D.C. Rally for Trayvon Martin

The Trayvon Martin tragedy deeply disturbs me in two ways:

1. An innocent young man was senselessly robbed of his life.

2. "What does it mean to be a problem?" - W.E.B. DuBois

For the first statement, it is haunting that a young, unarmed black man can be shot in cold blood while simply walking to a convenience store - disturbing, haunting, and tragic. To George Zimmerman, it didn't matter who Trayvon Martin was, nor that he was visiting his grandfather; Zimmerman just saw a black face that didn't belong in his neighborhood and he decided to ignore police orders not to pursue: shoot first, ask questions later. I am hurt and saddened for the lost of Trayvon. I cannot begin to imagine that Trayvon's mother and father did not know their son was murdered until three days after the fact. I am also disturbed for this reason: that could have been me, my cousins, my friends, or any of the kids I've worked with over the years.

Another emotion I feel is anger. I am angered at the incompetence of the Florida law enforcement. How is it that a man is able to kill another human being and the following occurs:

• He is not taken into police custody, but rather is free to walk - despite the fact that he has a previous criminal record

• He is not given a blood test for alcohol and/or drugs

• The police do not take the weapon for evidence, but rather allow the killer to take his gun home (for all we know, George Zimmerman has already disposed of the weapon). 

For all practical purposes, the Florida police let George Zimmerman - a cold blooded murderer - walk free. My friend M brought this tragedy to my attention about two weeks ago and provides a strong summary: http://imsuchanafroholic.blogspot.com/2012/03/post-racial-is-dirtiest-word-i-know.html

....

I rarely protest, but yesterday I attended the Washington D.C. rally in Freedom Plaza for Trayvon Martin. I felt so strongly about this tragedy in the sense that justice needs to be served here. And to be clear, I am not talking about revenge and neither are Trayvon's parents, nor any other supporters who are petitioning for Zimmerman's arrest and trial. I feel as though we are calling on America to do the right thing. We are calling for America to make sure justice is served with a comprehensive and thorough investigation, the arrest of George Zimmerman, and a fair trial. There have been far too many times that America has not done right by black folk (and all people of color, but especially black and Native American folk since the beginning); yesterday afternoon, in a spirit of brotherhood with others around the world, we rallied to send a message to America: we're done with this mess and we're getting justice for Trayvon.

The rally was organized by three young ladies via social media. They we're only expecting 50 to 80 folks to show up, but hundreds came (and thousands passed by). Folks came wearing their hoodies and carrying their Arizona Iced Teas and Skittles. What inspired me was the solidarity of D.C.'s black folk. I was inspired that mothers and fathers brought their sons and daughters to the rally in order to stand up for justice. I was inspired that the grandmothers and grandfathers who may have been at some of the rallies during the Civil Rights movement came out. I was inspired that so many people were rocking their homemade Trayvon Martin t-shirts and signs. On the way to the rally, one thing that struck me was a sign made and held by a white woman that read: "My son is Trayvon Martin too." One of the many questions that I have surrounding this tragedy is if it is possible for white folk to empathize in regards to what happened? With that in mind, I'm glad that I saw this woman and her sign.

Every moment of the rally was powerful and I felt it. I came as one, but left as part of 500. I was part of a group of hundreds of people who gathered in a spirit of fellowship to say we're "tired of being sick and tired." In each direction I looked - front, back, right, and left - I saw people wearing the same thing I was: a black hoodie. For almost two hours, we listened to speakers and spoken-word performers who represented us and verbalized our thoughts to the District, the nation, and the world. One of the most powerful messages came from a student from Georgetown who challenged us to "get to work." This young man said that we need to take all the emotions, - the hurt, the pain, the sadness, the anger, the love - put them into our heart, and transform them into energy for the work that needs to be done.

So that's what I'm trying to figure out right now: how do I take all of these feelings and emotions that are in my heart right now and put them to work to make a difference? I am not sure yet, but I left the rally as a different person and that was the point. The MC of the rally, a preacher, said that we cannot let this end today, tomorrow, or in a month; we need to keep this thing going so that we can continue to improve our communities and make sure this doesn't happen again to another kid ever again. I'm going to do my best to do that and contribute what I'm able.

 

 

 

Four Months Worth of Appreciation - Part Two

This morning I was listening to 50 Cent's "21 Questions" and in the chorus Nate Dogg sings:

 

"Girl, It's easy to love me now
Would you love me if I was down and out?
Would you still have love for me?"

