Wednesday, April 20, 2011
The Problem with Us by Shannon Guy
Many people would like to blame Black folks for the problems that face us today. However, the condition of the Africans born in America is not self inflicted. This is part of a larger plan. It is no coincidence that we are always on the bottom of the list. For example, our kids go to the worst schools, the worst hospitals are in our neighborhoods, the highest rate of HIV/AIDS is in our community. When I hear, "They are all on welfare", or "They're lazy and won't work", it makes me sick to my stomach. But as I said this is no coincidence.
Early, we were taught that we would be nothing but farm hands and that we could do nothing but manual labor types of jobs. These jobs do not require much education. Our Grandfathers and many of our Fathers were taught this same philosophy. They were encouraged to become mechanics, barbers, and builders. They were told that going to school to become lawyers, doctors and other professions that require extensive education were not for us. Thus, our Grandfathers and Fathers were placed into a box. This box would soon crumble leaving thousands of Black Men (many of whom was our Fathers) out of work and unable to feed their families. So these men would leave their families with hopes of finding work elsewhere in the country or join the military. Either way, most of our generation were raised minus a father.
When I said that the box crumbled, what I meant was that society no longer required the types of labor that we were trained in or that we could offer (with the exception of barbers). Many of the clothing factories that populated the inner city were either moved out of the city into the burbs or simply closed all together (due to shipping jobs over seas or by using the newly invented computer to make these things). The so-called box was slowly crumbling. (Keep in mind that all of this is happening in the 70's. Many of the people reading this was not even born yet.) After the closing of these factories (and not just clothing factories but auto plants were affected most), many of our people were the first ones laid off. Without the proper education, these factory workers turned to the only thing that they knew to keep their families from starving................THE STREETS.
The 80's were an even more tragic period for us. (TO BE CONTINUED.................)
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Early, we were taught that we would be nothing but farm hands and that we could do nothing but manual labor types of jobs. These jobs do not require much education. Our Grandfathers and many of our Fathers were taught this same philosophy. They were encouraged to become mechanics, barbers, and builders. They were told that going to school to become lawyers, doctors and other professions that require extensive education were not for us. Thus, our Grandfathers and Fathers were placed into a box. This box would soon crumble leaving thousands of Black Men (many of whom was our Fathers) out of work and unable to feed their families. So these men would leave their families with hopes of finding work elsewhere in the country or join the military. Either way, most of our generation were raised minus a father.
When I said that the box crumbled, what I meant was that society no longer required the types of labor that we were trained in or that we could offer (with the exception of barbers). Many of the clothing factories that populated the inner city were either moved out of the city into the burbs or simply closed all together (due to shipping jobs over seas or by using the newly invented computer to make these things). The so-called box was slowly crumbling. (Keep in mind that all of this is happening in the 70's. Many of the people reading this was not even born yet.) After the closing of these factories (and not just clothing factories but auto plants were affected most), many of our people were the first ones laid off. Without the proper education, these factory workers turned to the only thing that they knew to keep their families from starving................THE STREETS.
The 80's were an even more tragic period for us. (TO BE CONTINUED.................)
.
