A while ago, someone told me that the “Daddy’s Girl” stage in life is important because it has an effect on our later mating preferences. That the quality of my relationship with my father will have a bearing on my expectations for you might not be fair so I just want to take a moment to tell you: good luck. We haven’t met yet but when you come along, I’d like you to be well-prepared. I’ve had an amazing example of what it is that a real man does for his family and I won’t accept anything less.

For 24 years, I’ve had a man in my life that, while slightly overprotective, has shown the type of devotion to his family and willingness to sacrifice that will not be easy to replicate. My father is, simply put, a provider. He’s loving, hard working and honest. No matter how tough things got, he was there. And that type of security and stability won’t be easy to replicate but we’ll have to try for the sake of our future children.

My father and I talk every day about sports, movies, politics and so much more. And because of that, I have become very opinionated. My father has validated me for 24 years, continuously helping me build a strong sense of pride in the woman that I am. My father worked hard 5 days a week to provide a stable home for his family. With my mother’s help, he gave his children a space to be ourselves so that we could come to be completely comfortable with ourselves. As a couple, my mother and father set a tremendous example of what it means to be Black and in love. So while I will expect a lot from you, please understand that you will be getting a lot in return. I thank my father for loving me and you will thank him as well.

My father’s a tough man and he’ll be hard to please because he’ll expect you to provide me with everything that he has. He understands that I am a strong-willed young woman and he will expect you to love that much about me. He will give you a hard time, but please understand that it’s not because he hates you, it’s because he loves me. And he needs to know that you love me too.

Waiting patiently,

Tam

Revolution begins with the self, in the self.
Toni Cade Bambara

Given the last six months world events—massive earthquake in Haiti, flooding in Nashville, killings in Palestine and Thailand, corrective rapes of lesbians in South Africa, Arizona legalized racial profiling law, oil spill that will forever effect the Gulf Coast, the lies about governmental accountability from Toyota to the Banking system, the rise of the Ku Klux Klan Tea Party embodied in Rand Paul—one wonders is there hope in the world. Is there ever a time when justice, fairness, and love reigns supreme?

I ask this because right now I feel overwhelmed by all the injustices in the world. My heart weeps. I desperately need to know that change can happen. Not the type of change that jingles in your pocket or the type of change President Obama promised, but I am talking about the type of change that Gandhi and other spiritual leaders speak of . . . a world of peace . . . a world of hope . . . a world that cherish differences . . . a world that does not colonize and enslave with market ideas . . . a world free of oppression. I like trees who need soil to grow need to know that the world can change and that there is hope . . . hope in this godforsaken world of ours.

So, today I leave you with a remixed version of Michael Jackson’s Man in the Mirror. It is written and performed by Queen Godis. Honestly, when I watch this video I feel a sense of renewed hope because the video embodies art, children, love, inner reflection, death and rebirth, laughing, spirituality, accountability, communal responsibility . . . all the things our current world is in desperate need of.

Michael song, “I’m talking with the man in the mirror. I’m asking him to change his ways,” so, what are you doing today to change you ways and make the world a better place?

On March 17^th, 2009, Amy Winehouse made international headlines for all the wrong reasons.

Charged with assault after allegedly punching dancer Sherene Flash in the eye at a charity event, Winehouse walked into a media circus when she showed up at a London courthouse that day. Paparazzi were everywhere, scrambling to grab a quality shot of the embattled soul superstar. The court date forced Winehouse to cancel her “comeback gig” at the Coachella Music Festival in California, and would not be her first or last brush with the law.

In comparison to our previous cases (D’Angelo and Lauryn Hill), Amy Winehouse has only dropped out of site musically; all you have to do is hit up a celebrity news/tabloid blog site to find the latest happenings in the twisted, dysfunctional world of Amy Winehouse.  

Four years after an unprecedented and controversial rise to fame with the masterful Back to Black, It seems that Amy Winehouse is hopelessly lost in a sad, never-ending maze of drugs, violence and heartbreak. The obvious question arises…

WHAT THE F@%! HAPPENED?!

Amy Winehouse

Born and raised in London, England, Amy Winehouse’s interest in music dates far back into her early childhood, when she began mimicking her father’s constant habit of singing jazz standards around the house. Receiving a guitar at the age of thirteen, Winehouse’s powerful contralto vocals and songwriting capabilities developed rapidly, leading to a stint in the famed Sylvia Young Theatre School (before she was kicked out for insubordination and piercing her nose), and later a record deal with Island Records.

Winehouse released her debut album in October of 2003. Entitled Frank, the album was only released overseas, but it made a big impression. Inspired almost entirely by the emotional pain of a failed relationship, Frank is a picture-perfect exercise in jazz-influenced neo-soul (ala Erykah Badu or Jill Scott), showcasing Amy’s incredible voice, as well as her expertly-crafted, humorous and heartbreaking lyrics. Produced by Salaam Remi, Frank would win numerous awards and was a moderate success on the UK Albums Chart; but of course, Amy hated the album. Feeling like her label and management were too involved in the formulation of the album’s sound, track listing and packaging, Winehouse was determined to do things on her terms and on her time with her follow-up.

Amy Winehouse & Blake Fielder-Civil

During the three years between Frank and her next release, a lot of things changed. Along with the development of an eating disorder, Amy Winehouse met Blake Fielder-Civil, unquestionably the love of her life. Fielder-Civil would change the course Winehouse’s life and career, for better and for worse, in the years to come. Their relationship was passionate and tumultuous, lasting only six months, but it sent Amy into a tailspin. And when she reappeared in the public eye to begin promoting her next album, the public saw a very different Winehouse. Previously curvy and voluptuous, Amy was now rail-thin and covered in an assortment of tattoos, including a “Blake’s” tattoo across her chest. Now rocking her (in)famous beehive atop her slight frame and drinking and smoking incessantly, this Amy Winehouse was controversial, unpredictable and fascinating to the British public.

