Obama will not be President

It’s about time I start being real with myself: as much as I’d like to believe this country has learned from its 8-year mistake of Bush and 400-year mistake of racism, the truth is, unfortunately, they both still very much exist (if I had to choose one to disappear completely, it would be a tough choice).

What brought me to this devastating realization was not the assassination plans nor the Bible-huggers on tv nor even the bigots I encounter daily living in the South. No, those things never surprise me. The thing that caught me off guard, sadly, was the blatant discrimination that exists so very close to home—in my own family.

This might come as a surprise to you, especially given all my talk of black pride and black power lately. But there are members of my family that are perfectly willing and able to discriminate and stereotype against black people (aside from the fact that black people discriminate against other blacks all the time)… and unfortunately, as much as I or my mother would like to deny it… they do.

That’s not to say they all do. Perhaps not even most. But for those (family and non-family members alike) who are able to hide behind some other rationale for not voting for, if not flat out hating Barack Obama, let me clear some things up so that you can come out of the closet already.

1. Barack Obama is NOT a Muslim. In fact, like most of you, he is indeed a Christian. He was born to a Muslim (not-present) father and a non-religious mother. He chose Christianity. He wasn’t just born into it, barely practicing or believing it for himself. He grew up knowing many different beliefs, and in his twenties, he made the choice to become Christian. That speaks volumes about his beliefs. And furthermore, even if he were Muslim, why is it that important? To hate someone based on their religious beliefs… well that’s not very Christian at all, now is it?
2. Barack Obama is NOT the anti-Christ. And furthermore, that’s one of the silliest things I’ve ever heard. Here you have someone talking about hope, faith, and love… those three things the Christ himself spoke of. Here you have someone who wants to use his position to help the poor, to bring healthcare and jobs to the masses, to bring our great country out of this spiritual and economical turmoil we have undergone due to the past 8 years of bad leadership. To say he is the opposite of Christ is blasphemy itself. Come up with something better.
3. Barack Obama is NOT JUST BLACK. For goodness sake, his mother is white. The woman who raised him, taught him everything, and brought him up most likely to know little about his African heritage since his Dad was not in the picture. He’s no more black than he is white. Why is it that everyone only sees half of the picture? Open your eyes.
4. Barack Obama DOES NOT have significantly different platforms than most other Democrats. If anything, his are better. He wants affordable healthcare, lower taxes for the poor, creation of jobs for Americans in America, immigration reform, women’s rights, gay rights, and less breaks for the wealthy and big corporations. You know; the stuff that like 80% of our country needs. So if you supported either of the Clintons or Kerry or Gore, but don’t support Obama, you might want to ask yourself, honestly, why. Because it can’t be because of his politics.
5. Barack Obama is NOT off killing babies or marrying gay people. Unfortunately, in this country, you’re either for something or against it. Gay people should have rights. Point blank. If you don’t agree with the lifestyle, or if you think it’s an abomination, that’s your opinion. But if you’re going to vote based on this issue that has nothing to do with you and has NEVER hurt anyone, go ahead. It worked really well for us these past two elections. Why not a third? Mind you, abortion is wrong. Straight up. It’s murder. But giving women the right to choose is no different than giving killers access to guns under the second amendment. You’re not telling them to kill… they still have to make the choice to do so and deal with the consequences, be it in heaven or on earth. But you are giving them the choice, say, to be prepared under extenuating circumstances. We can’t help those who go a whole other route with it. People are going to find other ways to kill each other, just like women will find other ways to abort (hangers, for instance, are amazing alternatives).
6. Barack Obama is NOT the answer to all our problems. Not even close. Chances are, he’ll get in the white house and be dodging bullets the whole time. But the way he has motivated the young people in this country to get out and make changes… the way he has brought our country together despite our differences, and the way he inspires hope in a nation that has lost its faith… is the miracle in itself. We believe in democracy again. We believe in the power of hope and change. We believe in America… for the first time in a long time. And it didn’t take a national tragedy to do it. If he isn’t elected… it will do more damage to our nation than perhaps even a terrorist attack. Because it will cripple us at our weakest point. We may never believe again.
7. Barack Obama is NOT against the troops. Like most of us, however, he is against the war. Want to talk about murdering babies? How about all the children that have died as a result of this war on oil? Nothing good has come out of our presence in Iraq; we have wasted too many lives for nothing. Gas prices have tripled since Bush came to office, and here we are talking about gay marriage. Wake up. McCain wants to keep sending more troops to Iraq, when even Bush’s dumb ass finally got the picture and admitted we need to pull out. I think we can all agree that we should support our troops; we should support them by bringing them home.
8. Barack Obama has NOT been wishy-washy with his politics. McCain, on the other hand… wow. McCain went from being one of the most liberal Republicans in the Senate to now being a staunch conservative prick. I supported McCain in the past two elections back when he was real. He literally did a complete 180 for this election so he could get the Republicans back who hated him before. And for those who didn’t know anything about his politics before—well, that’s our collective amnesia working to benefit those in power once again.
9. Barack Obama is NOT perfect. Not by any means. He’s going to make mistakes just like any other President. He has less experience than other people, but we can all attest to the fact that quantity does not always mean quality. He will never live up to the expectations some people have for him. And like all Presidents, he will not be able to execute some, if not many of his promises. But one thing that will remain true is that he will not stop fighting for the common man. He will not take corporate bribes to support his own personal interest. He knows what it is to be a working class person in this country, and he has not forgotten from whence he came.
10. NOT VOTING AT ALL IS NOT BETTER THAN VOTING FOR OBAMA. And I wonder about the intelligence levels of individuals who seem to think so. By not voting, you are giving the power back to the politicians, and revoking it from yourself. You are surrendering your very existence in this country. You forfeit your ability to protest, be angered, or complain about anything that goes on over the next four years. Because if you do not vote, you did nothing to attempt to change your present situation. “In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.” -Martin Luther King. If you know the right thing to do and you don’t do it, you’re worst than those who do wrong, because they don’t know any better and you do.

