IF YOU CAN’T MAKE IT ON MARK AVENUE,

You Might As Well Dig Yourself a Hole and Jump in it!

BY:
Henry L. Jenkins I I I
http://www.henryljenkins.com

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either
products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright – 2006 by Henry L. Jenkins I I I

All rights reserved. No part of this may be reproduced or transmitted in any form,
by any means (electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior
written permission of the author.
 Thank you and Dedications

First, I thank God for fashioning my heart, mind and soul to seek him. My Mom,
Myra Crittenden, who always believed in me and taught me determination, hard
work, and self-reliance. My Dad for always telling me I could do better! My
brother, Anthony, for raising me from a state of mental death and mediocrity. My
Grandfather, Henry L. Jenkins Sr., who impacted me so deeply when responding
on how I could pay him back for doing so much for me in my early years. He told
me that the way he wanted repayment was for me to help someone else whenever
they needed help. My grandmother for never leaving me! Momma Dee, I can still
hear you whispering to me. Clementine Jenkins, my stepmother, oh lord...where do
I begin? You influenced me bigger than you ever know. Keith Davis, you always
accepted me in whatever phase I was in throughout the years. Keisha Miles, I’m so
sorry for ever hurting you and I hope we’ll be closer in the future. I would like to
thank my family, friends and others who are too numerous to mention. I will
always be grateful.

Thanks to all of you for your help. This book is dedicated to all of you.

● Henry L. Jenkins I I I - http://www.henryljenkins.com

Thanks for ‘pluckin’ me lil Bro!
 IF YOU CAN’T MAKE IT ON A MARK AVE
PROLOGUE

Struggle only ends when you die, identity is only achieved when you are reborn…

Through deep thought, study and prayer, I began to see myself in terms of my own
uniqueness.

I conscientiously worked on cultivating my own internal sources of security. My

feelings of worth were not dependent on any of my parents, or peers’ so called
“acceptable” behavior.

Proverb 4:23 expressed it the best: “Search your own heart with all diligence for
out of it flow the issues of life.”

It was through the discovery of self that I began to grow internally. Well, how does
one discover one’s self? My grandfather told me one would have to face your own
Gethsemane such as Jesus did in Biblical history.

After one faces his/hers Gethsemane, they would definitely discover themselves.
Yet it would take other factors also within a person’s perspective ability to be
capable of discovering one’s self.
These perceptive antennas are constantly being developed throughout one’s life
from birth. They are developed mostly through experience and one’s particular
environment throughout their life.
In this book, a distillation of personalities and perceptions will be allegorically
identified throughout particular poems, essays, and characters. This short story is
not meant to develop nor explore any character’s personality but rather the
characters’ circumstances.
CHAPTER ONE

REALIZATION
It was like a mirage, this feeling yet real one second, gone the next. The stare of the
sun forced me to squint my eyes against it.

The reality of being poor, young and Black struck me like a series of physical
blows. I tried to think positive about comfortably fitting in my classroom
environment; thinking of all the encouragement that Grammy and Aunt Sissy had
given me. But even this denied me any ease.

The palms of my hands were wet. I wiped them against my shirt unconsciously. I
was a weary eyed country boy who barely shaded twenty- four. Now the awe of
college was gone from my light brown eyes.

My facial hair grew like wild grass in the summertime forcing me to shave in order
to avoid a bad case of razor bumps.

I had been here for years struggling trying not only to earn a degree but gain a
sense of identity and acceptance. I was going to make it. I was going to get there.
The point, in which, I knew myself and the direction of my life. My feet began to
hurt as I walked down the sidewalk to get to my one o’clock class.

High above me in a towering building, a trio of fraternity white boys watched me

in silence. They were boys that I recognized who debated regularly about some of
the articles I wrote in the school newspaper.

It surprised me that they were unaware that I knew that they were watching me.
Normally if I saw any white person staring at me; and I met eyes with them. They
would quickly turn away as to fake as they never saw me. I permitted myself a
trace of a smile, while I glistened my lips wet to moisten my chapped lips. I was
only a few yards from the entrance of the building, when I felt a pair of soft gentle
hands cover my eyes.
“Hey… whassup?” a female voice exclaimed.

Turning to see who it was, I jokingly replied, “See… that’s why black people never
get anywhere…they play too much.”

Jean was dressed in a loud reddish mini skirt and low heels. Her outfit was skin
tight as was the case with most of the clothes that Jean wore. Her skin was reddish
Brown and she was tall and slim.

Big gold earrings laced her earlobes, and a bundle of weave cascaded down her
back. Her lips were big and full, but had an unusually pointy nose. She laughed as
she removed her lotion covered hands from my face.
“Martin… you always got something smart to say … too bad it don’t work for you

in the classroom,” she remarked.

“Yea, I know… but you know that you still love me… right?” I questioned her.

“I guess… well, I gotta go… I’ll see you at the meeting tonight,” she said.

“Bye Jean…take care,” I replied.

“Oh yeah… you know that I got to talk to you about yesterday,” she whispered

softly.

I just looked at her in silence. I knew that she was just being nosey.
CHAPTER TWO
THREAT
There was a scant hour of daylight left in the sky. Seeing this as I looked out the
window of my apartment at Dillard square. I turned and walked back to my couch.

I was young and energetic, with a neatly trimmed black mustache. I pressed my fist
into the palm on my hand. The gesture, however, brought me no relief. It only
made me pay attention to my small, delicate looking hands.

They were almost feminine, belying the twenty-four years of life stamped on my
face. And my dark pigmented chin testified mutely that I was no stranger to
shaving.

Glancing at Sheila, who stood anxiously beside the desk, I forced myself to be
patient. Yet my nerves stood at attention, trying my best to be nice to Sheila. It was
our third week in our so-called friendship, but it seemed like two years. We had
done all the things that couples do when they begin to date. Yet every time we went
out, I harped on the fact that we were only friends. She hated that like hell. I could
see it in her eyes. She was determined to intoxicate my heart with overwhelming
love for her. “What’cha thinking about over there,” she asked. “Nothing,” I replied
grimly. I didn’t want to be like the rest of niggers and make a lot of promises then
“jet.” When I rationalized it in my mind, I tried to convince myself that sleeping
with her wasn’t the same as having a relationship. As the voice of R. Kelley blared
out from WJKM, Sheila tried to sing along, but couldn’t find the notes. She was
dressed in a loosely fitted university sweatshirt that seemed to drape over her low
cut shorts making it appear as though she had nothing on underneath her shirt.
Her skin was medium dark and she was short and thick. Her earlobes were always
decorated with small golden hoops and normally wore a tight fitted baseball cap to
cover her dome.

It had been a trying day. A very trying day. I found myself wondering whether
Mike had sent David to talk to me or if Mike was coming on his own. Not that it
really mattered. Either way, the problem was the same.

“Martin,” she spoke quietly, “why don’t you go and get something to eat and let me

stay here?”

I began trying to sort out the array of papers on my desk. I was always this way in
the wake of a serious situation.

Sheila could almost gauge the severity of an encounter by the amount of paper I
shuffled around. But she didn’t need this rule of thumb to be reminded how serious
the past two days had been.

“Would it hurt to call Mike?” Sheila asked. “Or get Vivian to call him?”

Looking up, I nodded toward the window.

“Maybe you’d better call yourself,” I replied.

As I walked to the window, Sheila joined me. Outside we saw a number of White
fraternity guys getting out of a blue caravan. It was impossible to see how many of
them were getting out.

They were coming in from the bottom of the stairway in a ragged single file, with
no precise order to it. All the guys were wearing their paraphernalia. More than a
few of them were rednecks.
All were young. A number of them had small notepads in their hands. Some had
nothing. No one spoke except for the slow cadence of shoes and boots climbing up
stairs. It was almost eerie, I thought.

In the half light, the processions did not seem entirely real. Without taking her eyes
from the approaching guys, Sheila said, “They’ve been having shop up here nearly
a week. Why are you getting so uptight seeing them?”

She had a good point but not recognizing them I said, “Well… yea… they must be
brothers from another school.”
Sheila moved back beside the desk. “Not necessarily… they could just be old
heads who want to see their new line for the upcoming quarter.”
“That’s only an educated guess,” I said.

