I was walking back to my office when I saw the Tax Tea Party protest in front of the State Capitol in Sacramento. It looked like Woodstock for angry neo-cons. Many of the signs expressed sentiments that were anti-tax and anti-deficit. Too many of them expressed sentiments that were simply anti-Obama.
First, let’s define our terms. The national deficit is the amount of government spending that exceeds government revenues in any particular year. The national debt is the accumulation of all the past national deficits. As far as the national debt, to borrow from a familiar phrase, we didn’t get this far by President Obama alone.
Truth be told, many people who were participating in these tax protests had no business being out there. Many of the people who were out there have contributed, in one way or another, to the national debt and the current expected deficit. Let’s separate the wheat – the honest-to-goodness fiscal conservatives – from the chaff – the Obama haters. If you participated in any of the Tax Day Tea Parties, go ahead and grab your protest sign and continue reading to see which you are:
If you voted solely for Republican presidential candidates from President Reagan on, put your sign down. Reagan incurred huge national deficits, and on average, Republicans have incurred more national deficits than Democrats since Reagan. When Bill Clinton left office, he had a surplus to go with his articles of impeachment.
If you ever received a Pell grant, put your sign down.
If you were ever on welfare, put your sign down.
If you never wrote a letter to Congress about U.S. corporations moving their corporate headquarters to avoid paying federal corporate taxes, put your sign down.
If you supported the war in Iraq solely because you thought Saddam Hussein was a “bad man” and needed to go, put your sign down. There are many despotic world leaders who need to be deposed – Robert Mugabe, Fidel Castro, you name it -- but that’s no reason to go into debt.
If you continued to support the war in Iraq after it had been made abundantly clear that there were no WMDs or Al Qaida there at the time the war started, put your sign down. In fact, hit yourself on the head with your sign. Don’t worry – the damage has already been done because clearly your momma dropped you on your head when you were a baby.
If you didn’t make a peep of protest about the no-bid contracts to Blackwater and Halliburton, put your sign down.
If you are among the 95% of people who will benefit from the tax cuts proposed by President Obama or if you benefited from the Bush tax cuts, put your sign down. You can’t complain about a deficit or the national debt and pocket the change from a tax cut at the same time.
If you are collecting Social Security, put your sign down. Entitlement spending is the largest part of the federal budget. Yes, I know you paid into Social Security, but we all know Social Security is a big Ponzi scheme. Your money went to support the folks before you, and my money is going to support you. If you want to reduce the national debt, take up drinking and smoking, put down the Lipitor, and contract a quick-acting terminal disease.
If you are on Medicare or Medicaid and have an obesity- or smoking-related disease, put your sign down because that is totally within your control and you’re sucking up entitlement dollars. Grab a Nicorette, a carrot, and a Tae-Bo DVD and handle your business. Don’t tell me you can’t do Tae-Bo on a scooter.
If you’ve claimed tax deductions for your children, put your sign down. Unless your children were child actors or child prostitutes, they benefited more from federal expenditures than they contributed to the public fisc during their years as minors. I don’t think you should get a tax deduction just for being fertile and popping out a baby, especially if you’re the Octumom.
If you drive a gas-guzzling SUV or truck, put your sign down. We’re bailing out the auto industry because you continued to prop up a business model that was doomed to fail – vehicles reliant on low gas prices for sales in a nation that relies on other nations for its gas. If you drove a Hummer to the protest, hit yourself with the sign.
If you bought a house after 1999 that cost more than 3 times your gross income without a down payment and lost it due to foreclosure, put your sign down. You are so much a part of the problem, you shouldn’t have had the nerve to even show up. And you know you had no business buying that house. You were as wrong as the day is long.
By my count, that leaves about 3 protesters . . . .
Arizona State U., or rather, "I'm Embarrassed for U."
Here we go again.
To borrow from my late mother’s lexicon, it looks like Arizona “done gone and showed its behind.” Again.
Arizona is nationally and internationally known as the slow child in race relations because of its grudging and late acceptance of a Dr. King holiday. This time, it’s Arizona State University which is the race relations slow child by having President Obama give the university’s commencement speech but refusing to award him an honorary degree.
Say what?
Yes, Arizona State University, which, I would guess, probably doesn’t have as many Nobel laureates, Rhodes Scholars, Marshall Scholars – pick any academic honor – as do the universities from which Mr. Obama holds REAL degrees, Columbia and Harvard – has decided that Mr. Obama’s “body of work” is yet to be seen and, as such, he doesn’t merit an honorary degree from that hallowed institution. Instead, they’ve opted to offer a scholarship in President Obama’s name.
What’s embarrassing is that they’ve had this discussion in the media, putting the president’s worthiness for their honorary degree up as a matter of public debate.
They should change their name to “I’m Embarrassed for U.” Do they know how stupid they look?
Outside of NCAA basketball, no one really knows much about or cares much about Arizona State. I hate to play the Ivy League card or credential poker, but, as a double Ivy Leaguer like Mr. Obama (Harvard and Princeton, to be exact), I must say that there is nothing that Arizona State can do to raise the profile of Mr. Obama given what he has already accomplished, academically and otherwise. In this case, those benefits flow one way and only one way – in the direction of Arizona State. If I were Mr. Obama, I wouldn’t even hang an honorary degree from Arizona State next to his diplomas from Columbia and Harvard Law and his two Harvard Law Review certificates. It would be like hanging a black velvet Elvis painting next to works by Picasso, Matisse, and Renoir. It just wouldn’t look right, if you get my drift.
The discussion of Mr. Obama’s merits, if any, should have been held in closed quarters, and he should not have been invited to give the commencement address if the university wasn’t going to award him an honorary degree. Most universities with any sense know that that’s the price of getting a highly accomplished, high profile speaker to give a commencement address. I’ve heard tell that Bill Cosby won’t give a commencement address without receiving an honorary degree. It goes to show that the folks in charge at ASU are either really stupid or really intent on slighting the President.
I’ve been in one faculty discussion regarding awarding an honorary degree, in this case to a slain civil rights hero. Mind you, this hero’s legacy had already been established and his reputation would not have been enhanced by receiving a posthumous honorary degree from this institution. But you would have thought the faculty members were discussing the conditions for peace in the Middle East in discussing what this person needed to have accomplished in order to receive an honorary degree from an ostensibly Podunk university. Again, it was a case of one-way benefits – the only party benefiting from this was the university, not the person or his family.
Why is it that the discussion of standards and merit only seems to arise when black people are at issue?
