Prayer: The Substance of Faith

I awoke this morning with a fickle faith. Thoughts congested my mind, nerves raged and confusion was my substitute breakfast.

Since late August, I've been wandering, trying to find my way in this vicious society. I never thought I'd find myself in this current state - unemployed, seemingly at a dead end. This morning a full-time reporting gig appeared to be a gloomy goal. Six years of journalism training was worth 15 cents.

But as doubt, discomfort and disappointment raged, I remembered to pray. Pray is my inheritance. My great-grandmother prayed, her mother prayed, my grandmother did so as well. From time to time I'll be in a conversation with my mother and she'll say, "I pray that God leads you to a job where you are happy." Me too.

Prayer is a meditation rooted in faith - the substance of things not seen and the evidence of that which is hoped for. I grew up in the church and I remember being a high school student, praying that God make a way for me to enter academia. After I graduated from college, I recall having another conversation with God. This time it was my wanting him/her to bless me with another opportunity. The blessing shocks me to this day. It was a full ride to complete my graduate studies at The University of Iowa.

Now I'm at a cross road. Lately I've felt as though God has abandoned me in my quest to be a newspaper reporter. So this morning in the midst of my confusion, I remembered to pray. And so I did.

I can't predict my future but I know God has something grand planned. When my faith is fickle, I remember to be still and think of my grandmother's words, "divine order, divine order, divine order."

Salaam,
E. Tanille

Wayward Cousins

I've spent the last 2 1/2 years of my life hustling against the odds. When you're black, no matter how talented or intellectually driven you may be, obtaining greatness is always a hustle.

I've matriculated through academia, missing family outings, burning the mid-night oil as I've tried to turn a dream into reality. As so many black and brown people are, I'm somewhat of a success token for family members who've been taken aback by my so-called genius.

It's all been hard work mixed with much prayer, sweat, pain, frustration and love. I call myself breaking a curse of ignorance. My ancestors couldn't help the fact that they lacked education. But my wayward cousins have consciously engaged in preposterous lifestyles unknown to me and others.

We all have delinquent family members whose actions serendipitously startle us. We ask ourselves, " How did so-and-so end up like that," or "Why does he/she partake in a lifestyle opposite that of their dedicated, hard-working parents?"

I ponder the answers to these questions as I analyze the psychological well-beings of my cousins. I won't mention their names but their stories are familiar: baby-daddy drama, their children are part of the growing statistic - born in a predominately single parent household, and the last characteristic -- "uneducated".

By no means am I saying I'm perfect. Had it not been for my loving relatives, I wouldn't be in my current position. Even the love from my cousins has sustained me during difficult times.

Still their inability to want more, to see beyond their noises, demeans the efforts of so many young, talented black and brown people. I pray that they wake up from their sleep-walking insomnia and as my aunt Charlotte says, "stop taking wooden nickels."

After all, so many have worked relentlessly to undo a curse that goes unrecognized by my wayward cousins.

Salaam.
E. Tanille

No Ordinary Professor

Have you ever had a professor who brought out the best in you?

They push you to excel beyond your expectations. They tell you the truth when it hurts and praise you during pivotal moments. They are the minority among their peers and their uniqueness is a distinguished characteristic. They are no ordinary professors.

I've been blessed to meet one.

I call her Professor Judy - an honorable reference for a beautiful person. I refuse to refer to her as just Judy although that's her name. Professor Judy is my way of saying, "I respect you." I admire her work ethic and strength. She's one of the most intellectually sound professors I know.

I've learned from observing Professor Judy in and outside the classroom. Her advising comments come to mind when I contemplate doubt. I can hear her now, "When you say you're gonna do something, you need to do it." Or "You need to pay meticulous attention to every word." And the most memorable: "Deadlines are important!"

I met Professor Judy during my first year as a journalism student at The University of Iowa. Her class, advance reporting and writing, was the first course I took. Then nervousness trickled through my mind as I questioned my journalistic capabilities. Within weeks, she managed to bring out the best in me, introducing me to strong journalism works that inspired me to think beyond the glass ceiling I was accustomed to.

I'd heard of her uniqueness from other students. Like them, I've grown to cherish this phenomenal professor.

