SharonGalaxyRant

The "M" word.

Wed, 18 Jan 2012 09:42:39 -0500

The moment you hear the words knots form in the pit of your stomach, the feeling of disappointment, and a high dose of anxiety takes over your life. “Dear [type name of patient here] you are experiencing a spontaneous abortion. I hate that word—-spontaneous abortion. There is shit spontaneous about what a woman goes through while enduring a miscarriage. The pain, the bleeding, the feeling of inadequacy—not spontaneous at all. It feels innocent enough to joke about how many children you want, which is the preferred sex, etc. When that joking becomes reality you experience an array of emotions. You play with the idea of motherhood, you wonder if the baby will look like your family or his, and then you mourn. The reality is what you just envisioned is escaping your body as we type. The daydream flushed down a rancid toilet bowl. What would I have named him or her? Yes, the “M” word remains the most vile, putrid, anxiety forming word there is. May it rest in peace.

The Aftermath--#OccupyWallStreet and much more.

Sat, 01 Oct 2011 22:18:04 -0400

As you may know, there has been immense turmoil the world over. I witnessed social media make momentous contributions to our awareness. It provided expansive coverage and divulged real time information on matters ranging from therevolt in Egypt to the unjust murder of Troy Davis. Social media created a channel for activism in a way never before done. Mobilization took on a new dimension never possible by the time-honored modus vivendi. This fact is most evident in the more recent call to arms hashtag #OccupyWallStreet. Egypt launched a successful campaign for freedom that inspired the world. It [Egypt] served as a catalyst for revolt in North Africa and the Middle East. The dynamism of the moment extended into London. The novelty of such a concept confounded the EU and its response team; culminating in a four day insurgence. The moment was short lived but adequately showed the London aristocracy ill-prepared to quell a revolution (duly noted). Each bone of contention ran its course [on twitter] and eventually flat-lined.

Allow me to skip over Troy Davis in this piece. Although cogent, Troy Davis deserves a piece dedicated to his memory. A man murdered without a scintilla of evidence warrants nothing less. In lieu of Troy Davis, I’ll touch a bit on #OccupyWallStreet. Constitution Day [September 17th] marked the emergence of Occupy Wall Street; a protest against corporate greed and social inequality. There has been an equal amount of criticism and support of this anti-capitalism movement shared by the two political margins. My focus is not what the left and the right are saying during this revolt so don’t look for an analysis on that regard. In my opinion, the left and the right are one and the same. Occupy Wall Street has the potential to transform the nation [dare I say the world?] and catapult true reformation. The strategy thus far has been to march and protest nationwide—peacefully. With more than seven hundred and fifty arrests and a pending count on the wounded Occupy Wall Street has, eventually, received news coverage. What now? What will the demands be? Is there a concise plan for the aftermath?

“The group’s lack of cohesion and its apparent wish to pantomime progressivism rather than practice it knowledgeable is unsettling in the face of the challenges so many of its generation face —- finding work, repaying student loans, figuring out ways to finish college when money has run out.” The New York Times.

The lack of focus and actionable agenda may very well be the demise of a great movement, or not. Nevertheless, it is a movement that gives voice to the voiceless. A campaign needs not follow a blueprint or codification to be a success.

“This is not the time to be looking for ways to dismiss a nascent movement against the power of capital, but to do the opposite: to find ways to embrace it, support it and help it grow into its enormous potential. With so much at stake, cynicism is a luxury we simply cannot afford.” Canadian writer Naomi Klein.

This!

It is important to take part in this prolific moment and become entrenched in a part of history in the making. It is equally important to discuss the aftermath and what we desire the outcome to be in clear and concise form—our children, our future, depends on it. One cannot discard the wave of activism occurring at present. Until the ne plus ultra I willingly suppress my enthusiasm yet will for the best.

Seen any phallic-shaped tropical fruit porting sleeping garments descending a flight of steps? I miss you, too! ;) xo, CM

Tue, 12 Apr 2011 21:10:03 -0400

Might I ask who this is? Apologies but the initials do nothing for my memory.

Writer's Block or Defiance--A piece of personal sharing.

Sat, 26 Mar 2011 23:29:24 -0400

I could put a wonderful picture up to accommodate my thoughts on this blog. I won’t. I could try to string beautiful words together that, in the end, are meaningless. I refuse. Here you will find simple and honest thoughts of a rambler. I thank you for joining my blog and exposing yourself to such an in-depth exposure to my world. I have been neglecting this blog as of late and I would like to explain. In January my oldest sister enticed me into traveling to Denmark for three months. Yes, I am abroad—an ocean away from loved and despised ones. During the course of my stay I decided to become Stella and get my groove BACK!!!

