Reverse Trick (I Mean )Criminology

I just found out or at least figured that I have concluded how the criminal justice system works. On the surface, it is supposed to represent liberty and justice for all and guilt beyond a reasonable doubt and all that jazz, but the overt reality is that it does neither.

Around the country, there have been a slew of cases, especially here in Georgia where men wrongly convicted of crimes were released after serving many years in prison.

Robert Clark was released from prison after being locked up since 1981 for a rape that DNA proved that he did not commit. In addition, DNA was used to find the real assailant that matched the DNA that was collected from the rape victim as well as two other rapes that were committed later. He was convicted and sentenced to life plus 20 years after a woman identified him as the man who carjacked and raped her at gunpoint from outside an Atlanta Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant. He was the fifth in Georgia to be freed through post-conviction DNA testing. Then there is Willie O. "Pete" Williams, who, was convicted of the 1985 rape of a woman in an apartment complex parking lot. The woman identified Williams as her attacker after which, he spent nearly half his life in a South Georgia prison before DNA evidence was also used to find the real criminal. Add to this, Calvin Johnson Jr., who was released from a Georgia prison 16 years after he was sentenced to life for a rape he did not commit.

Juxtapose this with what happened to James Fowler, a former Alabama State trooper who just recently surrendered for a killing he allegedly committed in 1965. It occurred during a civil rights protest in Marion in which Fowler shot and killed Jimmie Lee Jackson (pictured above). This killing lead to the Selma – to – Montgomery voting rights march. This means that Mr. Fowler was allowed to run around free for 42 years without penalty.

So how does it work? Well if you happen to be of African descent in America, you are thrown in prison on GP and will likely spend 15 to 30 years in prison for a crime one may have not been guilty of committing. If you are white, you are allowed to walk free for decades, even when there is substantial evidence to convict you. This means that fairness and equal protection under the law is not applicable to African Americans until after they serve time for crimes they don commit or worse, that people who commit crimes on them are not subjugated to the same penalty as afforded by the law.

For example in 2003, Billy Ray Johnson a “mentally challenged” 44 year-old was tricked in going to a party in Linden, Texas, beaten unconscious and left in a puddle of blood to die on the side of the road. The individuals (white) who committed this crime were given suspended sentences by the judged and only served 30 and 60-day terms in jail – not prison. Johnson on the other hand suffered permanent brain damage.

All I am saying is brother’s watch out. We still live in a time where the word of a single person or white woman for lack of a better example, can land you in prison even without evidence or if the person wears glasses. And if you are the victim of a crime, and your attackers are a member of the privileged historical order of American culture, they you may suffer without seeing the perpetrator brought to justice. Like I said, it is not criminology, it is more like tricknology.

Apology Not Accepted: Directors of syphilis study should face penalty

Yo, we all know that this is the 10th anniversary of the Apology For the Study Done in Tuskegee as acknowledged by then President Clinton. Here is something I wrote back then that was featured as an op-ed in a News paper called Creative Loafing, May 31, 1997 Vol. 26, No. 2


President Clinton has openly apologized for the federal government’s involvement in the U.S. Public Health Syphilis study, the so-called Tuskegee Experiment – which was not designed, developed or put in place by the residents of Tuskegee or the encompassing Macon County, Ala. The syphilis study, which started in 1932, continued after penicillin was observed to be an effective treatment for the disease. During the study, penicillin was withheld and subjects were treated with mercury and arsenic.

I have strong concerns regarding the meaning and sincerity of the president’s apology. The study began more than 60 years ago and ended about 25 years ago. Since Clinton was not born when the study began, nor was he responsible for its implementation, it’s hard for me to accept his gesture as being more than political grandstanding.

If he is sincere about this apology, then it would be reasonable for him to prosecute all directors and leaders of the fullest extent of the law. I say this based on historical precedents that were implemented with respect to standards of research involving human subjects. The most well known of such standards came about as a consequence of the Nuremberg tribunal after World War II. Human “guinea pigs” were experimented upon with destructive materials in the same manner that the U.S. Public Health Services, Communicable Disease Center, now the Centers for Disease Control and prevention, experimented on African descendents in Macon County.

