What to the descendants (in blood and spirit) of enslaved Africans is the Fourth of July?

One hundred and sixty years ago, Frederick Douglass, one of the few Black American figures in history that is commonly learned about in our sham of a public education system, delivered a speech at Corinthian Hall to commemorate the signing of the Declaration of Independence. This speech, in all its eloquence is one of the most memorable pieces of American history but is rarely studied for what it actually states, the spirit it evokes, the undeniable call to action that it heeds. Throughout his speech, Douglass uses the strategic beauty of church-sermon oratory to make his points. He states, after praising the efforts of the origins of American freedom, "This Fourth of July is YOURS, not MINE. YOU may rejoice, I must mourn." As he spoke in this room of majority white men he reinforced the fact that this holiday has nothing to do with his freedom and even less to do with the freedom (which was not legislated at the time) of the rest of his people. He goes on to state: What, to the American slave, is your 4th of July? I answer; a day that reveals to him, more than all other days in the year, the gross injustice and cruelty to which he is the constant victim. To him, your celebration is a sham; your boasted liberty, an unholy license; your national greatness, swelling vanity; your sound of rejoicing are empty and heartless; your denunciation of tyrants brass fronted impudence; your shout of liberty and equality, hollow mockery; your prayers and hymns, your sermons and thanks-givings, with all your religious parade and solemnity, are to him, mere bombast, fraud, deception, impiety, and hypocrisy -- a thin veil to cover up crimes which would disgrace a nation of savages. There is not a nation on the earth guilty of practices more shocking and bloody than are the people of the United States, at this very hour. Sadly, as true as this was upon its original utterance on July 5, 1852... this is even more pertinent and relevant to the time and space the African diaspora in America finds itself in today. This day, more than other holiday, should not incite joy and happiness but should serve as a reminder of our reality. Despite our attempts to look, act, speak, and live like White America, we are not them... nor will they ever permit us to be. Our freedom is STILL being negotiated by the political system TODAY. It took over a hundred years after Douglass delivered his speech for the political system to even acknowledge a need to address the gross injustice being infringed upon Africans in America. Over fifty years after that there is debate across the country deeming that legislation unnecessary and are finding ways to dismiss, repeal, and ultimately further disenfranchise the Black community. However, that still, for many, puts my critique of the holiday in the abstract. Not many understand how policy works, nor do they care because (as I was once one of these people) have been socialized to ignore politics (a master trick of our oppressors). However, the daily lived experiences of Blacks in the country still begs the question: What to the descendants (in blood and spirit) of enslaved Africans is the Fourth of July? If we are to claim this day as a holiday we are either stating that we too were freed by the signing of the Declaration of Independence or that our current social, political, and economic state in this country is appropriate, warranted and deserved. There is no other way to look at this day other than an admission of our failed freedom and acceptance of our current plight. Is that the message we want to share with our children? Is that the spirit we want our families to bond together? Is this all it means to be Black in America? Today is not OUR holiday. It is a celebration of a freedom we have never received. Further, it is the celebration of the justification of our plight... the birth of white power and privilege reigning through supreme and arguably divine order. It is a holiday that celebrates our forced oppression, our murder, our depression, and our hate. It is a holiday that we have foolishly attempted to claim as our own and by doing so...we disgracing ourselves by disrespecting our ancestors, ignoring our history, and further driving ourselves into the abyss of insurmountable hatred of self.' Historian and beloved ancestor Dr. John Henrik Clarke has said that “History is a clock that people use to tell their political time of day. It is also a compass that people use to find themselves on the map of human geography. History tells a people where they have been and what they have been. It also tells a people where they are and what they are. Most importantly, history tells a people where they still must go and what they still must be.” What does our personal history with this holiday tell us? If we find ourselves at the nail shop looking for special red, white, and blue designs....if we find ourselves at the clothing store looking for the perfect red, white, and blue outfit.... if we find ourselves waiting for the special Fourth of July edition of sneakers to wear on this holiday.... if we find ourselves not uttering a word about any of our ancestors today but relishing on the fact that we do not have to work today... if we find ourselves on picnic blankets watching fireworks.... WHAT DOES THIS SAY ABOUT US? For me, I cannot, in full sanity and clear consciousness, live this day in celebration of American independence. This holiday is a STARK reminder of what we where we have been, what we are, and where we still must go as a people. For me... today is at its base a Sankofa Celebration. More than a surface level celebration of African culture but a TRUE celebration and remembrance of our history and our ancestors. On this Sankofa Celebration we look critically at our history as Africans in America over the last 400 years. We embrace the reality of our existence here and we do so not for the sake of knowledge but for the sake of application. We know our history so we can speak into existence a better future... a future that is truly about FREEDOM...African Liberation. For this day... I pour libation, I read, I reflect, and I work.... for today is not a day of rest it is a day that reminds us of the work that WE MUST DO. I call upon my ancestors, those in blood, those in spirit, and those in ideology.... Fathers of our Fathers, Mothers of our Mothers to bear total and complete witness to where we are, what we are doing, and where we trying to go. I call upon those who have led by example: Queen Hatshepsut who let Kemet peacefully for great time, Yaa Asantewaa who ardently and unapologetically fought for her people, Marcus Garvey who led us, the branches of a global tree, back to our roots, Brother Malcolm X who said it plain, Brother Huey who created a template for us.... who stood in the glory of Black power... These ancestors, lovers of our African spirit inspire us toward reclaiming our African minds, regenerating our African SCHOLAR, WARRIOR spirits, liberating our homeland, and reclaiming our greatness as a people. We pour for them... We pour this libation to bring into our midst their venerable African spirit, radiating their great wisdom, courage, dedication, and unyielding commitment to victory by any means necessary. It is in the honor of our Creator, our Ancestors, our Children, our Children’s Children, and our Children’s Children Children.that we pour this libation. For the Creator, and the various manifestation of the Creative spirit; who we can graciously thank for each person in this room, each family history, each story, each experience lived and considered... who has consciously determined the necessity for us to wake up each day and take breath.. We Pour... For our esteemed ancestors, who laid the foundation for human civilization, and who provided the wisdom by which we live and the models by which our lives are guided; Our ancestors from Kemet, Songhay, Mali, Timbuktu, Nubia, Kush, the Dogon people of which without them we would not be able to direct ourselves toward a universal time and space, the Bantu-Kongo people who have modeled our mode of self governance and self correctness, and ultimately... the first people who walked this earth, who ate the first food, told the first stories, hugged the first hugs, LOVE THE FIRST LOVES, and birthed into us the future of African resilience We Pour... For our esteem ancestors who have suffered the atrocities and horrors of our MAAFA(The African Holocaust), and yet demonstrated the victorious power of the African spirit against adversity, by maintaining their dignity no matter the cost. These men, women, and children who fought mightily from their imprisonment, those who never saw the light of day as a living spirit once entering those boats, those who upon immediate refusal of the horror jumped into the waters of the Atlantic Ocean, those whose bodies laid at the bottom of the boat screaming for their families, their people, their god... We Pour... And for those ancestors who survived and made it possible for us to be here today to continue on their valiant struggle for African liberation and vindication. Those ancestors who refused to be anything less than a man, anything less than a woman. Those ancestors that toiled the fields of stolen land in Georgia, Alabama, Virgina, Florida, Mississippi, Maryland, and the Carolinas....Those who cautiously worked by day and planned at night to overthrow the tyrrany of the oppressor, the Nat Turners, the Denmark Veseys, the Black Seminoles, Fracois Dominique Toussaint L'Ouvertures, the Harriet Tubmans, the David Walkers, and the Gabriel Prossers and to all those whose names we do not know because of our history being violently stripped from our psyches and buried deep under the lies and myths which have built this country We Pour... And finally, for our Children and their children and future generations of Africans to come, that they too in their time will vindicate our race from all adversaries and continue to imprint upon the world the great genius of african humanity; It is for their futures that we work so diligently in the immediate, that we strive to combat our issues educationally, culturally, economically, and politically. It is for their futures that we NO, WE MUST CONTINUE TO FIGHT. It is for thier brown beautiful faces that we understand what love is. We pour. We as a collective now take the time to call out loud the names of our ancestors. whomever it is that has transitioned that is responsible for bringing us here, in full awareness and existence, to this maroon space today: It is with their love, their support, their nurturing spirit that we are able to continue day by day to re-Africanize ourselves in thought, word, and deed. Their resiliency fuels the fire with in and ignites a power within us so great that out of pure fear of its ability we accept attempts to squelch it. I humbly ask them, to renew us again. Renew us in love, a love of of self so deep and nourishing that it becomes contagious across the board. A love so complete that it requires us to go beyond individual understanding and fully accept I AM MY BROTHER and I AM MY SISTER and not their keeper. A love so strong that its unadulterated presence speaks truth to power without shame. A love so definite that it supports, it disciplines, it cautions, it encourages, it engulfs, it submerges, it breathes... it lives. Renew us in love, the most powerful revolutionary act. We Pour... and finally.... we pour not a libation but an affirmation for those whose mouths still form to speak words of wisdom, whose minds still remember the spirit of maat, the nia or purpose of our lives, whose growth still continues to be inspired and enlightened by those around us.... we speak out the names of the living... the african warrior scholar spirits... whose call we heed, whose mission we live out, and whose love we cherish... we pour for us.... for this space that we have created, for the unity in mind, spirit, and purpose that share, for the journey we are about embark upon... for the work that we have no choice but to commit ourselves to... all of the creator’s divine creation say ase...ase....ase

