Tuesday, December 10, 2019

50 Years of Sunny Days

Note: I began working on this piece last month when the 50th Anniversary special aired, but I got busy with a few other projects and had planned to return to it before the end of the year. Sadly, the death of puppeteer Caroll Spinney is what prompted me to finish it today. This piece will serve as an appreciation of his wonderful work as well as my nostalgic homage to the show. Enjoy.

We watched the Sesame Street 50th Anniversary special last month and I will just confess up front that at first, I was WAY more excited than the Kid. Of course, she was into it for all of the characters that she loves, but was unfazed by my random call outs and tweets at seeing favorite veteran Muppets and humans until a certain frog appeared:

The highlight of the night came when I tweeted this picture to Holly Robinson Peete and she responded! After the Kid watched the special again the following weekend, she has been a tad obsessed: watching the new season and learning the new songs; forcing us to listen to their version of kid songs in the car to and from school; and binging classic clips on YouTube. She re-enacted this memorable cartoon by going to our refrigerator to 'buy' a loaf of bread, a container of milk, and a stick of butter. (She has also been hovering over me as I try to write this because she likes to see Kermit dance.)

In case it wasn't clear by now, I LOVE Sesame Street. I grew up watching it on PBS along with The Electric Company and Mr. Roger's Neighborhood in a dedicated block of weekday morning programming. Even after I outgrew the show, I found reasons to watch it until I went away to college. If you wanted to ruin my day, preempt any one of those shows for a pledge drive. Another way was to be at someone's house with a poor UHF signal or whose parents weren't into public television.

There is so much to say about this beloved show, so many wonderful memories to share, and then there is the bittersweet realization that with the show reaching its 50th season, many of the people who helped to bring the magic all of these years are passing on. The most painful indicator of this fact came with the death of Caroll Spinney, the puppeteer who brought Big Bird and Oscar the Grouch to life.

When I received that news, my heart sank...then it burst. My initial reaction was sadness because we had just seen Spinney in the Celebration special. I know that he had retired but it was not clear until I saw him in a wheelchair, just how physically demanding it had been for him to portray Big Bird for all of these years. (Please, take the time to watch this fascinating documentary about his career and keep the tissues handy.) He had developed a condition called dystonia which I can only imagine was exacerbated by the decades he spent in that costume. However, my sadness melted away when I reflected on the fact that his life's joy had been this work, so on the same day that the show was honored by the Kennedy Center, it was fitting that he slipped away to where the air is sweet.

The Hub and I have differing opinions about the value of nostalgia. He isn't all that contemplative about the past while I am clearly game to revisit memories of my youth whenever the spirit hits. I had been waiting all year for some kind of spectacular salute to the show that literally has touched millions of children around the globe. I expected more than an hour of blink-and-you-missed-it cameos and walk-ons. I wanted to see the now-grown children who actually appeared on the show (no offense to Joseph-Gordon Levitt, but I checked his IMDb). I wanted an In Memorium segment like the award shows. I would have even settled for an imaginative behind-the-Muppets spoof (it would have been great to reveal some of the 'real' personalities of certain lesser characters like the angry blue restaurant patron).

I wanted more, but that has been my lament since the show moved to HBO. I love the old Sesame Street; I appreciate aspects of its current incarnation. While the move to HBO makes fiscal sense, it has resulted in a dialing back on the educational content in favor of more entertainment. Sure, kids still can get the basics, but there was a lot more substance to the show when it was an hour long. I get that there is a lot more competition in children's programming and a limited window of time to make lasting impressions on young viewers, but I'm not sure that it has been wise to rely more on non-human characters to illustrate very human problems and situations.

Take death, for example. I was a kid when Will Lee, the actor who portrayed Mr. Hooper, died. I had a vague understanding of what death meant at the time, but it was definitely much clearer when the show took the time to explain it. Ironically, it was this unforgettable segment with Big Bird engaged in a discussion with the humans who calmly and deliberately take the time to explain the concept to him. It is hard to look at that clip and not get a little dust in the eye, especially in light of Spinney's death. The actors who portrayed David (Northern Calloway) and Olivia (Alaina Reed) are also deceased, and all of the other now-older humans apparently moved off the street (presumably into a retirement home somewhere up-state).

And I guess that's why the Hub will shrug if when he reads this because change is inevitable. The Kid loves Sesame Street exactly as it is. She has no idea that there once was a time when there was only one female Muppet that was not a fairy named Abby or when everyone thought Snuffleupagus was imaginary. It is possible that her sensitivity to other children was made possible by Julia, the Muppet depicted with autism. In her world, no one debates the living arrangements or the sexual orientation of Bert and Ernie. She probably won't even notice that Big Bird sounds different.

No, it's not her Busy Black Mama's Sesame Street, but that is a good thing. This is her childhood, and hopefully she will be able to share her love for this show with her children some day. In order to remain relevant, the show has had to evolve to appeal to its core audience. Just like the retired cast of humans, some of those old Muppets like Herry Monster, Sherlock Hemlock, and Roosevelt Franklin moved into the Furchester Estates (storage) to make way for Rudy, Gonger, and Segi. As much as we love the typewriter guy and the pinball machine 2-D animated segments, we can't expect for kids born in this century to understand those references. If they get lost, they know how to use GPS. Yet, the very technology that necessitated changes to the format and pacing of the show are what keep it alive and appealing to both of us--so thank you HBO, YouTube, streaming on demand, and digital music downloads.

And thanks again to Caroll Spinney. It will be emotional for me to watch the new season knowing that my Big Bird is gone. But it is heartening to know that to my daughter, who happens to prefer Oscar, his beloved characters will live on.

Thursday, November 21, 2019

Stale Wonder Bread

For the past few days, I have been thinking of an analogy to help me describe my frustration with mediocrity offered up as imperial, moral, physical, and intellectual superiority. And suddenly, I had a random recollection of the local Wonder Bread factory and how as a child, my parents refused to let us eat it.

Most of you know that my parents were righteous hippies, so along with our African names and inner city sensibilities, it should not surprise you to learn that even their food choices were radical. We ate yogurt and granola and wheat germ and carob and my Dad had a vegetable garden at some point. My Mom had a philosophical opposition to processed foods, so we never had Spaghetti-ohs, American cheese, margarine, Spam, baloney, cakes or brownies made from a box, or sugary cereal. Most importantly, my parents were big on wheat bread, which meant no one EVER wanted to trade sandwiches with me at lunch. And when you are already considered to be the weird kid...

Of course I thought I was missing out until I actually tried Wonder Bread. It was terrible. It was mushy and bland. Anything that was spread on it soaked through and altered its texture and color. You could literally roll it into a ball and it would keep that form. But I thought I liked it because everyone else did. Yet, whenever I was given the choice, I never opted for white bread.

Wonder Bread is the edible embodiment of mediocrity. It is basic and boring. Because sliced bread was once thought of as innovative and extraordinary, on the spectrum of bread offerings, Wonder Bread is merely more convenient and cheap.

Sean Spicer is Wonder Bread. I have never been a fan of Dancing with the Stars, primarily because it is the 21st Century equivalent of Circus of the Stars, but the twist is that this show resorts to bland stunt-casting to maintain interest. Why else would anyone care if former Rep. Tom DeLay, Bristol Palin, Tucker Carlson, Geraldo Rivera, or Rick Perry can dance when we know better? First of all, and I mean this in all caps: THEY ARE NOT STARS. Second, because no one expects any of them to be truly competitive, the network just wants people to tune in to see how long they can keep the gag going. And third, ridiculing their lack of talent feeds the narrative of liberal elitism, even though plenty of non-political hacks have appeared on the show and have been just as terrible.

