African American


22752.jpg

Network television is changing. They are reshuffling the deck to appeal to larger audiences. They are getting rid of liberals, but they are really getting rid President Barack Obama’s musings and anyone who can’t appeal to the dominant political mass.

People will be moved whether it is Melissa Harris Perry, Al Sharpton, Toure, Joy Reid, Ronan Farrow, Alex Wagner, Jose Diaz-Balart or anyone else. That is just business, but why didn’t these brown faces see the writing on the wall?

 

cnn_rs_mhp_160228a-800x430.jpg

Melissa Harris Perry walks off her show after pre-exemptions

 

Why…because these brown face head shots were pretending that influx of brown faces on big screens, small screens and network news wasn’t due to Barack Obama’s presence. As his term winds down these people should have been reflective of the process that gave rise to many of the brown faces we seen daily. Reflective that Barack Obama’s travails allowed these brown faces to provide better for their families, to change zip codes to create viable platforms.

Even though some of those brown faces took their benefactor to task for two terms and eight long years, thanks is still due. They have yet to thank him for the paychecks, the raises, the platforms or the notoriety. Without Obama these brown faces would have kept the marginal outlets they had before his candidacy.

 

Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000038_00066]

Race and Identity Polices personified

I get it; you earned this position on merit…right. Unfortunately, America seldom works like that—hardly ever. Many of these brown faces did great jobs with their shows and platforms, but no great job a brown face does would be as great as someone with a white one.

                                          Dear: Melissa Harris Perry,

                                          This is not about you. This is about President Barack Obama.

I know Melissa Harris Perry and her audience, didn’t like the repeated back and forth cuts between her segments and election coverage. A lot of people are ‘stanning’ for Melissa, Nerdland, and for a show that featured race and identity politics and Melissa never did get that Beyonce interview. Ultimately, Melissa’s insistence on discussing of Beyone’s video “formation” instead of the political race may have been the last MSNBC straw.

 

 

The cycle is changing and Melissa Harris Perry has an audience, a following and agendas behind her…she’ll be fine.

 

 

MG Hardie

Karrine and Lil Wayne

Dear Karrine Steffans,

I ride for you. I really do. Most people have no idea why. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Dr. Ebony Utley, a writer and an associate professor of communication at California State University Long Beach. I write and teach about popular culture and relationships. When Confessions of a Video Vixen dropped, I assigned it to my hip hop class and made all my students purchase it.

Confessions was important because it forced readers to contextualize a vixen’s life. After my students exhausted all the different ways they could call you a ho, I pushed them to move past their judgments and critique gendered double standards about sexuality. I demanded that they imagine how it would change them if they were sexually assaulted, abused, and abandoned as a young girl. I encouraged them to consider the conditions that lead to escapism through sex, drugs, alcohol, and hip hop fantasies. Your book was a perfect opportunity to discuss how and why women make choices in a man’s world. I asked them to respect the chutzpah of a woman not that much older than they were who put it all out there—haters be damned.

When it came time to build my brand, I modeled it after yours. Your early websites were my favorites. I learned form you that pink is a power color. You taught me how to be sexy and smart. I subscribe to the newsletter, buy the books, read the damn blog. In fact, The Vixen Manual is kinda like an Our Bodies, Ourselves for the hip hop generation. Okay, that’s an overstatement, but the pictures were a nice touch.

Your newest book How to Make Love to A Martian was a birthday gift to myself and it continues your prosex, prochoice advocacy. It was a brave decision to share your abortion story. It was also an important decision in a world where women’s rights to choose are being systematically stripped away.

Baby News: Fuck!

Four Weeks

And while Martian is a page-tuner, I’ve got to draw a line. The “love” that you and Lil Wayne have is dangerous. I know you have a niche. I know you have a core audience with expectations. I know you need to make that money, but I can’t ride for you and let other people think that your depiction of love is okay with me. Now, I generally don’t make a habit of telling people they love wrong. I’ve been flying around the country collecting definitions of love from women and children for my research, and I know there are as many definitions as there are people.

For my current project Shades of Infidelity, I’m interviewing women about their experiences with infidelity, and I’ve asked all of them to define love. I’ve learned so much about life and love that this isn’t me passing judgment on your open relationship with Lil Wayne. This is me telling you that a relationship that lacks mutual trust, respect, and honest communication isn’t a healthy love. Here come the spoilers. You define love as “the spirit of caring to the maximum level of shared connection.” Fine. Then you describe love with Wayne:

“Wayne didn’t want to know everything or anything at all, except that I loved him.”

“Wayne was loving me the way he wanted to love me, but I was loving him the way he needed to be loved.”

“He was a jealous and possessive man when it came to the women he loved. He never wanted to hear about other men. Ever. Even though all this women had no choice but to hear about all his other women and accept it.”

