Quick thoughts on a story garnering national attention about a racial discrimination lawsuit in Flint, MI:
Quick thoughts on a story garnering national attention about a racial discrimination lawsuit in Flint, MI:
It pains me to write this. But even more to the point, I write this with a spirit of apathy knowing the people who need to hear this probably never will. But this missive is directed at you, Mr. Young Black Male in Flint. No sugar coating attached: I’m sick of you. I hate everything you stand for. You embarrass me. You embarrass your people. I know I shouldn’t speak in generalities, and I try my hardest not to. But it’s too damn many of you out there for me to be polite at this point.
First, I’m sick of looking at your underwear. What could have possibly possessed your dumb ass into thinking that it’s sexy to have your pants hanging half way (or in some cases all the way) down your ass (ladies, if you actually find that attractive, then you’re a part of the problem)? How ignorant is it to walk around with the need to yank your pants up after every fourth step? Exactly how hard is it to buy a belt?
Secondly, I’m sick of how you somehow feel justified in terrorizing and assaulting people just because you can. Every time I try to defend us, one of you clowns will most assuredly do something to throw my defense out the window. Thing is: the people you are targeting – far more often than not – are in a place not that dissimilar to you. You’re not victimizing people who worth millions of dollars, people who can recoup their losses without batting an eye. You’re attacking people who get up every day to work for a living, who struggle to pay bills, who have dreams and aspirations, and who have families to care for. What I need you to understand is that when you steal from them, their goods are not easily refreshed by some stroke of magic. They have to pay good money (they probably needed for something else) to fix the damage, replace what was stolen, AND usually to brace for the increase in their insurance premiums. Congratulations. I hope that radio was worth it. Asshole.
Third, I’m tired of you being the antithesis of intelligence and civility. At what point in our existence did it become ‘the thing’ to not be able to form complete sentences, use terms like “please” and “thank you”, or shake a person’s hand? I’m not sure why you decided to leave school – where some of these educational and social values are taught. But judging by what I see you knuckleheads doing every day, it certainly wasn’t so you could jump into the job market.
Finally, I’m sick of being afraid of you. I hate that you have negatively changed who I am with your never-ending attacks on my community. In my earlier years – high school, college, and such – I was an unapologetic idealist, volunteering as much as I could; helping wherever I can. But now? I avoid people like you as if you’re the sole carriers of the plague. How can I effectively advocate for someone I’m afraid of? Perhaps the better question is: why should I even bother? Why go to the mat for person who will turn around and break into my car in appreciation? Why defend a person who will senselessly snatch a life without losing any sleep?
Perhaps you didn’t have a father around or a man you could consider a father figure. Perhaps your mother didn’t establish ground rules for the house. Perhaps nobody held you accountable for your actions. Maybe your mother thought you were some precious gem who couldn’t do wrong. Maybe your family thought it was cute when you were cussing by the time you were three years old. Frankly, I don’t care. Save all that “product of my environment” nonsense for somebody else who will listen.
Then again, even those excuses are garbage. Some of you DID have at least one parent who cared. You had at least one person in this world looking out for your best interest. A person who taught you the importance of education, or the value of hard day’s work. But leave it up to you knuckleheads to ignore them, because you were so sure you knew everything, or because you glommed onto the words of ignorant rappers (which reminds me: turn that mess down. The entire neighborhood doesn’t wanna hear that); dismissing the people in your life who actually cared.
And now you’re our problem.
Do young men or other races and ethnicities commit crimes? Absolutely they do. But in my world? In my city? In my neighbor? No. It’s you. You’re the terrorist. Maybe things are different in other parts of the country. I can only hope. But I’m only talking about what I know, what I see, and what I personally experience.
What angers me most – maybe “hurt” is a better term – is that when I look at you, I see endless potential. I look at you and I see potential husbands and fathers to our women and children; scientists, college professors, advanced technicians, musicians, athletes, entertainers. I see you as the protectors of our women, the guardians of our community, the hope of our race. I see you as a person worth fighting for against injustice, and worth giving back to. But what I get in return is some thoughtless ass responsible for breaking into my car just to steal $11. Instead of being the person going around the neighborhood shoveling driveways, raking yards, or working on beautification projects, you monsters are out casing the next house to rob. Instead of adding aesthetic value to your neighborhoods, you’re tagging public property with nonsensical graffiti nobody can even read. Instead of using your God-given time and talent to make the world a better place, you’re wasting your life away in front of party stores smoking whatever and drinking even more whatever. Stop it.