The bottom line is this country is in despair. We are desperate for something new, something better. And the power is now in our hands. It’s time we put aside all our prejudices, our differences, and our fears, and start replacing them with love, tolerance, and understanding. It’s not enough just to say we don’t discriminate. It’s time we act upon it. And it’s not enough just to say we’re tired of our present situation. It’s time we change it.

You make the call.

You're a Nigga

That’s what my boys yelled when Jacob, who had never played Charades before, pulled his skully over his head, sagged his pants a bit, and pretended like he was rapping. The word we gave him was rapper. The word we heard, instead, was nigger.

Pause.

Rewind 24 hours. Push play. I was at the pool Sunday enjoying my day off and getting some African sun, when out of the blue, they busted out the speakers and started blasting hip hop. The first few songs… not so bad. Chris Brown, Keyshia Cole, my favorite African song, Love is Not a Crime (I’m bringing it back to the States, you know this). But then, we broke into the Lil Wayne, Ludacris, Fabolous, Jay-Z, Jermaine Dupree, etc., and I quickly realized that the uncut version of so many radio songs are completely inappropriate for public use—so much so, that I was becoming extremely uncomfortable listening to the words of the songs I knew so well. I kept thinking, all these people here, African and Western both, are looking at me in disgust because I am the ONLY black American at this pool and this is how everyone thinks we talk.

Nigga this, Nigga that. I ain’t never ran from a nigga, Nigga what, f* a nigga. Beat that nigga. Damn.

I suddenly realized why the week before, someone at the internet café asked me if one of my parents was a nigga. And in retrospect, I know why Jacob was thought to be imitating one. Here we are talking about white Americans not knowing any better but to use the words we use for each other. Wow. We have no idea what the world thinks of us. We have no idea that in Africa, people think the word for Black American ACTUALLY IS “Nigga.” We have no idea that the only way the rest of the world sees us is through movies and videos, in which we are gangsters, strippers, and drug dealers. We have no clue… that the knowledge we take for granted that what is seen on tv is not how it really is, is the exact representation of ourselves that the rest of the world views as reality. That to everyone else in this world… we’re just a bunch of niggers.

Pause.

Let that marinate for a minute.

If you knew that you were being called a nigger by everyone else in the world, would you continue to use that word in your daily language? Would you still support rappers that use the word in every sentence? Would you continue to watch films that display blacks… display YOU as a thug or a whore?