Repeat:

"Girl, It's easy to love me now
Would you love me if I was down and out?
Would you still have love for me?"

I never thought that a 50 Cent song would be deep, but that question - "would you love me if I was down and out?" - is so deep, yet so simple. I actually thought a lot about these lyrics this morning and some of the other questions 50 asks in the song. Afterwards, I thought about the people in my life will support me no matter what; those folks are rare and special. The people I had in mind were my parents, my aunts and uncles, and friends like MR, AM, MF, NS, AF, MD, RB, JB, TR, and LZ who would text/Facebook/Tweet me encouraging messages on a regular basis. I remember that I felt "down and out" from mid-October until Wednesday, December 15th 2011.
On that morning, the day after my birthday, I recieved a phone call from my associate at a local staffing agency. She asked me how my job search was progressing and I told her "not so well, but I'm still looking." I honestly did not know what to expect from this call, but as it turns out, she offered me a temporary position as an administrative assistant at a local D.C. area non-profit that advocates for resources for the elderly and disabled. The position had a modest hourly wage attached; there were also a lot of emotions and mixed feelings attached as well.

First, I was excited about getting "off the bench" and "into the game." Keep in mind, that four months ago the economy was rough and companies were not hiring as much as they used to. Although I was excited about the prospect of a new opportunity, my ego came into play. For a brief moment, I thought about this: "I graduated from Princeton and now I'm about to take a job as an administrative assistant?" Repeat:

"I graduated from Princeton and now I'm about to take a job as an administrative assistant?"

For a lot of people that can be a hard pill to swallow but my desire to do something far outweighed my ego. Although at the time I did not realize it, this experience will continue to reverberate for years to come (more on that in the next entry). I immediately accepted the position later that day and came into the office for the first time on Monday

On that first Monday, I was pumped and ready to begin my new position. Once again, I am thankful towards my Mom who gave me money to catch the bus and the Metro. Initially, I had a rough time locating the office, but I found it and was ready to go.

One of the first things that I was told to do by my supervisor was to make a name card so that people would know my name... so people know my name - what a nice guesture. Each time I encountered a new face, I introduced myself and they did the same in turn. I know that this sounds simple, but it was nice to interact and work with people once again instead of being at home alone. A lot of times we complain about our jobs or having to go to class, but it's a really special opportunity in that we have an opportunity to be around people, be/feel productive, and work as a team towards a common goal - how special is that? Very special indeed: being around people again and feeling appreciated is one of the things that has meant the most to me.

Another aspect about this position that I've appreciated is how it has worked to rebuild me once again. To be frank, 2011 was an emasculating year so to speak (I'm not going into the details here, but if you know me you're aware of the story). I am convinced working at this non-profit was the first step in rebuilding, an improved Reginald Galloway and my new foundation is one based upon hard work, humility, and respect. It goes like this: I'm always going to work hard, stay humble (but aim for the top), and have respect for myself, others, and what I do.

There is so much that this organization has done for me, for which I am grateful, but I'll just mention one more thing: the people here have encouraged me to once again dream big. I cannot emphasize enough how much the folks here at this non-profit have pushed me to once again have big goals - especially my African American co-workers. One story that definitely sticks out here is when one of my older co-workers, an African American lady, saw me pouring water for some guests who were in the office for a meeting. After I returned to my station, she said something that I'll never forget: "you're better than pouring water for some caucasian lady."

Wow.

Her words will always stick with me... and she's right. Sure her words triggered a certain historical image in my mind, but at that moment I was not thinking about the implications of an intelligent black male serving water for a group of white women; instead, I was thinking about everything else she had told me - to go back to school as soon as possible, to save up to buy a condo for myself, and how talented I was.

In fact, I feel as though just about everyone in my office has encouraged me to keep on going. At one point, it seemed as though every other person was asking me "so Reggie, what do you intend to do with that Princeton degree?" That question being posed to me day after day would lead me to think about a gameplan for the days and months to come. I'm happy to say that now, I'm executing that gameplan: it's call #DoOrDieMarch

There's a point I need to drive home here and I'll say this again and again: everyday is a new opportunity and your life can change for the better in just a single moment - take advantage of that. 

What Does Black History Month Mean To Me?

What does Black History Month Mean To Me? 


A lot...

