate of $122. Again, I can deduct that on my taxes and I get free coffee.

I wish I could say more, but its lunch time at Parker & Otis. Someone needs this space. Besides, they don’t have Wi-Fi and I need to upload this blog. I supposed I could head over to the Beyu Caffe. It’s too cold to walk to the Bean Traders on Ninth Street. Where to work?

Soon I will be able to jump on the Bull City Connector and ride to Bull City Co-Working at 600 East Main Street. I hate parking at Beyu because I only get one hour to park before getting a $10 ticket.

The parking is free, they have Wi-Fi and the coffee is free. Sign me up Buddy!

For more information on Bull City Coworking, go to their website: http://www.bullcitycoworking.com/

Siemans Competition Gives Durham Reason to Celebrate

The full page ad on page 6A of Thursday’s USA Today caught my attention. “Nerd, Know-it-all, Poindexter, Bookworm, Boss, Professor, Doctor, Nobel Laureate,” the ad began. “See, the name calling never stops.”

It was the list of the 2011 Siemens competition in Math, Science and Technology. For the past week I have pondered the conundrum of Durham, North Carolina’s public education system. It is the unquestionable example of what Dickens meant when he coined “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”

Durham is that tale of two cities. One city with rolls of trees that hide geniuses inside cobblestone buildings built to educate the nation’s brightest students. Another city obscured in a valley within the shadow of blood dried by the sun. It is the best of these, it is the least of these. The best of these-The North Carolina School of Math & Science-is there to remind us of the brilliance in our city. They stand pitted against the numbers that tell the sad truth about Durham’s school system-it lags far behind the rest of the state.

I wondered who made the list “2011 Siemens Competition Semifinalists,” the heading read. “North Carolina: Avi Aggarwal, North Carolina School of Math & Science, Durham; Jiawei Cui, Chapel Hill High, Chapel Hill; Edgar Ferrer-Lorenzo, East Chapel Hill High, Chapel Hill; Kevin Huag, North Carolina School of Math & Science, Durham; Ivan Kuznetsov, William G. Enlow High Magnet High School, Raleigh; Pranav Maddi, North Carolina School of Math & Science, Durham; Jeehae Nam, Hillside High School, Durham, Vipul Vachharajani, North Carolina School of Math & Science, Durham; Hun Wong, North Carolina School of Math & Science, Durham.”

The finalist for North Carolina read “Peter Fan, North Carolina School of Math & Science, Durham; Aakash Indurkhya, North Carolina School of Math & Science, Durham.” Wow,” I uttered in amazement at the representation from the North Carolina School of Math & Science. Although the school has representation from across the state, there is something to be said about the school being based in Durham. Five of the nine semifinalists are students at the school, and both finalists are enrolled there.

I also marveled at the dominance of the region. Every finalist is attending a school in Wake, Orange or Durham Counties. Way to go Raleigh, Durham and Chapel Hill. We are known for more than just basketball. All of that caught my attention, but it was one name on the list that made me bust in pride. Jeehae Nam, Hillside High School. If you’re not standing, stop what you’re doing and give Jeehae a standing ovation.

Yes, all of the students listed deserve special attention for their accomplishment. What Jeehae Nam has done is to prove that great things are coming from what many regard as Durham’s worst of times. Hillside has been labeled a low performing school. Wake County Judge Howard Manning has the school under watch with a threat to close the school due to its struggle to provide a quality education for those enrolled. Maybe Judge Manning needs to take a look at the list!

You see, good things can come from what is considered the dark side. Many have only seen the weeds at Hillside High School. What hasn’t been told is the rest of the story. A flower has bloomed in the middle of the weeds. That made my day. That made me proud to be a citizen of Durham.

I will be at the Northern/Hillside football game on Friday. I will be rooting for Northern. Connie’s daughter is a cheerleader for Northern, and, you get the drift. I will be there to be entertained by that fabulous Hillside Band and to watch the reigning State Champs play. I will celebrate Jeehea. I don’t know Jeehae. Is Jeehae a girl or boy? I don’t know, but I know I’m proud.

Friday will be a celebration of education in Durham, North Carolina. Yes, we have the School of Math & Science over on the West end. We also have that school with a rich tradition on the Southeast side of the city.

Darn it, I want to celebrate Durham! Will you join me?

Catching Nayla's Tears

“Durham is known for being the place you go if you wanna kill a black man and get away with it,” Nayla Rudder told me after her boyfriend was murdered. He was the only boyfriend she ever knew. They fell in love when she was 15. I was preparing to perform their wedding ceremony before he was killed.

Their life of love came to a tragic end on June 18, 2011 when a car pulled up next to his and a person inside fired bullets at Michael Hunter. Hunter, 30, drove his car 200 yards until he lost control and crashed into a tree near the Fayetteville Street exit ramp on the Durham Freeway. He was pronounced dead at the scene.

It happened in the middle of the day. “Someone had to see something,” Rudder told me as she fought back the tears caused by the memory of the love she has lost. “The police know who did it.”

She gazed at the daughter left behind. “I have to do it by myself now,” her tears robbed me of the strength needed in that moment. “Another black man killed for no reason.” I nodded my head and counted the love ones lost over the years-Juan Coleman, 27, Jamel Holloway, 27, Lennis Harris Jr., 24, and Jonathan Skinner, 26. I pondered the pain of my friends Lennis Sr. and Donnamaria Harris after receiving word that their son was killed along with three others.

The quadruple homicide that rocked the city happened close to six years ago. Rudder still waits for her own justice. She waits knowing enough, but not enough to put an end to this madness. Like so many waiting for a conviction, the healing can’t begin in earnest until a face is placed on the reason behind their nightmares. The ongoing quest for justice obstructs the ability to release enough to live.

I remember first reading about Hunter’s murder. It was part of a sickening week were two black men were murdered on the Durham Freeway-one on Saturday and another on the following Monday. I read it with interest. I felt sorrow for the families, but then I ran into my friend Nayla. She helped me make the connection that the news article failed to make for me. I knew him. I know her. They are a part of me.

There is a lesson in Nayla’s pain. She shouldn’t have to carry all of that sorrow on her own. The loss of Michael is our loss. There is a teenager who will grow up without a father to show his love. She will grow up aching while doing her best to live according to the expectations of grown folks. How do you study when daddy is gone? How do you maneuver through puberty with the brokenness caused by the loss of your papa?

I watched as Nayla trembled to fight the eruption of tears. I contemplated the list of loses I’ve endured over the years-Tia Carraway, murdered on the 4th of July 2001 while taking a lunch break at Durham Regional Hospital. She was killed execution style on Barbee Road. I shed a tear for my friend. Delia Allen, killed at the I-Hop while waiting to eat breakfast, Keshaun Patterson, 17, killed at the Northgate Mall, two-year old Shaquana Atwater, gunned down while playing in Few Gardens in 1994. The list goes on. Too many tears to count. Too many memories to run away.

I sucked in the pain long enough to be present with my friend. From there I ran to my car to release the ache of two many funerals. “He was the same age of my own son,” I howled in frustration. “He is someone’s son, someone’s nephew, someone’s grandson, someone’s cousin. He is someone’s friend. He’s someone’s daddy, and he is the love of Nayla’s life.

I couldn’t catch the tears. I never can. I allowed them to remind me of my purpose. Even though it hurts we must be reminded that we are connected to one another. Nayla’s tears belong to me. They belong to all of us. Because, deep down, we are just one big family.

Here’s my shoulder Nayla. Cry if you need.

The Occupy Movement Spreads to Durham

Did you know there is an Occupy Durham movement? Virtually every city in America is being occupied. It started on Wall Street with a call for change. Detractors of the Occupy movement point to the lack of a definite agenda that communicates the concerns of the group. Occupiers have been called a band of hippies, anarchist and social misfits. What those cynics fail to concede is the power in the lack of clarity. The Occupy movement has accomplished what no other precedent demonstration has been able to pull off. It transcends the angst of a specific population.