Sitting myself down at the desk, I added “I’m hoping that’s all that’s going on.

Fortunately, they walked pass my door without looking back twice. Sheila walked
closer to me gazing into my eyes. She looked down at me with a shade of a smile,
then frowned with disappointment, “I’m sorry, Martin. I hate that I can’t cheer you
up. But everything is going to be ok… trust me.”

Seeing the flush of emotion in her face, I was relieved when the phone ranged to
break the moment of intensity. We both stared at the phone wondering, if it was
David or Mike announcing that they were coming over.

Slowly picking up the receiver and clearing my throat. “Hello? Hello?” My face
was raked with frustration as no one responded on the other end of the line. It was
evident in my voice that I was nervous about the situation.

But I wasn’t nervous about the guys who were going to pay me a visit. It was the
fact that my grade point average was very low. And I had a feeling that they knew
it. Furthermore, I had so many debts to different agencies in this community that it
would be easy for them to use that against me. First to shut me up, then eventually
send me back home!
CHAPTER THREE
WORRY
The midday heat was stifling. Yet Tracy Graham of Livingston Realty paid it no
mind. Having picked up several pieces of trash, her intent was to follow up on
individuals who were late on paying their rent.

A slender, sad-eyed woman of thirty-eight with a long face and stark blue eyes
paused at the foot of the stairway that led to the existing two floors.

I watched her from my window trying to figure out how I could escape from
having to explain again why my rent was late. Every time I thought about it, I
became angrier and angrier.

Suddenly she gazed at her side, God must have heard my prayer; obviously she had
got a beep from the pager that was on her hip.

I sat down on the couch and thought about how I had got into this financial hole. I
had been in and out of school here for about four years. Yet, I had been involved in
many aspects, of the university and felt as though I had many worthy contributions.

However, at this moment, I was at risk of not being able to graduate winter ’96 due
to not having possessing enough resources to sustain my housing nor living
expenses.

I really felt as though I possessed many skills and talents that were yet to reach
their full potential. There were several professors, student advisors and student
leaders who would have agreed or testified to my leadership abilities and
communication skills.

At that present time, I was a student manager for the University, Food Service
auxiliary, Black Action Committee officer, and a columnist of the school paper. I
had also received my commission as an Army officer from a military college in
Missouri.

There I graduated with many honors including being inducted into the National
Honor Society. The major factor that was present there and not present here was
financial resources.

My financial means were far below my financial debts. Though I understood that
this was a responsibility of my own, certain unfortunate circumstances played a
significant role in my current financial situation.

One example was that my student loan went into default during the time that I was
serving active duty during Desert Storm. At that time, it was my understanding that
I was deferred from any payment on my student loan due to active duty status
during Desert Storm.

However my assumption was incorrect. In fact, it was not until I sent a copy of my
military orders to my financial aid lender that I became aware of my default.

I had discussed my situation with several people. Namely my family, however, my

family had its own set of problems that had to be addressed first.

Growing up in a section 8 low income public housing area with no high school
diploma or GED was very difficult for my mother. Yet, by the time I reached my
junior year in high school my mother had went back to school to finish earning her
high school diploma. As I look back now, that was a powerful event that took place
in my life. Whether my Mother knew it or not; she became my greatest source of
inspiration. By witnessing my mother achieve that milestone, it created in me a
very powerful sense of drive, direction and motivation.
 CHAPTER FOUR
VICTIM

Thinking about my past caused me to think about what Jean wanted to discuss. I
knew it was about David Taylor, vice president of SGA, who launched a campaign
against my speech Monday. A few hours before I had planned to address all
interested students about Black pride.

He openly criticized me for making derogatory remarks about whites who opposed
having a student funded Black Action committee. I, at this time, was simply the
Historian for the Committee; yet I was the most outspoken and fiery person on the
board.

The speeches focused on Blacks building an economic base of power among them.
I also iterated that deeds of countering racism needed to be carried out by the
university instead of well-meaning words spoken eloquently.

The SGA president, William Carter had received several calls about my March
speech in the student union. Obviously, William was pissed and didn’t want to
bother with me. So, David volunteered to take care of the so-called problem. Yet,
David had no idea what kind of Black man he was facing.

“I didn’t come out here to talk about Black students hating white people,” I

declared. “But I did come here to talk about Black Students loving themselves.”

David walked into the crowd cautiously. He listened with disgust and anger as my
speech attracted more and more people, White and Black onto the concourse.
Dressed in a black suit and a red, black and green bow tie, I stood proudly and
smiled and stared as I spoke.

“Some will call me a hater and some of you will call me racist,” I exclaimed. “Yet,

I Never slaved your brother or sister from sun up to sundown. I NEVER burned a
cross in your front yard. I NEVER burned one of your churches down. And I
NEVER called you a Nigger. So will the REAL racist please come forward?”

The crowd erupted noisily, as I tried to shout over their voices. “You say that
you’ve done enough with your welfare and integration, but it you stab a man nine
inches in the back, then pull the knife out six inches, it’s hard to call it progress,” I
shouted.

Suddenly, the crowd split in the middle as four University Policemen approached
me asking me to step down. I nodded and proceeded to step down as someone in
the crowd shouted, “Do a Rodney King on him!”

I scanned the crowd with fury and anger in my eyes. My temple pulsated in synch
with my heartbeat, as the crowd dispersed onto the concourse. The officers
escorted me to the station which was about three miles down the road.

As I entered the station, glares taunted me endlessly by several officers and

students in the station. One officer in the back shouted, “Is that the one keeping up
all that damn noise out there?”

“Yea… Sam… This is him… wanna see him?” said the officer to my left. I quickly

glanced to my left to get the name of the officer speaking; but he moved so
abruptly that I didn’t even have time to read his name tag.

“Bring’em on back here,” said the voice from the back. I remained cautiously silent

with each step I took. The officer led me to a room in the southeast corner of the
building, facing the rear of the building.

In the dim lit room sat two White men and one Black man dressed in a plain suit
and tie.
“Take a sit please,” said the Black man. As I sat down I recognized the Black man

as Dr. Arthur Simmons, the director of Minority Advancement for the University. I
glared at him, as to ask him why he was here. “I think you know who I am… but
this is Lt. Pelgram on my left and to my right this is Sgt. Peterson,” Simmons
uttered.

“We’ve heard about to your speeches that you’ve delivered in the past couple of

months,” said Simmons. “What exactly are your intentions, by saying what you
say?”

Sgt. Peterson sat up in his chair, and cleared his throat as if to correct my last
statement. “Mr. MacCallister… we’re trying to give you an opportunity to state
your case so it would be in your benefit to answer these questions carefully,” said
Peterson.

I squinted my eyes and took a deep breath as I began to explain. Right at that
moment another officer knocked on the door. “Come in,” said Pelgram. “Hey, chief
wants you guys in his office.” said officer at the door.

All the officers exited the room, leaving me and Dr. Simmons in the room alone.
He looked at me with suspicion. I looked back with anger in my eyes, analyzing
his hair, nose and skin. It was thick, black and wrinkled.

At that moment, Lt. Pelgram entered the room. “Alright, time for you to go…
ready?” he asked. I stood up slowly still glaring at Dr. Simmons.
Simmons looked at Pelgram as to say why I was free to go. Pelgram shook his
head and shrugged his shoulders in disgust.

“So, I’m free to go?” I asked. “Yeah… just try to stay out of sight today… ok?”

Pelgram said.

I smirked and walked briskly to the exit of the station. Everyone there seemed to
turn their interest towards me. Typewriters stopped… conversations ceased… and
heads turned. All was quiet as I opened the door and slammed it shut.

The afternoon was hot and muggy. The sun seemed to beat the pavement with a
relentless flow of beams. Yet a cool breeze moved through the trees periodically. I
made my way to the library to get my thoughts together. I was too afraid to go
home, because I would probably run into Ms. Graham. I’m sure she was looking
for me. My nerves were getting to me and I felt awkward breathing.
Students seemed to look past me as though I didn’t exist. Cars seemed to move
slowly as I crossed the street to get to the library.

The library was enormous in size with windows for almost every room. The
administration building was directly to the left of the library, where all the rich
alumni hung out to view the school.

