Bored of Education

Over the past couple of years it has been brought to the attention of the American public that America is no longer amoung the top ten countries in science and math and reading.  This fact has come to be tied in with the understanding that it is science and math which allow countries to be competitive in the area of production and invention.  As America has lost its coveted place on the top ten, we have been lamenting the fact that this is going to drastically affect our statuts as a world power in the future. 

There are things in this country that we discuss with great fervor but with a particular lack of resolve, two of them affecting children directly, namely education and their health and welfare.  We talk fervently about the state of education in this country.  But what we are really talking about though, is the state of education in minority or underserved communities.  This simple fact accounts for one of the reasons that pretty much nothing will be done, because it involves minorities and underserved communities. Where there are issues in education in predominantly white schools, those issues are taken care of and pretty much never see the light of day.  However, in minority/underserved school districts problems are permitted to linger and fester.  Statistics in education that we are most acquainted with are primarily statistics about how bad a school or district is doing.  This is in keeping with our concept of "news", that it is the bad stuff that gets the attention of the populace.  Those schools or districts are overwhelming minority/underserved in their demography.

Society has a tendency to judge serverely those who are on its lower rungs and to leave their welfare to the fates.  Yet, it is said you can judge a country by the way it treats its poor.  Further, it is a primary tenent of most religions that the poor are to be cared for. We forget that the poor own or possess nothing, therefore they have no "titled" interests.  Without such interests or a possibility of obtaining them the future usually looks pretty bleak.  It is such bleak futures that lead to riot and revolution, which it is the duty of the State to prevent by investing in its infrastructure.  The greatest pilar that underpins the "consent to be ruled" is security and protection of the populace.  The population agrees to abide by and be bound by the rules and regulations of government in return for security and protection.  When the poor are unemployed and unemployable, their lack of security threatens the security and peace of the upper classes.   We saw this with the revolutions in France in 1789 and Russia in 1917.

 People seem not to be able to make the connection that if you secure the foundation (the poor, and in some instances the middle class) you secure that which it is built upon.  The poor are the foundation of any country the same way that the legs are the foundation of the body.  In Hinduism there is the concept of the Body of Brahman.  The Body of Brahman is composed of the head, the arms and shoulders, the torso and the legs and feet.  It is said that each section represents a caste or group of people.  The head represented the priests; the arms and shoulders the nobles or aristocracy; the torso the merchants; and the legs and feet were the poor, servants and laborers.   Ever since I learned this I have believed the Hindus misapprehended the teaching (bold, right?)  If you think about it intelligibly, no one part of the body is more important than another, you need the entire body to function properly.  What good is the body without a head, or the legs without the torso?  I suspect the teaching was supposed to convey that we each are born with a tendency toward something,  a tendency toward study and scholarship, a tendency toward entrepreneurship, a tendency toward the service industries.  I am still trying to figure out the purpose of the nobles!   These tendencies, if we are permitted the freedom to develop as individuals, lead us to our career paths.  Such is the glory of the Western nations, with their underpinnings of democracy.

And let us be clear, there is a difference between investing in your population and throwing money at it to keep the peace.  One leads to a healthy ecomony and healthy population, the other to complacency and indolence.  This can be seen clearly at work in the economies of Germany, China and to a lesser extent Japan (which has stumbled).  Each of these economies invested in its infrastructure and a decade or so later reaped the benefits.  In the US we do not invest in infrastructure, as a nation.  We invest in what is going to give us the quickest, fatest return.  The heart and soul of investment is growth.  What better prospect of growth than an investment in education?  What greater prospect to a better city, state or country that an investment in the people who live and work there?

We need a true Board of Education, one which has as its sole function, the health and welfare of the school district.  This should work in conjunction with a yearly audit of the school system from top to bottom.  Too often the news simply portrays the problems with education as having to do with teachers, but teachers are merely one aspect dictated to by an administration, which is more often that not, top heavy.    The problems in education seem complicated and intricate.  Yet concomittantly they are simple when the focus is put back on education itself.  Once we do this and get back on track, we will no longer be "bored" of education. 

Home Is Where the Heart Is!

