"When I was twenty-seven the stock market crash came. When I was twenty-eight, my personal crash came. Then I guess I woke up. So. When I was almost thirty, I began to make my living from writing. This is the story of a Negro who wanted to make his living from poems and stories." ~ Langston Hughes, I Wonder as I Wander: An Autobiographical Journey.
after show (at no extra charge): my mother and i walk arm in arm. she throws her head back in beautiful laughter. dread steps from shadows. shouts what the fuck you laughin at. calls her white racist bitch.
i wrap my arms around her and do not shout back. she says it does not bother her.
The children at Refugee Community Center (RCC) come from Africa, Asia, Eastern Europe, and the Middle East. In this safe place, asking where one is from always follows asking one’s name. I was surprised, then, when Abdi answered that he is from Atlanta. Dressed in his light blue, oversized, Phat Farm t-shirt and baggy jeans, he certainly looked like an ATL-ien, but the context had me expecting something else.
Katherine had told us that a special federal allowance (or perhaps oversight) had broadened the scope for RCC beneficiaries. Like most state and federal policies, her explanation seemed cloaked in a cape of bureaucracy, but the main gist entailed a loosened restriction on the maximum number of years a family could remain in the United States and still receive aid from RCC. Certain families, then, had been here for five years or more and were currently utilizing services from RCC, but Katherine predicts this will be tightened again once those in control figure out what is going on. For the time being, I’m glad that the bureaucratic confusion allowed for Abdi’s family to slip under the radar. For now, I have the opportunity to work with a young brother trying to learn his abc’s.
For the past several days, I have helped Abdi with seemingly countless worksheets. The topics are estimation, spelling, and more estimation. “Estimate the length of your desk,” one problem instructs on a worksheet. “Now, measure the length of your desk.” There are about 15 of these on a page, and Abdi works through it diligently yet absently. It doesn’t require much of his attention; perhaps because the questions are so repetitive and he has had virtually the same worksheet four out of the past six days.
On Thursday, I walked out of RCC with him as his mother rolled up in a gold Nissan Maxima. She is a beautiful Somali woman with a wide smile and a gap between her two front teeth. With a tiny baby girl in the back, Abdi’s mother strained across the passengers seat to ask me how Abdi is doing. “He is doing well!” I reported cheerfully, because he is finishing his homework everyday and he does share with the other third graders and he does engage in conversation with the other tutors and me. He hopped into the backseat, and his beaming mother looked back at him. “Wonderful,” she said, in a way that was so sincere my arm hairs jumped up.
How much faith do parents put in school teachers? How much do they expect that teachers will assign work that will broaden their children’s minds? How much can worksheets really do? How many worksheets does Abdi’s mother think his teacher hands out each day?
I should have told his mother that I think we should devise some more enriching homework for him. I could have asked her if she knew what he was doing each night for homework. I could have, but I didn’t. I probably will tomorrow. For today, though, I just wanted for everything to be as simple as it should be.
“You don’t wanna hear the truth, so I’ma lie to you, make it sound fly to you…” In his unique lyrically-genius style, Cee-Lo shows us at the end of The Experience (from the Still Standing album, LaFace Records, 1998) that he has what it takes to work in mainstream media today, in that he is willing to lie to those who refuse to hear truth. Only he drops the line at the end of the 2 minute 20 second intro, in which he has already slipped more truth to our ears than we have heard all season from the Today Show, Headline News, or the Fox Report. It is clear, then, that Cee-Lo is mocking both those who would rather hear lies, as well as the liars who decide to evade the truth.
I’ve been mad all week about last Saturday morning’s Today Show, and I only saw about 30 minutes of it as I ironed my clothes and ate my breakfast. It was enough, though, to illustrate the insidious ways that it and like shows use coverage and side comments and “expert guests” to interrupt our quest for truth. In thirty minutes, their pieces on the African Ancestral Burial Ground Memorial, the Duke Lacrosse trial, Marian Jones, and President Bush were enough to make me wonder if this was the “real” news or if my alarm clock had malfunctioned and I had actually woken up in the middle of Amy Poehler and Seth Meyer’s “Weekend Update” on SNL. But when they sprinkled in jokes about O.J.’s fake Rolex and played excerpts from Jessica and Cody’s Today Show wedding, I realized that it was actually the real news: slanted and careless and extremely problematic; but the real news in all its glory.
So it started with Lester Holt announcing what they’d talk about that morning. I was excited to hear that I’d learn about the Ancestral Ground Memorial opening, curious to see what they’d say about the Duke case, saddened to anticipate what Jones would say about her steroid use, and frustrated to think about whatever our president would say today on Today.
