SORORITY GIRLS: TERROR IN MISSISSIPPI (Halloween at USM)

This past Halloween, six young sorority girls night of holiday enjoyment turned into a nightmare. This may sound like the typical story line of a Wes Craven or Stephen King film, but I guess in this case Freddy Kruger’s terror has manifested itself into reality. Phi Mu Sorority hosted a Halloween party with an 80’s theme. Six young girls decided to dress up as the Huxtables from the famous Cosby Show. The show was about a happily married couple, a hard working and successful African American family; which defied the stereotypical perceptions of African Americans that were - and still are - common throughout the media and a society that thinks African Americans are all the same. It seems like a cool idea right? The only problem was that these six sorority girls were white. How did they pull this off you ask? They went to the party in Black-face.

Before anyone gets angry or yell OMG, let me ease your mind by saying that this “movie” takes place in Southern Mississippi; at the University of Southern Mississippi to be exact. Right now I’m sure most of you are not surprised now or maybe you’re saying to yourself, “typical of such a backward Mississippi society.” While it may seem unimportant to you, it is very much important to me. I not only attended this university, but I also hold a grudge because of the universities (and the state’s) continuous failure to diversify its curriculum by making Multicultural Studies a requirement instead of a punishment. It is no secret that the education system in Mississippi is beyond broken, but the “Old South” mentality of many people who live there plays a big role in the collapse of the education system.

I personally blame the institution rather than the six young women. If the institution was serious about diversity/multiculturalism, then it should have been a requirement for all USM students years ago. These women simply did not know (just as most people at USM dont have a clue). It's not their fault! I have no doubt that these women had no intentions to harm anyone, but it is definitely true that people (MS especially) are not educated on the evolution of the historical/psychological oppression of African Americans. I don't have a problem with anyone dressing like a successful African American family, but I absolutely have a problem with schools in MS that don't make Multicultural Studies a requirement when most students come into college with preconceived stereotypes of others. It is dangerous in a place like MS! If they were educated on the historical perspective of Black-face, then they would have some sort of understanding of why some people would be upset. The idea may have been acceptable to a younger individual, but definitely not to older persons regardless of color.

“Though it is clear that these women had no ill intent, it was also clear that they had little cultural awareness or competency, and did not understand the historical implication of costuming in blackface,” said Dean of Students Dr. Eddie Holloway. “We thought it important to begin an open dialogue immediately, and all those involved were not only cooperative but open, honest and candid.” Vice President for Student Affairs Dr. Joe Paul said, “Though clearly without overt intent, this photo was offensive, insensitive and regrettable, and is counter to the rich appreciation for diversity that marks our student body.” I have so much respect for Dean Holloway and Dr. Paul, but the simple idea of having a dialogue with these women, along with black student leaders is not at all effective on a campus that uses diversity as make-up. What about the rest of the students? The honest, yet brutal thing to do is to remove the make-up in order to see the real face of the university. It is not as diverse as it is portrayed to be. How does having a small discussion with a few students change race-relations and diversity on a southern campus? If Multicultural Studies was a requirement, then it prevents whites from saying, “Here we go with this race s***!” It prevents the international students from feeling like they have stepped into America’s Twilight Zone. It prevents women from feeling like they have to let a man take charge of everything. It prevents the disabled and homosexuals from feeling like something is wrong with them. It prevents other minorities from being overly aggressive, because of the feeling of being misunderstood, generalized, and forced to assimilate into a society where people of their background are rarely appreciated and acknowledged in those heavy books that they have to carry from one end of the campus to the other.

As a student at USM and a Mississippi native, I never understood why the talk of race, religion, and politics were forbidden. Are these the issues that are turning us into American rejects or degree holders who still can’t compete with the rest of the country? We are so afraid to talk about these issues. How are students in the south ever going to become nationally known scholars, lawyers, preachers, scientists, and politicians if we even fear discussing such issues in an educational setting? Is this not turning everyone in Mississippi (regardless of race) into slaves? Racism is so deeply woven into my dear home-state that we even enslave ourselves without even knowing it.

Even if these 6 white women did not know the history behind Black-face, could one ask if the black student leaders knew the history behind it as well? This story made national news, but no one, not even the Hattiesburg American or Student Printz took that golden opportunity to explain the history of Black-face to its audience and why it may have upset some African Americans. We missed it! The administration missed it again! Is it enough to sit through a boring lecture in the LAB, Stout Hall, or Joseph-Green and attempt to retain crap that you’re going to forget after the test anyway? I have no doubt that the information a student could receive in Multicultural Studies course would be not only unforgettable, butt will allow them to be able to have a more positive experience in this world. When you graduate and start that new job, everybody is not going to look, act, think, and believe the way you do. You have to be prepared to not only be skilled in your craft, but also skilled in being able to work with and understand people who are not like you.

