Biting The Big Apple

I was only there for about a week. Yet that was all it took. I have fallen in love with New York.

Admittedly, I did find it a bit difficult to look past the countless bags of trash that are amassed on the city sidewalks at night. And yes, there are very unique scents that seem to be characteristic to New York in its entirety. And yes, descending into the subway tunnels felt a lot like walking down the first flight of stairs that lead to Hell. And yes, the humidity there makes me feel gross. And yes, some of the people do seem to be uber standoffish. And yes, I did fear that someone was going to either snatch my wallet or touch my butt when riding on crowded subway cars. And yes, I did wish that getting around was as easy as hopping into someone’s personal vehicle at times. And yes, it does appear that New York could very well be America’s most expensive city. And yes, I do think that the air there was potent enough to shave about 7.4 years off of my life.
Yet, once you look beyond these minor complaints, you’ll be able to see that I LOVE NEW YORK!

The greatest thing about life on the Eastern seashore is the close proximity to Europe. And I do not love this simply because tickets to London are cheaper in New York than they are in Los Angeles. Instead, it is the visible importation of European city design and architecture that pleased me so. The congestion of the city, which is a curse to some cities, is instead a gift from New York to its visitors. Step foot in Manhattan. Aimlessly walk with your head down. If you should manage to avoid being hit by an angry cab driver, I guarantee that you will stumble upon some noteworthy building, statue or other cultural artifact.

Actually taking up residence there would be no easy task. Nevertheless, the trip to New York is one that should be made by all lovers of city life and those who are intrigued by cultural melting pots. In essence, New York is one massive cultural experiment. Name a type of person. Name a type of food. Conjure up imagery of the most ridiculous circumstances capable of existing under the loose thresholds of reality, and you’ll likely be able to find it in New York.

Although the city did manage to force me into relieving my account of about a grand, it was the activities accompanied by no cost of admission that hooked me the most. It was standing in Times Squares as a tourist and being approached and then chastised by others tourists for being a tourist incapable of assisting them in the pursuit for further tourist activity. It was the ride on the subway. It was sitting between a Blackberry-addicted businessman on one side, and an avant garde student from the fashion institute on the other side. It was the police force in front of Radio City Music Hall with their assault rifles. It was the NYSE and the daily buzz along and around Wall Street. It was the unsafe driving of foreign taxi drivers. It was the two 30+ Italian guys and the Dutch courage that accompanied their alcohol consumption which led them to want to quarrel. It was the odd guy behind the counter in Starbucks. It was getting off of the train and overlooking the plight of Jamaica, Queens. It was getting back on the train and transporting to one of the comfy cottages in Long Island. It was the ride into Brooklyn Heights to live life like The Huxtables. It was the taxi ride across the Brooklyn Bridge that ended at Wall Street and immersed me in the lifestyle of investment bankers. It was running into Alex Rodriguez and then people watching while eating at Serafina. It was flirting with the waitress at the pizza place. It was the scores upon scores of beautiful women that paraded around the streets of NY, showcasing beauty unparalleled by most forms of beauty that I had seen up to that point in my life. It was sitting on the subway and realizing that the seat next to me would not be taken because I am a perceived by many as an intimidating Black man. It was leaving NY and being able to say that I ate at a place that serves nothing but rice pudding. It was taking the tour through the UN and hearing Jay Z receive multiple shout outs for his humanitarian efforts in Africa. It was the countless number of events and activities and images that are now embedded in my mind that knocked me off of my feet and made me fall face-flat in love with New York.

I rolled all of things little things into a ball. I flavored this ball with both the good and the bad. I painted the ball red and added a stem on top. And last, but not least, I took a bite out of the city. I took a bite out the Big Apple. And much to my surprise, I loved the taste.

Black Men Stare…a lot…

A dichotomy exists.

As a Black man, born and raised in Southern California, I have come to expect one of two responses from other Black passersby (or standers by) that acknowledge my presence.

On the benign end, other males of African descent simply nod at you. Some ask, “how are you my brother?” Others still simply give you a look that is worth a thousand words. These facial expressions often scream: “I’m glad I’m not the only motherfucking Black person here!”

