My Killing Rage

Elementary school teachers drilled the importance of Martin Luther King Jr. and his philosophy of nonviolence in my impressionable mind. Middle and high school teachers introduced the “by any means necessary” ode of Malcolm El-Hajj Shabazz (Malcolm X). Undergrad abandoned me and forced me to survive on my own through the autobiography of Assata Shakur. Life opened a grave new spectrum, filled with anger, inequality, injustice and a fading history. Day to day activities held police brutality, racism and sexism. Each aspect of my growth enhanced my killing rage.

Yes, we have come a long way from slavery but blacks are still looked at as three-fifths human. We have proven time and time again our capabilities of being seen as equal but there is embedded hatred for our uprising. bell hooks' essay “Killing Rage” has inspired me to express my own rage toward the white male patriarchal system and its continued oppression. Black men have the "John Henry" effect where even the scrawny are seen to have the ability to beat the machine. The sharp number of ignorant whites and blacks have fed the system of what we are living today. The education system is the first wave of artillery.

The implementation of the federal “No Child Left Behind Act” has started the destruction of an importance of creativity and the wonderment of imagination. The average parent is now forced to work an eight hour shift and fill-in the massive blanks that the education system is starting to leave out. After-school programs are getting cut, the arts are being excess from the budget and passing a test is more important than a real history lesson. Everything is systematic if we like it or not. There is always a means to an end. The powers that be are creating efforts to change and modify education are not doing it with a kind heart. There are no lessons that teach real world experiences and the ability to create your own.

Our past heroes had the right idea pertaining to integration but we had to succumb to the education system that omitted our history. We had to assimilate into a society that didn't care about the outcome of our intelligence. Years passed by of continued brainwashing and subliminal messages, clouding the judgment and leaving an impression on our youth. I have noticed that the disconnection between society and those in charge is unreal. People want us to see things as colorless but blackness is reminded in every negative way possible. Our positive images are infiltrated and the chosen few have become brainwashed.

Why does every day have to be a fight when it comes to embracing culture?

What exactly is the right way?

Every individual has a unique definition of normal and shouldn't be afraid to embrace their existence. The poor neighborhoods are ransacked with patrol cars and beat cops. The search for every infraction is magnetized in the “slums.” Rich crime is overlooked and to the masses seems as if crime can be paid off.

Why is the poor under attack from those who are supposed to protect and serve?

To be poor in the United States is to be criminalized and condemned by the powers that be. I wonder how can an officer of the law who may have been born in a poor neighborhood and environment surrender to persecuting their people. We are being taught to fend for self and to leave the community behind.

Where did we lose our humanity?

Where is the pay it forward attitude of the past?

Civil rights leaders were not thinking standards during their fight. They were focused on changing the future. Within changing the future something went awry and we’re faced with this present police nation. The thing that perplexes me the most is the people who don’t want to see the connection with race. They are the people who side with happenstance when the numbers show facts and coincidence.

There will always be questions with so many and no answers. We have to prepare for the future and the ones will obtain the power of change. My killing rage may or may not be justified but I, like the community of Ferguson, am tired of the injustice and inequality. Embrace your killing rage, be the change you want to see and pay it forward.

What I Am Made Of

Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, W.I.

I have been told that I'm neglecting a part of me. I have been neglecting something "that I am made of." I was born to an immigrant mother and father making me first generation American. My biological father wasn't around while I was growing up. I had a father figure who wasn't the best but did just enough to leave an impression. My mother flew from Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, West Indies in 1977 embarking on something different. I was born 10 years later to her and my two older brothers. Her background is my heritage. My grandmother was born in Saint Vincent and her grandmother hailed from Calcutta, India.

I always have been enticed for fighting for the equal treatment of my race, gender and to all inequality. Most of my essays are about fighting the good fight and living as a cohesive unity of people. A good friend of mine, who is of Indian descent via the South American country of Guyana, always seems to point out my non-acknowledgment of my Indian heritage. Maybe I have been a little shortsighted and only focused on my Blackness but I know that in order for me to know my truth I must fight for all of me.

Calcutta (Kolkata), India

Calcutta or Kolkata is the capital of West Bengal in India. It is a world in itself. It is the center of East India and home to 4.5 million people. The first record of the history of Calcutta is from 1690. Calcutta seemed to always have been the business center of East Indian because it is where most trading went on. The richness of the city has rooted it as a metropolis.With the rise of invasions and occupying of land in the 1850's, Calcutta was split in two: Black Town and White Town. Black Town housed Indians and of course Blacks while White Town consisted of the invader British. Already industrious and business-centered, there was a boom in industrial growth and natural resource causing the British to invest in the city's continued growth. Eventually Calcutta became the center of the fight for independence from any type of foreign rule. 

After the city's victory of it's independence it began to flourish and maintain on its own. During World War II the city was bombed by the Japanese causing grave damage to the city's infrastructure. This lead to the downhill factors of living during the time. Millions of people starved to death and thousands killed from the tug-of-war of power between people who craved solitary rule. Calcutta was dubbed, "the dying city," during its time of despair. The people there were resilient though. The city would become a base for Indian communism and build from within its walls. 

I don't know when my great-great grandmother left Calcutta and ventured to the West Indian island of Saint Vincent and the Grenadines. Her family had a reason for the move and so is life. In Saint Vincent a young woman of Indian descent started her life and had children. One of her daughters will eventually give birth to my mother. My mother spent her childhood and part of her adulthood around contact of her lineage. She was able to listen to the stories and the wisdom that comes with age. I have passed down tales and actual moments from vague memories. Even with the little information, I wouldn't trade knowing something for anything in the world. 

One day while working, an Ethiopian woman asked me if was Ethiopian and of course I said no. Coincidence is a crazy thing and that moment stuck on my mind. I told my mother of the incident and she would go on to tell me Indians migrated to Ethiopia. This new information made me wonder just what else is my truth. There will always be so much to learn when it comes to an individual's history, we just have to accept that we didn't get here alone. Our ancestors went through worse conditions than we did because of the lack of technology and advanced knowledge but they knew how to survive and maintain.       

Here I am writing about what I am made of. This is me writing about a part of me that I have neglected over time. It isn't to appease my friend but to come to terms with my truth. In order to know who you are truly you must embrace every part of you. I'm sure there is more to the lineage but this is one that is still with me to this day. Eventually the blood will dilute, the lineage would get further away and each new generation will forget.

Never be afraid to embrace who you are. It is important to know your history. Be the representative of "what you are made of."