Stand for Something or You will Fall for Anything: On Occupy THIS Movements

Admittedly, this may ruffle some feathers, but when the spirit calls me to write I cannot ignore the will. My intention is not to chastise anyone or any group of people. If anything let this be the tool broaden the discussion of liberating spaces and minds for African people by African people. Let us be critical of our engagement, diligent with our research and study, and adamant about demanding more from ourselves than from other people. Responses are more than welcome and dialogue is passionately encouraged. Hotep.

The goal of this impromptu treatise is to bring an (albeit, mine) African consciousness to the current discussion on trends in political movement building. All too often, speakers and leaders over current movements parallel action taken against particular issues with that of the coordinated and (arguably) purposefully organized actions of the 1960s civil rights movements. I write this to express my concern for the blind participation and coalition building efforts on behalf of African people with movements such as these that are not aligned with the plight of their reality nor aligned with their historical or cultural self-concept.

I call on the great historian and classroom teacher Baba John Henrik Clarke as a reflection of how crucial it is to tie our involvement and any calls for solidarity to something stronger than fleeting emotions or flavor of the week causes to protest. Baba Clarke said, "All of history is a current event. The events which transpired five thousand years ago; Five years ago or five minutes ago, have determined what will happen five minutes from now; five years from now or five thousand years from now.” If we do not heed these words as we organize we will fall privy to same pseudo-liberation movements that have further served as political and economic entrapment for African people in America over the last five centuries.

The goal of this essay is three-fold. First, we must clearly identify and label Occupy Wall Street and its bastard children throughout the nation as a white liberal political movement not acting in the interest of African people. Secondly, we must admit and accept that American democracy is a fraud. Actions put forth assuming that we live in a democratic state that responds to the people are ill-conceived and detrimental to the progress of Africans in America. Lastly, we must re-issue and improvise upon the call of African unity against economic, political and cultural imperialism. Our intellectual and spiritual ancestors have paved the way for the fight for African solidarity to continue. In the words of African scholar Waziri Junayd, written over 500 years ago, "Whoever does not inform his children of his grandfathers, then has destroyed his child, marred his descendants, and injured his offspring the day he dies. Whoever does not make use of his ancestry, then he has muddled his reason. Whoever is not concerned with his descent, then he has lost his mind. Whoever neglects his origin, then his stupidity has become critical. Whoever does not cause his ancestry to be abundant, then his incompetence has become great, Whoever does not increase his place of descent, Then he has abolished his honor.” We cannot forget on whose shoulders we stand, what legacy we have to live up to.