When I was 19 years of age, my mother and step-father decided to expel my 1st brother and I from their home; my mother came in to my room one day and said she and my step-father had been talking and they decided we (my brother and I) should be sent to Tennessee to live with her relatives.  The thought of this horrified me and I decided to leave home on my own.  This did not work out for me and I ended up living in the back of a welfare motel for about a week.  The windows did not lock.  Somewhere between being petrified with fear and crying all night, I would fall asleep.   I had gone back home to my parents to ask if I could pay them my hotel money to stay until I found a more permanent solution.  My step-father refused my offer and cast me out into the world.  I had never seen such hatred in a person's eyes as he told me I could not afford to pay him enough money to sleep in his bed, use his bathroom, live in his house.  This episode cut me deeply and I still nurse it deep in the recesses of my being. 

Not too long ago something occurred to me.  I am now living in my fifth space some 25 years later and I have never actually felt like I had a home.  I never actually settled into a place.  I always felt the quarters were temporary, that I would be leaving or would be unexpected ejected.  This feeling was underpinned by a fear of losing everything I had and being out on the streets, just like when my parents cast me out.  I became fiercely independent not asking anyone for anything, even when I needed or deserved help.  These feelings were fears that have haunted me for the past 25 years. 

I have been in my current loft for 2 years now.  There was a confluence of circumstances that got me into this place, so striking that I could not help but understand that I was meant to be here.  This time, though, I am making myself at home!  I can scarcely afford to live here, how I am actually doing it is beyond me.  But as long as I can buy food and gas for my car and go to the movies here and there or purchase some books or freak out on iTunes...I am o.k.  Being a home body helps, I suppose.  I love my home.  It is my spiritual center, the battery that re-charges my life on a daily basis. 




Sometimes I despise people and wonder what cruel, malicious fate has place me on this planet, in this time, in this place.  That's when I lock myself inside my little cavern and nurse my wounds.  Surrounded by my furniture, my artwork, my statues, my books, my piano and objets d'art, I could scarely imagine a better place to nurse myself.  I love beauty and to be surrounded by it is like being nourished on spiritual levels.  You can hardly look anywhere in my space without seeing art. 

None of it has any value whatsoever and this does not bother me in the least.  I do not need an original this or an original that.  I cannot believe the ghastly amounts of money people spend on artwork and furniture.  Many of their purchases could fund entire countries!

I have decided to call this place, my home.  I want to make connections here, have memories here, love here, be here and stop running from a past I fear will overtake and destroy me.  Somewhere I am going to have to find the strength to release my parents from their actions, actions which created a sort of monster in me, but which also gave me the life I have now.  They say that, "living well is the best revenge".  I think I live well.  But I also think it's my turn, now. My turn to live free from the demons of my past so that I can see a brighter future.  It's my turn!

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

If I could plan a dinner party with anyone in the world, living or dead, there are only two people I would actually like to dine and talk with.  They are two men, brothers or a sort, really, that hold a special place in my heart.  If I could walk with them and talk with them there would be nothing else left for me in life (well, except go into space). 

These two men symbolize many things, light and life, wisdom and love, East and West.  From the

East comes  Siddharta Gautama,the Lord Buddha.  He is light and wisdom, the effulgence of knowledge known as enlightenment, resting in the mind.  And from the West comes, Jesus, the Christ.  He is life and love, the ultimate sacrifice which generates life on new levels, resting in the heart.  These two great sons of God together form two sides of the same coin, as it were.

I sometimes imagine there would actually be very little to talk about with these two.  Just sitting in their presence and soaking up their energy would be enough for me, particular with Jesus.  I remember the woman in the New Testament, who said to herself, "If I could but touch the hem of his garment, I would be healed."  She didn't need to talk to him or hear words of wisdom, all she believed necessary was just touching the him of his caftan or his robe.  Such is faith, I suppose.  And the Buddha, I have no less than ten representations of him in my home.  I love that serene expression that rests on his face as he experiences Samadhi or Beatitude as the Christian mystic might say.  There is so much to study in that expression.

If I could have something from each of them (not question, for there is little that I would question of these two, their teachings really answer much that human nature struggles to understand), I would ask for the sensation of just a touch of the light, just a bit of the love they experience so that I could hold it in my heart and in my mind as a little nugget, a treasure to recall and nurse.   