I know that Mr. Obama will have the class to give the speech and acknowledge the scholarship established in his honor. He’s far too sophisticated to say what I’m about to:
Arizona State, even if President Obama visited your university for the sole purpose of using a urinal, he would have done more for your school’s profile than you could have ever done for his. And if you were lucky, the Secret Service might, just might, allow one of your trustees to be present and wait for the presidential “shake.” It’s about all you deserve.
To borrow from my late mother’s lexicon, it looks like Arizona “done gone and showed its behind.” Again.
Arizona is nationally and internationally known as the slow child in race relations because of its grudging and late acceptance of a Dr. King holiday. This time, it’s Arizona State University which is the race relations slow child by having President Obama give the university’s commencement speech but refusing to award him an honorary degree.
Say what?
Yes, Arizona State University, which, I would guess, probably doesn’t have as many Nobel laureates, Rhodes Scholars, Marshall Scholars – pick any academic honor – as do the universities from which Mr. Obama holds REAL degrees, Columbia and Harvard – has decided that Mr. Obama’s “body of work” is yet to be seen and, as such, he doesn’t merit an honorary degree from that hallowed institution. Instead, they’ve opted to offer a scholarship in President Obama’s name.
What’s embarrassing is that they’ve had this discussion in the media, putting the president’s worthiness for their honorary degree up as a matter of public debate.
They should change their name to “I’m Embarrassed for U.” Do they know how stupid they look?
Outside of NCAA basketball, no one really knows much about or cares much about Arizona State. I hate to play the Ivy League card or credential poker, but, as a double Ivy Leaguer like Mr. Obama (Harvard and Princeton, to be exact), I must say that there is nothing that Arizona State can do to raise the profile of Mr. Obama given what he has already accomplished, academically and otherwise. In this case, those benefits flow one way and only one way – in the direction of Arizona State. If I were Mr. Obama, I wouldn’t even hang an honorary degree from Arizona State next to his diplomas from Columbia and Harvard Law and his two Harvard Law Review certificates. It would be like hanging a black velvet Elvis painting next to works by Picasso, Matisse, and Renoir. It just wouldn’t look right, if you get my drift.
The discussion of Mr. Obama’s merits, if any, should have been held in closed quarters, and he should not have been invited to give the commencement address if the university wasn’t going to award him an honorary degree. Most universities with any sense know that that’s the price of getting a highly accomplished, high profile speaker to give a commencement address. I’ve heard tell that Bill Cosby won’t give a commencement address without receiving an honorary degree. It goes to show that the folks in charge at ASU are either really stupid or really intent on slighting the President.
I’ve been in one faculty discussion regarding awarding an honorary degree, in this case to a slain civil rights hero. Mind you, this hero’s legacy had already been established and his reputation would not have been enhanced by receiving a posthumous honorary degree from this institution. But you would have thought the faculty members were discussing the conditions for peace in the Middle East in discussing what this person needed to have accomplished in order to receive an honorary degree from an ostensibly Podunk university. Again, it was a case of one-way benefits – the only party benefiting from this was the university, not the person or his family.
Why is it that the discussion of standards and merit only seems to arise when black people are at issue?
I know that Mr. Obama will have the class to give the speech and acknowledge the scholarship established in his honor. He’s far too sophisticated to say what I’m about to:
Arizona State, even if President Obama visited your university for the sole purpose of using a urinal, he would have done more for your school’s profile than you could have ever done for his. And if you were lucky, the Secret Service might, just might, allow one of your trustees to be present and wait for the presidential “shake.” It’s about all you deserve.
"They Call Me MISTER Black Man Not Blogging!"
BMNB has a bone to pick. Mind you, this is a man who, in more than 26 years of his relationship with me (albeit on and off), has only raised his voice to me in anger once. Yeah, once. He’s cooler than President Obama, he is. So when he has a bone to pick, it needs pickin’.
BMNB would like telemarketers, bank tellers, customer service representatives, and any one else who meets him in a business capacity to know that her prefers to be called MISTER BMNB and not by his first name. He thinks Americans have become just a little too familiar. He likes the formality and propriety of calling someone you’ve just met by their proper name. Don’t just assume that you can call him by his first name when you’ve just met, especially if he’s your customer or potential customer.
For example, BMNB was speaking with a bank teller who pulled up his account, found out his name, and proceeded to address him by his first name, which, for purposes of this blog, is “Black Man.”
“Well, Black Man . . .” and she proceeded to explain something to him. But he couldn’t get past the fact that this stranger was calling him by his first name.
Now, he makes it clear from the get-go: “I prefer MISTER Not Blogging.”
It takes them aback. BMNB would prefer to think that it gets them back to the way their mommas raised them or should have raised them.
First, BMNB believes that you don’t get to call your elders by their first names. Even older cousins in his family are “Cousin So-and-So,” not “So-and-So.” The idea of some pimply-faced customer service rep calling him by his first name when he has visible gray hair in his goatee does not sit well with him, no sirree.
Second, BMNB just isn’t that familiar. He likes the respectful distance that using someone’s full and proper name entails. It requires the person you’re speaking to to decide whether they want you to become more familiar with them instead of you assuming that they do. He likes that because, like most professional black men, BMNB knows you can’t afford to assume anything.
Third, BMNB is, and always will be, a Southerner. And in the South, titles entail respect. I found this out myself when I was a professor at a law school in the South. I allowed my students to become too familiar too soon, giving them permission to call me by my first name as I had allowed my previous students in California to do. One of my colleagues, another African American female professor, told me I had already lost the battle for respect before I had even known there was a battle.
“What’s the big deal? It’s just a name,” I questioned.
She looked at me like I was an alien. “This is the South. Titles mean everything. Titles mean respect. No title, no respect. Just tell me – do they call you “professor” or “miz”?
I stopped and thought. “Well, actually, they do call me ‘miz’.”
She looked at me as if to say “game over.” “’Miz’” is what they call black women when they don’t want to properly address you as “Mrs.”, “Miss” or “professor.”
Oh.
I hadn’t really thought about it that much. In her mind, I had been subtly dissed and didn’t even know it. Funny, I thought they were just being friendly.
And that’s the point – we didn’t need to be “friendly” at that point in the relationship.
BMNB noticed this little phenomenon at work yesterday when we watched Matt Lauer interview Essence Editor-in-Chief Angela Burt-Murray to discuss the May issue of Essence, which features an interview with Mrs. Obama and her mother, Mrs. Robinson. Now, mind you, I would never think to call the President’s mother-in-law anything other than Mrs. Robinson for no other reason than she’s my elder, and I have tried, despite my feelings of identification with Mrs. Obama, not to call her “Michelle” because she deserves the same respect I would give any other First Lady – being addressed and referred to by her proper name.