Her works are not the only reason she's exceptional. I could tell you about her tireless efforts to take UI students to Beijing for the 2008 Olympics. Or I could enlighten you with her talented writing and artistic photography. I'm sure you'd be amazed by her research subjects. Her willingness to be a guiding presence to me is what I'm most thankful for.

She never wavered or gave up on me despite my academic tardiness and stubbornness. She pushed me to go beyond my limited expectations. As a result, I knew my last meeting with her would be bittersweet.

I didn't want to say farewell. I'd bought her a card but stumbled to articulate my heart-felt words. I hesitate to personally express my feelings. So I guarded my inner emotions by shortening my conversational reactions. I wanted to tell her thanks and ask why she never gave up on me. I'd hoped to say, "I'm gonna miss you" but I knew that would definitely cause tears.

I didn't cry during our meeting. But as soon as I left her office, the tears came. I thought of the times she encouraged me and said something that generated a sparkle. I wondered why life transitions just when profound people come about.

As usual Professor Judy offered her wisdom to me via e-mail: "You will keep learning in the school of real life, which is not always a great place but a better teacher after all. Stroll with confidence into the next phase of life. Don't ever ever ever sell yourself short."


Although I'm graduating and moving on to life's next journey, I shall never forget Professor Judy. She is no ordinary professor.

Salaam,
E. Tanille

Why I Love Brothas

My love complexities are rooted in blackness and fulfilled by the beautiful essence of brothas. They are the night and shinning physical finesse of urban America. Brothas are the towering giants who helped build this country.

Historical brothas have paid they way for today's brothas. Where would Barack Obama be without Thurgood Marshall? Would Tavis Smiley have been possible had Ed Bradley not existed? And, Dr. Cornel West paved the way for Michael Eric Dyson.

From legendary to present, brothas are a civilized presence that withstands hardships. As the great historian John Hope Franklin said, brothas are often alienated from society - a result of the mainstream's social injustices. Though they are often the subjects of violence and unnecessary brutality, they rise and keep on keeping on. They survive as best they can.

Some hustle on corners; others work menial jobs, sweeping their way from day-to-day trying make a living off minimum rage. I see you brotha; I hear you. Your plight is unbearable for most, but you maintain dignity, strength and courage.

They are the heirs of Malcolm, Martin, Coltrane and Dubois. Without brothas, the inherited culture lessens, communities fade and eventually die.

I get mad when I see brothas with white girls on their arms. It's as if I know their moms. Still, my love for brothas remains. Their hard work, dedication and pride is all I know. My father, brother, cousins, uncles - all the brothas in my life - I love with grace.

Go head on brotha with your business suit and low-trimmed fade. I recognize the baggy pants and cornrolls. I see beyond the bling-bling. All that ice can't hide your troubles and afflictions.

You may be scarred, brotha. Misunderstood by seasoned sistas. But, keep your head to the sky and see what the end will be. You are the soul of a phenomenal culture, supported by sista and brotha hood.

When sistas love brothas, they love a reflection of themselves.

I rise and say with pride: I love brothas!

Salaam,
E. Tanille

Yuri and Malcolm: A Phenomenal Bond

When Malcolm X graced Harlem's streets, ordinary people viewed him as their hero.

To Yuri Kochiyama, an 86-year-old Japanese-American activist, Malcolm's bold dignity, his immeasurable stature freed a people from psychological slavery and reiterated that blackness was indeed worthy of praise.

Kochiyama's recollection of Malcolm is linked to other distinguished memories of the great leader. Narrators' love, passion and truth bring Malcolm's freedom-fighting legacy to light.

Who could ever forget the late actor Ossie Davis' touching eulogy delivered at Malcolm's funeral on February 27, 1965. As Davis eloquently said, "Malcolm was our manhood, our living, black manhood! ...We will know him then for what he was and is - a Prince - our own black shining Prince! - who didn't hesitate to die, because he loved us so."

Legendary civil rights activist, Dorothy Height, also gave a vivid description of Malcolm in her 2003 memoir "Open Wide The Freedom Gates". She wrote, "Malcolm was a very complex person. He cared deeply about his people and the injustices heaped upon them, and he told hard truths in a strong voice. But he was also very gentle and kind. I wish that many who quote him or his teachings knew the man I had the privilege to know."