This movement has caught hold nationally because hurting people have been waiting for a chance to voice that pain. They are past being sick and tired of the hypocrisy of the American dream. They are fed up with witnessing the manipulation of corporate greed and a government controlled by big business. What appears as an assemblage of disgruntled brats is a union made possible by pain that transcends a select population. Those in power should pause long enough to hear the cries of those tired of hurting.

This is more than the movement of black folks hurt by discriminatory practices, a fight for immigration rights, the cry of those who love a person of the same gender or people minimized due to gender. This is bigger than race or class privilege. This movement is the coming together of all who are fed up with the madness. They have tried voting and believed that “Yes, We Can.” It didn’t work. In their minds, it’s time to make them change.

They have watched as the system they believed would change things implodes. They watch as those with the power to alter those conditions care more about maintaining their dominance. They are fed up with the political system. They no longer believe in the schemes established to maintain order. Why? Because those entrusted to manage those systems are incapable of listening to the cry for change.

This movement is bigger than a political agenda. It is more than an attack on the conservatism of the Republicans or the passivity of the Obama Administration. The driving force behind it all is a passion to rid our nation of the bureaucracy hindering the movement toward change. It is a cry to be heard by people who have been waiting to find one another.

More than a revolution around a specific issue, the Occupy Movement is a call to restructure the way we function regarding the management of the nation. That is government’s biggest nightmare. Corporate kingpins should take note of what is spreading across the nation. This is bigger than disdain for policies made on Wall Street. People are ready to capsize systems that fade the value of those in search of change.

The Occupy Movement is akin the Egyptian revolution where millions of protesters from a variety of socio-economic and religious backgrounds demanded the overthrow of the regime of President Hosni Mubarak. Americans assume a detachment from the concerns of those protesters, but we have more in common than we want to admit-uncontrollable corruption, economic issues including high unemployment, food price inflation and the lack of a livable wage

There are also stunning comparisons to the Libyan revolution that resulted in the death of Muammar Gaddafi. Close to 21% of Libyan citizens are unemployed, about one-third live below the national poverty line. More than 16% of families have no family member earning a stable income, while 44% have just one. It is true that Gaddafi created a systems allowing access to free education, free health care and financial assistance for housing; however, the medical system is seen as poor and has become a symbol of the mottled distribution of resources in the country. The lack of decent medical care forces Libyans to seek care in neighboring countries such as Tunisia and Egypt.

The civil war in Libya followed the ousting of long term presidents of adjacent Tunisia and Egypt. Could it be that the flame of discontent has spread to America where the average citizenry is fed up with the lack of a government that represents the people? If so, the paucity of clarity among participants of the Occupy Movement is a matter of immense concern. It’s bigger than one issue. It’s so massive it can’t be put in words.

The movement has spread to Durham, NC. Meetings are underway to build the coalition and to develop a strategy. The group is fighting the City manager to camp out near the Bull on Corporation Street. They’re being told they can protest but can’t camp out. Like the protesters on Wall Street, people in power want to control the way the protest is managed. The last time I checked a protest is supposed to rattle those in power. When you sit-in you get thrown out. When you march you get arrested. When you bring truth to power they turn on the water hose to shut the movement down.

For now, Occupy movements are viewed an inconvenience. Be careful with that categorization. This is more than a band of misfits. People are past being sick and tired of the way this country is managed. Change comes when enough people decide to not take it anymore. Or, as my shero Fannie Lou Hammer once said, “I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.”

A change is gonna come; one way or another. If the vote won’t fix it, a revolution will.

Boney James Concert to Raise Funds for YO: Durham

A brother has to do what it takes to get a good woman’s attention. It was the week before Christmas. It had been month’s since we first met during a night that can best be described as paranormal. It was a combination of outer body experience and chill bumps there to remind me I was still awake. It was better than any dream. It was like that city paved with gold.

“Do you mind if a preacher has a glass of wine,” I asked after approaching her table. Her eyes met mine. Something was happening in that moment unlike any encounter before. This was more than a chance to play boy games.

“Not if you mind if a minister has a glass of wine,” she answered. I’ll save the rest for another day. Months had passed as we both worked through the madness called life. She was near when I called. I drove the short distance to the Northgate Mall and found her window shopping. My heart pounded too fast for my mind to keep pace.

We ended up in a record store. She made her way to the section where smooth jazz was on display. It came to me. She walks like the groove of a saxophone. “I know what you need,” I whispered in a deep seductive voice. A man has to do what it takes when in the presence of a good woman.

I reached for one of my favorite smooth jazz artist-Boney James. I call him the skinny white dude. I grabbed my favorite among his numerous projects-the 1994 “Backbone”. “Think of me when you listen to this,” I continued in a voice that spoke my claim.

Fast forward three years later. On Saturday, November 5th, Connie and I will sit in the sixth row at the Carolina Theatre to hear that skinny white dude perform live. It’s the ideal way to celebrate her birthday. That night will be a salute of her life, our love and our work with youth.

You see, tickets are being sold to raise funds for YO:Durham. We will rock and dance to the music of Boney while drawing attention to a program that is elevating the lives of young people. Love for music, love for youth and unmitigated love will fill the room that night. We will be in the middle of it all acting like two teenagers who have discovered what it feels like when puppy love grows up to be one of the big dogs.

I’m hoping all my friends will join me by purchasing a ticket through YO:Durham. Tickets are $50, and can be purchased as many as you want by calling the Durham Congregations in Action office at (919) 688-2036. There will be a reception at 7:00 pm and the concert begins at 8:00 pm.

Did I mention that the skinny dude is a three-time Grammy Award nominee and a Soul Train Award winner? He has been honored with an NAACP Image Award nomination and has four Gold Records. “James swaggered across the stage like a blacktop hero draining treys on an overmatched opponent. He even weaved his way through the audience, never missing a beat and all but daring the crowd not to have a good time," the Boston Globe reported after a live performance.

After graduating from UCLA with a degree in History from UCLA, he took up playing the keyboard and joined The Time-the band led by Morris Day who starred with Prince in the movie Purple Rain. He toured with Day for seven years and toured and held studio sessions with the Isley Brothesr, Bobby Caldwell, Randy Crawford and Teena Marie. It was while on the road with Crawford in 1986 that he earned the moniker that has stuck. His per diem barley kept him fed, and Wayne Linsey, a member of the band who now plays keyboards on the Tonight Show, commented “We’ll have to start calling you Boney James!”

I have so many great memories in watching Boney make that saxophone scream. This time it will mean even more than before. This one is for the youth of Durham.

Take time to check out the YO:Durham website and give them a call. Purchase a ticket and come celebrate with me.

It’s all about the love.

http://www.dcia.org/yody/index.html

Herman Cain: The Anti-Obama

Okay, enough is enough. It’s time for us to pull the hood off of Herman Cain inflated head. As Cain crosses the country to promote his recent book under the guise of running for President, it’s important that we pause long enough to evaluate the significance of his popularity.

The best way to describe Cain is the anti-Obama. He has become the poster child of black conservatism. He has been pushed to the top not because of his 9-9-9 plan, but because he serves as proof that people hate Obama not because he is black, but because of his policies. That is a trick that I refuse to embrace. As big mama used to say, don’t get stuck with the hokey doke.

Cain is allowed to ride in the front of the bus due to views that strike a chord with traditional conservatives. They would have us think that race isn’t behind his popularity while they hate Obama, but I’m not buying the hokey doke. They are convincing in pleading a case against Obama based on the government bailout of those Wall Street crooks and the auto industry. Those Tea Baggers point to Obama Care as the reason for their disdain. They talk about a deficit and the fear of increased taxes as reasons for needing a change in leadership. All while failing to acknowledge how this ditch was dug after years of Republican mismanagement.