It saddens me to know that I can’t look at your generation with a sense of pride. I just can’t. In trying to accentuate the positive, I fully aware of all the amazing things many of our young people are doing. But their accomplishments – impressive as they are – aren’t stopping you fools from creating dark clouds hovering over your generation. I’m asking you – hell, BEGGING YOU – to step up to the plate…not just your own sake, but for the sake of your people. You may not feel connected to the rest of us (God knows I want to be as dissociated from you as possible), but you are.
I’m not completely callous here. I’m sorry if you had a rough life and you’re trying to make do. I’m sorry if nobody cared about you enough to show you the right way to live. I really am. But that doesn’t give you the license to make the world a miserable place for people who don’t deserve being subjected to your angst, selfishness, or whatever motivates you to do what you.
This is Black History Month, a time we set aside to celebrate the monumental achievements of African Americans and the endless contributions our people have made to the world. I’d really like to believe that one day, we’ll be celebrating some of your accomplishments. It’s a wonderful thought to have. But unfortunately, my thoughts are usually interrputed by the sound of me locking my doors.
Please, brothas. Do better.
Sickness, macabre, and madness coming out of Alaska (for once, it’s not Sarah Palin related):
An Anchorage woman is being held on $1 million bond after being accused of setting a gasoline-fueled fire to kill her boyfriend.
Gina Virgilio, 25, was arraigned Monday on first-degree murder, reckless endangerment and assault and two counts each of arson and criminal mischief.
She’s charged in Friday’s death of her live-in boyfriend, Michael Gonzalez, 24.
“Sure,” Virgilio said when asked if she would like an attorney appointed to represent her. She appeared behind glass in the jail courtroom at the Anchorage Correctional Complex. She wore a yellow jail jumpsuit and her hands were shackled behind her back with metal cuffs during the hearing, which lasted just over three minutes.
According to charging documents, police claim Virgilio’s mother, Michelle, and a registered nurse at an Anchorage hospital both claimed she confessed to them that she committed the murder.
The judge on Monday ordered she have no contact with potential witnesses, including her mother.
“I’m like shocked, hurt that he said she couldn’t contact me,” Michelle Virgilio told reporters following the hearing. “She is my world.”
According to the charging documents, police allege Gina Virgilio went to a nearby convenience store and bought gas in a container, even though her vehicle was not working and tagged for towing in the apartment complex.
She returned to the apartment early Friday morning. Her boyfriend was asleep on the couch and she sat next to him and looked at him. According to the charging documents, she then doused the couch and the area around it, positioned herself at the front door, lit some paper and threw the burning paper into the apartment.
She then fled, walked to a nearby elementary school and borrowed someone’s cellphone to call her mother, the charging documents say.
Read the rest of this sick story here.
I can see how this is going to play out in court: “I was depressed. On my period. And he was abusive.” She walks. To be fair, I haven’t heard anything about her defense strategy. And men are just as capable of doing despicable stuff. But I can see temporary insanity or some victimization defense being used here and giving her a legitimate chance of going free. Just as there is a reality of disparate conviction rates and sentencing between black and white men, so to is there a disparity in violent crime sentencing between men and women. To put it frankly, female defendants are much more likely to receive lenient sentence outcomes than their male counterparts. Sympathetic juries, I guess.
I hop this case proves my theory wrong. Because, regardless to what sins this man committed, he was killed in the most brutal way possible. Unless he was Satan incarnate, this horrific crime can’t go unpunished.
Uh boy. Erykah Badu is back to being weird again (warning: NSFW):
Somewhere between the glitter, the blood, and the…um…semen (?) a message is found, I suppose. I just can’t tell what I’m supposed to take away from this. I didn’t lose myself in this video. The only thing I lost was my lunch.
I hate postmodernism.
Most boys who grew up in the 90′s are quite familiar with Lark Voorhies, otherwise known as Lisa Turtle from the hit show “Saved By The Bell.” Kelly and Jessie were a’ight. But Lisa stole the show and, indeed, the heart of your intrepid hero along with countless other bruhs I knew. But unfortunately, time (and bad plastic surgery) has a way of catching up to a person.
Lark Voorhies (then):
Lark Voorhies (now):