Height and Davis were blessed with opportunities to be in Malcolm's presence. But, Kochiyama's reflection of Malcolm is the reason I wrote this blog post.

Yuri Kochiyama recounted her bond with Malcolm X in a 2004 memoir "Passing It On". Most remember Kochiyama as the woman who graciously held Malcolm's head after he was assassinated at New York's Audubon Ballroom on February 21, 1965.

However, Kochiyama's support of Malcolm extends beyond death.

In chapter six of her memoir, she recalled Malcolm visiting her home in Harlem. The visit was a result of inquiry from three Hiroshima ("atomic bomb survivors") Nagasaki World Peace Study Mission writers. In response to their wanting to meet Malcolm, Kochiyama wrote (more than once), inviting him to a reception at her home. After receiving no response from Malcolm, Kochiyama anticipated no appearance. The day of the reception, there was a knock at Kochiyama's door. It was Malcolm.

Everyone relished being in his presence. As Kochiyama described, he walked about her crowded apartment greeting people and shaking hands. Also, Malcolm expressed his thoughts on international and national issues. He said the U.S. had been hit by an atomic bomb of racism, and Malcolm spoke of the colonization of "almost all of Asia" and Africa.

After Malcolm's appearance at Kochiyama's social gathering, the two remained in contact.

As he traveled abroad, Malcolm wrote Kochiyama brief notes on post cards. It is his fond correspondence with her that makes "Passing It On" a must read.

Kochiyama's reflections of Malcolm X are vivid. In prior editorials and essays after his assassination, she characterized him as a "North Star" that guided all people. During one, she noted, "Though vilified by the establishment and press, Malcolm challenged and exposed the immorality of the power structure; the illusion of the constitution and duplicity of the system; the impiety of the Christian conscience; the hypocrisy of the American dream; the misconceptions of the American way of life; the deviating tactics of the mass news media; and the hatefulness of racism."

Kochiyama has shared her Malcolm X memories countless times, during commemorations and anniversaries, which celebrate the leader's life. When she speaks, Kochiyama's voice reveals the passion, dignity, respect and love she has for Malcolm.

Thus, the moment of her holding a dead Malcolm is historic and illustrates a phenomenal bond.

Salaam,

E. Tanille

Listen to Tavis Smiley's interview with Yuri Kochiyama: Yuri Kochiyama: 'Passing It On'

'Freedom Writers'

I laid across my bed last midnight to enjoy a movie. I don't own a DVD player. I have a ratty VCR that I hardly ever use. When I want to watch a modern movie, I lie in bed and cuddle with my laptop.

I watched Freedom Writers - a movie about a white high school English teacher, who makes it her mission to educate poverty-stricken minority students in Los Angeles. Normally, I refrain from watching such movies. Hollywood seems to have a fetishism for white heroes, who stop at nothing to rescue black and brown, down and out people.

But, this movie was different.

Hilary Swank, who plays the teacher (Erin Gruwell), mentors troubled youth using the power of history. Her character literally transforms the students' minds.

It all started when a student drew a negative caricature of another student. The image was seen as a joke by most, but it hurt a black student, who was the subject of the insult. Gruwell (Swank) discovered the image and used it to prove a point. She explained that during the Holocaust, Germans used negative images of Jews for propaganda purposes. Jewish people were portrayed in newspapers as people with enlarged noses and other facial features. The dehumanized art was a way to discredit and demonize Jewish people, Gruwell said. Hitler's regime took over countries, and the ramifications of his gang heavily outweighed the gang and violent backgrounds her students had grown accustom to, she added. A student's art sketched on notebook paper symbolized a harsh element of history, according to Gruwell's lesson.

In response to the classroom experience, she took the students to Los Angeles' Museum of Tolerance, where they got a first-hand glimpse of deadly German concentration camps. Afterwards, Gruwell introduced her students to Holocaust survivors.

They read the diary of Anne Frank and learned of her family's history. The students and Gruwell personally met Miep Gies, the woman who helped shield Frank's family from German soldiers during the Holocaust. Gies visited Gruwell's class and lectured about her Holocaust memories.