All bad, Karrine. Per your own definition, you’re coming up short. Is this what the maximum level of connection looks like? More importantly is this what the maximum level of connection looks like?

I know you’re both working and these representations are part of your jobs. I’m certain they fail to accurately reflect the extent of your relationship, but for all the babygirls that are fans of yours, I need them to know that:

  • When you can’t talk to your partner about that time he hurt your feelings when he flew you across the country, holed you up in a hotel, and never showed up to meet you, it’s not okay
  • Sleeping with his friend just to make him jealous instead of telling him that his getting everybody pregnant and you hearing about it on the street was hurtful, is not ideal.
  • Being in a relationship where there is no reciprocity is not a healthy relationship.

If you were just sexing Wayne for pleasure, that would be fine (although I’m not entirely sure what you see in him), but to call what you describe in Martian as love is not fine. Not. At. All.

Raw

I agree. Sometimes a man and a woman have an understanding that even they don’t understand. I have been there. But this is not that. There’s no understanding. He hurts your feelings. You swallow them. You try to move on. Love relationships require communication to achieve that understanding and that maximum level of connection. I need to communicate to you that you deserve better. You’ve been hurt. A lot. But don’t give up on yourself. Learn from your mistakes. Olivia Pope is wrong (but that’s another post). Love is not supposed to hurt more than it heals you. Love yourself first. Tell yourself the truth about this unhealthy relationship. If you can agree not to glamorize the pain anymore, I’ll agree to keep riding for you. Can you and I share that understanding?

Dr. Ebony Utley
The Woman with Ideas
theutleyexperience.com

In 1986 Run DMC released the song “My Adidas”.  Run DMC had been heavily criticized for wearing shoes with no laces, and for promoting stereotypes. So the rap group wrote a song called “My Adidas”. The wrote this song because as DMC stated “Yeah, we wear Adidas with no laces, we got gold chains, we got Cazals and all of that, but I go to St. John’s University.

The song meant something to them. The song meant something to the masses who followed Run DMC, and rocked the shelltop Adidas to show their connection with the group. It was a way of saying “don’t judge us by what we have on, or by what we look like.” It was a moment when being a rapper, being a b-boy, being poor, being from the streets didn’t mean you had no hope. It meant that you could wear your Adidas on the stage at “Live Aid” and still have people applaud. Run DMC  showed that you could be who you are and sign million dollar contracts. “My Adidas” was a song that debunked stereotypes and inspired people. I have never wore Adidas in my life, but in 1986 ‘My Adidas’ meant something to me.

Adidas partnered with Run DMC to form a clothing line of their own. It was this song and Run-DMC’s attitude that showed that Hip Hop was not just a form of music, or some lyrics put on a page. Run DMC showed that Hip Hop was a lifestyle. Since 1986, many artist and entertainers have followed the model set by Run DMC. Adidas was the first company to reap the benefits of hip-hop marketing, and hip hop expanded by a partnership with corporate America.
The entire history of Run DMC is a series of firsts…

  • The first rap act to chart in the Top 40 of the Billboard Hot 100 more than once
  • The first rap artist with a Top 10 pop charting rap album
  • The first with a R & B charting album
  • The first rap artist with gold, platinum and multi-platinum albums
  • The first rap act to appear on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine
  • The first rap act to receive a  Grammy Award nomination
  • The first rap act to make a video appearance on MTV
  • The first rap act to perform at a major arena

Fast forward to 2012 and Adidas now sponsors a hip hop artist called Two Chainz, another average rapper, with a major contract, who has just released his first album. Unfortunately this sponsorship seems more like pissing all over hip hop and it’s history, and the struggle of those that came before. Business are smart to look at a fan base and seek to capitalize off of it. These corporations don’t care if an artist has talent,or what they are saying, they just want access to the fan base and the rappers oblige them. Rappers as unproven commodities with lyrics devoid of meaning proudly hawk perfumes, clothes, liquor, colognes, headphones, ect…because they were never told where they came from, so they have no idea of where they should be going. They turned on the television, or went to youtube and saw other people had done and they copied that and become just another produced rapper.

Hip Hop is something you live.

Hip Hop is something you live

There is no struggle, no heart, no art, it’s a business. That’s all it means to them, that’s all their fans mean to them. Hip Hop means nothing to them, you can hear their passionless voices clinging to a hook. You can see it in their videos and the issues they do not speak on. They have taken the money, in exchange for the meaning. They have taken promotion over the substance and this is why these partnerships, no matter how much capital is put into them, mean absolutely nothing. They are all in such a rush to be just another rapper that history will forget.

Is it the partnership with corporate America that has caused the meaning to leave hip hop?

Was it Run DMC’s promotion of materialism, Hip Hip’s ultimately ruination?

Does Hip Hop simply not have any meaning left in it?

