Poison In The Pews

Ever since I was a little boy growing up in the church in Mississippi, I would always hear the word "Favor" from the mouths of people like the old church deacon in the flooded slacks or the church mothers on the front row wearing ostentatious hats in order to signify their position as a church monarch. Some say that the greatest gift man can receive while he or she is on this earth is God's favor. Others would argue that favor is not fair or is exclusive to a few. So in this a form of separation within the Christian faith? Do we believe that favor come from the feeling of God's presence in our everyday lives or do we believe we are favored, because a church mother or someone over authority says so.

As a son of a national evangelist and pastor, my life always seemed to be under the microscope. I was told that I could not go certain places, hang with certain people, and do certain things. It seemed as if where ever i went, someone pointed me out as a Quinn. I was almost, if not always judged by the choices I made on my own, but because my father had a high ranking position in our particular denomination, my sins somehow carried more weight. I agree that there are somethings that people who claim Christianity should not do, but we are all humans with many flaws. I would cringe at the way church people would look down on that pregnant teenage girl, the lady with the alcoholic-abusive husband, or the man whose son is in a gang. Luckily I had parents that understood people. They were strict, but people loved them for not judging them based on their past, their sin, their failure to fully submit to God.


I wanted God's favor, but I couldn't see past the way people who say that they have God's favor would block the entrance to the kingdom of God as if God has appointed them "Holy Club Bouncers". It broke my heart to hear young people my age say that they felt more pain from "church folk" than from their "worldly friends" who may not even have a spirituality. They would rather feel love from their "worldly friends" than to feel the hell that church people promote over God's love for all. God's favor is the most precious gift, but God never gave man the authority to decide who could recieve it or who deserves it.

OUR BIRTH RITE

Questioning African American Citizenship and Literacy in 21st Century America

One wonders what goes through the minds of young Malia and Sashia when they hear that their parents are being de-legitimized because of a biological condition that cannot be changed; their race. It is horrible to assume that even if you get into the best schools, work hard (legally), and some how make it to the White House that 45% of American Republicans will still question your intelligence and even your existence in America because of a “metaphysical dilemma’. What if they were your parents? What if that person was you?

I sat in my car in cried, because I could not understand what it is that makes people fear African American progress. I was angry at myself for not only showing emotion, but because I was taught to do my best so that I would be eligible to be one of the few who would help change the world. I wept because there were people who sacrificed jobs, family, money, and even their lives so that I could eat at a nice restaurant, sit where I wanted, read, have decent housing, attend college, etc. I was told that I was an endangered species; not only because I was black, but because I was black and male. Countless number of times I have heard the “ole school” brothers say, “Somebody or something will always be after you, but remember we were built for strength; physical, mental, and spiritual”.

This speaks volumes to the issue of race, especially when the victim is our Commander-in-Chief. The questioning of President Obama’s race and eligibility has been of some concern for a little over 2 years now. Donald Trump seems to have made this issue the foundation of his supposed “presidential campaign”. He stated that he had “his people” sent to Hawaii to investigate and retrieve a copy the president’s long birth certificate. This reminds me of a certain incident that happened during the Reconstruction when freed slaves attempted to establish their own communities and join the rest of “civilized society”.

Hiram Revels of Mississippi was the first African American U.S. Senator and the first in the U.S. Congress, but before he actually became a Senator, there was opposition.

Southern conservative Democrats cited the Dred Scott Decision which was considered by many to have been a central cause of the American Civil War. They argued that no black man was a citizen before the 14th Amendment was ratified in 1868. Because election to the Senate required nine years' prior citizenship, opponents of Revels claimed he could not be seated, having been a citizen by law for only two years. Supporters of Revels countered by stating that the Dred Scott decision applied only to those blacks who were of pure African blood. Revels was of mixed black and white ancestry, and therefore exempt, they said, and had been a citizen all his life. This argument prevailed, and on February 25, 1870, Revels, by a vote of 48 to 8, became the first black man to be seated in the United States Senate

. Does this seem similar to the issues that our current president is facing? It doesn’t stop there!

Donald Trump also stated that he HEARD President Obama was not a good student when he was enrolled at Occidental, Columbia, or Harvard Universities, Even though the word HEARD bothers me, I paid no attention to it. Trump wanted to know how did the president manage to get into these schools when a lot of his rich friend’s children who were smart, did not. This statement proves that Affirmative Action is still relevant in 21^st century America. Whether or not President Obama is a product of Affirmative Action still does not make him less educated. It is true that a mass number of people of color wouldn’t be admitted into these schools if we did not have Affirmative Action. Most people of color lack the monetary funds to pay their child’s way into these prestigious institutions whether they are legitimately eligible or not. I am sure most parents will be hesitant to spend hard earned money at an Ivy League school on a child that does not want to learn.

