Black Boy Poems

by Tyson Amir

  The indigenous peoples were not the only ones victimized by the rise of America and weren't the only ones who received the justification treatment to excuse their systematic exploitation and extermination. Many white Americans during the time of legalized chattel slavery felt slavery was immoral, but because it was so lucrative people found it hard to take a moral stance on the issue. This is somewhat understandable but not excusable. If your entire livelihood is based on the exploitation of another group, the fact that you earn a living from that exploitation makes it difficult for some to say, this is wrong, and then act upon that feeling, and stop doing it. This is what America faced and America failed. Sadly, America still fails in this present day when confronted with numerous moral/ethical issues in the face of potential profits. Both the South and North profited greatly off of slave labor. Textile mills and other industrial apparatuses in the North received cotton, cash crops, fossil fuels, and other resources for cheap from the South because the labor was provided by captive beings. The mighty American empire was firmly established upon blood money from slavery and indigenous forced removal.

  Millions of lives were lost to make this union what it is today. This is why in the piece I say, “I am made from the materials of martyrs.” We were, and still are the collateral damage of this industrial empire. Treated like surplus resources to be disposed of however they saw fit. Blacks in America and the Indigenous people of these lands share a common and, at times, a divergent experience but the cause of our suffering emanates from the same place. Our oppressors who are fueled by their greed operate with the basest goals of all time, so much so that they are willing to enslave generations of people or wage wars which kill off millions of innocents to secure resources and markets.

  All people, regardless of time and place, are capable of greed. Western society, and white civilization isn't the first and won't be the last group of people in power to succumb to greed. They definitely have done it with a unique flair that has left an indelible mark on the world. Our planet will never be the same as a result of what Western civilization has brought to us. The year 1492 was the beginning of a new world order that has resulted in irrevocable social, political, and planetary shifts. Greed and the pursuit of base desires are not a monopoly that Western civilization owns the deeds to. My ancestors were sold into slavery by other "Africans." Currency was exchanged between the African slave catchers and their European business partners, who were interested in cheap labor. The catching and selling of slaves eventually became an industry over the centuries of the trans-Atlantic and Arab slave trades, which mainly affected African populations. Greed played a role in the perpetuation of these heinous acts. It is true that many African cultures had a different experience with slavery. It wasn't the same type of barbaric chattel slavery pioneered by Europeans in the Americas. Still, the pursuit of money led many to capture men, women, and children and put them up for sale for Europeans and Arabs to purchase. With an unapologetic acknowledgement of that historical fact, the pursuit of profit motivated by greed was elevated to an entirely new level by Europeans in America.

  I use the term material because black bodies became commodities to be bought and sold. The only legal definition for blacks in early constitutional America was that of property. The constitution legalized this property status in Article I Section II with the 3/5ths compromise and in Article IV Section II via the fugitive slave clause. Both articles were definitive statements making black people held in bondage property of such and such state and by extension the United States. Black people were a tool of the agricultural apparatus that was providing major money for the American economy. Black bodies were simply a cog in a wheel turning the motors of a much larger machine that was the basis of the burgeoning economy of a new nation. We were beast of burden. Raw material. And like all resources used in the agricultural and industrial process, we were used up until we were no longer useful, and when that occurred we were discarded. Like a molting mantis casts off his old skin, his husk is sent to the floor and replaced by something new. Black husk-like bodies began to cover the floors of America once the last bit of life was wrung from their muscle and bones.

  This greed bred two distinct philosophical cousins to justify its existence as a means for building America. Those cousins are racism and white supremacy. The philosophy took years to be birthed and developed, but racism and white supremacy thrust themselves onto the world's stage and made bold claims that white people were the best people on the Earth, and it was because of this self-proclaimed fact that they had the right to use all resources on the planet, including people, the way they saw fit. They were the caretakers of the planet and could exhaust resources to their liking.

  This is the background to “Material of Martyrs.” The systems of white supremacy, racism, and the beast-like greed displayed by this society are horrendous, callous, and cold. Thus, the language chosen for this piece is very mercantile. I selected language that paralleled the brutal mechanizations of the machines at work. I wanted to emphasize the cognitive dissonance of turning a human being into a tool of production. That was their intention when they had control of black bodies. This dehumanizing view of man as beast of burden became the backbone of the system of American and Western civilization.