Mayor Pete Buttigieg is Wonder Bread. And that's why he is suddenly surging in the polls in Iowa despite the fact that he is the least dynamic person running for President, ever (and that includes John Delaney). You can tout all of his accomplishments and proclaim that he is perfectly qualified to be the nominee, but that is only because he reminds a lot of these folks of when their eldest son ran for student government president. For what it's worth, Sen. Amy Klobuchar should also be gaining traction since they are cut from the same bland loaf, but apparently she's Sunbeam Bread...

Kate Middleton and Prince William are Wonder Bread. Yeah, I said it.

There are a bunch of Wonder Bread celebrities who garner lots of attention in the tabloids for doing mundane shit like venturing out sans makeup to walk their dogs, and then bravely buying pumpkin spice lattes in public just like us, and I just don't get it.

FOX News is Wonder Bread. Every person nominated or appointed to serve in this Regime is Wonder Bread. The Federalist Society and the NRA are Wonder Bread. Hosting weddings on plantations is Wonder Bread. The NFL owners are Wonder Bread. Until Lil Nas X, country music was Wonder Bread. Chick-fil-A is Wonder Bread. Nostalgia for the 50s (and certain aspects of the 80s) is Wonder Bread. Gentrification is Wonder Bread topped with avocado.

In a world full of almost unlimited bread options, it makes no sense to designate Wonder Bread as the default loaf of choice. There's sourdough, pumpernickel, rye, whole wheat, multigrain, potato, pita, challa, corn bread, buttermilk biscuits, croissants, baguettes, bagels, focaccia, naan, roti, pretzel, tortilla and so many more options that are too numerous to name. Of course, there is nothing wrong with sticking with what is most familiar, but it kinda defeats part of the reason of why y'all went around colonizing the world in the first place.

It defies logic to presume the superiority of Wonder Bread simply because it once occupied more shelf space in the supermarket. Wonder Bread wasn't better than any of the aforementioned varieties of bread--it just had a bigger marketing budget. It could exaggerate its nutritional value, hire high-profile spokes-puppets to promote it, and make bogus comparisons of its benefits. And because some people have convinced themselves that their nostalgia for the good old days of their youth trumps the reality more marginalized people endured, Wonder Bread has simply re-packaged the same bland, tasteless, squishy fluff.

In case you missed my point, we do not have to settle for more of the same intolerable stuff that we outgrew so long ago. Our palates, preferences, and politics have evolved. There is a bread basket full of options--you don't have to like them all, but it won't kill you to taste and see.

Monday, November 11, 2019

Retro Black Sitcoms

An ongoing theme for the blog this year has been nostalgia and as we approach the last few weeks of the year, I figured I would keep that going with a piece that I first hinted at writing this summer. You may recall that I uncovered a clip from Charlie & Co., which was a short-lived family sitcom that starred R&B Diva Gladys Knight. Finding that clip got me to thinking about a few other shows that I vaguely remembered, which of course led me down quite a fascinating Memory Lane...

Clearly, I watched a LOT of television which explains why I am a repository of random pop culture trivia. Whenever we think of classic Black sitcoms, we revisit the same handful of shows that happen to stay in regular syndicated rotation, such as Sanford and Son, Good Times, and The Jeffersons (which all happen to have been produced by Norman Lear). However, there are many more shows that made it onto the small screen, even if for a brief moment. As you look through these clips, you might be surprised to see several familiar faces before they achieved mainstream success. And if we're lucky, maybe one year TVOne, Aspire, or some other retro TV network will acquire the rights to air a marathon of one or more of these shows so that we can have a more diverse pool of reruns upon which to binge.

That's My Mama (1974)
The Hub did not believe this was a real show--he thought it was a joke based on the reference made to it in at the Black Awareness rally scene in Coming to America. So imagine his amazement when it aired for a brief time back in the early days of TV One (and FWIW, there was no 'Joe the cop' or a 'What's Going Down' episode). Growing up, this was the other Black Mama show (What's Happening is better known) and my random trivia is that both Theresa Merritt and Mabel King appeared in The Wiz.

Baby I'm Back (1977)
I did not remember the premise of this show, which was probably a good thing considering...this was definitely not the kind of show that would get a hard pass in today's contentious social media climate. Even in the late 70s, this seems like the type of show that would have garnered protests for promoting negative images of Black fatherhood. On the bright side, there are several familiar faces that reappear in subsequent sitcoms, including a very young and clearly gifted Kim Fields. Demond Wilson would star in a remake of the Odd Couple that also lasted for about 13 episodes, Helen Martin would return to sit in the window at 227,  and Denise Nichols would also continue to appear in various projects through the years.

Getting to Know Me (1980)
I am SO glad to have finally found a clip of this show on YouTube! This aired one summer on PBS, and I remember watching it with my Mom. Seeing this entire episode after all of these years made me emotional for so many reasons. Let's start with how that theme song has been in my head for nearly 40 years, and then how I just assumed that this show was lost forever somewhere in a dusty library archive. In hindsight, it makes sense that it only lasted one season and that it aired on PBS given the times, but this needs to be restored and made available at the Blacksonian or for a February programming binge. Priceless!

He's the Mayor (1986)
What I remember about this show at the time was how it seemed like such a ground-breaking concept despite the fact that there were Black mayors in several major US cities in the mid-80s. Even Chicago had elected Harold Washington as its first Black mayor, although it would take few years for New York City. Perhaps it was Kevin Hooks' youth and maybe the fact that while plenty of Black people were used to the idea of a Black mayor, this would have been a definite cultural shock outside of a Chocolate City. Even though it only lasted half a season, this show clearly provided some inspiration for The Distinguished Gentleman (1992) and Head of State (2003).

Charlie & Co. (1985)
This show attempted to clone the success of The Cosby Show, which was on a rival network. It didn't work for a variety of reasons. They seemed to be a nice enough family, so maybe on another network in a Friday night lineup of other bland shows it might have worked better. Which is what happened for Jaleel White, who went on to become Steve Urkel (imagine how different his career would have been). And of course it was one of many acting credits for Kristoff St. John, whom we lost earlier this year.

What's Happening Now (1985)
This was one of those syndicated shows that attempted to pick up several years in the future after the end of the first show. And it was terrible, which should provide some context for why nearly every sitcom reboot is a bad idea. However, it did introduce us to a young Martin Lawrence and Regina King's younger sister, Reina (just the type of random factoid that would win on Black Jeopardy).

Frank's Place (1987)
In the list of great Black sitcoms, this show is always mentioned in high regard. Unfortunately, I did not watch it regularly enough to know that on my own (which might explain why I was so ill-prepared for my transition from Atlanta to New Orleans). Nevertheless, there is a good reason why this show is remembered so fondly and I think that audiences need a better reason to remember Tim Reid and Daphne Maxwell Reid than as corny Ray Campbell (Sister, Sister) and as the second Aunt Viv (Fresh Prince of Bel-Air).

Out All Night (1992)
When I was putting together the R&B Divas playlist, I knew Patti LaBelle had been in a sitcom that I watched, but that it only lasted for about a season. Beyond having up-and-coming talent that included Morris Chestnut, Duane Martin, and Vivica A. Fox, it was generic and forgettable. The younger actors would go on to become big screen stars throughout the decade, and of course Miss Patti would continue to be her larger than life self.