And then there was the music. Released in October of 2006 in Britain, Back to Black was a massive hit, propelled by the incredible success of the iconic “Rehab,” a true story about her previous management team’s failed attempt at forcing her into treatment. Amy left the facility after 15 minutes, deciding that she was simply in the throes of depression rather than addiction, and promptly fired that team; she hired a new manager that would let her do whatever she wanted, both artistically and personally. Amy’s performances were electrifying and intriguing, because of both her incredibly heartfelt vocal performances, as well as her affinity for drinking onstage.  American audiences would soon be smitten as well; released in the U.S. in March of 2007, Back to Black debuted at number 7 on the Billboard 200 chart, setting the record for the highest debut on that chart for a British female artist.

Written almost entirely about her breakup with Blake Fielder-Civil, Back to Black is a harrowing journey into the heart and soul of a woman ruined by love, and the negative byproducts of that kind of heartbreak and disappointment. At a time when female megastars (like Britney Spears, Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan) were making headlines for their “bad girl” behavior and rehab stints, Winehouse unknowingly captured the pop culture zeitgeist with Back to Black, espousing a tragic glamour and fiery vulnerability that fascinated millions, reaching across cultural and generational divides. Everything about Back to Black is perfect; the intoxicating girl-group pop sound, gritty Motown sensibilities, Hip Hop attitude and heartbreaking realness in songs like “Back to Black,” “Love Is A Losing Game,” “Me. & Mr. Jones,” and “You Know I’m No Good,” mesh flawlessly to create something catchy yet complex, retro but still undeniably modern. By the end of 2007, Back to Black was the best-selling album in the world.

Winehouse was touted as a world class vocalist, a supremely gifted songwriter, and a certified game-changer within the landscape of popular music. And then everything went wrong. Very wrong.

WHAT THE F@%! HAPPENED?!

After reconnecting in the months following the release of Back to Black, Winehouse and Blake Fielder-Civil married on May 18^th, 2007 in Miami, Florida, to the absolute shock of her friends, family and fans. It was alleged, and has now been confirmed, that it was Fielder-Civil who exposed Amy to hard drugs around this time, and the results of this are incredibly obvious when examining the events that followed their union. By the mid-summer of 2007, Winehouse’s performances and appearances were growing more and more erratic, culminating in a disastrous month of August, in which Winehouse and Fielder-Civil were photographed running through the streets of London bloodied and bruised, after an alleged fight in their hotel room. Later than month, all of Amy’s touring plans were cancelled after a near-deadly overdose on heroin, ecstasy, cocaine and ketamine.

Drugs are bad, kids.

However, the downward spiral truly began when Blake was arrested for assault and “perverting the course of justice,” after trying to bribe the victim of a bar brawl with over $300,000. Winehouse could have been charged with this as well (as Blake was clearly going to use her money), but reportedly missed the meeting with Blake’s co-conspirators (which was secretly being filmed by London police) because of an Awards Show appearance. With Blake now incarcerated, Amy completely fell apart; she was photographed in December of 2007 roaming the streets of London disheveled, in only a bra and jeans, and later cancelled the rest of a set of incredibly erratic and shambolic gigs, in which she’d reportedly cursed at booing audiences and repeatedly forgot lyrics or stopped singing entirely. By January, a tape had surfaced on the internet allegedly showing Winehouse smoking out of a crack pipe and talking about having done ecstasy and valium. She was immediately enrolled in a treatment program, which she stayed in for all of two weeks, before leaving in order to perform via Satellite at the Grammys, where Back to Black won 5 awards, tying the record at that time for the most wins by a female artist in one night.

Winehouse’s record sales and celebrity soared as her personal life plummeted. But with each drug-induced night of depravity and physical violence (against bar-goers, camera-men, audience members, professional dancers, theater ushers, etc.), the memory of her incredible talent faded further into the background, as the reality of her off-the-rails lifestyle grew more and more apparent. Amy’s appearance went from edgy and sexy to messy and horrifying. Her health problems seemed to get worse and worse every day, with everything from impetigo to the early stages of emphysema being reported. And of course, she has been dead silent artistically. 

Today, Amy’s true physical and emotional condition is anyone’s guess. After an extended stay on the Island of St. Lucia, Winehouse seemed to be getting her act together. The new Amy seems to be drug-free (although alcohol remains an issue), her complexion and general appearance seems healthy and positive, and the reports of new musical offerings nearing completion seem fairly credible. But if the reports of reconciliation with Blake Fielder-Civil are credible, we may still have cause to worry.

Of course, Amy Winehouse is a 26 year-old adult and can obviously do what she wants. Her relationship with Fielder-Civil led to an incredible work of art, but it almost killed her in the process.

Hopefully she’ll survive round two.

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

--Maya Angelou

So, how do you make a little black girl believe that all she has gone through does not determine her ability to take flight? How do you “teach” her that her wings are beautiful and that the risk of flying is a marvelous growth enriching endeavor? How do you make her see that her cadged song and flight will one day inspire others to freedom? How do you “teach” a black girl to fly?