If your answer is yes, then maybe this isn’t for you. And furthermore, you should probably ask your parents or grandparents how they feel about that, and then ask yourself again.

If your answer is no, then walk with me for a minute.

The other day, I had a (Ugandan) friend tell me one of the most profound things I had never thought of before. He said that Africans, historically, are a lot like Jews in the Bible. Enslaved, plagued with war, disease, poverty, hunger, corruption, and death. In the end, he said, it was those who stood by their faith in God that were delivered to the promise land. “For us (Africans),” he explained, “the promise land we are awaiting will be heaven. But for black Americans,” he stopped, looked away, and swallowed the lump in his throat. “For black Americans, you are already in the promise land. You just don’t realize it.”

I was speechless.

Could it really be true? Could it be that God knew all along that America would be the place where blacks would eventually be delivered from desolation? What if 300 years ago, your ancestors’ ancestors were brought here in chains so that you could be free today? Every day since I’ve been here—every single day—I see something else that makes me thank God I was born in the US. But have I been so naïve to forget just how that came about? In order for me to be born into prosperity, free from disease, war, and enslavement, my great great great grandparents had to be shackled and chained. Just like the Jews in the Old Testament… only they knew all along where and why they were going.

We still don't realize where we've come from.

Because if we knew it… if we really understood how far we’ve come… we wouldn’t be getting tangled up in the words, images, and lifestyles that put us back in chains. We wouldn’t be taking advantage of the freedom our ancestors fought and died for. Instead, we would be actively erasing the word nigga from our collective vocabulary. We would be supporting images of prosperity, education, and pride. We would be giving back to our communities and helping others so that as a people, we might share this promise land. And we would not allow the distance we have yet to travel, keep us from recognizing how far we have come… keep us from recognizing that we are the delivered ones. We are God’s chosen people. And if everything we do and say do not represent Him, then everything He has done to bring us here was in vain.

Think about it.

Now push play.

Bringin' Beautiful Back

Today, I did an exercise with my kids (teenagers) to explore colors. We asked them to name their favorite color, name something that is that color, and tell how it makes them feel when they think of or see that color. To be honest, I fully expected nothing but blank stares from uninterested adolescents when we introduced this activity. The first group was able to name their favorite colors, but didn’t get much further into it than that (the blank stares kicked in). The most common colors, however, were black and brown, but they could not explain what they thought of or how they felt when hearing that color. The second group (my angels) jumped right into describing red, the color of blood, making them think of war and danger, or yellow, the color of sunshine, making them think of health and happiness, or white, the color of angels, making them think of peace and friendship. It was pretty amazing to hear all their ideas, and to see the smiles that emerged on their faces quickly after realizing they said something we thought was brilliant. But the thing that struck me the most was the amount of times I again heard the colors black and brown; only this time, it was used to describe their skin.

And what words do you think came to mind when they hear the word black?

Beauty. Life. Pride.

I didn’t realize those responses would affect me so much. Growing up in the US, we learn that black is the color of death, sin, and evil. The dictionary defines black as synonymous with all things dark and bad. And I was naïve enough to think that this was the definition pretty much across the board. White is good; black is bad. Brown is ugly and undesirable. I didn’t even know I had the choice to think something different. Something so simple as the meaning of colors—it took me 24 years and a trip all the way across the world to understand—I had the choice to define it myself.

“I like brown because it is the color of your (my) skin, and of the earth. It makes me think of beauty and life.” “I like black because it is the color of my (their) skin and of the (Ugandan) flag. It makes me think of beauty and pride for Africa.”

As many times as I’ve heard or even said “black is beautiful”, I’m not even sure that I believed it for myself. It’s just some cliché we’ve adapted as black Americans to raise our pride and self-awareness in a country that has taught us to hate even ourselves. But is it not false pride? Do we actually believe that the color black and the color brown are indeed beautiful and proud? In our minds, in your mind, what do these colors actually represent? Ask yourself truly, what do you think of when you think of the colors black and brown? Honestly, can you truthfully say that positive images of beauty and pride and life come to mind?

And if not, isn’t it time we change our minds?

Because I’ve decided to change mine.