The Knowledge Pain by Shannon Guy
They say that knowledge is freedom or that knowledge will bring about freedom. In my mind, that is the furthest thing from the truth. In my world, according to my view and my experiences, the more knowledge that I attain, the more I feel pain. The pain is not like a headache that you can just take a motrin or advil. No, the pain is more like a torturous one. Like that of a vise crushing the skull. Or that of a pair of skinny jeans on a person that is morbidly obese. Just not a comfortable feeling. But the pain, I have learned to deal with. It is the fact that I feel this pain that is torture. The fact that the pain comes from my gain of knowledge makes it all the more worse. The pain is intensified when the reality hits that most of my people (my immediate people) have not attained what I have. And what sustains the pain is the frustration that most of my people don’t care to have the knowledge in the first place. And once they are provided with the knowledge treats it as if it were a joke or as if they had never learned it at all. And all I hear in my dreams is “It’s just FB” or “You can’t change everybody”. These are the very things that keep me from sleeping. The tossing and turning sometimes becomes unbearable. The lack of support from my immediate people is what turns this from a headache to a migraine. I do not wish to leave anyone behind in my mission to do Allah’s will (whatever he designed me to do), however, those that are asleep will perish. I just don’t want it to be on my watch, during my time, while I am here to give what knowledge Allah has put upon me. But I do believe my pain comes from a selfish part of me. This part of me that is selfish wants me to do everything in my power to give everyone that is around me, apart of me, or of me the same knowledge that was bestowed upon me. Even if that knowledge spurs some type of radical movement, I want to be the one that Allah uses. Selfish, yes, wrong in my thinking, possibly. At any rate, the medicine that I use to rid myself of this pain is, surprisingly enough, more knowledge. For as I am receiving this knowledge, I feel no pain. While Allah has me submerged in whatever endeavor or book or article, I feel no pain. While I am typing to share what Allah has given me, my pain is nowhere in sight. While I am engaged in a light hearted debate, no pain or misery touches me (Alhumdu Allah). With Allah’s will, the pain will continue. However, the strength that I get when the pain is gone, overshadows those thoughts of doubt, fear and frustration. For Allah will truly be my guidance when I am passing out what I have received. Allah says that we should give freely out of what he has provided. Well, I don’t have much money so I take my duty as an educator very seriously. Although, I am not a teacher, I pride myself on being able to provide my people with as much information and knowledge as possible. So the term no pain, no gain rings true in so many ways with me. May Allah ease the pain of learning and sharing. Insha Allah
By: Shannon Guy
By: Shannon Guy
"MY TYPE" WISE VEGA FEAT. J.NOTIQ PRODUCED BY THE INCREDIBLE STRO
New Video Umpire Films in the Building
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Pope John Paul of Y'all Niggas
On the 24th of December, 1989; a child's innocence was lost. It had nothing to do with finding out the truth about Santa Clause, because in actuality he never really believed in Santa Clause to begin with. For the rest of the world other than being Christmas Eve, that date probably plays no significant meaning. However, for a group of kids in Mrs. Williams' 6th Grade class and one in particular it was the end of childhood, the day the music died and things would never be the same.
Toussaint Verde was a 12 years old that seemed to be a man in a boys body. He had an old soul and it almost seemed as if he had been here before. The summer of 1989 anther little boy moved to Jamaica Queens and eventually enrolled in P.S. 160 also known as Walter Francis Bishop Elementary School. The name made it seem a lot nicer than it really was. After arriving at the school that was surrounded by gates and burglar bars and security guards with their metal detectors and a play ground with no jungle gyms, only a wall that the children could play hand ball on this new student was in a complete culture shock as the standards and practices of the New York Education system. The first friend he made was the before mentioned Toussaint.
Toussaint was Tupac in a twelve year old body, before Tupac was even Tupac. He had a swagger about him and everybody seemed to gravitate towards him. He dressed, walked and talked the part. The girls loved him, the goons respected him, the younger kids looked up to him like the head of state and all the teachers liked him. What can you say, he was a hood legend he was the Pope John Paul of Walter Francis Bishop Elementary school.
The fact that he stretched his hand out in friendship to this new student, made the transition almost seamless; considering the fact that he was being co-signed for by the coolest dude in school. He didn't catch the hell most new kids catch when they enter a new school at that age, until they make a name for themselves. He was ushered in the cool clique immediately because of an act of kindness. And that maybe why the 24th of December 1989 hit him harder than most.
A handful of men involved in a shootout over a drug deal gone bad, let off shots in one of East New York's most notorious projects. This was the type of neighborhood that gun shots didn't really cause anyone to raise an eyebrow or lose sleep. The assailants fired off recklessly at each other and into the air and everywhere in their attempts to kill their adversaries. The sad part is that they weren't good at selling drugs and they were even worse at shooting, because none of them were even hit in the may lay. However, on the 12 floor of one of the project building sat Toussaint Verde looking out the window and waiting in auntie's apartment to get a hair cut. He was shot by two bullets to the head, slipped into a coma, and would never wake up. The ramifications of his death would be felt for many years after that balmy Christmas Eve.