It is the historical elements of Freedom Writers that makes it a must see film. Gruwell's students were victims of society's harshest environments during a turbulent time - the 1992 LA race riots. Thus, Gruwell's students were viewed as meaningless criminals, not future leaders or writers, which is what they went on to become.

Gruwell believed in uplifting oppressed students, who lacked a strong support system. She witnessed her father's work with social leaders and demonstrators during the Civil Rights Movement. As a result, she followed her passion, which stemmed from her father's social efforts.

Although Gruwell and her students over came obstacles, there are still countless numbers of underprivileged youth who desperately need mentors. A mentor can be anyone who is willing to use themselves to serve, enlighten and strengthen young people.

Gruwell used writing to empower her students. They journaled their experiences and struggles, living in an other America. The students willingness to engage in truth telling dispelled stereotypes and perceptions about poor youth. Their stories were inspirational.

I felt compelled to work harder for America's underprivileged youth.

I set up after curling in bed next to my laptop. A adrenaline rushed through my spirit and I thought of the under-represented youth in Iowa City, Iowa, where I currently live. Afterwards, I contemplated the true essence of freedom. Its meaning sustains me as I personally grow.

Freedom means to look adversity in the eye, and engage in public service to those who need it most.

Freedom is the embodiment of Gruwell and the Freedom Writers.

Salaam,
E. Tanille

'Absolutely Unusual'

Published in The Gazette, April 19. 2007 7:33PM

By Earlesha Butler
News Correspondent

IOWA CITY - Kareem Salama isn't your typical country music singer.

He has the usual southern drawl and cowboy accessories. But, Salama's Muslim faith seems unusual for country music, one of America's popular music genres.

His music producer at Iowa City's Inner Light Records said he never saw a Muslim country music singer until meeting Salama, 29.

"When he walked through the door it was interesting, absolutely unusual," said Aristotle Mihalopoulos, the recording studio's owner and music producer.

Salama, a University of Iowa law student, entered the studio with the intent to hone his music. His and Mihalopoulos' first meeting has grown to a nearly two-year partnership of developing a grassroots-level music repertoire and entertaining various crowds.

The audience's response at a performance at an Islamic Society of North America conference led Salama to record his first CD in September: "Generous Peace" from Mihalopoulos' studio.

Although Salama has yet to perform in Iowa, gigs in Philadelphia; Cambridge, Mass.; and London have generated media attention. Most of the people hearing his music are Muslim Americans, he said.

"I've just really started performing," he said. "I don't seek out much. Through word of mouth and things, people find me."

His music has lyrics about hope, love and peace -- traditional country music values, he said. His song, "Valley," explores the virtues of faith and love. "In the valley you'll find all good in this life. It's where Moses heard God and where Dave found his wife," Salama sings in the ballad.

Salama said having faith values in his music helps eliminate stereotypes about Muslims. "As a Muslim, that's a concern of mine, that the music has those spiritual elements," he said. "That's just a big part of my life, my relationship with God."

Salama's religion and southern roots are a seemingly bizarre combination to some. He describes himself as an "embodiment of something that's not the norm." However, country music always has been Salama's bliss.

Salama, who was raised in north central Oklahoma, said his parents introduced him to the music. He recalled attending family outings, like the "Grand Ole Opry" in Tennessee and live country music shows in Branson, Mo.

"When you are young you need to try everything," said Salama's father, Mamdouh. "His music is what he really wants. I didn't inhibit him."

Salama credits his parents, who immigrated to the United States from Egypt as young adults, for encouraging him to explore his interests."I didn't feel different. My parents were so comfortable with themselves and so comfortable in their environment," he said. "My faith and my culture just blended together naturally."

Salama's music is a mixture of pop and country. He credits Mihalopoulos for that combination. "I like diversity," said Mihalopoulos, a 14-year veteran of producing music.

"He'll sing a melody. I'll just sit back and see what things occur to me melodically. I kind of play things at him," Mihalopoulos said.

Fame, Salama said, isn't his primary goal. Reaching the masses with positive messages is all that matters.