Copenhagen Love

When I left for Denmark I was in the process of getting to know someone who had great potential—or so I thought. Luckily for me I found out he was flaky about a week into my relocation. NEXT!! I then met a gentleman (we’ll call him Afro-Dane #1). He wined and dined me. I was reminded of the joys of dating, courtship, and simplicity. Wonderful progression. He stood 6ft tall, dark chocolate, broad shoulders and wide inviting lips. Yes, the brother had it going on—until he tried converting me to Christianity. Next!!

I quickly went on a hunt for a replacement and found it in another brother (we’ll call him Afro-Dane #2) He is of Danish and African decent and knows seven languages. *swoon* He had a sense of humor, could hold a conversation about any topic, and was well versed in history. I mean I felt golden. He memorized the little things about me like the fact that I love my tomatoes on a side plate, or I love reds; specifically Merlot. Things were progressing. We talked endlessly about the fact that this budding romance could only be temporary. After all, I don’t intend to live in the EU. Just about the point of repose a late night on a social media site caused something unexpected. Now let me just preface this by saying that I am the Queen of single-hood. I love being single. I deter serious relationships as much as humanly possible and I am eternally noncommittal (insert psych eval here). Back to what happened—I found myself interested in someone. What in the glorious hell. I was on a role. My heart locked away, having fun—careless. Then this god came waltzing through. Slow down, don’t you all speak at once! I did say that I am the Queen of single-hood, yes? I refuse to commit. So we’re safe. Back to Afro-Dane #2 shall we? Well, he took me out to brunch and failed to tell me his niece would be coming along. Someone commented on us being a beautiful family and he gave me the look. The LOOK yall!! You know the look! That “oh yeah the moment I can get her to settle down I’m locking it up” look. You do know what the next one worded sentence will be in this story don’t you? NEXT!! Yes, I told him this just wouldn’t work.

In the meantime

After dumping Afro-Dane I made plans to head out with a neighbor of mine. He and I spend quite some time since arriving. He is ever the grumpy individual which I find to be hilarious. I also decided to date a very interesting Indi-Dane (a lovely Indian man) all the while thinking about this god. Yes, I am in trouble. So that in a nut is my love life (at least what I am willing to share).

Now I spend my time trying to get a feel of the landscape, fitting in my eating habits in this area (of which I am unfamiliar—both landscape and language). I take some time to tweet at the risk of sleep deprivation (timezone difference and all). So stick around folks. This page will continue to grow and I will you enjoy this treasured ride with me.

Parrots Of The First Order

Fri, 21 Jan 2011 13:52:00 -0500

I like the smoothness of my thighs/

The/Wetness that reminds me/ That I/ am

Shhhh

This is a man’s world

And by connecting with my womanhood I insult you

Shhhh

What is a woman to do?

Tell me

When you crawled inside me without permission and

Dug out my rich river waters with metal claws of anger

Did you think it wise to muffle my cries?

When you looked into my eyes and choked the joy from my

Once beautiful mahogany neckline

And heaved your breath of death and destruction in my earthly face

Did you once consider my “place?”

I can still smell your vile scent

A year of silence I gave you willingly

Believing your truths about me

I conceded defeat

You successfully robed me of my innocence

Tainted forever is your manhood with the blood and sweat

Of child/ A Queen

I was a royal being

But you stole that which was not yours

Plundered it in such a manner that would

Make your cracker ancestors proud.

As the raindrops fell in an aggravated staccato

I matched my rhythm to their beat

Pulling at mud through my fingers desperately

I counted the years with every drop

I dragged my belly like a slithering catapillar—quickly

I hungered for transformation

The silence was deafening

If only I can digg

Out

Years have past

My hard work complete

I’ve earned my wings

This caterpillar is now a Butterfly

And I will flap my wings—elegantly if you please.

So damn you Parrots of the first order

Never will you dictate what I say

See I paid the heavy price

In silence

Now I dictate who enters my throne

I’ve learned to empower myself in my natural prowl

I have become the hunter

Yes, I offend

And?

I will speak of sweat, intertwined legs, slow sweet or hot passionate kisses

With pride

Have I lowered your energetic vibe?

My cobblestone road was walked in painful stillettos

It is a miracle

I exist

I am touched

I am loved

So yes, I will speak about sex inspite of your taking offense

The topic

Is my ode to freedom

I stand proudly alone

Speaking whatever comes to mind

Realizing my freedom is in my individuality

You can’t take that away from me

And quite frankly

And simply put

I can’t fuck with you Parrots of first order.

