Port Royal, Jamaica

Its snowing in Philly today.

Corporate Hair

“Good hair”
Some things have racial aspects but aren’t racist at the root.
I have listened to conversations about hair, grooming, and corporate dress that seam to miss something. The conversation lacks completeness. Lacks perspective.

Chris Rock has a movie about it (not just this but touching on it), I have heard two NPR roundtables on the subject, and read countless articles on the subject. None of them really got to the heart of the matter. They could have talked for hours and still never gotten there. They would never get there because they were headed the wrong direction. The discussion was really one sided. It was black sided.

It was all about black hair in the professional world.

They all talk about what is or isn’t accepted. They talked all about how African hair is frowned upon, rejected, forced to change. There was talk of how woman must have processed hair, afros and braids are outlawed, and heaven forbid someone have dreadlocks. They talked about the implications. They talked about cultural differences and the history of rejection of all things culturally black or African. Some were upset at the system, some were less so, but most all attributed it to race. They lamented that in the corporate world, one must dress and look, white.

My Dad and I had one repeating disagreement throughout my youth. One thing that never seamed to resolve, one wedge between us.

My hair.

In fourth grade everyone had a rat tail and shaved stripes like Brian Bozworth. I just wanted the tail. Dad said “no”. I would let the back grow out till it curled up around my neck and ears, then Dad, after arguing with my Mom and sisters, would drag me to the barber and turn me into a Marine. If you let a “high and tight” grow for about six months you have a nice preppy comb over, then shave off the sides and you have a respectable new wave, skater, do. Dad hated it.

By high school I pushed a little more. I liked the top long. Not hippie long, just to my chin. I kept the sides shaved. Dad thought it looked like someone grabbed me by the hair and stretched my head till my ears lowered five inches. Another adult said I looked like Bert from Sesame Street. I loved my hair.
Once, during my sophomore year, I actually hid in my locker (oversized football lockers) while the seniors, clippers in hand, looked all over asking, “where is the kid with the surfer hair?”
Before senior year coach asked us all to make a sacrifice to show our dedication to the team. He asked us to sacrifice our hair. My best friend, who had hair half way down his back, and I were distraught. What would we do? We found the answer in a Van Dame movie, “Bloodsport”. The bad guy looked awesome and we decided we would too.

We went with the team to make the sacrifice and both came out with shaved heads; except for a long tail from the crown of our heads. I was thinking tough guy kickboxer but in retrospect looked more Hare Krishna.
Dad was inconsolable.

To Dad’s credit he never said “because I said so.” He always explained. He explained a lot. I can’t count how many discussions started with, “I’ve been teaching for 30 years…”
Dad explained that people always make assumptions about people by how they look. He said kids always group together with similar styled kids. While he did not teach at the school I attended, he said he knew the type of kids who looked like me. He did not approve.
He told me he did not think my style meant I was bad. He expressed fear that others would not take the time to know me but simply make assumptions by looking at me and treat me accordingly. He was afraid that if everyone treated me like one of the bad kids, I would eventually start living up to their expectations.

Most importantly he worried that I loved my hair so much, and really I did. He worried about me serving a mission. In my religion serving a two year mission is more than a right of passage, it’s a religious responsibility. Every young man is expected to live worthily and serve. Missionary’s have strict grooming standards… especially concerning hair. While officially representing the church one is required to appear in the most culturally accepted, and wholesome, way possible. No bloodsport tails.

He worried my love for my locks would give me pause. He worried that this pause would grow into something more.
It didn’t.

Years later I was working in sales. I covered a $4,000,000 territory and would regularly present to purchasing boards, followed by a presentation to a team of janitors.
I remembered what my dad taught me and updated the lesson. I would regularly start the day in a nice dark colored suit, complete with conservative tie and cuff links. After the PowerPoint I would quickly loose the jacket and tie, roll up my sleeves, and rub the gel out of my hair.
How the different audiences saw me directly affected my sales results.