You see, it’s not an easy endeavor because so many things seek to clip their wings, silence their voice, and keep them cadged. It takes a special kind of spiritual intervention to release little black birds. It is not a task for the faint of heart or for those who benevolently (i.e. good white women) “swoop” in to save de Negro children from the pathology of their colored communities. Hmmmm . . . it is a task well suited for wise black women like Baby Suggs in Beloved who said, “Yonder they do not love your flesh. They despise it . . . No more do they love the skin on your back. Yonder they flay it. And O my people they do not love your hands. Those they only use, tie, bind, chop off and leave empty. Love your hands . . . You got to love it,” and Minnie Ransom in The Salt Eaters who said, “Are you sure, sweetheart, that you want to be well? Just so’s you’re sure, sweetheart, and ready to be healed, cause wholeness is no trifling matter. A lot of weight when you’re well,” and my 8^th grade colored school teacher, Mrs. LaVern Colvin, who said, “Now listen here, Fallon, if you do not know by now how much I love you . . . you will never know, dearie.”

Yes, Toni Morrison, Toni Cade Bambara, and Mrs. LaVern Colvin all understand the power of wise if not spiritually medicinal black mothers—godmother, other mother, adopted mother, lesbian black mother, church mother, or just an old colored school teacher—to heal the ailing souls of black women and black girls. I know many of you reading this blog are probably saying, “Not all old black women are caring let alone wise,” perhaps not. But, it has been my experience and I will even venture to say the experience of many black women that we all have been touched by the wise words of old black women if not though the “chance” bumping into her in the hallway, reading her words in books like Audre Lorde’s Zami, or eating pound cake at her table as she seeks to reassure you that no matter what ABC News says life does not end because you are single black woman in America.

Yep, these old black women will heal you by teaching you how to fly even if it means pushing you off the ledge limiting the choices you have—either you’re going to flap or you’re going to die the choice is yours. It’s that simple. And now that I think about it that’s how I learned to fly. I was pushed. I was shoved. I was called everything my godmother knew to say while playing spades. Because I did not want to leave my cage I did not want to have to deal with my father’s alcoholism, my mother’s desperate retreat, and all of the other things that come to scare you as a little black girl in a family of unhealthy men. I wanted to be safe and my self-made cage gave me that reassurance. I was safe.

Hmmm . . . I know why the cadged bird sings.

But thank God for colored spiritual medicinal women like Marie Stewart, Ella Baker, Big Momma, Auntie Clara Mae, Fannie Lou Hammer, and my godmothers who have lived long enough in this society to know how it can make you sick and caged bound, but who also know how to heal you whether you want the healing or not. They would say, “Fallon, you have legs just walk . . . Fallon, do you want to spend your life being a 40-year old fried hair beauty queen . . . Fallon, your mother’s story is a part of your story, but it does not determine your fate . . . Fallon, you are stronger than you know you are . . . Fallon, Fallon, (shouting) Fallon.”

And somehow I started to see that I am something special and I deserve to be free. Mark my words; there is something special about wise old black women. But because we live in a patriarchal racist society, old black women’s knowledge and wisdom is greatly devalued. We see them as nagging forgetful asexual hags or as comical gun toting Madea(s) when their sheer age alone says that they sho-nuff know something about weathering a racist and sexist society.

So, the question is how do you teach a black girl how to fly? You teach her to fly by finding her some old cantankerous soul to spend a little time with because I fundamentally believe that there is healing power in our grandmother’s stories. In general, teaching little black girls to fly is a spiritual enterprise where often older black women are simultaneously doctor, therapist, mother, teacher, disciplinarian, preacher woman, and healer.

So, today on this first Friday of Women’s History Month I honor Old Black Woman Healers because without them many of us would have spiritually, mentally, and physically died long ago. So, I ask you the reader to name an old black woman who said a word or two that enabled you to continue getting your degree, that taught you to continue to fight for love, that comforted you as you shed a tear or two, that hugged you when you felt unlovable, that prayed for you when you thought you would lose your last strand of sanity, and that said, “Baby, you got legs just walk.”

So, let us honor our wise old black women today.

Reggie Bush’s relationship with Kim Kardashian is highly publicized and quite honestly, I could care less who he chooses to be with. The discussion that occurred on Twitter (of all places) is what interests me about this entire situation. Many Black women were confused and some were outright angry that Essence had chosen a Black man who is in an interracial relationship to cover an issue that is dedicated to Black Love. I can’t fault them for this. But the response from the Black men on Twitter was bothersome. Of course they were calling the women who complained bitter, saying that they should step outside of the idea that Black Love is so restrictive, that this is a perfect opportunity to expand the idea of Black Love even further so that it is not so exclusive.

If we continue to expand the notion of Black Love so that it includes interracial relationships, the concept begins to erode, particularly, for Black women. We are the ones who will be pushed to the margins if the concept is expanded. Men are privileged enough to tell us that we shouldn’t be so concerned about our fading presence in the Black Love equation which simultaneously pushes the idea that we aren’t qualified to be in the equation at all. Where does that leave us?

If you’re interested, here are some other bloggers speaking on the topic:

A Dissertation on Black Women
A Response to that Dissertation
Deep Cover

www.koffii.com/ImageDescription.aspx?photoId=38873

Over the Thanksgiving holiday, I swear I saw commercials for the movie The Blind Side more times than I caught the ads of those cats singing the free credit report jingle.  (F-R-E-E that spells free/credit report dot com, baby…) Environmentalists could learn a lot from Hollywood; that place recycles scenarios more often than a tree hugger sneers at Hummer drivers.