In the broad, overarching sense, black history is at the core of American history. One could not tell the story of America without featuring black folk as essential players i.e. their contributions, struggle, and ultimately perseverance; however, this country's history has been told without giving African Americans due credit. When historian Dr. Carter G. Woodson established "Negro History Week" back in 1926, he noted that blacks' contributions to American history "were overlooked, ignored, and even suppressed by the writers of history textbooks and the teachers who use them." It's in Dr. Woodson's original purpose, to better acknowledge the richness of black contributions to our country, with which I most agree and value. Furthermore, it's essential that kids are able to learn about who they are and the deep legacy which they inherit.  

When I was in elementary school, I couldn't really appreciate black history because it was framed as a story of "victimization." Looking back on my early encounters with my history as it was taught in public schools, the lack of detail or multiple perspectives greatly hampered my outlook; I thought black history was embarrassing (it pains me to type these words). Think about it like this; I would summarize my early understanding of black history in three statements: 

1. Black people were slaves to white people. 

2. Black people were segregated from white people and were treated unfairly. 

3. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. came around and made everything better; now we're all equal.  

I also learned about other historic African American figures such as Harriet Tubman, Frederick Douglass, Booker T. Washington, Jackie Robinson, and Rosa Parks. Basically, I was taught about who these people were, the obstacles they faced/overcame, and their contributions to black people... not American society overall, but just black people (that was the way it felt). After February, it felt as though these folks either disappeared as their posters were taken down or I wouldn't hear about them again until next year. A lot of this exposure to African American history felt like "lip service," but at home, it was definitely a different story. 

My parents grew up totally in blackness. Both my mother and father grew up in a racially divided 1960s and 1970s Washington D.C. and lived a lot of what I was learning in school. I remember my Dad telling me about seeing Dr. King in church as a little boy or my mother mentioning how she used to see James Brown in the Howard Theater for a Saturday afternoon matinee show (mind-blowing). My parents knew about the watered-down version of black history taught in my school and attempted an intervention of sorts by trying to teach me more, but I wasn't ready. At a young age, I wasn't ready to absorb and understand the complexity of the black experience - the pain or the joy. 

It wasn't until I participated in the W.E.B. DuBois Scholars Institute (essentially a nerd summer camp for minority scholars with an emphasis on African American history) in 2004 that I truly began to study and really appreciate black history. At this time, I was more mature and ready to take in the complexity of blackness. I enjoyed learning about different, and in my opinion, more interesting black historical figures including W.E.B. DuBois, Ida B. Wells, and of course Malcolm X. It was at the Institute that I learned that a people's history can be tragic in the atrocities, yet beautiful in the perseverance and triumphs. 

Today, I have a more favorable opinion of Black History Month. I am glad that it exists in that it increases awareness, but agree with the popular sentiment that by no means should the study or celebration of black history be limited to a single month; it needs to be an ongoing process. I hope that schools don't stop (or decrease) exposing kids to black history because it's no longer February. Also, I deeply dislike how commercialized this month has become - just look around. 

If I had one wish for the future of Black History Month, it would be this: More exposure for the efforts of some of the less recognized figures of African American history - that would be great!

Believe it or not, my favorite historic African American figure to study is  the first black World Heavyweight Champion Jack Johnson: his story is deep.  

Nelly Before Jay

Earlier today I had an epiphany: I was more familiar with Nelly before I was "properly" introduced to Jay-Z. How in the world did this happen?

In elementary school, I did not really listen to music; however, the music I was exposed to Top-40. During that period, some of the artists that dominated the airwaves were the Backstreet Boys, Spice Girls, Britney Spears, and 'N Sync. My parents did not really allow me to listen to hip-hop music because they were uncomfortable with the featured themes of misogyny, violence, and inappropriate language for an adolescent boy. Looking back on it, I think they made the right decision for a few reasons. First, I was too young to really understand anything about hip-hop including the technique, metaphors, and most importantly the context i.e. where the artists were coming from. Moreover, coming from "the old-school" my parents probably did not understand too much about hip-hop either. Secondly, I attended a school with a fair number of suburban white kids (with actually soccer moms - not kidding) and hip-hop did not really have a place in the culture. My parents also did not want want me to be stereotyped for my aesthetic decisions.

Up until middle school, I had only heard hip-hop in passing or when it crossed over into pop/Top-40. For instance, I clearly remember Puff Daddy's (or Diddy's) "I'll Be Missing You" because it was played on Top-40 radio. And of course, my favorite rapper at this time was... Will Smith - so typical (Quick sidebar: Will Smith's first solo album "Big Willie Style" was actually a great album, but it was pop-rap). By the time I had entered 6th grade in 2000, I found that I was listening to more hip-hop, but yet it was still pop-rap. By "pop-rap" I am talking about hip-hop that is relatively radio friendly and appealing to a mainstream audience and for me, no artist better personifies pop-rap than Nelly.