Back to the original subject.
The corporate look is in deed a white look. But make no mistake, it is not THE white look.
What all these African-American commentators and experts failed to recognize and acknowledge is that corporate culture is not only forcing black people to look a different way, but is also forcing other whites to look a certain way.
When I walked into the professional world I sacrificed a little part of who I am, a little part of my soul. Someone else dictated how I looked, what I did with my time, and even what I would drive. In return I got a check and insurance.

Some things have racial aspects, but are really not racial issues.

Worst Saturday of my life

As the bus pulled of the turnpike and we started on the back country roads, the kids pulled out their earphones and started looking out the windows.

“Yo, it’s just like the movies! Where are we?”
“Where’s all the people?”
“It’s just too perfect out here, it makes me nervous.”
“Yo, I just saw a person! We been driving like all day and that’s the first person I saw.”
“Wait, where’s all the black people?”
“Yo, maybe this is like some Hitler type stuff and we only think we are going to play football.”
“They don’t like black people out here yo, we better look out for the reffs, ya know?”

I didn’t say anything. I just sat, listened, and watched the well tended corn fields and silos roll past.

The Milton Hershey School is a private boarding school founded by the Chocolate magnate with a charter to help troubled youth. The campus would make any college proud. There is a large, surprisingly modern main hall, a big athletic center, two huge outdoor swimming pools, one complete with a twisting water slide. I’m sure the sight of an actual stadium with a real locker room stunned many of the kids into silence, but I have no idea as I was distracted by all the “oohs” and “ahhs”. We filed out onto the pro grade synthetic turf, ran through some drills, and looked ready to play.

We had two weeks to get ready for this game. The first day of the two week build up was a Monday morning session that roused about 15 young men at the unheavenly hour of… 10 a.m. That Wednesday was study hall. Thursday it rained and ten kids showed up at the field. Friday Sarge called me to say only four kids checked out their pads today so don’t worry about heading for the field as no one would be there.
Monday was great weather, great turnout, and great practice. Tuesday was better weather and worse everything else. {Name withheld} was A.W.O.L. so later that night I went to his house. After using all my detective skills I found his home, not the address listed on school records, and he let me in. He was just feeding his little brother a dinner of chips and cool-aid. Turns out Grandma was rushed to the hospital, Mom hadn’t been heard from (which is normal), and {name withheld} had to watch little brother. We talked a bit about life and telephones and made sure little brother was spending the rest of the week at Dad’s.
Thursday was well attended but poorly executed.
Friday’s run through had key guys missing for good reasons (school), but many present were mentally missing. Jogged routes, inattentiveness, and plugged ears had me ready to strangle someone. We did our best to press through and I did my best to keep my words positive for the day before a game.

They ran back the opening kickoff for a touchdown.
We fumbled the ensuing kickoff giving them the ball on the 20. They scored on the first play from scrimmage. We punted after three plays. They ran their first play in for a touchdown.
As the touchdowns began to pour down, so did the rain. The torrent of both water and points on top of us seemed to imply that heaven and the other team were allied. Game time is chaotic enough under normal circumstances but we coaches began to flounder a bit. I did my best to refrain from negativity, which comes so easily when it is deserved, but not everyone made the same attempt. Some coaches fumed, while a couple simply disappeared. I mostly watched, trying to figure out exactly what was happening.

Just as I didn’t know the school would let non-players, including girls, on the bus, I didn’t know they would let parents onto the sidelines. During the debacle a short, round man with a long goatee was yelling, “It’s the fundamentals coach! Teach them to tackle coach! Your fundamentals suck coach!” He went on a loud continuation of that theme. By halftime I had had enough. I warned the other coaches I was going to try to talk to someone I would rather punch, and approached the man. Trying to keep cool, I asked the man to not address the players unless he had encouragement. He argued. I explained that he was not there on Monday through Friday and because of that had no idea what the kids are capable of. He got loud. He said he would start showing up every day because as a player and competitor he knew our fundamentals sucked. Now I got loud. I told him he was right, our fundamentals suck, but they are surely not going to learn fundamentals today, so his words were not helping anyone. He agreed, and shut up for the rest of the day.
The second half was highlighted by our 120lb. running back single handedly, or footadley, bouncing off of, and running around, every member of the other team, for a 50 yard touchdown. Our defense mostly shut down their sophomores. The guy at the clock let it run the whole second half and at the end, the score was 70-8.

