Get Over Yourself: A Response to the Continued Angst Over Interracial Relationships

The recent backlash over NFL star Reggie Bush being deemed “unworthy” to appear on the cover of Essence Magazine, because of his interracial relationship with reality star Kim Kardasian was the latest in this pathetic outcry against such relations . In an era that is increasingly diverse, where men and women, including African Americans are experiencing life on a global scale, it is terribly disheartening that we are still bemoaning an issue, which has absolutely nothing to do with securing an equitable education for our children, gaining access to quality healthcare, economic stability, useful political power, or anything else that might advance us as a people. At a time when some of our most cherished institutions are in distress or like the well regarded Boys Choir of Harlem, forced to close its doors when our sons need them most, do we actually find the issue of who our brothers and sisters share their beds with to be relevant?
Even after the election of our first African American President, himself a product of such “offensive” relations, brothers and sisters with a diversity of accents, languages, religions, political affiliations, sexual orientations, talents, educational and economic backgrounds, still suffer the most debased indignities. I doubt that the perpetrators and system which perpetuates such indignities care who any of us calls our mate. Therefore, might I suggest that the outrage over interracial relationships is nothing more than an unfortunate distraction spawned by a desperate, embittered few who are using the most simplistic excuse imaginable to justify their own failure to find someone. Dare I also suggest, “if ain’t one thing it’s another.” If it isn’t interracial relationships we’re bemoaning it’s those of us who happen to couple with brothers and sisters of a fairer complexion or straight hair, etc., etc., etc. Self hate breeds nonsense. I’ll believe the sincerity of this “outrage” when sisters tune out Robin Thicke.

We needn’t anymore faux psychology or pop publications to explain why a Black man or a Black woman choose to couple outside of the tribe. Black men, like all men, have a tendency to gravitate toward women that make them feel like, MEN! Not their sons or an invalid, but men. A man’s primary need is significance. Every man wants to be the king, the leader, Mr. Fix It, your Knight in Shining Armor. The woman who is secure enough to endow him with her trust tends to be the one you will see on his arm. It’s just that simple. A woman’s primary need is security. I don’t care how fierce you are. You can have a wall plastered with degrees and a bank account to rival Fort Knox, but, there isn’t a woman on this planet that doesn’t want to be taken care of and swept off her feet. Shame on any of us who would dare judge or curse any brother or sister for having found that special someone who nourishes those basic desires, because of the color that love might be packaged in. Our struggles, triumphs, and identity are not altered because of who we choose to share our lives with. The lives of Frederick Douglas and Marian Wright Edelman, among others attest to that fact.

Our sheroes and heroes did not endure innumerable humiliations so that we could shackle ourselves with these foolish disputes and adopt the very mentality that limited them. We are so much more than our superficial differences. I believe that we as a people united in our diversity of thought and life experience can channel our energies toward far greater causes that impact us universally. So in love I beg brother and sister a like, get over yourself!


Copyright 2010 Johnathan L. Iverson Baptiste

In Defense of Tyler Perry

I've seen this before. I've lived this before. I first learned about it from the late great Dr. Walter J. Turnbull, founder of the world renowned Boys Choir of Harlem. "Crabs in the barrel," a tragic, yet, very accurate depiction of humanity. The analogy comes from the observation of how a barrel of crabs, despite their limited surroundings will pull down any crab who would dare to climb out of the barrel, and thus, escape their limited surroundings. There is something in human nature that disdains progress or someone who tries to ascend beyond expectations. Although the analogy is oft attributed to the African American community, (much like every other conceivable ill) the "crabs in the barrel" mentality is universal to all people.


The latest example is one that has been brewing for quite sometime. Playwright turned movie and television mogul, Tyler Perry, whose own personal story  reads like an Alice Walker novel, is now feeling the tug at his heels from none other than, Spike Lee. According to Lee (among others), Perry's work is "sending us (Black folks) back." It's "coonery...buffoonery." Characters like Perry's cross dressing alter ego, Madea, the gun toting, reefer smoking, heavyset, no nonsense grandmother who Perry has portrayed in much of his work, as well as, characters like Mr. Brown, the awkwardly dressed, verbally challenged patriarch of the Brown family from "Meet the Browns," have drawn much ire and disdain. His critics believe such displays are reminiscent of a time when the only roles Black artists were granted in Hollywood's golden age were disparaging depictions of themselves.