I turned and looked back toward the Smith center where all the Black folks hung
out. I was stunned to see that no Black brothers or sisters stood around this day.
They seemed to move briskly across the concourse as to not stop and be noticed.

I shook my head in disbelief. It was my first time I had ever walked on campus and
not seen Blacks standing around in groups tripping and talking and just plain
kicking it.

I changed my mind about going to the library and started walking toward the Smith
center. Downstairs here was the place where I worked about thirty hours a week in
the university restaurant.

I was the student manager there with three other black student managers and one
white student manager.

John, the university manager greeted me as usual with his good natured smile. He
was the best manager a person could ever have, especially during the hard times
that I was experiencing.

He was about 5’10” dark hair with thick eyebrows that seemed to meet in the
middle. He was in pretty good shape for a forty year old man. He seemed to always
talk about religion, sports and his youth. “You feel alright… today?” he asked.
“Yeah… and yourself?” I replied. “Not too bad… not bad at all,” he said.

Hey… I heard about earlier today…” he uttered. “Why don’t you talk to me about
it?” he asked.
“How did you find out about it if you don’t me asking?” I frowned.
“Martin… you know word travels fast around here,” said John. “Why don’t we go

into the office and talk about it?”

I nodded reluctantly, but I knew I’d better keep John on my side even though he
was white. As the manager here, he could easily make it hard for me to work on
campus.

Since I didn’t have a car, it was very important that I kept a job on campus. Not to
mention, a job all together.

“Well buddy, you know that you can talk to me about anything… don’t you?” he

questioned.
“I guess, John, but there’s nothing really to talk about,” I shrugged.

I was being careful not to get into it with him, but he kept pushing for more.
“Martin… you know that I feel that any person can achieve any level of success if

they put their faith in the Lord and work hard… Black, White, Green or Yellow,”
he said.
“I agree but it’s not as simple as you just said,” I stated. “I also realize that God

never promised us that it would be easy… he burdens all of us in order to get us to

place our trust in him,” I said.
“Even though a Black man has been the Joint of Staff and a Black Woman has had

national success as a talk show host. These and the other few success stories say
nothing about the thousands upon thousands of Blacks who live far below the
poverty level.” I explained.
“Martin… you are right about that, but you can’t blame Whites or anybody else for
the failures of those people,” he replied. “Those people need to get their butts off
welfare and food stamps and get a job. McDonald's and Burger King are always
hiring, plain and simple as that.”

I boiled inside because I knew that he was going to say that sooner or later. That’s
the argument of most white people who figure Black people should and can live off
a McDonald's’ paycheck.

I remained calm because I knew that I couldn’t win the real battle with this simple
conversation.
“Alright… alright…we’ll talk about this later. I gotta go check to see if everything

is alright.” I said.

The day went by slowly, people whispered pointed and mumbled comments to me
all day long. Some students had enough nerve to approach me and ask… “what
exactly did you say earlier today?” But to my surprise… not many people knew
that the event occurred.
 CHAPTER FIVE
THE TERROR DOME

I skipped the meeting that night to avoid talking to Jean. Frankly, she wasn’t really
concerned about me and what I was going through. She just wanted to have
something to gossip about to her messy friends. They always had some mess going
on, even on Sundays. I still remember her trying to convince me that smoking a
joint before a test would help me score higher.

Me and my boys called girls like her “weed heads.” There were a lot “weed heads”
on campus doing that crap in an effort to fit in and feel as though they belonged.
That was the interesting part about college life compared to the “hood.” There was
a very apparent social hierarchy in place here in college. The hierarchy seldom
changed unlike the “hood.”

In the hood, a dude and his boys would be on top for a little while. But eventually,
“five-O” or some other brother would come along and flex.

Also, in the hood, brothers were quick to kick your ass. There wasn’t that much
arguing about too many things. A brother considered himself lucky if he got his ass
kicked, rather than smoked. That was the biggest difference that I noticed in
college. There wasn’t that many fights or shootings compared to the hood. Instead
of fighting each other they would just stop talking to one another. In a way, that
was cool but still no progress was made between the two people.

However, there was one incident that I will never forget. There was a brother name
Mark Harrison who went to school here for about two and a half years then
dropped out to work and catch up on some bills. He was a bold and feisty brother
who fell well short of being likeable. He was street smart brother known for always
carrying his piece in his back pocket.
The White people, those who knew him, genuinely feared him, knowing the
pleasure he seemed to get from starting arguments.

So there were seldom any white people saying anything good about him. Even a
few Blacks, especially within the administration, would avoid inviting him to
certain activities and parties held on campus.

Although I was not certain where he came from; his presence here on campus was
generally thought to be athletically related. The weird thing about him was he
always liked to hang out at the white fraternity parties.

Mark was always bragging to the fellows about all the White girls he was banging.
He talked about it, as though every time he banged a white girl, he should have
received a trophy or something.

It pissed me off a lot times but I kept my mouth shut. That brother was crazy and
would pick a fight with you, especially if you were small like me. If it made me
mad, I knew that it make the white boys furious. In a jokingly way, I would tell all
the other brothers that messing with those white girls would do nothing but get him
“strung up” in a tree.

One Friday night, March 17th, Mark was riding in the car with a couple white girls,
drinking and smoking some “wood”. It was the first day of spring break and they
were heading toward Florida.
Obviously the driver lost control of the vehicle which crashed into the rail over
Lake Eufaula. The vehicle, the girls and Mark all went into the Lake. The girls
were thrown from the car from the initial impact.

But Mark didn’t even have a chance. He couldn’t swim nor could he float. The sad
part was that he never made it out of the car.

In the police report, the two girls stated that they swam safely to shore and noticed
that Mark had gotten separated from them during the crash. They also stated that
they made an attempt to save him but failed.

I had my own conclusions about what happened and ever since that day; I’ve been
very careful about getting caught up in situations like that. There was a lot of
controversy on campus at first. But after a few weeks, the controversy died away.
Nobody seemed to care anymore. Worst yet, there were rumors that certain people
were happy that he died.

Later we found out that Mark was not an athlete at all. He had received a full
academic scholarship to come to school here. However, he took a few quarters off
to help his mother out of a financial hardship. Learning that about him, really
touched my heart and forced me to view him in a different light.
CHAPTER SIX
SPECIAL
The next Black Action Committee meeting wasn’t until the following week and it
was only Thursday afternoon. As I made my way from work, I decided to go the
Special Activities Office. The BAC, according to the university, was an
organization under the Special Activities Office.

Like we were special or needed some special kind of attention. In that office only
two permanent positions were filled because the third position could not be filled.
The reason it couldn’t be filled was because the university required the person to
possess a Master’s Degree, yet it only paid $22,000. That in itself, let me know that
it was a bunch of crap. It was obvious that they were not trying to recruit the best
person possible… only the cheapest.

The director name was Gaila Gonzales, who was from Puerto Rico. The other
person was Jeffrey Clark, who was from Selma, Al. both of them worked diligently
to accomplish their “given” or “approved goals.”

But in my opinion, that was exactly their problem. Their agenda always had to be
approved by a white person’s frame of mind… who knew very little about Black
people. I mean… how could their white bosses set an agenda for Black people to
grow close to other Black people?

Jeffrey Clark was a pretty cool brother about 27 years old. It was very evident that
everyone around him valued his opinion on every issue.

He was about 6’1” and built like he played football in his younger years. He
seemed like a real laid back brother with a strong religious background. Yet he
never put on like he was holy or anything like that.
Neither did he ever discuss his religious affiliation or preference openly. Jeffrey
always seemed to be appropriate to the social standards of etiquette.

Every time he was confronted on pressing issues, he always seemed to stay in the
middle of the road. I really got to know Jeffrey by playing Sega Genesis football
with him a lot. I was impressed by how calm he always played, even when he was
losing. Yet he seemed to always make a comeback and win. Like most brothers, he
took a lot of pride in winning and seemed to hate losing more than anything else in
the world.

Gaila Gonzales was a woman of great compassion and aristocratic behavior. The
more I watched her the more she seemed to develop from an insensitive, grouchy,
bewildered woman… to a sensitive, kind and courteous person. Although she
always seemed to be bewildered about small things like losing her keys or her
purse, she had an uncanny ability to influence people and accomplish her necessary
task. Being of Islamic faith, she was very careful not to let the Committee be
turned into some Christian religious organization like several blacks wanted. Yet
she kept the Committee open minded on all issues.