They claim this is not about race. Have we forgotten the call for prayers for God to kill Obama? Have we forgotten the Tea Party rallies were people brought assault weapons as a way to express their disgust. Have we forgotten the comparisons to Hitler and the questions related to Obama’s citizenship? Have we forgotten Congressman Joe Wilson calling Obama a liar during a healthcare speech?

Obama has been called a tar baby, a dick, a boy and the antichrist. The blog sphere is laden with claims that Obama is a traitor. “From the beginning, we've been warning that Barack Obama is an anti-American president,” Robert Trancinki wrote in the Freedom Fighters Journal.

All of those attacks on the legitimacy of an Obama presidency based on, well, the claim that he is not an American, that he is a really a Muslim undercover working to destroy America, that he is a black revolutionary nurtured under the leadership of that fanatic Jeremiah Wright. In other words, this black dude is not really one of us!

Enter Herman Cain. My issue with Cain isn’t his conservatism, it’s how his politics is used to obscure the truth. The truth is Cain serves as that one good black friend brought to the party to demonstrate a lack of bigotry. Allowing Cain to ride on the bus doesn’t confirm a lack of racism among conservatives, but validates it even more. Put another way, white conservatives don’t have issues with black folks who come willing to entertain and validate their unwillingness to change.

Cain is that dude that stands outside of normative black thought. He does so in a way that looks legitimate. He is a graduate of Morehouse College, he as a Baptist minister, he is a gospel singer; he lives in Atlanta, GA. He’s a preacher/businessman who obtained his education from a historical black college. Certainly he can serve as an example of what it takes for black people to pull themselves up from their freaking bootstraps.

We should commend this pizza man for his success as a businessman. I’m certain he does a good job in the pulpit at the Antioch Baptist Church North. I laud him for the books he’s written, but, at the end of it all, Cain is the anti-Obama.

Gloria, his wife, is best known for her Southern Cooking. He brags not about her political insight but her “fork tender roast, collard greens, green beans, candied yams, hand-shucked corn homemade cornbread,” in one of his books. “I’ve also been asked, ‘What about the first lady? Will she be in the mold of Nancy Reagan or Hilary Clinton or Michelle Obama? My answer is ‘None of the above,” he writes.

Cain reflects both the politics and family values more in line with conservative thinkers. His woman stays home and cooks meals. He believes racism isn’t a barrier to success. He’s a good ole boy willing to come to the party organized by those who desire the voice of a black man who agrees with their views on race, politics and the economy.

He’s invited to help those conservatives feel better about their assumptions regarding race and power. If he’s there it proves they’re not racist. There’s one problem, and that is critical to this conversation, he’s there because he plays by their rules. Which proves another point; he has to dance and sing to stay at the party.

“I told you I’m not racist! I support for Herman Cain!” It reminds me of the line I used to get from my white friends. “Darn it Carl, you’re not like the other colored people I know. You’re kinda cool.” Let me interpret the BS in that statement. You’re educated, articulate and not a criminal. You don’t act like the other black people I’ve never met. Why don’t you come to my party?

Cain is that black guy who is invited because he makes conservatives feel better about their assumptions of privilege. He’s the anti-Obama.

I Am More Than My Skin

I love talking about race. I’m certain it has loads to do with a mother who has dedicated her life to helping people move past their drama. It takes a special woman to force an entire city to take note of the homeless population. My mama created a place to house the homeless after meeting a few people living on the streets. She hates it when people define others for any reason.

I take great pride in being the descendent of Africans, Native Americans and folks from Ireland. As much as I affirm and celebrate my African heritage, I have no problem with the other components of my identity. Some may call me a mutt. I’d rather think of myself as one complex dude.

It’s the convolution of my identity that gave me great pause while viewing the RACE exhibit at the Museum of Life & Science. It forced a pondering related to the absurdity of this thing we call race. Race is, by the way, nothing more than a social construct designed to divide the human family. It has been used to justify wars, enslave people, segregate them, and to rationalize the stereotypes designed to malign them even more.

That evil social construct has massive historical implications. America is what it is today, for better and for worse, due to the way race has been worn as a way of measuring worth.

My rage boiled even more as I stood in front of the exhibit that told the sad truth about the disbursing of the G.I Bill. Two men, one black/one white, end their tour of duty after World War II in search of a home. The one uses his G.I Bill to purchase a home in a growing community in New Jersey. The other sought to buy a home in the same neighborhood, but was denied due to race.

There is more to the story than the scandal of discrimination. The white man’s home is now valued at $420,000. It was purchased for $7,000. The black man sold his home years later for $9,000. What could have been for the black man’s family if he’d been given the same opportunity?

There was more to witness. I thought of my grandfather when I read the display “I am not a mascot.” My throat dropped as I reflected on my favorite football team-the Kansas City Chiefs.

I considered the massive assumptions connected to my race. I wondered what life would have meant for me if I’d been born with white skin. Even more maddening to me are the deductions of those living with the skin of privilege. They claim race doesn’t matter. That their success is the result of hard work alone and that they are endowed with gifts and intellect that grant them an advantage over the innumerable black people standing in the unemployment line. It’s disturbing that race, more than any other variable, is responsible for the mammoth gap between the majority race and those of the minority.

I walked away from the people I came with, my girlfriend Connie, Larry Crane and his wife Sharon. I stepped away to ponder how a social construct has impacted my own life. From high school when my guidance counselor told me I needed to take up a trade, to the many times I was denied promotion while a person with less experience and education got the gig, to the pile of rejection letters received-I had to ponder if it had anything to do with race.

“Do they believe they are better than me,” I whispered. “Could it be that I have been discounted because of race?” I reflected on the book written by Richard Hermstein in 1994. The Bell Curve argued that intelligence is influenced by inherited factors and is a better predictor of financial income, job performance, chance of unwanted pregnancy and involvement in crime than an person’s parental socioeconomic status or educational level. Bull Do Do!

Race as a social construct has shaped the theory behind public policy implementation. I left both inspired and frustrated by the exhibit. I’m enthused that a place has been created for a larger conversation involving the propositions correlated to assumption we make about race. I’m annoyed that, at the end of the day, people will opt to walk in places of privilege created by the persuasion of their skin.

The good news is discussion groups have been organized to allow people to dig deeper after viewing the exhibit. I suggest that people attend the one organized by the Pauli Murray Project to be held on October 23 at the Stafford L. Warren Library. People need to discuss the power of racial privilege. Minorities need to share thought about the burden of self hatred and inferiority. It starts at 2:30 p.m.

One last thing. I am more than a black man. I am more than my dark hued complexion and long nappy hard locked in memory of my ancestors from long ago. I am more than Claude McKay’s prose about having to die-“”If we must die, let it not be like hogs/Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot.” I am more than Billie’s Blues and Coltrane’s groove. More than Absalom Jone’s plea for the dance of revolution, and King’s dream deferred like that raisin in the sun.

I am the embodiment of Rumi’s love chant-“Only from the heart can I touch the sky”. I have walked in the footsteps of Kierkegaard’s dread and anxiety. Gibran’s words remind me of true meaning-“Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror.” I am more than man; I am part feminist. I’ve emptied myself to stand with those suffering due to the throb of power clutching their throat.

The RACE exhibit is there to begin conversations. It is up to us not to limit others based on the assumptions we make due to their skin.

I’m more than a black man. My name is Carl. People back home know me as Doris Kenney’s baby boy.

If that's too much to remember-just call me a human being in search of truth.

Searching for the Rainbow

You can’t get to the rainbow until you endure the rain. I thought of rainbows as I walked in the rain. My pants soaked, my path hindered by the drops on my glasses, my feet hindered by the wall of precipitation-I marched with pride.