Thea (1993)
If you recognize a young Brandy Norwood before she dropped her last name, released an album, and got her own sitcom, as well as a young Jason Weaver, one of the hardest working teen actors in the 90s, then you might be wondering how you forgot about this show. Well, because sometimes the stars are the kids, and not the eponymous name in the title. My question: what happened to Thea Vidale?

Me and the Boys (1994)
Before all of the kid-friendly sitcoms shifted to Disney and Nickelodeon, there were a few that managed to make it onto the major network schedules, and that would include this show with Steve Harvey. It was cute and might have lasted longer if not for the unfortunate illness and death of co-star Madge Sinclair. Harvey reportedly did not want to continue the show without her, so he got a different show for which he is better remembered.

At some point in the 90s, maybe right in the middle of the decade when new networks were launching, certain programming became more expendable and the landscape of situation comedies also changed. As I mentioned above, most of the shows that were designated as family-friendly migrated from the networks to cable, and Black sitcoms were relegated to the fledgling networks UPN and WB. Then my TV viewing habits changed, so it is quite possible that I missed something notable from early 2000s. I know that streaming services made some shows not mentioned here available to current audiences, such as Smart Guy. And it is possible that some of these shows might air on one of those platforms.

But for those of us who haven't cut the cord and who are not sure what to think about Good Times live (at least it isn't a reboot), a couple of these shows deserve to pinch hit one of these holiday weekends.

Friday, November 8, 2019

BBW Tea Party: Harriet

This piece will contain a few spoilers, so if you have not seen the film, I strongly encourage you to do so unless you have been convinced that it is a waste of time, in which case, I urge you to read this and then reconsider. Please and Thank You.

In the weeks leading up to the release of Harriet, I saw a lot of chatter on Twitter and I am sad to say that I read far too much of it prior to seeing the movie; however, I ignored most of it. It was a good movie, I recommend it, and if you are weighing whether to see it, I implore you to do so as soon as possible!

I sat in a theater that was partially full of senior citizens for a matinee showing, which is not surprising for the middle of the week, but a little disappointing when I think back to not yet two years ago when I first tried to see Black Panther a few days after its release. It was a midweek morning and I specifically chose an out of the way theater, but showings were sold out for the entire week. I lucked up and saw the movie a week later at a multiplex in New York where there were shows every half hour and the theater was still packed with people, many of whom were seeing it for the second or third time. I mention this at the outset not to shame anyone who saw Black Panther multiple times (because that was a great movie), but to point out that this movie should have done better than fourth place this weekend.

I also felt that it was important to reference Black Panther in response to the concerns about Cynthia Erivo being British. Chadwick Boseman is American, and yet I don't recall any misgivings about him taking on the role of an African King. And there weren't any complaints about Boseman's co-stars Angela Bassett, Forest Whitaker, Sterling K. Brown, or Michael B. Jordan, also American actors. Nor a lot grumbling that the Black Panther had been written by an old white guy (the late great Stan Lee). Yeah I know Wakanda is a fictional place, but it was purported to exist on a real continent as an independent and thriving utopia that had been unspoiled by colonialism...which goes beyond the realm of fantasy into delusional. Not a word or a whiff of outrage.

I read a few of Cynthia Erivo's past tweets and yeah, a whole lot of y'all say problematic shit on Twitter. That doesn't excuse her statements, and she deserves the appropriate dragging. And maybe there was another American actress who could have filled that role, but it isn't as if British and American actors don't ever cross the pond and switch places. Meryl Streep was Margaret Thatcher. Sir Anthony Hopkins was Hannibal Lector. Idris Elba was Stringer Bell. Renee Zellweger was Bridget Jones. Naomie Harris is currently an American cop in Black and Blue. And do you know why we rarely notice? Because they are actors and that is their job.

But since we are apparently keeping score, Black Brits have been getting a lot of American roles lately so be sure to boycott the next film or favorite project that stars Lupita Nyong'o (Us), Daniel Kaluuya (Get Out), Gugu Mbatha-Raw (A Wrinkle In Time), John Boyega (Star Wars), Chiwetel Ojiofor (The Lion King), Thandie Newton (Westworld), David Oyelowo (Don't Let Go), and Carmen Ejogo (True Detective). Remember, those are roles that could have gone to Americans, so let's stay righteously mad Every Single Time. And why stop with Black Brits when there are Black actors throughout the diaspora who are infringing on the rights of American-born actors: Winston Duke and Lorraine Toussaint (Trinidad and Tobago), Letitia Wright (Guyana), Sidney Poitier (Bahamas), Grace Jones and Sheryl Lee Ralph (Jamaica), Danai Gurira (via Zimbabwe), Uzo Aduba (via Nigeria), Tatyana Ali (via Panama and Trinidad and Tobago), Laz Alonso (via Cuba), and Harry Belafonte (via Jamaica).

America First! Send them back! Build the Wall! That's how you sound.

As for Erivo's performance, she was excellent! Leslie Odom, Janelle Monae, Vanessa Bell Calloway, Clarke Peters, Vondie Curtis-Hall, Daphne Maxwell Reid, and my line sister (I saw you girl :) also gave noteworthy performances. I am unfamiliar with the other white actors, and their presence on screen was one of the weaknesses of the movie. White actors in these historic pieces can either come off as cartoons or ciphers if not used adequately, and unfortunately the performances of Joe Alwyn and Jennifer Nettles fell short of the brilliance we experienced with Michael Fassbender and Sarah Paulson in Twelve Years A Slave. But, I also recognize the desire to elevate this narrative above the condition of enslavement, so it was an interesting creative choice to marginalize the white characters.

Which is why the rumors of a white savior was such a reach. Mind you, there are benevolent white people in this movie, because there were white abolitionists, who sheltered runaways, provided them with food, clothing, and safe passage. Not to be confused with the slaveowners, overseers, and bounty hunters...so yes, there are depictions of good white people because that's how the Underground Railroad worked. Additionally, there is no need for all of this ruckus over the existence of a Black bounty hunter. Don't be that naive and willfully ignorant. Some enslaved people did not leave the plantations; others found the means to survive the best way they could. In a biopic, creative license is what makes the narrative interesting and engaging. If you prefer the straight-forward factual story, then watch a documentary or go to the Harriet Tubman Underground Railroad National Historic Park. Otherwise, I need more of you to learn your history from reading books, not an #ADOS twitter/instagram rant.

Or you can revisit one of the previous movies made about Tubman's life. I was recently reminded of this gem that I saw back when I was in elementary school. Thanks to inclement weather, indoor recess, and what passed for being 'woke' in the late 70s and 80s, I had the memory of these stellar performances by Ruby Dee and Cicely Tyson. The current movie dramatizes Tubman's life, which is what a biopic does.

Thus, I really appreciated the treatment of John Tubman's story because it offered a perspective on the complexities and tensions on marriages between free and enslaved people. Instead of the commonly accepted story that her husband was a scared man who did not support his wife's desire for freedom, we get a sympathetic portrayal of a man who sought it for her. His choice to move on was presented as practical, not out of spite or from a lack of love for a woman he never thought he would see again. I also appreciated the nod to the earlier films where Harriet's parents would not look at her in order to truthfully say that they had not seen her. It highlighted another emotionally challenging component of relationships among enslaved people--the illusive structure of enslaved families and the extraordinary effort she undertook to reunite hers.

