In my previous post I wrote about reparations to heal a nation. I explained in great detail why they are owed, to whom they are owed, and how I’d like to see them distributed. I printed out my post and sent a copy to President Biden, my House and Senate representatives, and the majority and minority leaders of both the House and Senate. I even sent a copy to Governor DeSantis. I fully understand that actual reparations as I described may be impossible, however, I feel a duty to offer solutions and to exercise my right to petition our government. Because reparations may never come, I want to address how we as African Americans can once again work to repair ourselves.
After slavery, we did our best to repair, restore and rebuild our battered lives. We were denied the forty acres and a mule, but we forged a way forward anyway. America did not invite us to join the “melting pot”, so we were forced into segregation, the lowest paying jobs and the worse sections of town. In 1916, we began moving north and west seeking jobs, leaving Jim Crow, and escaping racial violence. By the 1970s, 47% of us had fled the South. We established our own communities, our own businesses, our own schools, and our own churches and mosques. In the South, we had a little assistance from land grants to set up our own colleges and universities. We established social and political organizations to strengthen our communities and fight for our Constitutional rights. But we soon learned that much of what we built for ourselves or gained politically was subjected to a backlash from the white supremacists in the country. In fact, during the 1920s, the KKK boasted a membership of 4-5 million members across the country. The pockets of individual and community prosperity were targeted by jealous white folks and nefarious government intervention that allowed lynchings, broad discrimination, and land theft. Whole communities were targeted and destroyed.
Imagine trying your best to climb a ladder and having someone constantly pulling you down or worse, burning the ladder beneath your feet. That is what happened. And I think African Americans collectively lost some faith that the “American Dream” was even attainable. While some wallowed in despair, others chose to quietly strategize, and still others chose to fight publicly for access to that “Dream”. I recognize now that my family in general were the quiet strategy folks who kept their heads down and quietly prepared to enter every door of opportunity through education, hard work, and undeniable competence. Although they were quiet, they supported the civil rights movement and were shocked by its sudden end. I recall an extended time of confusion shortly after Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated.
Eventually, that confusion led me to have a serious conversation with my mother when I was a teenager. I challenged her conviction that I could do or become anything I wanted. Despite the new civil right laws, even at that young age, I could sense the contradiction between her words and the forces that were clearly against black progress. Thankfully, she was able to convince me to continue to strive for excellence and progress. She quoted scriptures like, “If God be for us, who can be against us?” and “A man’s gift will make room for him and bring him before kings”. I engraved those scriptures upon my heart and used her high expectations and constant words of encouragement as fuel to strive in school and in life despite the obstacles that sometimes exposed themselves.
I think it was helpful to spend my childhood surrounded by people from a variety of different cultures. In previous posts, I shared the life-lessons I gained from my encounter with other cultures. I believe those lessons served as a buffer against the internalized oppression many black people adopted. For example, I recall accusations like “acting white” being hurled at black students who tried to excel in school. I escaped that by attending school with academically competitive Asian students during a crucial time of my development. But that whole “acting white” nonsense greeted me at the black middle school I decided to attend. However, I was able to counter it by starting a club titled, “Get it Together”. I worked hard to convince my peers that excellence itself was a worthy pursuit.
America sent black students to poorly resourced schools but short-sighted voices within our own community were able to convince too many of us that to care about school was a white thing to be rejected. In fairness to them, perhaps they remained traumatized by those burned ladders and wanted to protect us from disappointment. But the truth is that a black child had to be emotionally strong enough to withstand that kind of pressure. Even the adults in our black church weren’t too keen on pursuing too much education. I recall the pastor of our church taking my teenage brother aside and trying to convince him to pursue the ministry rather than college as this was a safe and prosperous career choice. After that conversation, my brother rejected the church altogether and went to college. My mother, in her wisdom, left the black church and began attending a predominately white church in the San Fernando Valley where pursuing a higher education was encouraged.
The negative attitude toward education, especially among the most impoverished black people is a self-inflicted wound that contributes to a lack of mentors and role models in poor black communities. My husband talks about the unemployed black men he encountered on the streets in Baltimore who freely shared their uneducated worldly advice. He says he was on a path to nowhere good when he was drafted for Vietnam. He credits his six years in the Air Force for saving him from following in their footsteps.
For most of my childhood, society only encouraged black men to pursue trade jobs, music, the ministry and eventually sports. Businessmen, academics, and professionals were viewed as “uppity negros” often subjected to ridicule by blacks and whites alike. My father was one of those “uppity negros” who was a professional limited to work solely within the black community. I think his fraternal organization was of some comfort to him but the pressures he faced were immense. Although, he never complained about his struggles, he drank heavily and eventually died from his alcoholism.
There were so many frustrated black men like my father. It didn’t help that the federal government enacted anti-family policies, sanctioned the sale of illicit drugs in the black community, nor that we had more liquor stores than grocery stores in our communities. When any group of people are put under constant stress, discrimination, mistreatment, duress and subjected to pollutants in the water and air, there is bound to be a mental health crisis within that community. Hopeless and desperate people behave in desperate ways whether that be violence or an escape through drugs and alcohol. And the police were there to arrest, and judges were there to incarcerate those who acted out. In 2010 one third of black males had felony records.
But if I could point to one bright spot, I would have to point at liberal Hollywood producers who decided to show a different side of black life. I recall watching the show, “Julia” about a loving single black nurse raising her son. Then there was the “Jeffersons” about a successful black business owner and his family. And then there was “The Cosby Show” that for the first time depicted the family life of black professionals. These shows went a long way toward changing the image of black people, not only among white people, but among black people. “The Cosby Show” and subsequent shows like the “The Fresh Prince of Bel Air” represented the prospect for a culture shift.
I’ll end my post here because it is getting long. However, in my next post, I’ll continue to address the opportunity to repair our lives without reparation before dark forces close the doors and it is too late.