"Country Grammar" - http://bit.ly/ripuWK

"Ride wit Me" - http://bit.ly/rv30Xa

"Hot in Herre" - http://bit.ly/r1Mr8o

"Dilemma" - http://bit.ly/n7kiB4

"Air Force Ones" (the WORST song ever, behind "Pimp Juice") - http://bit.ly/nis0xx

What do these five songs have in common? They all came out while I was in middle school (2000-2002) and charted in the Top-5 of the Billboard Top 100. Each record is catchy, but in my opinion, does not possess the rawness present in a lot of hip-hop music. Here's the key and it's something that I can't blame any rapper for: mainstream America either cannot relate to a lot of elements of hip-hop culture and/or they don't want to hear about something (borrowing from DuBois) so deeply entrenched within the Veil; so they make music that is accessible and somewhat relatable. By my standards, this is cool... as long as the rapper is willing to accept the label of being pop. So, I would have no problem with walking up to Nelly or Will Smith and calling them pop artists to their face.

On the other hand, while I was in middle school I got my first snippets of Jay-Z. The very first hip-hop song I fell in love with was Jay's "I Just Wanna Love You" - http://bit.ly/pjnmj1 - I just had to listen to this track even chance I got! Also, the track's smooth hook also made me a fan of Pharrell and the Neptunes. I didn't understand what Jay-Z was rapping or anything - it was just my track. While I was exposed to Jay-Z in pieces, there were two more hip-hop acts that really broke through into the Top-40 scene: Eminem and Outkast. Of course as a white rapper (a lot of his biographical and socioeconomic background could easily be black - easy) Eminem was a fascination and it's easy to see why he broke through into the Top-40: he was an anomaly and was as a creative a storyteller as Slick Rick. Outkast was so smooth with "So Fresh, So Clean" and "Ms. Jackson" (http://bit.ly/ruchLf) that they had to break through. Both of these artists had tracks that any one could relate to, i.e. the familiar themes of "hating your mother" or "getting a girl pregnant" - the difference between artists like Eminem/Jay/Outkast and artists like Nelly or Ja-Rule was that whereas the latter made rap-pop tracks to make Top-40 hit money, the former's talent and ability drew the mainstream to their material; Eminem/Jay/Outkast did not change a thing (at least not at that time).

By the time I had entered high school, I was actively listening to and learning more about hip-hop music. One thing particular moment that stands out in my mind was the day I went to Circuit City and brought my first two hip-hop albums: Outkast's "Speakerboxx/The Love Below" and Jay-Z's "Black Album."

But of course, there's another level to this story and that involves The Roots, but that's for another day!

Where I've Been and Occupy Wall Street.

It's a fortunate situation when you can just pick up where you've left off: that's what I'm doing by writing this blog entry two months removed.

I also blessed that I've been able to come home and pick up right where I left off. First and foremost, I'm grateful to my parents for their unconditional love and support (even though they're probably not reading this). It's thanks to them that I'm able to take this time right now to explore my options and really "take it easy" for a bit.

After my folks, I need to give a shout out to my friends Matt and Roxy who have shown me that fun does indeed exist after college, lol.

So, where have I been? I've pretty much replaced my Facebook status updates with Tweets and am spending most of my days in the library studying and exploring my options. And I've learned that I have a lot more in common with the "common folk" than I assumed and timing is everything.

One thing that is really on my mind right now is my relationship with Princeton as it relates to the Wall Street Movement. Although I do not see myself as an investment banker (or in a related field), I am connected to a lot of people who either are or are pursuing careers in this field. Moreover, Dr. Cornel West - one of my greatest teachers and favorite professors - was arrested this past Sunday as a form of protest. Here's the irony: Dr. West is protesting against the institution that many of students sitting in his class (my former peers) are primed to enter.

I am not an economist and I am not aware of the specifics of this economic recession, but I know that many Americans who are working hard and are "doing the right thing" have been cheated by the actions of a few. My question is this: will my friends and former classmates who are about to enter Wall Street roll with the status quo or push for reform.