There were a few scenes that I thought were gratuitous and unnecessary, but nothing egregious. The greatest flaw was an omission, so I agree with the criticism that Tubman's later work as a Union Army spy got the footnote treatment. That is the one aspect of her life story that most people know the least about. The Combahee River Raid, which is referenced in Glory (one of my favorite movies), would not have been successful without Tubman's leadership. Yet, it isn't included in Ken Burns' Civil War series either, so that might also reflect a lack of serious historical scholarship on the vital role of women and enslaved people in the war.

I have had some time to reflect on the sexist nature of the backlash, fueled at least in part by the ashier elements on Black Twitter. These are the same dudes who never pass up an opportunity to bash Black women whether it is Oprah, Kamala Harris, victims of sexual assault, and now a film about a real-life American shero directed by a Black woman. I expect conservative movie reviewers to dismiss the film as ideologically driven because they regard any critical examination of slavery as revisionism. But when there are Black people denouncing as trash a movie that they haven't seen (or when they have an obvious agenda in disparaging it), then that is the exact opposite of wokeness.

We're boycotting because Comcast is the distributor and look at their role in the Byron Allen case. The same Byron Allen who calls himself a protege of Rupert Murdoch and works in partnership with Sinclair Broadcast Group. Did he call for the boycott of this movie because he plans to produce an alternative on the Weather Channel?

We're boycotting this film because we're tired of seeing slave movies. In the same year that we commemorate 400 years of the African introduction to this continent in bondage, we are ashamed of the condition that was imposed on our ancestors? Y'all better stop listening to Kanye West...

You ain't woke if you would rather see another stale installment of The Terminator franchise, but at the very least that would be honest. I am not saying that Harriet is the best film or that it doesn't have shortcomings. But we have flocked to the theaters to see all kinds of movies, even Kevin Hart movies, so surely this is better than Night School. At the very least, see it and judge for yourself.

Wednesday, November 6, 2019

Double Down

I had not paid close enough attention to the scandal that engulfed the promising career of former California Congresswoman Katie Hill until I saw this political ad for one of the local State Senate races in Virginia. The ad exploits the circumstances of the sexual assault allegations that have dogged embattled current Virginia Lieutenant Governor Justin Fairfax. As I was doing the research to find that link, I learned that similar content is being used against another candidate in another part of the state.

For what it is worth, I have already shared my concerns about the allegations brought against Fairfax, but that was eight months ago. Since then, another accuser came forward and for that along with various other reasons, my feelings about his political future are no longer as wishy-washy. He needs to go. He comes from a well-connected family, has a good private-sector job, and in the best interest of everyone involved, stepping away from the limelight spares us the agony of watching him transformed into a modern-day Willie Horton. It makes me sad, BUT not sad enough to acquiesce to the suggestion that the good he could have done in public office could not be accomplished by someone else.

In that same vein, it's outrageous that the accounts of his two accusers have become part of a cynical political narrative intended to disillusion voters. One candidate even bolstered the impact of the ads with mailers that allude to the allegations, but that feature someone else's image, which I find both disturbing and deeply offensive. Mind you, Justin Fairfax isn't even on the ballot and I am pretty sure that these women did not consent to use of their image in this way. And I am also 1000% sure that neither of the campaigns that produced these ads give one whiff about what these women endured by coming forward. Just ask Christine Blasey Ford.

Someone famously quipped that politics ain't beanbag; for women it can be dodgeball with live grenades. From what I have observed throughout my life, but definitely in the last three years, women are the collateral damage in most political scandals.

Consider the scrutiny that accompanies the wives of political office seekers. The traditional role of a political spouse was that of a smiling, well-coifed homemaker. Then along came modern women with their own opinions such as Hillary Clinton and Teresa Heinz, who when pitted against the likes of Cindy McCain and Laura Bush, were regarded as liabilities. It is a perverted Mrs. America Pageant, especially for FLOTUS, where every aspect of a contestant's life is dissected and mounted for public display. Not even the useless Melania Antoinette evaded being slut-shamed for having taken nude pictures in her past (yet, somehow that worked in her husband's favor).

Women who pursue candidacies of their own face a Ms. Congeniality competition that pits appearance against intellect and ideology. Congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez is a popular conservative target, not because she is a ballsy millennial upstart, but because she is young, attractive, and smart. Her detractors get a lot more mileage from mocking her alleged intellectual deficiencies than they would by going up against fellow freshman Congresswoman Katie Porter (even in this Batgirl costume). Liberals had our fun back when Sarah Palin and Michelle Bachmann were trending, so the ridicule cuts both ways. And if we aren't directly disparaging a woman's looks, then the next line of attack is her age which is also a sideways insult on her appearance, so there's that.

And if we aren't attacking or maligning or deriding the women who are married to power or who are seeking it for themselves, then our issues are political fodder. Abortion might be the most explosive and polarizing, but pay equity, family leave, public benefits, minimum wage, and healthcare fall under that umbrella of kitchen table issues used to describe and then dismiss domestic policy that disproportionately impact women. Every policy change debated in that space turns on the financial impact to employers or taxpayers, which is just another way of saying that we give lip service to equality and fairness but we don't want to pay for it.

All of this makes the rapid rise and fall of Katie Hill so perfect for the Lifetime movie treatment. She hadn't even finished a full year of her term before she self-destructed. Her hasty departure could have been the stuff of another Helen Fielding sequel--Bridget Jones Goes to Parliament or perhaps we should go back and watch The Contender.

The problem I have with her resignation isn't that it happened, but that she won't get any credit for sparing us the tawdry details of her private life. While I agree that she was subjected to a double standard (because men have been accused of much worse and managed to hold on), she went down for more dubious reasons. Instead of being the purpose-driven, dutiful wife caught up in a love triangle with a philandering husband in a long-distance commuter marriage, she was the sexy siren who was seducing her staff to join in their threesomes. By proclaiming her bisexuality as part of her political biography, she left her blinds wide open.

Of course her untimely resignation seems unfair. Of course the very idea of a sex scandal that takes down a female elected official is so on brand for the bizarro world in which we live (because it requires a lot more hubris to take out a male politician). Of course the revenge porn allegation has merit, because the outlets that published her nude photos were partisan. Of course her once promising political career is done even though one would have thought the same thing about the dude who sent dick pics to underage girls. Of course she was sacrificed on the altar of political expediency because Mama Pelosi doesn't have the bandwidth to protect a reckless freshman who can't keep her slip from hanging.

Whether we are the reluctant protagonists of a negative ad campaign; the wives who are paraded as props for political advantage (Madonna and whore); the candidates who smile past the insults and belittling by pundits; advocates for issues that are deferred as expendable; or the rising star that suddenly goes supernova, life ain't been fair for women since Adam blamed his downfall on Eve.

Our only recourse is to press on in spite of the double standards. And to close the blinds.

PS: Those ads didn't appear to have worked in Virginia this time.

Tuesday, October 29, 2019

BBW Tea Party: Sweep the Leg

Last weekend, I was in bed with some advanced mutation of this cold that been dogging me since the Kid went back to school, so I had time to catch up on a few old movies. I watched When Harry Met Sally again and yes, it is still the gold standard for romantic comedies. I also watched Soul Food again, and yes I stand by my declaration that it is a bad Black movie (not the worst, but still no good). And I had a chance to watch The Karate Kid (the 1984 original) and noticed quite a few things that I missed the first 100 or times I watched it previously.

For example, I didn't notice that the set up for this movie--a single Mom and her adolescent son moving across country is similar to the premise for Alice, the sitcom. I also didn't know that show had been based on the movie, Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore. (And for what it's worth, I cannot explain why this was all so fascinating...)