  However, as the piece shows, contrary to what some may have thought would eventually happen to blacks when they were no longer of use, we survived. We escaped it by some miraculous sequence of events and have risen to create something new despite all that had been done to limit us. We wear the marks of this inhumane experience. It is constantly present around us and in us. It covers us up completely, yet we still have the audacity and the ability to look beautiful and create beauty in this world for ourselves and others. I am made from the material of martyrs. I am the son of those who were brought here to toil for the pleasure and profit of others. I am the son of those who survived that and are attempting to thrive in the present. I wear their struggle on my chest every day of my life. So much so, that I now shine brightly because of those who sacrificed to give me this clothing. We are the material of martyrs and those before us have woven a beautiful fabric that has been passed down to us so that we may warm ourselves with their sacrifices and struggles, to carry on their tradition of fighting for freedom, and to live with dignity and pride.

  Black Child (2015)

  Black child, my child,

  with all the sincerity I can muster

  forming the most unbiased and humble opinion,

  I say to you

  that you are the envy of all of creation.

  It is a universal fact that your genetic inheritance

  is straight from the material that spawned civilization.

  It was men and women in your blessed hue

  who walked this planet first.

  They pondered the realities of life on earth

  and passed on their precious gifts to you.

  When you stand in the power that you posses

  The sun, the moon, the stars, and everything upon the earth

  and in the heavens

  feel that slight twinge of their heart strings

  as your elegance and grace is laid bare before them.

  You are the personification of the highest definition of beauty

  which is so sacred it is incapable of being spoken by a human tongue,

  an anthropomorphic presentation of all that can be right in the world,

  A noble embodiment of freedom and struggle.

  You are love and you are loved.

  And I must apologize for the world that I have to bring you into.

  Black child, my child

  know that I have tried,

  and others who are more worthy than me have tried with life and limb

  to create a world that would not offend you.

  It is a fact of this life that I must prepare you

  for the evil that men do.

  Black Child, my child

  know that I have endeavored with every effort


  to carve out a sliver of this world to place you in

  where you will not be blemished or tarnished

  by the venom and garbage

  of heartless hardened men

  who have yet to hearken

  to the sweetness of your song.

  They say ignorance is a state

  which equates lack of knowledge or information

  Modern man is a woefully ignorant,

  a penniless

  indigent pauper

  whose transactions are bankrupt

  for, if they listened, then they would know.

  They would know the beauty that produced you

  and is produced by you.

  They would recognize the seed of the tree of knowledge

  by its roots and its fruit

  they would be transformed by the lessons you have buried in your flesh.

  Through knowing you they would know themselves.

  But they reject,

  they cover up,

  wipe away,

  smudge out

  like a tantrum touting toddler claiming everything is "mine"

  Their hearts and souls become decrepit

  blind and illiterate,

  deaf by choice and

  dumb with distinction

  all to protect the trivial trinkets of western adornment

  they believe belong to them.

  They believe these things make them more beautiful than you

  Spiritually and morally destitute and inept

  They are unable to feel the braille that is written in your soul

  This is how jealousy,

  envy,

  hubris, and arrogance

  have manifested in what could've been a great people.

  May their example be a cautionary tale to you, Black Child.

  Do not accept their ways as your own.

  You were made to sing and dance in the sun.

  The moon bore witness to your song.

  The stars shine bright in tribute to your smile.

  Black child, my child

  never forget who and what you are.

  This wisdom of the elders has been passed on for generations

  since time immemorial and now I present it to you.

  Many will attempt to change,

  corrupt,

  influence,

  steal,

  appropriate,

  confuse,

  challenge,

  humiliate,

  denigrate,

  judge,

  and hate you for being you.

  This is part of your sentence as a Black Child,

  but you must always know that you are greater than.

  You are the first.

  You are the fulcrum providing the balance

  the universe rests upon.

  The world is again waiting for you to assume your rightful position

  of leader in the cosmos.

  May we all live to see that day where you, black child

  again lead us safely home.

  __________________________________________________________________________

  Reflections of a Black Boy

  Being a black child in America is my Great-Great-Grandfather Charles Flemister who was born a slave and was eventually sold with his mother from a plantation in Georgia to a plantation in Alabama for $1,500.

  Being a black child in America is being a 14 year old innocent black boy who is tried and convicted of murder in one day, sentenced to death, and then executed by electric chair. George Junius Stinney Jr.

  Being a black child in America is going to church on a beautiful Sunday morning in Birmingham, Alabama. Instead of laughing and joking with your friends all of you become victims of a white supremacist terror plot when a bomb goes off killing you all instantly because you're black.

  Being a black child in America is playing with four of your young siblings at 6221 Osage Avenue in West Philadelphia, PA on the morning of May 13th 1985. The day that Philadelphia police decided to drop two bombs on your home knowing in advance that women and children were in the residence, killing all five of you and six others.

  Being a black child in America means you have no childhood because law enforcement personnel and the larger white world always see you as older and bigger than you are. The added age and size create fear in the body and mind of the onlookers. They don't see a black child playing with a toy, they see a potentially armed criminal ready to commit a crime. In response, police pull triggers on you because the moment they see you, they're already in fear of their lives.

