by Tyson Amir
another born out of wedlock
away from the arms of his pop
who's going to spend the years of his son's life behind the doors of a cellblock.
When will this nonsense stop?
Y'all got to tell me when will this nonsense stop?
His baby is getting older now
starting to crawl
you see youngster out on the yard playing basketball.
You see him out by the three-point line busting his J
with no thought of changing his life when he gets out someday.
He can't seem to think outside of the box
or outside of his block
he's preparing
to spend his life in jail
or outlined in chalk.
Because on them streets you're always outnumbered and outgunned
prison and death are the only logical outcomes.
But he's way out of control
he's in and out of the hole
is he ever going to figure it out
and break out
this outlaw Scarface complex
Meanwhile his son is without a father
who lives without a conscience
Because it was underdeveloped
enveloped by these hellish streets
I just tell it how I see it
some of y'all claim these words sound bleak
I would prefer if these stories never came out my mouth
but I am going to speak to the madness until my folks break out
break out __________________________________________________________________________
Reflections of a Black Boy
When this society says and thinks black, what comes to its collective mind? What labels/terms are applied to black people? How many positive stereotypes for blacks can you come up with in mainstream American society?
In the Islamic tradition there's a famous narration attributed to the Prophet of Islam which states actions are according to intention. If we apply this idea to America in order to analyze its intentions and actions towards black people, we might learn something very interesting. From the beginning the intention for black lives in America has always been to be beast of burden, the exploited lesser. This intention is important to grasp because it evolves into actions that form the laws, policies, social and cultural "norms," and mores. All of these things together create the limited space black people are allotted in this society.
This limited space leads one to weigh options to try to pick paths that are less harmful instead of make choices that represent independence and self-determination. How can you fully know yourself when all you do is react in order to survive? This is added to the fact that we've already inherited the spiritual amputation of our culture and traditions from Africa. It's a cold game.
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I am not blind to the privileges that exist in American society. Although my skin color has granted me a second class existence, that does not prevent me from seeing the fact that I do benefit from a number of privileges. Still, America has designed roles for us in this society. Initially, our role was to provide cheap and free labor for America's emerging agricultural economy. So much so, that by the start of the Civil War in 1861, the United States was responsible for two-thirds of the world's cotton production and that labor was supplied by black bodies. Once the Civil War ended, the need for cheap black labor didn't magically disappear. The southern economy simply morphed and created a new system which writer Douglas A. Blackmon called Slavery by Another Name. The end of slavery granted more mobility to some blacks, and as a result, we started to see mass migrations out of the South. The industrial movement was booming in America so some blacks were able to find work in factory towns and began to do better when compared with their life in the South. Regardless of the black life being lived in the North or the South, there were very specific roles carved in social granite that black men and women had to fulfill. Stay within these boundaries, and you were relatively safe; step outside of them, and you were risking life and limb.
In every evolutionary step the American social order has experienced, it has cast its roles for its black subjects in that social granite. The premise is always the same; we are to be a subjugated people, exploited to benefit the American machine. Post-1865, those roles have been teased by the appearance of equality and opportunity, but it always reduces to the same solution: We are a class or two stratum below. There is a quota for the outliers of black men and women who have been granted access to certain roles. Very few will be allowed proximity to the most coveted areas of white American society. Some will be able to lead a middle-class life where they can own, but most likely rent a home. Their children can be raised in fairly well-to-do areas with decent schools. Still, the reality of blackness cannot be forgotten, so these middle-class blacks still hope they and their children avoid any run-ins with the system or law that could result in a police officer accidentally taking another black life.
For most blacks in America, we are to exist under the poverty line. We are to be the most unemployed. We are to live in the worst neighborhoods, attend the worst schools, be perpetually involved in a game with the authorities that has gone by many names, the latest of which has been called stop and frisk. The other perennial favorite is hide and go seek, aka arrest and lock niggas away in jail and prison. From our schools, we are the most likely to be pushed out or drop out. As a result, we have the lowest graduation rates. Our children are to be raised in neighborhoods with limited opportunities for growth and development. Guns and drugs, two of this country's greatest tools of mass control and destruction, are always readily available.
Presently, this is the typecast role that America has written for us. We die more than any other group of Americans due to the slow suffocating hold America has on our communities. Some of us are able to perform magical feats to escape the limitations placed on black lives, albeit the escape for many is temporary. We can either out think, rap, dance, sing, dribble, shoot, run, throw, act, or create some new piece of culture that Americans will soon attempt to appropriate from us. The overwhelming majority of us fall into one of the non-extraordinary roles. It is difficult to assess exactly when and where it happens, but somehow somewhere there's a quick edit or cut scene which leads to a seamless transition from child with all hopes and dreams to lights, cameras and action, cue broken black faced child center stage stepping forth to play his or her part in the ongoing blockbuster "The Life and Times of the Tragic American Niggers."