Childhood was never the same after that; and how could anyone expect it to be. It is a sad day when a child realizes that they do have limitations and they are not invincible. Sometimes you don't have to wait for the next episode, Superman doesn't always make it. It took seven years for me to even sleep by a window again and that was only because the dorm I stayed in at the University of Miami, kind of gave me no choice. Occasionally, I think about him and what he could have or would have been doing if he hadn't gone to Brooklyn that day. His spirit has been with me ever since. It was a biographical essay about him that I used to get into college. And it is his swagger and personality I carry with me everyday, and his act of kindness that makes me want to help those trying to make their way through new or bad or difficult situations. I will certainly never forget him or what he meant to a little boy trying get adjusted in a new school and a new city.
TOUSSAINT VERDE will always be the epitome of cool. That was my dude and I'll always remember him.
Toussaint Verde was a 12 years old that seemed to be a man in a boys body. He had an old soul and it almost seemed as if he had been here before. The summer of 1989 anther little boy moved to Jamaica Queens and eventually enrolled in P.S. 160 also known as Walter Francis Bishop Elementary School. The name made it seem a lot nicer than it really was. After arriving at the school that was surrounded by gates and burglar bars and security guards with their metal detectors and a play ground with no jungle gyms, only a wall that the children could play hand ball on this new student was in a complete culture shock as the standards and practices of the New York Education system. The first friend he made was the before mentioned Toussaint.
Toussaint was Tupac in a twelve year old body, before Tupac was even Tupac. He had a swagger about him and everybody seemed to gravitate towards him. He dressed, walked and talked the part. The girls loved him, the goons respected him, the younger kids looked up to him like the head of state and all the teachers liked him. What can you say, he was a hood legend he was the Pope John Paul of Walter Francis Bishop Elementary school.
The fact that he stretched his hand out in friendship to this new student, made the transition almost seamless; considering the fact that he was being co-signed for by the coolest dude in school. He didn't catch the hell most new kids catch when they enter a new school at that age, until they make a name for themselves. He was ushered in the cool clique immediately because of an act of kindness. And that maybe why the 24th of December 1989 hit him harder than most.
A handful of men involved in a shootout over a drug deal gone bad, let off shots in one of East New York's most notorious projects. This was the type of neighborhood that gun shots didn't really cause anyone to raise an eyebrow or lose sleep. The assailants fired off recklessly at each other and into the air and everywhere in their attempts to kill their adversaries. The sad part is that they weren't good at selling drugs and they were even worse at shooting, because none of them were even hit in the may lay. However, on the 12 floor of one of the project building sat Toussaint Verde looking out the window and waiting in auntie's apartment to get a hair cut. He was shot by two bullets to the head, slipped into a coma, and would never wake up. The ramifications of his death would be felt for many years after that balmy Christmas Eve.
Childhood was never the same after that; and how could anyone expect it to be. It is a sad day when a child realizes that they do have limitations and they are not invincible. Sometimes you don't have to wait for the next episode, Superman doesn't always make it. It took seven years for me to even sleep by a window again and that was only because the dorm I stayed in at the University of Miami, kind of gave me no choice. Occasionally, I think about him and what he could have or would have been doing if he hadn't gone to Brooklyn that day. His spirit has been with me ever since. It was a biographical essay about him that I used to get into college. And it is his swagger and personality I carry with me everyday, and his act of kindness that makes me want to help those trying to make their way through new or bad or difficult situations. I will certainly never forget him or what he meant to a little boy trying get adjusted in a new school and a new city.
TOUSSAINT VERDE will always be the epitome of cool. That was my dude and I'll always remember him.
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