I like Spike Lee. His early work was ground breaking and thought provoking. My all time favorite Spike Lee joint, is Mo' Better Blues starring Denzel Washington and Wesley Snipes. I spent freshman year of high school rubbing my lips, telling girls, the mo' better makes it mo' better. I don't think my rendition had the same affect on the ladies that Denzel's character Bleek Gilliam did. Such is the power of good cinema. Mr. Lee in my estimation has proven himself to be a remarkable story teller as well as a bold and prolific filmmaker, whose brilliance in some respects has shamed Hollywood. Think Do The Right Thing (among others). However, in regards to Tyler Perry he and his ilk seem to be engaging in, what I believe to be at the very least, intellectual dishonesty. Whether Mr. Perry's work is one's cup of tea or not isn't the issue. Personally, I don't care much for his highly successful sitcoms (Meet the Browns and House of Payne) and the recent announcement that he will produce, write, and direct the film adaptation of For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow is Enuf does not sit well with me. For a piece that is so endearing and enduring to many within the African American community, particularly women surely a filmmaker who identifies with the sensibilities of the work should be at the helm: Debbie Allen, Kasi Lemmon, Gina Prince-Bythewood, or perhaps the creator of the work, Nzinga Stewart.


 That being said, for anyone who has seriously viewed Perry's body of work and dismissed it as mere "coonery...buffoonery..." might I suggest that at the very least you're either intellectual inept or in the vernacular of the street, a hater. First of all, his body of work is not limited to characters like Madea and Mr. Brown. Works such as "Why Did I Get Married?" "Daddy's Little Girls" and "The Family that Preys" attest to that. Second, anyone should be able to recognize that the Madeas and Mr. Browns are mere tools to draw the audience to the message of the work. Messages that include reconciliation, grace, value of self, community, and God. Third, we are as multifaceted and complex as any people. Everyone isn't and everyone can't be The Cosbys, just like everybody can't relate to Good Times. The Madeas and the Browns are as much a part of our reality, as the Radio Raheems,* Bleek Gilliams,* Nola Darlings,* Flipper Purifys,* or Mars Blackmons* (Remember him Spike? Not exactly a stalwart of positive Black identity). Fourth, Perry's massive success  is not rooted in his appeal to the lowest common denominator, as it has been so arrogantly suggested, but, in large part to the simple formula of giving the people what they want; or as Shadow Henderson (Wesley Snipes) tells Bleek Gilliam (Denzel Washington) in Lee's Mo' Better Blues: "If you played the shit that they like, then people would come, simple as that." The validity of one's work is ultimately decided by his audience, not critics.


Perry's genius is his ability to communicate his truth, i.e. his reality to his audience; an audience that has been completely ignored by the Hollywood establishment. An audience that prefers to be entertained and lifted, as opposed to having their mental state sullied by "soft porn," grotesque violence, or the Samuel L. Jackson/David Mamet Profanity Showdown. If that's your thing, more power to you. However, no one should knock Perry for tapping into an entire market which Hollywood assumed didn't exist. He is doing what works for him and his audience. This in affect is the very essence of artistic integrity (and might I add good business sense), expressing your truth and honoring and growing with the audience which supports you. Ideally your talent is not about you. It's about the people you reach; and according to Perry's audience he does that quite well. Furthermore, while the haters stew and brew, might I remind you that Tyler Perry is the only African American who owns and operates his own film studio, a fact which I believe should draw our vehement praise, no matter how one feels about his work. As a result, he has and continues to create work for African Americans, who even in this day and age face the challenge of trying to get credible work in Hollywood and the American theater.


The last thing we need to be doing is tearing one another down, tugging at each others heels in hopes of keeping  one another in the confines of the "barrel." If Perry's work(s) doesn't appeal to you, fine, move on, and create your own or step your game up. Add a new color to the canvas. Add a useful and productive piece to fill that which you believe is void. We are not a monolithic people. We are Spike Lee, we are Tyler Perry, we are Nzinga Stewart, we are August Wilson, we are Lorraine Hansberry, we are Daniel Beaty. We are a mosaic of voices, faces, experiences, and stories that have the right to exist and be on full display. That was the struggle of our fore bearers. That was the prize that lie before their eyes, the celebration of our full humanity, be it in the work place, at the bus stop, on stage or on screen. 

Stop hatin' and come on out of the barrel!

*Character from Do The Right Thing!

*Character from Mo'Better Blues

*Character from She's Gotta Have It

*Character from Jungle Fever
*Character from She's Gotta Have It

Copyright 2009 Johnathan L. Iverson Baptiste

Jigga, Please: Hip Hop and the Mainstreaming of Self Hatred

I never thought I'd be one of those people who'd pontificate on the way things were or should be. In my youth I can recall shutting down upon being subjected to yet another "old person's" endless diatribe on "the way we were...or should be." Suddenly, without warning, I've become that "old person." Intolerant to useless noise, startled by the seemingly permissive vile that has become everyday speech, bewildered by an almost devoid sense of civility, lack of chivalry, and a complete apathy toward accountability. I suppose something happens or clicks with age; that somethings, no matter how old fashioned or routine, simply matter.