Join MG Hardie fan page.

Father Time–white man, white hair

Uncle Sam- white man, white hair

Santa Claus- white man, white hair

Moses- white man, white hair

The Forefathers- White men, white hair

Baby New Year- White baby

Jesus- White

Mother Nature- White Woman

Helen of Troy – White Woman

Lady Godiva- White Woman, White Horse

Mother Nature

White knight, white noise, white lies, white diamonds, Snow White, White House, and the ever popular white rose.

White velvet cake, white tea, white rice, white truffles, white potatoes, white onions, and oh yes blonde roast coffee

White peaches, white pumpkins, white wine, and White Christmas.

White christmas

White is the ultimate authority, they set it up that way, so that ain’t nothing good until it’s white.

Look at chocolate, dark, sweet, cream, milk–but no that wasn’t enough they had to go and make

that white too, and white chocolate isn’t even chocolate!



You don’t see chocolate vanilla do you. I knew they wouldn’t stop at milk. They may as well say,

here drink this, white it does a body good.

Racism is everywhere and its not subtle.

Another poem from It Ain’t Just the Size

This Cleveland bus incident, where the bus driver uppercuts a woman has been played and replayed in all of it’s entertainment value glory. What has been lost in all of this is the discussion. I have been hit while driving. I mean slapped, punched, steering wheel grabbed and I felt that she was really trying to kill me…us. So I know how Chris Brown felt and how this bus driver may have felt. Without passing judgement on the bus rider for spitting and hitting or on the bus driver for his rising dragon punch, what is the real issue…

Why did it take getting hit for this woman to realize that she can’t hit?

Why after 22 years of taking similar punishment from passengers did the bus driver react in this manner?

The Full Story

This is not uncommon nor an isolated incident, why? Because our society allows women to get away with hitting. Women carry the banner of “the weaker sex”, when nothing could be further from the truth. We already know who hits more…women, yet every woman is sugar, spice and everything nice and every man is a potential villain. What that approach has done is cultivate a culture of violence and victimization. Now all of a sudden he’s head butting her, choking her, hitting her…all of a sudden and she hasn’t done anything, she isn’t violent at all and she isn’t teaching these very same methods to the children, no not at all. We have become a society inequity, a society of  one law and two different rules, two different standards, which is probably why our foreign policy is one of a bully who speaks of victimization.

When the authorities respond to a domestic violence dispute and, in general, do nothing to the hitter, but remove the hitee what does that do to a child seeing it? How does that ultimately shape their view of society, their view of relationships?

You look at this cartoon and think he had it coming?
He must have said something.
That isn’t you, but deep now you know it is.
You have a problem and so does America.

What has this dual standard done to children, who have internalized these types of behaviors? It has made them adults who are violent, made them adults who hit, Adults who fear no repercussions. It has made the ledger unbalanced and therefore unequal. It has made males feel at times caged and constantly under pressure from society and in their relationship. It has breed a culture for men, that says being hit is normal. A culture that says if you are a male you should expect to get hit.

Are men violent? Men are not violent, which is contrary to what those with an agenda, and many a female blogger might say. However, males can be made to be violent. Here is an all too common example: A young man beats his girl for slapping him and we all get down on him trash him and cuddle her and everybody else that he’s ever been with. Now,here is the what you didn’t see. That young man grew up with a mother that hit. She hit his father and she all the other dudes after the father left. She hit his brother. She hit him. She allowed female cousins to hit him. As he got older he was a relationships where he was hit. The authorities who grabbed him hit him. For his part, this young adolescent, he has to take the hits because she is the weaker sex and speaking out makes him weak, speaking out makes him a punk. Expressing his emotions is something that just isn’t done, because it scares people, which is why the authorities were called in the first place, so he learned that lesson.

One day this young man’s woman decides that he didn’t answer a question correctly, or she isn’t getting enough attention, or whatever the case may be and she decides to test him by hitting him and he goes off on her. We all know the story “I just touched him and he went off.” Guess what your ‘touch’ was hit number 3,476 and that was the one that set him off. That was the one that he could take. That was his societal rebel yell. What society sees is the what came after. We see the elephant rampage. We witness the killer whale attack. We don’t see the role we played in the action. What would have happened if didn’t condone hitting in our society?  You can not give one group carte blanche to assault and hit with virtual impunity, while the companion group has to absorb all of it.

Why has society allowed women to be violent? Perhaps it has to do with men not wanting to look at our mothers as being anything but nurturers or since women represent the best of us, men don’t want to show the rest of the world that the word best’ may have been misused.  Most women who hit, do so because they can.

It’s not okay, it’s not. I tell my daughters just like I tell my son, “no one should hit”, but more importantly than telling them…I show them.

Mothers stop hitting.

Girlfriends stop hitting.

Everyone stop hitting… Hugs go a lot further.