Nevertheless, the reason why Daniel LaRusso ends up in California is less important than what happens to him, which is the real story. He makes a friend, but we quickly realize that he is not to be Daniel's real friend (since no one else would let his boy get his ass beat in front of a girl by a bunch of surfer dudes). Hence the May-December/East-meets-West bromance with Mr. Miyagi. Of course, this movie is terrible in every 80s way imaginable (movie soundtrack notwithstanding), but we loved it because it is a classic underdog story that just happened to indulge our interest in martial arts.

I didn't think that was much more to notice about this movie, other than the faint nod to West Side Story, but then I got to the big tournament at the end and something struck me. It has become a familiar sight these last few years:

More specifically, if you were to zoom into this scene:

Which provides a partial answer to one of the most willfully naive questions I often see posed on social media: who are these people? Well, if you look close enough, you might note their resemblance to these folks:

Who, as it turns out, are really not that much different than these folks:

And I know that for some who tried to make the moral equivalency argument that these folks weren't much better:

I beg to differ. Because to begrudgingly accept the free speech/assembly rights of one group while denouncing as un-American the incivility of another group is arguably more offensive and distasteful in my eyes. I digress...

When I first considered all of this, it was in response to the erroneous presumption that the support for this DESPOTUS and his policies were some kind of aberration. Well, they ain't. Throughout our history, large groups of people have proudly chosen to be on the wrong side of it. Some Americans were ardent British loyalists, Confederates, fascists, racists, and folks who voted for Ralph Nader. I'm sure that none of them believed that they were wrong at the time. Or perhaps they did know, which brings us back to the lesson of The Karate Kid.

Kreese, the sensei of the Cobra Kai, was clearly that dude who thought he should have been the shit after high school, but for whatever reason, he flamed out. So he channeled that bitterness and resentment into ventures that allowed him to remain the same tool he had always been--the kind that people only interacted with by choice. And he figured out that being an unrepentant jerk came with certain advantages, such as cult-leader status among other like-minded assholes. (Describe anyone else we might know?)

Thus, the kids who chose to follow him did so because his ex-Hollywood stuntman bravado enabled them to terrorize others. Hardly a bunch of disaffected outsiders, these spoiled rich boys were already atop the social food chain, but that was not enough. Why else would a bunch of guys from Malibu go out of their way to pick on a kid from the Valley? Because the Cobra Kai were the angry mobs that burned down the Greenwood District in Tulsa, Oklahoma. They were the crowd that stood with Gov. George Wallace when he blocked the door to the University of Alabama in 1963. They were the Wall Street bankers who crashed the economy in 2008. They were the school officials who threatened parents with unpaid lunch balances. They don't lose any sleep over children sleeping in cages.

No mercy. Sweep the leg.

So instead of scratching our heads about what motivates their sadism, let's just stay in the fight. I noted a lot of allusions to Rocky, so go the distance. Focus. Find your balance. Put in the work. Stop complaining. Seek the wisdom of the elders who have experience and learn from them. Don't ever assume that a win in one tournament is a knockout that permanently ends the fight (as there is a new show about the next generation of Cobra Kai on YouTube right now). Much like sitting through the third movie, expending time and energy on appealing to their better angels is pointless because they are trash. Finally, in the words of Mr. Miyagi:
It's okay to lose to [an] opponent. It's never okay to lose to fear.

Monday, October 14, 2019

HBCU Just Give: Love Thy Neighbor

It was Homecoming at the Mecca this weekend, and for half a  minute I considered making an appearance on the Yard...because for the umpteenth time, I probably won't make it down to Atlanta to my own Homecoming festivities in two weeks. When I say that it lasted for about 30 seconds, that is an exaggeration, because that would be 29 seconds too long. But y'all know that I'm kidding because I love all HBCUs.

And that is not an exaggeration. I LOVE ALL HBCUs. So it irritates my SOUL when fellow HBCU alumni post booshay like this on their social media. ➨➨➨

I had a hard time deciding whether a response was even necessary, because there are times when it is best just to let others have at it, but then a few other offensive images/posts popped up on my timeline this weekend so I resolved to use this as an opportunity to put my $18.81 on the table. It also gave me an opening to re-introduce a project that I have been working on since the summer, which is the official re-launch of #HBCUJustGive.

It was just a few weeks ago that a friend sent me a rather upsetting article about his beloved Dear Old Morehouse. Then this local news segment was posted in our FB group, accompanied by various questions and then some earnest discussion about how we, as alumni, can intercede to make a difference. The announcement and celebration of Oprah's $13 million came a week later; yet, there was no announcement regarding a suspension of the furlough. So I'm betting that the cost-saving measures will remain in place because the gift from Oprah is restricted. For anyone who needs some translation, Morehouse still has to do some belt-tightening in order to make it through the 2019-2020 school year. Oprah's gift will benefit the students who are enrolled in the scholarship program that bears her name, but it won't pay salaries or keep the lights on in the dorms.

Allow me to break this down a little more for those who aren't understanding this--even Morehouse has financial woes. I don't know all of the details, but knowing that one of the most recognized HBCUs has to furlough employees means that times are hard for Every Blessed One of our schools. Perhaps then, our energy is better spent on thinking of solutions instead of airing petty grievances.

I have addressed this point in the past, and maybe it's hard to believe coming from a Spelman alumna, but these are the facts: We are not in competition for celebrity donors if there are only a handful who are opening their wallets. We are not in competition for celebrity donors in the age of Operation Varsity Blue when Aunt Becky is bribing the crew coach at USC to save a spot for her insta-famous daughter. We are not in competition for celebrity donors if college-bound athletes don't even bother to visit our campuses. We are not in competition for celebrity donors if we have to accept money from the Koch Foundation. We are not in competition for celebrity donors if we are being encouraged to participate in a PR campaign in order to 'win' a few thousand dollars from Home Depot.

We are in survival mode. Some of us are on life support. And some of us might not make it to the end of the fiscal year.

Just to illustrate this point, take the donations that have been made to HBCUs by none other than Queen Bey herself. She gave $50,000 to be split between Spelman and Howard in 2017, followed by another $100,000 donation in 2018 that got split four ways among Tuskegee (AL), Bethune-Cookman (FL), Wilberforce (OH), and Xavier (LA) Universities. Folks were hyped even though those donations went to scholarships that benefited six students, one at each school for about a semester's worth of support. Mind you, our exuberance was rightfully attached to her highly celebrated Coachella performance, where she paid homage to the HBCU Homecoming experience. Compare those donations to the amount she and Jay might have paid to rent out the Louvre for a music video...

Still hating? Are you mad at those six students, or mad enough at Beyonce not to buy another one of her $200 concert tickets?

And speaking of over-hyped performances, let's discuss Kanye West, who decided to bring his gospel concert pop up to Howard University this weekend. From all accounts, it was well attended and inspiring and uplifting, and as usual, Yeezy courted controversy with a few of his remarks. And it was free, as was the event that was held later in the day at George Washington University across town. I also saw a rumor that West donated $1million to Howard as well, so I shouldn't have a complaint in the world about any of that, right?