I refuse to allow our racist society to dictate the way I define myself and the things that represent me anymore. From today forward, I’m taking back the control over my pride, my beauty, and my life. I’m bringing beautiful back… to black. Because somewhere between civil rights and cell phones, we forgot just how beautiful we were. We forgot that the colors black and brown belonged to us in the first place. That God had given us these colors as a birthright. And that the way we define them is a choice. OUR choice.

And I’ve already made mine.

Falling from Grace

Yesterday, I’m pretty sure I witnessed one of the greatest of God’s creations.

We went on a trip a few days ago to Masindi district in northwest Uganda to visit the first and largest national park in the country. Before going, we had to meet up at the camp site’s headquarters in Kampala to wait for our vehicle and get the other members in our party. So there was a picture of Murchison Falls on the wall, and I was like “Wow… we’re travelling all this way to see one little waterfall? I could have turned my shower on at home to see that.” So the first day, we saw some baboons and warthogs, hippos, and I’m like woot woot. The second day we went on a safari and saw some elephants, giraffes, crocodiles, and more hippos. We went on this 3 hour boat ride to the falls, and when we got there, I all but asked for my money back at the utter disappointment of it. I think even the picture looked better than the falls, which consisted of some water hitting some rocks in the distance. So yesterday, on the way home, we took a hike up the mountain to see the falls a bit closer. Still not impressed. Okay, a bit nicer, but come on. This place is on the top ten things to see before you die. And here I felt like this was some shit I could have created with a bucket and some rocks.

But then we went around the other side of the path, and got about 3 feet away from the falls. Right up to where the rivers collided and hit up against the mountains at such great speeds, it broke through granite rock and created about 4 to 5 rainbows all around it. And I literally stopped in my tracks, sat down to collect myself, and began to cry. I mean, I wasn’t sobbing like a baby or even tearing up all that much. But on the inside, I felt God right then and there, just wrap his arms around me and whisper in my ear the sweetest words of love I can’t even share.

Looking upon it, all I could think was, how could anyone deny that God exists? Nothing, no other power, could create such beauty and splendor. I remembered the day before, I said something along the lines of “I think the Taj Mahal or the pyramids should move up the list above this mess.” But as I was sitting there in complete and total amazement, I heard God tell me that nothing man has ever made could even compare to the wonders He has created on this earth. And it made me laugh… laugh that I was eating all the words I had been saying on the trip thus far. Laugh that the ten or fifteen minutes I spent staring at that waterfall was worth the time, money, and effort it took to get to that point. I laughed. Because all this time, I had been looking for God in Uganda.

And He was right there before my eyes all along.

It almost felt like, selfishly, it felt like God created that amazing display of His majesty so many years ago because He knew that at that moment, at that time, He would find me there. It made me think of His plans for me, and how I tend to try to control things or change things according to my own will, subconsciously thinking that I have to do things myself if I want them to happen. But how silly of me to think that a God who created the earth and the heavens with such magnificent detail, is incapable of accomplishing amazing things in my life and granting me all the desires of my heart. How naïve of me to assume that my plans are in any way better than His plans for me.

In the midst of all this, I thought about the things that I’ve had to witness thus far. The poverty, the injustice, the hunger, war, and despair in Uganda and in Africa as a whole. I thought about how all this time, I’ve been thinking why me? Why did I deserve to be born in a country where freedom is free, where war and hunger and poverty are the exception and not the rule, where clean air, water, and land were the bare necessity and not commodities? Why did I spend my childhood in the safety of my own home, surrounded by love and family and friends, instead of being abducted at the age of 8 to become a child soldier and be forced to kill others, be given as a sex slave, or be killed myself? Why did I dream of rainbows and gardens and unicorns, instead of having nightmares of witnessing my parents be murdered right before my eyes, or of being raped and baring children who would die of hunger or disease, or of the faces of those I was forced to kill?

I thought about how I had been questioning God and His will. How I had been wondering how the same God who delivered me from so much in life, could allow this to happen to people far more innocent and more deserving than myself. And I realized that all this introspection, this existential crisis I had been having here, was like trying to figure out how God created this waterfall. Trying to dissect every drop of water, instead of just admiring its beauty. When it’s not up to me to try and determine His will.

