How did we ever come to be in such a mess?
Legions of teenagers, pregnant or orchestrating their lives toward pregnancy, stroll shamelessly through our streets. Single parent homes dominate our neighborhoods and typify the deficient rearing grounds of most of our children. Black males - little more than sperm donors - wander the streets engaged in an interminable adolescence.
Record numbers of incarcerated persons, languish unmotivated and irresponsibly in prison. And, above all else, countless black families struggle daily to survive neighborhoods besieged by virulent drug and gang cultures. For them, a family walk on a cool summer evening is near suicide.
In so many tragic ways, it seems we are moving backward. After all the years of being held back and held down, followed by all the years of hope and promise, we still, as a people, struggle mightily with our direction.
I contend that it is not we who are struggling and moving backward AS BLACK PERSONS.
They are. They being those “other” black persons. The ones who defeat themselves. The ones who choose not to advance. The ones who bring shame to being black. Those black persons. You know who they are. You see them on the street everyday. Pants saggin.’ Asses wiggling.’ Prospects dwindlin.’
Yes, I too am black. Just as they are. But we are not family. I am not them. They are not me. We are not we. To think otherwise blurs the mammoth distinctions between those black persons who chose to advance and those who chose to delay.