Friendships: Releasing the Toxic and Embracing the Medicinal

Tue, 21 Dec 2010 13:38:00 -0500

The girlfriend

Every day I walk my daughter to this bus stop, wait on the bus, and head home. The routine never changes. This morning proved to be different. I trucked along to the bus stop with my daughter and engaged in a vicious snow fight with her (fun times). I changed my routine a bit, went to the corner store, and (while leaving the store) I saw her. We all have one. That friend that you thought was on your side but proved to be a snake in the grass. You loved her so you could only see her through rosy glasses. Yes, her! I saw her. So many emotions boiled in my chest. The first thought was “beat her face in” followed by “she is no longer important and you need to let go.” I was so happy I made it home without any incident (Whew). Our friendship wasn’t something I was looking for. It was suggested by a mutual friend (also hairstylist). We spent our younger years getting to know each other. We had so much in common in those days (all superficial, really). We loved the finer things in life and lived to live expensively. Our road took a different turn when I realized who she was—sans rosy shades.

It started with her confession that she was sleeping with the men of her two roommates (also the godmothers of her child—my goddaughter as well). It ended with her standing me up a few months before my wedding (she was to be my maid of honor) to be with a man I introduced her to. I was (and remain) bitter. I realized her friendship was conditional. She was your friend as long as she didn’t have dick in her life (typical Aries behavior). Time passed and we disappeared in each other’s lives. I found her and she me. My best friend warned me to leave her right where she was—-in my past—but I did not listen. I tried to develop a friendship with her again. I asked her to join me in celebrating my bornday. Her response? Too busy. Her bornday came around a few months later and the calls didn’t stop coming—along with the guilt trip. I was set to see Ledisi in concert that weekend but I made some sacrifices and made it. I met her new twitter friends and all seemed well but I was leery (as I had the right to be). We made plans to see Maxwell and Jill Scott. In between the trip to the concert and our building I started seeing a glimpse of the old heifer. She was speaking ill of the “twitter friends” and with another breath would break bread with them. My aunt died, she called, asked me what happened, heard my pains, and continued to talk about a possible sugar daddy she found at her job. What the fuck kind of friend…. Excuse me (flashback). I became thoroughly disenchanted. I went through much and chose not to share them with her. We went to the concert, I introduced her to someone, she flirted with him shamelessly. Yup, I’m done is the thought that came to heart. I placed space between her and myself. But there was $150 dollars from the trip that prevented total separation. I made many attempts to return the money and wouldn’t you know it—she wouldn’t take it back. Toxic! Now I am being bribed into not speaking about your character and you purchased that right with $150 dollars. Yeah right—-wrong again. She put her twitter friends in the middle of this with whatever illusion she wanted to create. I vented but chose not to reach out to any of them. Hurt! It has been fifteen years of hurt, disappointment, and disgust. I decided to end it in my heart after a long lecture from my best friend. Awakened. I kissed the hurt, pain, and disappointment goodbye.

Friendships can hurt more than an end to a long lasting relationship with a mate. These friendships can be with a sister or brother. I had the experience of befriending a male. He and I were close (or so I thought). We shared much with each other but throughout the friendship something was tingling inside saying he is not being upfront about his intentions—so I reserved much. Everyone I knew (male and female friends) told me the same (having never met him). He became a distant memory after a time. Turns out his interest was in how I could be of help to him. Thank the universe for the tingling feelings. I was left with a renewed sense of caution. I find myself not calling people and if I do it’s with great apprehension. I watch women, and men, closely. If you talk about someone who you claim part of your cypher you will get no more than a smile from me. Caution!

True Friendship Defined

All horror stories aside, I must say I have had the pleasure of being loved by women who are beautiful, devoted, inspiring, loving, uplifting, honest, and black. These sisters have showered me with acceptance, guidance, and support. I’ve had to learn that holding on to a toxic friendship does not prove me a great friend. Rather, it proves me an idiot. Be at peace with walking away from toxic people and make room for wonderful women, or men, who match your spirit. Ase.