Apparently she was rich in culture and in monetary terms also… her clothes said it
all. Gaila in her own context had the most stress and pressure applied to her on a
daily basis. Being a woman, a mother, a foreigner, and holding a position to
enhance “special” programs – was more than just a task.

I always sensed her fighting many intangible battles of sexism, racism, religious
imperialism, and sometimes ignorance. Only a few people admired all of her many
attributes. A select few students and faculty members knew and truly respected her
many talents.

Gaila and Jeffrey were friends, but like all friends they had differences. Jeffrey
being the subordinate tended to put up with a lot of unprofessionalism in a
supposedly professional office. It was the lack of genuine respect, professionalism
and plain concern that rolled down on Gaila and Jeffrey everyday.

It was ridiculous how every so-called minority enrolled at this university were
represented within one small office, conveniently hidden from the exposure of the
general student body.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CONFRONTATION
Sheila had just left and I was pissed. We had a bad argument. The kind of argument
you have when you spell out all the negative points about the person in order to
degrade their will to fight. She claimed that she loved me. But I just couldn’t trust
her.

She was too strong headed for me. If she couldn’t have it her way, she didn’t want
it. She had previously dated this dude named Marcus last quarter. He was cool
brother, but used Jesus as an excuse to break up with her.

She still loved the brother and that shit pissed me off. I had nothing against the
brother. I just happened to peep his game and she didn’t. He slid away from Sheila
and toward this other fine cutie named Lavita. Lavita was in the university gospel
choir, but all the “players” knew that she was giving “it” up.

One his frat brothers hooked him up on the tip, and the rest was history. From time
to time, I would hear Sheila talking about Lavita and her every move.

That shit always puzzled me; why when a girl loses her man, she always wants to
know every single detail about the woman he’s sleeping with. Right down to what
position they do it in.

We got into it because I told her that I didn’t trust her. Hell… I didn’t trust myself.
She didn’t know it but Stephanie, her best friend, was always on my jock almost
every night.
I had a phone; Stephanie didn’t. It was her prime excuse to come over with her
worn out “dazey dukes”on. I had to admit that she was fine as hell. But she messed
around with Lopez Tarver, the school mackdaddy. He was burning everything he
touched.

With Stephanie next door, it wasn’t nothing for us to be up talking until two and
three in the morning. It was a secret we kept between ourselves not knowing how
Sheila and Lopez would react if they found out.

It was about 6:15 pm and I was getting kinda hungry. Then I heard the door knock,
I knew it wasn’t Sheila. She was too proud to ever come back apologizing or
initiate some compromise.

It was David. Finally he arrived just like I knew he would. I heard him knock on
the door cautiously. As I opened the door he smiled at me, I faintly smiled back.
But the longer he smiled at me the fainter my smile became.

“Come in,” I said. The tone of my voice was like a flashing light to David. He saw

the anger in my eyes and almost involuntarily took two steps back. My mind
drifted, I thought of my youth in Glenway and the occasional drive to the east side
of Ozark, Alabama – a place where old traditions died hard deaths.

Facing David, I thought of the white boys back in junior high; the one’s who were
always full of curiosity and wide smiles like David. Every time I opened my mouth
to speak, a look of astonishment crossed their faces. In the gym one day a white
boy asked me, “can all Blacks dunk like Dr. Jay?” Not knowing what to say I just
smiled and laughed.

Now as I stood in front of David, the demise I felt was overflowing inside of me. I
wanted to remain calm, but my fingers would not stop shaking. My light brown
eyes glared deeply into his pale-gray ones. David’s face was narrow, and his lips
and nose were thin, giving him a sort of chiseled look.

Being of a medium frame and a small pop belly. I could tell he didn’t know what it
was to be hungry.
“Hello Martin,” David said forcefully. I could tell he had psyched himself up

before he came over here. His words stood at attention. And his voice inflection
was abrupt and dramatic. “Can I talk to you a few moments?” he asked.
I nodded, “Yea… sure… have a seat.”
“How are you?” he asked softly. He smiled as he took a deep breath and looked

into my eyes and then immediately looked away. I gave a slight nod and said,
“fine… and yourself?”
“Just staying busy,” he replied. We had never been introduced formally although

we would say hello to each other. David rarely had contact with the board members
of BAC, although during his campaign when he was running for vice president of
SGA, he claimed he would.

Sitting next to David, I thought of the hood and how the old poor people dared to
look at important white people in their eyes, even hard brothers in the hood would
only glance at them briefly. “You know I have to talk to you about these speeches
you’ve been making,” he said. “We really need to figure out a way to calm things
down between the whites and the blacks at this university.”

I noticed he said “we”, when actually it was the white folks who were concerned
about my speeches. I nodded in agreement with him, so that he would keep talking;
but he paused as if he was waiting and trying to gauge himself from response.
“Don’t you agree?” he uttered.

I nodded and blinked my eyes slowly. Being careful not to speak too soon, I simply
said, “Mmm… uh.”
“Not to mention, I found out that your grade point average was far below a 2.0,” he

blurted out quickly. He seemed to turn his head slightly as the attempt to carefully
hear my next response.
“Yea… I know,” I slowly responded.

I knew it was coming. He was going to put the squeeze on me. I thought about
trying to explain to him how my grade point average had gotten so low. Yet, I
wanted him to ask me first. That’s what my younger brother had warned me about.
Black folks were always explaining themselves to white folks, even before the
white person had even asked them a question.
He had a self-assured expression on his face that characterized his demeanor, since
he knew that I was probably going to start explaining myself. He had always
carried himself tall on campus like he was ready for the big time.

David always seemed to walk around with two or three other girls around him;
hanging on them as if they were trophies that he had won at a carnival the night
before.

Although I was rattled by him knowing that information, I set back calmly as to
listen to what kind of squeeze deal that he was going to make with me.

Inside I wondered if he even cared that I was the first out of my family to attend
college. And that my mother was holding down three jobs to help me pay my way
through college. One of the three jobs was a weekend thing in which she cleaned
some old rich white ladies house. It wasn’t much but it put gas in her worn out car.

Again… he came with another question.

“Martin… how did you let your grade point average get so low,” he uttered.

“You’re not a dumb guy and I see you involved in a lot of good organizations…
what’s going on, man?”

I listened to his rhetoric. He had smoothly moved the conversation from my speech
to Black-White relations and finally my GPA. I smirked inside about how easy he
thought he could come in my crib and squeeze me like this. However, I refused to
be embarrassed, so I broke the engulfing silence by asking, “Do you really care?”
“Yea… Martin… why do you think that I’m here?” he rubbled.

“Awww hell David… don’t give me that bullshit… like you care,” as I stood up

and looked over him. My neck tensed up as my heart began to beat like crazed
drummer.
“You must think I’m stupid to believe that you care… damn hypocrite… you

came…”

Interrupting me, he stood up and blurted, “You damn right, I’m tired of all y’all
causing a lot ruckus then flunking out… accomplishing nothing by mayhem.”

He put his hands on his hips as to show that he wasn’t afraid of me. Frankly I was
surprised that he stood up. I had heard that he had a slight temper in the past. But
that “Joker” tried to jump in my “Kool-aid.”

We were face-to-face. Surprisingly, he was looking directly into my eyes as he

spoke. Looking into my eyes, he didn’t see a skinny adolescent boy with pimples,
and a hair full of grease. He was looking at a man two to three years his senior,
whose eyes were coaxing him to make a wrong move.

“What are you talking about?” I questioned him, as our voices were almost at a

roar. “You gotta be crazy to come over here and talk to me about some mess like
this!” I exclaimed.
“I ain’t crazy Martin, I’m just stating the facts,” he rebutted.

“What damn facts?” I barked.

“Well… hello… Martin, I just call’em how I see’em and right now I’m looking at

another Black man who won’t be here long if I have anything to do with it!” he
shouted.

I swallowed the small, hard lump that suddenly clogged my throat. It wasn’t good
for me to get this mad; to lose my composure like this because I knew sooner or
later I was going to kick him in the throat.