From another vanish point, I am also connected to men and women who have either (1) been "laid-off" from their jobs or (2) are struggling to find a job. It's rough... to feel their pain and I imagine that they may even experience a sense of powerlessness. My father once told me that one of the unique aspects about being black is having a "nexus" to those who are well-to-do and those that are struggling - I'm feeling that right now. Yet, there's a different type of nexus at work right now in that I feel empathy for everyone out there who is struggling to find a job or to keep one. People bond and come together over shared experiences; this type of pain caused by the current economic recession is an experience that people all around the world are sharing - it transcends racial, ethnic, nationality or other types of identifications.

If I had a to pray for something right now, I would ask God to bestow the necessary awareness upon those in power so they might be enabled to do what's right for all of us.

One more thing: Jared and Maya - thanks for your support and insights! Keep 'em coming!

My Reflections on SlutWalk

(While reading, please keep in mind that these are only my reflections; I do not claim to have any expertise here)

Yesterday, I attended SlutWalk DC; it was one of the most uncomfortable and insightful experiences of my summer. Imagine just sitting poolside with your feet and part of your legs in the water. You're in the water, but you're not submerged in the pool - that was my experience attending DC's SlutWalk. I was there, but wasn't all-in.

"SlutWalk" is a worldwide movement, to amongst other things protest and reject the practice of victim blamming regarding rape/sexual-assault. Moreover one of the central missions of the movemnent is to reject the power of the word "slut" and the notion of shaming based on personal expression or lifestyle choices. For more information: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/SlutWalk

So the first question is "why did I decide to go?" There are two reasons here: (1) I support women's and LGBT rights in the sense of people should be free to express their sexuality in any manner they desire and (2) I enjoy attending cultural events (marches/protests/etc.) in Washington D.C.

I came on the scene at 11 AM for the opening rally in Lafayette Square (it's actually across the street from the White House). If I had to do this again, I would have brought a friend along; however, this time I rode solo. And instead of interacting with other attendees, I just chilled from a bench in the square. During the time between the rally and the start of the march, to the area of the program proper, I simply watched what was happening right in front of me. I saw men and women in their underwear and other revealing clothing, which made an intriguing contrast with the tourists in their uniform family reunion blue t-shirts.

In My Notebook (while sitting down during the rally): "Why am I here? I'm just sitting on a park bench,taking it all in.

When the marching began, I took a while to join in. At first, I was just going to not march and skip ahead to the stage where the program would take place, but I decided against this because walking with the people in solidarity is part of the experience. Although I marched with the people, I remained silent the entire time. While others were shouting chants such as "consent is sexy," I was silent. Once again, I took it all in - police officers on motorcycles to my left, tourists and vendors to my right, and allies/fellow marchers in front and behind. Unlike the other marchers, I had no sign in my hands or no words in my mouth.

In My Notebook (while marching): "There's a big diff btw working in a campus center for LGBT rights and marching for it"

When we came to the Sylvan Theater, there was a good 30 minutes before the speeches began. I stood around on the grass and watched people with all types of bodies and who came from all sorts of places congregate for a common purpose - a good purpose. I was captivated by the signs - all direct, most of them clever. I took photos of the signs and walked around a bit. There was an overcast in the skies...

The SlutWalk program was powerful and perhaps the greatest illustration of this power was the combination of the wind, rain, and thunder. For me these natural elements were a reflection of the power and importance of this gathering for social justice. I decided to Tweet during this program:

Tweets between me and J:

J: " @ReggieGalloway Oh man, Reggie, how did the #Slutwalk go?"

Me: "@j I'll be honest J, it's powerful to hear the testimony and strength of rape survivors - but as a man, there's something uneasy here"

J: "@ReggieGalloway I'm sure. I think it's similar to what @r told me about listening to James Cone talk about #black #liberation."

Me: "@jit's never easy for a member of the transgressive group to hear and sincerely listen to the victims but it needs to happen justice"

While writing the last Tweet, I thought about how white allies of black civil rights activists must have felt during the movement back in the 1950s and 60s. I imagine it must have been difficult for them to hear about the atrocities and injustices committed against people of color throughout the country. In my situation, as a man, it was difficult to hear the testimony of rape survivors who had been sexually assaulted. There was one testimony that particularly shook me.

Before leaving the program, I listened intently to a speaker who was thrice a victim of rape. One of the three times she detailed occurred during the 1974 Race Riots in Boston. She talked about how she – an individual who worked to end segregation – was raped by a black man. I was shook, as if she had found me, looked me in the eyes, and told me that story. And she specifically said that the racial identities do matter in this story – why? I still don’t understand that and how race specifically fits into this larger issue – because tragically, sexual assault is a global issue that occurs in all cultures and racial groups (I also still have images of black youth in London and Philadelphia fresh in my mind).