The trailers for the movie indicate that The Blind Side is yet another addition to that long list of white savior movies.  I haven’t seen it and don’t plan to (In grad school, we call this not being bound by the text.), but it seems that Sandra “I’m doing this movie to make up for playing a racist in Crash” Bullock saves a big black kid from the perils of blackness.  (Crabs in a barrel.  You know the deal.)  I guess the Based on a true story tagline wants to goad me into not being critical of the movie, the genre.  Whatever.  The movie has provided an occasion to address the white savior film.  Since I’ve seen every episode of Webster and Diff’rent Strokes and Dangerous Minds (twice), I’m going to provide a primer for Negro saving for any and all white folks with plenty of money and love in their hearts to adopt a hapless black kid.  And for you black youth out there, pay attention.  You might find something useful here to make yourself more marketable.

1. Pick a good pathology (and stick to it) — You can’t just rescue a poor black kid.  All black people are poor.  You need to rescue a poor crack baby.  Or some teenage foster kid no one wants because he’s no longer cute and still has flashbacks of being beaten with an extension cord.  (No more wire hangers!!!!)  Whatever the problem, make sure the kid has nothing to do with it.  Black kids need to be completely innocent in order to elicit any sympathy.

2. No pathology?  Pick a disaster.  — Tragic things happen to black people everyday, but some things are more tragic than others thereby making some black kids worth saving.  Drive-by shootings?  Totally not cool, but expected and therefore not tragic enough for you to go flying into the ‘hood to save a black kid.  Fire?  Car accident?  Hurricane Katrina?  Famine (for those interested in saving African kids)?  Quick!  Go put on your cape!  None of these events is part of the cast of usual suspects making black life so damn depressing, and thus warrant Negro saving.  Not sure if the occasion requires your superheroics? Ask yourself: If my friend told me they adopted a black kid after that child had suffered  ____, my response would be _____.  If the latter blank is filled with something akin to “Aw, that’s so sad,” then you’ve done well.

The test is full-proof.  Trust me.

3. Whichever Negro you choose, make sure it’s wearing blue. — No, I’m not talking about Crips.  Adopt a boy. How many white savior movies or tv shows starring little black girls can you name?  I’ll wait.  *Cue the Jeopardy! theme music, please*  Maybe it’s because little black boys and their uneven afros are just so irresistibly cute; maybe it’s because little black girls will grow up and become black mothers who will subsequently abuse and/or abandon their children thereby forcing you to save their child(ren), but little black girls hardly ever get saved.  I guess Losing Isaiah sounds better than Losing Iesha.  Whatever the case, adopt a boy.  They’re just easier, and you don’t have to worry about that hair thing.  Besides, in high school he’ll be a hit with the white girls.  I suppose those little black girls are too busy with their emasculation training, anyway.

4. Remember, he must have some value. — You can’t be all willy-nilly in your Negro saving.  You know they steal.  Whatchu talkin’ ’bout, Summer M!?  Sandra Bullock’s adopted son plays football really well.  Your black kid needs to be able to do something uniquely charming--like read.  Or make you laugh.

5. You need to learn something from all of this — Whether it’s (finally!) figuring out all of the steps to the electric slide or instituting a Soul Train line at your next family gathering, you will learn from your chosen downtrodden black child.  Perhaps you’ll just learn unconditional love.  Whatever it is, it’ll be memoir-worthy.  And you’ll get on Oprah. AMAAAAAAZING!

6. Don’t forget: race has nothing to do with this. — You weren’t even thinking about race until I typed it, right?  You are just being a good person, ok?  Don’t let anyone tell you differently.  Those black people giving you the side-eye at Applebee’s are just haters.

What did I miss?

Have a great week.  And yes, you’re welcome.

Oprah Winfrey and Tyler Perry said Precious was awesome and that everyone should go see it. Since I am the most obedient of Negroes, I saw it last Friday. If Flavor Flav is the world’s greatest hype man, this duo is officially the world’s greatest hype machine. I found Precious slightly underwhelming, uninspiring, and lacking much of what makes the novel, Push by Sapphire, so powerful. Sorry, Ms. Winfrey. I had no “A-ha!” moment.

My reaction to and assessment of the film, however, needs context. With relative ease, I could probably come up with a book list of black women’s fiction about incest–The Bluest Eye, Corregidora, etc. In other words, I have discussed, read, written, and thought about the issues the film presents visually perhaps more than the average moviegoer. So I’m willing to concede that my expectation, my threshold might have been a bit higher than the people (talking loud as hell) in front of me. Still, I think what I found troubling about the film worth mentioning. Lee Daniels & Co. had the envelope; they just didn’t push it. (Was that too heavy handed?)

A quick synopsis: It’s 1987. Precious Jones is 16 years old, illiterate, living in Harlem with her abusive mother, and pregnant with her second child by her father. The film begins with her being suspended from school, only to wind up in Each One Teach One, an alternative school where, with the help of her teacher, Ms. Rain, Precious works towards obtaining her GED, literacy, and the agency to tell her own story. Part of me thinks that Perry and Winfrey are so enthusiastic about this film because they believe the pathology articulated in the film is an inherent component of black women’s condition. But I can’t really prove that. I can only infer. Though Precious is somewhat faithful to the novel, it fails in several key ways.