The voice over the Ancestral Ground Memorial opening pointed out that “historians say that they discovered the remains of what may have been thousands of Black slaves” who labored and died in what would become lower Manhattan. It caught my attention because the video footage showed archeologists dusting off remains of skeletons from a couple generations back, and ceremonies that commemorated the ways in which we had helped to build New York. Historians “say”? Did the voice over head not believe it was true? I know they don’t qualify other “truths”… especially not those that have been proven by science and recognized for over a decade. The short segment on the unveiling of the memorial space gave way to a much longer piece about the on-going Duke Lacrosse trial mishaps, and I wondered why a lawyer had been invited from North Carolina to join Lester on the couch, but nobody from downtown Manhattan to speak about our Ancestors.
A segment, much longer than that on the Ancestor Memorial, highlighted all the ways that District Attorney Mike Nifong had done wrong, and how the lacrosse players were pulling their lives back together after their terrible experience. Injustice is injustice for sure. Ill-prosecution is wrong, by all means. And no one deserves to be maligned at all. But when the lawyer for one of the young men said that this was the “worst case of prosecutorial misconduct in the history of the country,” I nearly chocked on my eggs. The Worst? Really? Do they not teach about the Scottsboro Trial in law school? Had he somehow slept through the tribulations of the Jena 6? I suddenly felt hyper-aware of my own implication in condoning such foolishness by watching the show at all. Recently gifted with a large-screen television, it dawned on me the danger of letting these images and words into my sacred space. Lester and the Duke lawyer seemed larger than life as they sat on the Today Show couch, and I pulled my bathrobe a little tighter.
The juxtaposition of the next two segments sent me from angry to disgusted. In the days since, it has weighed heavily on my mind, as my disgust has morphed into an unsettling fear. Of what exactly I do not yet know. But it has been seven days and I can’t seem to shake the disturbing sequence of the next two segments.
First, they showed a clip of Marian Jones’ press conference: her tearful apology for using steroids and her intentions to give back all the medals she had won in Sydney. Significantly, this beautiful Black woman stood in front of the world – crying – to admit that she had done wrong. “…it is with a great amount of shame, that I stand before you and tell you that I have betrayed your trust…I want you to know that I have been dishonest, and you have the right to be angry with me,” she said firmly. Instantly, I thought about the many ways that our president and other leaders have made dishonesty an official foreign and domestic policy, and heard myself saying, “Bush would never admit his lies.” Jones went on. “I am responsible for my actions…I have let [my fans] down, I have let my country down, and I have let myself down.”
As she talked on, tearfully, about the sincerity of her apology and her awareness that her apology might not be enough, I tried to picture Bush, standing at a podium, crying and speaking of his own shame, his acts of betrayal, his dishonesty, our right to be angry with him. I thought about the necessarily national rhetoric Jones was using, and the historical ties between Black American Olympiads and the country to which they are tied.
Just as I was about to call my homegirl to express my outrage, the footage of Jones zoomed out and in came our president, talking about his intolerance of any form of terrorism. “We will not stand for (pause… smirk) any form of terrorism (pause… grin) here or abroad.” Blah Blah Blah…
It occurred to me for a second that someone on the Today Show team was feelin me. They had to have done that on purpose, right? Whoever decided to juxtapose Jones and Bush was displaying clearly the audacity of those in our country that can – in the same breath – denigrate Jones and support Bush. I felt tied to the person that had faded one story into the next, and I strangely needed to believe they had done it on purpose.
When the lady behind the news desk laughingly reported that the Rolex that O.J. had given to officials was fake, and followed up by asking Lester and Natalie if they had any fake watches or jewelry, I realized I had seen enough. And as I walked across to turn off the TV, I caught a glimpse of all that is deemed right and good: Jessica and Cody’s Today Show Wedding. Beautiful and blond. Young and able-bodied. Heterosexual and happy… the list goes on and on.
Cee-Lo, please help us.
Oh, and I wrote to the folks at the Today Show, too. I requested a transcript or a tape or on-line access to see the show again, because I wanted to analyze it. I wanted to hold it so I could show racism-deniers that it is being screamed at us, in our bedrooms, from the friendly folks at Studio One-A in Rockefeller Plaza. I need these things, so that my anger doesn’t consume me; so that I can continue to balance righteous indignation and authentic joy. Yea, I realized that I didn’t just want it, I needed it. But when I wrote the e-mail and hit send, I heard a ding in my inbox, signifying a new message had arrived. Clicking on the message, my heart dropped: “Failure delivery. No such e-mail address.” Really? MS.NBC has the wrong e-mail address posted on their website for feedback/questions about their shows??
I suppose lying is easier when you believe that those to whom you are lying don’t wanna hear the truth.
It didn’t make the front page, but the New York Times headline on page four reads “Bomber Attacks Bus of Afghan Soldiers; 30 Dead.” Just yesterday, a suicide bomber who was dressed in an Afghan military uniform detonated a set of body-strapped explosives on the street next to the bus. Headed for a day of work in Kabul, the 27 soldiers were killed before they could report for duty. Two civilians died in the attack too; officials say this is one of the deadliest bombings in Afghanistan this year. Considering there have been just over 100 suicide bombings this year, with a reported death toll of 290 people, I wonder if it makes a difference that this was among the deadliest. When violence becomes so constant, can those living in it differentiate the magnitude of particular incidents? And what do the two Afghan police officials – who “wandered the street picking up body parts and dropping them into a plastic bag” – have to say about what is happening to their home?