My tears mingled with those raindrops as I approached the end of the Gay Pride Parade. I noticed the crowd in front of me. They too kept walking. Few ran for shelter as we made our way to the end, one step at a time. I stepped for those hoping to overcome the mean spirited ways of groups fighting to deny them equal rights. The purpose of the march was enough to lift me beyond the annoyance of the rain.

I walked to fulfill a promise. A year had passed since I wrote about attending the Gay Pride Parade for the first time. I vowed to march the following year. It was time to march now. I had members of our Saturday Morning Breakfast Club support me. George Vaughn, Alfred Thorn and Naomi Quinn helped me hold the sign that bore the name of our informal club. Michael Woodard, another member of the club, waved at the crowd from a bike chauffer as we marched from behind.

I’ve been a member of the Saturday Morning Breakfast Club for close to a decade. We gather each Saturday morning at Parker & Otis to discuss politics, places to eat, local events and to check in with one another. We are a family. We have laughed and cried together. It is a diverse assemblage of people who have one thing in common-we all love Durham.

It’s the diversity we love the most. Our Saturday morning talks have elevated my consciousness around the need to take hold of topics beyond the common talks among people who look like me. I have learned to unwrap the protective cloak of my race to walk within the footsteps of people far removed from my own culture. I’ve learned that pain has no color, no gender, class or sexual orientation. My message has been impacted by the common tears at the breakfast table.

My Sunday morning ritual has been altered by those group hugs on Saturday morning. That’s why I asked them to walk with me. I didn’t ask the members of the church I lead because our bond is limited to a common thread that would minimize the meaning of the march I had to take. I wanted to be surrounded by people hurt by the assumptions others make. Naomi, who I call mom, is Jewish, atheist and a cultural anthropologist. Mom has raised two African American daughters. George and Al, a gay couple, have helped me see what love looks like among people of the same gender. Other members of the club bring their own unique perspective. They all wanted to be there to march that day.

Back to the meaning of the rain before the rainbow. I’ve often thought of rain as God’s tears. As I marched I felt a power beyond my own lifting me to a newfound truth. These tears were those that flow from joy. I felt a trimmer within me that rewarded my courage. “March for all the people,” I felt the power within me say. “Feel the command of this rainbow moment. This is what it means when all created by me march because of the love I give.”

In that moment, the chill of the rain against my flesh went away. I walked with pride. I walked with those who celebrated their identity. I walked for a different reason. I toiled the rain, I fought through the fear, I attacked the thoughts of the critics of the worth of the march to declare the meaning of the rainbow after the rain. We are one family Durham.

I walked home in the rain. I looked for the rainbow. I found it. It’s within me.

We are the rainbow.

Exhibit to Challenge Assumptions About RACE

It was the day I discovered the power of my skin. I learned to hate the dark hue that estranged me from the blue eyed boys with blond hair. Their rage told me something is wrong with me.

I rushed home before the street lights came on. The flickering of the lights symbolized the coming of the deadline to get home before mama brings out the switch. The sun was making a rapid exit toward the dip beneath the clouds. My heart paced as I approached Dean Street in Columbia, Missouri.

“Hey boy,” three blue eyed boys yelled as I made my way toward the gravel road. “Your King is dead. What ya’ll gonna do now?”

I was confused by the temper of their words. No time was given for a response. One hit me in the chest as another spit on me. They threw me into a nearby tree as they took turns beating me. “Your King is dead,” they laughed with each punch.

I made my way home after the street lights came on. I was broken by the beating yet feared the consequence that came with coming home too late. My nine-year old innocence had protected me from grown folk’s pain. Mama didn’t meet me at the door with a switch taken from the big tree in the back yard. She was weeping while perched on the couch in front of the black & white television.

“Martin Luther King has been shot in Memphis,” the words are blurred from my memory. I remember crying. The black man who used big words is dead, I recall thinking as I rushed to the bathroom to cry some more. The man I wanted to be like when I grew up was dead. The one who talked about loving people was killed because of his black skin. His skin looked like mine.

I looked in the mirror and cried out loud, “I hate the way I look,” my tears washed the blood from the beating away. In that moment, I learned to hate what they hated. I internalized the disgust of my skin. I entered the world where victims hide. The world of mama’s love and daddy’s strength took back seat to the clout of my black skin.

It has taken years for me to conquer the sway of that day. Age and education has helped me tackle the voices of the boys who beat me on the day King died. More than any of that, it has taken the blue eyed people with blond hair to help me see beyond the torture of that moment. My good friends Owen Flanagan, professor of philosophy and neurobiology at Duke, and Larry Crane, a retired physician have inspired me to think beyond the limits of race.

“There is no race,” Owen says. “There are different hues.” We have formed what we call the Bums Club. It’s a group we have created for ourselves to affirm our quest to move past all things restrictive.

I met Larry after writing a column about race. He invited me to his home. He reads my columns, tells me when he agrees and scolds me when he disagrees. He has taught me that you can’t judge a white man by his tax bracket. He volunteers to help at the Museum of Life and Science. He gave so much of his time that they put him on the board. Larry see’s science as a porthole to change. The light bulb goes off when a kid learns something new.

Last year, Larry told me about an exhibit coming to the museum. RACE is an award winning interactive exhibition that tells the stories of race from the biological, cultural, and historical points of view. “The exhibition brings together the everyday experience of living with race, its history as an idea, the role of science in that history, and the findings of contemporary science that are challenging its foundations,” the museum’s website states. “The exhibition’s components will probe not only how race affects nearly every social institution in our lives, but also how these social settings frame our personal experiences of race.”

Like what happened to me on April 4, 1968 while walking home. All I wanted was to get home before the street lights came on. A different light came on. It’s taken years to turn off that light.

Now it’s time to allow a new light to shine.

Why I Hate Country Music

I just remembered why I hate Country Music. I’ve tried to embrace the genre. I’ve listened to Keith Urban’s “Without You” and Toby Keith sing about his broke down shoes in “Somewhere Else.” It’s not the music I dislike. It’s the views of many of the people who listen to that hillbilly swing.

I know, one shouldn’t place all the pigeons in the same hole. The truth is I grew up listening to Country Music. My father introduced me to Charlie Pride back in 1969 by playing “Afraid of losing You Again” and “Is Anybody Going to San Antone” every Friday night with a bottle of Vodka by his side to wash the blues away.

My first gig in radio was with KTGR-AM, the Country station back home. I’ve done my share of releasing the massive stereotypes in my mind related to the people who love Country Music. I keep reminding myself that not everyone is bigoted, and that it’s just the music. Nothing more. Nothing less.

I’ve come close, real close, to making a trip up to Charlotte, NC to watch NASCAR racing. The way I look at it, Country Music and NASCAR are kin. You have to take the one to get to the other. That too may be a stereotype waiting to be exposed, but, hey, that’s the journey I have taken to get to where I am today.

My movement to that campfire meeting where folks wave Confederate flags as a symbol of Southern pride has taken a detour. Hank Williams, Jr. has reminded me of the bigotry that comes with that smugness for the days when colored folks knew their proper place, and white folk ruled down in good ole Dixie.

Williams sang about that pride in 1988 in a song titled “If the South Woulda Won.” The lyrics are enough to make those bumps on the back of my neck stand tall and yell “No he didn’t!”

“I’d prob’ly run for President of the Southern State,” he sings. “The day Elvis passed away would be our national holiday, if the South would a won we’d had it made.”

That makes sense. For the 2000 election he redid his song “We Are Young Country” to “This is Bush-Cheney Country”. He has made contributions to Michele Bachman’s 2012 presidential campaign, and has explored a run for the 2012 Republican nomination as a Senator from Tennessee.

“I’d make my Supreme Court down in Texas, and we wouldn’t have no killers getting’ off free,” he continue in his ballad in homage to the days when black folks were property. “If they were proven guilty, then they would swing quickly, instead of writin’ books and smilin’ in TV.”