It is important that this new generation of young students would challenge the norms of Mississippi. This is not us! This old system does not work! Tuition costs too much to sit in class for hours and get absolutely nothing out of it. We have to challenge our educators, politicians, and clergymen. We can’t afford to continue to be the laughing stock of the nation and only get news coverage when there is a race issue. Young leaders need to stand up and be heard! USM needs to make Multicultural Studies a requirement to prevent the social-retardation that has plagued our state for far too long. I have included a link that will explain Black-face, Minstrel shows, and the negative stereotypes of African Americans that came along with it since no one else would.

1) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C45g3YP7JOk

2) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UfiNT6AKG0s

3) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UacUR7bPnMM&feature=related

My Drug Addiction

Somehow, somebody drew a line between him and I. I enjoyed the loafers, he enjoyed the timbs, he looked like me, but someone told me that I had to hate him. I lived in the North, he lived in the south, he lived in a little shack and I lived in a big house. I drunk fine wines, he preferred 40’s, I liked the “bougie” broads, he liked the hood shorties.

Somehow, somebody drew a line between him and I. He looked like me, but somebody separated him and me, and told us that there was no we. Everybody for themselves! Looks of disgust when we crossed paths; feeling that hate and knowing that we were separated at birth. Separated by high class and low class, smart ass and dumb ass, uppity negro and no count negro. He chose the block and I chose the books. I looked down on him and he looked down on me, but we never asked ourselves, “Who the the f*** was looking up?”

Somehow, somebody drew a line between him and I. We never conversed or thought to rehearse the lines in order to prepare for the time when we would have to meet face to face. We never said a word. He looked like me, but we were in two different worlds surrounded by girls. Black, white, red, and yellow, who all wanted to secretly touch that big mystery that dangled between our legs. Is that all we are good for? He hated me, because of my opportunities and my ability to sit and mingle in the pool of diversity. I hated him, because I wasn’t accepted and felt rejected by the people in my own village who called me white boy trying to be color blind, the one that barely spends time with his own kind.

Somehow, somebody drew a line between him and I. But while we we’re different, one thing bound us together. He looked like me! We were the color of aggression, the color of oppression, the color of protection when a mother f***** tries, to bring stress and tears to our black mothers eyes. We are the color of fear when the pasty white chick clinches her purse assuming that we all want what she has. We are the color of crime when something goes wrong, even when we have not done wrong, we just go along. We end up alone into that black 5 star hotel called jail for 2 reasons: we are black and we are male. Somebody said, we can never be the golfer, just the caddy, never a husband, but somebody’s baby daddy.

Somehow, somebody drew a line between him and I, but one day we saw each other for the first time. We abused each other verbally, physically, and psychologically until we both had no more energy. Is this what they wanted? I had book sense and he had street sense and we both used them to better ourselves. For the first time we both looked up, then we looked at each other. We saw each other for the first time. We both wanted to knowledge! We both wanted power! He hustled his way and I hustled mine. Somebody told us that we had to hate each other; that we had to kill each other. We’ve never been to jail, but we were both going through hell trying to assimilate into a society that tries to categorize, demonize, and criminalize because of the color of me and my brother.

Somehow, somebody drew a line between him and I, but we saw each other for the first time. We shook our heads and laughed at how it had to come to all of this. We had different lives and different views, but we had so much in common. His appearance initially led me to believe that he was an illiterate fool, but his impressive hood logic led me to believe that I was the damn fool, with a college degree. We both wanted knowledge! We both wanted power! We realized that we both had a drug addiction; our addiction to knowledge and power.

I have respect for anybody who seeks greater knowledge, but didnt necessarily attend college! I'm the brotha in the tie, he’s the brotha rockin the chain, but we're both dangerous colored brothas because we're both nurturing our brains. We are black men, freakin drug heads, but not the kind you want us to be. We smoke that knowledge! We snort that knowledge! We shoot that knowledge! It's that junk, that fix we need when we’re itchin and twitchin. We’re working on increasing our drug addictions so that we can kill those negative depictions of me, of him, of us. We black brothas! We fight and blow smoke in each other’s face so hopefully we’ll get a taste of that contact high, that knowledge that leads to that power. Light that s***, smoke that s***, pass that s***!

