Can You Be Black, Conscious, & a Proud American?
The complex, conflicting reality of being the formerly enslaved in America
I remember the first time I saw that “Dipset Anthem” video.
It was some time between one of the two jobs I had and being at Mosque #12. I wasn’t a fan of Dipset, at all (I think I said that enough) but they made good street anthems, their videos were visually interesting, and they were winning at the time. Even the fickle Philadelphians were showing em love.
First half of the video when Juelz Santana is rhyming. Ok. No biggie. Second half, when the beat changes and Cam is rapping, the next time we see Juelz Santana, yo. This dude is draped in the Stars & Stripes. Headband, Jacket, T-shirt, what the fuck?
I hadn’t seen anything so damn ig’nant since Apollo Creed rolled into the ring to fight Drago whilst James Brown sang, “Living in America.” But that was fiction. This was real.
I mean yeah, I get it. Juelz grew up in New York amidst people of many cultures who have parades and wave their flags proudly. And, although, he’s Black American (his pops) and Dominican (his moms…which means, culturally, he’s closer to Dominican), rep’n America wasn’t nothing.
(Truthfully, I doubt it was that deep. Ya man just thought that shit was different and fly. The end.)
Some of ya’ll might read this and think, “what’s the big deal?” Which is a justified response…I guess…but nah.
If you’re Black in America, you’re constantly subjected to discrimination and double standards that hammer home the fact that while you’re American by birth and in-deed, you’re not afforded the same equal rights as whites of any ethnicity.
So can you be a proud American in the sight of all of that? Is using the word “proud” overstating what Black Americans feel if they celebrate their American-ness? And what exactly does it mean to be Black in America on a day like the 4th of July?
As I mentioned here, I been following futbol for over 30 years now. And, although my viewing dropped off it was only because there were no televised matches. The only time that there were guaranteed matches was the World Cup. Taking place every four years, it’s the biggest sporting event in the World. The last World Cup in 2014, for instance, had 3.2 BILLION people glued to their screens.
If you live anywhere where there are immigrants, you feel the excitement through them. Depending on where the matches are played, fans are up either early early in the morning or late late into the night. There are only 31 spots so the qualifying matches are just as important. But it’s nothing like the 64 games of the World Cup. Countries are broken off into eight groups of four with the top two of each group moving on to the next round.
It’s serious business.
It’s a time of immense pride. But I don’t ever cheer for the U.S. team. Ever. I can’t do it. Watching the fans cheer, “U-S-A” is sickening and, if anything, I’m pulling for their early exit. I root for whatever team has the most Black people — whether it’s Colombia or Holland. But not America.
Why am I like this? You mean aside from the total white-washing of the sport in the U.S., an organized sport played predominantly in the suburbs with little to no appeal for the Black man and woman in America?
You mean aside from the total lack of flair that the team plays with, a sort of kick the ball by numbers approach that is as generic as the for mentioned “U-S-A” chant?
I don’t think I have to spell it out.
It’s hard to have pride in a place where you seemingly have outstayed your welcome. Any person with a half sense in business knows that labor costs are one of the largest factors in profit margin. When Black folk were enslaved, that’s one debit that ain’t have to be filled out in the accounting books but once that need was gone…
Even when we were second class citizens under the Jim Crow laws, we were useful. Although immigrants also worked menial jobs upon their arrival to these shores, they eventually set aside a stake, built their own, and matriculated into greater white society leaving the lower paying, labor intensive jobs to the Black man and woman.
At least then, we still had our own — of course out of necessity — but our own nonetheless.
After serving and dying in two World Wars, and two police actions, we grew tired of fighting for rights abroad that we weren’t receiving at home. The 60s were a time of great upheaval and slowly but surely, Jim Crow laws vanished.
But the means to an upward mobile life would vanish too. Again, with labor costs in mind, businesses took off overseas for cheaper labor, abandoning cities that would become shells of their former selves. Go up and down the East coast and as far west as St. Louis, and you’ll see the hubris of the great corporate migration.
As cities and towns held on in the transition from labor to service work, the tried and true narrative of Black people being the cause of white folks’ woahs bubbled up again.
When I was growing up in the 70s and 80s, white people resented us for integrated schools, resented so-called affirmative action, they resented any sort of cultural expression to the point that they were angry that we wanted A, one, solitary Black song played during our prom. We were mocked, harassed, and if we had any complaints about our treatment, we were told, “Go Back to Africa!”