Well, except I do. Because operating in survival mode causes us to compromise principles in order to make a few dollars. When we compromise our principles, we accept invitations that we should decline (Talladega at the Inauguration). When we compromise, we extend invitations that are indefensible (Betsey DeVos at Bethune Cookman). When we compromise, we endure unnecessary humiliation (that Howard v. Maryland game). When we compromise, our proud traditions and values become props for someone else's benefit. Of course, Howard's Homecoming might seem like the perfect venue for a sunrise gospel service, and maybe Kanye isn't just a tool of distraction, but as long as he's out here quoting Blexit talking points, that's the headline.

Not that thousands of alumni and their families returned to their alma mater without incident this weekend. Not that Howard just entered into a partnership with Amazon that will provide a pipeline for more opportunities in Hollywood for creative talent. And so far, no confirmation that Kanye gave Howard anything other than a warm up for his show at GW. So instead of pushing Taylor Swift aside, he hijacks Homecoming. But at least his kids were dressed for the occasion.

Howard has been operating in survival mode for some time, selling off external properties such as the divinity school and the hospital. Just this spring, some dude suggested that the university should accommodate his gentrified dog poop or move. But some of y'all would rather be pissed that Howard ended up as the punchline of a Blackish episode. (Yeah, how about you call Kenya Barris out for not mentioning Clark Atlanta University--his own alma mater!)

We've got Black college students at PWIs emulating us to the point that they will claim an HBCU-ish experience, and y'all are mad at them. Instead of engaging in that foolishness, how about we get mad with them about the various microaggressions they endure at those institutions--the very reason why they need to create silly hashtags and why they are posted up at our Homecoming festivities...

As for how this all relates to #HBCUJustGive, my hashtag campaign that encourages All HBCU alumni from Every School to give back to their institutions in Any amount? Well, that's it.

I had grand plans for a splashy big relaunch, but sometimes when things fall apart, it is a sign that you need a plan B. I will spare you the details, but right now I am working through Plan C or D, which will include a new series of articles and profiles that will be released on the blog and social media in the coming weeks. But I am also pleased to see that I am not alone in the effort to increase awareness and support of HBCUs via social media. Great minds think alike, so even if I didn't get to execute my initial idea, it's okay as long as the message is out there. Because we are in survival mode, this isn't about who did what and when and whatnot. Not every blessing comes from a celebrity. Worry about the checks you're writing that keep the lights on at your alma mater. And if you haven't written a check yet...


Thursday, October 10, 2019

Salty Pretzels: 30 Minutes or Less

A friend texted me to inquire if I planned to watch the latest episode of Mixed-ish, the sitcom prequel that offers a backstory for Rainbow Johnson, the character portrayed by my imaginary twin sister, Tracee Ellis Ross (because we look and act exactly alike). As usual, I had forgotten what day the show aired, so I put the Kid to bed and tuned in. My friend had intended for me to live-tweet about the episode, but I got distracted, so I turned my focus to the much ballyhooed Girlfriends reunion episode of Black-ish.

(Full disclosure: Even if she hadn't texted a reminder, I would have tuned in to watch Mixed-ish because the show-runner is a classmate of mine from middle school, high school, and college. This will be must-see TV for me whenever I remember to tune in, which will probably be hit or miss, so at some point I will need to watch a marathon on demand to stay current.)

Nevertheless, the episode covered a lot of ground in less than 30 minutes considering the fact that Black hair is such a touchy subject. Touchy as in don't-touch-my-hair-unless-I-am-paying-you-to-do-so, but because I wasn't paying close attention, I'm not sure if that is one of the issues that was addressed. I also don't know how the younger brother ended up with beads in his head like Stevie Wonder from the early 80s, so that's something that might make more sense upon a second viewing. However, I do not need to re-watch the exploration of feminism on Black-ish, which for what it's worth is also a rather weighty topic to attempt to address in less than 30 minutes...

When we were younger, family sitcoms were big on very special episodes, and Black-ish has apparently revived that aspect of the genre. Every episode is very special. Every episode provides timely social commentary. Every episode is meant to provoke deep reflection or provide some epiphany, which is why I often find the show very annoying. Especially this tongue-in-cheek musical number and this Good Times-inspired dream sequence...every episode feels like that sociology class in college I was excited to take until halfway through the semester when the weather got nice. Then I lost interest.

Such was the case with the feminism episode--I was excited for the Girlfriends cast reunion, but once we got halfway through and everything went left, the struggle to see it through to the end got real. I've got lots of notes, so let's begin with my frustration that in an episode about feminism, which certainly started off with promise by centering on Rainbow, her daughters, and her friends, the most poignant and crucial moment occurred in the boys night out subplot. But put a pin in that for the moment...

Rainbow and I are the same age, so we were in college in the 90s when this existential conflict of feminism versus Blackness reasserted itself for our generation. Maybe I'm mistaken, but I thought we settled this by determining that we can be friends, call ourselves allies, but we also know better...I mean isn't that why Alyssa Milano and Bette Midler get dragged on Black Twitter at least once a month? (And we love Charmed and Hocus Pocus, btw.) So I guess I don't understand how Bow suddenly had this confrontation in her 40s. You mean to tell me that she never had a come-to-Jesus moment with a white feminist? In California? Not with some hippie aunt or ex-bff from the commune? Not even at Stanford? Really???

Ok, if that's what you expect me to believe, then explain why y'all under-utilized Yara Shahidi in this episode. This would have been perfect fodder for a future episode of Grown-ish since her character is in college and probably definitely would have some serious encounter with this topic on campus. Or is that just my unrealistic hope that Grown-ish will eventually tackle something other than Zoey's chronic self-absorption? I know, this isn't A Different World...

And what's up with hyping us up on a Girlfriends reunion that didn't give us any of the classic interplay we expect from this ensemble? Did they even get new character names? Why was the best moment was when Toni expressed relief that Ruby wasn't her Mama? And y'all just threw William in at the end as a tease!

Look, it wasn't a bad episode. It was timely and poignant and typical of Black-ish, with the only notable exception being that one story arch where Dre and Bow separated (which must have come from real-life). But it frustrated me, much like the HBCU episode did because it tiptoed right up to the line, went left, and then neatly resolved the conflict without any lingering fallout. I cannot be the only person left wondering if Bow will be able to make up with her white activist friend, or if we will be treated to more cameos with her Black friends. And how long is this gap year Junior is taking going to last?

As far as this being a typical sitcom take on feminism, I am dissatisfied. The resolution cannot be that each side gathers up her things and goes home. We cannot make progress if we accept that white feminists shouldn't have to consider race, nor should we advance the narrative that being inclusive towards women of color is some kind of hostile takeover. There is a middle ground that takes work to traverse, and the pay off can benefit us all at the moment of truth.

Unless the real intent of the episode was the subplot I referenced earlier, which was Dre's awakening to the idea that white people tend to regard racism with the same disbelief and indifference that men respond to sexism and misogyny. And if that was the point, then that is also classic Black-ish: Dre, the giant man-baby, is the center of attention even when the show isn't supposed to be about him.

Which of course, is precisely why Black women cannot afford to reject feminism. Call it womanism, being intersectional, solidarity, or woke as fuck, we are already on the third or fourth wave of a struggle that goes back at least as far as Harriet Tubman leaving her husband behind for freedom. He'll either catch up or he won't, so stop tripping, sew a satin lining into that pussy hat (we got edges to protect), and let's get to work.

Saturday, October 5, 2019

Grace, Mercy, and (In)justice

Several years ago I took a mediation class, and at some point a woman in the class said something or asked a question that sparked some controversy. Folks were heated and upset, and when she tried to dig herself out of the mess, it only made things more muddled. So the instructor paused and sought to allow everyone in the room a safe space to address what the woman had said in an effort to diffuse the tension of the moment. Three people offered perspectives on the incident that I remember: my own (which was not to offer an opinion for the sake of expediency); the person at the center of the drama (who offered what she perceived was an apology); and another woman whose response was, in today's vernacular, GTFOHWTBS!