Amendment 26

ARTIFICIAL RED LIPS
(The Tale of a Southern Belle in Mississippi)

As I watched my love give birth to the seed of her rapist, I felt my heart churning and pumping its hatred to every section of my body. That hatred sizzled on my heart like melting butter to a hot skillet. My heart disease spoke to my love through the fire that shot out of my eyes. The duct tape covering her sweet lips bore the artificial red lips of a lustful woman in Mississippi. That butter, that hate oozed out of my pores as I tried to hold myself together, while listening to God and Lucifer negotiate. I watched my love cry as that butter, that hate, turned into confusion. Was she crying because of the pain, or the pain of being a woman with no voice? I knew that she would never do this to me, but how could I? She had no voice. Her sweet lips were sealed by that cheap duct tape that bore the artificial red lips of a lustful woman in Mississippi. Those lustful red artificial lips told me that she was a temptress, a controller of man’s burning desire to unlatch her chastity belt, and a ruler of herself.

I know my love! I know those sweet lips beyond that duct tape; beyond those lustful red lips. I am sure about one thing. She is the ruler of herself. Those sweet lips promised me that God and I were the only men that she would ever love. God and I were the only men worthy enough to touch her delicate skin. I am a great man with great power. I chose her, because of her greatness and power, but someone has silenced her. Someone has taken her womanhood and sealed her lips so that she may not tell a soul. Who do I blame for my confusion? Who do I blame for my battle between my love and hate for this woman? Who do I blame for the battle between grudge and forgiveness? Is it the man that took her womanhood or the man that took her voice? Are they one in the same? Is the rapist the same man who makes the laws?

This man or these men have managed to turn my most prized possession—my Southern Belle—into a lowly black slave of the former south. Her only duty is to please me! She has no control over her body. She cannot do anything without my say so. This is not the woman I fell in love with! The woman I know is strong, intelligent, and capable of making her own decisions. I am not worthy of making decisions about a body I did not create and a body that is not mine. I am only the lover of her soul. Right now I hate this thing that is exiting her wound; this thing that has no relation to me. This thing can only be a painful memory of a marriage torn apart by man’s lack of control of his sexual aggression, but his willingness to control his female counterpart by stamping laws on her reproductive organs.

As I stood up to see my love in pain—attempting to scream through that cheap duct tape that bore the artificial red lips of a lustful woman in Mississippi—that butter inside of me began to fry. Suddenly my mind began to take over my heart. “I am a Southern Gentleman! I am the epitome of a man, husband, and father. My duty is to protect everything that I love, especially my woman.” I walked over to the side of the hospital bed and ripped that cheap duct tape off of her lips and she screamed! I heard her voice! She cried out to me! She cried out to other women! At that moment, the butter inside of me had turned itself into nothing. It left a glow in my heart that seeped through my skin. I could not live with hate and not have my love! I promised her that I would protect her even if it meant losing my own life. I was determined to fight this man who had three heads. He was a rapist, law maker, and a Christian when it was convenient.

This child is not mine, but he is not to blame for the problems in a world that he has not yet seen. I will love him. He was born of a law that forced my love into slavery, but I will make sure he is the last. You see, there is a young girl next door who just found out that she was pregnant, but her mother doesn’t know that it is her father’s seed.

THE CROWS COMETH

As King Roland, the sovereign ruler of this great land slept peacefully in his bed, an angel entered into his living quarters. As she floated over to his portion of the bed the wind from her wings began to change the temperature of the room, causing his skin to produce chill bumps. She kneeled down and whispered into his ear. “Nurture your garden, for the crows cometh to destroy.” The next morning King Roland went into the palace chapel along with his consort Queen Tori, a princess from a small principality on the coast of east Africa. They both kneel at the altar where the sun hits the golden cross that was given to them by His Grace Pope Augusto of Italy as a symbol of friendship, fellowship, and faith amongst the two countries. “I have everything I need. God has allowed me to serve him, my country, and your majesty faithfully. I only want to pray for my dear children,” said Queen Tori to the King. “I shall pray for understanding, for my God sent his messenger to warm me that the crows cometh and I should nurture my garden,” replied King Roland.

Later on his majesty requested that he spend some time in the throne room alone, without the noise and side gossip of the court. He sat upon his throne for hours praying and analyzing the message from the angel. King Roland was known for his intelligence and great wisdom. He had a habit of sitting in one place for days attempting to figure out dreams, visions, political moves, logic, etc. After much mental debating with himself he began to think about the prayer of Queen Tori and how it could possibly relate to the angel’s warning. “That’s it!” His majesty insisted that his sons report to the garden on the east wing of the palace for their evening studies. He wanted to teach them a lesson about garden maintenance, which was odd coming from a person of noble blood. The royal groundskeeper has worked in the palace ever since King Roland’s father ruled. He taught the future king about learning about life through gardening.