70-8! I have never been a part of anything like that.

I wish I could say this was a wakeup call but I fear it wasn’t. It was for me.
When one starts at a huge disadvantage, how do you get them to the level where they can compete?
Do circumstances dictate that rules and expectations need to be adjusted?
Where is the balance between discipline and understanding?
These aren’t football questions, they are society questions. That game on Saturday wasn’t just a sporting event but an allusion to bigger things.
That is why my weekend was so hard. Not just losing a game, but the idea that my best efforts were/are inadequate.

White Supremacy

I was aked via email to respond to the following quote.

"The word racism ceased to be the term which best expressed for me the exploitation of black people and other people of color in society and... I began to understand that the most useful term was white supremacy"

I was not told who said it or what they were talking about. Only told that the original emailer was offended by the statement.

Am I offended? Not at all.
Do I agree? I couldn't say without more context.
I think the key word in the statement, at least to me, is "useful".

We white people, especially white ones with a rightward lean, are far to thin skinned when criticized generally on matters of race. We, who place high value on personal accountability, or agency, and hard working thriftiness, have an Achilles heal with all things racial. We see all accusations of racism or wrongdoing as personal attacks and unknowingly begin defending our self, which leads to blaming minorities for their own problems, or at the very least fostering an attitude of skepticism when accusations are made.

I will not respond with anything I have read or learned academically, but only with my own personal (admittedly anecdotal) experience.

Racism is alive and well from both black and white. I would even say in equal proportions. Till the current President's campaign, I will strongly forward that black people were very accepting of overt racist comments regarding white people. Chris Rock is famous for his barbs, Rev Wright, etc etc... while Trent Lott, Imus, and others get in trouble far far more subtle remarks.
How unfair. White people are growingly upset by the double standard.

Not me. Why?

For starters, I have heard what white people say about black people when we are alone. I have heard the "N word" tossed about casually. I have heard elements of black culture condemned while the negatives in white culture go unmentioned. There are plenty of white racists, a fact which is scary once you realize that white people outnumber black people more than ten to one.
Who has more cause to be worried, black or white?
Which group has been actually injured by racism? Any white person who complains they have been injured by racism in any lasting way is lacking in understanding of the black experience. HUGELY lacking.

The general black populace is so far behind proportionately when compared with whites in general that one would have to ask why.

Here is where I think it could be argued that an attitude of white supremacy prevails.
A conservative white, who thinks racism is now impotent and the system now offers opportunity equally, must find some way to explain why blacks lag. Since it can't be racism or the system, it must be the irresponsibility, laziness, and immorality of the blacks themselves.
The more I look at it this is the root of most conservative arguments when dealing with issues of race.

To think that those who suffer are their own problem, while believing that you yourself are not enjoying any favoritism, that you have what you have simply by your hard work and aptitude, is inherently finding ones self superior.

Simply put, if the system is fair, and blacks lag while whites advance, than whites are simply superior to blacks.
Most would never say it, but most, whether they realize it or not, propogate that idea.

I, from experience, know that man for man (or woman), black and white are the same.
I know from experience, that as a group, life is much, MUCH, harder for black Americans.

Why?

I would be interested to know who the author of the quote is and in what context it was written. If the term is most useful I would naturally ask useful toward what ends?
Useful in helping white people understand the inequity in our system and history? No, we aren't ready to hear it.
Useful in mobilizing the left? No, it is no longer the 60's.

Useful in exposing the intellectual inconsistency of arguing that the system is fair, black people continue to fail, and not considering ones self racist?
Yes.

