I Ain’t Mad At You Young King Because Our Time Is Now
Black Men and the Paradox of Vulnerability and Responsibility
They are who the world accepts. And we are who the world hates.
Jalen Rose
Military hat, fatigue pants sagging, Henny'd up/Execs asking will he live to see his own release date happen/Straight off the corner with the armor, arm and hammer/But I had a appeal, I was a charmer/Yet still being my mama's son was my biggest honor
Nas — “Let Nas Down” rmx
When ESPN’s 30 for 30 series aired its Fab Five documentary a few years ago, controversy arose around comments Jalen Rose made in the film regarding Grant Hill and Duke basketball. It wasn’t just the commentary that stirred discontent among some, but the class and socio-economic critique put forward by Rose. There remains a deeply entrenched experiential difference for all people across economic statuses and social positions — and there also remains an acknowledgement that it is important to learn and see about the “less fortunate” of those statuses and positions: Americorps, Peace Corps, and any other service-learning, community service, or volunteer opportunities reflect that. Today, we call the social distance caused by these different positions “the empathy gap.”
The key consideration is not just the differences in social power, and how those with more of it pay little attention to those with less. The greater and important consideration is how we explain and understand the manner in which those in the lower half of the income distribution, with subsequently less social voice and constrained political power, arrive into that state. Many of us already have our trusted and reliable box of explanations and heuristics for this analysis: poor decisions, lack of academic achievement or degree attainment, financial illiteracy, the failure of educators and educational leaders, and inadequate workforce development/job readiness.
Rose’s comments were not part of a solution-orientated discussion about how to alleviate socio-economic problems, but instead an opening to a deeper look at what causes the issues associated with low-income living and poverty. His comments were intended to move us past the analytical framework of social disorganization, culture of poverty, and deficit theory. It is a call to end the practice of “believing that social and cultural differences between groups are inherited and immutable, making some groups inalterably superior to others.” To truly understand causation in a nuanced, informed, and contextualized way that respects the complexity of humanity, we have to grapple with the experiences of others. We are incapable of doing this, unless we learn to properly deploy empathy.
Jalen was literally telling us how the empathy gap can mean even if your mother is employed and hard-working, you still can face social stigma and be rejected; or be selectively consumed — sports or entertainment, you’re good. But have something to say, like heterodox commentary or critique, and you’re silenced. The same socio-cultural logic is what takes a Stanford graduate and Super Bowl champion, from tw0 employed, married parents, and turns him into a thug. Jalen explained how society’s liberalism allows it to be selective, in such manner that uses “tradition” and “preference” to entrench gate-keeping, exclusion, and marginalization. Richard Sherman successfully navigated, and excelled at, how that same segment of society delineates “achievement” and “meritocracy,” but was still vulnerable and marginalized enough to be called a thug.
When Black men hold an analysis contrary to popular opinion, we selectively listen. In the history of the United States, selectivity and meritocracy have been inexorably linked to achievement and value: we reserve the right to choose who merits distinction for accomplishment, based on the value we place on words and deeds. (This selectivity also correlates to power and valuation. It confers the ability to erase, silence, or render something inconsequential or insignificant.) When Black men have an analysis, or venture to critique or comment, we devalue it. And when they are of a particular social class and/or economic status — from communities or families mostly comprised of low-income working poor and working class people—their words can make them marginalized and their actions can make them vulnerable. Thugs are to be selectively seen, and not to be heard unless called upon. The same goes for the neighborhoods and communities that they reside in and come from: Detroit, Compton, Chicago, Camden, East St. Louis, Liberty City, and on.
Carl Hart, neuroscientist and Columbia University professor, picks up on this cultural and social process of selective listening and participation. In his memoir High Price, Hart builds on the sociological research on poor and working class families and how they are “trained” to practice ideas and practices that deepen their social marginalization and isolation. He incorporates his life experience into this argument, explaining how he learned that resistance to these forces — through actions or words, advocacy or activism, critique or commentary—had to be strategic. And in turn, balancing pathways to success meant understanding when to speak, how to act, and how to control the way you are understood and perceived:
I did learn early on to observe and pay attention before I spoke. Growing up, the worst thing of all was to look foolish or uncool: it was best to stay quiet unless you were absolutely sure you were right. Being strong and silent meant that you never looked stupid. Even if I didn’t care much then about being seen as smart by teachers, I certainly cared about not looking dumb, especially in front of friends. Always I had to be cool.