Admittedly, I have been shying away from the Occupy Wall Street movement. I am not one to believe any of the lies purported by the mainstream media so I am not influenced by the right wing agenda’s attempt to nullify the momentum of this movement. It is indeed real and something to pay attention to, but it is not the movement that requires the solidarity of African people. Many political commentators have criticized Occupy Wall Street for lacking diversity or unity with minority peoples, but it is not with the proper frame of mind that these criticisms are reported. The reasons for the lack of participation in the majority movement vary from the bitter reality of not having time or resources to be away from their home or work for any amount of time to the absurdity of the majority to think this is something NEW happening in American political economics. This leaderless movement neglects to present clearly outlined objectives about the intentions of the occupiers and the purposes of aligning with this movement. Lest we not forget what we were all taught when we were young, “Stand for something or you will fall for anything”. Joining in solidarity with a movement that refuses to list concrete demands means that your alliance is for empirical data recording (tokenism!) and ultimately may end up with you acting as a sacrificial lamb in the salvation of your oppressor. The OWS movement rises from the complaints of the majority that they are not benefitting from the wealth of the 1%. If this was a noble cause, these individuals would have been preaching “solidarity” for the last 400 years Africans in America have been living with an economic and political foot on their neck. Know this… if there is redistribution of wealth among the 99%, let’s check where the black people will fall… oppression is still oppression even if it is equalized through the classes of the oppressor.

After attending Occupy Milwaukee meetings, I was reminded of precisely the cultural and political frameworks, which this movement is propelling. For one, the majority (read: white) led aspect of this movement is not for socialist or communal economics. Understand that their interest is in joining the 1%, receiving the benefits of an oppressive and exploitive regime and once their needs (and wants) are met, they too will go back to paying no attention to what is happening to African people, let alone any minorities in the City of Milwaukee.

Now, understanding that the OWS movement is not in the interest of liberating African or non-white peoples in America. We must critically analyze our political engagement with the system. Occupy the Hood has risen up in cities across the country as an attempt to bring people of color into the conversation. I’m reminded of the Elizabeth Stanton and Susan B. Anthony and the Suffrage Movement. African women were not included in the picture, however, when sheer numbers were needed, these women who were fighting to be as strong as their oppressive counterparts took in African women and then readily marginalized them once their numbers were achieved. Be cautious African people, the suffragist/feminist movement is just an example of being bamboozled, hoodwinked and lied to in the name of solidarity against your liberation.

Here in Milwaukee, there is a drive for the community to politically engage against SB 207 which relates to permitting an employer to refuse to employ or to bar or terminate from employment an individual who has been convicted of a felony and who has not been pardoned for that felony and preempting cities, villages, towns, and counties from adopting provisions concerning employment discrimination based on arrest or conviction record that prohibit activity that is allowed under the state fair employment law. On the surface, it makes perfect sense to fight against further disenfranchisement of those who have paid their debt to society and are attempting to become productive (tax-paying) members of the American workforce. However, there are two things that must be consider. First, according to the statistics, Milwaukee’s unemployment rate is slightly under the national average, ranging from 7-8% month. However, the Atlanta Post reported this summer that black male unemployment was near 34% and in the black community as a whole, joblessness fluctuates between 40-50% annually. Let’s be very clear, having a felony is not the problem with job attainment in the city. I would like to know in what household are you going to convince two unemployed non-felons that they should be marching, protesting and carrying on the behalf of some white felons that are currently employed? Secondly, this bill is not an arbitrary attack on felons nor an action for corporations to protect themselves from lawsuits, this is a blatant attempt to attack wage labor. By passing this law, the scramble for wage labor jobs will become all the more intense and through the scramble for jobs wages can be lowered because felons (and others) with no job would rather have A JOB even if its paying less than they have ever made before. This isn’t about the felons, this is about creating a consistent pool of cheap labor. Not to mention, if felons can’t find work, there is an increased chance or recidivism thus requiring more jail time. More jail time would mean more people in jail. More people in jail would mean more space in jails. More space in jails would require more jails. More jails would mean more arrests to fill the jails and the cycle of the prison industrial complex not only rears its ugly head but makes its presence the focal point of this government tactic.

If this is the reality, no democratic action by the people will prevent this from happening. If a law is going to be passed, it is going to be passed, with or without the support of the people. It is my hope and prayer that I’m proven wrong. Until then, directing our energy in using the democratic process to stop the chain of oppression from strengthening its chokehold on the black community is an utter and complete waste of time.

With that being said, the prescription has already been called for by our ancestors and elders. We recall the words of the Honorable Marcus Mosiah Garvey when he said, “Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery, none but ourselves can free our minds.” We can not expect our liberation to occur through the efforts and organization by others. We must INDEPENDENTLY create the physical, intellectual, and spiritual space for us to liberate our entire African community. Further, we must admit that our causes are not the same as others and that we must critically examine what the intentions are behind calls for solidarity. Yes, relationships must be built with movements of other oppressed racial groups but it must be understood that Africans need to work in the best interest of Africans. Until we have built a liberated state, we cannot afford to divert any energy beyond restoration and healing of a people from this tragedy we are in called the maafa. In addition, occupations are valuable tactics to employ depending on the demands of the group employing them. What are we occupying? What are we trying to get? For whom does this matter? If we must discuss a potential occupation we have already to venues we should readily address as a community. First, we cannot ignore that black men and women are already in a full out occupation of the US penal system. We currently account for 30% of the prison population. How do we leverage this issue towards liberation? (Occupy our minds for minute, huh?) Secondly, the public education system was the FIRST institution to be attacked by the right wing agenda and we still have not mustered by the courage to OCCUPY SCHOOLS. It may be cliché to assert that the children are the future, but without them we will not survive this. We will not survive. In fact, the quest for liberating education should go beyond an occupation but resemble a full on TAKE OVER similar to the Freedom Schools Movement in the 1960s and propelled by independently OWNED and OPERATED schools that educated African children TO BE AFRIKAN without question or concern. It would be remiss to not recognize the institutions in DC, Atlanta, Houston, Philadelphia, St. Petersburg and throughout the continent that doing precisely THIS! Building a movement (reform?) and building institutions (revolutions?) are not the same thing and as African people, institution-building is currently our call.

Pardon the long diatribe but the grave and imminent danger we are putting the community in by participating, coalitioning, and supporting a mass movement that ultimately will further strengthen the oppression against African people is too great to ignore. We owe it to ourselves, our ancestors, and the BEAUTYFUL ONES not yet born to fight for liberation on behalf of our own SELF-DETERMINED demands. Let us fervently educate, agitate, and organize on behalf of African people for African people.

ABIBIFAHODIE!

Remembering Kemet

Reflections on Malcolm X: A Life of Reinvention by Manning Marable

I finished the book less than 2 hours ago. These are my immediate reflections. I will be writing more as I take the time to process personally and research further. Peace.