When ESPN decided to fire Williams for comments he made on the Fox News Channel’s Fox and Friends, he responded like a politician ready to throw his name in the hat. “After reading hundreds of e-mails, I have made MY decision," he wrote. "By pulling my opening Oct 3rd, You (ESPN) stepped on the Toes of The First Amendment Freedom of Speech, so therefore Me, My Song, and All My Rowdy Friends are OUT OF HERE. It's been a great run."

Those rowdy friends are circling the wagons. Shucks darn, what done happened to America if a white man can’t say what’s on his mind? The tone of arrogance in his response denotes a deep sense of racial privilege that has to be checked at the door. Williams has benefited from singing that rowdy friend’s songs to begin games dominated by those colored boys he apparently despises so much.

The attacks and lack of sensitivity involving our nation’s first African American president have become shocking. It’s informative to consider that Williams made his comments on the heels of the controversy involving Rick Perry. Why would Williams talk about golf partners instead of the rock bearing the name of the hunt club on Perry’s property-Niggerhead?

For those who missed it, On Monday, October 3, 2011, in a morning interview with Fox News Channel's Fox and Friends, Williams in reference to a June golf game where President Obama and House Speaker John Boehner had teamed against Vice President Joe Biden and Ohio Gov. John Kasich, stated that match was "one of the biggest political mistakes ever."

"Come on. That'd be like Hitler playing golf with Netanyahu," He stated. He went on to say that the President and Vice President are "the enemy" and compared them to "the Three Stooges".

When anchor Gretchen Carlson later said to him, "You used the name of one of the most hated people in all of the world to describe, I think, the president." Williams responded, "Well, that is true. But I'm telling you like it is."

The comparison is not new. A number of videos have circulated on YouTube that likened Obama to the most hated man ever to live (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eS2rJP-udUs and http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yTp_atr2G9E&feature=related). By making the comparison, Williams toyed with a common theme with that good ole boy network that views Obama as the incarnation of evil.

In defending his comments, Williams evoked his Constitutional rights to free speech. In doing so he inserted the issue of race. "Always respected the office of the president," He began. "Every time the media brings up the tea party, it's painted as racist and extremists – but there's never a backlash, no outrage to those comparisons ... Working-class people are hurting – and it doesn't seem like anybody cares. When both sides are high-fiving it on the ninth hole when everybody else is without a job – it makes a whole lot of us angry. Something has to change. The policies have to change."

I agree with that statement. People are hurting. That’s why people across the country are rallying against Wall Street. The problem with Williams, the tea party and those who want to go back to the good ole days, is the assertion that it’s the black dudes fault. What he and others have done is to minimize the President of the United States to the lowest possible caricature possible-the re-embodiment of Adolf Hitler.

They do so by questioning his birth certificate, by calling him a socialist and by blaming this presidency for the upheaval caused by a dude named Bush.

That, my friends, is at the root racist. Williams and those who follow him want us to imagine what it would be like if the South had won. One thing is certain, there wouldn’t be a black man serving as President, and that is the reason for calling Obama the enemy.

So, I’m done with my quest to embrace Country Music. I’m done with NASCAR and Confederate flags. Like it or not, we are here to stay.

Pass me the Nina Simone CD!
School children sitting in jail
Black cat cross my path
I think every day's gonna be my last

Lord have mercy on this land of mine
We all gonna get it in due time
I don't belong here
I don't belong there
I've even stopped believing in prayer

Don't tell me
I tell you
Me and my people just about due
I've been there so I know
They keep on saying "Go slow!"

You say you want a revolution...

I just got word that Steve Jobs is dead. Jobs is best known for teaming up Steve Wokniak and Mark Markkula to design, develop and market Apple computer. The team was among the first to recognize the potential of Xerox PARCs mouse-driven graphical user interface and used that technology to create the Macintosh. Jobs played a major role in the Walt Disney Company, but the thing that stands out for me is his academic credentials. He enrolled at Reeds College in Portland, Oregon and dropped out after one semester.

As CEO of Apple, Jobs earned a salary of $1 a year. He made up for his low pay by holding 5.426 million Apple shares and 138 million shares in Disney. Forbes estimated his net worth at 8.3 billion in 2010, making him the 42nd wealthiest American. Not bad for a college drop out.

It’s people like Jobs that caused Occupy Wall Street. Since Sept. 17 protesters have been camping out to make a statement about America’s economic system. Low and middle class Americans are angry. They are angry because they have been fed a bag of lies. They were told that a good education would propel them into a life of leisure. They would obtain a good job, have enough money to purchase a home, get married, have children, pay their debts, travel the world, buy an automobile, make trips to the mall to add to their wardrobe and have plenty of money to send their children off to college to do the same thing. Sorry folks! It doesn’t work that way anymore.

What started on Wall Street is spreading across the country. They are camping out because they have student loans they can’t pay for and an education that fails to open the door of opportunity. They are protesting to draw attention to the massive consequences triggered by the greed of corporations. The rich get richer while the middle class and poor remain perched at the foot of the table waiting for the big guy at the table to throw a few crumbs their way.

They are angry because the promise has left them in worse shape. They can’t find work. They can’t pay their bills. All while the government talks about cuts that ultimately impact their ability to pull themselves out from under the load stacked on top of them. They have watched the corporate big wigs receive bonus checks while their companies downsize to assure a profit margin. They watch as Republicans and Democrats argue over raising the debt ceiling. They listen to talk about axing Medicare and Social Security. They wonder about the meaning of the American Dream. They are frustrated and angry because no one in power seems to care that they can’t find work despite the degrees they hold in their hands.

This is the flip side of the Tea Party movement. The baggers are driven by the notion that the country is suffering due to government interfering with business development. They are angry about Obama Care and raising taxes on the wealthiest Americans. They contend that the Obama Administration’s policies have tied the hands of business owners. The taxes make it, in their opinion, inconceivable for them to expand their business. Sadly, most of those who show up at the Tea Bag parties are the most impacted by a lack of revenue to offset the expenses needed to run government.

Occupy Wall Street is a response to the Tea Party movement. These revolutionaries recognize the evil inherent within the corporate culture. Business can’t be trusted to provide a livable wage for all employed. We can’t trust businesses to provide quality health care coverage for all employees. We can’t assume that higher profits will translate into more jobs and more pay. Those jobs may be shipped to another country. Those employed may be laid off and rehired through a temporary agency. Or they could be replaced by a robot or self serve system that makes a human being obsolete.

They are angry due to the changes within America’s work culture. Companies can’t be trusted to honor and respect those who give their time and faith to work until retirement. Retirement parties have been replaced with the annual downsizing day-normally held just before Christmas. How many will IBM layoff this year?

It’s a sad day when you hold a Ph.D. and can’t find a job due to cut backs in education. The market is flooded with highly educated people with no place to go. Our universities are filled with students who have a dream of one day obtaining tenure. There is no place to work. My degree in journalism from the University of Missouri isn’t worth the paper the degree is printed on. The market is filled with former employees of newspapers and magazines who can’t find work. My degrees from Duke and the Princeton Theological Seminary aren’t enough to raise eyebrows. This is the world in which we live. Education doesn’t mean what it once did. I should head to Wall Street to protest the high taxes I was forced to pay for taking money out of my retirement account! Whew, don’t get me started on that subject.

Steve Jobs dropped out of college to become a billionaire. Bill Gates did the same thing. I applaud each for having the genius to build their companies, but what happened to the dreams of those waiting for a piece of the American pie?

Occupy Wall Street may not pay the bills, but it’s time for a new revolution. Until then, take your promise and shove it up your backside!

Does Bill Bell Have a Problem With Black Voters?