It was all that I could do to keep myself from going straight for his jugular. I could
taste the words as they burned from throat.

“You don’t know jack about me, David, so you can just shut the hell up and keep

my name out of your mouth!” I exclaimed as my spit jumped from my mouth

grasping for his face.

Unconsciously I had put my finger in his face. And before I knew it his finger was
in mine. I could see the veins in his neck filling with blood and anger, as he
shouted each word.

Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the door. We both became silent and
motionless, as our attention was drawn to the noise.
“Who the hell is it?” I said.

Nothing came from the other side of the door. Silence filled the room as I walked
toward the door. “Who is it,” I replied with authority. I opened the door and noticed
it was Sheila. I was surprised. I thought it would be Stephanie wanting to use the
phone.

Sheila walked in looking at me with disgust in her eyes. “I was listening to the
conversation… and Martin… he has a good point,” she said. I was shocked. My
heart sunk down to my toes. Precisely at that moment, I realized that I possessed
some type of feelings for her. I could no longer deny the feelings I was so
desperately trying to suppress.

“Sheila… what are you talking about,” I asked with astonishment obvious in my

voice. As she sat down in the chair opposite of me, she knew that I was hurt.
“Listen Martin…” she tried to explain. But I interrupted with anger and hurt

radiating from my body.

“Get out… both of you - get the hell out!” I exclaimed.

They realized that from that point on there was no rationalizing with me about the
issue any longer. Sheila looked back at me as to say something but I shook my
head as to disapprove whatever she was going to say.

Tears streamed from her eyes, as David walked past her without hesitation. I
wanted to call her back in as she walked around the corner. But my pride forced me
to shut the door quickly.

Sleep never visited my apartment that night. It bothered me that she gave
validation to David’s argument. There was no escaping the fact that my GPA was a
1.66 on a four point scale. No matter the circumstances of how it got that way, it
wouldn’t change David’s view about academic performance. It frustrated me that
my grade point average didn’t reflect my actual academic potential. Even to this
day, I feel as though my records should be reviewed due to my circumstances.

My Reserve unit went into war status, yet I went into training status. I had not
attended one class nor met any of my professors of the classes that I had
preregistered into, before I was ordered into active duty status.

I was given a report date that fell on a Monday morning. I called the school to
inform them of my situation. The woman on the phone said she would take care of
it, even though I didn’t have a mailing address at the time. In my sheer ignorance I
trusted her and focused my attention toward my immediate situation at that time…
training for war.

But explaining that to my Dean when I returned did nothing but frustrate me. She
thought of every excuse why she had to hold me accountable for the F’s I received
during that quarter. Yet she couldn’t find any reason to give me the benefit of a
doubt to categorize that quarter as a simple withdrawal.

Thus my grades have continued to haunt me. Unfortunately, I never told Sheila
about my grade situation. So hearing David say that about my grades and hearing
no argument to refute his statements; led her to believe that I was just plain lazy
academically.
I felt as though David had taken from me labeling her as spoils of war. I wanted her
back. But at that same time if she wanted to side with him; she could go to hell.
Besides, my brother was coming into town next week. And I wouldn’t need her
sympathy nor her support.

A week had passed since that incident had occurred. Charles had just called and
said that he was on his way over. I was so glad that my brother was finally home
from the military. Being a member of the Nation of Islam, I knew that he was
going to raise some cain around here and everywhere he went.

Before I knew it he was knocking on the door like he had a hammer in his hand.
We talked for hours about my situation. I skipped school for about two days until
we caught up on most of the things that were pressing. I even took off work a
couple of days to get back acquainted. He had been gone for about three years, but
it felt like ten. When I brought up Sheila, he immediately told me to forget about
her. He didn’t even give me a chance to tell him everything. It bothered me at first,
but after a while I forgot all about her.

I took him to school giving him the “low-down” on everything and everyone. He
listened carefully and asked many questions. He met Sheila and extended her the
utmost courtesy and respect. It shocked me at first, but I realized that he was
countering the response she assumed that she would get when she met him. It was
amazing seeing him deal with Whites and Blacks. He was so courteous with
everyone that met him as though they had known him for years.
During the BAC meeting, I knew that sparks were going to fly. There was no way I
could avoid talking to Sheila about our disagreement. Charles stayed at home, thus
it was her prime opportunity to approach me.

We talked afterwards at the university café. She told me that David was coming to
meet us there. I frowned at first but I was itching to resolve things and carry on
with uplifting my fellow brothers and sisters. I knew that I had to go through David
so I waited until he arrived.

At first, things were shaky, but eventually we worked things out. We promised
each other that we would work together to better race relations on campus.
Furthermore he promised to help me out on my academic situation.

Things went well between us, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell Sheila that we
couldn’t be the same anymore. She asked to come over but I made up excuse to
keep her away.

When I returned home, Charles knew that Sheila and I had talked. He asked if we
were getting back together. Of course, I told him that we weren’t, but inside an
inner struggle began to erupt. He could hear it in my voice. I knew I couldn’t
conceal it from him for long. He shook his head in disgust at first, but a smile
appeared on his face as he got up and shook my hand saying:
“Bro… be strong from within yourself for within yourself lives the Kingdom of

Heaven.”
 CHAPTER EIGHT
POEMS AND ESSAYS
 GRAMMY

“Be determined, be disciplined, be strong,” preached my grandmother. “Tough

times never last… tough people do,” uttered my grandfather. Both of these
individuals lived through some of the most transitional times in America. Yet,
somehow, someway, they managed to successfully raise four children in the
segregated depths of rural Alabama – a place where hopes and dreams normally
surrendered to the random winds of circumstance and despair.

It was through their vivid historical accounts of their life experiences that I gained
strength, discipline, determination and self-pride of being Black, especially from
my grandmother’s account. She exemplified the true essence of the Black woman –
not the media’s constantly badgered stereotype. She dared to dream of a world
where character and accomplishment would conquer color and gender. At a
moment's notice, she never hesitated to tell us about her mother and other great
women, such as Ida B. Wells, Phyllis Wheatley, Harriet Tubman, Sojourner Truth,
and Mary Mcleod Bethune.

For many years, she nourished our bodies with foods like collard greens,
cornbread, fried chicken, pecan pies, pound cakes and her famous egg-custard pies.
But she also nourished our minds with the historical account of Cassius Clay,
Malcolm X, Martin Luther King, Joe Louis, Denmark Vessey, Benjamin Banneker,
Nat Turner and General Toussaint. She was not only a teacher to our family, but
also to many of the children in our community – white and black, alike. She was a
mother, grandmother, teacher and a missionary. All the words in the world could
not measure up nor account for the life of Mary Alice Jenkins, who passed away
April 27, 1994. this was the first Christmas I spent without her.

In all her infinite love and wisdom, she called me the night before she passed away
and said “Weasel (my nickname)… all you have to do is place your faith in God.
But understand that the Creator helps those who help themselves… Grammy loves
you…”

I love you Grammy. May God Bless. Rest in peace.

THINK ABOUT IT!

 STRONG BLACK LEADERSHIP

I wrote it in response to article and opinions regarding Louis Farrakhan. In several

issues of a particular college newspaper, it was charged with violating the tenets of
today’s political correctness by enlightening the reading public about any of the
positive messages presented by Louis Farrakhan.

Today’s most destructive influence, which has grown out of slavery, is the
disrespect of Black leadership. Allegorically, this is seen throughout nature that the
most certain way to destroy life is to cut off the head. From the turkey to the cow to
the man, the most immediate way to bring death to a body is to remove its head.
This holds especially true when one analyzes the violence in American history.
One of the things that was systematically done during slavery was elimination of
any emerging head or leader among the slaves.
Any slave who began to emerge as a natural head, that is , one oriented toward the
survival of the “whole body,” was identified early and gotten rid of (such as Dr.
Martin Luther King), isolated (such as Jesse Jackson), killed (such as Malcolm X)
or ridiculed/slandered (such as Farrakhan). In his place was put a leader who had
been carefully picked, conditioned, and tested to stand only for the master’s
welfare (such as Clarence Thomas).

The long generations of being “conditioned” to reject natural and strong leadership
has not only stifled the development of such leaders, but Blacks still to this day
reject and fear becoming or accepting strong Black leadership. It’s important to
realize that such efforts to undermine effective Black leadership is still an ongoing
part of the current society.