As if we came here voluntarily.
This was the era of “Love it or Leave it,” an extreme sort of neo-patriotism that was really just a mask for racism and white supremacy. This is the environment that produced the Social Consciousness of the 80s and 90s. It’s the environment that produced me.
I was young and immature.
I resented Warith Deen Muhammad for doing things that happened when I was playing with Fisher Price Adventure People like I was a living, cognizant, active adult when it happened.
In 1975, WD Muhammad took over the reigns of the Nation of Islam. Immediately, he set about bringing change. He dropped the strict dressing code, dismantled the Fruit of Islam, eliminated the use of his father’s (The Honorable Elijah Muhammad) books, removed chairs from the Mosques and made the emphasis more on spirituality and less on social upliftment.
Followers left in droves. Some at the outset. Others when they felt he was disrespecting his father. But the last straw for many was something that may seem trivial but was a big deal — WD Muhammad embraced the American Flag.
Many of the early followers of Elijah Muhammad were drawn into joining the Nation of Islam by a core teaching that Ministers gave from coast to coast — the teaching on Armageddon.
If you entered a Mosque between 1940 and 1975, you were liable to see a chalkboard with a picture of a red flag with the Star and Crescent, next to the American Flag, and underneath them these words:
“Which one will survive the War of Armageddon?”
Now the Imam was embracing the American Flag?
Minister Louis Farrakhan was one of those who left during this time period and in November of 1977, he decided to stand up and Rebuild the works of The Honorable Elijah Muhammad.
When the media finally caught wind of what Minister Farrakhan was doing they threw the same labels at him that they threw on Malcolm X thirty years prior — anti-Semite, unAmerican, hate teacher, etc.
And thank Allah they did, because that’s how I heard of Farrakhan and turned to Islam. Having grown up in a Black neighborhood but bused to a majority white school, and being the only Black in many of my AP classes, I had trouble making sense of the racism and discrimination that I faced daily.
Min. Farrakhan’s lectures not only made it clear why this racism existed but instilled pride in me so that I no longer sought the validation of white people. The year was 1990. I was a senior in High School.
Fast forward 13 years later to 2003 and I was researching how Minister Farrakhan Rebuilt the Nation of Islam which is when I learned of all that Imam Warith Deen Muhammad did as he moved towards so-called Orthodox Islam. I was young and immature and began to resent the Imam.
That’s around the time that “Dipset Anthem” was setting the streets on fire. So I looked at Juelz Santana as a complete fool. But time is the best teacher. Time…and life experiences will humble you. That’s exactly what happened.
I lived overseas as a child, England and Germany to be exact. I was nine and twelve respectively. At nine I was just a kid and identity meant nothing to me, at twelve I was a b-boy over everything…and the Germans let me know that they saw me as — a “schwartza.”
You Google that term and it will say that it’s not a hateful. Try telling that to the German shop owners who would blurt that out as we walked in their stores to buy Coke flavored Gummies (pronounced goo-mees). They would roll their eyes as they followed us through the shop. It sure did feel hateful.
Nonetheless, I never thought of myself as an American until I returned overseas as an adult. Immediately, people would say, “oh, you’re an American.” Whether I was in London or Paris, it was if I had an American flag tattooed on my forehead.
This was September of 2001.
Then of course, those planes hit the towers and Arab Americans and Indian Americans became the target of an anti-Muslim scourge that, to them, was unseen since the Inquisition. Mosques were vandalized. Cries for Muslims to return to their country were heard from Fort Lauderdale to Fresno.
Anti-Muslim sentiments haven’t let up since. Enter: a spoiled (& mostly failed) real estate baron turned politician.
I knew it was some o’ bullshit when the orange politician began saying that he aimed to make America great “again” the first time I caught wind of it some two years ago. I even wrote about it here.
Now that this abomination has been elected the President of the United States, the bully pulpit that he came to power on has been spread through the congregation. Anti-Muslim attacks are so frequent, I can’t keep up.
And the present administration has even moved to make this fear politics law, banning people Muslim, Christian, Jewish, whatever, from various countries, in hopes of eliminating America of those “war mongers who hate freedom and want to institute shariah law.”