President Obama himself said that he was not always a good student. Like the president, we’ve changed our majors plenty of times or transferred to other institutions, because we did not feel comfortable or the major you chose wasn’t really what you were expecting it to be. He found his place and found something he was passionate about. He found something that he could challenge. Finding his passion in Political Science and International Relations not only led him to become the president of the famous Harvard Law Review, but he also graduated Magna Cum Laude. He also became a professor and a community organizer, which led him to become a celebrated Senator of Chicago. Senator Revels, who was also a well educated black male and ordained preacher was under the same type of scrutiny.

It saddens me that this race issue still exist today in multiform. It proves that the old saying, “If you give them an inch, they’ll take a mile” still exist in the minds of a few that fear that one day there will be no majority in America. Should I walk around with my birth certificate and my degrees to prove that I am legitimate? This reminds me of how the slaves had to carry passes signed by their masters when traveling alone. To suggest that African Americans need the approval of Caucasian Americans proves that fear exist! The color of your skin has nothing to do with your mental capabilities. One of our famous scholars said, “It is believed that to be an Educated Negro is to be a Dangerous Negro”. Look at how far we have come because of “Dangerous Negroes”. We may still suffer from oppression, but we cant fight back with hate! Continue educating yourselves, but never forget to educate others regardless of their ethnicity, religion, etc. Diversity is the cure for this disease, but we also need to save ourselves! Eleanor Roosevelt said, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” There nothing wrong with complaining and speaking out when you know for a fact that something is just not right.

DEATH BE NOT PROUD
Why we should not celebrate the death of Osama Bin Laden

As a member of the Armed Forces, you may assume that I would be outside in front of one of my city’s national landmarks rejoicing for the death of America’s most wanted or should I say public enemy number one. While everyone’s (a portion of fellow soldiers included) first reaction was to take to the streets to celebrate Osama Bin Laden’s death, I immediately began to think about all of the bad things that could happen just by this man’s demise. Yes the leader who took the lives of so many loved ones on September 11, 2001 has finally been brought to justice, but this death does not bring back the many people aboard those plans or inside the World Trade Center. No matter how much the family members rejoice on camera and speak of Bin Laden’s death as closure, I know as a human being their hearts still hurt and long for those fallen citizens.
As I watched as the crowd grew on the television and my eyes on the numerous American flags. I began to shake my head; not in disgust, but for the simple reason that these young people may not have a clue as to how tough this situation could become. I began to think about Martin Luther King Jr. and the Civil Rights Movement. Contrary to what you may think you know, this was a small group of people seeking change and equality by using non-violent tactics. When Dr. King was assassinated many people all over the country ran into the streets and began rioting. They burned cars, homes, business establishments, etc. What’s funny is that most of these rioters were not even a part of the movement. Most even despised King!

You may ask, what does this have to do with Osama Bin Laden? I always say, “Learning African American history is one of the best ways to understand how and why things have happened or are happening in this country.” Whatever happens in this country tends to hit the African American community the hardest. Bin Laden, unlike Dr. King used violence as a way of making his movement well known. His assassination may be a victory in terms of finally finding the root of the regime, but those branches still exist, which makes this situation more intense. What we fail to realize is that every great leader has a successor and in some cases the predecessor will split their power amongst his top officials in hopes of expanding the regime’s influence. I am sure just as African Americans retaliated when Dr. King was assassinated or when those navy seals practiced the choreography for the compound infiltration, members of this terrorist group have already been preparing for this day to come. Groups such as the Hamas have already spoken out against this attack and tensions in the Middle East have increased.

So are we celebrating a war that is far from over? Why do we celebrate murder? This one dangerous operation may cause mass revolts in the Middle East and beyond. This may also lead to an increase in the number of soldiers being deployed, which means more of your tax dollars going to the Department of Defense. Weren’t we as a nation just discussing the cutting of funds for DOD? This one act will raise our National Security Alert level and give so called “Blood Americans” more reason to discriminate against Arabs and Muslims. This leads to increased fear in our airports or even when we walk past the local mosque. Racial profiling may be the biggest issue! So why are we celebrating murder?