I guess Matt Lauer felt a bit differently. During the beginning of the interview, he referred to them as Michelle Obama and Marian Robinson.
But not Ms. Burt-Murray. Throughout the interview, she continued to refer to them as Mrs. Obama and Mrs. Robinson. As you can imagine, my husband believes that Ms. Burt-Murray was raised right and is probably Googling her this minute to find out where in the South her people are from.
Mr. Lauer didn’t get it, though. Although he modified it a bit and began to call Mrs. Robinson “Mrs. Robinson,” he continued to refer to the First Lady as Michelle Obama. Ms. Burt-Murray never wavered, though, as if to get the point across to Mr. Lauer. He never picked it up.
Good thing BMNB wasn’t there. He would have checked him: “Their names are MRS. OBAMA and MRS. ROBINSON!”
And, he would have told him, to boot: “And they call me MISTER Black Man Not Blogging.”
BMNB would like telemarketers, bank tellers, customer service representatives, and any one else who meets him in a business capacity to know that her prefers to be called MISTER BMNB and not by his first name. He thinks Americans have become just a little too familiar. He likes the formality and propriety of calling someone you’ve just met by their proper name. Don’t just assume that you can call him by his first name when you’ve just met, especially if he’s your customer or potential customer.
For example, BMNB was speaking with a bank teller who pulled up his account, found out his name, and proceeded to address him by his first name, which, for purposes of this blog, is “Black Man.”
“Well, Black Man . . .” and she proceeded to explain something to him. But he couldn’t get past the fact that this stranger was calling him by his first name.
Now, he makes it clear from the get-go: “I prefer MISTER Not Blogging.”
It takes them aback. BMNB would prefer to think that it gets them back to the way their mommas raised them or should have raised them.
First, BMNB believes that you don’t get to call your elders by their first names. Even older cousins in his family are “Cousin So-and-So,” not “So-and-So.” The idea of some pimply-faced customer service rep calling him by his first name when he has visible gray hair in his goatee does not sit well with him, no sirree.
Second, BMNB just isn’t that familiar. He likes the respectful distance that using someone’s full and proper name entails. It requires the person you’re speaking to to decide whether they want you to become more familiar with them instead of you assuming that they do. He likes that because, like most professional black men, BMNB knows you can’t afford to assume anything.
Third, BMNB is, and always will be, a Southerner. And in the South, titles entail respect. I found this out myself when I was a professor at a law school in the South. I allowed my students to become too familiar too soon, giving them permission to call me by my first name as I had allowed my previous students in California to do. One of my colleagues, another African American female professor, told me I had already lost the battle for respect before I had even known there was a battle.
“What’s the big deal? It’s just a name,” I questioned.
She looked at me like I was an alien. “This is the South. Titles mean everything. Titles mean respect. No title, no respect. Just tell me – do they call you “professor” or “miz”?
I stopped and thought. “Well, actually, they do call me ‘miz’.”
She looked at me as if to say “game over.” “’Miz’” is what they call black women when they don’t want to properly address you as “Mrs.”, “Miss” or “professor.”
Oh.
I hadn’t really thought about it that much. In her mind, I had been subtly dissed and didn’t even know it. Funny, I thought they were just being friendly.
And that’s the point – we didn’t need to be “friendly” at that point in the relationship.
BMNB noticed this little phenomenon at work yesterday when we watched Matt Lauer interview Essence Editor-in-Chief Angela Burt-Murray to discuss the May issue of Essence, which features an interview with Mrs. Obama and her mother, Mrs. Robinson. Now, mind you, I would never think to call the President’s mother-in-law anything other than Mrs. Robinson for no other reason than she’s my elder, and I have tried, despite my feelings of identification with Mrs. Obama, not to call her “Michelle” because she deserves the same respect I would give any other First Lady – being addressed and referred to by her proper name.
I guess Matt Lauer felt a bit differently. During the beginning of the interview, he referred to them as Michelle Obama and Marian Robinson.
But not Ms. Burt-Murray. Throughout the interview, she continued to refer to them as Mrs. Obama and Mrs. Robinson. As you can imagine, my husband believes that Ms. Burt-Murray was raised right and is probably Googling her this minute to find out where in the South her people are from.
Mr. Lauer didn’t get it, though. Although he modified it a bit and began to call Mrs. Robinson “Mrs. Robinson,” he continued to refer to the First Lady as Michelle Obama. Ms. Burt-Murray never wavered, though, as if to get the point across to Mr. Lauer. He never picked it up.
Good thing BMNB wasn’t there. He would have checked him: “Their names are MRS. OBAMA and MRS. ROBINSON!”
And, he would have told him, to boot: “And they call me MISTER Black Man Not Blogging.”
Turning In My Human Card
If every person had to have a card, say, a "human card," to be part of this species, today would be the day I'd turn it in. I'd go to God's counter, turn in my card, and say, "I don't want to be affiliated with a species that kidnaps and murders its young. I want to join up with the manatees. They're fat and peaceful, just like me. I could learn to be down with vegetarianism again. Plus, I like Florida."
Yesterday authorities found the body of Sandra Cantu, an 8 year-old Tracy, California girl last seen on a home security video skipping happily home. It would be the last visual of her.
Her body was found eight days later in an irrigation pool, stuffed in a suitcase.
I, like many other northern Californians, had hoped against hope that this child would be returned. That she'd find her way home. It was not to be.
Today an autopsy will be performed. I can't bear to know what some monster did to this child. That she is no longer with us is hard enough to bear.
I swear, if I ever get to heaven, the three things I want to ask God are: 1) My mom and my dad -- how did THAT happen? 2) Slavery and The Holocaust -- were you on vacation or what? and 3) Help me understand a world in which cruelty to children happens, because I can't comprehend it, can't fathom it, can't imagine that there's any explanation that even You can provide.
I guess this is one of those days in which I have to "lean not to my own understanding."
But if I had a human card, I'd turn it in today.
Pray for Sandra, folks. Pray that she didn't suffer and that she is at the foot of her Maker.
Yesterday authorities found the body of Sandra Cantu, an 8 year-old Tracy, California girl last seen on a home security video skipping happily home. It would be the last visual of her.
Her body was found eight days later in an irrigation pool, stuffed in a suitcase.
I, like many other northern Californians, had hoped against hope that this child would be returned. That she'd find her way home. It was not to be.
Today an autopsy will be performed. I can't bear to know what some monster did to this child. That she is no longer with us is hard enough to bear.
I swear, if I ever get to heaven, the three things I want to ask God are: 1) My mom and my dad -- how did THAT happen? 2) Slavery and The Holocaust -- were you on vacation or what? and 3) Help me understand a world in which cruelty to children happens, because I can't comprehend it, can't fathom it, can't imagine that there's any explanation that even You can provide.