On April 4th, 2011, Manning Marable’s much anticipated text on the life of Malcolm X hit the store shelves. Like many other blackademics, I pre-ordered my book and began reading it immediately. As a lover of historical writing and biography in general, there were a set of expectations that I had for this work. There is not a shortage of books discussing the life of Malcolm X on the library shelves. Many scholars have written about the iconic yet tragic life of our own black shining prince thoroughly combing through records attempting to reveal new and profound information. Simultaneously, scholars have attempted to discredit Malcolm not only has a contributor to the legacy of the black freedom struggle, but as a practicing Muslim, scholar, husband, and man. As a new work, I anticipated this book to contribute to the wealth of knowledge by adding new perspectives authenticated with new and relevant sources and facts. Unfortunately, I was severely disappointed. By no means am I a Malcolm X scholar, but the majority of the information presented seemed to amalgamate all previous books published while providing little new information.
The most contested assertion rests on information that has been interpreted to prove that Malcolm X participated in homosexual activity throughout his life. The debate has caused me great frustration. First, homosexuality is often the weapon of choice used by academics and psuedo-intellectuals to smear and tarnish the reputations of those who are antagonistic to the status quo and are lauded by oppressed communities throughout the world. Second, its unfortunate that homophobia, which undergirds this type of intellectual warfare, propels this discussion. The intention is to identify homosexuality as an unforgivable character flaw that repudiates the entire life’s work of a given individual. In addition, it posits the theory that we are defined by our sexual practices and alliances and not our character, not our work, and especially not our attempts to liberate ourselves and the community.
As a scholar, especially as biographer, it is important to not only substantiate claims about the personal lives of those we are repositioning in new texts but to draw direct connections between that information and the legacy the individual leaves behind. It is unfortunate that Marable fails to make that connection. For example in chapter 14, which represents November 24, 1964 - February 14, 1965, Marable states “Malcolm appears to have begun an illicit sexual affair with an eighteen-year-old OAAU secretary names Sharon 6X Poole. Little is known about her or about their relationship expect that it appears to have continued up to Malcolm’s death.” Considering Marable’s timeline this “illicit affair” would have lasted at most two and a half months. What does this uncorroborated assertion bring to the legacy of Malcolm X other than to besmirch his credibility? Just as there is so much more to Malcolm’s legacy, there is so much more we should hold Marable accountable for addressing.
Thematically, Marable asserts that Malcolm’s life was one of continuous reinvention. By using a linear chronology antithetical to the Pan-Africanist cyclical ideology that Malcolm ascribed to towards the end of his life, Marable uses specific dates to identify periods of Malcolm’s life that demarcated the end of one persona and the beginning of another. I wholly agree that Malcolm experienced several transformations especially concerning his social and political views as many individuals do. However, despite reinvention as a theme Marable only allows Malcolm to change on the surface and continually brings up things that were associated with his past and uses them to define Malcolm as a man. He continuously uses prior insinuations as motivations for action or inaction despite the chronologically marked and identified reinvention of Malcolm’s life. In particular, this method is used to describe and justify aspects of Malcolm’s relationship with his wife, Betty Shabazz.
Though Marable died shortly before the release of this work, current critiques are not an attempt to discredit him as a scholar. Marable will be remembered for all that he contributed to intellectual history. Lively debate concerning his work does not demean his legacy, but merely reaffirms his prominence among the academic community.
Ultimately, this book is a useful resource for all those interested in the legacy of Malcolm X. It should not be considered the definitive work of our own black shining prince, but serve as a catalyst for further research discussion and debate. Excellent points are made about Alex Haley’s work on The Autobiography of Malcolm X as well as great information about the history of the Nation of Islam and the development of the Muslim Mosque, Inc. and the Organization of Afro-American Unity. I was thoroughly impressed with the geographic tracking of Malcolm while he was in Africa. Aligning his ideological development with his travel to countries experiencing various political changes deeply defines the essence of Malcolm’s Pan-Africanist views. In essence, reclaiming our history by finding the truth delivered in works such as these is the bold attempt of a historically disenfranchised intellectual heritage to recreate, redefine, and reaffirm the beauty of our icons and the humanity of our people, the fundamental expression of freedom, an ideal that Malcolm always held at the forefront of his livelihood. Let us embrace further discussion and heated debate as a pathway for truth. Hubert Humphrey said it clearly, “Freedom is hammered out on the anvil of discussion, dissent, and debate.”

Abibifahodie.

Summary and Critique of Diane Ravitch’s “The Death and Life of the Great American School System”

Summary and Critique of
Diane Ravitch’s “The Death and Life of the Great American School System”