I love these moments. These brief exchanges that have led many to believe that some sort of innate Black male camaraderie exists. For brief moments in time, it appears as if all Black men get along. As if we walk around with our skin serving as a testament to our involvement in this not-so-secret fraternity of Blackness. We bond briefly and then move forward with our tasks at hand; never allowing the Brotherhood to distract us away from our daily mission.

Yet, every yin has its yang. Every Shaq has its Kobe. Every Biggie has its Pac. Every Black man driving has its police officer. I believe you get the picture.

For some reason that exists beyond my realm of understanding, other Black men opt to meet me with unwelcoming glares. Sometimes they’re in the car right next to me while I’m stopped at the traffic signal. In some cases, they’re walking past me while I’m shopping in the mall with my cousin. Sometimes they’re waiting to be seated at the restaurant while I’m walking out after enjoying a delectable meal. I swear it seems like they’re everywhere. And I swear, that without fail, they are looking at me. They are pointing their unpleasant mugs in my direction and showing their distaste for my person.

I vowed while in high school, to keep my head off of a swivel when dealing with other Black males. I mean, the only time that I go out of my way to break my self-imposed rule is when one of my Black male counterparts is being accompanied by a beautiful young lady. But otherwise, I want nothing to do with them – at least in the “I like to shoot mean glares at strangers” sense. I don’t want to see what kind of shoes they have on. I don’t want to ask them where they got their tattoos done. I don’t want to see what kind of car they drive. I just want the silent head nod, the “how are you”, or nothing at all.

How much of a treat do I really pose to other Black males? Why do I bring them so much displeasure? Is it something about me or are Black males conditioned to view their brothers as a competitor; as the enemy?

The notion of a Black male brotherhood is a façade. The notion of a Black community that is interlinked throughout American is a myth. As far as I can see, the unity in this “community” is missing in action. Of course there are roots to this evil held closely by history. However, Black men must take the initiative and work to stop perpetuating this venom that is stagnating the “Black cause.”

I beg of you Black men. Stop staring at me. Just because you see me in the streets, homey you definitely don’t know me.

Silently overlooking The Jena Six

It continues to amaze me how little coverage The Jena Six have received. Updates on proceedings are passively included in news publications. Television programs do little more to give the matter the attention it deserves. And just this past Tuesday, a group of students at USC decided to protest the legal proceedings in Jena, Louisiana: they did so silently.

 

There is no need to rehash the details of the situation. Even the untrained eye can see that the entire scenario is laced with double-standards and is spewing racism left and right. Americans removed from the situation, seem to be subtly shaking their heads and praying that the matter gets properly sorted out. Others are oblivious to the situation. Others still, may very well feel that the African American students involved in the fiasco are getting what they deserve!

 

The media has grossly mishandled this matter. Media outlets have failed to generate any widespread sense of urgency. Not only are the authorities in Louisiana allowing the concepts of equality and justice to be slapped in the face. Instead, they are being assisted by those powerful players in American society that so forcefully assert their belief systems and work to shape our everyday realities.

 

The stir amongst African Americans isn’t even overwhelming. The omnipresent Rev. Jesse Jackson attempted to throw his two cents in by joining the list of individuals questioning the authenticity of Barack Obama’s blackness. Of course, no self-respecting Black man would allow such a travesty to go overlooked. Obama should be using every opportunity he has to champion the cause of The Jena Six! He should be a Black man first, a politician second (this paragraph is laced with sarcasm).

 

Yet, not even the polarizing comments made by Mr. Jackson will be enough to right the mishandling of the Jena situation. The Jena Six serves as a reminder to the divisiveness of race in America. The affair is likely being so heavily overlooked due to most American’s unwillingness to accept the fact that race is still a major issue in America.

 

Not just class. Race still divides. Class matters. But race, arguably, matters more.

 

The southern region of our nation still serves as a testament to a dark past. Racism exists everywhere. But no other American region continues to showcase the stark Black-White divide that festers in the American South. As a nation, we have undeniably progressed. But that cannot be taken to mean that all racist ideology has been eradicated from the general public and/or the bodies that govern our cities, states and country.

 

And while I hate to do this, this entire affair begs the question: would the situation be the same if the roles were reversed? If The Jena Six were white and going up against an oppressive predominately-Black system, would the legal proceedings be receiving daily front page coverage?

 

I think the answer is yes. You decide…