King Roland’s three sons were said to be the most sought after princes in the entire known world. Prince Malachi (the eldest) was skilled in mathematics as well as military tactics in which he formulated through his visions. He was very controlling and arrogant, but people respected him because of his visions that have kept the country’s borders safe. As the eldest he was next in line to inherit the throne. He envisioned one world ruled by one monarch. Prince Jacob, the middle man as he was called, was very observant, social yet humble and giving. He did not talk much, but when he did people gave him their undivided attention. Prince Jacob was into expressing himself through the arts, sciences, and philanthropy. The king worried that his constant curiosity and kindness would cause people to manipulate him. Prince Yohannes was the youngest of the royal family and a skilled musician and composer. He was the most handsome of the three, although they all were attractive. Affectionately known as “The Charmer” around the kingdom, he used his title as a way of luring young mistresses both of equal or lesser value into his bed. The title, “The Kings Purse Pincher” was whispered amongst the members of the court.

When the three princes enter into the beautiful garden they were met by the royal groundskeeper. He explained to them that their assignment for today was to nurture the garden. “How dare you speak to us in such a manner? I am a prince, soon to be reigning sovereign of this country. I don’t have the time to indulge in such a lowly occupation,” yelled Prince Malachi. He then storms out of the garden. “So this bottom feeder thinks we are his slaves,” Prince Yohannes said comically. “I have no time for this! I have other important engagements. This is joke.” Prince Yohannes then walks away. “Well, I’ve always wanted to know the nature of things,” said Prince Jacob as he laughed. The groundskeeper showed him how to use the watering pail and he eventually left the prince to continue alone. “This seems easy,” the prince said to himself.

The prince enjoyed the calmness and solace that came along with the task. He took a break to write down this experience in his tablet. Prince Jacob takes it everywhere he goes. He paid attention to the way the ground would absorb the water, which reminded him of his desire and thirst for knowledge. As he continued to write, he began to hear the sound of a lyre playing in the distance. He began to move deeper into the center of the maze garden until he saw an angel sitting on the steps of the gazebo, playing a lyre ever so beautifully. The sound of the water from the two waterfalls on both sides of the gazebo had calmed him. His curiosity caused him to have no fear. He sat down three feet away from the angel and listened to her play. Suddenly the lyre began to speak to his soul. To others it may have been a simple tune, but the lyre to Jacob was like a sweet symphony to his soul.

Prince Jacob had read about the lyre once before in his studies. The lyre was a kind of a harp used by the ancient Greeks as an accompaniment to poetry. It was the peculiar instrument of Apollo, the tutelary God of music and poetry. It gave name to the species of verse called lyric, to which it originally furnished an accompaniment. Prince Jacob pulled his tablet out once again and began writing the words given by the lyre. Suddenly, two crows flew into the garden and began to pick at the lyre, but the angel continued to play. Their hard beaks biting the wire were disturbing the peaceful transaction of the musical message. Prince Jacob struggled to continue to write. The message was not as clear. He was losing focus. The angel suddenly grabbed the two crows and ripped the beaks from their faces. While a few drops of blood ran down her fingers, she began to play the lyre with the beaks of the dead crows; their bodies laying lifeless next to her foot.

Prince Jacob became more curious. He continued to write even though the music sounded strange and the message wasn’t as clear. The constant plucking on the wires of the lyre forced the beaks of the dead crows to file until they were no more. The music was beautiful and the music was clearer once again. Prince Jacob began to cry as this encounter taught him a lesson about life. The angel said unto him, “Seek knowledge, seek truth, seek God, and stay focused even in the midst of confusions and distractions. Tough times are certain, but faith will put your life back in tune.” She smiled at Jacob and then disappeared. Prince Jacob ran into the castle to inform his father about this encounter, only to run into terrible news. Prince Yohannes had been murdered by a female commoner. He was found in his bed, naked, with his torso cut open. Crows were feeding on his internal organs.

Prince Malachi’s ship caught fire and burned him alive. A palace gatekeeper had informed the king the two crows had returned his eyes to the front gate of the palace. The royal family mourned the death of their loved ones for quite some time. When Prince Jacob finally had the opportunity to tell his father about his encounter, King Roland wept and thanked God for sparing his son and humbling him. King Roland died twelve years later. Prince Jacob was now the ruler of his country. He never forgot his encounter with the angel, the lyre, and the lesson he had learned. King Jacob The Humble, as he was called, was also a visionary. He built schools, roads, provided special programs for the arts, math, engineering, poor people, and women. He was the first monarch in Africa to modernize his country, establish trading routes, and introduce the outside world to Africa culture.