Death by Police--The New Lynching Method

Thu, 16 Dec 2010 16:16:00 -0500

I recall reading about Emmett Till and thinking “but he was just a boy!” The shock that riddled me was unexplainable. How could grown men do such atrocious things to a child (or how they explained their actions to their own children) Or the 16thStreet church bombing that viciously took the lives of four beautiful girls. Their bodies burnt and charred by fire, lungs collapsing with the weight of dense black smoke wondering what was that (the pain that is) they were feeling—-that is how they died. From Equianou’s first hand report of the cruelty of slavery to the images of those four lifeless bodies being carried out of the church on 16th Street we can tell racism is an ugly infestation in this land we call home. Yet, many will say “that was then—I mean, like, forty years ago and shit.” The days of old were marked with outright hatred of blacks. Our people were lynched and it was such commonplace that Billie Holiday sang a song about it called “Strange Fruit” There was also more of an outrage about the stains of racism then. Something about seeing a rotten, putrid, body with evidence of defecation (and urine stains that vividly mark the last emotion of the victim) stirs the warrior in all. Mothers whispered songs of resistance and strength in the ears of babies while milking. Fathers handed the baton of defiance and integrity while meeting the white sheets by the burning cross (at times never to return again) There were babies that heard their mother’s whispered song and sang them with fists pumped in the air (such as Huey P. Newton and Bobby Seale) There were sons who grabbed the baton of their fathers with pride and held it up like a beacon in the dark (such as Malcolm X and Martin Luther King Jr.) Our communities fought the good fight so that we wouldn’t have to leave our homes wondering if we would be hung next. What did that fight win us?

Has Racism Become The Thing of The Past?

To ask that question you must first ask yourself where do you receive your first impression of a group, your ideals on life, your views on religion? Is it not at home? How many times are you faced with a clear that is completely shocked at your intelligence? Who told them to expect that you wouldn’t be? Where did these negative impressions about blacks if not at home (the media is not enough to formulate such strong opinions on an individual without reinforcement at home—so cut the crap) Oh believe that their parents (having learned from the previous generation) are teaching them to hate us and to believe us to be inferior.

Excerpts of an email by a Harvard Law School Student

Yes, she is a clear and this email was written earlier this year. I mention the year because this is the next generations’ take on our race. If you want to suggest that this is the rantings of one woman, consider the fact that this was an extension on a conversation that took place at a dinner held on campus.

It goes as follows

“I absolutely do not rule out the possibility that African Americans are, on average, genetically predisposed to be less intelligent.”

”..some part of intelligence is genetic, just like identical twins raised apart tend to have very similar IQs and just like I think my babies will be geniuses and beautiful individuals whether I raise them or give them to an orphanage in Nigeria. I don’t think it is that controversial of an opinion to say I think it is at least possible that African Americans are less intelligent on a genetic level, and I didn’t mean to shy away from that opinion at dinner.”

“In conclusion..Everyone wants someone to take 100 white infants and 100 African American ones and raise them in Disney utopia and prove once and for all that we are all equal on every dimension, or at least the really important ones like intelligence. I am merely not 100% convinced that this is the case.”

Well (clap), well (clap), well (clap)! Nice to know what they REALLY think behind closed doors. Unfortunately, our generation and those that precede us, have a kumbaya attitude. The child of my enemy/oppressor is being raised to be—-wait for it—-MY DAUGHTERS’ enemy/oppressor (point blank)

They speak sweetly to you and give you inclusion in things like t.v shows, a few media stations (never too dark though), they hand you BET, and fill your head with wacka flaka versus. All the while they’ve created a new lynching system that, if shown on television, will not cause a universal upset. You see the grand-babies of the lynching generation learned from the mistake of their father. They didn’t think the mistake was in the lynching itself but the document of the lynching. America never counted on being viewed as savages for turning hoses on our women and children.

New Plan Boys

Now that lynching is not acceptable, burning our young is deplorable, and turning water hoses on them is considered cruel they have a new plan now. Death by police. They are systematically annihilating our young and we’re so waka flaka’d out, with our pants sagging, having din-din with the enemy, that we can’t realize what’s happening to our children. WTF!!! On twitter people felt like it was a “cool” trending topic to tweet about on their TL (I mean we have to prove we’re up on current events—right?) Now you have a handful tweeting about it diligently—refusing to let America forget (the rest? You tell me!). Reality: the best way to kill a nation is to destroy their youth and we have handed ours over on a silver platter and without resistance. Our children are not safe and their gatekeeper, that’s you and me, are failing them greatly. Let’s mobilize. Let’s unify. Let’s remember that should an attack happen on one it happens to US ALL. Most of all, let’s expose this new lynching system. All of the great minds on twitter—-end your jockeying and vying for HNIC position and work together to write a persuasive piece, brainstorm on a solution..do anything, DO SOMETHING and I will stand behind you (as will your minions) and let’s save our children. Ase!