At the German military hospital In Neuengamme, experiments were carried out on individuals diagnosed with tuberculosis. Remedies used treatment were far more brutal than the biological progression of the disease itself. During autopsies, parts of the body were sent back to selected laboratories in Germany for study. This same practice was replicated in the syphilis study- the only differences being that parts were sent to Atlanta.

What happened in Macon County is no different from what occurred in Buchewnwald, the main center of German experimentation for spotted fever (carried out by the SS Hygiene Institute in Berlin). The spinal taps that were used on the men no different from the spinal tap procedure employed by Nazi scientist in Ravensbruck. Prosecution of former German scientist of human subject research violations is ongoing today. The question is, why are we willing to absolve directors of the syphilis study when we were not willing to absolve those German war criminals?

The people running the syphilis study allowed men infected with syphilis to return to their homes, knowing that there was a chance for the disease. More horrifying was the denial of medical treatment. Denying approximately 400 African descendants living in Macon County, Ala, treatment when it was available is unthinkable.

Pundits estimate that only 28 men died from the study. However, since subjects were allowed to return to their homes, to their wives, lovers and girlfriends, the possibility exists that others may have died from complications from contracting the virus. I cannot buy the suggestion that these researchers were well intended. If their intentions were just and honorable, then why was there a need to learn more about the disease for which ample data regarding the etiological outcome was documented? Not to mention the length of time it took for the federal government to officially acknowledge that the study even existed. What benefit will the president’s apology have on bringing closure to the federal government’s role in providing safe health care for individuals of African descent.?

No, Mr. President, we don’t want to accept your apology, if you do not intend to apply the same standard of justice that has been applicable to scientist condemned under the Nuremberg tribunal. Bringing the guilty to justice will go a lot farther than any empty repentance. This is the only respectful was for the government to absolve itself from its involvement in unethical and fatal research with human subjects.

The only settlement awarded to victims was $37, 500 for each living syphilitic and $15, 000 for living heirs. In total, $10 million was provided for $6,000 victims. This means that recipients about $1,666 apiece-a figure insignificant when compared to the Ronald Goldman settlement. If those responsible for the syphilis study are not tried and convicted, it will only mean that Africans in America are of no value in the eyes of the federal government, when compared to a Ron Goldman or a victim of Auschwitz.


Creative Loafing May 31, 1997 Vol. 26, No. 2

The Dirty Dozen

This month folks in these United States of America, namely historian and pundits will celebrate the 400th anniversary of the settlement of Jamestown. Historians have often misrepresented Jamestown as some type of quest for Democracy while at the same time acknowledging the exploitation of Africans and the indigenous folks who were already home trained and living on these shores that welcomed, what would become their enemy with opened arms.

I am thinking of this as I wait to give a talk on health disparities. It is strange when you think about it, that many of the problems and issues our community have with disease and limited economic empowerment started here and that I am asked to remember this even in celebration

Jamestown lead Shakespeare to pen his play the Tempest in 1611, which as one of the main characters was Calibain, who was described as a swarthy and fearsome and evil aboriginal.

I wonder what would have happened if the newcomers, the settlers, the colonizers, the Europeans had actually succumbed to the insects and diseases they had never witnessed before. I wonder what would have happened if this lazy group of trespassers had never learned to dig wells (from the inhabitants) and drank river water as opposed to learn to dig wells for spring water and succumbed to more disease and pestilence?

I just wanted to say for the record, I will not be celebrating anything related to the settlement of Jamestown for I am not a descendant of Jamestown, for it was only 12 years, a dozen years after its establishment that the first lot of 20 Africans from present day Angola landed at the colony.

Truth be told the current roots of family instability, economic inheritance and land accumulation all began with Jamestown. Maybe that is why it will always leave a sordid taste in my mouth, and I wish to spit on its inheritance with my word, deed and venom - for all we got from this act was the The Virginia House of Burgesses which only enacted laws establishing and perpetuating the institution of slavery.

outside the box

On the days I do not have to take my son to school in the morning, I take a short cut off of Sylvan Road on 85-North so I won’t have to be caught up in the traffic heading towards and through downtown Atlanta. This past Monday I took this route. Passing the same old sights, I approached Sylvan Middle School. At the light, I saw a bevy of four boys. I suspected they were all heading to school. Fresh haircuts, White Tee’s and Air force ones, they were all laughing, walking, and smiling. I noticed that of the four boys, only one had books in his hand.