In conclusion there will be those of you who will argue that dwelling on the events
of the past is an emotional tirade that ultimately provides no constructive solutions
for the present. However, those who fail to recognize that the past is a sharper
perspective of the present and that the hand of yesterday continues to write on
today’s slate, leave themselves vulnerable by not realizing the impact history has in
the shaping of our lives.

THINK ABOUT IT!

 THE REVOLUTION WITHIN SELF

At my predominately white college, Blacks tended to flock together like sheep in a

herd. Thus Whites normally associate all Blacks with a particular sport,
organization, or click. But rarely do Whites ever associate a Black person as an
individual.
Yet I knew that the “college experience” was an evolving and maturing experience;
they only saw Black students as niggers whose parents were afraid to send their
children to a Black college.

Yet I know all things evolve in some form of fashion, whether it’s people, animals,
objects or circumstances. All things that fall prey to “time” also fall prey to
evolution. Thus, when something evolves, it evolves in a manner relative to
something else. When something moves around in relative terms it can be defined
as a “revolution.” In the dictionary, the word revolution means to reform, change or
break with the past. Yet people commonly use the words “evolution” and
“revolution” in the negative sense. For example, it was just last week that a faculty
member, Professor Organ, pulled me to the side and iterated to me the importance
of revolving my time around things that could be detrimental to my purpose here at
Auburn. I thought long and hard about what Professor Organ had said about
evolving and revolving my thoughts and interest around things that benefited me.

Because, I have always thought that if your life didn’t revolve around some
spiritual force or God and goodness then you would surely lose balance of
self-identity, integrity and inner-directedness. Most importantly, you would not
define yourself from within, but from other people’s opinion and/or in comparison
to others around you. It was later that evening when I realized exactly my own
“inner revolution!” This is an ongoing revolution within oneself that continues
consciously and subconsciously. It is affected by a combination of one’s
environment, perceptual aptitude, and life experiences.

My personal “revolution” was geared toward positive changes needed in my life. I

consciously fueled my revolution with scriptures, self-analysis and prayer. Days,
weeks and months passed by, as this same cycle of revolution continued. After
awhile, I became complacent with my daily rhetoric. It became a habit, instead of a
self-motivated, conscientious effort. This was my downfall. Like a lot of Black
students here, circumstances dictated how well I did on my test or whether my bills
got paid. I became interested in things that benefited everyone else but myself! So
– what did I do? Well, honestly I fell asleep, but when I awoke – I prayed. Then I
suddenly felt compelled to pick up the Bible. My fingers led me to the 23rd Psalm.
You know the one that starts “The Lord is my Shepherd etc., etc.” Well, anyway, it
seemed as though certain verses jumped out at me. One in particular was verse
three. This verse begins “He restores my soul…” It was then I realized that no
matter who you are or what you believed in a change or a break with the past is
necessary, in order to become successful. That change must evolve and revolve
around the “one” that restores souls, so that your revolution may continue.

THINK ABOUT IT!

LIFE’S CHALLENGES AREN’T BLACK & WHITE

Why does everything always boil down to a racial issue? From politics to sports
and even religion it seems as though nothing is beyond the “color line.” So my
question is, “What is integration?” According to the dictionary, integration means:
the organization of various traits, feelings, attitudes, etc., into a harmonious
association. I read somewhere in a textbook that America was integrated in the
1960s. Is that true? What happened? America seldom perceive themselves as
racist. That is the sad part about it. Because whether or not one is personally a
racist or not becomes trivial because the silent consensus, which institutionalized
or does nothing about the racist ideology, makes it normative to the whole culture
and entraps us all.
At this point, the White non-racist is in no better position to be his/her better self
than the intended target of racism. Yes, circumstances such as social acceptability,
economic security and even personal safety may all play a role in one’s public
conformity to behavior patterns that condition and perpetuate racist attitudes.
According to Time Magazine America’s school system, last year, was more
segregated than it was 26 years ago. In fact, the university has its hands full in the
U.S. district Courts in Birmingham on the segregation issue. Honestly the only
white person I ever saw at my church or barber shop was the postman… bringing
the monthly bills.

Is America really a “melting pot?” Whoever sold us that idea should be reported to
the Better Business Bureau. America should be more like a “salad.” In a salad,
each ingredient retains its own identity and distinct flavor contrary to the melting
pot theory. One can argue that all the ingredients in a salad are integrated. Yet their
various traits, characteristics and origins are inconsequential in respect to their
purpose. However, the word “melt” insinuates the act of dissolving, assimilating or
molding something from its original form. Instead of dissolving our identities and
cultures, life would be a lot easier if we would respect each other for whom and
what we are.

It is obvious to see that learning to live with diversity is not one of man’s most
representative accomplishments. In fact, it is one of his more characteristic failures.
I find it ridiculous that scientists and other so-called brilliant minds figured out
how to destroy the earth a millions times over; but can’t figure out how to rid the
earth of racism, hunger and disease. Sometimes it makes me wonder where our real
interests lie in destruction or peace. The solution to our dilemma, as humans lies in
God, self dignity, and self reliance , this will only come when Black religion and
White religion someday discover that the church is neither Black or White but
rather a fellowship of believers. Americans are all in the same constant struggle:
LIFE.

THINK ABOUT IT!

THE NEWS MEDIA

The news media eagerly seizes remarks to divide and incite controversy and anger
into the public. It is very rare that the media ever reports news that can be possibly
viewed in a positive perspective. Why is it that the only time African-Americans’
actions are valued is when there is controversy or violence involved? How many
doctors, lawyers, postman, professors, managers, scientists, executives that are
Black are ever reported in the news in a positive light.
We as a nation pledge allegiance to a flag and state that we serve under “one God”.
However, that pledge is seldom upheld by this great nation. We are constantly
passing laws that go against the very principles of God’s words. There will be
those of you who say: “We don’t make those laws”, yet you stand by and do
nothing to influence the laws except complain.

THINK ABOUT IT!

HISTORY
“If We Ignore It, We’ll Repeat It”

The celebration of Black History month is a fairly new concept in the Heart of
Dixie. Southerners are slowly but surely getting acquainted with this significant
holiday, but there may be some who disagree or don’t understand its significance
or why it is recognized. Still, no intelligent, well-to-do person can deny the
importance of history.

The study of history is important because it describes what used to be and links the
past to the present, as well as helping to identify potential future actions. To
attempt an understanding of present race relations, knowledge of past relations is
essential. For example, to understand present American race relations, one needs to
understand how much a part of the culture and society the belief in white
supremacy and black inferiority has played. Even today in America, the study of
black people (if any) tends to follow the study of white people. The descriptions
and analyses of black life experiences have been formulated on the models set by
white life experiences. The problem with this practice is obvious – black and white
experiences are not the same.

Although they are intertwined, they are not mirror images. Consequently, to
describe and interpret those different experiences as if they were the same is the
height of intellectual arrogance. If one looks at when slavery was first imposed on
Africans by English colonists, one is faced with a stark reality. From 1600 until
1865, the African was in legal bondage. Although not all Blacks in America were
enslaved, even those who were not did not enjoy full freedom. The period from
1865 to 1877 was a time of significant changes affecting the status of enslaved
Blacks. In 1865, congress passed the 13th Amendment to the Constitution,
abolishing slavery.

In 1868, the 14th Amendment gave Blacks citizenship rights, and in 1870, the 15th
Amendment was added to the Constitution, “securing” the right to vote for the
newly formed group of Blacks. Also during this time, the Civil Rights Bill of 1875
gave Blacks the right to equal treatment in inns, public restaurants, theaters and
other public places. For all intents and purposes, it seemed as if Black-White
relations were moving toward the positive side of the spectrum. However, in 1877,
with the Hayes-Tilden Compromise, the status of Blacks took a turn for the worse.
Federal troops, which had been dispatched to the South to protect the rights of
Black Americans, were withdrawn. This left the plight of Blacks in the hands of
their former slave owners.