President Hamid Karzai, who visited the United Nations and the White House and the Today Show last week, says now that he is eager to meet with Taliban leaders. He told Meredith Vieira that he is willing to offer members of the Taliban leading positions in the government if they will agree to stop the violence. He told Tim Russert that the $300 billion the United States has spent on the war in Iraq would have been better spent in Afghanistan, and that the United States has fallen far short of supplying necessary and appropriate aid to help Afghanistan rebuild. And he is promoting an amnesty program that is intended to bring non-violent Taliban members back (many of whom have sought refuge in Pakistan) to turn the tide in Afghanistan.
And speaking of tides, an international attempt to rebuild one of Afghanistan’s most crucial mechanisms for industry brings the Royal Anglican Regiment back to the country. I say “most crucial” because the hydroelectric dam in Kajaki has the potential of supplying a great deal of much needed energy to the country; I say “back” because Afghanistan only declared independence from England in 1919, when the Royal Anglicans were there in a different capacity to say the least. The situation in Kajaki today is grim beyond belief. Nearly everyone has left the area, displaced by American/NATO/Taliban violence and poppy-facilitated drug trade routes. There is apparently a small set of folks, including British soldiers and Afghan police officers, who have lived there for over a year, guarding the aged dam and waiting for renovation to begin. They say the Afghan police have not had contact with their family this entire time, and have only just recently been paid for their service. I would imagine the British soldiers have at least these minimal tokens of appreciation, though I dare say they would rather be home as well. When the Taliban attacked the damn last year, foreign promises of dam repairs, school construction, and clinic development fell silent. And as the 40 or so power station workers commute to work each day, through the Taliban-controlled zones that surround it, they continue to maintain this precious resource during their grueling 24-hour shifts. Engineers, who have been on deck since foreign promises to rebuild commenced, have begun to lose hope as the disillusionment of broken promises magnifies daily.
But speaking of engineers, there is hope brewing in places far from the suicide bombings in Kabul and the violence-ridden dam zone in Kajaki. There are thousands of refugees who have been scattered around the world, but who still feel connected to their home and committed to its future. One such example is a young woman named Mujahida[1], a tenth-grade student at Lewiston High School (LHS) and a participant in Refugee Community Centers’ (RCC) Saturday School program. She has been in the U.S. for just over two years and has learned an incredible amount in that short time. Committed to their education, she and her siblings study their lessons intensely, and supplement their LHS education with after school tutoring at the International Aid Foundation (IAF) and Saturday School at RCC. When they leave RCC at noon on Saturday, they ride MARTA down Memorial to the World Community School (WCS) for an adult English as a Second Language (ESL) class. Mujahida rattles off the acronyms effortlessly: her determined quest for knowledge is clear.
Yesterday, three college undergrads came to Saturday School to facilitate a workshop on Internet safety for the high school participants. “Okay, like, we obviously don’t know you yet and, like, you don’t know us so let’s start off by going around the room and saying our names and, like, our goals or whatever,” began the impeccably-dressed sorority girl who spoke with what seemed like a naïve confidence in front of a set of refugee teens who have seen the world. And so we began. “My name is Sarah, and I want to go to law school,” began the college students… “my name is Emily, and I want to go to law school too, actually,” another chimed in … “my name is Amina, and I want to be a teacher,” said one of the refugee students… “my name is Jillian, and I want to be a college professor,” I offered. Around the circle we went, with most of the high school girls saying they wanted to be teachers, and a few of them adding the goal of graduating from high school and attending college. With three people left to introduce themselves, Mujahida whispered, “my name is Mujahida, and I plan to be an engineer,” before she shyly dropped her head and scribbled something else into her notebook.
I had an opportunity to work with Mujahida yesterday, after the Internet safety workshop and during the homework help hour. Her Computer Applications teacher at LHS assigned a group project for the students to design a community business. She is carrying the weight of the three other people in her group, because they don’t speak English and seem lost in class. Like each of her assignments, she approached this one with rigor, and is in the process of creating a hypothetical shoe company that will give a federally-subsidized discount to students and retirees, such that people in these groups can buy shoes at half price. “I want for my company to serve the community,” she explained to me “and students and elderly people have a hard time making money.” For forty-five minutes, she remained entirely focused on “task 5” of a 10 task project, which was to write a letter to the federal government to ask for funding.
I have not talked with Mujahida as much as I have with some of the other students about life outside of school assignments; she remains so focused on her school work that it’s clear she is not in the business of small talk. This is the drive and determination and intelligence needed to become an engineer. And hers is the dream and passion and commitment needed to rebuild her home.
[1] Mujahida is a pseudonym; it is also and Afghani name that means “one who works hard.”
the. phattest. performance.