Allow me to take a step back to offer a little more context--the women who made the offensive gaffe was white and the woman who responded in ALL CAPS was Black. Those details are significant because whatever the first woman said, it triggered all of the racial alarm bells and whistles that many Black people recognize from an early age. And I shall never forget how this lone Black woman, in a class where she was not a minority, felt compelled to call bullshit on what she felt was the familiar manipulative maneuver of deflection. She was insulted that we had taken class time to resolve something the other woman should have known better than to say, and if I am remembering things correctly, her instincts were proven correct in subsequent dealings with Miss Did-I-Do-That.

For whatever reason, that incident resurfaced for me in the immediate aftermath of the trial of Amber Guyger, the former Dallas police officer who was convicted of killing her neighbor, Botham Jean, in another daily episode of Being Black in America. Of course, everyone has an opinion and a perspective on what happened, and I too struggle with finding some resolution. Today, I find myself in the same WTF posture of that sister from that mediation class that I took so many years ago. I am incredulous that this case has become all about the redemption of Amber Guyger at the expense of rendering justice for Botham Jean, the man she killed.

So let me put on my #LawyerLenses and start by addressing anyone who thinks that after all these years of watching Law & Order marathons, you earned some kind of certificate on the criminal justice process. Even with my expensive law degree, I had to pause and wonder aloud about a major element of this case, which is why Guyger was charged with murder, and not manslaughter. Because one of the first things I was taught in law school was the definition of murder. The second concept I learned was how that definition differs from other legal terms that describe the loss of one person's life at the hands of another. If you are so inclined, feel free to peruse Black's Law Dictionary to comprehend those nuances. Then if you have the time, commit a few hours a night to studying the Texas Penal Code and then try working your way through the Texas Constitution to get some insight into Texas Criminal Procedure.

However, let me save you the trouble--Guyger was brought up on charges for causing Jean's death, and there is little dispute that she entered his apartment and shot him. The drama of a public trial was to determine if what she did in killing him warranted some kind of punishment. And after a trial by a duly empaneled jury of her peers, she was found guilty of murder, but given a sentence that was more consistent with a manslaughter conviction.

Now, as I remove my #LawyerLenses and adjust my #ChurchLadyHat atop my head, this is where things begin to look fuzzy. After spending the better part of my life in the church learning the lessons of right and wrong, good and evil, etc., I find that this is one of those situations that isn't as neatly resolved by an Old Testament story or New Testament parable. This is that part of the service when the preacher admonishes us to look inside our hearts to render those virtues of forgiveness and mercy and grace. And while I sit with my eyes closed and my thoughts focused in earnest contemplation, I want a clean heart. So it is natural to empathize and mourn with this family that lost a brother and a son. Therefore, my personal feelings about the brother's decision to offer Guyger some compassion after the verdict are irrelevant. Forgiveness is his prerogative.

At this old school mourners' bench/mercy seat, prayers ain't over until everybody is overcome with emotion, so the preacher digs in and appeals on behalf of the woman who almost got away with killing her neighbor. While I can accept his family's choice to offer public absolution, does that also mean that I must follow the example of my fellow sister in the law Judge Tammy Kemp, by embracing Guyger after the verdict was announced? For all of the Christian sympathy and charity extended to Guyger, should I just forget that she allowed that man to bleed out on his own floor because she was more worried about losing her job? In this instance, am I allowed to be Jacob or must I do what Jesus would do and offer unconditional forgiveness?

Yeah, under the weight of that self-examination, my #ChurchLadyHat has become uncomfortable and heavy. So I take it off and tug at my string of #ClutchedPearls to determine what wisdom, if any, might come. And that's how I was reminded of that incident in my mediation class so many years ago. Knowing what I learned in law school and believing everything I was taught as a Christian, it is entirely appropriate to call cow manure by its rightful name. GTFOHWTBS

Amber Guyger wasn't the victim. She had competent legal representation. She had a fair trial. She was given an acceptable sentence of ten years in prison, which is a lot better than an acquittal or a mistrial. There are no legitimate grounds for appeal. The City of Dallas better be prepared to pay the Jean Family a hefty settlement in the pending civil case. Judge Kemp probably won't lose the endorsement of the police union or the criminal bar association when she runs for re-election. But anyone crazy enough to mount a judicial recall or to support her ouster from the bench over something as benign as a hug better be prepared for the old white dude who will replace her (and trust, he won't be handing out compassion).

For all of the good color-blind white folks who are perplexed about this case (because y'all don't see the racial elements), ask yourselves how much your vision would improve if the roles had been reversed, like it had been in this case from Minnesota. I do not recall that there were any attempts to discredit the innocence of that victim because the very idea of an unarmed white woman being killed by a Black cop is inconceivable in and of itself.

For all of the people who live for the narrative of the healing power in forgiveness, ask why you have yet to call on the Goldman family to extend forgiveness to OJ Simpson. To date, I haven't seen any calls for grace or mercy to be offered to Harvey Weinstein or Bill Cosby or Dr. Larry Nassar. Some of y'all are still salty that a Black billionaire has forgiven college loan debts he didn't even incur while simultaneously lamenting the fate of Aunt Becky. American exceptionalism is made possible in part by the narrative of Black Christian redemption, yet this country refuses to offer a genuine apology for slavery.

GTFOHWTBS. In my #LawyerLenses, my #ChurchLadyHat, and a strand of #ClutchedPearls, I exhort you not to take up precious time ruminating on the petty details of Guyger's Court TV makeover or what was inscribed in that Bible Judge Kemp gave her. All of that can be included in the Lifetime Movie starring Lindsay Lohan, along with a gospel choir cast as the Jean Family. 

GTFOH Amber Guyger and every other police officer who only claim "blue lives matter" as an affirmative defense in confrontations with Black and Brown citizens. Nobody doubts that police work is dangerous, but that's why there is formal training. That's why police officers get generous benefits and pensions. Respect for the hard job of law enforcement derives from the oath taken to protect and serve the public and the implicit risk of putting one's life on the line in the pursuit of justice. The oath, the training, and the public trust are what separates the police from security guards, club bouncers, and vigilantes--not the colors of the uniform.

Support the Botham Jean Foundation that was established in his memory which serves the St. Lucian community of Caribbean immigrants to this country, among other social services. Vote in the next local election and answer the jury summons when it arrives in the mail. If there is someone in your family who needs a good job, send him/her over to the police academy instead of the post office. If you live in a jurisdiction where there have been bad community relations with the police, insist on better training to reduce incidences of unnecessary officer-involved shootings. Advocate for reforms to the Castle doctrine so that it cannot be used as an affirmative defense by an intruder in someone else's home. Let's do more than just protest and complain on social media about the unfairness of the system.


Tuesday, September 17, 2019

Big Fun With the Wretched

A woman in an online group posted about her child getting into trouble over the weekend and she referenced The Wretched episode of The Cosby Show. It was actually a stray line at the end of her post, but as soon as I read it, I immediately turned to the Hub and remarked how all of us of a certain age knew that reference. We shared a laugh, and my Niece who was nearby asked us to explain, so I pulled up a clip on YouTube. In recalling some of the specifics of the episode, I had gotten a few of the details wrong, so that meant that we watched several clips from different episodes until I realized my lapse in judgment and slammed my laptop shut.