Numerous practices were instituted and intensified with the purpose of reinforcing
the myth of white supremacy. For example, practices, such as the “Jim Crow”
laws, the intensification of the quasi-slave system known as sharecropping and the
Supreme Court’s 1883 ruling that the Civil Rights Act of 1875 was
unconstitutional finally culminated in the 1896 Plessy v. Ferguson supreme Court
decision, which stated that “separate but equal” was constitutional. All of these
things caused relations to move back to the negative side of the spectrum. Not until
1954 was the Plessy decision overturned by Brown v. Board of Education. Then in
1964, the Civil Rights Bill passed, followed by the Voting Rights Act of 1965.
If one takes a look at the 293 years of legalized White supremacy compared to the
38 years of so called legalized Black equality, one is overwhelmed. And if for 293
years, the beliefs, attitudes and behavior patterns reflecting White supremacy were
the norm, then it is safe to assume that white supremacy has been institutionalized
in this culture. Of the 38 years of legalized black equality, only 26 have been
during most present people’s lifetimes. This is not nearly enough to eradicate the
effects of the previous 293 years, especially in the practice of white racial
superiority. Therefore, if individuals were serious about understanding race
relations they must understand the history of race relations. They must understand
that society does not change overnight.

The longer the beliefs, attitudes and practices have been around, the more difficult
it is to change them. Consequently, we must explore and identify the historical base
of race relations. Because if we do not know the history - how can we understand if
the basis of status has changed, why it has changed and how it has changed?

THINK ABOUT IT!

 STOP BLAMING!

A lot of Black people blame White people for all of their failures. Why? What do
you expect White Folks to do for you that you cannot do for yourself? All too often
I hear Black people saying “those White folks won’t give me a job.” Well if you
have any sense about yourself, you don’t have to go out and beg for a job, you can
a job for yourself. If you see that there is a need in your environment, supply that
need and become a resource rather than always looking for one.

First, Black people must discard the perception that we cannot make jobs for
ourselves. However, I am not implicating that you should never work for anyone.
That is ludicrous! Whenever you make a choice to go into business for yourself, do
it in a logical and rational manner. Become informed and knowledgeable about
what you want to do. Then do it!

THINK ABOUT IT!

THINKING AND VISUALIZING

It is very important that people think positive about themselves and also the people
in their environment. We all know that it is important to think positive about
ourselves. However, why should we think positive about others? Well, mainly
because we don’t realize how powerful our thoughts and feelings can be if they are
not based on sound judgment.

Most children grow up on the same manner in which they think and see
themselves. That’s how powerful our thoughts can be in relation to who we are and
what we do. That is also why it is important to visualize ourselves and others in a
positive light as opposed to feeling negative about other and ourselves. Negative
thoughts always lead to negative results in whatever you endeavor.

THINK ABOUT IT!

THE RECRUITING SYSTEM

In my high school, I never saw college recruiters coming down to Ozark speaking
to Blacks about obtaining a college degree. Every time I looked around there was
some military guy in the lunch room enticing me and my friends with free pizza
and fries; asking if he could talk to us for a minute. Of course, we listened in order
to get some pizza. But, after I grew up and looked back on those years, I was angry
because no college recruiter came to look for me and my friends. Why? I never
knew anything about registering for college or applying for financial aid. We were
never taught that in our economics class. The only thing we learned in our
economics class was how to fill out a check, which was no concern to me, because
I never had any money.
At our school, military recruiters scored big with Blacks. Even some of the high
school counselors encouraged Blacks to go to the military in order to nature and
start out with a “good” salary; not to mention earning money for college. As I think
about it, I become angrier by the minute. However, I do understand why Blacks are
not encouraged to go to college. It’s because of the stereotypical views teachers
have about Black students that attend high school there. If that did not exist Black
college enrollment would be at all-time high. Wait, wait, wait this is not to say that
White teachers are the blame. Yet most of them are not helping the situation; not to
mention teachers are so removed for the true identity of their students in context of
their upbringing and environment. It’s a wonder that we still have an educational
system.

THINK ABOUT IT!

MAKE IT HAPPEN

It is not what happens to us, but our response to what happens to us that hurts us.
Naturally things can hurt us economically or physically and can cause grief. But
our character, our basic identity, does not have to suffer at all. In fact, it is the
rough times in our lives that mold our character and develop the fortitude to handle
tough situations and inspire other to do so as well. Thus, we are able to “Make
Things Happen” rather than always allowing things to happen to us. Of course, it is
not as easy as it sounds, but anything that comes easy is not of much value anyway.

You must really think about making things happen in every situation that you
encounter. PRACTICE, PRACTICE, PRACTICE! Only by repetition and hard
work can you become proficient in what you want to accomplish or achieve.

THINK ABOUT IT!

WHO IS GOD?

Who is God?
So we may serve no other
 Who is God?
So we may love our brother
Who is God?
Spirit, animal, or plant
Who is God?
Surely not a ghost, Surely not an ant
Who is God?
Not an old tree yet sturdy and firmly rooted
Who is God?
Surely not a thing that resides in the sky which is polluted
Who is God?
Were we not made in his image?
Who is God?
Who walked in the garden with Adam and Eve
Who is God?
Who sat with Abraham and Sarah to eat.

THINK ABOUT IT!

ISSUES ON LIFE
 The Sun, Moon, stars and seas
Somewhere, somehow I will find the key
Of life, liberty, justice and peace
Of knowledge, wisdom, soul and grief

The sky, earth, clouds and rain

Someone, sometime ago paid with pain
At their best, worst, first and last
When their qualitative, quantitative, relative things had past

The darkness, light, dim and bright

Somewhat , some kind of mystical flight
In, out, up and sometimes down
Yet my final ISSUE OF LIFE WILL BE MY CROWN.

THINK ABOUT IT!

 THE LAW OF BELIEF

The Law of Belief

It encompasses the very essence of my existence
For it is only that which I believe in
With Mind and Heart
Which is permitted to exist

The Law of Belief

It's everything, everybody, and nothing that seems
Unreal
For it is known by many
But practiced by the few

The Law of Belief

It’s what you allow to happen to you
And what you believe
You cannot do

The Law of Belief

It's something coerced
Yet always conditioned
For it is the controllers themselves
Who control your beliefs
 THINK ABOUT IT!

I DON’T EAT THE CRUST!

I DON’T EAT THE CRUST!

Because it crumbles like broken dreams
Unlike the seams of my Grandfather
Overall jeans

I DON’T EAT THE CRUST!

Because it is bland without flavor or taste
Unlike my Grandmother’s life
In which her work did not go to waste

I DON’T EAT CRUST!

Because it is outside
The realm of
Worthiness

I DON’T EAT CRUST!

SIMPLY BECAUSE
IT’S NO A
MUST
 THINK ABOUT IT!

BROTHER BROTHER

Brother Brother
Why are you so far away?
What is the purpose
Of our separation
When I have so much to say?
Brother Brother,
Both of our lives are in disarray
Circumstances make us doubt
Our own essence
While devils continue to play
Brother Brother,
Soon we will unite
May the knowledge we have gained
Help us
In our fight
Brother Brother,
Help me to heal my wounds
Exploitation has poison me
Bring the antidote soon.
THINK ABOUT IT!

THE

HIGHS AND LOWS

OF

RACISM

AT

AUBURN

UNIVERSITY
The stark reality that we must face today is that racism still exists on Auburn’s
campus and in American society. Moreover, the common Black experience here at
Auburn is isolation and rejection. However, it has been reconstructed into a subtle,
underlying, abstract, but equally heinous form. The form of racism that was
prevalent before the civil rights movement no longer exist, but have shifted from
overt discrimination to subtle forms of racism (Balenger 1992). Yet, Whites still
continue to call us “niggers”, especially when riding by at night.

The “High’s and low’s” that I refer to are reports that a federal judge described
Auburn as “the most racially segregated state college in Alabama,” adding that
“except for the presence of Black athletes, and the changes mandated by federal
laws and regulations, Auburn’s racial attitudes have changed little since the 1950’s
(Basalla 1994). However Auburn’s student body elected a Black student, Winston
Tucker, as the Student Government Association’s president, which is obviously is a
low point in racism.