Indeed, many a time my attention would wane and drift during one of those lectures on yesteryear. Yet, somehow, some way when those tired musings addressed the journey from which I came, it mattered. Stories of freedom hard won, by ordinary people. Men, women, boys, and girls denied access to the liberty not merely promised them by the laws and statutes of men, but, afforded by God Himself. Stories of genius repressed (or stolen) and erased (or whitened) from the pages of history and civilizations they created. Stories of a people, who despite being the very genesis of humanity, were (and are) conditioned to hate themselves. All these things and so much more, ordained and justified via one word, Nigger.

This is not another pointless reprimand of Hip Hop. I refuse to join the myriad of voices, i.e. lazy journalists, opportunistic personalities, and dishonest intellectuals who have found it far too convenient to lay the ills of the day upon the back of a musical genre. The world is round and history merely rewinds. The rapper assesses correctly indeed, their craft is a reflection of the age. Take a musical journey into the past when the very names of musical genres we deem as sacred today, such as Jazz and Rock and Roll, were merely down home slangs for kinky sex. I assure you it doesn't end there. Even those holier than though classical melodies, be they art song or opera, were touched with a tinge of humanity. Such revelations do not excuse the Hip Hop artist, but, they most certainly reveal that the genre itself is not a lone assailant in reflecting or reveling in the abyss of our humanity.

However, in a perversely phenomenal way, Hip Hop distinguishes itself in this; the wickedly ingenious (and profitable) practice of propagating self hatred. No honest student of history, rather, no respecter of history, particularly their own, can with any hint of integrity, by any means validate the use of that vile and awful utterance, created for the sole purpose of one's humiliation. No reasoning whatsoever makes sense. I know, I've tried them. Like many African-Americans, I, too found a twisted and naive comfort in its usage. After all, it's about intentions, right? "It's like Soul Food. We took the scraps given to us by that cruel slave master and created cuisine." However, here in lies the dilemma in such logic; no matter how finely laid out, no matter how it may delight the palate, those scrumptious scraps, are still death on a plate; designed to disconnect you from your "Soul, Fool." One need only review the statistics of health that testify to the seemingly perpetual health crisis which overwhelmingly affects African American communities. So much like that tempting destruction at your dinner table, that word, no matter how you sanitize it, no matter the intent, was, is, and will always mean your dehumanization. As a former member of the notorious Bloods gang put it: "It's easier to rob a nigger, than it is to rob your brother."

"Death and life are in the power of the tongue..."* Hip Hop is reluctant to learn this timeless truth, despite all the death which has been made manifest from such careless utterances. No other people on planet earth do this to one another and if so, it is certainly not glamorized beyond their community. The celebration and justification of our wretchedness has become a world wide phenomenon, yet, ambassadors of modern day Hip Hop will have you believe its genre "has done more than any leader, politician, or anyone to improve race relations."+ Their reasoning: "It's hard to disparage a Black person when you and your kids are bopping to their music." What the "ambassadors" don't understand is that one needn't "disparage" us when you've done the work for them. One needn't take your cries of respect seriously when you've made it permissible to disrespect you. One needn't see your woman as anything honorable, when you yourself do not honor her.

I can imagine it's hard to recognize such truths amidst the mire of "Bling." Gone are the imposed chains which held us down during those dark and horrific nights of slavery. They've been replaced by a new and self imposed bondage, Bling. Shackles of materialism and self which disables one from possessing a hint of integrity as it relates to one's own work or people. The "shine" blinds you, while the concern for your "bottom line" hinders you. This is a "slavery" more vile and perverse than the first. At least during our captivity we had no choice. We were demeaned and humiliated against our own will. But, this new kind of self imposed slavery takes great cowardice. No one in their right mind should ever disavow the hard earned gains these artists have acquired for their work. As an artist myself, I am in awe of the business acumen of today's Hip Hop artist. I applaud any artist that manages to acquire and maintain a significant piece of the financial pie for which their labor is responsible for making. More power to them! May every artist be so fortunate. However, with such gains, comes great responsibility. We are in a brand new era. The days of the desperate Hip Hop artist who had to sell his soul to the highest bidder just to survive are long gone. In this day and age when artist are not merely artist, but, brands, surely we can do better. Surely we as an audience should demand better.

* Proverbs 18:21
+ Shawn "Jay Z" Carter Best Life Magazine (2009)