I guess this is one of those days in which I have to "lean not to my own understanding."
But if I had a human card, I'd turn it in today.
Pray for Sandra, folks. Pray that she didn't suffer and that she is at the foot of her Maker.
Unspoken Assumptions and Unfounded Fears
This week, President and Mrs. Obama are touring Europe, their first stop being Great Britain and the G-20 summit. The media have spent almost as much energy discussing Mrs. Obama’s potential fashion choices as they have the chances of Mr. Obama getting other European governments to increase their own domestic stimulus spending. However, the tone of discussion surrounding Mrs. Obama’s potential fashion choices wasn’t solely upbeat and optimistic (“Gee, I wonder which designer she’s going to surprise us with!”), but more of trepidation that Mrs. Obama wouldn’t know exactly what was proper attire for a visit with Queen Elizabeth (“She does know that sleeveless might not be appropriate for meeting the Queen, doesn’t she?”) or other official protocol, like not touching the Queen, who, by the way, touched Mrs. Obama FIRST.
Let me just put it out there: The unspoken assumption was that Mrs. Obama wouldn’t know how to dress or act properly for formal occasions on foreign soil. She’s already been called “trash” by some in the media, and one commentator had the nerve to compare her to the female dog the Obamas plan to get for their daughters.
The unfounded fear was that she might embarrass the nation. Let’s take that apart first.
For those Americans who have not traveled to Europe, here’s a news flash: You can’t embarrass the United States in Europe, or any place else in the world for that matter, any more than the United States has already embarrassed itself. The bar for Europeans’ expectations of American civility and culture is pretty darn low, and it was set that way long before Mrs. Obama met Queen Elizabeth. Mrs. Obama would have had to have worn a pair of Apple Bottom jeans, a metallic tank top with no bra, and some Candies shoes and dropped it like it was hot in Trafalgar Square before she had lowered Europeans’ expectations of Americans when it comes to civility and culture.
Let’s see – wasn’t it our last president, the then-Leader of the Free World, who had the temerity to wink at Queen Elizabeth when she came for a state visit? (Dude, she’s married, happily or unhappily, for over what – 50 years?) And Mickey Rooney all but dry humped Her Majesty during her visit here. I can imagine she couldn’t get back to stalking at Balmoral soon enough. She probably thought the elk in the Scottish highlands were better behaved than the Americans she met on her last visit here.
And no one said a peep about what First Lady Laura Bush wore to meet the Queen. Oh, but she must know how to act and dress properly, right, since she’s a . . . wait, isn’t she a chain smoker who actually killed someone while driving? Right. But she probably knows how to comport herself with heads of state, though.
Then, let’s not forget President George W. Bush’s visit to Brazil, where he openly admitted his ignorance of the fact that Brazil has the largest population of people of African descent outside of Africa. “Did you know that?”, he openly questioned the then-Tutor-in-Chief, Condi Rice, who had to school our President publicly about the racial makeup of Brazil. During a state visit. In public. I don’t know about you, but I was embarrassed. Almost as embarrassed as I was when the first President Bush threw up and passed out at a state dinner in Japan.
Mrs. Obama couldn’t have possibly done worse, even if she tried.
America, get it through your heads: Mrs. Obama isn’t Lil Kim. Or Britney Spears for that matter. She had a proper upbringing, went to elite schools, and probably knows a lot more about protocol and manners than most of the trash, trailer and otherwise, who are worried that she, of all people, might not know how to dress and carry herself. My message is simple: Before you worry about how Mrs. Obama is handling her business, you need to ask yourselves how you’re handling your own. Do your own children have good manners? Do they know how to dress appropriately for different occasions, i.e., t-shirts and/or jeans are not appropriate for church or funerals? Does your husband know to take a hostess gift to a party? Do you know which fork is the salad fork and where the bread plate is? America, before you check Mrs. Obama on her wardrobe and manners, you really need to check yourselves first. Don’t assume that just because she’s black that she doesn’t know protocol and doesn’t have manners.
And don’t act like you weren’t.
Let me just put it out there: The unspoken assumption was that Mrs. Obama wouldn’t know how to dress or act properly for formal occasions on foreign soil. She’s already been called “trash” by some in the media, and one commentator had the nerve to compare her to the female dog the Obamas plan to get for their daughters.
The unfounded fear was that she might embarrass the nation. Let’s take that apart first.
For those Americans who have not traveled to Europe, here’s a news flash: You can’t embarrass the United States in Europe, or any place else in the world for that matter, any more than the United States has already embarrassed itself. The bar for Europeans’ expectations of American civility and culture is pretty darn low, and it was set that way long before Mrs. Obama met Queen Elizabeth. Mrs. Obama would have had to have worn a pair of Apple Bottom jeans, a metallic tank top with no bra, and some Candies shoes and dropped it like it was hot in Trafalgar Square before she had lowered Europeans’ expectations of Americans when it comes to civility and culture.
Let’s see – wasn’t it our last president, the then-Leader of the Free World, who had the temerity to wink at Queen Elizabeth when she came for a state visit? (Dude, she’s married, happily or unhappily, for over what – 50 years?) And Mickey Rooney all but dry humped Her Majesty during her visit here. I can imagine she couldn’t get back to stalking at Balmoral soon enough. She probably thought the elk in the Scottish highlands were better behaved than the Americans she met on her last visit here.
And no one said a peep about what First Lady Laura Bush wore to meet the Queen. Oh, but she must know how to act and dress properly, right, since she’s a . . . wait, isn’t she a chain smoker who actually killed someone while driving? Right. But she probably knows how to comport herself with heads of state, though.
Then, let’s not forget President George W. Bush’s visit to Brazil, where he openly admitted his ignorance of the fact that Brazil has the largest population of people of African descent outside of Africa. “Did you know that?”, he openly questioned the then-Tutor-in-Chief, Condi Rice, who had to school our President publicly about the racial makeup of Brazil. During a state visit. In public. I don’t know about you, but I was embarrassed. Almost as embarrassed as I was when the first President Bush threw up and passed out at a state dinner in Japan.
Mrs. Obama couldn’t have possibly done worse, even if she tried.