I did a double take when I heard the Durham Committee on the Affairs of Black People endorsed Sylvester Williams for Mayor. The deep breath I took was enough to rob me of the oxygen needed to survive. I exhaled when I read that Lavonia Allison set the record straight by informing the press that Williams falsely asserted the endorsement. I wondered how the Committee could support Williams over the Bell.

It wasn’t enough to consider the Committee’s recent flirtations with all things absurd. When considering Durham’s political landscape it’s quite clear that the group entrusted with being concerned with the affairs of black people is out of touch with the people they serve. That’s a sad indictment worthy of a miniseries dedicated to illumination. The once powerful political action committee has been reduced to public scrutiny related to internal squabble. But, could it be, that the Political Action Committee of the Durham Committee’s consideration of Williams speaks to a deeper issue? Could it be that Bell’s popularity among dark hued folks is wearing thin?

My close call with whiplash upon hearing of Sylvester Williams’ premature endorsement is due, in part, to my personal interactions with the good Rev. My first encounter was at a community festival. He approached me and accused me of supporting gay rights due to his claim that I must be gay. The old dude locked up in the basement of my inner thoughts came close to running up the stairs, knocking down the door and giving the preacher a taste of what it felt like to give a few beat downs back in the day. I inhaled, exhaled and released.

I soon discovered that Williams’ comments had more to do with his hatred toward gays than his issues with me. Oh, ole dude is just homophobic. What he needs is a lesson on how to engage in that type of conversation void of the verbiage that leaves him resembling a deacon with a 4th grade education. I do respect him for standing by his views, and admire him for the passion he brings to the discussion. My disagreement does not negate any of that.

Which leads me to the broader conversation involving the close call endorsement of Williams over Bell? Is there any rationale in believing people have just cause in searching for a replacement of the man who has served in public office since Moses parted the Red Sea? Even more critical to this discussion has to deal with the fading support among the PAC concerned with the affairs of all things black.

As popular as Bell has become over the years, that popularity has a few major holes in the armor. Many are chopping their lips at the possibility of someone taking hold of his office. Some feel he has become comfortable as Durham’s Mayor. More than that, far too many contend he lacks a genuine concern for the affairs of black people. Oh gasp! Say it’s not so!

It is vital to this conversation to take into account the massive economic development in Durham. To his credit, Bell has been the champion of the growth. He has helped lead the way in promoting economic development within Downtown Durham. With that being said, Bell has not, in the view of many, been one who has helped facilitate opportunity for African Americans interested in getting a slice of the pie.

Critics of that contention may argue that advancement has one color, and that color is green. As impactful as that argument may be, it is reasonable to suggest that a Mayor with the political clout of Bell has an obligation to help facilitate the advancement of African American owned and operated businesses. Durham has a rich African American heritage, and it would seem, one would think, that Bell would make promoting and supporting that legacy as a key priority to his work as Mayor.

This in no way implies that African American owned businesses deserve privileges different from other companies. What it does assert is the same level of treatment as other companies. One would think that the Mayor would go the last mile to support African Americans hoping to build their work in Durham. Many feel slighted by Bell.

That’s not to say any of the criticism is deserved. What it does aver is a matter of perception that Bell should consider as he prepares to take hold of another term in office.

Wanted: Five New Commissioners for Durham

Finally, our local Board of County Commissioners has proven they can compromise. After months of internal fighting, Joe Bowser decided to take a walk on the side of the street where sane people travel. He did the right thing by casting a vote for Pam Karriker to assume the seat vacated by the early exit of Becky Heron.

True to her uncompromising posture, Ellen Reckhow cast a dissenting vote remaining true to her claim that she would stand behind Wendy Jacobs until the ship sank. The remaining three Commissioners decided that cooperation meant more than personal agendas and opinions. At the end of the day, what mattered most is putting an end to the public image that the board needs group therapy.

It’s sad that Reckhow was unable to cast that last vote as a statement of board solidarity. As it stands, the local political climate resembles the war among politicians in DC. The hostilities among the Democrats and Republicans elected to serve us can be understood due to political ideological differences. This local muddle of indifference is harder to justify due to the common political affiliation of those who serve on the board. They are all Democrats.

To his credit, Bowser took the high road by compromising. To her fault, Reckhow placed her personal agenda above what the community needed to witness. For those standing outside the power strains of Durham’s political system, selecting a replacement to the board meant more than what the People’s Alliance, The Durham Committee on the Affairs of Black People or any of the other PACs in Durham desired. It meant more than what Heron wanted in a replacement. Durham’s citizens deserve from their local politicians the same as they require from those who serve in office beyond a local concern. We desire politicians able to compromise when needed.

Reckhow’s dissenting vote exposed a weakness that voters should consider in the next election. There is no place for stubbornness in political office. This is not a place to stand by a promise made to a former Commissioner. The public needs unity and that last vote would have gone a long way to dispel the tension that has wrecked the reputation of the board.

All of the Commission members have tough questions to answer leading into the next election. It is the Rev-elution’s contention that Durham deserves a new set of leaders to serve this community. Yes, it may be time to replace all five members of the board with a group able to move past the inconsistent leadership that has fractured this group of misfits.

The good news is a strong cluster of candidates has emerged from this process. Hampton Delinger stands out among a group of highly qualified people willing to serve. Anita Daniels, who I can vouch for as a person of integrity, and Wendy Jacobs join Denlinger as serious contenders to the post. That’s three out of five. Any takers on the final two slots?

Citizens have a right to demand better from those we elect. If they can’t get along, and they have proven they can’t, get them out! Replace them with a group committed to making decisions best for the masses.

Again, anyone else willing to serve?

Can I have this dance: You lead

I’m not a fan of “Dancing With the Stars.” It’s not that I have a problem with ballroom dancing. I plan to dabble in it myself. The dance style is on my list of things to learn within the next few months. It’s up there with salsa dancing with my girl, skydiving and driving a race car. Yep, I have my own bucket list void of a death sentence from my doctor.

With that being said, I took an interest in this year’s line-up due to two steppers. I tuned in to support Chaz Bono after the homophobes slammed the network for allowing him to dance. The daughter of Sonny and Cher made that leap into manhood in 2009 due to not being comfortable with the body he was born with. Those conservative minded Christians wanted to boycott the show for allowing a transgender person to do the jitter bug on national television.

My disdain for reality television wasn’t enough to sway me away from this seasons “Dancing With the Stars.” It’s not entertainment, this is about affirming inclusion. But, there is more to this cast of boogie artist. I wanted to support the power of human transformation. Bono isn’t the only one who has made a shift worthy of attention. I had to support Metta World Peace.

Who? Metta, formerly known as Ron Artest, is the basketball player who made his way into the stands after being confronted by a fan. World Peace was known more for his off court antics prior to that brawl in Detroit. What happened on that day affirmed what many assumed-that Artest was a trouble maker, a bomb ticking. Tick, tock, he was ready to blow, and he did.

I celebrated with World Peace when he was kicked off the show. His response in defeat said more than a celebration in victory. In the world of games, we have to be reminded that it is only a game. Watching Mr. Peace dance and fail inspired me to celebrate the victories and defeats of life. Not everyone understands that important lesson.

On the opposite end of the spectrum is Nancy Grace. The queen of Court TV seems to have a hard time with not being in charge. Watching her exposed a major rule of dancing. It’s a lesson that women like Grace have a hard time accepting. You see, in the world of dance, men lead. Women follow. Grace has a hard time in not leading.

That notion forced me to ponder the implications of such a rule. What happens when the woman is better at leading? What happens when the man isn’t able to lead? Why should gender hinder the beauty of the dance? I had to brood over that one for a few hours.

Gender rules have a way of getting in the way of productivity. Women should lead if they are better at the dance. Men should learn to follow if they don’t know how to lead. Gender identity shouldn’t obstruct the splendor of the dance. This has bearing beyond the dance. I can’t help but think that many relationships would work better if we learned to free ourselves of the massive restrictions that come with gender roles.