America herself continues to allow active terrorist groups to assemble on our own turf. So how are we going to fight terrorism over seas and increase western influence (democracy) when we are not “sweeping around our own front door”? How does a nation that was supposedly built on Christian principles celebrate murder? We can argue both sides! One scripture says, “Vengeance is mine sayeth the lord”. One verse speaks of “an eye for an eye”. Another says, “He who is without sin casts the first stone”. So is the bible contradicting or are we really a nation that fakes religion? Are we using it only when we think it is necessary? I will let you answer that. Yes, Bin Laden murdered Americans as well as his own people, but as a nation aren’t we doing the same thing? There is no way to fight violence with violence. Ultimately someone will die or both parties will kill each other. We don’t have time to celebrate or be excited for the death of another man.

“I’m glad the bastard is finally dead”

“Big ups to the soldier who blew his head off”

“Rot in hell Osama”

Now is not the time to celebrate! We must be on our toes and join in the fight to protect our country from foreign destruction. We also need to protect ourselves from the enemies within our borders. Believe me; all bad people don’t dress like Muslims. It’s odd how the videos of wild U.S. citizens from different backgrounds celebrating the murder of a terrorist is called “Jubilation”, but when you have a group of Black students in the middle of the street celebrating the election of America’s first African American president, we called it a Riot! We need to start fighting hate with love! We have these moments when America comes together, but eventually we resort back to hating and fighting one another. If we want to be the greatest country in the world we need to start being an example of a diverse society and loving family for the world to emulate, because our hypocritical agendas only give others the reason to tolerate us in public, but hate us in private. Wake up America!!

Mother Earth: A Woman Scorned

Last night I dreamt that I was pulled away from the earth, only to gaze upon the disaster that my people have inflicted on it. From a distance I could see people fighting one another, to the death. What are they fighting over? Does is matter? No matter how hard I would squint, I could not see the color of the people. I would soon figure out, that was not important as well. All I could see through my imperfect vision was the blood of the people running through earth's veins into ponds, the lakes, the rivers, the seas, and the oceans. This blood staining her beautiful flowing blue dress. This blood, taking away her innocence, her once pure self.

The people fight to the death to conquer her entirety. They seek to devour the earth, all that she possess, and are willing to kill mirror images of themselves just to gain her wealth. This once beautiful flowing blue dress, tainted, turned red, turns the earth into a woman scorned. All that she has left are patches of green. She holds on to her last 7 breaths as long as she could, but the people continued to fight; continued to make her ineligible to receive any suitors. Earth became bitter and angry. From a distance I could see her anger and sensed it from the rapid heatwaves dancing across the open atmosphere. Her blood begins to boil!

Her heavy hate for man, for stripping away her innocence, her purity, and all of her wealth became too much to hold on her once beautiful blue flowing dress. The earth took her last 7 breaths and devoured the people. From a distance I could here the screams! "Lord have mercy! Help us!" But it was too late. Earth had changed her gown. She was no longer earth! Her name was World and she was worldly! She wore a black polka-dotted dress. The polka dots are the floating, lifeless bodies of the people who took away her innocence.

She yelled to me, "Don't come near me! I will never love again. Come to me and you shall surely die" At that moment, I saw God, hiding his glorious face behind a veil. She told him the same thing! He grabbed the world with her worldly self with his mighty hand and blew! I watched as the world turned to dust and the ashes of her old self blew away into the galaxy like pieces of a shattered diamond.

God turned to me, but I chose to put my head down, because I am not worthy to gaze into the eyes of the holy one. "The earth is the lord's and the fullness thereof. She didn't love me! They didn't love me!" His final words were, "Let that be a lesson to you".

This was my revelation!! I hope it helps you as well!

On Grandpa's Lap (Story of an Ex-Slave)

Joshua Gaylor was born in Mississippi in March of 1850 to Nathaniel Gaylor and Rosena (no indication of marriage). Joshua Gaylor is my great great great grandfather! I have never had the opportunity to meet him or even see him; for obvious reasons. So I began to use my imagination to formulate what he would look like, how he spoke, and the way in which he viewed himself and the world around him. I imagine that he was very intelligent, but his past circumstances (slavery) caused him to regress into a mental prison. I imagined that I would be sitting in his lap and he would say something like this….......


The more I’ve noticed how much things have changed, the more I am aware of how many things remain the same. We hear the songs of America’s cry for freedom, freedom from the land of their birth, the land of their brothers and sisters, freedom from separatism, a harsh caste system, and a sovereign monarch. They cried freedom! Freedom came, along with independence, but soon freedom just wasn’t enough. Someone had to do the hard work while they sat there enjoying this here freedom.