First, the film lazy is at times, and doesn’t work hard enough at situating the viewer with an era that many of us forget or were too young to remember. It’s Harlem. It’s the 1980s. Crack has started to decimate black neighborhoods like Harlem. Len Bias has just died of a cocaine overdose, and the goverment has consequently changed the way drug offenders are prosecuted which, in turn, disproportionately affects blacks. The Cosby Show is the number one rated show on television, but instead the filmmakers opt to seemingly satiate their executive producer by having their main character pepper a pivotal scene with several “What would Oprah do?” lines. At other times, the film is weirdly anachronistic. Bobby Brown’s “Humpin Around,” which wasn’t released until 1992, serves as soundtrack to one of Precious’ imagined photo shoots. We see Oliver North, but that’s one of few blatant reminders of the Reagen era, and that’s unfortunate, because Precious’ mother, Mary Johnston (played by comedian Mo’Nique), would be considered a welfare queen as described by Reagan during his presidential campaign in the 1970s–an image that was reinvigorated in the 80s. I make this latter point especially because Mary and her daughter Precious–who I don’t find grotesque, as David Edelstein describes–are kinds of stereotypes. But I don’t think Sapphire, and later the filmmakers, employ these types out of laziness. Rather, I think these seemingly flat and distorted images place the work in the context of the time it was published, the 1990s, when black artists like Spike Lee and Kara Walker were using stereotypes to make a larger commentary about blackness at the end of the 20th century. But without proper contextualization, that observation can’t be made and the conversation can’t be had.

Second, though the film is faithful to the book by casting both Precious and her mother as they were described, it’s quite liberal in its portrayal of other characters, which results in several light skinned and/or mixed race characters working as Precious’ middle class saviors. For example, Ms. Rain is described in the book as having dark skin and dreadlocks. In the film however, she’s portrayed by Paula Patton, who not only gives Precious the gift of literacy, but opens her home to Precious when she finally runs away from her mother’s uptown apartment. This wouldn’t be such a problem and could be chalked up as a casting quirk if the other “good” characters weren’t also light skinned–and judgmental.

For instance, in an effort to show a positive black male figure, the film takes a minor character in the book, a presumably Puerto Rican EMT, and turns him into Nurse John (played by Lenny Kravitz) who cares for Precious while she’s in the hospital convalescing after having her baby. Of course, he later cashes in on the capital he earned by vigilantly sitting at her bedside by asking Precious to hook him up with Ms. Rain (or her partner, I couldn’t really discern). What’s more disturbing than that, however, is the moment when Precious asks Nurse John, sitting next to her bed eating a bowl of fruit, why he doesn’t like McDonald’s. He responds by saying that he goes to an organic grocery store and refuses to eat “crap” like McDonald’s. The moment is alarming, for it neither advances the film in any way nor adequately allows the viewer the opportunity to interrogate the classist assumptions in Nurse John’s line. The implicit claim in the statement, of course, is that Precious and her classmates choose to eat McDonald’s instead of organic fruit because, of course, there are so many organic grocery stores in Harlem circa 1987, thus making Precious’ unhealthy diet of fried chicken and pig’s feet a choice–and her fault. How very Obama era Reagan era of you. Perhaps I should reassess my first problem with the film.

To add further insult, when Precious asks Ms. Weiss, played by mixed race poster child Mariah Carey, about her racial identity, the social worker skirts the question and opts to buy her client a cherry Coke. Again, the conversation is odd, goes nowhere, and does nothing but subtly validate the skin privilege that Precious is so invested in. Although JoAnn’s door knocker earrings were a nice touch, I didn’t want the only indicator of this time pre-Wesley Snipes 80s era to be a plethora of attractive and nice light skinned folks onscreen. I saw so much yellow I began to feel like a coward; I swore Vanity made a cameo. Such filmic decisions do nothing but reify overused symbols: all the bad guys are shrouded in darkness, sweat, and presumably funk (see The Bluest Eye), while our fairer heroes are bourgie, clean, and always drenched in light. That said, way to go finding the light skinned chick from Head of the Class to play Ms. Rain’s partner. Who knew she was still around?

Third, though I appreciate the decision to make Mary Johnston less monstrous by giving her a monologue slightly different from the one we read in the book, I thought the brief appearance by the grandmother damaging, because her only screen time showed her shaking her head at her daughter. Such small gestures seemingly validated the viewer’s judgment of Mary. Further, it implied that Mary’s abusive and destructive behavior was not a result of her own history (of abuse), that she somehow became monstrous without precedent, without context. Indeed, Mary’s meeting with Miss Weiss and Precious is rendered in a slightly more forgiving light than we see in the novel, but by then the damage has been done. Perhaps viewers lack the capacity to have empathy for both a fat, poor, black girl and her mother. I shouldn’t hope for so much.

Still, the film is significant. I’m not sure it makes audiences uncomfortable enough–the physical abuse seems more terrible than the incest; I don’t know if we understand Precious’ visions of an alternate self as trauma-induced and not daydreams, but I think it’s incredibly important that we see someone like Gabby Sidibe onscreen. I appreciated Mo’Nique’s rather nuanced performance. (Admittedly, I cringed when she seemed to overact her way into a “red gumball” moment during the above mentioned scene.) Though I’m conflicted about having contributed monetarily to empires (Winfrey’s, Perry’s) that seem to have monopolistic and narcissistic impulses–was the Precious come to Jesus moment not a page out of the Tyler Perry playbook?–I understand that one of few ways films like Precious continue to get made is by supporting them while they’re in theaters. I worry that the (light-skinned) savior trope overwhelms the real message of the story: that of perseverance, endurance, and the incredible power in being able to articulate one’s own story, on one’s own terms. I do, however, respect the film for the conversations that will and should be had about all too common issues that are consistently ignored. Precious (hopefully) inspires folks to read the book (before seeing the movie). After seeing the film, I find it imperative that we push to know Precious ourselves.

When we talk about interracial dating in the new millennium, we are facing a new reality in America. In the above clip at UNC Chapel Hill, we see how youth feel about interracial dating. Unsurprisingly we find that many are open to interracial dating, except for the two black women Litesha and Ally.  Additionally, Si-on lm, an interviewee, admits that her parents would be concerned especially if her chosen partner was black.  Yet the prevailing feelings (or at least the director’s closing statements) were that the “deciding factor” should be about love between two people regardless of race.