Copyright 2009 Johnathan L. Iverson Baptiste

The Evolution Will Be Painful: What the Conservative Fuss is All About

Vigilance is the soul of patriotism. I applaud honest debate over our government, even if I disagree. But, it must be honest. I've actually found myself trying to concede that there may actually be some legitimacy to the sudden wave of vitriolic dismay with our new administration. I've heard all the readily made Conservative replies: "Oh, don't be so hypocritical, there was the same disdain when Bush was in office...You had the same crack pots from the Left...Why must every critique of Obama be categorized as 'racist'...Come on, Rush Limbaugh is just an 'entertainer'?" It reminds me of Sarah Palin's emergence onto the national scene. As if on cue, Conservatives suddenly became proponents of feminism, before the former Alaska governor uttered a word. It's a classic and might I say a wickedly brilliant strategy; build a defense before the opposition mounts an offense of the obvious, thus, placing them on defense as the Left has become so pathetically accustomed to doing. And so it is within the first ten months of our 44th President's tenure. A sudden and resounding clarion call for "patriotism" has been decreed by the Republican leadership: Glen Beck, Rush Limbaugh, Michelle Malkin, the Fox News Network, etc. And yes, they are the Republican leadership. Anytime elected officials within your own party, men and women whose actions and votes affect national policy, find the need to apologize to the likes of Rush Limbaugh, for daring to whisper a dissenting view, it is clear who the leaders of the Republican Party are. Michael Steele is nothing more than an impotent figure; and that's just how they like him. Perhaps he didn't receive the memo detailing his actual job description as the first African American chair of the RNC: "To act merely as the Black face for our agenda; and one whose very presence we may use to shield us from charges of racism should they arise." Brilliant!

Although there might very well be some legitimate concern and angst regarding the new Administration on the Conservative side of the aisle, let us not kid ourselves, the zeal that has driven this sudden "patriotism" is race. However, dare I say something even more offensive to the Conservative contingent is fueling the opposition toward the current Administration, Change. For sure the money changers (corporate interests and their congressional minions) are hardly motivated by race. They love business as usual and Change for them is a hideous aggravation. Therefore, they will jump on, take advantage of, and even fund whatever (no matter the motive) opposition to the present administration. The opposition to our 43rd President though extreme at times was crystal clear. To many he stole an election (both), our reasons for invading Iraq (WMD's) were thoroughly debunked, the federal government's unapologetic debacle of Hurricane Katrina was shameful, and under his watch our national economy nearly descended into the worst debt since the Depression. All this with vehement support from the likes of Beck, Limbaugh, Malkin and the entire Fox News regime. Not a single voice of dissent from the Right. Not a single decree to "take our country back!" After all "the Bush administration kept us safe for eight years." You know after they neglected to read vital reports warning us of a POTENTIAL ATTACK on 9/11. Not one Conservative voice! Not one call to march on Washington and tell congress what you think. Nothing! And I thought these people loved America. Therefore, one must ask the obvious. How is it that within only ten months we've seen more outrage and massive demonstrations than at any point during the eight year tenure of the last Administration?

Conservative -disposed to preserve existing conditions, institutions, etc., or to restore traditional ones and limit change.* MY BAD! It's been staring me in the face. Conservatives are resistant to, Change. You know, the natural order of things. Evolution if you will. Now don't get me wrong, all Change is not good and I dare not suggest that we all should move in blind and unscrutinized step with every decision made by our current Administration. That would be unpatriotic. However, we've been here numerous times before; and I do not doubt that like in times past, things will get worse before they get better, violently worse. Ron Regan articulated it perfectly, "they fear the future;" and none other than Bill O'Reilly made it clear what that "fear" is exactly, "the white male 'Christian' power structure is in danger." So, let us not kid ourselves, November 4, 2008 shocked many Americans into the reality that their country like it or not, with or without them is evolving. To many it was and is a day of limitless possibility. To others it was and is a day of infamy. A day the Right so viciously and shamelessly fought and continue to fight against. As with all Change, there are growing pains. Those pains are vividly evident in the surge of hate crimes and the prominent reemergence of Hate Groups, among them this nation's greatest domestic terrorist network, the Klu Klux Klan. It is ridiculously evident in the Republican Party's (and even some rogue Democrats') opposition to any and everything, including Healthcare Reform which the President and his Administration might propose; even to the detriment of their own constituents. Instead of accepting and growing with the will of the people, they are sworn to serve, they would much rather burn down the house to spite us all.

The 1960's are a grim reminder of how severe these growing pains can get. This outrage is certainly not new, but, we needn't continue the nonsensical diatribe that the creation of the Tea Parties, the Birthers, and the 9/12ers have anything whatsoever to do with dissatisfaction over national policy or even a dismay with Congress. They were never worried about the national debt or our national security, because they would have never elected the 43rd President for a second term. They're not fearing Socialism for the simple fact that many among their ranks haven't the faintest clue of what Socialism is. Furthermore, if such fear were actually sincere grandma would have abandoned her Medicaid and Social Security years ago. They're not fearing Big Brother, they've got Myspace and Facebook. Indeed, Gay is not the new Black, but, Socialist, Marxist, Communist, Nazi and all the other "big words" they've learned from Glen Beck and company, have certainly become the new, Nigger. They are trying, though in vain, to hold fast to America as they knew it, no matter how detrimental it has been to their fellow citizens and even themselves. It's what's familiar; and the very image of an African American holding the reigns of power in the greatest Western nation the world has ever known, is a clear and resonant symbol of that impending Change.