I dedicate this to Oscar Grant, Aiyanna Jones, DJ Henry and many more.

“When one is moderate in the pursuit of justice for human...

Thu, 16 Dec 2010 14:19:33 -0500

“When one is moderate in the pursuit of justice for human beings I say he is a sinner” Malcolm X

Nuff Said!!

Thu, 16 Dec 2010 13:51:40 -0500

Nuff Said!!

Culture Vultures---how many of them are in your midst?

Thu, 16 Dec 2010 13:03:44 -0500

I can’t say that I can take credit for this title. One of my followers referred to a specific type of person as “Culture Vultures” and this tickled me to no end. I thought on it some and realized just how relevant this title is on twitter. I’ve gone as far as I want to go on dissecting the different mentally-ill personalities on twitter—so this will be short. This is my blog so, hang on to your draws as I get real blunt. I am talking about clears in particular. I have no qualm with the clear that just wants to share a bit of themselves with me. I can hold conversations with everyone. My issue is with clears that have NO track record of doing any work in our community, knows absolutely nothing about the sub-cultures we have, yet seem overly eager to be submerged into said culture. Where did you [clear] come from? Why are you interested in the RBG (or black nationalist, or pan-africanism) movement all of a sudden? What is your purpose? What are you doing with all the information you’re learning through trusting twitter folks? To me, it seems wise to ask those questions. I need to know that your intention is pure. No, I don’t feel comfortable telling you why I call a brother a King or God! No, I don’t feel comfortable seeing you retweet my words as if they’re your own. I immediately start questioning your intentions. Why do you want to be like us? Why are you so uncomfortable being you? And if you are uncomfortable, the question then becomes WHO ARE YOU? truly!

You may think me too harsh but there is not a black movement that didn’t suffer at the hands of agents. They come into your cypher, they learn how to speak like you (Peace, King/Queen etc), they gain your trust, and then the betrayal starts. You see it is quite easy for them to do you dirty—you fool. If this “twitter revolutionary movement” where to ever hit the streets they may stand by you. IF that same movement becomes too much to bear they can cross the railroad and walk right back to their lily-white lives while you bear the mark of the cuffs on your wrists. Added benefit, they get to whisper to their friends during tea and cookies on how they were a bit “naughty” and took part in the black movement—even fucked a black dick. They’ll giggle and she’ll be cooler than cool to her “true” friends.

Why? Is that the question you have creeping through your throat? Why would they? If you ask that you surely don’t know your worth. Jo Anderson could tell you that it was to take credit for his invention of the grain harvester. Dr.Daniel Hale Williams will tell you it was to take credit for the 1st open-heart surgery. Vivien Thomas would tell you it was for the credit of surgery on blue babies. Brianna in Atlanta will tell you it was to steal her idea on how to save her company millions.

Now lets sprinkle this with some fair statements.

There will always be some clears that truly care and are willing to work hand-in-hand with you. I won’t deny that. For them, this blog doesn’t fit. There are clears that genuinely think they are black and think they understand a day in our lives. This blog will feel harsh to them. Although I think them misguided,this blog is not directed to them either. Now that I’ve clarified I will re-iterate that we should be careful not to take people at 140 characters and make them fit a beautiful ideal that we carry around in our heads. Engage in critical thinking always. There is a reason for all that people do. Learn to gage their reason and assure that it won’t be a knife stuck in your back in the long run.

In summation I will leave you with this excerpt between Sister Souljah and Cornel West that concludes my feelings on the matter.

Sister Souljah: …when white people feel serious, and angry, and upset about abortion they come out in the thousands, up to the millions, to say this is what we believe about abortion. Where is the white outcry against white racism that murders African people all around this entire globe? It doesn’t exist! So who are these white good people? I want to meet them. I want to see them.

Cornel West: I know a few

Sister Souljah: A few is not enough!

Cornel West: That might be all we can get

Sister Souljah: No, I don’t work with “all I can get”

Ase!

Twitter-the new high school cafeteria. What table are you sitting on?

Wed, 15 Dec 2010 14:12:00 -0500

February of 2010, I was urged to join twitter by a person who oddly enough I no longer speak to (because of twitter—go figure). Initially, I was amazed at how many brilliant minds would flash pretty words in less than 140 characters. So eloquent, so refined they were (or so I thought). I was in awe at all of the quotes these people seem to commend to memory. I was impressed. Slowly, I began to realize that I was surrounded by an array of people who in all honesty I would have nothing to do with in my life offline. I noticed the posers, the pseudo-intellects, the followers ( I call them bots ), the tongue-lashers and bashers, the elitists, and the “so called” writers. What I hate most is just how cliquish twitter (or black twitter as they call it) is. I felt a sense of loss at the realization of it all. Twitter can be a forum where great minds can come together to share, learn, and grow. Unfortunately, it isn’t being used to its maximum capacity. Instead it is that dreaded high school cafeteria for adults.