While at the light, I turned out my window and asked, “Yawl on yawl way to school?”

“Several of the boys responded “yea.”

“Come here little daddy, no not you, the one with the books in his hand.” He came over and said, “Yes sir?” I gave him five dollars and said. “I like that, always keep your books with you, I mean you take them too and from school-don't you? You be doing your home work all the time don’t you?”

“Yes sir.”

“Well good.” All of this happened within 30 seconds. One of the other boys asked if I would give him five dollars too. I said naw folk; you don’t have any books in your hand.” I drove off.

This was Monday. Today I am taking the same short cut. I see the same boys. They all waved at me as if they were trying to flag me down. Again, I stopped at the light. This time they all had their books with them. They even held them up to me with a smile. I called them over to the car and gave each of the four five dollars. Now I am broke, and I have no lunch money, but I feel richer than a motherfucker and I am still smiling as I pen this essay. We all can make a difference, guess we gotta try sometimes and just think outside the box.

The magic Negro needs to pimp slap the fat white Saltine

I guess it is hard times for a radio pimp, especially the far right-wingers, the ultraconservatives and the neo-cons of the grand old party (GOP). If you have not heard it, the drug addict, prescription pain killing consuming, narco himself – Rush Limbaugh has done it again. Seems that this recovering addict needs to enhance his listening audience and will do what ever it takes to bring additional bigots to his audience. I guess that is why he released that song about Barack Obama called "Barack the 'Magic Negro.'

Now, it is nothing major if you ask me, but it seems that after the Imus situation, any talk-radio pundit would crack a forty, smoke some kill, and squash all commentary that borders on racist bigotry. I guess for Limbaugh referring to Barrack Obama and Halle Berry "Halfricans", or even slipping and calling Obama “Obama bin Laddin”, makes him feel better than the next man or may even serve as his belief that the white race is supreme and will rise again. Some folks take it that the term was used to describe the aforementioned as being less or half African American given their light complexion. I on the other hand belive it is a indication of him thing that we as a people are still three-fifths of a white person in America.

I was proud that Obama laughed at Mr. Limbaugh when he went on his show and brought up the song. It was as if he wanted him to get mad. Like I said, I was proud, but I would have been happier if he had just pimped slapped jones and loosened a few teeth.

Toss – A – Cross (4-28 to 4.30-2007)

NNOTE: I was askd to post a sample of my fiction to myblog so here goes. I wrote this over the weekend. It's fiction, all else is accidental. It is th last of 16 short stories fro my Book FREAK TYPE SCENE, scheduled to be relased Jan 2008. Enjoy



There is nothing more certain that a man will be a man, and that for his seed, he is the first line of defense, if there is no dog outside. The simple truth being, such a person is never off guard and the only fear they have is not being able to feed and provide for their children. Unfortunately, this makes such a individual diabolic and sinister – the worse attributes for anyone who feels that all that their children have in the world to protect them is them.

It was one of those nights in between spring and summer, with the night being more reflective of winter than either of the aforementioned. The only difference was that the sun could still be seen allocating pastel hues into the cloudless and anticipating dark. The crickets were in full bloom, just as if they were some species of perennial. It was time now for the rest of the flowers to catch up. The trees all seemed to be the first to bloom, outside of the bulbs, and they$ bloomed in the order of the pink and purple crab apple tree, the whites of the pear trees and the opaque shades of the box woods – which were really shrub, but in his yard, the size of a bush the height of a tree.

He was outside as usual. It was beverage time and a good time to just enjoy life for its own sake. There was no distillate of the Agape plant but rather this time, Sake’. Sake’ and one 24 ounce can of Tecate’ beer. He walked out in the gravel road that in any urban or city area would be a driveway, with the exception that it was 110 yards from his house. He, Jones, Mac Jones often marveled at the symbolism and the distance, since even not being from Harlem. He was a country boy – a Memphis nigga.