Prior to reading this book, I did not know much about Diane Ravitch, her politics, or her analysis of education in America. I was briefly introduced to her when a colleague shared her notable 2010 article in the New York Times entitled, “The Myth About Charter Schools,” after a staff viewing of Waiting for “Superman”. (Ironically, I was working at a new charter school in Philadelphia at the time.) I thoroughly enjoyed her critique and analysis of the perpetuation of myths regarding public education through this highly publicized and highly funded cinematic campaign for charter schools. To say the least, I was curious to dive deeper into her exploration regarding the charter school movement by reading her newest work “The Death and Life of the Great American School System”.
To understand the significance of this work, it must be understood that this text was birthed out of a woman who for decades with an extreme amount of zeal and academic fervor supported the exact reforms and strategies she is now finding antithetical of democracy. In the opening chapter, Ravitch anecdotally describes how she came to understand her new position on public education. She refers to this realization as an “intellectual crisis” and a “wrenching transformation” on her perspective. After completing the book, I would consider this more of a self “weheme mesu” (Weheme mesu is translated from mdw ntr, the language of the ancient Egyptians, as “the repetition of the birth”. This is the first expression of the concept of renaissance in history. See “Reflections on the Revision of The African Centered Paradigm” by Jacob Carruthers.) , more commonly known as a renaissance, of sorts. Her original philosophy has rebirthed. She is again, who she once was. Admittedly, she states that she was swept up in a wave of quick fixes for problems in the education system and as she details in the chapters, various working relationships and political tides of the decades inadvertently caused her to think and act in opposition to her original philosophy on education.
Using the following chapters, Ravitch critically examines the ideological path of charter school and privatization movement. Chapter 2, entitled “Hijacked! How the Standards Movement Turned into the Testing Movement” sheds light on how her professional development coincided with the political views of education reform. Ravitch describes how her work, under President G. H. W. Bush’s administration, to create voluntary national curriculum standards was single-handedly destroyed by Lynne V. Cheney and her accusation that the draft for the subject of history leaned towards political propaganda. This sparked a debate on what, who, when, and where should hold influence in history curriculums nationwide. Once that debate entered the political arena, standards were quickly abandoned and a more favorable accountability measure was pushed: high-stakes testing.
Chapters 3, 4, and 5 give explicit examples of how this new focus on reform played out in several noted districts in the United States. Ultimately, these stories do not have happy endings. However, the quick wins that were presented by the several administrations mentioned overshadowed the harsh reality that nothing had really changed for any of the districts. Academic success as heralded in the media by the administration in those districts were the result of data manipulation, staff coercion, and the pupeteering of student populations.
Chapters 6 and 7 discuss the impact of national and local legislation on education. Nationally, No Child Left Behind, enacted in January of 2002 under President George W. Bush, was a school accountability plan focused on strict measurement and severe consequences. President Barack Obama recently reenacted this legislation. Though bipartisan, NCLB has some harsh critics. Ravitch herself saw no initial problem with the system, but now is highly critical in its attempts to foster “proficiency” in mathematics and reading across the country. Even more interesting is the concept of choice and its development in Milwaukee, Cincinnati, and Washington, DC. Ravitch presents that these new options in the districts did not effectively impact the system as anticipated. The main reason for this was due to the fact that not many families took up the opportunity to use their “choice”. In addition, the rating systems used to determine choice eligibility proved arbitrary and inaccurate in many districts.
The final chapters are a presentation of Ravitch’s analysis of the situation at hand. Discussing her high school teacher, Mrs. Ratliff, she thinks about the concept of a great teacher. As a student, she felt that her teacher was wonderful and in retrospect she suspects that Mrs. Ratliff would not have been as great if she was under all of the regulations and assessments that teachers under NCLB must endure. Teacher accountability is extremely important, but measuring that accountability should not sacrifice the quality of actual learning that occurs in the classroom. However, chapter 10 was the most interesting to me. Ravitch discusses the impact foundation funding has on the national education agenda. This is not surprising considering the history of philanthropy and education from Rosenwald to Rockefeller, the national education agenda has always been in the palms of foundations. Ravitch ultimately argues that the individuals running foundations are having the greatest impact on the reforms that are enacted. The checks and balance system that is the basis of American democratic philosophy ends with philanthropy. What a philanthropist determines with their checkbook, is not up for scrutiny. This is ironic considering that philanthropists are able to write these checks because of tax legislation that was intended to support social welfare. Private donations are essentially public dollars.
I thoroughly enjoyed reading this book. I think that Ravitch cleverly used her background in the history of American education as a backdrop for the discussion of current trends. In fact, I am now privy to many concepts in education that I had yet to explore. In addition, Ravitch’s personal narrative describing her “weheme mesu” is important considering her role and relationship to some of the major power players in education. I hope that her presentation in this book may enlighten and even influence individuals who still believe in educational quick wins and quick fixes to think broadly and realistically at the dire situation at hand. Reformers, policy makers, and historians should critically read this text and take Ravitch’s recommendations as a basis for educational revolution in the future.

Since then...

the timing of this is impeccable...

My last post was concerning the good morning text....

He doesn't exist anymore
I mean he is alive
But he needs not be a part of my world anymore
He is married
married
married.
He's sorry.
BUT he aint even sorry.
He's trifling,
and
the least bit remorseful about it.

I forget sometimes,
that I'm way to awesome for THEIR bullshit.

one thing I don’t need is any more apologies I got sorry greetin me at my front door you can keep yrs I don’t know what do wit em they don’t open doors or bring the sun back they don’t make me happy or get a morning paper didn’t nobody stop using my tears to wash cars cuz a sorry
Lady in Blue

He has contacted me twice.
No sir, we cannot be friends.
NAW NIGGA, GET THE HELL ON MAYNE.

the nerve. the absolute nerve.
the audacity of the 6ft 5in of bald headed man o sexiness
to think that i could ignore
the fact that
he's married.

this not is attached to a plant i've been watering since the day i met you you may water it
your damn self

friendship is awesome
when you deserve it
its rewarding
when you work hard it
but once you abuse it
or take it for granted
i'm completely over it

i am simply tired of collecting i didnt know i was so important to you i'm gonna haveta throw some away i cant get to the clothes in my close for alla the sorries i'm gonna tack a sign to my door leave a message by the phone if you called to say yr sorry call somebody else i dont use em anymore -Lady in Blue

with one final deep and complete eye roll...

door slam on alladat

The Good Morning Text

At some point during our lives, we have all been smitten for someone. This smitten-ness has caused us to be completely enveloped in every interaction we have with that person. We remember every hug, smile, phone call and TEXT MESSAGE. More often than not, it's those text messages that get the emo pot stirring. Those short expressions of interest maintain the wonderment of a new budding relationship. Easily delivered. Easily accessible. The text message has quickly become the main mode of communication for many.

One would think that since the text message is used so often that it would not maintain a special bond between two people. However, the highly sought and rarely received "good morning text" is a prime example of how mobile communication has changed the face of relationships.

The good morning text let's you know that that person is thinking about you as soon as they wake up. You are the first person they find a need to talk to. They want to be the first person you talk to. No matter how you look at it, it means something special.

When I was 18...

Sister ArmedPropaganda asked that a few people take a moment and reflect upon being 18. I feel awkward doing so, mainly because 18 was only 5 years ago. However, in hindsight, I have changed tremendously over the last 5 years. Anyway, as for the matter at hand, when I was 18....

Like Kanye, I worked at the GAP. To me, that was the achievement of a lifetime. The GAP, the store that I routinely spent what little money I had on jeans, sweaters, skirts, and blazers was now paying me to give them their money back. Oh how glorious. Shoutouts to PG Plaza... that mall became my haven throughout undergrad.

I lost my virginity at 18. It was unceremonial. Not bad, just not noteworthy. I don't even know where that guy is now. eh.

When I was 18, the song of the moment was Drop It Like Its Hot. Which once again ignited my deep, passionate and unrelenting love for Mr. Pharrell Williams. I can remember blasting it in the speakers where I worked after a long night of doing nothing in Crandall Hall. (Quad Girl for Life!!!)