Although Salama said he's only sold about 1,000 copies of his CD and has yet to sign with a record label, his primary goal is to use music as a service tool.

"If I can use music to make people feel closer, I love that," Salama said. "It's all about the people."

Salama added that he plans to pursue further country music when he's finished with law school. "I'm waiting till I finish to maybe go to Nashville, maybe do things to promote my work more."

AP podcast: Hear Kareem Salama's music

The Origin of "Nappy"

I'm currently enrolled in a thought provoking course titled, "Insurgency and Globalization". During class, the word nappy was the subject of a brief conversation. Radio personality Don Imus erupted controversy when he referred to the Rutgers University women's basketball team as "nappy headed hoes". Since then, Imus' radio talk shows have been dismissed by MSNBC and CBS. But, his words ignited debates and conversations about the origin of "nappy".

Growing up, the word meant course, thick hair, not straight. Many young girls use the term, not knowing where it derived from. (I must also admit, growing up, I too didn't know the word's origin.) As a result of ignorance, girls have internalized society's measurements of beauty. They think their natural hair texture isn't good enough. It's sad that a demeaning concept "nappy" causes young women to over process their hair. They walk around with damaged hair and bruised souls, trying to assimilate into a culture of fear, hatred and greed.

The word nappy was originated by Europeans to demean women of African decent. As my college friend eloquently wrote:

The concept of nappy [is] actually [a] creation by a Eurocentric power structure, which sought to on one hand portray black women as sexual “mules” (hoes) and on the other hand to demonize and dehumanize Afrikan people (nigga). Nappy headed, as a concept, is also European in its construction because European people decided that they also had to demonize the physical characteristics of Afrikan people. Their hair was one of them. Therefore, they called it nappy, which was supposed to be bad. This isn't just an American phenomenon. It happened everywhere Afrikan people were exploited by colonialism, imperialism and slavery. One such place was Kenya - the way the British viewed the Mau Mau. I don't believe I have to go in-depth historically for us to understand that the demonization of Afrikan people was done by Europeans as a ploy to justify their actions.

Today, women are ignoring the status quo and accepting the true essence of their natural beauty. They are walking embodiments that illustrate, "Black is beautiful." Although I straighten my hair, I value and respect women who choose to wear their hair natural. They represent the motherland's beautiful origins.

Salaam,
E. Tanille

Why I Still Love Hip-Hop

My personal fulfillment of one thing – Hip-Hop – was secret and peddled as the fulfillment of a higher cause.

I shielded my radio-bumping music and my self-proclaimed activist mentality from those close to me. My middle-class background didn’t allow me to see beyond the sentiments echoed by old-schooled blacks and whites. To them, Hip-Hop seems to be a blemish on culturally American music. I disguised my admiration of Hip-Hop for a conservative image.

Now that the strange English, sagging pants, and bling bling associated with today’s gansta rap have become social codes, I might as well confess. I love Hip-Hop -- not the “Real Slim Shaddy Please Stand Up” Eminem-type rap; instead, I prefer the lyrical genius “Power to the People” genre.

Hip-Hop Confessions

I haven’t always been fond of Hip-Hop.

I’m not a product of the Bronx, where Hip-Hop was founded. I didn’t grow up standing on house stoops listening to poetic artists dressed in sweltering leather suits and three-striped Adidas without shoe strings. I don’t have memories of up and coming rappers be-bopping and scatting to undocumented beats and words.

Run DMC, the Cold Crush Brothers, and the Sugar Hill Gang, all Hip-Hop trailblazers, I knew. I’d seen images of record spinning DJing, emceeing, break dancing, and loud graffiti colors spray painted on old brick buildings. I’ll never forget LL Cool J’s urban style of thick gold chains with cotton and leather Kangol hats covering his eyes.

Social despair caused urban rappers to create Hip-Hop, and me to relish it. I bought my first Hip-Hop CD for the same reasons the Hip-Hop culture clings to its artist. I’d fallen in love with Kanye West, Mos Def, and Talib Kweli. I could dig a Tribe Called Qwest and The Roots. The words of West, Common, and the Lost Poets helped me to grasp an understanding of the same street corners my father, uncles, aunts, and cousins turned to for comfort. The song’s words still resonate in my mind:

The corner, where struggle and greed fight…we write songs about wrong cuz its hard to see right…look to the sky, hoping it will bleed light…reality’s a bitch, and I heard that she bites the corner (Common, “The Corner,” 2005).