Of course, Conservative leaning authors like Frank Luntze would have you believe that these "Concerned" Americans are just fed up with business as usual. They are not. They were pleasantly asleep while it was going on. Don't take my word for it they said it themselves, "this [current] administration has awakened the sleeping giant." They're bemoaning the fact that America as they knew it, the one, that no matter what horrors around the world its government indulged in, no matter what great injustices their fellow citizens had to endure or how many of their own rights were violated, as long as the idea of their idyllic existence was left unfettered, America as they knew it was perfect. Hence, the cries to "take our country back!" They have always feared this Change; and as we have seen in days past, repeatedly and almost instinctively have reacted violently towards it. From the Civil War to the turbulent 1960's, the high price of Change has almost always been met with vile vitriol and blood. I hope that in this instance, that this time around I will be absolutely wrong. But, when have people ever heeded the lessons of the past?

*Random House Webster's College Dictionary

Copyright 2009 Johnathan L. Iverson-Baptiste

This is Your Moment: Commencement Address to the Choir Academy of Harlem Jr. High School Class '09

Dr. Parris, Mr. Clark, and the teachers and staff of the Choir Academy of Harlem thank you for welcoming back home. To the class of 2009, I thank you so very much for the opportunity to address you today, as you make your transition toward higher education. I sincerely hope that my words and the words of the other distinguished speakers here this morning will not fall upon deaf ears, hardened hearts, or hard heads, but, rather minds and hearts that are eager to absorb and even, test, that which we hope will more than inspire you, but, empower you. I must confess, when this opportunity was presented to me, I erred like so many of your elders do. I thought to myself, “What have I to say to a group of Jr. High Schoolers…will my words even matter to them?” However, the Holy Spirit quickly arrested me. How dare I even have such a thought? How dare I, of all people, despise your youth?

One of the great dilemmas of age is memory loss. As the Holy Spirit rebuked me, he reminded me of our own personal heritage which overflows with the souls of brave and innovative young men and women, who literally changed the course of history and transformed the destiny of billions. How could I have forgotten that it has always been the young who have redeemed that which their elders have broken?

Was it not the blood of a fourteen year old, named Emmitt Till who set the so called Civil Rights Movement on an irrevocable course? Was it not the courage of nine Arkansas students and many like them through out the United States, both north and south that made it possible for you and me to be educated in any institution of our choosing? Was it not the voice and stature of a young preacher, from Atlanta, GA, who entered college at age fifteen and received his PhD by the age of 26, a Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. who would become the pre eminent figure of the Civil Rights Movement? Were revolutionary organizations like the Freedom Riders, the Student Non Violent Coordinating Committee (SNCC), the Black Panther Party and a whole host of other missions not founded and led by innovative and courageous youths?So you see, it is and it has always been the young who have perpetually reset the world upon its righteous axis. For the Bible is true when it declares, “…a child shall lead them…” Therefore, I stand here repented and humbled as I speak to you today.

The world does not give you enough credit. Far too many of us, even have the audacity to unload societies ills upon you. As if you created unjust wars. As if you are the ones who have practiced insatiable greed, sending our economic well being into a tail spin. As if you are the ones who have abused the earth and its precious resources. As if you are the ones who find it economically sound to build more prisons as opposed to state of the art schools. No, we foolishly believe if you would just pull your pants up and wear a belt, not say the “N” word so much, maybe turn down that rap music all would be well with the world.

No! You are not the blame. However, you are, as history has so vividly proven, the redeemers. Therefore, you have no right to live beneath yourselves. For within every single one of you resides the Kingdom of God, and within every single one of you lives the courage, the genius, and the power of our ancestors. Your life is not your own. You do not have the luxury or comfort of mediocrity. You do not have the option of the wide and winding road. Yours must be the straight and narrow path. Your eyes must look straight ahead, neither looking to the right nor to the left, yours must be firm steps. You must stand on solid ground. For “the integrity of the upright guides them, but the unfaithful are destroyed by their duplicity.” [1]

You do not reserve the right to live lives which are tossed and turned by every passing wind. For your way has been paved with much pain and much blood, by young and old alike; men and women, boys and girls, who stood on solid ground and would not be moved. You are to use your life as a sacred light for others and the generations to come, just as our fore bearers did for us. It is how the world goes round. In this perilous age of me, where many are dutiful disciples of the religion of self such a thought is virtually unheard of. I needn’t tell you of the vile outcome of such a belief. You see it played out in the media everyday. You see it on your way to school or on your way home.

Able bodied men and women so immersed in their blaring IPODS they can hardly think to offer their seats to an elderly person, the infirmed, or a woman with child. Elected officials who are so enamored with power that they neglect to lead those whom they are entrusted to serve. Marriages and families are disrupted and destroyed because somebody’s bored. A justice system which caters to people of means or worse regards the life of a pit bull with more empathy than that of a man struck down by a drunk driver. Law enforcement which murders Black and Brown with impunity, even within their own ranks. We have become a society negligent of the most transcending law, the most transcending religion, and the most transcending governance of all…love.