What I should be doing is trying to figure out where I fit in. What my place is—me, just a drop of water—which may seem insignificant, but actually serves as an integral role in God’s creation. And trusting that I might not understand it now, but that it is all part of His will, is the first step to discovering my place on this earth. I am so thankful for this gift from His grace.

“In life, for every question you have… the answer, you will find in nature, if you know where to look.” It’s a line from my favorite movie of all time, The Power of One.

I finally got my answer.

Maybe we're the ones who need to prove ourselves to Him

The second Chronicles of Narnia is even better than the first. The theme is quite resonating. Throughout the movie, the three older children have believed the words of the nation… that “Aslan” has abandoned Narnia and it’s up to the earthly kings to defend their people. They try time and again to take matters into their own hands, only to fail at every attempt. They even nearly seek the help of what can only be described as the devil himself who appears out of nowhere (Matthew 4), offering a victory over their enemies if they only pledge themselves to her (no comment on how the evil one is a woman). It is only the faith of the “little child” (Isaiah 11:6) that leads them finally to call on Aslan, who immediately gives them the victory, and forgives those who did not believe. I had forgotten how much these stories really are meant to remind us, both children and adults alike, that even the smallest faith can move mountains (Matthew 17:20) and that we are more than conquerors through Christ who loves us (Romans 8).

I apologize if I spoiled the movie for you, but it’s not like you didn’t know they were going to be victorious in the end anyway. It’s just that I had to give background in order to segway into this, my first entry in months (sorry).

Since I’ve been here in Uganda, it has been really hard for me to talk to God. I told myself that maybe He just lost track of me in all the travelling I’ve been doing. Or maybe that there is so much pain and suffering on this continent, my prayers are put on the backburner. I’m not talking about this in a superficial way, like I’m asking Him for things and not receiving them; I’m not saying bad things are happening, so therefore He must not be listening. I’m saying that usually when I pray, it’s like I can feel His presence all around me, and I know that He is listening. But here, for some reason, I pray and pray and it just feels like I’m alone. I’ve been here just begging Him to just show Himself to me; just show me that He is really there. Instead I just feel like I’m praying vain. But who would have thought that watching (the bootleg of) that children’s movie would change something in me?

“Maybe we’re the ones who need to prove ourselves to Him.” It was a line that the little girl told her brother when he asked why Aslan wouldn’t just show himself to them.

Crazy… I’ve never heard a movie line that so adequately describes my faith.

Here I am asking God to show Himself to me when how many times has He proven Himself in my lifetime? How can I proclaim that He is almighty and powerful, and with the same mouth profess that He is not listening every single time I call? It is not His presence on which my faith is based; it is His promise.

I find that in our culture especially, people refer to faith as some kind of therapeutic service. “Whatever works for you” I have heard time and again, even just yesterday. People think of God as just a means to an end, and if we can’t see Him, He must therefore not exist except in the minds of religious fanatics. But why are we passively waiting for some great miracle before we can acknowledge Him? Why do we think it’s up to God to prove His presence in our lives? Even in the worst circumstances, He gives us life, the sun, rainbows, nature, family (despite their faults), friends (ditto), and even a complete stranger who manages to say the just the right thing to get you through. How many times have you asked and received? How many times have you looked back on something you did not receive and suddenly understand why it was not given to you at that time? What more proof do you need? Why, instead, are we not attempting every day to make even the remotest fraction of an impact on His world that He has on ours? At what point do we stop making demands on God and start raising our own expectations? When will we realize that we’re the ones who should be proving ourselves to Him?

I started writing this blog yesterday and since then, I have received so many emails of encouragement from my family, friends, and small group (which are both). If I was looking for proof before, it is certainly clear to me now that when for whatever reason, God cannot come wrap His arms around me Himself, He sends His warriors to comfort and assure me that He may not come when I want Him to, but He’s always right on time.

Before I left, I told myself that I would use this time away from everything I know to truly discover who I am now that I have been changed. Perhaps God, who has carried me thus far, is now letting me stand on my own so that I might do just that. Perhaps if I look to my left, I will in fact see two sets of footprints in the sand. Perhaps… it’s not up to me to try to make sense of His will. It seems the only thing I am responsible for… is proving myself to Him.