Interracial dating (read: inter-human dating) (when and if) you so choose is the preferred reality for me (and possibly for many other young people).  I mean why not explore your options. This is not to suggest that intra-racial dating is passé (because it is very much still the norm), but it is to say that we are in a new period in history. It is now more so than ever a time to live life, explore options, cultures, the world and to celebrate our hard-won freedoms. To that end, the data is starting to reflect this new awareness of our freedoms to be happy with whomever we want (within reason).

 According to the PEW Research Center’s 2006 report, 22 percent of Americans have a relative in a mixed-race marriage. Moreover, the Population Reference Bureau reports that more than one-half of Americans have “interdated.”  A 2002 Gallup poll finds that “86 percent of people ages 18 to 29 approved of marriages between blacks and whites, but just 30 percent of those ages 65 and older approved of such marriages. A 1997 gallup national survey of people 13 to 19 – found that nearly two-thirds (64 percent) of black, Hispanic or Asian teens who had ever dated someone and who attended schools with students of more than one race said they had dated someone who was white.” Basically, the numbers are suggesting that interracial dating is growing increasingly acceptable for younger groups of people.   

Why wouldn’t it be with all of the hit shows cashing in on this modern day example of love conquering all particularly racial biases? Michael Russnow, Professor and screenwriter, wrote in the Huffington Post about interracial coupling on TV. He provides an extensive (but partial) list of shows across several Network channels. He makes a very interesting point that the Network channels might be exaggerating the number of inter-human relationships out there. However, to prove his point he looks at Census data regarding interracial marriage and folks’ shackin’ as opposed to interracial relationships/dating overall.  He (and the Network channels) both by and large neglect to talk specifically about LGBTQ “inter-human dating.”

 On Cable channels, we see the same pattern emerging, but with more interesting inter-human ‘interaction’.  For instance in 2004, the L-Word (one of my favorite shows of my early coming out years) changed the game for me in terms of inter-human dating. Inter-human partnering never looked so hot. I remember wanting to be Bette Porter. I wanted to be sleek, commanding and in charge in the office (and in the bedroom). Her partnership with Tina Kennard was passionate and sensual in a way that allowed me to celebrate same-sex couples having sex. At the time, it allowed me to take ownership of what I was creating in my own space in terms of dating and attraction.

If you (or I) find an individual that is outside of our race that fulfills our requirements, why not be open to that possibility?           

Loving couple

What is the harm in being happy?   Still like Si-on lm and Ally the Korean and Black women at UNC, we do have to appreciate both self-held traditional values as well as ones imparted to us by our parents, but those values/traditions have to be brought into alignment with present realities.  Miscegenation is no longer illegal, and interracial marriage has been a constitutionally protected right since Loving vs. Virginia in 1967.

Uh oh.  It’s a code red (black and green).  The bat signal is out.  bell hooks has started spelling her name in all CAPS.  Call up your elders, pray to your ancestors; conjure up your inner fairies, spirits, and goddesses.  Tyler Perry is turning your favorite play, excuse me, choreopoem into a movie.

The film version of Ntozake Shange’s for colored girls–whose rights were procured by director Nzingha Stewart (she directed the First Born Second’s music video for “Soul Sista”)–has landed in the cork-blackened hands of Mr. Madea himself.  Perry will be not just producing, not just directing, but also writing the screenplay for Shange’s Obie award-winning play.   Yes, the words of that rainbow shall be given film direction and dialogue by Mr. Perry.  Take a minute.  Read it again.  Deep breaths.  Inhale.  Exhale.  Good.  Chill out, unknot your headwrap.  It’s going to be ok.  But just in case, bring those sage incense.  Right there on the mantel.  Next to your Yoruba statue.

I might know what you’re thinking.  My advice?  Forget about it.  Forget about how patriarchally formulaic Perry’s black Christian parables are.  (If you’ve seen one, you’ve them all, right? Gee, I hope so.  I’ve seen 2 flicks and 30 seconds of House of Payne.  I can’t stomach any more.)  Forget about the fact that every black woman character Perry has ever created is characterized as insubordinate (hat tip, Moya B.), and therefore deserving of a smack on her face, if it stops her from talking to her husband all out of her neck like she ain’t got no damn sense.  Forget about Perry’s overly played out All a black woman needs is a good, not perfect but hardworking and well-meaning black man theme.  Forget about how real the acronym C.R.E.A.M. has just become to you (thanks, Wu).  Forget about the fact that there are plenty of black feminist women directors out there who would do a magnificent job turning this play into a movie.  Forget about the fact that some of those black feminist directors, who shall remain nameless, might make said movie more boring than, well, some black feminist films; we’re talking principle here.  Forget about Perry’s oeuvre, which features black women, characters with about as much depth as a Beyonce interview and attitudes that rival the stench of a cesspool.  Forget about how, in matters not fiscal, putting Perry at the helm of this endeavor makes no sense.  Forget about making sense.  Forget about the facts; forget about meaning.  Just forget about art; right now, it’s as useful as your degree in the humanities.  While you’re at it, forget about (a purposeful) life.  You’ll just get a headache.

Tyler Perry directing for colored girls is an awesomely good idea. And if you think otherwise, you lose.  So get on board.  Support a brother.  (Have you forgotten all the lessons of the Black Arts Movement?)  Don’t be so divisive.  Stay black and proud, baby.