I didn't drink. Can you believe that? Word, I wasn't BIG on alcohol at that time.

I was a size 12. I was just talking to my sister Anoa about how when we have kids, they aren't going to look at pictures and ask about us when we were "skinny". I'll prolly be this same size till I die (hopefully!).

I had a perm. Well, I kinda did. My last perm I got in May (at age 17) and I didn't cut my hair until December. Perhaps it would be better to say that at 18.... I made the transition from creamy crack to nappy and happy.

I had my first LEGIT Valentine's date. I can't remember where we went to dinner, but he got me a stuffed bear and a gift card to Up Against the Wall (RIP).

I first saw Floetry in concert. I fell in love with the Songstress.

My favorite outfit was a white RocaWear sweater that was off the shoulders that I wore with my RockaWear jeans and wheat Timbs.

Oh yea, at 18.... I owned hella pairs of Timbs.

I worked two jobs...besides the GAP, I worked at a law office as a legal assistant.

When I was 18, I hated clubs. ...I was shy.... I still am, but now I can drink legally.

When I was 18, I bible-thumped.

I met THIS GUY, which is great because I know he's ride or die... and I needed that then...and more importantly NOW.

I went on my first legit dates at 18. I couldn't date during high school (not that there was anyone who I could/would/should have dated). Actually, I think I got more play at 18 than I do now at 23. I must have looked young and virginal. Men are predators! I joke.

When I was 18, I wore green colored contacts and had a blonde afro. Confused much? Or aboriginal perhaps? I don't know what I was going for, but I thought I was doing the damn thing, that is for sure.

*thinking*

Wow, at 18, I joined Facebook. Howard, the first HBCU to have Facebook. (Wow, my spell checked just red squiggly lined me because I didn't capitalize Facebook. Damn YOU, Mark Zuckerberg, for taking over the damn world.)

I met the ladies that are going to be in my wedding, godparent my children, and sing at my funeral.

18 was cool. Life only got more awesome after that. Would I go back and do it again? In a heartbeat. If I did, I would do it fearlessly.

I needed a blogpost. I needed some chill time. I needed to reflect. Thanks, C-Fit!

...what can't I do on the internet?

Click here to get ordained.

Raw Food Fast - Day 1

Breakfast! (and lunch!)

Dinner!

Twice during 2009, I embarked on a spiritually, physically and mentally rewarding experience: The Master Cleanse...

My first time, was also my first time fasting. Never had I made a commitment to actually taking the mental steps to separate myself from food. I last only 72 hours... and then found myself at happy hour...

The second time was the week before my birthday. Committed to shedding old feathers and emerging RENEWED I cleansed for a full 7 days. Very rewarding....

THIS TIME... I'm going the raw food route. Organic juice and all the fruits and veggies a young woman could ask for...

my apologies for the over dependence on the ellipsis. (i rhyme and rip i rip and i rhyme... haha)

Anyway, the day started out well. I spent one million dollars on fresh fruits and veggies that I am dedicated to eating for the next week. I had a bowl of fruit for breakfast and the same thing for lunch. However, as I routinely need to be reminded, my life nor my DAILY existence is my own, Oludumare and a host of others had other plans for me.

All is well. I am fed. I am blessed. I'm ready for the world... *cue Jamie Foxx*

Hopefully I can get more creative with my menu throughout the week but I have scholarship that I need to FOCUS on!

How do I feel?

Great. Awake. I was slightly sluggish this morning but was easily inspired to get back up and continue my day. The only issue I'm having is that I am quite...hmmm...*vaporous*. I'm gonna chalk that all up to toxins tho!

o daa ro!

When I think of home...

I love my family.

Over the last few years, as I have come to grips with the notion that I am in fact a woman. A woman responsible for bearing the responsibility of fostering and nurturing human life. A woman responsible for creating a home. A woman responsible for the growth and development of (many) children.

I can not shirk it.

Sooner or later, my rockstar lifestyle inclusive of raunchy rhythm and blues and one-night stands with books, will have to end. Maybe not completely... but my priorities will shift from my own personal (and somewhat guilty) pleasures to the well-being of my family: my husband and my (the) kids.

But what does that actually mean for me?

I'm young and by no means (trapped) in a relationship that is forcing me to seriously consider these things, but it is something that I think about.

Where do I wanna call home?

It is no secret that I dropped Milwaukee like a dirty roach infested rag when I graduated in high school and I've been making sweet melodious love to the east coast ever since.

BUT...
my family is in milwaukee.

When I say family... I mean MY FAMILY is there: mom, dad(s), brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandmomma, grandma grace and host of other people that watched (lovingly) me grow up. AND...I'm always the first one to trump the family card. "YOU ALWAYS HAVE YOUR FAMILY. WHAT U GON DO WITHOUT YOUR FAMILY? HOW U GON TREAT YOUR FAMILY LIKE THAT?" So I understand the necessity of surrounding yourself with your family. Living amongst them, depending on them, supporting them and being a PART of the family unity.

I hate Milwaukee.

Hate is a strong word, but I deem it absolutely necessary. I cannot see myself living there without being miserable. I'm not saying anywhere on the east coast is where I'm gonna be but I just can not go to Milwaukee.

but why Mo? WHYYYYY?

First, I'm going to say that my undergradate experience (HU! YOU KNOW!!!) created a monster with me. A monster that needs constant nourishment of fresh oceanic seafood, exposure to peoples and cultures all over the world, emancipated minds, and liberated souls. Second, I've created a familial unit out here. I've got brothers and sisters out here who I need my kids to learn from. I need them and I like to think they need (or at least want me around) as well. Lastly, I'm naturally nomadic. I love to move and experience new places and I'M NOT DONE YET...

but where does that put me?

I've got two families that are very very important for me. I need them both to survive. I need them both to care for me. I need to have consistent access to them no matter the circumstance. I will always live up to my responsibilities no matter what. If mom dukes makes the call and says I need to come home... I'll be there in the quickness.

i am growing up (despite my efforts to remain a youngin forever) and there has to be a real consideration of how i PHYSICALLY place myself in relation to my family (all aspects). It becomes extremely pertinent when I think about doing Ph.D. work. That is a serious time commitment a serious commitment to a space and nurturing myself within that space.

space.


My response to how I handle this situation, how I effectively juxtapose myself between my desires and my responsibilities...will be a test of my GANGSTA...you know what other folks refer to as CHARACTER.