…I’ll be around. Check back for weekly updates on my travels. For real this time!

I love you and miss you all!!

Meet the Blacks

Tyler Perry's new movie took black people back 50 years.

And I seem to be the only one that's royally pissed off about it.

Sure, I'm mad I spent $8 and 2 hours of my life that I will NEVER get back. And sure, I'm perterbed that in 2008, I have been exposed to a minstrel show with actual black people dancing around in black face. Indeed, I'm annoyed that it already grossed $33 million and it probably cost $3 million and a lot of destroyed careers to produce. But what I'm MOST pissed about is that I haven't heard ANYONE protesting, speaking, or marching about all the negative stereotypes, ignorant perpetuations, and flat out EMBARASSMENT Meet the Browns has caused the entire black community.

It took me a week and a half to recover from all the damage that movie did to my psyche and self worth as a black person, just to be able to write this blog that should have been written the minute I got home from RUNNING--not walking-- away from that movie. I couldn't get away fast enough and back to my home-- a place where black people are educated, full of pride and dignity, represent black people in a positive and intelligent way, and are likewise disgusted by the muzings of directors who will do anything-- including sell his soul to the devil-- for a box office hit. Tyler Perry, you disappoint me. Angela Bassett, what were you thinking? How do you go from Tina Turner to hood rat chick? Eat the cake, Anna Mae. Desgraciada.

Speaking of which, as if it weren't bad enough to destroy the entire black race with this movie, Tyler Perry had to go add in a ghetto, loud-mouthed, weed-smoking, violent, slorefully dressed LATINA hood rat that surely exemplifies everything I embody as a latin woman, as well. Thanks, Tyler. I appreciate how you've maken a mockery of everything that I am and displayed it for all the white people who happen stumble across your movie that we indeed are everything they think of us... and worse. Awesome job, queer (sorry, it slipped).

Black people need a manual. I'd be happy to write it in my tons of spare time that I do not have. I will call it "What black people do and do not need to be pissed the f*%& off about and other shit that may set us back from all the strides we've made away from the centuries of humiliation and oppression to which we were subjected, and also, why it's more of a disgrace for a BLACK person to do anything listed in this book than for a white person because white people don't know no better but we sure as hell DO!!!" Copyright on that title.

Why is it that Don Imus (his ass was wrong, also) can't call black women nappy headed hos, but Tyler Perry, who knows better, can have a scene in his movie where they go through a list of women and describe the TYPE of ho they were, ending with the characters' own MOTHER, calling her a nasty ho? And furthermore, why was I the only person in the theatre NOT laughing at that scene?

If a white person directed a movie about a ghetto black woman with three kids from three different dead beats, one of which is abusive, who finds out her own dead beat pimp/deacon father dies, and goes to BF Georgia for a funeral in which ignorant black people are actin' a damn fool IN church, all while her basketball-playin', dope-slingin' son gets whored by white agents and signs to the pros straight out of high school and buys a Cadillac Escalade with his newfound money and gets his family out the ghetto. Oh, and throw in a scene with an old woman in a high speed chase in Dekalb County, throwing bags of weed out the window and assaulting an officer, WHAT?!?!?! This country would have a fit. Even white people would be mad about that shit. They'd be like, damnit, after all the time I spend at work trying to convince black people that I'm not racist, I'm gonna have to start from square one after they see that movie.

So why the HELL is it okay for a black person to disgrace the black race, but no one else can?? F* that. It's NOT OKAY. We need a manual so black people would learn after the first time someone pulled this shit, that it is not acceptable. Especially coming from someone who has made so many strides in the RIGHT direction of portraying black Americans in a different and positive light. Why erase all the work you've done? Tranny (sorry, slipped again).

I'm pissed. And you should be, too. If you're black, DO NOT waste your money or time being offended by that whore of a movie, and spread the word FAST. If you're white, :::sigh:::, I'm sorry. I apologize for every EXTRA that participated in creating that catastrophe. Please don't think that movie represents the views and behavior of all, or even some black people. Just pretend they were all white people wearing black (or brown) face, because that's the ONLY way I walked out of that movie without committing suicide.

As for you, Tyler Perry. Shame on you.

In the meantime, I'll work on that manual...