That's what “Out” is. The piece is fairly old, but the content is forever relevant due to the treatment of the black life in America. I think at the time I had taught in San Francisco jails for a little more than three years. One of my mentor teachers had shared with me a very wise piece of advice; she said, "Teaching is about relationships." I endeavor to create strong relationships with all my students in order to foster a healthy learning environment, so I can better serve their needs. As a result, we would share some very real moments where students would open up about life. In conversations with my male students, I kept hearing the same stories over and over again. There were some minor differences, but the essence of the story was always the same. It might have started out with both parents being gone, or moms was lost in the streets or prison. Some stories began with being raised in group homes. Many of my students actually liked parts of school, but there always came a moment when the cost-benefit analysis didn't work out in schools' favor any longer. Armed with the power of their decision, they were out in the street trying to survive best they knew how.
It's always a trip to witness the moments when my students unintentionally break character. It's like a glitch in the matrix; they fall out their role and begin to think and act differently. It might happen as a result of solving a complex mathematics problem that they felt they could never conquer, or it might be when they realize how industrialism singlehandedly changed the cours
e of human society culminating in the creation and marginalization of blacks and other peoples of color in urban ghettoes, or it might be when they learn in an economics class how to invest and make money off their practice stock portfolio. It can be anything, but in those moments I can witness the makeup come off. I see the actors out of wardrobe, off camera, and off stage. For a brief moment they realize they are not what America has told them they have to be. For a split-second, they begin to believe that they can be more, that there is more to them and for them. They begin to see that they are capable of something greater than the sad blaxploitation reruns that we have been conscripted to live.
America for the most part robs us from birth of the right to be our authentic selves. I think of two passages from the Autobiography of Malcolm X where Malcolm describes this very phenomenon. In one section he speaks about black folks who could've been scientists, innovators in the medical field, and made other great contributions to mankind but so many are denied those opportunities because of the color of their skin. In another section he makes commentary about his former numbers runner West Indian Archie. Malcolm believed Archie had the mind of a mathematician because of how he was able to work numbers. West Indian Archie's math genius should've been featured in another arena but because of his blackness he had to use it to survive on the street.
Both instances reference black men; the roles and restrictions are equally if not more restrictive for black women. And this is what I see in the stories that I hear from my students. This is what the piece is attempting to convey, the tragic figures that our society has forced us to play. The casting call is made for all black boys and girls to audition for. We arrive at that place in different ways, but the outcome is a forgone conclusion. Prison and death are the only logical outcomes. Some play the role with a little more flair; maybe they put their own spin on their interpretation of the character, and the crowd goes wild when they finally fulfill their character's doomed destiny. Backstage the money changes hands, some in attendance will stand and applaud, and like any great production the audience will come back for more.
The American script writers have done a remarkable job of creating multiple versions of the same sad black roles. As much as I'd love to ignore it I know that I too, play a role. In every age there are the agitators, the resisters, those that attempt to step outside of the confines of the underdeveloped roles and write our own script. I cannot accept what America has sentenced me and my brethren to. I reject it on every level. I will not wear your makeup or fit your wardrobe. I will not answer your casting call and audition for your parts. I will not stand on your stage in a bastardized rendition of a once great people. I am dreaming up something new and different that you can't appreciate the beauty of because your lens is too myopic. I could easily conform and seek out one of those comfortable middle-class quota positions. I know the path to "ease" and "comfort" in America. I've been groomed to walk and talk correctly to "make it" in America. Taking that path would mean I gave up on myself and my people for a few extra dollars, more comfortable shackles, and better slave accommodations. I cannot do that! I will not do that! I could also drown myself in drugs, alcohol, women, lust, streets, and any other distractions that suck the life force out of black men and women. It's so easy to do, but I reject that as well. So I'm left with one possible role: the outsider, the agitator, the angry black revolutionary who will always be involved in some form of fight against the system. This is not a role created for blacks by America; it is an independent production, but our role is a byproduct of the scandalous theater America has been running for the last 400 years. I am a freedom fighter, and I will fight for the freedom of my people by any means necessary. That is my purpose; that is my role. It is the only one that I am suited for. It is the only one that I can play with honor and dignity.
Blue Devil (2002)
Boxed in on all sides nowhere to run or to turn to
I box concrete walls until my hands turn blue
broken and swollen knuckles
skin torn and chapped
I find freedom in syntax that seeps through the cracks
in the walls
to reach them cats still on the outside
how many years have I been on the inside
I lost count
days become nights, weeks become years
planets revolve around the sun
I'm still stuck inside here
evolved into an animal
forgot what the world looked like.
Push-ups and sit-ups prepare me for fist fights
they move me through the prison population
cuffs fit my wrist tight
I'm at my wits end because my bid is life.
Can you imagine being locked in a cage
for the rest of your days plus some?