But there’s only one thing. They don’t account for 25% of the Muslims here in America. The Black man and woman who are born American citizens, many of whom are second, third generation Muslims, descendants of those first reverts who fought and died so that saying “As Salaam Alaikum” was no longer so strange, have been living and worshipping here for almost a century. We’re talking about pioneers who made names like Kareem, Imani, and Khadijah as common as Steve, Susie, or Samantha.
And that’s just the reverts. What of those Muslims who were enslaved and helped slavers navigate to this country? What about those descendants?
If those early settlers are called Americans, then some of the first Americans were Muslim…they were just enslaved.
And that’s just the Muslims.
For much of the early days of this country, Blacks outnumbered whites which is why the form of slavery that was practiced here was so cruel. Fear had to be instilled in the enslaved African less he become impossible to control.
But that doesn’t take away from the fact that the enslaved, who in many places were the majority population, cleared and tilled the land, not to mention grew and picked the crops that would become this country’s cash cows. Nor does their enslavement take away from the many inventions made while enslaved (and after) that propelled this country into the Industrial Age making it a world wide super power.
The list of accomplishments is endless and they’ve become the overly-stated, non-contexualized fodder of Black History Month. As a result, the significant role that we played in building this country has become trivialized.
But it happened.
I wish I could remember every word that was said because it was so illuminating. But alas…
I believe Understanding Allah and I were at Sister Muhammad’s to pick up a couple of fish sandwiches and some bean pies when we entered into a conversation with Imam Abdul Alim of Masjidullah.
He had a question for us that would ultimately lead into a lesson.
I barely remember either. But I do remember the theme: our people have protested and sacrificed for us to have the inalienable rights that our citizenship affords us, a citizenship that has people leaving their homes and comforts for — where they incur debt, risk harrowing boat rides, or traverse dark desserts — in hopes of becoming American citizens.
He spoke of knowing the law and using it to our advantage — this was around the time that we were pushing to make EID a recognizable holiday in Philadelphia.
Imam Alim spoke of being unapologetic in the pursuit of what was rightfully ours. I had learned to reconcile the Spiritual moves that Imam Warith Deen Muhammad had made, it was totally necessary to address the conditon of our people, and with this lesson, I gained my own understanding of why he embraced the American flag. It’s our birthright.
You will never see me rocking any stars and stripes. That’s out. I could celebrate July 4th as the day that Master Fard Muhammad declared our independence from our former slavemasters. That’s usually mental though. The only way that I would support the US Futbol team in a World Cup is if they tap the so-called inner-cities, field a team of players that have the flare and inventiveness of a Lebron James or Kyrie Irving. Even then, I won’t be chanting “U-S-A.”
I can’t be a proud American because to be that would mean that I’m proud of the indiscriminate bombing that happens in Syria and Yemen day in and day out. To say that I’m a proud American would mean that I’m ok with the numerous assassinations (and attempted ones) of leaders that weren’t in agreement with U.S. Imperialism. If I were to say that I’m a proud American then that would mean that I accept the practical genocide of the Natives of this country.
I can’t do that.
Proud is a strong statement. But what I can say is this; if anyone has a right to this country (aside from the people who were originally here), it is us, the Black man and woman who built this country. Without our labor, blood, sweat, and tears, America could have never grown to be the Super Power that it is today (Not to mention, the country’s identity is wrapped up in Black culture, from “Jazz” to “Hip-Hop”).
So proud American? Nah. But stake in this here land…damn skippy. “And that’s the truth, Ruth.” (and in retrospect, Dipset wasn’t so bad after all but miss me with the Stars & Stripes, Juelz)
Now that it’s a day later, it’s fitting to add this segment of Frederick Douglas’ July 5, 1852 address concerning the 4th of July. Note: The Emancipation Proclamation was 13 years away and this is 165 years ago yet these words still ring true:
What, to the American slave, is your 4th of July? I answer; a day that reveals to him, more than all other days in the year, the gross injustice and cruelty to which he is the constant victim. To him, your celebration is a sham; your boasted liberty, an unholy license; your national greatness, swelling vanity; your sound of rejoicing are empty and heartless; your denunciation of tyrants brass fronted impudence; your shout of liberty and equality, hollow mockery; your prayers and hymns, your sermons and thanks-givings, with all your religious parade and solemnity, are to him, mere bombast, fraud, deception, impiety, and hypocrisy — a thin veil to cover up crimes which would disgrace a nation of savages. There is not a nation on the earth guilty of practices more shocking and bloody than are the people of the United States, at this very hour.