This brings me back to Chaz Bono dancing with the stars. The critics of her participation on the show have issue with failing to understand Bono’s gender role. Is he a she, or is he still a she? If he is a she then she is dancing with a she and there is no one to lead. It all boils down to folks failing to respect Bono’s decision to identify as a man. In other words, he is a he, and he was dancing with a she. In this case, Bono was taking the lead, but is it appropriate to assume that he should lead when she is a better dancer than he?

At the end of the day, the only thing that really matters is the dance. Who leads isn’t as important as the fun of the bop. Dancing isn’t a power move; it is a celebration of movement. This brings me back to World Peace’s celebration in getting kicked off the show.

I shed a few tears for him. You see folks; he celebrated because he was allowed to dance. After what happened during that brawl one would think that he would never be allowed to dance. He was chosen, and that may have been enough. The fans voted him off, but not because of his attitude. The dude can’t dance. No biggie. He was given the chance to try.

He didn’t have to lead. All he had to do was dance. Beyond gender identity, beyond past mistakes-he was there with Chaz Bono. Two transformed people on a national stage.

Come dance with me. Before we start, can you lead?

Hate killed Troy Davis

What does it take to kill a person in this country? Beyond reasonable doubt has become beyond reasonable hate.

After praying most of the day, the state of Georgia took the life of Troy Davis. The last minute efforts of his attorneys to stay the execution failed when the U.S. Supreme Court denied their plea. At 11:08 p.m. Davis was murdered by lethal injection.

No, I didn’t use the wrong term to describe what happened. I’m convinced, beyond all doubt, that Davis was murdered last night. It was hate that secured his fate. Davis, like so many other men and women caught in an unjust system, was murdered to protect the reputation of today’s version of the plantation.

It wasn’t enough that seven witnesses recanted their testimony. It wasn’t enough that there is a possible confession of another suspect. There were too many doubts to take a life. The legal system established to protect the innocent from the bias of jurors has failed once again. Over and over again, we have observed that costly crack within the system. People lie. People are willing to do whatever it takes to win a case. They hide evidence. They determine guilt based on the way a person looks, and they refuse to see past their stereotypes and hatred.

In cases like this, prosecutors tend to place the desire of the victim's family above discovering the truth. The weeping family deserves closure. They simply want the pain to go away. Taking pain away equates to killing the person who killed the one they love. Once the courts zero in on a suspect; hatred takes center stage.

Hatred discounts the humanity of the person accused. Someone has to pay for that evil act that robbed the family of the life they miss so much. Hatred has a way of hiding truth. It seeks the image of what they hate to hate even more. Hatred can’t hear the screech of reasonable doubt. Hatred has no doubt. It hates beyond proof. It functions with its own set of rules.

It is easy for hate to murder what it hates. Hatred feeds on the conditions of bigotry and assumptions. “This is what black men do,” hatred yells in the face of evidence. “He looks like a person who could have done this. He must be guilty.”

Hatred can’t see humanity. Hatred didn’t see Darryl Hunt when the DNA evidence didn’t match. Hatred wouldn’t give time to consider the possible innocence of Troy Davis after reasonable doubt was raised. Hate can’t listen.

A system fueled by hate is managed by those willing to circumvent the suppositions of the system they represent. The Supreme Court embraced the law of hate above the mandate of innocence beyond reasonable doubt. The hate of the family meant more. The consuming hatred of black men numbed the power brokers from hearing beyond that hate.

"I'd like to address the MacPhail family," Davis said, according to The Associated Press, before taking that last breath. "Let you know, despite the situation you are in, I'm not the one who personally killed your son, your father, your brother. I am innocent.”

"The incident that happened that night is not my fault," he added. "I did not have a gun. All I can ask ... is that you look deeper into this case so that you really can finally see the truth.

"I ask my family and friends to continue to fight this fight," he said. "For those about to take my life, God have mercy on your souls. And may God bless your souls."

Hate didn’t hear what he said. "Justice has been served for Officer Mark MacPhail and his family," state Attorney General Sam Olens said in a statement.

He calls it justice. I call it murder. Another black man has been killed despite evidence that could prove his innocence. The protection of his rights doesn’t matter in a system soured by the site of black skinned dudes.

There is no reasonable doubt for black men. There is only hatred.

When faith crosses the line

From all accounts, what happened resembled a scene from a John Wayne movie. “I haven't lost my temper in 40 years; but, Pilgrim, you caused a lot of trouble this morning; might have got somebody killed; and somebody oughta belt you in the mouth. But I won't. I won't. The hell I won't," Wayne howls before belting Leo Gordon in the mouth in the movie McLintock.

I’m told a group of Christians deserved to be punched in the mouth after storming into the office of Marcus Brandon (D-Guilford) and forcing his Legislative Assistant to become the focus of a prayer meeting. After attempting to lay hands on him, I’m told, they prayed for his deliverance. He was left baffled and disgusted by the assumption made by those on a mission to set him free of his affliction.

The missionaries were in Raleigh to support the band of legislative homophobes consumed with a plan to place a ban of same-gender marriage in the state Constitution. On last week, The Rev-elution reported on the actions of the group led by Donald Fozard of the Mt. Zion Christian Church in Durham. In that blog (“Black Pastors Stand to Ban Gay Marriage: What Up With That”) it was reported that Fozard continually called Brandon, the state’s only openly gay legislator, a liar after Brandon brought attention to a poll that shows 61% of African Americans living in North Carolina oppose an amendment that would ban same-gender marriage.

The group left the press conference and headed to Brandon’s office. Once there they confronted the Legislative Assistant by accusing him of being gay. Once they announced the evil within him that led him to work with Brandon, they compelled him to pray. They surrounded him like a lynch mob from the sitcom “Gunsmoke” and prayed for the demon of homosexuality and his support for the rights of the sodomites to depart.

“It’s a shame what they did to him,” an assistant from another legislator told me. They embarrassed him. They singled him out due to their disdain of his boss’s agenda. They transformed the building into a Pentecostal revival and, by doing so, crossed that line separating church and state. What they did reflects my greatest fear related to the efforts to place a ban of same-gender unions in the constitution. It’s not good to force all citizens to walk down the same street. Doing so denies people the beauty of the landscape on the street on the other side of town.

Those holy folks rolled into Raleigh and knocked that door of separation down. They took advantage of their time on the stage and used it to make another point-they were there to do more damage. They were there to identify all of the enemies to their faith and to cast that devil out of them-one person at a time. This was not lobbying, it was the Inquisition reaffirmed. They stormed into that office to defeat the heretics fighting for same-gender inclusion.

In doing so, they made a major blunder in judgment. They failed by assuming the sexual preference of the person they prayed over. I suppose the gift of prophesy went array on that front. The person they prayed over isn’t gay. I know him well enough to know this to be true. I know him through a mutual relationship with a person I love and respect. My daughter.

My Daughter, Krista Kenney, and that Legislative Assistant have dated since she was a freshman in college. That Legislative Assistance has eaten food from my table. He has loved my daughter when she was sick. He has respected me, but more than any of that, I love him like my own son. I love him because of the way he loves my daughter.

When Krista called me upset, I got upset. That’s what daddy’s do you know. We stand by our children. When you mess with one of my kids prepare to get slapped in the face. So, back off with your duplicitous prayers and efforts to save the world from the spirit of homosexuality. Back off with your scolding of those who live the faith the best they can. Stop your pretentious battle to substantiate that your God is bigger than their God.

In the words of John Wayne, “I won’t be wronged. I won’t be insulted. I won’t be laid a hand on. I don’t do these things to other people. I require the same from them.”

Step back Pilgrim and spend some more time reading that big book you call the Word of God.