Part of the Black male experience in America is learning how to read and react through observation. In Decoded, rapper Jay-Z explains how his father taught him to be culturally and behaviorally literate to his surroundings; to assess situations and people through observation:
“My father was crazy for details. I get that from him
He would…play games that exercised our observational skills.
…all the nonverbal clues people give you to their character, how to listen to the matrix of a conversation, to what a person doesn’t say.
He was teaching me to be confident and aware of my surroundings. There’s no better survival skill you could teach a boy in the ghetto, and he did it demonstratively…by show showing me.”
In their craft — athlete (Rose and Sherman), broadcast journalist (Rose), professor and scientist (Hart), and musician (Jay-Z) — we see each of these Black men bring into the forefront the skills and traits that helped them survive: intellect, cultural and behavioral literacy, critical thinking, observation, and close listening. These are also cognitive and social skills that emerge from their social development in the American ghetto. The critical lesson is that what they have to say is as important as any other method we have for understanding or analyzing them. When young Black men have something to say, whether it is conventional or heterodox, do we listen to them closely?
The issue of our “selective listening” to young Black men with commentary or critique that goes against popular opinion or prevailing thought, is embedded in the broader conversation regarding respectability and what I call “Talented Tenth politics.” The tradition of promoting a Black Talented Tenth speaks to not just excellence, but also to striving: it is a proxy for leadership, vision, and goal-setting, by modeling thought, behavior, and practice. Barack Obama has been implicitly, in his speeches about the Black family and the Black father, and more overtly, in his conversations with young Black men, advancing the idea that there needs to be a Talented Tenth of Black men to restore the damage that has happened to the Black American family and social structure. His advocacy is coupled with a growing movement of “Initiatives” to incorporate one specific demographic of Black men — those viewed as vulnerable or susceptible to negative influence, those from low-income communities, and those early in adulthood who face the socio-economic challenges of reentry and degree-attainment—into the social fabric of the country.
But a deep bifurcation exists in the vision, blueprint, and direct action of these programs: one group of Black men are encouraged to enter these initiatives because they perceive them to be on the pathway to leadership, while another group of Black men are encouraged to enter programs that merely help them survive — not thrive. For this ladder group, it is finishing a GED and being employed, but no conversation or pipeline into four-year degree attainment and post-graduate study, living wage employment, wealth-building and asset accumulation, or career-building writ-large. There is a deep ideological and cultural point implicated here: for some of you Black men, our greatest effort is to make you taxpayers and reduce your tendency for high risk behaviors. We don’t see them as the future of the Black Male Talented Tenth. Or rather, we certainly are not acting as if we believe that they could be a part of that leadership group.
I want empathy for the lives of young Black boys in these hoods; for us to understand their humanity and to feel that humanity, rather than to see them and feel that they are inconsequential. I want us to no longer selectively listen to them; but to understand that we have to value them and believe that they have merit, in order to comprehend what they are saying and doing. I want a social and cultural paradigm shift that has a vision for Black boys from the working poor and working class, from the low-income communities of this country and throughout the world, from the groups marginalized and vulnerable, that sees them as potential leadership and as the Talented One-Hundred Percent.
I want a comprehensive, multi-stakeholder, wrap-around effort, to protect Jordan Davis, Trayvon Martin, Kimani Gray, Ramarley Graham and all young men like them, because we see them as the most talented and with the most potential. Because we want them to be able to grow up and actualize the intellect, cultural and behavior literacy, critical thinking, observation, and close listening that will help this society better understand poverty, racialization, media, and the human brain — just as Jalen Rose, Richard Sherman, Jay-Z, and Carl Hart have done.
I want this society to better understand that the good kid in the m.A.A.d city helps us understand my angry adolescent divided, and actualizes the T.H.U.G. L.I.F.E that was predicted almost two decades ago. We have to re-frame “mad” and “angry” into socio-economic commentary and analysis that challenges us while bringing personal responsibility to bridging the empathy gap. We have to re-understand that “thugs” should be a part of your vision of leadership and community-building, because they are multi-dimensional…if you listen closely.
Rest in peace Jordan Davis and the many more in you like, living and passed on. We can still learn from you. We are still listening closely. I ain’t mad you young kings. I too believe that our time is now.
