A-ha, Hush That Fuss...Everybody Move To The Back of the Bus


For almost a week now, a fellow Aggie and I have been in a heated, yet respectable debate over Morgan Freeman's interview on 60 Minutes. Freeman, who caught flack for his portrayal of a southern chauffeur during the 1960's in Driving Miss Daisy, won his first (long overdue) Oscar earlier this year. He captivated us in Unfogiven. In the Shawshank Redemption he was Andy Dufresne's best friend, Red, the man who used what (little) he had to get what the other prisoners wanted. Before Bill Cosby got raw on us, Morgan told us about ourselves in, Lean On Me. And he "turned us on" as a main player on the Children's Television Workshop's 1970's series, Electric Company.

In the days before it aired, 60 Minutes advertised part of the interview, emphasizing Freeman's comments on race and Black history month. The ad, loaded with Mr. Freeman saying that he thought Black history month was ridiculous and that he did not want to be called a 'Black' man, had yours truly wondering if he had lost his mind or simply sold out. In the actual interview, he also said that they only way to end racism is to simply "stop talking about it." However, what 60 Minutes did not adverstise was that during the sit-down with Mike Wallace, Morgan Freeman emphatically states that he has no love for the Mississippi state flag; Mr. Freeman believes the rebel flag embedded in it represents a time of pure racism. Guess it sells more commercials to highlight a man ripping on his own people.

Still, his comment about Black history month was insensitive and irreverent to the pioneers who fought, bled or even died for the rights granted to every American. True, Black history should be celebrated everyday of the year and not just during the shortest and the coldest month (what up with that?). But we should keep and cherish what we have while continuing the effort to get that 40 acres and a mule still owed.

Additionally, keeping quiet about prejudice does nothing, except allow James Byrd to be dragged to death. Silence, in the face of racism screams, "it's okay," as was the case of, David Cash Jr., the accomplice of sorts to the rape and murder of 7-year-old Sherrice Iverson. Cash admitted to watching, but doing nothing while his friend Jeremy Strohmeyer committed the heinous act. Cash, white, was not charged; meanwhile, the press felt it necessary to highlight the fact that Sherrice's parents, Yolanda Manuel and Leroy Iverson, were estranged and low-income.

But, maybe Morgan Freeman is on to something. Maybe it is time to move forward. His words reminded me of the lines in Outkast's controversial hit, "Rosa Parks:"

I met a gypsy and she hipped me to some life game

To stimulate then activate the left and right brain

Said baby boy you only funky as your last cut

You focus on the past your ass'll be a has what

For the most part, I agree with my friend from college: Mr. Freeman's comments were taken out of context. There are probably parts of the interview on the cutting room floor that would not make him appear to be a sell-out, oreo or traitor. Nevertheless, if we are to take his advice--stop calling each other "black," "white," "hispanic," etc., not talk about racism, Black people should, at the very least, speak loudly and carry a big phat calendar; a calendar filled with the achievements of people of color from January 1st through December 31st.

The New Auction Blocks


Can't really be angry with them. Mexicans that is. They are doing what is allowed. Waiting in designated spots for work. Early in the a.m. Seven days a week. Waiting for work. Out making that paper.

While we, to quote School Daze, "backwards Negroes" are just hanging around. We are not even waiting anymore; just "hanging." We have given up. Forgotten all about the 40 Acres and a mule that's long overdue. We know America owes us, but refuse to get up off our rears and demand it. Instead of marching, hand-in-hand to the UN, and standing united, articulating why Georgia clay is red (saturated with the blood of our ancestors), we allow ourselves to be prime candidates for the new auction block. We are neo-slaves, being bought and sold without doing a damn thing about it. We have integrated, assimilated and just plain sold out. Am I my brother's keeper? Hell no, I got to take care of my own. Can't worry about you or yours. Don't care about the way it used to be. This is the way it is now.

We are getting no where fast. Losing much of our heritage and damn near all our soul on the new auctions blocks: the workplace, social services, and especially the courtroom. There, the auctioneer or D.A. lays out our value to the plantation: the prosecution successfully proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that "this savage animal" does not deserve to walk the streets of civilization. Off to Sing-Sing, Attica. Or, death row at San Quentin. Once at the prison, excuse me, the plantation, we never really get rehabilitated--just branded so that we will be back again.



The slave masters don't have to try very hard; we hand ourselves over to bondage. We don't teach our kids and ultimately kill our bloodline. We rely on the school systems to teach them about the law, sex, finances, health, death, life, us (how twisted is that!), religion--man, the church elders must be turning over in their graves!

We stand on street corners in broad daylight selling poison and wonder why we got caught. Could it be because Mrs. Jones is tired of picking up crack pipes from in front of her door and worrying about who is trying to break-in to fund their next high? The do-right brothers in the community would like to police you themselves. Bring you before the high court in the village--the folk that make the honest dollar and will beat the tar snot out of you when they find you guilty of being a menance to society. But alas, your Mother, only 14 years your senior, don't want nobody "talking' bad about her pride and joy, 'Lexus Shaquilles Jr. III,' cause he only doing 'what he got to do.'"

So instead it's off to the auction block; then to the big house. This I can tell you: this modern-day big house has little to do with farming, tending babies, or anything slaves did from 1600's to 1865. Yet, the mentality is about the same.

Yea, I cannot blame the Mexicans for making money, by any means necessary. They may be doing the work "for cheap," but at the end of the day, they are not shackled by chains, handcuffs, a social worker or society in general.