Just Imagine With Me – Opinion Piece on Reparations

*Opinion piece written for high school Journalism course (March 23, 2016)

Imagine starting a game of Monopoly already in jail. You do not pass go, and you do not collect 200 dollars for three hours. Now, imagine after these three hours spent in jail with no income coming in, you’re released. Most if not all of the property are already owned. The utility companies are owned. The railroad companies are owned. Several players have a monopoly by now, and you have nothing. More than likely, you will be one of the first people to go bankrupt. Now, imagine that this game is called ‘Real Life.’ Imagine that the jail is now the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade. The three hours left behind is now 300 years.

Imagine, just for a second, that the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade was a crime against humanity that still needs to be answered for, because while the other ‘players’ of this game called ‘Real Life’ became rich off of the enslaved African, the enslaved African brought to the shores of America did not have a way to earn income. In essence, he started the economic game late.

In a New York Times article called “The Case for International Reparations for Slavery Is Moral and Lawful, Even If Hard to Prove,” the writer, Ayesha Bell Hardaway, says, “The United States owes reparations to African Americans, my research shows, because it breached a fiduciary duty under American common law.” Hardaway continues, “The Freedman’s Bureau was established after the Civil War…to assume responsibility for negotiating and enforcing wages for the benefit of former slaves. The failure of the Bureau to perform those duties and its subsequent closing in 1872 serves as a concrete example of the breach.” With these words, Hardway describes the ineffectiveness of The Freedman’s Bureau, and after it, Blacks believed and were told that they should receive “forty acres and a mule” to make up for the 300 years of being left out of the economic game.

But imagine we’re back in the game of Monopoly, and after getting out of jail three hours after the game’s start with no income or property, another player promises to give you a couple properties and some money while a third player says, “No need. Let him lift himself up by his own bootstraps,” even though you have no bootstraps because you have no money. In essence, that is what happened to the once enslaved African. He was never given his “forty acres and a mule” that was promised, and he was told by the players who got wealthy off of him to lift himself up because, if they did it, there should be no problem for the once enslaved African to do it. In the words of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., “It’s all right to tell a man to lift himself by his own bootstraps, but it is [a] cruel jest to say to a bootless man that he ought to lift himself by his own bootstraps.”

Today, the effects of this failure of the once enslaved African to lift himself up is prevalent among the Black population of America. The Black unemployment rate is higher than that of Whites, Black incarceration rates are higher, and Black dropout rates are higher. Blacks are disproportionately higher in these statistics than Whites. These effects are backed up by an article published on open.edu. The article talks about the consequences of the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade. “The long-term economic exploitation of millions of black slaves…produced deep social divides between the rich white and poor black communities, the consequences of which still haunt American societies now, many years after emancipation,” the article says.

The solution to get Blacks back into the economic game? Reparations must be given in the form of primarily land. Land is the basis of economic activity, and without it, no people can be truly free. 100 million acres of land would be a great start to get back in the game. That’s approximately 4.3% of the United States, or, in Monopoly terms, approximately 1 piece of property.

 

Chasing God Chapter 2 Excerpt

As we’re about to walk out, I notice a White man staring at me and smacking on some popcorn.

“Whatcha looking at Nigga?” he asks.

“Nothin,” I say and continue toward the exit.

The comment doesn’t go unnoticed by my friends, though, and they stop. Tony says, “I don’t know who you think you talkin’ to like that, cracka, but it better not be him.” He points to me.

Surrounding moviegoers nervously glance in our direction. Most make a hasty exit out. The man stands up with one hand still in the popcorn bag. “What if I am? What are you going to do about it?”

“Forget it, y’all. He ain’t worth it. Let’s just go,” I try to persuade my friends before the situation gets more heated.

They’re about to walk away when the man says, “That’s right, run like the monkeys you are.”

We all turn around. At that moment, someone calls, “Hey, Weis!” He’s a uniformed cop.

“Help me restrain these three individuals. They’re resisting arrest,” Weis says. He pulls his hand out of the popcorn bag to reveal a gleaming gun.

“What the…”we protest.

The cop pulls out a gun, and the two of them force us to sit. People start to flood into the theater for the next movie, and screams erupt. I see people pull out smartphones.