My Tweet: “Just heard the testimony of a white female rape survivor who was sexually assaulted by a black man back in the race riots of '74 - shook me”

After that, I couldn’t take any more, it was a lot to take in and think about. The rain had stopped and I put on my headphones in order to escape. I put on something familiar in order to get lost in the music – Big Sean’s “My Last.” I think that specific testimony was something that hit me from left field and disrupted my understandings of the complicated interactions between black men and white women; it was the realization of the worst possibilities of miscegenation from D.W. Griffith’s A Birth of a Nation: the black savage man ravaging the pure white female. Big Sean’s lyrics offered me a moment of escape and fantasy (and ironically, its chorus is sung by Chris Brown):

Looking back on the Slutwalk, I’m glad I went. I learned a lot about how our society creates and perpetuates the conditions in which victims of rape and sexual assault are held partially responsible for what happens to them because of how others perceive them – and of course this is wrong. Self-expression is a right and no one’s body should be threatened as a result of exercising that right. I think the best way we can help is with two practices:

1. Zero-Tolerance for unwanted sexual advances.

2. Letting go of our preconceived notions and stereotypes regarding what a “slut” (clothing, sexual behaviors, etc.). For the most part, these are unfair burdens/double-standards placed upon women and even though it’s going to be difficult, these need to go.

Thanks for Reading.

Black Men Loving Black Men Part 2

"I was told the true definition of a man was to never cry
Work till you tired (yeah) got to provide (yeah)
Always be the rock for my fam, protect them by all means...

I was always taught to be strong
never let them think you care at all
Let know one get close to me...." - Musiq Soulchild, Teachme

What these lyrics from Musiq Soulchild's song Teachme have to do with black LGBT activist Joseph Beam's words, "black men loving black men is the revolutionary act?" Musiq is singing about the American societal construction of manhood, with a special emphasis on what it means to be a black man: "never cry," "work... to provide," "be the rock for my fam, protect them." These are heavy burdens for anyone (any person) to live up to - regardless of one's gender, sexual orientation, class, race, or any other aspect to their identity. In the second verse, Musiq speaks to the presentation of manhood in the public and domestic spheres: "be strong," "never let them think you care," "let [no one] get close." In this construction of manhood, there is no space for men to express the emotions associated with their imposed burdens, lament, or to be vulnerable.

Joesph Beam's words are a call to create spaces in which black men may be vulnerable to one another. Beam recognizes that there is support and power in the recognition and acknowledgment of a shared experience of toil. Moreover, although Beam is orientated in the particular experience of a gay black man, his words are not about sex; they are about love. "Black men loving black men" is about all different types of love: the love between father and son, between brothers or cousins, between uncles and nephews, between friends, and yes also between two male lovers. I have personally experienced all of these bonds/loves with the exception of the last; however, I stand with those who are privileged to have such a bond. The love here is not sexual love, but a love of self and one's identity. As black men, our self-love - appreciation for one another and our shared, collective experience - in the public sphere as been and still is distorted. As slaves, our love for one another was distorted by the distinction between house slave and field slave. During Jim Crow and Segregation, our love was distorted by the distinction between light and dark skin. And during the Black Power Movement, perhaps the worst of all, we were told that we had "to be strong black men," while we relegated our female partners to the domestic sphere and rendered their particular experience invisible - misplaced love.

But all this happened before I was born. In 2011, I have to negotiate my manhood and self-love in relation to the popular media images presented in the public sphere. Can't be a minstrel show like Flavor Flav, but I can't be threatening like a 50 Cent. Need to be athletic like Lebron, but not confident/arrogant like T.O. This constant negotiation of black manhood is tiring and a constant performance. What Beam wants [and what I want] is a space in which black men can appreciate each other's shared experience concerning this weariness. If we want society to stop having these expectations and stereotypes of ourselves, it has to start from within. I realize that not every black male experience is unique as we are each individuals and that is the one of the central purposes of "black men loving black men" - a recognition of ourselves as individuals and not stereotypes. I'm talking about a space in which we can see each other not as "the athlete," "the rapper," or even "strong (all the time)" but as human - and to love someone, is to recognize their humanity.

One more thing: I'm heterosexual, but as I said before, I stand with everyone who stands for love.

Happy Valentine's Day.