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Dirty South
Dr. M
(Marvin X)
A haunting place, but home of
my ancestors, a place of blood and terror, hate and
love. My child lives there, my grandson. They were in
Jenna today to be a part of history. My daughter wanted
her son to see history in the making, so they traveled
from Houston to Jenna by bus. There were so many people
my daughter and grandson were not able to hear the
speakers, but just being there was an experience,
especially for my ten year old grandson. My daughter has
been part of history since she was born. She was
conceived while I was in exile with her mother during
the Vietnam War era, so she is a political baby. She
learned to walk at the Black Educational Theatre I
founded in San Francisco while teaching at the
University of California, Berkeley,1972.
As a toddler, she heard the
sounds of Sun Ra’s Arkestra backing my play Take Care
of Business, so she is a child of the Black Arts
Movement. She grew up, married and settled in Houston.
She loves it there because she lives in a world of black
people, sometimes never seeing white people for days. It
is like this in the South, this land where my fathers
and mothers died, this land so haunted and vexed with
pain, guilt and shame, compounded with denial and
manners, etiquette, decorum, innuendo and
circumlocution.
When I copied my manuscript
in South Carolina, the sister at the copy center saw the
title How To Recover from the Addiction to White
Supremacy and said, “You ain’t from here.” I asked why
do you say that? “Because we don’t say that down here
(White Supremacy),” she replied. I didn’t ask why. I
knew it was because the South has manners—one can’t be
in your face as I am, a North American African from
California.
The South has another way of
doing things, not so crude and rude, but polite and
civil, even in their savagery, it is a civil savagery,
after all every one knows how to act, the oppressed and
the oppressor, so they do a dance, a masquerade, a
ballet of pure denial until things explode or those
outside agitators appear to rock the boat. And so they
came today to Jenna, rocking the boat of injustice,
hoping to change the traditional way of doing things,
attempting to bring the white supremacy customs to an
end after years, decades, centuries of corruption and
miscarriage of justice.
Will the people of Jenna get
it? Will America get it? We think not, not without a
second civil war. In spite of the blood and terror,
slavery and failed reconstruction, segregation,
integration and subtle and not so subtle racism of
today, there is the persistent and lingering desire on
the part of whites to continue white supremacy. It is in
the air, in the trees, in the swamps and bayous, in the
lakes and rivers, even the ocean beaches, a feeling that
all is not right and will not get right without a final
battle, the battle to end white supremacy once and for
all times.
And this is true in spite of
all the progress, all the interracial harmony, for in
spite of all the good, the bad, the evil persists like a
sore on the psyche, a disease of the heart that no
amount of political realignment can rectify, no amount
of religiosity, no amount of economic justice can heal.
Peace without justice is no peace at all, rather it is
merely prolonging the inevitable day when a generation
shall rise up and say no more sham peace, shame justice,
shame economic parity, but we want the real deal and
death is better than persecution.
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Dr. M grew up in Oakland. He
released two books in 2007,
Beyond Religion, Toward Spirituality
and
How To Recover from the Addiction to White Supremacy:
A Pan-Africanist 12 Step Model,
Black Bird Press, POB 1317, Paradise CA 95967, $19.95
each. He is available for speaking and reading
engagements. Call 510.355.6339. Visit his blog:
www.marvinxwrites.blogspot.com. On Friday, October 12, 7pm,
he will read and sign books at the Eastside Arts
Cultural Center, 2277 International Blvd., Oakland.
Seating is limited.
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Some Thoughts On Jena
By Nefertiti El
Muhajir
My Dad's email "Dirty
South" prompted me to jot down some thoughts while the
experience was still fresh on my brain.
Sometimes I feel
numb. Often numb because my brain is being flooded with
a million thoughts all at once. This is literally how I
felt today while in Jena, Louisiana. It was
overwhelming to see the gathering of so many black
people, to do something good. The few times that I have
experienced large crowds like that have been in the
presence of party revelers for Carnival celebrations in
Miami, Trinidad and New York. But it was a beautiful
thing to see so many blacks gathered, not in nudity, to
stand up for not merely the rights of the Jenna 6, but
for our individual rights. To know that the rights of
these six individuals can be trampled on, alerts one to
the reality that one’s own rights could be violated at
any given moment. To be too busy to care for another is
to not care for your own future.
I was preoccupied
with the Muslim brothers and sisters who were
responsible for organizing the caravan that I had joined
at Texas Southern University. I wondered what set them
apart from Christian brothers and sisters that I knew.