We are still mad at Bill, by the way. So damn...

To the Niece, I was over-reacting. At nine years old, she is aware of the Cosby revelations and his conviction, but she has NO idea how big a deal it is for me to actively avoid watching reruns or even how significant certain episodes are. Maybe this is just my issue (because a friend who listened to my lament told me that I could not wipe out that aspect of our childhood), but I cannot be the only person who gets a little queasy at the thought of Bill leering at the extras in between takes. At some point, I know that won't always happen, but damn.

Before I came to my senses, I told the Niece that Vanessa Huxtable and I were about the same age when that episode aired (thus, Tempestt Bledsoe and I are the same age now). I have vivid memories of being a teenager who came up with some pretty stupid ideas of trying to evade a parental directive. Most of the time, I never got beyond my front door because I didn't have a crew of friends crazy enough to implement those schemes but if I had, I doubt that I would be here today to tell the story. So the most hilarious aspect of Big Fun With the Wretched is why we all remember that line.

We remember that it was a series of totally sitcom-y unfortunate events that led to the unraveling of Vanessa's cover story: the fire on the same block where the best friend lived; that friend's grandmother being interviewed on the local news; flaky Denise suddenly becoming a responsible adult who reads newspapers; the stolen car at a doughnut shop in Wilmington, DE where the cashier remembers Van and Co; getting scammed and stranded in Baltimore; and somehow making it back to New York City alive for the big parental confrontation. Perhaps you don't recall that specific sequence--I thought this was the episode where Rudy provided a shaky cover story that resulted in Claire and Cliff turning the couch around to greet Vanessa when she came home, but honestly, the details don't really matter. What matters was that climatic showdown with Claire repeating the line about Vanessa going off to have Big Fun With the Wretched (in your head, I bet you read that with the same inflection as she did)--and nearly killing her.

And that's why everybody in that online group probably had the same visceral reaction. A laugh or a chuckle or a shudder of a similar attempt to get over on our parents and the inevitable fallout from getting caught. We were all transported back to high school, when we thought that our parents were ridiculously stupid. Or like the woman who posted about her kid, maybe a few of those women recognized their own Claire reaction to some adolescent foolishness. Whichever side of that memory we inhabit, all of us acknowledge the sheer brilliance of that scene.

Which brings me back to this place of being frustrated by this entire shit-uation (yeah, that's my new word for it). It isn't like I can't live without The Cosby Show since I've done pretty well so far, but it just nags at me how that show captured the zeitgeist of my youth so perfectly. I mean, yes, there were plenty of other family sitcoms from that era that featured Black kids with professional parents...nope, Cosby started that. There were other shows with strong mother figures who were loving, but firm with their wayward children, but that also happened after Cosby. Surely there was another show with a similar story line that did not end with dramatic music, hugs and studio audience applause because what other reaction makes sense to lying and sneaking out, getting stranded with no money, and having to be rescued by your parents in the middle of the night?

Such was the genius of The Cosby Show. Sprinkled throughout its run, there were plenty of silly and random episodes such as those with dream sequences, the this-is-your-life-in-a-sitcom throwaways, and all of the celebrity guest stars, but those indulgences could be forgiven. As a lawyer, I still question why Claire would settle for a recording session with Stevie Wonder instead of suing him for side-swiping a car carrying her children, but that wasn't my call. I just know that 30 years ago when Vanessa and I were scheming teenagers, while Theo was secretly living with Justine, after Denise had returned from Africa married to Sandra's date, and while Sandra and Elvin were running a wilderness store and raising twins, the man who portrayed their father was...

Damn. And it's going to take some more time before I can sit with my Niece and my Kid to share that nostalgia without wincing. I just hope it happens before either one of them devises some mad-cap shit-uation that requires me to drive more than 100 miles outside of the city for a late night rescue from Wilmington in my pajamas because they're off having Big Fun With the Wretched.

Monday, September 9, 2019

All Up in the Kool-Aid

If stupidity was a flavor, it would be the ubiquitous red Kool-Aid, and I swear some folks have it coming out of their faucets. Not only do they drink that mess, but they bathe and wash their clothes in it. I guess that explains why they love that red MAGA hat so much, because it goes with everything.

The Kool-Aid seems to flow on full force whenever the topic is race, which is everyday in America, despite what most would prefer to believe. Almost every issue touches that third rail, and even if no one believes this, high voltage is what makes the trains work. We can't run away from race; we have to learn how to work with it.

Last week it was this essay, written by my imaginary BFF Jemele Hill, that suggested a return to HBCUs by Black athletes. Football is not my lane, but anything that supports HBCUs is and so I agree with her arguments in theory, even though I know good and well that train has left the station. It would be nice, but HBCUs just cannot compete with the enticements and amenities offered at the marquee programs.

But can I tell you what train was right on time? The Kool-Aid car full of folks who were drinking full cups of the flavor I like to call Incredulous Red. How dare she make such a suggestion, that Black players segregate themselves by going back to the very schools that used to supply the NFL with its Black gladiators? What good can come from abandoning from The Big State U for a handful of schools located on the other side of the tracks? Martin Luther King would roll over in his grave to hear that some promising young man who has maybe a 5% chance of playing in the NFL would rather attend his alma mater and actually finish with a useful degree. It's racist to even say the word Black in a sentence!

Of course, that is usually the first round of responses brought to us by the same folks who miss the irony of colorblindness as a deficiency, much like tone deafness or talking out the side of your neck. Whenever a bunch of white folks start whining on social media about touching that third rail, just know that train is going nowhere. These are the folks that spot the capitalized B in Black and get triggered. These are the folks that claim hyphens are more divisive than actual racism. These are the "All Lives Matter" crowd, the folks who visit plantations for the architecture.

Right after that train leaves the station, here comes that little hand car that you've seen in the Wile E. Coyote cartoons, being operated by those thirsty black folks (small b) who've added too much extra sugar to their Incredulous Red drink. Folks like our little sister Candace Owens, who had the temerity to come for Hill on Twitter by calling her an insufferable idiot. Mind you, Candace hasn't even finished college yet, but we're talking about Kool-Aid, not spilling tea. Or this dude, Cornel West's evil twin who even had FOX's Laura Ingraham shaking her head in disbelief. And this guy, some comedian who's probably convinced himself that his rant went viral because he's funny...

Yeah, it never fails. But what gets me is their willingness to not only drink the Kool-Aid, but it is also the eagerness to mix it, serve it, and wash those red solo cups for reuse on the next trip. If that subservient description evokes some discomfort, then next time ask them why are they always the loudest and the wrongest ones with opinions.

Is there a special sweetener that they mix into that Incredulous Red that transforms it into Seething Self-Hatred Red? That must be a hard swallow to take on behalf of a bunch of folks who claim not to see color, so why should it matter if a few Black athletes seriously consider Hill's suggestion? Who would notice the difference? Unless the worry is that a significant number of Black players and their parents will do more than consider her suggestion, thus giving HBCUs a chance to be competitive in a system that was built at their expense...

What if it became the norm for HBCUs to win against programs that only play us now for exhibition purposes? What if an HBCU showed up in a primetime bowl game instead of the Celebration Bowl? I bet more of us would actually attend our Homecoming games instead of hanging out at the tailgate. We would have more to brag about than what the band played at the halftime show. And the Kool-Aid flavor we'd be serving--How You Like Them Apples Green.