I'm surrounded by shadows and dark thoughts
of making my heart stop
with bad habits and odd customs.
Try to hang myself when the doors are locked
to make it stop
but more of us get locked up everyday
over 2 million and counting
from a bird's eye view I have flashbacks of old days
how they carried us away from our homes shackled in chains
deja vu because modern day prisoners are slaves.
Check your constitution I ain't the first one to say it
the prison industry is the new slave ship, slave ship.
Innocence a commodity that's bought and sold
but oddly escapes the possession of my black body
I manifest Rodney King dreams
when I hear license and registration
because reaching for my ID could be
justification for my homicide
the wrong color at the wrong time
you a fool if you believe justice is colorblind.
In the belly of the beast on streets I stand
with hands cuffed behind my back
and get beat with black wood objects
in Oklahoma City
or smashed on hoods of squad cars in Inglewood projects
already walking with chains around my neck
they just ain't found a crime to convict me of yet
but as I speak they framing crime scenes to confine me
so what I'm rhyming about be pertinent
because police interaction be beyond permanent.
Pigs becoming judge, jury, and executioner
majority of pigs are white
and this is why some might compare white folks to Lucifer.
For many this life be a living hell
so we rebel in these streets
screaming and yelling
product of environment so therefore I'm a son of rebellion.
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Reflections of a Black Boy
"The birth and development of the American police can be traced to a multitude of historical, legal, and political-economic conditions. The institution of slavery and the control of minorities, however, were two of the more formidable historic features of American society shaping early policing. Slave patrols and Night Watches, which later became modern police departments, were both designed to control the behaviors of minorities …
"Blacks have long been targets of abuse. The use of patrols to capture runaway slaves was one of the precursors of formal police forces, especially in the South. This disastrous legacy persisted as an element of the police role even after the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964." - Victor E. Kappeler, Ph.D.
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The greatest fear I had as a child was going to jail or prison. I became aware of this fear very early on. I didn't fully understand the concept of jail and prison, but I knew it was a place that I didn't ever want to be. In my childhood days I heard a phrase over and over again that over time terrified me, "Elmwood." I did not know what El
mwood was. Nobody took the time to tell me that Elmwood was the largest jail in San Jose and is conveniently located on the border of San Jose and Milpitas right across from the Great Mall, auto dealerships, and multiple gated communities. One of my best friends and his family live in one of those gated communities now.
It is possible that nobody took the time to explain that to me because they didn't think a child my age should have to worry about or be afraid of jail/prison. The reality of black childhood presents very different possibilities for parents and children alike to deal with. Not fully knowing what Elmwood was allowed for my imagination to do its thing. Elmwood became this horrible place in the woods where people disappeared to, and some never came back. In my mind it was always dark and draped in hecka foliage. There was a sinister fog mist present that made it cold and terrifying. I would hear, “so and so is at Elmwood,” and immediately it conjured up an image something like the Bermuda Triangle where they would be lost forever. It got to a point for me where I didn't ever want to go to a forest or the woods. Skip camping. That was completely out of the question. In my mind there was no address for Elmwood, which meant that it could be anywhere. All I knew was that if somebody was at Elmwood, we weren't going to see them again for a long time. I did not want that to be me. As I got older, the pieces started to make more sense. Elmwood was a jail and police were the ones who took you to jail. So my fear of Elmwood eventually contributed to the development of a healthy fear of the police. I didn't want to be anywhere near them to give them a chance to take me to Elmwood.
Black folks have had these healthy fears of police and the state since day one, and rightfully so. As Dr. Kapeller points out, the oppressive institution of slave catching is the predecessor of what eventually became the American police system. This historical foundation is important because it provides a much needed contextual backdrop for understanding police practices and the development of the prison industrial complex. Another important fact to include is that many police departments in majority black areas throughout the country, and especially here in California, were populated with white officers from southern states. These are the departments that truly embodied the spirit of their slave catching DNA. That history makes the present reality of what my brother Tongo Eisen-Martin reported for the Malcolm X Grassroots Movement, that every twenty-eight hours in America, a black person is murdered by a security/law enforcement agent, more understandable. It doesn't matter what era of black life we examine the police, pigs or slave catchers all had the same goal "to control the behavior of minorities", specifically black folks, by any means. That is exactly why some of us experience those traumatic intergenerational flashbacks of our ancestors who were held as slaves when we encounter law enforcement agents. It is not just a cop talking to a black man, woman, or child. It's 400 years of slave catching/policing all present in that "request" for license and registration. Shackles and handcuffs are the same. Being confronted by a slave catcher a few miles from masta's plantation feels the same as having bright lights flashed in your eyes on the streets of West Oakland. There is no difference between those encounters. In understanding that all of these encounters are the same we also know that any interaction with police/slave catchers anywhere within the borders of the United States can mean injury, incarceration/enslavement, or death.