What made them so eager to be disciplined and organized
to get people together for an event like this and why
didn’t I see people from the churches that I knew. Why
when I called the large congregations in the area, no
one knew anything about any groups that were going?
I was amazed to see
groups of at least 500 motorcycle riders from Atlanta
make their presence known. As they were weaving in and
out of traffic and I started admiring the group
wondering what it would be like to have one of those
cool bikes myself, the people I was on the bus were
cussing and complaining about the cyclists saying things
like, “Who do they think they are?” and on and on.
Once we got to
Alexandria, Louisiana, the traffic virtually came to a
stand still. Students on one bus got tired of sitting in
traffic and decided to get off of the bus and walk the
rest of the way. Foolish young students, I thought to
myself, they have so much to learn. My thoughts were
confirmed when we passed them up moments later only to
continue driving another 25 miles into Jena. Experience
will be their only teacher unless they gain wisdom
soon.
While trying to
internalize the historical significance of this event,
many distractions bided for my attention. My major
preoccupation, however, was with my son. Initially he
was so eager to attend the event, but once there he
wondered if this was why he had missed school. I became
preoccupied with thoughts of what I am doing wrong as a
parent to make my son so discontent. He complained of
the heat (oh it was hot), and of not having food.
I tried to feed him
before we left but he didn’t want what I had. I packed
peanut butter and honey sandwiches, oranges, nectarines,
plums, apples, granola mix, juice and water. But it
wasn’t what he wanted. As I looked around seeing other
kids eating apples, grapes, and other snacks that their
mothers had prepared, my son kept whining for the BBQ
that one enterprising black vendor had set up. But
around me I saw people sitting down not absorbed in the
events of the day, but devouring their twinkies, hohos,
candy and other junk food.
I wanted to hear
the speakers, but all we could hear were their faint
voices, and the loud applause and chants from the
crowd. We did catch a glimpse of Dexter King and Tyler
Perry as they were escorted pass us. As I was pointing
them out to my son, some college students laughed and
said they didn’t know who that other man was, they only
knew Tyler Perry. At one point my son and I tried to
maneuver our way to the front, but as we got separated I
thought that it was best that we just sit on the side
and listen as best we could with a group of mothers and
children who had also come on our bus.
It didn’t matter
that we missed the speeches of the “usual suspects,” we
were able to hear the speeches of everyday men and women
who were fed up. Like church testimonies, there were
individuals who, at different points throughout the day,
randomly started discussing their own frustration with
the system. For those of us who knew better, it was
evident that this day wasn’t merely about these 6 young
boys. It was about me and you. Many people are sick
and tired of going through this same type of insane,
systematic oppression and injustice.
It was evident on
the way home that we were still hung up on our own petty
preoccupations. For some strange reason, two of the
four buses in our caravan had been redirected by the
sheriff to park in a different location than where they
had dropped their passengers off. While two of our buses
were ready to depart Jenna at 1 p.m., we did not finally
leave the town until 3 p.m. as we had to locate the
other buses so that the 100 passengers or so who were
stranded were reconnected with their bus.
While we waited,
everyone complained. They were ready to leave, why,
they wondered, did we have to wait for the other group.
I reflected on the signs that we had seen during the
rally, one which read, “I AM MY BROTHERS KEEPER.” I
guess the answer for some is, “No.” Though I, like the
others, was eager to return to Houston, I don’t know how
could they imagined leaving anyone stranded in that
small city, without the assurance that they had reliable
transportation to make it home.
That small incident
left me wondering what did we go there for in the first
place? It is just a reminder that there will be another
Jenna. But the transformation starts within, and not by
going to some physical place. Our everyday experiences
and responses will determine if we can avert another
Jenna from occurring on our watch.
What we have to
remember is that what occurred in Jenna today, has to
continue everyday of our lives. Today was a
demonstration in vigilance. It was a demonstration to
let them know that we will respond. But we must keep
pressure on this system and be proactive in creating a
system for our children and ourselves that will allow us
to THINK and DO for ourselves.
We must express
values that provide hope and encouragement to others.
We must conceive and articulate goals that lift people
out of their petty preoccupations, carrying them above
the conflicts that tear humanity apart, and unite them
in pursuit of objectives worthy of their best efforts to
transform this decaying world.
Nefertiti is the oldest daughter of poet Marvin X. She
has a BA in English from Fresno State University and MA
in Africana Studies from New York State University,
Albany.
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posted 22 September 2007 /
updated 28 March 2008 |