Listening to West’s Jesus Walks (With Me), I understood why ex-sinners were mystified and shouting to a higher being. As the late James Baldwin wrote, “their pain and their joy were mine, and mine were theirs.”

Love Is…Hip-Hop

Joy, pain, and love are what resonate when I listen to Hip-Hop artist, Common, short for Common Sense. College classmates introduced me to the Chicago native. Common’s charismatic style complements his physique. He is a caramel-colored brother with the style of a local businessman and the mind of a social activist. On the back of his latest CD cover, the artist sits content dressed in a business shirt covered with an orange sweater. He sports a smooth beard, and a Kangol hat covers the complexion of his beautiful eyes. Behind him, is a black and white picture of Malcolm X, the one where he’s posing with his index finger pressed against his face. The former emcee has a sensual melody that is inviting. He is without gangstaness and yields to an obsession of material things. I respect him for his feminist words:

I was rolling around, in my mind it occurred
What if God was a her?
Would I treat her the same?
Would I still be runnin’ game on her?
In what type of ways would I want her?
Would I want her for her mind?
Or, her heavnly body (Common, “Faithful,” 2005).

I credit Hip-Hop for its role in re-establishing love into a community that once said, “Black is Beautiful.” Who would’ve ever thought young souls would once again walk the streets of Harlem with dignity? The ingenuity of soul lives through Hip-Hop. It permeates streets known as South Cottage Grove and Lenox Avenues. For the same reasons Negroes admired a tall man with black trimmed glasses who walked the streets of Harlem as a celebrity, Hip-Hop has become the urban anthem for self-preservation.

I don’t remember the exact moment I discovered Hip-Hop, but I embrace its clasping melodies when I listen. Lyrics of truth telling embedded with unfamiliar beats soothe me when I need a fix of consciousness. Hip-Hop lives, and young minds continue to grasp it for the same reasons I did discreetly – it gives a voice to the voiceless.

Salaam,
E. Tanille

Black Evangelicals To Hold Town Hall Meeting

In the wake of apologies from fired radio personality Don Imus, African American church leaders met last week to plan a town hall meeting. The leaders efforts are part of a community based approach to examine racism and sexism in America.

Two networks, MSNBC and CBS, fired Imus after he referred to the Rutgers University women's basketball team as "nappy headed hoes". Although Imus was released, black evangelicals say racist language and negative depictions of women remain a problem.

Rev. DeForest B. Soaries Jr., senior pastor of the First Baptist Church of Lincoln Gardens (Somerset, New Jersey), said a meeting will be held at Rutgers University within the next month to discuss the social issues, including the portrayal of women in mass media. The meeting will consist of students and community leaders, Soaries said during a press conference.

"No African-American leader, no national leader should consider this a victory," he said. "We have to begin working on a response to the larger problem."

E. Tanille's Thoughts:

I commend Rev. Soaries and other leaders for stepping up to the plate. Their actions prove that there are black men, who have the courage to stand up for women, particularly black women. For too long, black women have been demonized and uncharacterized in society, as well as some Hip-Hop and Gangsta Rap music. So much so, that I'm willing to argue that women's unclothed bodies in music videos have made millions for white and black business owners. BET, a network that was supposedly created to provide positive images of black people, consistently displays dehumanizing images of ethnic women. Thus, Rev. Soaries is right; Imus' comments hurt, but there's definitely a larger discourse that needs to be expressed.

Black leaders have protested against the negativity of Hip-Hop and Gangsta Rap music. For years, C. Deloris Tucker, the late civil rights leader, agitated against Gangsta Rap's demeaning lyrics. Unfortunately, after Mrs. Tucker's death, the music genre continues to be a problem.

Will this Rutgers University town hall meeting leave a lasting impression on rap music? Do you think Soaries and other local evangelicals are on to something that may bring about change?