America, get it through your heads: Mrs. Obama isn’t Lil Kim. Or Britney Spears for that matter. She had a proper upbringing, went to elite schools, and probably knows a lot more about protocol and manners than most of the trash, trailer and otherwise, who are worried that she, of all people, might not know how to dress and carry herself. My message is simple: Before you worry about how Mrs. Obama is handling her business, you need to ask yourselves how you’re handling your own. Do your own children have good manners? Do they know how to dress appropriately for different occasions, i.e., t-shirts and/or jeans are not appropriate for church or funerals? Does your husband know to take a hostess gift to a party? Do you know which fork is the salad fork and where the bread plate is? America, before you check Mrs. Obama on her wardrobe and manners, you really need to check yourselves first. Don’t assume that just because she’s black that she doesn’t know protocol and doesn’t have manners.
And don’t act like you weren’t.
Act Like A Woman, Think Like A Woman
Steve Harvey tells us to “Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man.”
In her upcoming novel, Zane tells us, “Women are the new men.”
What gives?
I think the truth of women’s lives is somewhere in the middle.
I’m reading Steve Harvey’s wildly popular New York Times bestseller, “Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man.” I’m reading it because I saw it featured on Oprah and I’m wondering what all the buzz is about. I haven’t finished reading it, so it probably isn’t fair to write about it, but I think I get the gist of this self-help book because it’s been written many times before.
So, here’s what I gather to be the gist (spoiler alert): Single women, you’re not married because you don’t understand men. If you read this book, you will understand men, and then you’ll be better prepared to get a man to marry you.
The problem is, what if you don’t want a man to marry you? No, I’m not talking about my lesbian sisters; I’m talking about women who have made the decision that they’re not looking for marriage, and maybe not even a committed relationship.
I know, because I was once one of them.
I’m not saying that now that I’m married, I would have been unhappy had I remained single. Nor am I saying that now that I’m married I know the secret to men and having relationships with them. I don’t. Far from it. There are times when I look at Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB)and wonder what planet he comes from and whether I can put him on the next mothership out. There are times when I’m having a conversation with him and I realize which of his heads is really doing the thinking, and, to save time and energy, I’ll just speak directly to his crotch. I don’t pretend to understand men.
But I do understand myself. And I know that, before I married BMNB, I reached a point where I decided that marriage was no longer a goal of mine. Happiness was. And marriage didn’t necessary entail happiness.
The last guy I dated with anything approaching seriousness before I married BMNB was just about all that any woman could have ordered up from heaven – handsome, intelligent, generous, educated, well-employed, chivalrous, God-loving. I wasn’t looking for a relationship at the time. He, however, ratcheted things up, and I followed along blissfully. And when I finally started asking questions about where the relationship was headed, he told me that I was going too fast, that he felt that he couldn’t catch up to where I was.
And all I could think was, “But. . . . how could we be going too fast if you’ve been doing all the driving? You stepped to me. I wasn’t even looking for a relationship. I was fine by myself.”
It was at that point that I declared myself through with men. In other words, I no longer had marriage as a goal. Happiness was my goal. I made a list of the things that would make me happy that I could have some control over – a stable and intellectually engaging career, a house of my own, a child, learning to surf. And I set out to get these things with the idea that if a man came along who fit into my own plans for happiness, well fine. If not, well, I could be just as happy with or without – ignoring men, or just having sex with them had I been so inclined. Why buy the bull if you can . . . . well, you know what I mean.
And for a short period after that, it seemed like once I decided that I was done with men, I was getting hit on left and right. And I declined, left and right. It was heady, empowering even, to hear a guy trying to kick his best game and to tell him, “I really appreciate the compliment, but I’m just not dating now.” They’d usually follow up with, “No, you can’t mean that!” Or, “Aw, sistah, don’t give up on us!” Or, “Here’s my number; let me know when you start back up.”
I think the “problem,” as Steve Harvey might describe it, is that I’ve never believed that a woman needed marriage, a man, and/or children to be happy. I’ve never believed that marriage equaled happiness, and I definitely don’t believe that marriage equals commitment. Marriage is the ring, the dress, and the promise you make that day; commitment, on the other hand, is coming home each day to continue the journey you started with your partner even when you’ve got money in the bank, gas in your tank, and a map. Commitment is renewed on a daily basis. Marriage doesn’t equal commitment, and commitment doesn’t equal marriage. I can tell you there were many times when I was living with BMNB prior to our marriage when I thought, “I’ve got enough in the bank, and if I get started driving now, I can make it to Albuquerque by daybreak.” Yeah, I thought it, but I never acted on it. I made the decision to come home and continue the journey I had started with my fiancé. That’s commitment, and you don’t need a ring and a ceremony to have it because I didn’t. I’ve always believed that the only reason to get married is to provide security for the children you intend to have. Mind you, BMNB couldn’t disagree with me more, which is why we’re married. He’s a Baptist and a Southerner, so he couldn’t tolerate shackin’ up for a long period of time. I, on the other hand, would have been perfectly fine shackin’ up but for the fact that I didn’t want to raise children in a relationship that wasn’t a marriage, more for their sake than mine.
So I understand women who value their independence and think in terms of whether marrying a particular man – not just a man, but a particular man – is going to improve their lives any more than if they didn’t marry at all. For most women, marriage means becoming the CEO of a household and giving far more than you get. And most of us do this willingly because we believe the rewards of helping a good man become great and nurturing kids far outweigh everything else.
Me, not so much.
For instance, I insisted that, before marrying BMNB, we live together because our relationship with each other had always been a long-distance relationship. I had never really dealt with him on a consistent day-to-day basis in all the years we were together. And, as my late mother had always admonished, “You wouldn’t buy shoes without trying them on first. Girl, you better try on them shoes.”
And in “trying on the shoes,” I found myself making most of the money, doing all the cooking, doing all the cleaning, and being expected to be the “hostess with the mostess” when his friends came by. In no short time I was exhausted and bitter. We started arguing about his slacking in the shared labor department, and, in tears and sitting on the toilet (I get a weak bladder when I’m emotional), I wailed, “If this is marriage, why would I choose this? I don’t need to work this hard to be happy. I was happy by myself, and I got to keep all of my money. Why on God’s earth would I choose this?”
He replied with a sly grin and a look downward. I had to set him straight.
“Let’s be clear. I have never lacked for sex. Never! I lived in Oakland, damn it! And I didn’t have to cook and clean to get it!
It was then that I started dictating the terms of my own happiness. Shared responsibility was one of them. Instead of doing as Steve Harvey instructs and trying to “figure out” BMNB and men in general, I instead helped him figure me out and what he had to do to keep me on track to marriage. At that point, I didn’t care about what his needs were and what made him tick because my needs weren’t being met and I didn’t need him to be happy. To his credit, BMNB listened. And changed. I always tell people that I married BMNB the person, and, if we were to part, I don’t see myself ever marrying again because I’m not willing to do all that society tells me I should do to get and keep a man.