Join MG Hardie’s fan page

It has to be a spirit that makes you beat your children for no good damn reason.

A spirit that makes you tell them to keep their legs closed,

while you keep yours open.

A sick ass spirit that makes you tell your children that they ain’t going to be nothing.

A spirit that makes you call them,

nigga,

a coon,

a monkey

and a ho.

A spirit that makes you yell be a man at your son,

when you ain’t being one.

It’s probably the same spirit that makes you mad when a white person

says the exact same things you’ve been saying.

Instead of giving a child love,

they get hugged by these spirits.

In these possessed houses all they talk about is the white woman this,

the white man that and there aren’t any white people in the house.

You never hear them saying the name of Martin Luther King Jr., Marshawn Evans,

Langston Hughes, Spike Lee, Phyllis Wheatley,

Bell Hooks, Percy Ellis Sutton,

Dr. Cornel West or  Muhammad Ali.

All they watch is black and racist movies until that is all they know.

How are you going to teach a child how to love,

when you don’t know how to.

For more pick up It Ain’t Just the Size on Kindle for .99!

Join MG Hardie‘s fan page

I’ve seen what a real father is.

My parents migrated to his country; they lived in New York’s barrios.

The Nuyorican hardships is what caused them to come west.

My father worked fourteen hour days for next to nothing and

mi madre worked her fingers and feet crooked to give us a better life.

In public, she still walks with her head down.

We are despised, discriminated against, but just as

things are changing for blacks, look at us…

We have quarterback professional football teams, we hosted late night talk shows

and we even have a wise Latina on the highest court.

I was the first in my family to graduate high school,

the first to impress whites, who thought I couldn’t read, with my English.

the first embarrass my parents with my Espanol

and the first to date a black woman.

Join MG Hardie‘s fan page

For more pick up It Ain’t Just the Size on Kindle for .99!

Momma Cried and Wouldn’t Stop Crying

There is a Santa Claus because momma cried and wouldn’t stop crying. When we couldn’t pay our bills and we got put out that, Christmas momma cried momma and wouldn’t stop crying. It wasn’t even our house it was Grandma’s and I tried. I tried to be to be good, but I was just a kid full of questions and momma cried and wouldn’t stop crying. That winter was the first time I wondered about my skin color because Grandma made us watch Roots.

It wasn’t so bad because my cousins were there, but it still didn’t feel like home. My brother and sister didn’t know why daddy left and momma cried and wouldn’t stop crying. Momma tucked me in with smile, but I heard her leave that night. When I ran down the stairs in the morning I saw my name on some gifts. I ripped them open. I can remember having G.I. Joe in my hand; it was just when the Classic Collection came out. And I asked momma how did Santa Clause find me? And momma cried and wouldn’t stop crying…

MG Hardie

Grandfather was a World War II veteran
defiant and full of military rage.
I read about him once in a Paul Laurence
Dunbar poem
Beating his wings against a gilded cage.

He grew tired living on
trade winds and wine.
He was a lion king trapped by the
restraints of a
World ruled by shallow men and narrow
minds.

Those that trample birch trees and men
who glide over fields
Like my grandfather.
So when he reaches out,
he speaks with his eyes
Eyes that cry freedom
In a world gone mad.

Those eyes reveal distant rivers, valleys
and hearts forlorn
Unsolved mysteries, stolen legacies
ancient and strong.
Those eyes speak of the conquest that
was his and his alone.
Of distant ancestors who inhabited the
worlds great rivers…
Rivers long gone.

My grandfather’s eyes dance and sing of
home.
His passionate eyes,
Enchanting eyes
Courageous and Strong.

Those haunting brown eyes never spoke
to me.
But wrote a story about a war that was to
end all wars, and a song
about Peace.

His eyes are on the sunset now,
how soft spoken he is in the winter of his
years,
his body broken, but unbeaten.
His heart is filled with tears, joyous tears.

His eyes contain memories
forgotten by fires and trials of sin.
And there he stood like an eagle
Smelling of myrrh and sage ready to
Dance on the wind.
His eyes are now as still, still blue
waters
Serene, deep.
He will soon be at peace with God, at peace
with himself
And at peace with me…

 

 

Join MG Hardie’s fan page

They tried to silence us in the fields
we could no longer beat our drums.
They wanted to strangle us into silence
by gagging us with hate.
But the voices of the drums are not lost
They are the pulse of our history
The beat passionately in out hearts
They speak to us through
The Blues of Billie
The Horn of Miles
The Pen of Alex
The Tenacity of Malcolm
The Dream of Martin
The Hope of Obama
The Future of Me.
I hear the echoes of strength
I feel the vibrations of survival
No…
We will not be silenced
We will not be defeated
We will continue to search for our voice.

And I will beat my drum… will you?

Next Page »