Bots

On any given day you can log onto twitter and find those who would like to view themselves as the “talented tenth” decide on a topic, or latest/hottest CNN issue, and make that the header for the day. All who are a part of that circle (believing if they’re able to tweet with these individuals this somehow confirms their own intelligence) will follow the leaders and make that the hottest subject on their TL. You can tell this is exactly what goes on because when the faux “talented tenth” are silent for a day, or moment, so are their minions. These minions that I’ve lovingly labeled “bots” are too unsure of themselves to stand on their own. Tell them who to follow, who to un-follow, who to engage with, and they will gladly do so. They are afraid that no-one will respond to their genuine thoughts so they follow the crowd and hope to be noticed. On them I sprinkle confidence and inner peace.

The Posers

These individuals will tell you that they have written ten thousand books, have an education from Oxford, and are known world over. Posers! They pose as the very thing society nods at approvingly. They draw the follower in and then begin to paint a dazzling picture of themselves onto your canvas. They are quite enchanting so they are most endeared by their followers. They are good at what they do that if you dare challenge them they will not need to argue with you—their followers will do a great job of that. On them I sprinkle exposure and ten years of bad luck (what can I say—I abhor frauds)

Tongue-lashers and Bashers

They bother me the most. They have become “enlightened” on an issue (i.e. natural hair, religion, black history, et al.) and feel the need, not only to share this new found enlightenment but, to bash it over the heads of their followers and non-followers. They do so by insulting, belittling, and humiliating people. This is their method of gaining attention. On them I sprinkle “grow up” flakes.

I’m smarter than YOU!!

Yes, I’m sure you’ve come across the elitist. Oh you’ve seen them in action. They string 140 pretty little letters together and dangle it before you. You become so hypnotized by their command of the English language that you never bother to judge their character. You never question their authenticity or their integrity. You don’t realize, until you see just how vicious and vile their words are towards an enemy or past follower, just how black their true heart is. Behind those pretty 140 letters lies a bitter, evil, deceiving, conniving, backstabbing, vindictive individual cloaked in education. You see they know exactly how little they could contribute to mankind so they hide behind a degree to validate their worth. On them I sprinkle nothing! Their actions and words speak for themselves. Time illuminates all things.

You the follower have to commit to doing your due diligence. Wait, watch, read between the lines, and pay attention to people’s behavior with a fellow individual. Do all these things before you allow them permanent residence in your cypher. Remember two things: 1) You can easily become a reflection of those around you 2) If they can treat someone else viciously, it is only a matter of time and difference of opinion before they do it to you as well. Be careful what cafeteria table you seat yourself. I am committed to engaging with people from all walks of life. People, no matter their level of education, are all interesting and have much to offer. I urge you to take the same commitment and together we can create a forum that is accepting of all people.

Inspite of all I have mentioned there are some wonderful, genuine, intelligent, loving, supportive people on twitter. Engaging with them, or simply reading their tweets, has enriched my life by a great measure. They are usually quiet, reserved, and observant. To them I say thank you for being you and making twitter great. Ase.

Haiti--The destruction of a great nation and greater people

Tue, 14 Dec 2010 16:07:56 -0500

I grew up listening to my brothers and sisters talk about making Molotov cocktails to throw at the American soldiers. I would ask, with my tainted ‘americanized’ view, “why would you bomb the soldiers that are there to help?” This would stir a rage in my sister. “You Americans are so stupid! You believe anything your news broadcasters tell you” What she said weighed heavily on me. I thought of what my resource was and concluded—she had a point. When ever did Haitians say they needed American help? When ever have they asked for it? Save for the earthquake in January of 2010, Haitians never asked shit of any country. Not when they were enslaved by France or won their freedom (only to be told they must pay France for winning the war). Not when they were occupied by Spain or when they drove Spaniards away. Not when they fought in the Civil War in America and was never given the promises that came with fighting (save for land in a place called Louisiana. Yes, Creole Louisianians! Your blood runs Haitian) Not ever, period. So why has America continued to have an unwavering interest in Haiti that spans the late 40s to present day? Does this have to do with democracy? or are they hoping to accomplish what they failed to do in Cuba?