Steve Harvey tells us women that men show their love by professing their relationship with us, providing for us, and protecting us, and we need to provide them the space to do that to be men in the relationship. I didn’t need any of that. I needed someone who would do his fair share of cooking and cleaning, earn his fair share -- not all the money, just his fair share, and hold up his end of an intelligent conversation. The things that Steve Harvey says men need to do for us in order to be men, I don’t and haven’t needed. I think he describes me and women like me in the chapter in his book I haven’t gotten to yet, “Independent. And Lonely.” But I was never lonely. Alone, but not lonely.
And I’m not alone. There are a lot of women out there – I know because I know some – who have constructed their lives in a manner such they don’t need men, but wouldn’t mind having one in their lives on their terms. But they're not hunting them down. And those terms? They don’t necessarily include acting like they want a man to profess, protect, and provide for them. Sometimes you just want someone to go to the theater with or discuss a book with. Sometimes you just want sex – maybe not in the vein of the protagonists in Zane’s upcoming book, “Headbangers,” (need I say more?) where she proclaims in the first sentence of the book, “Women are the new men,” but in the sense that you know who you are and what you want, even if that’s not what society tells you you should want. Regardless, you’ll still live a happy life because your happiness isn’t conditioned on having a committed relationship with a man.
So, I disagree with both Steve Harvey (at least at this point) and Zane. Women don’t need to think like men in order to be happy or be the new men. Women just need to know themselves and take control over those things which will make them happy in their lives. And a man isn’t necessarily one of them.
In her upcoming novel, Zane tells us, “Women are the new men.”
What gives?
I think the truth of women’s lives is somewhere in the middle.
I’m reading Steve Harvey’s wildly popular New York Times bestseller, “Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man.” I’m reading it because I saw it featured on Oprah and I’m wondering what all the buzz is about. I haven’t finished reading it, so it probably isn’t fair to write about it, but I think I get the gist of this self-help book because it’s been written many times before.
So, here’s what I gather to be the gist (spoiler alert): Single women, you’re not married because you don’t understand men. If you read this book, you will understand men, and then you’ll be better prepared to get a man to marry you.
The problem is, what if you don’t want a man to marry you? No, I’m not talking about my lesbian sisters; I’m talking about women who have made the decision that they’re not looking for marriage, and maybe not even a committed relationship.
I know, because I was once one of them.
I’m not saying that now that I’m married, I would have been unhappy had I remained single. Nor am I saying that now that I’m married I know the secret to men and having relationships with them. I don’t. Far from it. There are times when I look at Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB)and wonder what planet he comes from and whether I can put him on the next mothership out. There are times when I’m having a conversation with him and I realize which of his heads is really doing the thinking, and, to save time and energy, I’ll just speak directly to his crotch. I don’t pretend to understand men.
But I do understand myself. And I know that, before I married BMNB, I reached a point where I decided that marriage was no longer a goal of mine. Happiness was. And marriage didn’t necessary entail happiness.
The last guy I dated with anything approaching seriousness before I married BMNB was just about all that any woman could have ordered up from heaven – handsome, intelligent, generous, educated, well-employed, chivalrous, God-loving. I wasn’t looking for a relationship at the time. He, however, ratcheted things up, and I followed along blissfully. And when I finally started asking questions about where the relationship was headed, he told me that I was going too fast, that he felt that he couldn’t catch up to where I was.
And all I could think was, “But. . . . how could we be going too fast if you’ve been doing all the driving? You stepped to me. I wasn’t even looking for a relationship. I was fine by myself.”
It was at that point that I declared myself through with men. In other words, I no longer had marriage as a goal. Happiness was my goal. I made a list of the things that would make me happy that I could have some control over – a stable and intellectually engaging career, a house of my own, a child, learning to surf. And I set out to get these things with the idea that if a man came along who fit into my own plans for happiness, well fine. If not, well, I could be just as happy with or without – ignoring men, or just having sex with them had I been so inclined. Why buy the bull if you can . . . . well, you know what I mean.
And for a short period after that, it seemed like once I decided that I was done with men, I was getting hit on left and right. And I declined, left and right. It was heady, empowering even, to hear a guy trying to kick his best game and to tell him, “I really appreciate the compliment, but I’m just not dating now.” They’d usually follow up with, “No, you can’t mean that!” Or, “Aw, sistah, don’t give up on us!” Or, “Here’s my number; let me know when you start back up.”
I think the “problem,” as Steve Harvey might describe it, is that I’ve never believed that a woman needed marriage, a man, and/or children to be happy. I’ve never believed that marriage equaled happiness, and I definitely don’t believe that marriage equals commitment. Marriage is the ring, the dress, and the promise you make that day; commitment, on the other hand, is coming home each day to continue the journey you started with your partner even when you’ve got money in the bank, gas in your tank, and a map. Commitment is renewed on a daily basis. Marriage doesn’t equal commitment, and commitment doesn’t equal marriage. I can tell you there were many times when I was living with BMNB prior to our marriage when I thought, “I’ve got enough in the bank, and if I get started driving now, I can make it to Albuquerque by daybreak.” Yeah, I thought it, but I never acted on it. I made the decision to come home and continue the journey I had started with my fiancé. That’s commitment, and you don’t need a ring and a ceremony to have it because I didn’t. I’ve always believed that the only reason to get married is to provide security for the children you intend to have. Mind you, BMNB couldn’t disagree with me more, which is why we’re married. He’s a Baptist and a Southerner, so he couldn’t tolerate shackin’ up for a long period of time. I, on the other hand, would have been perfectly fine shackin’ up but for the fact that I didn’t want to raise children in a relationship that wasn’t a marriage, more for their sake than mine.
So I understand women who value their independence and think in terms of whether marrying a particular man – not just a man, but a particular man – is going to improve their lives any more than if they didn’t marry at all. For most women, marriage means becoming the CEO of a household and giving far more than you get. And most of us do this willingly because we believe the rewards of helping a good man become great and nurturing kids far outweigh everything else.
Me, not so much.
For instance, I insisted that, before marrying BMNB, we live together because our relationship with each other had always been a long-distance relationship. I had never really dealt with him on a consistent day-to-day basis in all the years we were together. And, as my late mother had always admonished, “You wouldn’t buy shoes without trying them on first. Girl, you better try on them shoes.”
And in “trying on the shoes,” I found myself making most of the money, doing all the cooking, doing all the cleaning, and being expected to be the “hostess with the mostess” when his friends came by. In no short time I was exhausted and bitter. We started arguing about his slacking in the shared labor department, and, in tears and sitting on the toilet (I get a weak bladder when I’m emotional), I wailed, “If this is marriage, why would I choose this? I don’t need to work this hard to be happy. I was happy by myself, and I got to keep all of my money. Why on God’s earth would I choose this?”