Color vs. Culture

I read a blog today written by a mixed race man, explaining how his Grandmother hated his father’s race, but loved him (the grandson) despite him sharing his father’s DNA.
It seemed to be an illogical inconsistency in racial bias. Was it shared blood? Maybe.
More likely it’s more than that. Its race, plus culture.

I have written before about instances where one claims to have no racial bias, pointing to a black/white relative, who they love, as proof. How can one be racist when they truly love someone of a different color? Easy. Because it is really culture not color.

Many who claim to be racially blind will point to ideals or tendencies in the “others” culture that they see as unacceptable to their own, or detrimental to society at large. White people point to disproportionate crime rates, lower test scores, and unwed motherhood statistics as the root of what ails the black community. Racism is dead and no longer an issue. It’s their own shortcomings that hold them back now. Stop whining about racism and fix your own behavior… your own selves are the problem!

Many of the criticisms leveled by one race at another have a level of legitimacy. Single parenthood is a problem. Criminal behavior is a problem. Bad behavior is one’s own fault and consequences should be suffered.

But legitimacy of the accusations, or critiques, does not make one free of racial bias.

I would like for one race to find one single misbehavior, or social ill, that they see as a problem in another’s race, which is not also a problem in their own.

Does black or white have a monopoly on drug use, infidelity, or crime? Is either group free from hate, greed, or selfishness? The answer is obvious that any human or human group, at the root, is the same.

So when one finds themselves looking at numbers that skew one way or another at an unusual rate, or one begins to think that a particular problem is more prevalent in a single group, don’t stop there. Go the next step and ask the important question why? Why would a problem have a greater affect on one group rather than the other? Is it DNA or is it social?

If you think it DNA, we are done here. If it is cultural, then how did it get that way? How and when did our cultures form? What shapes who we are and what we find acceptable? If one does not identify with another group, ask why not. Ask what it is that separates one from another, and then go the next step and ask how that separation was created.

That is not racism that is cultural. Here is where culture gets tinged with race:

When one blames Hip-Hop for the poisoning of our youth’s morals but ignores Rock n’ Roll.
When one rants about the race based hate coming from the “others” but ignore when your own do the same.
When one ignores the color of a friend when they act in a way you approve of, but then wonder at or disparage the actions of the greater group.
When one cries out against crack use in the inner cities, but ignores the meth in the suburbs.



We are all the same. So ask yourself why things affect us differently? Are you looking out while ignoring the mirror?

Is it a black thing and Kanye West.

Back before I even met my wife, I was asked a question.

A family I know had just returned from a Disneyland vacation. While there, they found themselves in a long line of mostly black people. After waiting in line for some time, they watched a small group of black kids trying to sneak in front of them in line. They were not really that sneaky and apparently no one made any attempt to stop them.

“Brohammas, you have been around black people before. Was this a black thing? Did everyone let them butt in front of us because we are white?” the mother asked in all sincerity.

This was years ago and I recall being somewhat stumped on how to answer. Not stumped because I didn’t have an answer, but more shocked at the question.
Why would the actions of these kids cutting in line be somehow related to race? Have you never seen a white kid do the same? Seriously?

Why did the family watch, closed mouth , expecting everyone else to do something? Why the expectation that bad behavior by black kids, was somehow out of your personal jurisdiction? Why not simply stand up for yourself and demand fairness? Did they assume all the black people knew each other and should police themselves, or were they simply intimidated, thinking any attempt to correct a black kid would rouse all the others to come to the defense?
Why would you assume they cut in front of you because of your race? Were they the last ones in line? Didn’t they in essence cut in front of all the black people behind you as well?

This memory came back to me, inspired by Kanye and Serena’s recent tirades. I have seen and heard observers ask similar questions. Its both sad and interesting to me that the actions themselves have nothing to do with race, but the reactions to the events are tainted by it.

I have not followed tennis seriously, but I do not recall anyone EVER attributing John Mcenroe’s behavior to his race. I’m not sure I have ever heard anyone reference Mcenroe’s race at all, unless it was in conjunction with a reference to a black player (ie Williams sisters).