Papa Doc

Papa Doc was labelled a dictator by America and made to be enemy number one. The propaganda began and the plan to uproot him set in motion. Taking a closer look, I found that the days of Papa Doc were peaceful. There’s not a Haitian that lived in Haiti at the time that would tell you different. If you were a law abiding citizen you found Haiti to be as refreshing as the blue sea on white beaches in Jacmel. Neighbors boast of being able to leave their doors open, schools were modeled after Parisian system (which at the time far outweighed that of America), and agriculture was at its best. A farmer was able to live fruitfully off of his own land. Haitians grew their own rice, avocados, mangoes, and much more. The dark side to Papa Doc days was the fact that some officials abused their power and justice was not always fair. I ask you this, which country doesn’t suffer these things? The second problem was that Papa Doc refused to allow Americans full access to the country and its resources and THAT my friends was the biggest problem of all. But modeling his reign after Fidel Castro, whom he admired for standing up to America, he was able to keep the country out of the greedy hands of Americans. The aging Papa Doc turned the reigns to his son, the more liberal and westernized Baby Doc.

Baby Doc

Doc junior, as many liked to call him, loved to splurge. He spent millions on himself and his wife. He saved, with the help of Americans, millions of stolen treasury money in Europe. He also courted Americans and allowed them more access than he father ever would have approved of. This relationship with America would mark the highlight of his personal life and the downfall of his reign as President of Haiti. Baby doc ran Haiti like Baptista of Cuba and the country felt the pinch of it. Less focus was placed on developing the education system. The educational partnerships that his father established with EU fell by the wayside while he toured the world with numerous visits to France and America. Americans had no interest in removing him until his greed got the best of him and he wanted to limit Americans plunder of the country’s resources. He did this not because he felt their actions, coupled with his own, would bankrupt the country but because he wanted more for himself. This would strain the relationship he had with the Americans and give the “fab five families” the power to uproot him and build an even stronger. The bourgeoisie five families that run the country dictated from then on what exactly went on in Haiti down to who would be the puppet President of the moment. Their MO is quite simple: Keep the people uneducated and poor while reaping the benefits of their hard labor. Of Course, they are well protected by (take a wild guess!) America.

Leadership after the Duvalier regime

For all the “bad” that is said about the Duvalier family there are a few things we could look back on and mourn the loss of. One is the fact that Haiti had a healthy export industry. In all actuality the export of goods is what caused the country to invest in agriculture. Since the removal of Baby Doc the country has imported 95% of all their goods. This is astonishing to say the least. Such import for goods the country can produce on its own is incredibly inhuman. Consider that a bag of rice which can feed a poor family of five would cost ten American dollars if produced locally. The imported bag of rice now costs that poor family of five thirty American dollars. I bet at this point you know who is the major supplier of all the goods Haiti is forced to purchase, yes? If you said America you win a cookie. Another trend in Haiti since order and discipline was removed was the increase in violence. The five families are known for arming bandits to cause chaos and disorder, not limited to forced rape of mothers and daughters by their own family members, to change the outcome of leadership. Again I remind you that these ghost owners of Haiti are well protected by America. Duvalier era ended and chaos, disorder, and extreme poverty began.

Present day

Now Haiti has a drunk for President. President Preval, who was Aristide’s lackey, is now president and awaits the results of election to determine his successor. Ever since the earthquake there are funds that was collected “for Haiti” that never reached the island. Food and supplies that were donated were being sold to the poor by Preval’s soldiers (tents, beds, and medicine included). In the midst of all of this chaos Preval was happy to relinquish responsibilities. After all, who has time to lead a country out of such disaster when alcohol calls?

Election

Time to choose a leader and everyone comes out of the woodwork to run for presidency including musicians Wyclef Jean and Michele Martelli. Why would anyone want to be president of a country that is broken at it’s very core? Simple really. For the first time in history Haiti’s treasury is at a surplus. Such money! I can almost smell the saliva of the greedy. Of the thirty candidates we are left with three: Mme. Manigat, Michele Martelli, and Preval’s family member—Jude Celestin. Mme Manigat is the wife of past president Manigat, is educated, and well versed in politics. Michele Martelli is a flaming bi-sexual artist who has never been involved in politics but has a stellar resume in business dealings. Jude Celestin, a dead beat dad of eight who is known as a vacabon (translation is vagabon). Celestin is the best choice for both the five families and America. He would serve as the perfect puppet who would allow America to do as it wishes. The five families will allow America that right because they need their bread and butter (the country) to be rebuilt. All is well that ends well. For the people, the everyday worker, Mme. Manigat would seem on the surface the best choice. She presumably would work to restore the country and help to build a better Haiti.