He walked inside. His glass was empty. His son and daughter were in his son’s room. He was making music and she was bellowing into the microphone. Unintelligible certainly, nonetheless she was jamming. He walked to his room. The house was large and gave any stranger the locution that the 4,000 square feet was divided into wings. She followed quickly, as quickly as any child a few months before the age of two could waddle in a straight line. To him, she walked like Bobby Cox.

On his floor in front of the television, fully muted he sat down and began to fold clothes. He had been at work since early morning and his son’s baseball game was rained out. Thank goodness for leftovers. But before he could finish the towels, she came in. She only had a few words in her vocabulary but affection was what she communicated best. Crawling over him and placing her head on his chest. She wrapped her legs around his and started to go to sleep.

When she went to sleep, he got up out of the bed. Again he returned outside, to the crickets and the night air. The stares seemed to talk to him but he really couldn’t tell if it was the stars or the sake’.

He looked over by his fruit tree. The backhoe was still there. The plumber needs it to replace the pipe. The $1700.00 worth of pipe. The thought of it in itself mad him sick at the stomach. But he had the lot, and it made his property better, more valuable they said if he replaced the pipe.

He had just broken up with his woman. All he could repeat to himself was their last verbal exchange.

“I’m gone have some one come out her and take care of you,” she said, somewhere in between a manic rage and cynical rant.

“Well send them on,” he said. “If they come out here, let them play cowboy and I’ll make it the Okay Coral.

He erased that from his mind and again looked back at the stars. They made him fill full, restive, placated and at ease – a feeling he had not felt in a while. He walked down the driveway, again, which was really just a dirt gravel road. He sipped his sake’. A few rabbits ran across his path. They did not disturb him. He sat patient I his stance looking at the pine trees and the cars pass by.

It was strange to him, at this time of night to see the lights of a vehicle turn in his direction. Maybe it happened all the time and maybe he was just outside at the time. But they did not seem as if he others, as if it was a mistake, and accident. But maybe it was, for they weighted and dimmed the lights. He thought it was out of respect. Nonetheless, he went to his truck and pulled that yellow bag from under the passenger seat and returned to the spot. He had anticipated that hey would have backed up and turned around, but they had not. They were still there. So he stood and looked, as if to provide the locution that this was his property, the property of Mac Jones.

They approached slowly and then speed up briefly. The car stopped. One man got out. “Hey, who live here, you live here?”

He said nothing and looked.

“Yo Nigga, I’m talking to you, this your place?”

“Main, you in no position to ask, not to mention, you must be a fool.”

“A fool who you calling a fool?” Mac pointed to the sign right below one of the many cameras on his land. It read TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT.

“Nigga, I can read, but I aint scared.” He raised his shirt again, this time to show the .380 that was tucked under his shirt held in his pants. Mac laughed.

“What you laughing at? You don’t know who you fucking with nigga.”

“Naw I don’t, but not only are you a fool, but you are obviously a bitch too, totin’ around that bitch pistol.” Mac laughed but continued. “Why you on my property, who you looking for? Would you like some Sake’?

“I’m looking for you.”

“Jones main, you don’t know me to look for me.”

“You Mac Jones aint you? Your old lady asked us to pay you a visit.”

“OK.”

“You don’t recognize me, I’m a rapper main, I’ve been in Video’s”

“Nope can’t say I Have Jones.”

“You heard of ‘Welcome to Murda Valley?” Mac shook his head in disagreement. “That’s my song shawty.”

Then it clicked. He knew that she was incapable of reason, but such should have been expected from a distorted and psychotic mind. He backed back slowly. Jones continued to approach him. He was short but fronted like he was hard as concrete and he was black, so black he could barley see him except for the shine from the parking lights on the vehicle and the glimmer of the moon off of his yellow teeth.

He looked in the car and said something to the other two men that were in the vehicle with him. He closed the door and approached him. It was a slow approach; as if he was uncertain of himself and what he was about to get into. H looked backed into the car and laughed. Now his approach was assertive, like he was the one who owned the land, or as f the bravado of he drive over had made his testicles fortified with concrete.

“Is you Mac Jones nigga?”

“Yep,” Mac said, finishing his Sake’.

“Well I came to tell you something.”

“You can stand where you are and talk sir.”

“Naw, can’t folk.”

“I ain’t yo’ folk.”