Kanye West’s behavior set off an impressive flurry on twitter. Even more impressive is how quickly the “N” word was used and repeated. I do not care how badly you want to insult someone, or how much they deserve to be insulted, the use of that word is to insult someone because of their race.

Back to the Disneyland vacationers:
I would not consider myself tight with these folks, but close enough to have a general impression that they are good people. The question was asked honestly, not accusingly. An event occurred and they did not understand it. They are not the type that hate black people, or hate anyone for that matter. They would never consider themselves racist and would never give someone else reason to accuse them of racial hatred.

They are prime examples of today’s racial issues.

We are so inexperienced that ignorance prevails. Never thinking of race at all, but being intimidated and frustrated when dealing with it. Thinking all instances in which black people are involved is a result of race and representational of black people in general, or every isolated incident being a representation of a larger societal one. Better yet, many of these people do not think they attribute the actions to race while assuming all black people will defend other black people, no matter how wrong. Its a sort of blanket attribution, once removed. To call those with this mindset racist would shock them and be rejected, while at the same time placing representational burdens on all black people is inherently unfair.
That is where we are. Otherwise good people who simply don’t get it and thereby make things worse.


(on a related note I should mention that I have never kissed a dog on the mouth, find the idea of that repulsive, can dance and sing, can’t jump but know white guys who can, have never met anyone named Muffy, but I do wear boat shoes)

Thank you officer

My wife woke me up at 5:30 this morning with a sharp elbow, saying someone was at the door. I stumbled down the stairs to find our neighbor, open Miller-Lite can in hand, talking about how he caught a guy breaking into our truck. Our other neighbor was at her door, we share a stoop, excitedly asking if the cops caught the guy. I excused myself to go put on pants, so I could join the fun outside.

I found the truck’s driver door open, we had mistakenly left the window open about three inches to let the air and passers-by into the cab. The center panel of the dash was off, the stereo was still there, the contents of the glove box were all over the passenger seat, and on the floor was a cell phone I have never seen before. Mr. Miller time told me how he saw the guy in the truck so he called 911, three times. A police car showed up coming the wrong way down our one way street, the burglar took off on a bicycle, and the cop went after him. Upon discovering the discarded phone, neighbor man began urging me to use it to call 911 again to get the cops back, or to call the last dialed number as he saw the guy in the truck using a phone.

I was scrolling through numbers in the phone when the cops came back.

The first guy back had a shaved head and a smirk on his face. “ya get ‘im?” inquired my also shaved headed, yet drunken, friend. “Yeah. Not me, but we got him down around the corner.” More cops began coming up the street, two squad cars in front of the house, one at the end of the block. They looked in the car again, asked me about how I left it, took the phone, and then began talking with each other about paperwork.

The original shaved head cop, who chased the burglar from the car, said, “we got the guy back in the car. You wanna work him over?” Two other cops who heard the offer volunteered, “Yeah, we didn’t see nothing”. My lady neighbor chuckled at the proposition saying, “not this guy. He aint’ one of those, not like us,” referring to me, as well as herself. She went back inside to put on coffee. The cops shrugged and asked the other neighbor, still nursing his beer, if he would come down to give a statement. “Naw, it’s his car,” again referring to me. A young cop smiled at the neighbor remarking, “5:30 and you’re still hangin in there?” “F you, I work third,” and he went back to his own stoop.

I agreed to go down to fill out the paperwork and crumpled myself into the unnapholstered back of a cop car. As the cop and I were in the elevator at the station I asked if that was a tazer in his belt. “He replied, “yeah, but I haven’t gotten to use it yet. Maybe if I can catch someone where no one can see.”

I answered two brief questions, signed my name at the bottom, and headed back home.
I was glad they caught the guy. The whole block is happy, the guy had gotten many of us before. I was grateful the cops showed up and caught him. Part of me wanted to take them up on their offer of some ‘alone time’ with the criminal, but the rest of me was thinking about the tazer, the offer, and what the morning would have been like if the cops were in a bad mood.