To sum the situation up: "Character is the courage to meet the demands of reality."


just some thoughts... i know i haven't blogged lately. #blackhistorymonth scholarly writing fail.

slacking on my macking

this made my day....

so, presently I'm standing
here right now
you're so demanding
tell me what you want from me
concluding
concentrating on my music, lover and my babies
makes me wanna ask the lady for a ticket outta town...

so can I get a window seat
don't want nobody next to me
I just want a ticket outta town
a look around
and a safe touch down
can I get a window seat
don't want nobody next to me
I just want a chance to fly
a chance to cry
and a long bye bye..

but I need you to want me
I need you to miss me
I need your attention, yes
I need you next me
I need someone to clap for me
I need your direction
somebody say come back
come back baby come back
I want you to need me
come back come back baby come back
come back come back baby come back
come back come back baby come back

so, in my mind I'm tusslin'
back and forth 'tween here and hustlin'
I don't wanna time travel no mo
I wanna be here
I'm thinking
on this porch I'm rockin'
back and forth light lightning hopkins
if anybody speak to scotty
tell him beam me up..

so can I get a window seat
don't want nobody next to me
I just want a ticket outta town
a look around
and a safe touch down
can I get a window seat
don't want nobody next to me
I just want a chance to fly
a chance to cry
and a long bye bye..

but I need you to miss me
I need somebody come get me
I need your attention
I need your energy
I need someone to clap me
I need your direction

somebody say come back
come back baby come back
come back come back baby come back
come back come back baby come back
come back come back baby come back

but can I get a window seat
don't want nobody next to me
I just want a ticket outta town
a look around
and a safe touch down...

I just wanna chance to fly
a chance to cry
and a long bye bye...

this thing called love

"However, my understanding of mutual love tells me that it's most likely to grow where the parties involved relate affectionately not merely to each other, but to something shared that transcends and includes them." - Ayi Kwei Armah Eloquence of the Scribes (p. 163)

I have had the most fantastic weekend.

I love my sisters.

It aint over yet, either.

I know you're jealous.

I'm about halfway through Eloquence of the Scribes and though I do not know if my calling (responsibility) is to write as of yet, but I will say that Armah be SPEAKING in this text on some REALLY REAL type SH*T. Pardon the language, but if you are so inclined to engage yourself in his work, I am sure you will understand what I am talking about.

I am not the one to "name" all the various types of love. One HAS TO admit that the english language does a great disservice by only providing one word to describe the variety of relationships that on this earth. Honestly, how can one honestly use the same word to describe the passion that they have for their career and the respect and enamor an individual has for their spouse. It can't be done. It simply does not make sense.

With all that being said, lessons in this thing called love abound in our daily lives if we choose to accept them for what they are worth.

from 12/13/09

Though we often speak proverbially about being stuck between a rock and hard place, there are times, when that is exactly where you find yourself.

Just an hour ago, I hastily turned in my last paper of the semester. I will be the first to admit that it is no where near to my best work and barely represents my commitment to academic excellence, but I am drained.

Completely and utterly drained.

However, just when you think your chips are down, you realize that other people don't even have chips and no one told them that there was a game going on.

I often refer to these personal realizations.... when you are the odd man out, as classic Charlie Brown moments. At times, Linus' wise quote: "Of all the Charlie Browns in the world, you're the Charlie Browniest."

tales of a sixth grade nothing: natty is as natty does.

I am very different person than I was when I was in the 6th grade.

However, something I said to a friend of mine continues to haunt me to THIS very day.

In sixth grade, I was what some may refer to as "the shit". I mean, not to toot my own horn or anything, but I was bright, funny, athletic, had a boyfriend... basically the jealous dream of every sixth grade girl in the world. (iJoke, iKid).

There were four girls in my sixth grade class. We did everything together. Did homework, played basketball, cracked jokes. Everything. Together. Always. Ironically enough, in my predominately white school (at that time, it no longer is), there was only one white girl in the group. I hope she reads this... still have made love for that whole crew.

Even more ironic, this story isn't about her.

The story is about "Chico". To this very day, I have no idea why we nicknamed her Chico. But that is what we called her... and always called her. If I see her tomorrow, I will exclaim "CHICO!". (Sixth grade girls make no sense.) Anyway, in the sixth grade I was proudly sporting my permy hair up and down the hallway. I think people may refer to that as "stunting" these days, but whatever you call it, I. WAS. DOING. IT.

The white girl of course had straight hair, as did I, and one of the other black girls. However, "Chico" did not. She had natural hair that she wore in pigtails/braids. I didn't get why her hair wasn't permed like ours. I mean, pigtails were for little girls, and we were NOT little girls. I remember distinctly saying, "Chico, when you gonna get a perm!?" I was literally exasperated at the thought of her natural pigtails bouncing all around.
Chico went to a different school the next year. I'm a 90s child, so we didn't have all the cell phones, facebook, and twitter hullabaloo that our younger siblings have access to. As far as I was concerned, I didn't know if I would ever see Chico again. I always thought about her when my bus passed her house on Bender though.

Time passed.

I stopped being the "shit" and became a normal self-absorbed teenager like everyone else. I went to high school with all my middle school friends. Swept up in a pool of creamy goodness (only some will catch that joke), I relished in my effervescent Afrikan-ness without even know what I was doing. My fellow MLHS alums can recall step routines during black history month chapels, questioning the validity of pictures of white jesus everywhere and the demand to celebrate Martin Luther King Jr's bday. (we never had off on that day, neither did we celebrate. I raised a stink and as soon as we graduated, that day was marked off on the calendar).  During my senior, I got really bold... I told my mom that I was threw with perms and wanted to wear my hair natural. (the look of most of my friends at that time equated to the phrase: "DA HELL!?" I wasn't bold enough to do it before graduation. Besides, there are just somethings you CAN'T do in your mother's house.

I graduated and LEFT Milwaukee. I mean I LEFT that place. Three weeks after graduation I moved to Washington, DC. I haven't spent more than two weeks in Milwaukee since then. I miss my family, but I have to admit.... I'm an east-coaster now.

December 2004, in Crandall Hall RM101 in the Harriet Tubman Quadrangle on Howard University's campus... I sat in my room struggling to take out yet ANOTHER set of Senegalese Twists that I BEGGED to get. With pain and agony mixed with an extreme bout of laziness, I called in my Resident Assistant and asked her to CUT THEM THANGS OFF.