A change is definitely needed. There are less and less profound images shown on cable television via Hip-Hop. I agree with the rapper Nas. Hip-Hop appears to be dead. But, I have hope. My hope lies with my generation and young people.

My advice to Rev. Soaries and other church leaders is: If you refuse to reach out to the masses of black and brown young people living in America's urban ghettos, your efforts may be meaningless. Young brothers and sisters desperately need leaders to support, defend and stand up for them. They turn to demeaning lyrics (which are said to be artistic expression) because society has ignored them. If leaders don't step up and provide more positive outlets for young people, they will continue to fall through society's cracks of racism, discrimination and white supremacy.

Rutgers University is a leading institution in this country. The school won't suffer if church leaders hold the town hall meeting elsewhere. Why not have it at a local community center in Newark (New Jersey) or the basement of a housing project?

If black evangelicals ignore the voices of society's young people, they will remain victims of racialized and stereotypical media.

Imus is off the airwaves for now, but our young people are still walking around calling each other "nappy headed hoes".

Salaam,
E. Tanille

The Insurgency of Love

I was watching and reading archive material from "The Tavis Smiley Show," when I came across a February 2007 interview with Dr. Cornel West. Smiley, who has interviewed West on numerous occasions, engaged deeply with the Princeton University professor as they talked one-on-one. In this particular interview, Smiley asked West about the legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. West referenced King's ideologies . According to West, King's greatness separated him from the status quo. West alluded to his message of love and humanity, forgiving and service, decency and companionship for all. However, West said King was just a man, who depended on many to fulfill his purpose of greatness - eradicating social injustices.

That led me to ask: What does it mean to be great? Some nights, I find myself tossing and turning, repeatedly thinking, "What can I do to better myself and my people's conditions?" According to West, there are two critical things one must do to achieve greatness. One, he said individuals must think for themselves. They must cut against the grain of their peers and develop their own thoughts. Second, individuals must develop their own "habitual vision of greatness." This is, the nagging thoughts, that pull at you, to do more, to be more, in a society dominated by white supremacy, racism and discrimination.

As West poignantly said, "You have to believe in fact that you will refuse to settle for mediocrity. You won't confuse financial security with your personal integrity. You won't confuse your success with your greatness or your prosperity with your magnanimity. If you have a vision of greatness as something that's luring you all the time for something grander than you and, of course, as a Christian, for me, he who is great will be" a servant.

Those who are familiar with Cornel West know that his message is one of faith and love, not hatred. That's why his messages permeate among the masses. Although I had listened to this interview before, his words struck a cord with me again due to a recent class discussion.

As a student, I questioned the statement of a professor, who recently said it was okay for minorities to hate the oppressor. In essence, she said it was okay for the oppressed to hate the oppressor. She referred to white people as the oppressor. I agree that there are certain ills that plague our society, of which people should question and protest against the unjust nature of the status quo. That's what my ancestors did. That's what Martin and Malcolm, Huey P. Newton and Angela Davis did. They protested and fought against a racist society. They did so because they loved the people that they were fighting for.

However, as a Christian and as a product of my ancestors, I believe it is wrong to hate. Hatred is a form of cowardliness and insecurity! For it was the power of love and forgiveness that caused black people to march on Southern domains, consistently agitating for freedom repeated times. It was the power of love and forgiveness that gave my ancestors strength and courage while they were shackled in bondage and treated as chattel, property. Love and forgiveness are the abstract shields that protect me as I traject through a society filled with social ills. I would not be in my current position if my ancestors hated those who hated them. When someone hates you, you must have the power to forgive them, as Nelson Mandela said.

Hate is the one thing that can internally destroy a human being. I find that white radicals (who claim to be down for the cause) are quick to protest using hateful tactics, having had no experience living in blackness. They say "All Power to the People," and preach a message of hate, having not survived years of racism, white supremacy and discrimination like my black brothers and sisters. Their actions are unacceptable and warrant disrespect from myself and other minorities alike.

I hope the professor, who made the comment I referenced, reads this blog. After reading the words of Dr. Cornel West and re-analyzing the thoughts and actions of historical black leaders, she will then see that, "Love and justice is a serious thing in a world that's obsessed with fear, hatred and greed."

Salaam,
E. Tanille