I get it.  I get it. You performed the Lady in Purple’s monologue at the ‘94 ACT-SO awards, so you feel particularly close to this play.  But in this doom and gloom world, pessimism is such a cliché–and totally unsexy.  So, let’s look on the bright side.  Some good things can come out of this.  And, since I’ve decided to turn a new leaf by no longer visiting despair.com on a daily basis (where will I get my inspiration now?), I’ve decided to provide you with a list of some of those awesome possibilities.   Shall we?

1.  Jill Scott might be in it.  I’m going to take my tiiiiiime! In a word, Jilly from Philly is theatrical.  She exudes epic.  She has the resumé.  She’s worked on stage, television and she has a book of poetry.  (It’s probably better than Alicia Keys’ Tears for Water.)  And, if it wasn’t for Ms. Scott, Angie Stone would be the queen of the Support a Strong Black Man through Song Crew which, it seems, is right up Perry’s alley.  Can’t you just hear her singing “Shortnin’ Bread”?  You know you can.

(The discussion of how she ruined “Watching Me” with her spoken word verses will have to wait for later.)

2. Better yet, Beyonce might be in it! Can she upgrade this film?  Well, if she can do for you what Martin did for the people, the answer is a resounding hells yes!  for colored girls the flick can do for Matt and Tina’s daughter what Dreamgirls didn’t. If you haven’t noticed, Beyonce is bank at the cinema.  That crap of a movie, Obsessed starring Sasha Fierce and Stringer Bell debuted at number 1.  (Did I see this film? No. But my guess is it was crap.)  $11 million on its first weekend.   And isn’t that this is all about?  Besides, Beyonce needs the acting practice, no?  Yes, now is a good time for Lady in Yellow jokes.  Start now.

3. You can play a game.  Guess who will star in the movie. This is an ensemble cast.  There are seven colors of the rainbow, which makes seven roles for black actresses.  Last time I counted, I think there were about 14 black women in Hollywood; that does not include Queen Latifah, Halle Berry, or the black lady in the Pine Sol commercials.  Set up an office pool.  Whoever correctly chooses the most actresses wins.  Will Taraji P. “Jody, you a black ass lie” Henton get the nod as the Lady in Brown?  Is Sanaa Lathan up for the role as the Lady in Red?  Will Zoe Saldana pass as black–again–for the role of the Lady in Orange?  Is Kerry Washington still too busy campaigning for Obama?  Bet some wheat grass shots or something.  We hate money, remember?

4. Hey, it could’ve been Spike Lee.  There is a valid argument that Spike Lee would do a better job, but do you really, really want him writing this movie?  She’s Gotta Have it 2, anyone?  (Zora Neale Hurston angrily revolves in her previously unmarked grave!)  Furthermore, he did go to Morehouse.  ‘Nough said.  I won’t bother mentioning Steven Spielberg.  I’m sure he’s busy.

5. Time to exhale.  (Shout out to my girl, Maegs.)  Remember the epic fail of trying to get your book club to read Toni Morrison?  Remember how homegirl turned up her nose at the idea?  Remember how you were so frustrated that you wanted to quit paying your dues and stop attending until your other homegirl pointed out that you had yet to get the club treasurer’s bomb-ass spinach dip recipe?  Well, with Perry on board, this is the perfect time to add for colored girls to your book club reading list as this year’s non-urban selection.  With the Perry stamp of approval, the ladies will gladly postpone that new Eric Jerome Dickey to February or March 2010, easy.  After all, surely there are some quotables that will make the movie, and there is nothing more pleasurable than sitting in the movie theater and reciting and laughing with the actors.  Make sure you bring it up before y’all get knee-deep into the Real Housewives of Atlanta. (Who gon’ check me, boo?)

6. There will be an Oprah special… And you will watch that shit.  (Ntozake Shange, we speak your name!)  I know you’re conflicted about Oprah.  She’s made a billion dollars on lightweight mammy game, but outright hatred is problematized (oh god, I can’t believe I just typed that word in a blog entry) by your allegiance to black women.  It is a tough call.  But you have to watch this episode to make up for skipping Best Life Week and to make amends for believing in The Secret.  (Still waiting for my bike, by the way.)  There will be more black folks on the show since she opened up that school in Africa, and more black women on the show since, well, let me get back to you on that.  Maya Angelou will say something that sounds wise until you realize that said wisdom is merely a facade, a result of being hypnotized by her deep voice, wordiness, and poetic inflection that sounds nothing like the see-saw spoken word cadence you’re used to.  You know Gayle is coming!  All the stars of the show will be there talking about how the play changed their lives.  Oprah will talk about how it changed her life and then tell the audience that it change their lives too, and the audience will nod in Pavlovian agreement.  Maybe Ntozake Shange will show. (You’re looking for a rehab joke here, aren’t you?  Not gonna happen.  I have standards now.)  If anything, it’s worth tivo-ing; the visual dissonance of watching soccer moms cheer for this play and the copy of the book under their chair will be gnarly.  Trust.

7. March on. I know you like to protest.  It’s what you do on your days off from your non-profit job.  So call up your homegirls, er, sistern.  Text the garbage bag, grocery bag, gucci bag, paper sack, nickel bag, booty bag, cheap sack ladies, and the baby baggin’ mamas. Tell them to call their friends, and y’all have a vegan-friendly potluck and make some signs.  Then go up to Lionsgate headquarters or Tyler Perry Studios (because most of y’all live in Atlanta, right?) and walk around for a few hours.  It won’t change anything, but I’m sure you’ll be able to finagle a Facebook album out of the event.  Wear your best vintage denim jacket, and comfortable–but fierce–shoes.