“Main, you pathetic, you come on my property, insult me, no, first trespass, come without invite, turn down my offer to beverage, while my children are inside asleep, and you expect me to talk to you. Can’t do it main, but can make you my ho and afterwards send you black ass to pre-K, cause it is obvious to me you a dumb ass fuck boy. You come up in m camp cause some woman thinks you hard and you think you hard. You fake ass wanna be gangster. He laughed.

“Whoop that Nigga’s ass,” was heard coming from the car.

He continued to walk. As he approached, he began to pull something from his shirt. It was more as if he was trying to send a message without action. Mac looked at Jones. The he ran and took a wild swing at Mac. As he swung, Mac sided stepped, dropping is little yellow bag and with a full fist popped Folk in the jaw with his right had and popping him in the left side of his jaw with a full fist from his left hand. He was taught by his uncle that the best punch was not to the face straight on, nor was it an upper cut, but rather a full-balled fist swung like a club to an intruders face.

As he tumbled he grabbed him behind is neck and need him in is chin, immediately grabbing his head and snapping it. He dropped almost instantly to the dirt gravel that Mac had always considered to be his driveway.

His boys didn’t like what the saw and jumped out of the Chevy pulling weapons from under their shirts also. He figured it was move thing for he would never tuck a gat in his pants that aimed at is dick and scrotum sack. Before they could shot he rolled behind a Magnolia tree. Picking up a seedpod from the same tree, he grabbed his yellow bag and pulled out the .44 magnum from the bag and slammed the pod on his barrel and fired two shots. The both dropped. He rolled over father away from the action, breathing deeply and holding his chest. He never knew he was that proficient with a handgun. In fact he preferred rifles and was taught growing up that if he needed a pistol, that he was too close. He was even impressed himself, even surprised, but it was a magnum and the slug was expected to go through a little plastic subcompact and the glass.

But now there where three corpses on his gravel road. It was completely dark now and once again he could hear the crickets. He dragged rapper dude to the other side of his pear trees. Then he returned to the vehicle and pushed what was outside of the auto in appendages back in the auto. Thank goodness one was in the back seat and the rapper Jones was he driver. He drove the car over to the first body and parked it. Walking gingerly, he went to the house to check on is children. They were sound asleep. He went back outside and went to the backhoe. Right then he began to dig a new hole. It took him almost two hours but he had managed to build a hole big enough for the auto to buried 7 feet below the surface. He had hardly worked up a sweat thanks to modern technology, hydraulics and the spirited night breeze. He moved the backhoe in position behind the auto ad got out. Next he placed the real black guy with the yellow teeth back in the back seat and position the car right in front of the hole from the side. Placing it in Neutral, he used he backhoe to push it in the hole.

It was easier to cover the vehicle up compared to digging the hole. As if something entered his mind, he stopped, went and grabbed his yellow bag, and using the material of the pouch, he was able to sling the gun into the open window. He figured that by leaving the windows open, the bodies would be able to decompose faster and larva would have an eaiser time to get to them. After all the gun was a throwaway, a toss-across like they used to say back where he was from. It was only meant for one time use only. He and his boys had always joked that he had enough land to bury somebody and their car. Now he chuckled briefly. He was a Libertarian, so he was not the kind of guy who would call 911. He didn’t need the government to protect him.

When he had finished he sat that, pulled a Kool Mild from his pants pocket and lit it. He repositioned the back and climbed down from its perch. Again he looked in the sky. Now al he would have to do, was take a shower, get some rest and prepare his children for school I the morning. On the way home from work, he could purchase a few boxes of daffodil bulbs, maybe a few lilies, and some lavender to take root in is new flower bed.

Beauty but No Substance

For those of you who read my blog on the regular, you should have learned a few things about me. First is that my family comes first. Also, that I am an old school Memphis Mac, I love writing and making music, women, got an IQ way over 150, that I’m working with a lot of something (u make the call) and that I am a simple country boy. This past week I was in Bethesda making a presentation to the National Institutes of Health on my infectious disease prevention work in prisons in South Africa. I was there with about 25 or so other scientist from around the world who are doing work in the country and were also funded by NIH.