 

Want to find out what happens next? Buy Chasing God:

https://www.amazon.com/Chasing-God-Salaam-Chronicles-1/dp/1515309878

 

 

A Bad Day At The Zoo (Inspired By The Cincinnati Incident)

The zoo! The zoo! I’m going to the zoo!

The zoo! The zoo! I’m going, it’s true!

Dressed, check; Down the stairs I go

Eat, shoes, car, a magnificent combo

Mama, mama, where are you? Why are you so slow?

There you are! C’mon, c’mon! Let’s hurry up and go!

Driving, driving, faster, faster, I want to see a bear

Hurry, hurry, I want to see a tiger in its lair

We’re here, we’re here! Seatbelt gone, I’m on my way to fun

We’re inside, now, under the bright summer sun

Ma look, look, look! They have monkeys and apes!

And after we see them, let’s go see the snakes!

Ooo, look, he’s big. Ma, you’re on the phone?

I inch closer, he’s too far in his enclosed zone

Oops! I fell, we eye each other, my mother’s off her phone

He touches me, I look at him, he drags me through the water

I laugh and laugh, but now I want to go play with an otter

I hear noise. What are they saying? I have no clue

Oh, wait! Watch out! Oh man. The gorilla is now through

 

I was in blissful danger, they saved my life

A bad situation caused so much strife

But was his life really worth more than mine?

I think naught, but there’s no fine line

Blaming my parents? That won’t do

I just wanted a better view

Though he seemed so full of charm

He was a wild animal that could’ve did me harm

A bad situation has the world in a craze

But while it’s sad, I’m glad I was saved

 

The real sad thing is if I was 12 years old

Playing with a toy gun that was sold

I would’ve been killed with no hesitation

No why’s, no other options, and no deliberation

No support for the criminalized Black baby

No support but when you put a gorilla in the equation

You going crazy, you’re shocked, it’s unbelievable

But why can’t the prevention of my death be achievable?

Why can cops shoot me down and there’s no cry

But now you all upset in your morals when a gorilla die

Calm down, calm down, I’m just asking…why?

5 Short Poems

May 3, 2016, at a low point in the day, I felt extremely drowsy. There was a fan blaring right in my ear that had me more frustrated.

So I did what all writers do when they’re drowsy and frustrated – wrote.

These 5 shorts poems are a result of such writing.

 

Tumultuously Chasing Perfection

Caught in the blades of life – spinning

Sweet air harshly caresses me – spinning

Vibrations blind and deaf me – spinning

Caught in the cycle of life – spinning

I’m turning, I’m flipping, where am I going?

I’m groggy, I’m bogged down, rowing and rowing

Swimming and swimming in the lake of fire

Chasing and chasing, balanced on the thin wire

I’ve reached it, I’ve reached, reached what you ask?

Perfection – I bask.

Let Us Create

They say when life gives you lemons, make lemonade

I say when life gives you a mustard seed, get down and pray

Get down on your knees and conversate with God

Then plant that seed in good soil and sod

Bed it down and treat it right

Give it love and give it light

Then when it grows into a tree

Then, you’ll see.

Power of a Word

What is a Word?

The world started with a Word

In the beginning He was the Word

“Let there be…” were the Words

Force and power was the Word

Simply “Be” was the Word

Before the flowers there was the Word

Before the bees there was the Word

Before you and me there was the Word

With the Alpha was the Word

In the end will be the Word

That is a Word

Defining Beauty

What is beauty if it is the shell of a corrupted soul?

What is beauty if it doesn’t shine forth from within?

What is beauty if you have no purpose and positive goals?

What is beauty if you’re caught up in a world of sin?

But beauty in a man is that transformative power

You may have reached the 2nd floor but there’s still a tower

Come to prayer, come to success, get reacquainted with God

Because simply put? Beauty is Farrakhan.

Uncle Tom’s Battle (My imaginings of what’s it like being in the mind of an Uncle Tom)