8. That said, you might get to meet Erykah Badu.   Ms. Badu makes the illest videos, and one of my favorites is the aforementioned for colored girls-inspired “Bag Lady.”  If you make enough noise, maybe Ms. Badu will honor your cause.  Either way, follow her on twitter.  She’s the best.

9.  There’s still time to pray that Perry won’t dress in drag for this movie. When Madea throws that baby out of the window, it will be funny–right?

10. By the end, you’ll forget you ever considered suicide.  (You might consider murder.) Face it, dude.  Self-loathing doesn’t befit everybody.  What you wanna go around killing yourself for?  The Tyler Perry version of this film is going to make you feel so much better; so uplifted, so inspired.  By the end, you might not love the movie, but you will love Jesus–and maybe the black man you left at home to go watch the movie with your girls.  And you will find God, He’s nowhere near yourself, though.  You’ll find Him in the church house.  And if Perry has anything to do with it, you will worship him–and your (new) black man–fiercely.

See!  Why did you ever get upset over this news?  You’ve totally forgotten all the reasons you opposed this move, haven’t you?  Can’t even remember the fact that “somebody almost walked off wid alla [your] stuff,” hunh? Don’t you feel so much better now?  Good.  See you at the movies.

Note: For smarter, more serious accounts of this issue, please check out my internet husband, AC and/or my fellow black youth blogger, fabulous Fallon.  Their posts on this rocked.

One of my friends came to me this week and told me one of those stories that make you shake you head in disappointment. My eighteen-year-old male friend (For Blog purposes we will call him Timothy) was approached and asked out on a date by an older man (We will call him Bernis). Bernis was in his mid-thirties and initially seemed to be a nice person. After a couple weeks of interaction between the two of them Timothy realized Bernis was DownLow (which he understood to be problematic but Timothy did not mind dealing with that aspect.) Timothy stopped interacting with Bernis when he saw a picture of him at a Vacation spot with a woman and two kids. When Timothy asked him about the picture, Bernis came clean and told him he had a wife and two kids.  

When situations like this happen, usually both the gay and straight community criticize and judge the DownLow man. In some sense I think those older men should be criticized, but I also think people need to understand why those men have hidden in the closet for so long and why they continue to drown in their infidelity with the same sex.

There are all types of DownLow men. I have talked to men on the DL who were “self-proclaimed” thugs, businessmen, lawyers, drug dealers, educated, non-educated, educators, Black, White, Brown, and everything in between. And I have been DL once upon a time. I tried to hide who I was and pretend to date girls so others would think I was straight. I’m just glad that I was strong and confident enough to break out of my “straight façade.”

So why DL?

It always involves a combination of these three aspects: The American Dream, Religion and/or Homophobia.  

The American Dream is not a reality for many living in impoverished areas across the country. However, there is still a paradigm that consistently leaves remnants of ideas that root from our “countries dream” which causes any young boy (or girl) to not want to be labeled as “deviant.”

Things like growing up and having a wife and kids are programmed into the minds of individuals from the time of their birth. If you are apart of any lifestyle that deviates from what is considered normal, acceptable, or the status quo you will be ostracized and many have even been brutally gay bashed.(Read about Matthew Shepard)

People don’t decide to be DL once they reach adulthood. It starts when you’re just a teenager. When I was a young boy in middle school discovering how much discrimination existed towards black people in the past, I did not want to be discriminated against for two things that I could not control—Being Black and Gay. In middle school I decided early that it was best to suppress the thought and feelings I had for other men. And for the next six years of my life (from 12-18) that’s exactly what I did. I lied, had fake relationships, and stressed my masculinity so that I could be considered normal and not have to deal with the ridicule and judgment of society. In the black community, when oppressions develop in society, black people have a history of finding a haven within the church. But with gay oppression, that spiritual haven is non-existent, and the vulnerability of struggling gay men and lesbian women only escalates.

We live in a society where homophobes are displayed on news channels for beating and sometimes killing people for their sexual orientation, where the mentality of a mass amount of people believe it would be best to get married/make 2.5 kids, and where a church says your going to hell if you don’t change your sexual orientation. With all these different aspects going on at once, it would seem smarter and wiser to just stay in the closet for a lifetime in some sense.

The reason we have 35 year old men approaching 19 year olds males after being married with kids, is because we live in a society that ridicules those individuals who are courageous enough to decide to be out and proud. I am not condoning a cheating man’s actions, but I want to explore why a man could live half his life and still be hiding his true self. Bernis is just a product of what society says he should be. We can call him a coward, but the truth still remains, if people come out of the closet, they will have to face more hardships in life.

I decided to come out because I refuse to go through life under the oppression of anyone else’s opinions. I believe for a man (or women) to get to a point where they stop hiding, they have to stop caring what everyone thinks and feels (which is much easier said than done). When I came out, I had to not care what my family thought (the same family who fasted—literally stopped eating—and prayed for me when I told them I was gay), I had to stop caring what my friends thought (some of the same friends who abandoned me once they found out), and I had to re-evaluate my religion (a religion that had been the backbone of my life since I was a three year old in Sunday-school). I cannot blame Bernis for not wanting to deal with the oppression and rejection that gay and lesbian people encounter on a daily basis.

One thing I can take hope in is that things are getting better. The Laws (slowly but surely) are changing to support and protect all people. The first gay minister   was appoint in the last decade, and people are starting to understand you can still achieve success and find acceptance as an out gay man or lesbian women. I suppose it is up to us (Straight and Gay people) to make sure our society stops giving such a negative and unnatural connotation to the word “gay” and everything that comes with it. Maybe then 35-year-old men will finally be able to accept their true identities.