One of the people there gave a presentation on their work, which was also on correctional populations. His slides were beautiful, the colors were vivid and his statistical presentation of the data seemed appropriate. However, when he neared the end of his presentation, he concluded, “participants with low levels of impulse control were six times more likely to be incarcerated and therefore, impulse control is a major factor in incarceration.” Me being a supposed expert in the area, and concerned regarding his implication that mental deficits account for incarceration more than any other factor, asked him a question at the end of his presentation: “Did you discern how much of the variation in self reported impulse control was a function of education, or race, or proximity to living in urban areas given increased penalty enhancements for conducting a criminal act in a drug free zone for example?”

His answer was “No.”

“Well how can you assert such? Doing such is almost Sir Francis Galton like.”

I was told by my grandmother and have heard other say that “Beauty is only skin deep.” Meaning that what is on the surface is not important, but rather what is on the inside. It is what is on the inside that makes one beautiful. It is what is inside that reflects integrity, responsibility, commitment, value respect and passion. Moreover, it is what is inside that makes one reflect such in acts of kindness and positive unconditional regard to others. Otherwise, one can be the most attractive or beautiful person in looks and external features but uglier than a motherfucker on the inside and reflect such in the way they treat people.

I am glad I had the chance to ask him about his presentation. For if I did not, people would have just said how great it was and how good it looked, and how well put together it was. His findings were useless without the substance attached to plausible explination. Underneath it all, it was ugly for he tried to assert that factors related to ones mental state were the most significant variables of all when it comes to individuals being incarcerated. Again, I say, beauty is only skin-deep; it is what is on the inside that counts, which means beauty is nothing and pointless without substance.

Father Knows Best

What is the difference between a woman who was raised with a father in their lives versus a woman that had no such influence? I asked myself because as some of you may know, I am the father of a precious little piece of pound cake I named Chianti. In addition to that, I have been involved with a multitude of women and it just dawned on me that those that were the most turbulent and tumultuous were with women who had no fathers in their lives. Let me see if I can explain. My boys, all of which have little girls and I have all come to the general conclusion that our little girls will be alright just for the simple fact that they have active men in the form of fathers in their lives.

We all joke and say things off the cuff about this asserting that they will make fine wives because the look at football, or that they will not want to have some thug fuckboy for a man because they will expect more from a man and know what a man is supposed to be by having an active father.

So I assert that a girl who never sees such, will not know what a man is in character and action, and as such will not know what qualities she should look for and expect from a man and as a result will not know how to treat a man and sustain a meaningful relationship with one. All this is just philosophical conjecture on my part but I do think it has some merit. I mean if the role of a man is to provide, shelter and protect his family, and a man does such, a woman who has never learned that the aforementioned comprise a strong mate, will not know how to reward such actions, and may even complain about such qualities if she if fortunate to find such a person. In fact she may even over look such qualities and take them for granted. Or worse end up with a man that beats and disrespects here on the regular.

I am not saying that women don’t have a role in this – they do. For a girl raised seeing a loving and caring interaction between her mother and father will learn how mates reward each other and take care of each other needs. From a woman, they should learn how to treat a man and keep them happy. However, I feel that girls raised on households with just a mother, may not learn these lessons (just as boys without fathers). Being such, they will add to a more dysfunctional society by not knowing what defines a man, how to select a man, or even how to keep a man. Such people are and will be never satisfied with anything they see in their mate because they will not know what qualities merit respect, value and appreciation. For I woul;d not like her to grow up like the 14yr old girl Akon freaked on stage in. Well, at least the way I see it. But not my little girl, even I have to show or try to show her what a woman is.

I, I, My

Was stuck in DC during the earlier part of this week, dark country, chocolate city; really Bethesda. Working - getting another check. My personal goal or at least one of them is to collect a check everyday. Not one a month or twice a month. As such, this is the reality I attempt to create and evince via work ethic. But that’s another corollary.

Since the shootings at Virginia Tech University, there wasn’t really much on so I searched the cathode ray tube before I overdosed on inaccuracy and conjecture in the form of personal vanity that major media networks define as news.

Any who, I flipped and flipped and I flipped through the channels. ESPN even had coverage about the horrible outcomes of Virginia Tech – such in itself was devastating. Personally, after an hour or two of incessant coverage, I do not desire to see any more on carnage. Add to that everyone is reporting something different and showing the same cell phone video, talking to the same white kid who was shot in the arm.