Like Jordin I question why love feels like a Battlefield

I say I love him but I’m still holding up a shield

He fires his weapons and I throw my stones

He tells me the Truth but I follow lying bones

I’m at war with myself because I’ve never been shown love

Now he comes in my life, a symbol of Peace, the white Dove

He wants me to accept my own but I reject that tone

I follow the other man to war even though he treats me wrong

I’m fighting, I’m biting, to hold on to what’s not mine

Instead of building for myself and my own Black kind

Love is a battlefield, and I’m on the wrong side of this war

I’ll rot in a lake of brimstone, if they say Jesus is The Door

Though I know I’m on the wrong side of the pearly white gate

I just can’t help but be a shaking, bending, old Uncle Tom snake

These Isms

These isms plague the earth and make me wish they were gone

Darkness seeps through their pores and blots out the light of the sun

Race-ism hitting the psyche of humans deep

Blocking salvation from the poor, Lost Sheep

False labels because Black men attracted to Becky with that good hair

While his own woman the mule of the world, forced to say a prayer

When our sons Trayvon Tamir are dead at the hand of the ism

And then we have shots giving Black boys autism

It strikes my soul when my skin is a crime so I’m

Forever a criminal forced to do time because I’m

Not aligned with the standard of beauty that is White

I’m Black, I’m Brown, I’m Red, but I’m gon’ be alright

These isms plague the earth and make me wish they were gone

Darkness seeps through their pores and blots out the light of the sun

Sex-ism got me under chain lock and key

Lower pay for equal work is inequality

Hakim the wise man but I’m Hakima so why am I denied?

Force my face in the mud and rape me and take my pride

Now I’m dirty and you wonder why I’m prostituting

Even when I’m in college successfully executing

You see me as a thing to conquer, an object to possess

Compress my intelligence and subdue me with pointless sex

I’m the Mother of the Universe not a thing so make me your wife

I’m the Second Self of God so either way I’m gon’ be alright

These isms plague the earth and make me wish they were gone

Darkness seeps through their pores and blots out the light of the sun

Material-ism got us heartless chasing paper and booze

Flashy cars and alcohol with some high heel shoes

Sell your daughter to continue your degenerate lifestyle

No wonder a God had to come 9,000 miles

Everyday’s a party so you don’t hear the knock at your door

Who is it? Death and destruction because all of a sudden you find that the galore

Is really emptiness because you’re not living for a cause

Sold your soul to live the high life now you’re in the shark’s jaws

But sense is breaking through, it’s not too late to advance to the light

Born in sin and shaped in iniquity but we gon’ be alright

These isms plague the earth and make me wish they were gone

Now God is here forcing us to see the bright light of His Son

The Master Apologizes

After the likeness of Kenneth Koch’s poem:
“Variations on a Theme by William Carlos Williams”

I kidnapped you from Africa to serve me with no
Pay.
I am sorry, but I had no skills to work for myself
and I saw the civilizations your people built.

We rode on the ship named Jesus
and then I deceived you.
Forgive me, for I was a Liar and a Murderer from the beginning.

I sold your mate to Johnson and your children to
Brown.
They were good stock
but I kept your daughter because she’s so juicy and cold

Last evening you tried to run and I chopped your leg
Forgive me. I fear a slave rebellion, and
I wanted you here so you could know I am the master!

It’s Saviours’ Day

Saviours’ Day

Because I’m a saviour in my own way

Teaching, Guiding, New Wisdom is at play

On this day

That Master Fard was born

With a Mission to save the forlorn

The scorned

The worked and worn

Yes, it’s Saviours’ Day

Because you’re a saviour in your own way

Elevating, Inspiring, Supreme Wisdom at play

On this day

That Master Fard Muhammad was birthed

To lift the burden from the earth

Create heavenly homes and hearth

Make all things new

Through

War, revolution

To perfect the human being’s evolution

War, strife

Struggle is ordained for new life

Oh, it’s Saviours’ Day

Because a people cried, prayed

For the oppression to go away

The cry, the prayer

Birthed into the world a God that cares

About the condition, pitiful condition

So He came with a Mission

To set down every tyrant

Heaven on earth seems distant

But it’s in the distance

Not far off

Closer

Everyday

Because it’s Saviours’ Day

And we’re saviours in our own way

The Baby’s Vision

I’m just a baby

Yes, I’m only a baby

Yet, I’m writing ‘bout corruption in this

Mystery Baby-lon

I’m just a girl

Yes, I’m only a girl

Yet, I’m writing ‘bout corruption in this

Wick-ed world

I’m just a child

Yes, I’m only a child

Yet, I’m writing ‘bout corruption in this

Civilized wild

I’m just a baby

I’m just a girl

I’m just a child

Yet I’m writing ‘bout corruption in this

Mystery Baby-lon, this – wick-ed world, this – civilized wild

I’m just a baby

But I have a vision

Cause Jesus said become like little

Children