So at 1am, after fall classes were complete but before I went home for break, we cut ALL of my hair off.

No shame in my game.

I went to my aunts house the next day. I put a little dye in my hair and proudly boarded the plane to Milwaukee.

For those of you who know me today, you know that my hair is far from the itty bitty afro it was in December 2004. My philosophy on hair is completely different than it was at that time as well. I am not the one to say all girls with natty's are DOWN and all permies are "confused". but I will readily admit that it will be over my own dead body that any of my daughters will place a perm in their head (no offense to Madame CJ Walker, but dag woman, I wish you coulda made ur millions off of our natural beauty!).

Anyway, I still feel bad about my insistence for "Chico" to perm her hair. To this very day. I always wanted her to know that I felt different now. Not that she cared, not that she even remembered, but just to say that is not how I feel anymore.

About 2 hours ago, I was on Facebook... procrastinating, as usual... and a friend suggestion was in my mailbox.

You will not believe who it was..... (yeah, you will).

Yup, Chico.

It's been over 10 years....and there's her picture....and her hair.... permed.

*cue 808s and Heartbreak*

Just kidding. Her hair is pretty, but of course, I still feel guilty. (what kinda self-confidence does one have to have to honestly believe that some comments she made in sixth grade have any bearing on the adult decisions that a woman makes over 10 years later? i dunno, but i guess thats what God gave me... I hope I learn to use my imagined powers for good one day.)

Chico, I'm sorry for ever being in your ear in the 6th grade telling you to get a perm. I shouldn't have done that, but I didn't know any better at the time. I love your hair then, NOW...more than ever. Nevertheless, I'm glad to see you on facebook. Hopefully, we can reconnect sometime when (if) I make it back to Milwaukee. Glad to see you doing well! Peace, Monique

blogging is NOT a habit...however, stuntin is...

I think I enjoy coming up with titles for my posts more than I actually like to write them.

Today is blah.

I'm unmotivated, uninterested, unmoved.

I didn't study my Yoruba.

I didn't work on my AP.

I didn't re-do my resume.

I told myself that I was going to take the time to write blogs everyday during black history month. Today is going to be a fail on that account.

Clearly, I should have went to the gym this morning. Maybe I would have some more energy.

Twitter, I miss you. (so lame)

anyway.... where's my boo at? <--- yes, that is what I meant to say.

GUD NITE.

look forward to an exciting Black History Month

I cannot tell a lie.

I love me some Twitter.

Since November of 2008, I have found myself daily logging in as blacksoulfuleye, rastahfahree, or mobettabluez and immersing myself in the plentitude of news and entertainment information. I am surprised how my twitternetwork has grown... from following only celebrities to having an account with 700+ followers. I will not be claim to one of Twitter's Most Influential by any means, but yea, I have some clout.

However, all of this Twitter madness has caused me to spend an inordinate amount of time on the twitter pages. Tweeting. ReTweeting. Trending topics. Follower counts. Timelines. Slowly, the this stringent twitter diet began to flood my entire being. I referred to people I knew in REAL life by their twitternames. I spoke in #hashtags. Basically, my whole existence is gradually wrapping itself like seaweed on a sashimi roll around da twittah pages. 

I cannot have it.

It was cool during the summertime. When my days were filled with nothing but menial paper pushing at the J-O-B or when I only logged on at a computer, but that dagblasted Blackberry allowed me to be attached to every single tweet  each second. 

I am not strong enough to just ignore Twitter.

I like it.

I enjoy it.

I want it.

BUT there are other things that I NEED to be spending more time on...

1) Graduation. This time in Delaware is coming to an end. I will be (finally) attaining my MPA. The only way I will be allowed to walk across the stage and raise that black power fist in victory is if I complete this dreaded academic work known in these parts as an analytical paper. Forty pages. Approved by the faculty. Needs to be complete by March 1. The time for games has surely ended.

2) As, JT is famous for saying, "I'm bringing sexy back." I am extremely proud of myself to the commitment I have had to improving my own physical health over the last year and half. Due to variety of events, most notably the onset of UL (uncontrollable laziness), I haven't been giving my body its due diligence.

3) The job search is on. If there is one thing I am sure of about my life after May 29, 2010, its the fact that I will NOT be living in Delaware anymore. Under any circumstances. I must take myself away from this *whispering* WRETCHED place. The people are lame. The social life is lame. And frankly, Delaware is, in and of itself, a PHUCK which I do not care to give. (hattip to @phontigallo, twitter wins again). With that being said, I need to be on my P's and Q's and watching the job posts like the hyenas from the Lion King were watching Simba and Nala. Can we say #predator?  Praise Obama we can. I will do so right until I get a job that pays well and allows me to just MOVE THE HELL ON.

4) All across my social networking personas, I have been letting people know that I want to become a woman of purposeful speech and diligent scholarship. This means I need to learn how to be more clear and exact with my words by taking the time to research the things which I believe to be important. I have an agenda, I am not afraid to share with you all: I am for the liberation of African peoples from white supremacy, economically, socially and educationally. Point. Blank. Period.

Let me say that again. I am sure you all did not hear me.

I am for  (STAND FOR, LIVE FOR, DIE FOR) the liberation of African peoples from white supremacy, economically, socially and educationally.

I am not (and will not) be an uneducated warrior. This requires an amount of focus that I have not previously dedicated to my personal library and writing. In the spirit of Seshat, I need to be of DILIGENT scholarship... a scribe dedicated to the research and education of African (world) history and the pursuit of a Pan-Africanist agenda.

Literary pimpin' aint easy.

With all of that being said...

I am taking a break (fast) from Twitter.

For the month of February, I will not be on Twitter. I will post my blog entries there so many will know that I am still alive, but my time will be best utilized elsewhere on the internet.

Stop your tears.

Come March 1st, the game will be back on. Hopefully fiercer than ever, at least that is my prayer.

Don't you worry... there is still BBM, AIM, Facebook... and ... dare I say it... my phone number.

Tomorrow is my last day. I'll miss you Twitter (I ain't gonna lie here either).

ifayabale. hatshepsutspeaks.

Resilient Rhythm - Haiti Fundraiser Friday 2/5 in Philly! Come Support

Jam of the Day 1/17/09

GRADUATION!

MPA!!!!