Someone decides that we should use African cattle. Us strong! Us work hard! Us can lift a heavy load, but us cant be free! They say I’s not even a man, a second class citizen, what ever that means. They allows me to fight in that war against us in the Souf and dem Yankees in the Nawf. After that I just knew that I’d gets me a taste of freedom cause I was a war hero just like the white man. Like dem, I cried freedom, but they calls me a plum fool.

During the war, my head thoughts jumped every whicha-way, but all I could think about was being free! I heard the sounds of the bass drum as its carrier drives on, yet the pounding heart of a young and scared negro soldier sounds off like a series of bursting cannons. The pale faced Sergeant yells, “Do as I say boy!” As he gazes into my large brown eyes, my eyes say Fear! My mouth says, Not! My heart cries Freedom, but my troubled mind yells Never! Well, freedom aint so free after all. Us fought in the war hoping that us would one day be like the white man. So here I sits, 78 year later, and they still call me, Boy!

Meeting Dr Dubois

I have always wondered what I’d say to Dr. W.E.B. Dubois if I would have ever had the chance to meet him. Would my mind wander off into a distant land from fear of holding a conversation with one of the most intellectual and highly educated black figures of all time? The first African American to earn a PhD at the prestigious Harvard University; What would he think of me? Am I or will I ever be good enough to be a part of his Talented Tenth? Will he disapprove of my views on modern day elitists, politics, and social issues? Should I even dare to mention black issues? Should I tell him that we are at war with ourselves now? Will he think that I am merely an arrogant fool that has massive psychological temper tantrums that somehow becomes the black ink in my pen, splattering my mental mucus on clean white paper?

Wait! What if he is intrigued by my thoughts? What if he sees my work as modern renditions of his own sweet lyrical sheet music that received multiple head nods from the brothers and sisters, bouncing to the rhythm and flow of his words as a sign of approval? Groovy baby, Groovy! I can dig it! Would he take me under his wing? Would he feel comfortable talking to me about his constant disagreements with Brother Booker T. Washington and Brother Marcus Garvey? Will he agree with my views on today’s NAACP? Would he tell me about his successes and failures of his intent to empower our people? There are so many things that I want to ask Dr. Dubois, but he left earth long before I first opened my eyes. Long before I first opened my eyes to see the world. Long before I first opened my eyes to realize that I was a black boy in a land full of ancient hidden secrets that have evolved into hidden agendas; which my foolish teachers neglected to discuss in depth. How dare they keep such important information from me!

Well my wish finally came true. I finally got to meet the great Dr. W.E.B. Dubois. He appeared to me in a dream. There I was, all alone in the center of a large classroom surrounded by dingy white painted walls with pictures of what seemed to be all of the black leaders both past and present. The pictures are moving! All eyes were on me! There were so many faces, but I vividly remember Thurgood Marshall and Malcolm X both pointing at me, Phyllis Wheatley leaning out of her frame holding a pencil, Ralph Abernathy smiling with his arms folded, Harriet Tubman sitting in a wheelchair tapping her foot, Martin Luther King on his knees praying while looking directly at me, and last but not least, I saw Dr. Cornel West and President Obama sitting together, both leaning forward in their chairs as if they were waiting for me to speak. I became nervous and instantly put my head down and closed my eyes. I was too afraid to look up and make eye contact with any of them.

When I finally decided to open my eyes, I noticed that there was paper scattered all over my desk. I noticed that the hand writing was mine. I started to get that uncomfortable feeling that comes over me when I have writer’s block. I feel disoriented, unorganized, and inadequate among other things. This type of feeling causes me to become depressed, but before I could even fix my mind to focus on becoming depressed, I heard a voice say, “Young man, use your heart, your mind, your intellect, your bad experiences and the good ones. Use what you feel, use what you see, use what you touch and use what you can hear! Listen to God, listen to your community, listen to the people that are afraid to speak out loud, listen to their pain, listen to their fear, listen to their joyous testimonies, listen to their disagreements, listen to their desires; be their voice! If it wont come out verbally, then write it! But above all things, you have to be a Doer! A doer is a honest, fair leader, who knows the people and works diligently to help his people actually sit in the seat of success.”