If you retain anything you hear here today, let it be this: “Love never fails.” Governments, religions, laws, families, talents, education, etc. all fail. For without love, the aforementioned are frustrated shells of the human imagination. But it is in love and through love that all things are perfected. Governments are neither established nor maintained by military might or opulent wealth, but, from the loving and active will of the people. Religion with its holy sacraments and rituals account for nothing without a heart lovingly bent toward justice, mercy, and truth. Without love laws are hollow legalized, burdens which lack the power to edify or change the offender. Without love a family is merely a house of strangers, talents lie dormant and unfulfilled, and education is empty and often dangerous scholarship used to serve one’s whims. Let all your doings, let all your pursuits be girded with love. There is no other way.

During your young lives you’ve bore witness to an extraordinary happening. Something many even my age have never, ever thought possible in the United States of America. The election of our nation’s first African American President, Barack Obama. Our hearts were lifted and our eyes were opened to a new day brimming with unseen possibilities. However, in your enthusiasm I urge you to see our 44th President for who he is, a symbol. A dynamic and long awaited, symbol of all that should be possible in accordance with the very words of our nation’s most treasured documents. The Dream has not been fulfilled, a great milestone, yes, but, there is still so much work to be done, and our President cannot do it alone. Every hand, young and old, is needed. Parents, now more than ever your children need you. Now is not the time to surrender them to a system of strangers.

As you move onward and upward toward higher education, count it as a privilege, better yet, as a blessing that someone you have never known, thought so fondly of you to risk their lives so that you might pursue a life they would never know. They fought, they marched, they bled, they died, and they endured because they understood that education is the great equalizer. Therefore, in tribute to that boy or girl who could not even fathom the opportunities you now have, commit yourselves to excellence, in all that you do. For the generations that will follow, set a steep standard. Give them something to aspire to. Expect and accept nothing less from yourselves. And please do remember, your education far exceeds the classroom. Experience, absorb, and learn all that you can. Know who you are! You can never love what you don’t know.
I assure you that contrary to popular opinion you will be more than delighted to find that you descend from a proud, fierce, innovative, and ingenious people, whose contributions to the world far exceed the myths and lies you are oft bombarded with. Let no one tell you different, it was their genius, even more so than their bodies that built this nation. Get to know them and you will be amazed at how much you are like them.

Let no one despise your youth, not even you. It is never too early to matter. Genius has no time frame. How zealous the world is to speak of the worst of you. Hardly will you ever hear of the likes of entrepreneur, Farrah Gray; who, despite growing up in the heart of Chicago’s most notorious slums became a multi-millionaire by the age of 14. These are incredible times in which you live. The world has changed dramatically, and your youth affords you the opportunity to see it unfold. You are so very blessed. Not only will you witness the evolution of your brave new world, you will likely be the generation that drives those changes. This is the age when great legacies are born; when history is written and the great lives of the age have their stories told. This is the time when immortality happens.

Who will tell your story? Whose life will you inspire? This is your moment. Don’t you dare waste it!

God bless you! God Bless the United States of America, and, may the God of mercy and truth prosper you and all your ways.

Thank You.

[1] Proverbs 11:3

Copyright 2009 Johnathan L. Iverson Baptiste

Thank You, Joseph Jackson: An Homage to Black Fatherhood

I know, we've all heard or read the stories of mean 'ole' Joe Jackson, the menacing patriarch of the Jackson clan, who "traumatized" his children into becoming the greatest family entertainment franchise since the Bachs of the Baroque period. This Arkansas native whose own children never referred to him as father or dad "terrorized" them so, that they could only find "refuge" in worldwide fame and untold wealth. Joseph Jackson is a man so "disturbed" that he actually raised a son with such compassion that his charity work makes Angelina Jolie look like Leona Helmsly. As if that isn't "bad" enough "Monster Joe" actually stood by his late son's side (and vigorously defended him), along with his entire "dysfunctional" family, every single day of those infamous child molestation allegations and trials (for which he was cleared of all charges). So what in the world am I doing thanking this "beast?"


Flawed, I have absolutely no doubt that Mr. Jackson is very much so. In fact, I have no doubt that some of the late Michael Joseph Jackson's questionable behavior and identity issues are rooted in his strained relationship with his father. After all, our identity and validation comes directly from our fathers. I have no doubt that there was a longing in the heart of the late superstar, possibly common to all of his siblings in which he desired a deeper, more intimate, relationship for which he may have never experienced. However, may I suggest when we think of the Joe Jacksons of the world, perhaps we should look at them in the whole, as oppose to the filtered pieces we've been fed.