Hey Hayti. Thanks for the memories!

Liz Jackson and Tamisha Waden swayed on the stage as they belted the lyrics to my favorite old school funk anthem. “Flashlight,” it was like old times on the dance floor as my girlfriend Connie and I did what we do best. We moved and grooved until we couldn’t take it no more.

It didn’t matter to either of us that people were watching. We have an understanding. We’re both ministers. We both have a respect for those old sacred hymns, but when John Brown and the Groove Shop Band fired up my all time favorite-Parliaments “Flashlight”-it would have been disrespectful not to “tear the roof off the sucker”.

Besides, we were there to celebrate all that makes Durham special. “Everyone who doesn’t like Durham can kiss my ass,” a vivacious Jackson declared. “There’s not a place like Durham anywhere.” So true. The thrill of the moment reminded me of the shout after one of my feel good sermons. It was part revival, part reunion and whole bunch of sure you rights.

I must say I was taken by surprise. All of this happened at this year’s Bull City Blues Festival. It’s not that the festival is impervious to the gratification of a good time. This was year 24 of the festival, and, from all accounts, a good time has been had since year one. What made this one different were the circumstances behind it all. There were no big name national acts. There were no ticket sold and it was held at a new site. Despite all those changes, this year’s festival far exceeded the expectations of everyone.

“My son in law is going this year because it is free,” Naomi Quinn, my friend, and Saturday Morning Breakfast Club member, informed me earlier that day. It is true that the attendance at past festivals has been hindered by the steep price attached to getting in. During these tough economic times it is difficult for a person to afford to make that sacrifice. No, forgive me, it’s hard to make that sacrifice even during good economic times.

This year’s festival was billed as a thank you party for all who supported the Hayti Heritage Center over the years. The promise given is for a big gig next year in celebration of 25 years. There’s one big problem. The staff at the Hayti Heritage Center will have a difficult time in surpassing what happened on September 10th.

I couldn’t count the people present. “There must be 10,000 people here,” Connie said as we approached the line at the Joe Diners food truck. Connie and her daughter Deja wanted one of those famous hotdogs. It took us 45 minutes to get to the front of the line. I enjoyed the wait as Bobbie Hinton pumped the crowd up with his blend of blues, soul and funk. I did a two step as my friend Aaron Mills, the bass man for the group Cameo, plucked until we all smelled the funk.

There was only one problem with the night. I had to leave earlier than I wanted. I missed hearing my friend Shana Tucker’s performance. I always giggle when I watch her play that cello while startling folks with her captivating voice. Her gift is the perfect marriage of all things classical and things found in the back room of a liquor house. I also missed Mel Melton and the Wicked Mojo’s. I’ve never heard the group, but I’ve eaten enough crawfish at Papa Mojo’s Roadhouse to make up for my omission. Mel is the owner of the restaurant.

I’m not sure of what we can expect on next year. I know the festival is Hayti’s big fundraiser. They need the money to continue all that great work they do at the center. It’s too bad we can’t expect the same on next year. They have to make that money, and a free concert isn’t a workable business model.

Hmm, I wonder what would happen if everyone present that night decided to give a $100 contribution? I’m not sure if it would be enough to justify another free concert, but it would go a long way toward us saying thanks for the memory.

My check is on the way.

Commission Split Raises Serious Doubts

I’m not stunned one bit that Durham’s Board of County Commissioners couldn’t decide on the person to replace Becky Heron. In a previous blog I stated that this group of dysfunctional leaders lacked the guts to appoint Hampton Denllinger. Despite the overwhelming endorsement of the party they all represent, two of the members voted for Wendy Jacobs and the other two voted for Pam Karriker.

Everyone expected Ellen Reckhow and Joe Bowser to stand behind Jacobs. The tie between Reckhow and Jacobs seems to be thicker than the blood normally found among folks in the same family. One is left to speculate about an allegiance that causes a person to vote in opposition of the clear intention of party leadership.

The wild card is Joe Bowser’s strong stance in supporting Jacobs. Unconfirmed rumors have leaked that Jacobs has promised to vote for Bowser as chair if she gets his support. I suppose we will have to wait and see what happens if Jacobs gets the nod. What is clear is the intense conflict between Reckhow and Michael Page. From all accounts, Reckhow is on a mission to unseat Page as chair of the board. Is the rift between Page and Reckhow is disturbing enough for Reckhow to form and allegiance with Bowser to oust Page?

The REV-elution obtained an email sent to Page from Reckhow through her county government email address. The email exposes the inner madness among members of the Board of County Commissioners and can be instructive in understanding why it has been difficult to replace Heron.

“Your anger has continued over the past few weeks. At the board meeting last Monday you turned your chair and your back to Joe and me such that we had to verbally interject ourselves to speak at the meeting (since you would not have seen a raised hand.) I learned from several citizens who watched the meeting on TV that they could not understand why you had your back to us during the meeting,” Reckhow writes.

“It did appear that you were not listening to the question that Joe and I asked since you closed out the discussion by saying that everything we raised had been discussed at the meeting,” she continues. “That was not the case! In fact we raised many new points. Usually, when a lot of questions get asked, an item is deferred to get answers. However, our questions were dismissed-showing a total lack of respect.”

It is significant to note that Reckhow perceives this as an issue with her and Bowser, not her Bowser and Howerton. It gets worse.

“What do you mean by ‘I can assure you that I am not through with your past actions?’ Please don’t threaten me. I could say the same thing to you since there are witnesses to a previous verbal tirade directed at me. I do not deserve to be treated the way you have treated me the past few months,” can you feel the tension.

Then comes the kicker. “Michael-I have been through more than you have concerning Durham County politics; you need to tone down your rhetoric if we are to move forward and serve the citizens of Durham County.”

One thing is clear, things are out of control. Reckhow may be justified for calling Page out for his management style. Who among us hasn’t dealt with a coworker who gets under our skin? As much as I understand dealing with personality conflicts, this goes deeper than he say she say crap. The rift between Reckhow, Page, Bowser and Howerton is seriously impeding county business.

Voters have a right to know if Bowser is pushing for Jacobs due to a promise made. If that is true, and Reckhow is a coconspirator in that maneuver, shouldn’t voters be a tad bit concerned about the implications of having a board with Bowser as the chair? Someone needs to press that question.
Howerton and Page don’t get off the hook. Their action raises serious concerns related to their ability to adhere to the interest of voters. The failure to give credence to the endorsement of Hampton Denllinger says more than the two votes they bring to the party. It says that they lack respect for the group that took time to consider who would best serve the citizens of Durham County.

It’s a dangerous rope to walk. Howerton and Page discounted the process taken altogether by voting for Pam Karriker who didn’t receive one vote from those representing the Democratic Party. What statement is sent to voters after no one on the board considered the intent of the party they represent?

The argument used to support Karriker is missing on many fronts. Howerton and Page were moved by Karriker’s promise not to seek the post during the next election. That argument supports the argument made on the Rev-elution in a previous blog-that board members fear appointing a person with the credentials to unseat them. Some may regard that as a way to dig out from under this pile of dung, but it fails due to the efforts of a notable citizen early in the game.

Many within the community, me being one, pressed the board to consider Chuck Watts to hold the seat for the remainder of the term. The hope was to convince Watts to take the seat with the caveat not to run during the next election. It’s the same offer made by Karriker. The difference is that Watts refused to place his name in the hat due to the Democratic endorsement process. It was a game that he didn’t want to play. Can’t say I blame him for that.

I respect Watts for standing by his principals and for refusing to get into the frail due to his support of Denllinger. Watts, like those within the Democratic Party, saw Denllinger as a good fit. Who in their right mind would discount the endorsement of the party? The answer is simple. Those who care little about what the masses think.

A number of questions need to be raised by voters. The good news is an election is coming soon. From where I stand today, we need to get rid of all of them.