The New Haiti

What will the New Haiti look like? That is the question of the year. The new Haiti according to American agenda will be touristic. Think gentrification on a grand scale and that will be Haiti. The poor people will be gated out of the most prominent lands and treated foreigners in their own land. Don’t believe me? Did you know that Americans have already started the task of purchasing land by the droves in Haiti? Were you aware that prior to the earthquake of 2010 areas were gated and the locals were forbidden from entering? Beaches were purchased by America and locals had to pay an exorbitant amount to enter? In summation, Haiti represents a new market for tourism and expanded export sales. That is the nuts and bolts of it. America focused on donations during the aftermath of the earthquake not to help the people but to raise seed money for a larger plan.

WHERE WOULD YOU MOST LIKE TO VISIT ON YOUR PLANET?

Tue, 14 Dec 2010 14:22:17 -0500

Politics. That’s probably the topic that gets my blood pumping the most.

The Perfectly Imperfect Mom The questions that run through my...

Tue, 14 Dec 2010 12:38:00 -0500

The Perfectly Imperfect Mom

The questions that run through my head on an average moment. Yes, moment. Not throughout the day but in a span of minutes. I wonder “Is she happy? Am I doing enough? Have I done too much? Am I causing her to take part in these extracurricular activities as a form of maternal validation? Or does she genuinely enjoy her programs? Am I smothering? Have I shown her enough affection? most of all am I overcompensating?”

These are the ranting thoughts of a mother. On average I find people, both familiar and strangers, compliment my daughter and I on our relationship and obvious love for each other. We’ve been able to foster mutual respect and adoration for each other. I smile whenever I think of her. She is my morning sun and I her rising moon.

The perfect mother

I received a call from a friend of mine seeking parental advice (this happens often). During the course of the conversation she says “you’re such a perfect mom” and I felt my stomach turn a million times at the lie of it all. Perfect? I wouldn’t characterize my motherhood as that at all. Imperfect in so many ways would be most accurate. So I decided to share a little with her. This relationship I have with my daughter was forged out of tears, disappointment, abandonment, insecurity, misguided intentions, and much more.

2003 I married a wonderful man. We had a beautiful family and I busied about the role of wife and mother. He entered into a ready-made family gracefully. It was perfect…or so I thought. I had delved so far into the role of wife and susie homemaker that I lost ME. As a result my husband lost the woman he married and my daughter—her mother. Soon after I lost everything. I won’t say that my ex-husband didn’t do anything. Oh I actually think that I was the patron Saint Mary for dealing with so much but this post is not about him.

The divorce

I don’t think I ever expected it to happen really. Not really. I thought that he would go to counseling as I’d suggested and we would work on an otherwise good relationship. This was not to be the case and my reality as I knew it crumbled and sadly so did I. My daughter was left in the middle feeling like it [our separation] was all her fault. I was depressed most days unable to come out of bed. Yes, me!! The strong resilient, been on her own since 14, New York City street savvy, NubianSymphony. I folded like a deck of cards and forgot to be a mother. I for the first time decided to be completely selfish and it all came at my daughter’s expense. It was on one of those horrible days when I heard a faint knock on my door. “What!” I yelled. A faint voice of a seven year old whispered “I miss my mommy” and I knew then in my heart that I couldn’t continue on this long selfish road I was on. I opened my door for the first time in weeks, grabbed my daughter in my arms, and cried long and hard thanking her all the while. You see she rescued me. I vowed then never to let her take care of me and always remember my role in her life—-I am HER mother.

The road to recovery

Our journey began the day she rescued me from my dark, depressing room. I learned to forgive my ex-husband (and told him so), I built a healthy friendship with him for her sake, and I took control of our lives. Everyday I remind her that I love her (and she does the same for me). I try to remember to take time out for me (I also encourage her to do the same). Above all we vowed to always be honest with each other and share our feelings with one another. I toyed with the idea of putting her into counseling hoping she would find someone to talk about the things she may very well be apprehensive in discussing with me but she refuses. I grudgingly respect her wishes.

Conclusion

There are days, like yesterday, when we have set backs. Holidays and winter are the most challenging. She recalls vividly the days she’d play snowball wars with dad, or riding his back and drooling all over him. Days where we baked cookies and brownies together as a family is both joyous and bitter for her. On those days I reach out to him and encourage dialogue between the two. Can I take credit for just how close we are? Absolutely not! I have learned that each child will teach you which parenting style works for them. It all starts with listening and ends with love.