I am no Joe Jackson biographer, but, it doesn't take a genius to know that Joseph Jackson is a hard man, molded by even harder times. This is not uncommon for men of his age, especially Black men born, like Joe Jackson, in the deep South (Arkansas). As a father, one can only assume he did what he knew. It is very likely his father was just like him, in fact, he might have been worse. But, there is also that glaring factor about being Black in the Western Hemisphere we seldom ever acknowledge; you have to be twice as good to get just as much. Such factors, in addition to a multitude of others, particularly during that time might have led to some overzealous parenting. However, such factors have also produced many great legacies as well; much like the one for which we celebrate and mourn at this very hour. We know gold is purified by way of severe heat, diamonds are produced via intense pressure, and butterflies come forth only by way of painful metamorphosis, yet, we seem bewildered that genius like that of the Gloved One was rooted and forged in such a manner. "My son, do not despise the Lord's discipline and do not resent His rebuke, because the Lord disciplines those He loves, as a father the son he delights.*" Michael's is hardly a life to be mourned or pitied. In more ways than the obvious it can be envied. How many wannabes, should be's and could have beens are living lives far beneath their worth because they never had a father committed to their perfection? It is clear, flaws and all, there would be no Michael Jackson or Jackson legacy had there been no Joseph Jackson to mold them. One of the great paradoxes of fatherhood is that, no matter how well intentioned your chastening, you run the risk of incurring the wrath of your children.

Perhaps it was that boyish voice, his almost painfully, demure, personality, or his slight and sometimes frail physique that might have caused us to look upon the late King of Pop, as a timid and tortured man-child yearning for a childhood he supposedly never knew. But, a second and unmystified glance will certainly grant a rather vivid reality, that our favorite Peter Pan was as fierce as Captain Hook. Every ounce of the Michael Jackson brand was diligently and carefully crafted, and maintained via a monk like discipline. From the stage, to the mystique, to the boardroom, by all accounts (and some commonsense observation) Michael Jackson was a force to be reckoned with, hardly the wilting flower we were so thoroughly convinced to believe he was. No matter what Hollywood tells you, genius is no accident. Even the most divinely gifted need cultivation.

Joseph Jackson's imperfections may very well exceed anything we can ever know, but I haven't a doubt in my mind, he loved Michael Jackson and continues to love his children. Despite himself, 'ole' Joe had to do something right, as did the fathers of such luminaries as, Michelle Obama, Prince, Will Smith, Oprah Winfrey, Michael Jordan, Tiger Woods, Beyonce Knowles, Venus and Serena Williams, the Winans family, Roy Jones, Jr., Kobe Bryant, Ervin "Magic" Johnson, and Floyd Mayweather, Jr., among a great many others. Every single one of these icons (and icons to be), including the Jacksons, cite their fathers as the reason for their success; and despite the various degrees of those relationships (some better than others), they have all unanimously declared that they would not change a thing. In an age which applauds the chastisement of dead beat Black fathers from the likes of Bill Cosby, President Obama, and of course every other ranting and moralizing Conservative (as if the African American community has a patent on degenerate fatherhood), I think it only fitting that the same zeal be applied to applauding those Black fathers who have produced some of our nation's greatest and most revered icons, and that includes Joseph Jackson.

*Proverbs 3:12

Copyright 2009 Johnathan L. Iverson Baptiste

The Best of My Fathers

You never really know how powerful you are until you become a father. It's simultaneously frightening and wonderful when you consider the sheer magnitude of the role. I take nothing away from mothers, but, considering the fact that this is Father's Day weekend, the only Holiday that actually puts a spotlight on men, I will focus solely on what it is to be a father. It wasn't until I lost my own father over a decade ago did I realize how important he was to me. However, it wasn't until I became a father did I realize how much I missed. I often think to myself how much he would have loved his grandchildren and how much they would have loved him. I was a most fortunate child. When one considers the fact that you can neither choose your parents or the conditions for which you are placed on this earth, I am surely blessed. According to every headline, statistic, and newsreel, my life is a miracle.

My fortune, my greatest gift, has indeed been my mother. From there everything fell into place. From her I never saw or heard of the impossible, all things were possible. From her I learned early, of the flaws of human nature, and that sometimes, even often, those whom we trust the most can cause us the deepest hurt. From her I learned to forgive my father before I even knew of his offense. Never did I hear an unkind word about him. Never did an unkind word come from her lips against me. Love and truth were in abundance. This is how I found salvation. "God is your father," imagine a four year old hearing that?"People will fail, even me..." imagine a four year old hearing that?! She never once sought to make light of my passage into this life. "This is not the ideal...this was not God's plan and it was certainly not mine...but, you are not a mistake." So as you can imagine, for me this lady was a living Superwoman. I can appreciate how easy it is to deify women. You carry so much. However, my mother was quick to let my brother and I know, she was no man. "I am not your father(s)...there are things I can never, ever give you...questions I will never be able to answer." Thus, the realization of my handicap. Who was going to navigate my way toward manhood?