“What you need to realize is that my world has evolved into yours. The problem is still the color-line, but it goes beyond just a black issue. Now we must work toward helping ourselves and our community, meanwhile taking those steps toward unifying all Americans to become an American Family. A family of a mixture of cultures and ethnicities. Don’t fear son! Don’t fear! You will never be alone, because there are others who are preparing to shake this world as well. You are but one piece of thread, but you are an important piece of the grand tapestry. Find your voice and never stop writing!”

I wake up and walk over to my desk……..AND I BEGAN TO WRITE


THANK YOU DR. DUBOIS

YOU KILLED US

Today I thought about death. As a child I feared death, but as I matured, death didn’t seem so bad. Death became my friend. As you know, there are a million ways to die, but one particular cause of death clinched to my mind. Murder!! I asked myself, “what would be the worst way for me to be killed?” I immediately thought to myself, “To be murdered by the hands of my own brother”. My own brother, meaning any man who looks just like me. What would hurt worst wouldn’t be the bullet of hate that pierced the heart where my love for my fellow brother abides; Neither the multiple stab wounds ejecting the blood of my ancestors. Each plunge into my colored flesh is deeper than the last. His cold fist continuously strikes my face which was the same color as my brother’s a few minutes ago. In each blow I feel his pain. I feel his hate. I feel his fear, but I am the one dying! He has not only killed me, but he has also killed my ancestors. He killed my past. He killed my future. He killed us! My spirit looks over my lifeless body for only a second. I am dead! I cease to exist, but my brother lives. I look to my brother, his t-shirt stained with my blood, sweat sliding down his chocolate colored face, his large nostrils expanding, sucking in the stench of my carcass . He’s trembling with fear of the unknown. What now? I walk over to him and say, “Brother! You killed us!” But he cannot hear me, no matter how loud I scream. I kept telling myself, “I am dead. I am only a spirit”, but part of me felt like I was being ignored. “Brother, can you hear me? You killed us!” As he walks away from the case that once contained my spirit, he forgets that I even existed. “Fuck that Nigga”, he says to himself. I tried my best to grab him by the shoulder, but I’m only a spirit. We no longer share the same world. Everyday I try to speak to my brother, but he wont listen. “You killed us! You are my brother and I love you. You took my life, but I still love you. You didn’t know! You didn’t know that we suffer from a long history of violence. Black violence! They killed people like us! Now they have allowed us to kill each other so the blood will no longer be on their hands. They chained people like us! When those chains were removed, they neglected the cold, heavy chain that enslaves our minds. You killed us, but you didn’t know!” You killed another brother. You killed us! Another child is fatherless. You killed us! Another sister is now a single black female raising a son by herself, you killed us! My death has angered my loved ones. They want to retaliate. You killed us! You have made the cage designed for us, even more crowded. You killed us! You have been labeled unfit to live as a “normal” citizen. You killed us! You have succeeded in proving to them that we are animals and blood thirsty savages. You killed us! You killed us, but you didn’t know! My brother still cannot hear me. He still feels the need to “keep it 100” by showing his aggression to prove that he is a “real man”, lashing out at our other caged brothers. But today was different! My brother ran into a brother that was bigger and badder than he was. He too suffered from the disease that infects our minds. I watch my end being repeated! My brother plays the role of me. Our other brother plays the role of him. And now I look over my brother’s lifeless body! The blood of his ancestors running across the wet floor into a drain leading to the unknown. I wanted to watch him suffer, but I am my brother’s keeper. As I watch his spirit rise from his body, I extend my hand to help him. “Brother, Take my hand!” He looked up at me and became shocked at the sight of a figure of a life taken during his former life. I helped my brother up and asked him if he ever thought of me? “Everyday”, he said. “Life and death kept us from communicating, but our spirits live on. Now we must talk! I love you brother. You killed us, but you didn’t know.” “Know what”, he said. I proceeded to tell him about the history of us and our long history of violence. Black violence! Tears began to roll down his face which its color resembled mine. He grabbed me and embraced me ever so tightly. “I’m so sorry brother, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know”, he said repeatedly. “It’s ok my brother, it’s never too late to save another”, I said. Then I saw a light come from above me. I gaze into the beautiful sky and there they were; my ancestors and loved ones that have gone on before me. They were rejoicing! “Well done my child! Now you can come home”, a voice said to me. I look to my brother as I ascend to heaven and say, “Now you know!” My brother looks down at the case that once contained his spirit for only a second. He then walks over to his killer, his brother, my brother, our brother, and stands by his side. “My brother! You killed us, but you didn’t know”, he said. Now my brother is telling the story. Its not my story, not his story, but our story! What a way to die!!