The first placed I stopped was some channel with Mo’nique on it with the babes who were trying to get Flava Flav’s money show. So I looked, but could only contrive three minutes worth. I went to another channel which I think was right behind it and it had another supposedly reality show. Can’t remember what it was called but it was about these women who were supposed to have real attitude problems living together.

In summary, I can tell you this. On one show the women took 4 hours to go up hill two miles and the other defined the ultimate of cackling and whining. However, I did notice a few things in the 6 or 7 minutes I watched both shows. The first is that since it is on television, its acting if it aint a sporting event or cartoon, and c-span. But what stuck out the most was the focus on I, I and my by all of the women participants. Not to single out women, but this is all that were on these shows – with the exception of one white man who ran beauty pageants, which made his gender questionable as well. I mean every one of them, constantly talking about themselves and no one else as if the universe circled around them, like the read Alexander Pope Essay’s. Talking as if they were quitters - complaining about how life is so hard. They were also leaning towards being pathetic and helpless, as if they had no control over themselves or their lives.

I hope this is acting, and not indicative of the people in this age. I hope that it does not mean, as I view it, that folks in generally are mentally and emotionally weak. Feeling as if everything is so unbearable that they cry, whimper and whine. If so, it don’t strike me unusual why a person who thought as such would do something unreasonable and drastic like cap and kill a lot of innocent people. Because in the long run, guns don’t kill people, people do. People who complain about how life is so hard and that I want to die, and that if I can’t have you I will kill you and everybody in my class. Is that what I, I, my leads too?

Both them show’s WAS weak, so I changed the channel again.

They on the other team

I know that many of us are still steamed over the comments made by Don Imus regarding the 2007 women’s Basketball runner-up Rutgers University Lady Scarlet Knights. I also know many of us are fumed over his awkward attempt to shift the blame to African American men, especially rappers for the manner I which they often vilify and degrade our sisters. Not me , at least for the time being, for a Wood is a wood is a wood and since the Knights of Templar and even Rome, history shows us that “these folks” have never thought highly of our greatness – so I do not expect them to.

I would however like to give an example of this; a heinous example of how black and swarthy is associated with bad, evil and vile and is manifested in common thought as presented by the mainstream culture and media. In March of this year, the New York Post ran an article that started with the caption: “Should a couple be entitled to sue because a fertility clinic mistakenly impregnated the woman with sperm other than her mate's?”

Now under normal circumstance, this is a no brainier, given the complications of invitro fertilization in general. However, the issue was raised specifically because it was stated that a Hispanic woman and white man were “devastated - after a black baby” was born to the couple. As a result, the couple has revealed it will file a law for a mistake made during in-vitro conception. When Jessica Andrews was born, it was noticed that she was much darker (black). The physician, Martin Keltz, said that the child’s condition an "abnormality," and said that she would "get lighter over time." However, DNA testing showed hat the child was not the product of the husband’s sperm.

The parents say they “love Baby Jessica” yet at the same time describe her as a “terrible mistake” and are reminded of such “each and every time we look at her."

Then there is the issue of what has happened in Paris, Texas, where 15-year-old Shaquanda Cotton was sentenced to seven years in prison for pushing a hall monitor at her high school. Now this is a child with no prior history of bad behavior but Judge Chuck Superville of Lamar County convicted Shaquanda of “assault on a public servant" and sent her to prison at least until she turns 21. The strange this is that this is the same judge who three months earlier that awarded a 14-year old white girl probation for burning down her parents home intentionally (arson is a felony). The same judge also gave probation to a 19-year old white male who was convicted of killing a 54-year-old Black woman and her 3-year-old grandson with his truck. The Judge just requested that he send the family a Christmas card every year.

Although Ms. Cotton is no longer in jail, its just the simple fact that it happened in the first place that is deplorable. So, I write this to say that this is America and regardless of it being 2007, the history of this country was founded on the oppression and maltreatment of folks that look like me. Don Imus is no different and is a part of the same culture ergo, it don’t even strike me as unusual that he would see women matriculating at the college level as nappy headed hoes, for he likely sees all African American women as such. Fuck Don Imus and all the Woods, they have never been on my team.