Although, according to that same student body’s Budget and Finance committee,
each Black student (in proportion to the total Black student enrollment) is only
worth approximately $6.50 of the $924,155.58 of the Total Activity Fees paid by
each student. In this case, by replacing the “separate, but equal” social and
biological reasoning, the racist now emphasizes tradition and an authoritative
stance that reinforces the Eurocentric view of the world while ignoring the valued
existence of other forms of legitimation.

When I first arrived at Auburn, I quickly realized the status of Blacks here at this
University – “DeaD.” There is practically nothing here in Auburn that would
attract other Blacks to have a desire to come here. When I consider all the White
fraternity houses sitting on big hills with enormous land, it puzzles me how there
exist no Black fraternity houses… none. After 30 years, one would think that there
was at least one Black fraternity house that could compare to the White fraternity
houses… not so.

Also, it puzzles me why the KA’s continue to ride around campus on jeeps waving
their “Battle Confederate Flag” yelling out derogatory remarks at my fellow Black
students. Is this a form of pride in which you would like us to be acquainted with?

This new form of racism, which has been called “symbolic racism”, focuses on the
individuals who categorically deny their racism and racist practices of the past, yet
oppose to actively participate in promoting racial harmony and tolerance (Muse,
1995).

The symbolic racist, especially of predominately white instructions, justify

opposition to programs such as Black Student Union and affirmative action on the
grounds that these programs violate their constitutional rights. At the same time
they neglect to recognize that past economic deprivations of Black people require
tremendous effort of the part of the white institutions.

“Thus symbolic racism has been linked to such ‘Traditional American Values’ as

individualism and Protestant ethic, as well as to “political and social conservatism”

(McClalland 1990)
The common strategy of the symbolic racist is to merely present racist dialog in a
non-racist manner (Muse 1995). In fact the subtle method of a symbolic racist
tends to replace their overt form of prejudice rhetoric with a moralistic rhetoric –
which lies in the belief that Blacks run counter to traditional American values such
as discipline, self-reliance, work ethic, and individualism (Milem 1994).

Such an ideology has the effect of shifting attention from the still-present
inequalities between groups to the principle of individual rights and in so doing
helps to protect the advantages of those who are in the best position to exercise
those rights” (McClelland 1990)

Historically, the attitude towards the assessment of an institution has not been
received as constructive criticism. Rather, the ones challenging “the system” are
diverted in such a way that they are portrayed as being morally and ethically
wrong. For example, Eric Ramsey was accused of making up the allegations out of
anger due to his unsuccessful football career (Basalla 1994). In fact, according one
of Ramsey’s fellow football players, “Eric wasn’t completely honest and had the
wrong intentions.” However Mr. Ramsey’s allegation lead to NCAA sanctioned
ineligibility for postseason in 1993 which denotes a certain amount of validity to
Mr. Ramsey’s allegations. This does not necessarily pertain to Mr. Ramsey’s case,
but that is a strategy that is commonly used.

As a means of opposing policies pertaining to implementing multiculturalism,

symbolic racist whites tend to argue being subjected to “reverse discrimination” or
cite minorities as receiving “special privileges” by these policies. This was evident
with the appointment of William V. Muse in 1992 which marked a “New Era” at
Auburn. Since the arrival of Muse, Auburn’s percentages of African-American
students and faculty on campus has increased; however the rising number of
Blacks on campus has solved some old problems but created some new ones. For
example, in an effort to widen the applicant pool and increase minority enrollment
a new admissions policy began in 1993 that weighs high school records on a
sliding scale which balances weak test scores against strong classroom
performance or vice versa. This effort was misinterpreted as a lowering of
academic standards in order to attract minorities. Hence Black students were
viewed as under qualified and undeserving of being admitted into Auburn.

Though Muse along with James C. Brown, assistant to the president for minority
advancement, are responsible for many new minority-oriented programs including
summer workshops to introduce Black students to Auburn’s campus and
educational opportunities, it has been very difficult for them to overcome the long
history of segregation and racial hostility. “Regardless of the claims of success or
competent ideas, the fact remains that the majority of minority students do not feel
welcome at our major universities and little progress seems to have been made to
improve the situation.” (Muse 1995).

The viewpoints of students tend to be bipolar between White and Black students
thus very little common ground can be reached. The opinions about minority
recruitment split along racial lines, where White students tend to oppose “special”
considerations and programs for Blacks. In addition, Blacks feel that an inadequate
amount of effort in being exercised in order to prepare them for their future.

Furthermore, the lengthy and continuous struggle by minorities is poorly known by

college students; this implicates Auburn of not informing their students adequately
about the historical and sociological ramifications of race relations (Lauderdale
1993). In fact, Auburn is one of the few major universities with no Black studies
program.

For the administration, the task of implementing a new awareness of diversity and
multiculturalism is relatively easy compared to the more difficult task of actually
transforming Auburn’s campus climate from a racially hostile environment into an
environment that will attract and retain Black students faculty (Basalla 1994).

Finally, in order to start working on solutions to our current race relations, we must
start to develop criteria for improvement; then accept the responsibility to improve
race relations (Muse 1995).

In conclusion, colleges and institutions of higher learning have a particular

responsibility to further knowledge, invoke critical thought, and contribute to the
solutions of the problems of the world. No other place exist where the concerns of
individual and societal affairs can be examined thoroughly. These colleges and
institutions should model their effort not only on what is, but what should be.

The following is a set of questions to help institutions determine their best course
of action in order to address the issue of race relations. By utilizing these questions,
Auburn can more aptly examine, establish and accomplish policies directed at
implementing multiculturalism and tolerance toward all individuals involved in
campus life. These question are cited from Racial Issues on Campus: How
Students View Them by Ansly A. Abraham.
1. Does your institution have clearly stated policies and goals that spell out the
commitment to diversify the institution and to eliminate racism?

2. Have reasonable and measurable goals been developed that will clearly guide
all subsequent efforts to increase minority administrative, faculty, staff and
student presence and participation?

3. Have all units within the academic, administrative, and social structures
established objectives and actions that support these institutional goals?

4. Are policies and goals stated in such a way that they make clear which
behaviors on the past of students, faculty, and staff are acceptable or
unacceptable and, at the same time, protect First Amendment rights?

5. Does your institution have policies that clearly define what is meant by a
“racist act”? Do these policies protect the rights of all students?

6. Does your institution have visible and determined leadership from the chief
executive and academic officers to increase minority participation on
campus?

7. Are the rewards and sanction policies clearly stated? Are they appropriate?
Do they work?

8. Does your institution systematically review and attempt to resolve promptly

race-related issues on campus? Is there a specific process for responding to
problems that have racial overtones? What indication is there that this policy
is known to students, faculty, and administrators?
9. What procedures exist for regularly collecting and analyzing campus data
pertaining to race relations? What are the policies for reporting the results?

10. Is there a formal means of providing students with opportunities to let the
university know how they feel about their experience on campus?

11. Is cultural awareness training or staff development available to administrators

and faculty? Is training provided to staff and paraprofessionals who
frequently are the students’ first contact with students than faculty do?

12. Has consideration been given to including ethnic studies as part of the
academic offering and involving faculty in an examination of how accurately
course content reflects contributions of all ethnic groups? If so, are students
and faculty aware of the reasons why the institution may have elected the
course of action it did?
 REFERENCES

Abraham, A.A. (1990). Racial issues on campus: How students view them.
Atlanta: Southern Regional education Board.

Basalla, S. (1994). Two Cheers for “Apartheid U.”

The Journal of Blacks in Higher Education, 81-85.

Balenger, V.J., Hoffman, M.A. and Sedlacek, W.E. Racial attitudes among
incoming White students: A study of 10-year trends.
Journal of College Student Development, 245-251.

Hurtado, S. (1992). The campus racial climate: Context of conflict.

Journal of Higher Educations, 63, 539-561.

Lauderdale, W.B. & Deaton, W.L. (1993). Future teachers react to past racist.
The Educational Forum, 57, 266-267.

Milem, J.F. (1994). College, students and racial understanding.

Thought and Action 9, 51-92.

McClelland, K.E. & Auster, C.J. (1990). Public platitudes and hides tensions.
Journal of higher Education, 61,605-638.
Muse, W.V. Jr. (1995). An Assessment of race Relations at predominantly White
Universities and the Missed opportunities for Racial Harmony.
Unpublished article, 1-8.

http://www.henryljenkins.com
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