But, alas, for reasons I cannot explain, God gave me grace. I was blessed with a variety of upstanding surrogates. Men like my Godfather, Joseph Wigfall, himself an artist and a man of deep principle, the late -great Dr. Walter J. Turnbull,* who literally made it his life's work to guide boys along the treacherous road toward manhood, my uncle, the late-great Willie Ben Iverson, who overcame a youth saddled with hatred toward his own father to become our family patriarch and a beacon of hope for countless men and boys in his community, my older brother, the Rev. David Sterling, who did his very best to teach me all that he knew, despite his own challenges, and a whole host of marvelous men of every age and every hue, who cared enough about me to give me their ear, their wisdom, their time, and their love.

My father, though a cameo performer in my life, was still significant. Every time I was with him it mattered. I felt complete in his presence. Our time, though sporadic, was meaningful. However, our last moments as I later realized would arguably be the most sacred moment of my entire life. It was, Thursday, March 25, 1999. We were parked in his car across the street from my barbershop in Harlem. This is symbolic, because as most Black men will agree, for us, the barbershop is the most liberating place on earth. The only place, aside from our own homes where we can take off the social mask and be ourselves, unjudged and unfiltered. It's the place which we are fully understood, accepted, and affirmed. Moreover, the barbershop has also acted as a safe haven for many a black boy seeking to absorb any remnant of manhood that could be found. Various generations and experiences congregating in one space, issuing sweet and essential nuggets of wisdom, coupled with often hard, yet, necessary clusters of truth, all the while grooming you to face the world for yet another week. It was there my father and I sat, in front of the place which played substitute to him on many occasions.

He had been anxious to see me for over a month. My life during this time had gone into overdrive. I was overwhelmed by new found success and I wasn't necessarily the most pleasant person to be around. We had agreed to meet at 1pm at my mother's apartment. She made us lunch, we ate, and headed to the barbershop. He eased into why he needed to see me. Being the proud Caribbean* that he was, he immediately let me know that it was "'your mother's idea' that we spend more time together." He gave me some much needed advice about handling my money, keeping in touch with those closest to me and in his broken, yet, sincere manner he began to explain himself. He revealed the hatred he harbored for his own father and how in many ways that hatred caused him to become the very man he hated. Like him, his father was unable to live faithfully with the wife of his youth (or any woman for that matter), like him, his father was abused, and like him, his father was abandoned. He told me how he had to learn to forgive his father, and in his own broken and sincere way hoped I would do the same for him. My heart wept. All this time and he hadn't known how much I loved him. He hadn't known that I'd forgiven him long ago. Indeed, "our doubts are traitors to things we oft might win, by fearing to attempt."* No child wants their father to be Superman, he just needs him to be. For I had learned that no one, not even a child, has the right to exalt another human being beyond their own capacity.

Suddenly, it happened in just a few words. He said the very thing that has stayed with me for over a decade. The words that haunt, yet, inspire me whenever my humanity and the sins of my fathers threaten to overcome me... "you have to be a better man than me." Struggling against his pride, I could hear a restrained yearning in his voice when he said it: "you have to be a better man than me." With those words he had given me a father's greatest gift, validation. A father's validation or approval can never, ever be underestimated. Those words and the manner in which he said them made it clear to me that despite himself, he had the utmost confidence in me to end the very cycle which had ravaged our family for decades. Despite himself, he figuratively laid his hands on me, as the patriarchs of old and gave me his blessing. Perhaps one might think it unfair to issue such a responsibility without having equipped the recipient. However, if truth be told, it is neither a question of what is fair? or how this is to be done? But, rather an act of faith on the part of the one giving the blessing. Certainly, he could not see nor predict the kind of man I would become. But, I am convinced that he saw in me the best of himself, and that I indeed possessed the capacity to exceed him and our fathers. Thus, he believed in me and when your father believes in you, nothing is impossible. Alas, I was the son in whom he was well pleased. Alas, I was whole.

Sometime during the afternoon of Friday, March 26th he was gone from this world. This was without a doubt the most traumatic period of my life. Yet, in the midst of my sorrow, I found myself grateful to God for having equipped me with the love needed to forgive and understand my father for who he was. I was grateful because through love, I was equipped to accept my father's greatest gift to me, and it is through that love that I am able to allow the best of my fathers to live through me. I sometimes ponder who I would be had I allowed myself to be consumed by the sting of my father's absence? I shudder from the very thought.

Today, with my beloved children, his grandchildren, I am everything I so desired him to be and I know he would be proud. Among the greatest joys of my life is that my children actually take my presence in their lives for granted. They simply believe in me. What a remarkable responsibility? Ideally my hope is that I leave my children a good name and an honorable heritage. But, above all else, I pray they know now and all the days of their precious lives, that despite my humanity, I believe in them and that I am well pleased.

"When the sins of our fathers visit us
We do not have to play host.
We can banish them with forgiveness
As God, in His Largeness and Laws."

August Wilson

*Founder, The Boys Choir of Harlem
* Trinidad-Tobago
*From Measure for Measure by William Shakespeare

Copyright 2009 Johnathan L. Iverson Baptiste