  __________________________________________________________________________

  I have yet to become a parent. Becoming a father is a future blessing I hope will be mine someday soon in my life. I have many near and dear friends who have moved into that phase of life and are faced with the reality of trying to raise a black child in a world that has little to no love for their existence. It makes me think of what my parents must've dealt with while raising my older sister, Kira, and me. I recall conversations with both of my parents about how I needed to be "careful" and "aware" when I was in public or when I was in white areas because my lack of awareness could result in problems. When you are black, those problems can mean death, incarceration, or serious physical injury. We had those conversations often. I do not know what guidebook my parents used to raise their two kids, but they made a lot of right calls.

  One bit of wisdom they had that I didn't fully understand at my young age involved toy guns. I'm a child of the ’80s; I remember one Christmas before we stopped celebrating Christmas, my parents spent their hard earned money on a new video game system for me. I was now the proud owner of a Nintendo Entertainment System. That mug was fresh. I had the standard games that came with it, “Mario Bros.,” “Gyromite,” and “Duck Hunt.” In order to play “Duck Hunt,” you had to use the gun controller that came along with the system. My parents weren't having that at all. It was a rule in the house that I was to never have toy guns. I didn't understand why, but as I got older their logic became painfully clear. The years passed, and I witnessed countless black bodies having their lives extinguished by law enforcement agents for holding toy guns or having anything in their hands that could be interpreted as a threat.

  This is what it means to be the parent of a black child. You have to prepare your child for a world that is filled with constant harm because of their skin color. White kids get to have a childhood where they can play with toy guns, and their "unruly" behavior is dismissed as it's just kids being kids. Black kids and their "unruly" behavior can result in far more severe and permanent consequences.

  It is a point of fact that black kids cannot do the same things that white kids can do in America. That's not a question of ability; it's the reality of race in America. The stakes are much higher when you are black. My parents wanted me to be free and have a childhood, but they also made it clear that they wanted me to know I was black and had to be more careful than other kids around me. I wasn't traumatized by that lesson. I didn't fully understand it, but the seriousness with which my parents taught it to me made me pay attention.

  Early on I became aware of the color boundaries of my hometown. I was from the East Side, where the majority of people of color lived in San Jose. The West and North sides were where most of the white folks lived. We seldom traveled to those parts of the city. My neighborhood was made up of mostly Mexican families. Sprinkled in-between were other immigrant families, mainly folks from Central America. In the middle of all of that was our black family. The police were often in our neighborhood because of America's institutional selective policing of areas with "poor" people of color.

  The lessons my parents taught me became a piece of equipment that I added to my armor as a black man in America. I recall when my father sat me down to have "the talk." Depending on what type of home you were raised in, you might think "the talk" refers to sex. If you're from a black home, you know there are two talks, the
first being “you're a black child in America” and how you need to deal with police, and the second one was “you better not get no girl pregnant” or if you're a girl “you better not be coming home pregnant.” My father gave me the advice you have to give to a child whom you know might be confronted with officers who could possibly take your child's life. He told me to be respectful and listen to what cops are saying to end the encounter as quickly as possible, but he also told me if I felt threatened and there was a chance for me to get away, then I needed to run. Some people may disagree with that advice, but according to the Department of Justice, blacks are two times more likely than whites to be confronted with force when dealing with police.

  In my hometown of San Jose, blacks are virtually nonexistent. I laid out some statistics about blacks in the city of San Jose in an earlier chapter. Currently blacks constitute 2 percent to 3 percent of the San Jose population. This almost imperceptible group of people is somehow 10 percent of all SJPD arrests and statistically the highest percentage of people force is used against upon arrest.

  In back-to-back years of 2006 and 2007, blacks were 17 percent and 15 percent of all arrests where force was used. I had to use stats that old because police departments have the odd habit of being reluctant to investigate themselves for potential wrongdoing or bias. So if you're a parent of a black child and you know the dangers that exist in the society that can befall your child, you must give your child advice that might seem contrary to "normal" logic because that "normal" is not based on a paradigm that considers your skin color. Normal in America is being white and what the "white" response to a situation with police would be. Normal is the white boy and known white supremacist terrorist Dylann Rouf shooting up innocent black churchgoers being apprehended gently by police and then taken for a meal at Burger King before being admitted to jail. Be you a criminal worthy of death or innocent, white folks have a completely different understanding of "normal" when it comes to interactions with police officers. Normal for blacks is our young boy Tamir Rice shot and killed by Cleveland police for being black and playing with a toy gun in a park. That scene has played out multiple times in Black America, and this is why black parents have taught their children a different set of rules for attempting to survive racist America.