He replied with a sly grin and a look downward. I had to set him straight.
“Let’s be clear. I have never lacked for sex. Never! I lived in Oakland, damn it! And I didn’t have to cook and clean to get it!
It was then that I started dictating the terms of my own happiness. Shared responsibility was one of them. Instead of doing as Steve Harvey instructs and trying to “figure out” BMNB and men in general, I instead helped him figure me out and what he had to do to keep me on track to marriage. At that point, I didn’t care about what his needs were and what made him tick because my needs weren’t being met and I didn’t need him to be happy. To his credit, BMNB listened. And changed. I always tell people that I married BMNB the person, and, if we were to part, I don’t see myself ever marrying again because I’m not willing to do all that society tells me I should do to get and keep a man.
Steve Harvey tells us women that men show their love by professing their relationship with us, providing for us, and protecting us, and we need to provide them the space to do that to be men in the relationship. I didn’t need any of that. I needed someone who would do his fair share of cooking and cleaning, earn his fair share -- not all the money, just his fair share, and hold up his end of an intelligent conversation. The things that Steve Harvey says men need to do for us in order to be men, I don’t and haven’t needed. I think he describes me and women like me in the chapter in his book I haven’t gotten to yet, “Independent. And Lonely.” But I was never lonely. Alone, but not lonely.
And I’m not alone. There are a lot of women out there – I know because I know some – who have constructed their lives in a manner such they don’t need men, but wouldn’t mind having one in their lives on their terms. But they're not hunting them down. And those terms? They don’t necessarily include acting like they want a man to profess, protect, and provide for them. Sometimes you just want someone to go to the theater with or discuss a book with. Sometimes you just want sex – maybe not in the vein of the protagonists in Zane’s upcoming book, “Headbangers,” (need I say more?) where she proclaims in the first sentence of the book, “Women are the new men,” but in the sense that you know who you are and what you want, even if that’s not what society tells you you should want. Regardless, you’ll still live a happy life because your happiness isn’t conditioned on having a committed relationship with a man.
So, I disagree with both Steve Harvey (at least at this point) and Zane. Women don’t need to think like men in order to be happy or be the new men. Women just need to know themselves and take control over those things which will make them happy in their lives. And a man isn’t necessarily one of them.
History Repeating Itself: John Hope Franklin, The Voting Rights Act, and Officer Robert Powell
This week I finished reading Helene Cooper’s memoir about her pre-Samuel K. Doe childhood in Liberia, “The House at Sugar Beach.” In it, Ms. Cooper describes and then mourns the loss of her privileged childhood as part of the “Congo People” – Liberians descended from freed African American slaves who settled there – at the hands of a coup d’etat engineered by Samuel K. Doe. She also traces her ancestors on both sides of her elite family to some of the original African American settlers. I felt both proud and jealous of Ms. Cooper, proud because she could trace her ancestors back that far; jealous because I couldn’t. I thought to myself, “They may have stolen your childhood, but at least they didn’t steal your history.” I personally cannot trace my family back more than three generations.
For the rest of us of African American descent whose history was stolen, it was given back to us in the form of a gift: John Hope Franklin’s 1947 seminal work, “From Slavery to Freedom.” This week we lost this great American historian upon whose shoulders all African Americans stand today. His work with Thurgood Marshall’s team to craft the arguments that would ultimately prevail in Brown v. Board of Education would only be the starting point for other barriers he would break down: The first African American to chair a department in a predominantly white university; the Presidential Medal of Freedom; his chairmanship of President Clinton’s Initiative on Race, among many. I can’t even begin to list all his accomplishments which lifted up all African Americans. I just know he can’t be replaced.
And then there are those who would attempt to "erase" our racism in subtle, law-encoated ways. Conservatives are now mounting a challenge in the U.S. Supreme Court to Section 5 of the Voting Rights Act, which gives the federal government oversight of changes to state election laws in states that traditionally discriminated against minorities. An Austin, Texas utility district has challenged this “pre-clearance” section as unconstitutional and no longer needed, saying that the election of the nation’s first African American president is evidence that Section 5 pre-clearance is no longer needed. “The America that has elected Barack Obama as its first African-American president is far different than when Section 5 was first enacted in 1965,” wrote Gregory S. Coleman, a former Texas solicitor general who brought the suit on behalf of a tiny utilities district in Austin, Northwest Austin Municipal Utility District No. 1, that is covered by the law. The pre-clearance requirements of Section 5 apply to nine states – Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Georgia, Louisiana, Mississippi, South Carolina, Texas and Virginia – as well as counties and towns in other states.
Mind you, the America that elected Barack Obama as its first African-American president is still the same America that has Texas in it, last I checked. And just as Mr. Coleman and other conservatives mount their effort to erase the racism of the past that still runs into the present, Officer Robert Powell of the Dallas Police Department served up quite a healthy reminder that racism is alive and well in, of all places, Texas, where black men get dragged to their deaths – remember James Byrd?
Officer Powell came to the public’s attention yesterday as the officer who detained African American NFL player Ryan Moats for running a red light on the way to take his wife and father-in-law to his mother-in-law’s death bed at a hospital. While Moats pleaded the exigency of his circumstances – his mother-in-law was dying and he was running out of time to see her, Officer Powell, who is white, decided that he would exert his power and chastise Moats for his “bad attitude.” I think Officer Powell’s words should just speak for themselves:
Excerpts from Officer Robert Powell and Ryan Moats:
Moats: You really want to go through this right now? My mother-in-law is dying. Right now! ... I got seconds before she's dying, man!
Powell: If my mom was dying I'd probably be a little upset too, but when I saw flashing red and blues, I would stop.
Moats: Did I not stop at the red light?
Powell: You stopped, then you drove through the red light.
Moats: I stopped, I checked the traffic, I waved the traffic off, then I turned.
Powell: This is not an emergency vehicle. You do not have the right to control the traffic.
Moats: OK. All right ... just go ahead and check my insurance so I can go ahead and go. If you're gonna give me a ticket, give me a ticket. I really don't care, just ...
Powell: Your attitude says that you need one.
Moats: I don't have an attitude. All I'm asking you is just to hurry up. Cause you're standing here talking to me...
Powell: Shut your mouth and listen.
Moats: Shut my mouth? Is that how you talk to me, too?
Powell: Shut your mouth and listen. If you want to keep this going, I'll just put you in handcuffs, and I'll take you to jail for running a red light.
Moats: OK. All right.
Powell: I can do that.
Moats: OK.
Powell: State law says I can.
Moats: Yes, sir. Go ahead.
Powell: If you don't settle down that's what I'm gonna do.
Moats: Yes, sir.
Powell: All right, If you don't settle down, your truck's illegally parked – I'll tow that as well.
Moats: Yes, sir.
Powell: OK, I can screw you over. I'd rather not do that. Your attitude will dictate everything that happens, and right now, your attitude sucks.
Moats: Yes, sir.
Powell: OK, I turned my red and blues on as you were going over the bridge ...
Moats: You think I'm gonna stop when my wife's mother is dying?
Powell: You are required to stop. What you're doing does not matter. Red and blues, you have to stop. I can charge you with fleeing right now.
Moats: Yes, sir. ...
Powell: I can take you to jail. I can tow your truck. I can charge you with fleeing.
Moats: Yes, sir, you can. I understand.
Powell: I can make your night very difficult.
Moats: I hope you'll be a great person and not do that.
And the funny thing is, Dallas Police Chief David Kunkle not only apologized for Officer Powell’s behavior, but praised Moats for his, noting, "At no time did Mr. Moats identify himself as an NFL football player or expect any kind of special consideration. He handled himself very, very well." In other words, by not availing himself of his status, which I’m sure any white Southerner would have done in a heartbeat in the same situation, e.g., “Do you know who I am?”, Moats was to be commended for remaining subservient, although he had little choice since it is reported that Powell had at one point drawn his gun.
And they don’t need Section 5 pre-clearance down in Texas anymore. Yeah, right.
I know better because I know my history. Because of John Hope Franklin.
For the rest of us of African American descent whose history was stolen, it was given back to us in the form of a gift: John Hope Franklin’s 1947 seminal work, “From Slavery to Freedom.” This week we lost this great American historian upon whose shoulders all African Americans stand today. His work with Thurgood Marshall’s team to craft the arguments that would ultimately prevail in Brown v. Board of Education would only be the starting point for other barriers he would break down: The first African American to chair a department in a predominantly white university; the Presidential Medal of Freedom; his chairmanship of President Clinton’s Initiative on Race, among many. I can’t even begin to list all his accomplishments which lifted up all African Americans. I just know he can’t be replaced.
And then there are those who would attempt to "erase" our racism in subtle, law-encoated ways. Conservatives are now mounting a challenge in the U.S. Supreme Court to Section 5 of the Voting Rights Act, which gives the federal government oversight of changes to state election laws in states that traditionally discriminated against minorities. An Austin, Texas utility district has challenged this “pre-clearance” section as unconstitutional and no longer needed, saying that the election of the nation’s first African American president is evidence that Section 5 pre-clearance is no longer needed. “The America that has elected Barack Obama as its first African-American president is far different than when Section 5 was first enacted in 1965,” wrote Gregory S. Coleman, a former Texas solicitor general who brought the suit on behalf of a tiny utilities district in Austin, Northwest Austin Municipal Utility District No. 1, that is covered by the law. The pre-clearance requirements of Section 5 apply to nine states – Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Georgia, Louisiana, Mississippi, South Carolina, Texas and Virginia – as well as counties and towns in other states.
Mind you, the America that elected Barack Obama as its first African-American president is still the same America that has Texas in it, last I checked. And just as Mr. Coleman and other conservatives mount their effort to erase the racism of the past that still runs into the present, Officer Robert Powell of the Dallas Police Department served up quite a healthy reminder that racism is alive and well in, of all places, Texas, where black men get dragged to their deaths – remember James Byrd?
Officer Powell came to the public’s attention yesterday as the officer who detained African American NFL player Ryan Moats for running a red light on the way to take his wife and father-in-law to his mother-in-law’s death bed at a hospital. While Moats pleaded the exigency of his circumstances – his mother-in-law was dying and he was running out of time to see her, Officer Powell, who is white, decided that he would exert his power and chastise Moats for his “bad attitude.” I think Officer Powell’s words should just speak for themselves:
Excerpts from Officer Robert Powell and Ryan Moats:
Moats: You really want to go through this right now? My mother-in-law is dying. Right now! ... I got seconds before she's dying, man!
Powell: If my mom was dying I'd probably be a little upset too, but when I saw flashing red and blues, I would stop.
Moats: Did I not stop at the red light?
Powell: You stopped, then you drove through the red light.
Moats: I stopped, I checked the traffic, I waved the traffic off, then I turned.
Powell: This is not an emergency vehicle. You do not have the right to control the traffic.
Moats: OK. All right ... just go ahead and check my insurance so I can go ahead and go. If you're gonna give me a ticket, give me a ticket. I really don't care, just ...
Powell: Your attitude says that you need one.
Moats: I don't have an attitude. All I'm asking you is just to hurry up. Cause you're standing here talking to me...
Powell: Shut your mouth and listen.
Moats: Shut my mouth? Is that how you talk to me, too?
Powell: Shut your mouth and listen. If you want to keep this going, I'll just put you in handcuffs, and I'll take you to jail for running a red light.
Moats: OK. All right.
Powell: I can do that.
Moats: OK.
Powell: State law says I can.
Moats: Yes, sir. Go ahead.
Powell: If you don't settle down that's what I'm gonna do.
Moats: Yes, sir.
Powell: All right, If you don't settle down, your truck's illegally parked – I'll tow that as well.
Moats: Yes, sir.
Powell: OK, I can screw you over. I'd rather not do that. Your attitude will dictate everything that happens, and right now, your attitude sucks.
Moats: Yes, sir.
Powell: OK, I turned my red and blues on as you were going over the bridge ...
Moats: You think I'm gonna stop when my wife's mother is dying?
Powell: You are required to stop. What you're doing does not matter. Red and blues, you have to stop. I can charge you with fleeing right now.
Moats: Yes, sir. ...
Powell: I can take you to jail. I can tow your truck. I can charge you with fleeing.
Moats: Yes, sir, you can. I understand.
Powell: I can make your night very difficult.
Moats: I hope you'll be a great person and not do that.
And the funny thing is, Dallas Police Chief David Kunkle not only apologized for Officer Powell’s behavior, but praised Moats for his, noting, "At no time did Mr. Moats identify himself as an NFL football player or expect any kind of special consideration. He handled himself very, very well." In other words, by not availing himself of his status, which I’m sure any white Southerner would have done in a heartbeat in the same situation, e.g., “Do you know who I am?”, Moats was to be commended for remaining subservient, although he had little choice since it is reported that Powell had at one point drawn his gun.
And they don’t need Section 5 pre-clearance down in Texas anymore. Yeah, right.
I know better because I know my history. Because of John Hope Franklin.
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