On Your Knees!

Falling to your kness is usually a sign of humility before a subject or circumstance.  Such a posture or position generally concludes submission.  But taken in the context of sexuality does it conclude submission or could it be construed as an act of power?  In other words, when you drop to your knees to perform oral sex, either fellatio or cunnilingus, are you being forced to  submit  or do you have the power to force submission?

I suspect that one could conclude the act of submitting or the act of forcing submission depends on the personality or temperament of the actors.  Some folk who perform oral sex on their mate are in perfect control of the situation, having learned what makes their mate submit or knowing the body well enough to understand the most potent errogenous zones.  This is a kind of power or control that women have wielded over men for centuries, the power of seduction and sexual manipulation. 

Then there are those who submit through acts of fellatio or cunnilingus as they are dominated by the other actor.  These folks suffer the humiliation and domination imposed by the other actor in the same way Monica Lewinsky did with President Clinton and for the same reasons, I suspect.  I remember her saying it gave her pleasure to give him pleasure when she was being made a farce of because women thought it was degrading to give a man pleasure without him giving pleasure in return. Ms. Lewinsky's position was that her pleasure was derived from giving the President pleasure.
She submitted to his power. 

Falling on your knees can be an act of humility and submission or it can be an act of power and control in sexual relationships.  I find the psychology of this act intriguing because it determines what you are giving and what you are taking from sex and how your needs are being met during the act.  But I suppose such thoughts are not important during the act, eh?

The Eyes Have It!

Now, I ask you!  Is this fair, is this fair for a man to look like THIS, to be this fine?

Paul Robeson

Paul Robeson was a renaissance man in the truest sense.  A star athlete, opera singer, actor, civil rights activist, Mr. Robeson is one of the brightest lights in the firmament of 20th century Afro-American history.  On occasion I wander over to YouTube just to listen to his voice.  In this brief interview you hear his deep resonate voice talking about Shakespeare's Othello and you can peer into his keen intellect and philosophical temperament.

We Need A...Gladiator

In the movie, Gladiator, Russell Crowe played a Roman general in the service of the Caesar, Marcus Aurelius, the philosopher Caesar.  He is betrayed by Caesar's son, having his family (his wife and son) murdered and his property vandalized to ruin.  He escapes the same fate, only to be captured and turned into a slave put in the service of entertaining the masses as a gladiator.

In this movie, one of my favorites, I was profoundly struck by the character Crowe brought to the screen.  He was a leader of such unparalleled moral strength, integrity, determination and valor that his men committed their lives to his care without hesitation.  His character so impressed me that I would have gladly given my life over to service under his command!  His men knew their leader would never abandon them, that whatever action he asked of them it was not for ill or a pointless sacrifice, that he would not ask of them anything he himself would not do.  That is the kind of leader that is fit to command men!

I often long for such a leader in today's world, one who would command the allegiance of men based upon the strength of his character and the integrity of his vision. I wish these were characteristics that President Obama were gifted with.  The president (and I hardly follow politics, so take whatever I have to say with a grain of salt) seems to give quarter at every opportunity, scarcely taking the reins of leadership and directing the country.  He seems to capitulate on every issue that is brought before him, the latest being the issue of employees having access to birth control from the insurance provided by their employers. Some of these employers, religious folk being the most vocal, protest providing such care on grounds  that it conflicts with their morality (yeah, I thought that was funny, too!). 

Now, a leader leads.  A leader does not follow.  President Obama, I must confess, has given me a new found respect for George W. Bush!  Yup, I said it.  President Bush, though I cared not for him or his administration, at least led, he did what he wanted and that was it.  President Obama wants to do things but is so disgustingly conciliatory that I believe he is diminishing his value as a leader.  A leader tells you what the plan and the vision is and then bends all resources to that end, whether you like it or not.   You go along or get out of the way.  I worry for President Obama and predicted exactly what he has become:  The David Dinkins of the White House. I  thought it was too early for a black man to appear in the White House and wished he had waited until the country recovered from almost a decade of George W. Bush.  But alas, it was not to be.  I worry about what President Obama's legacy will be precisely because he is a black man and there is so much riding on his presidency as the first black president.

Though, we should stop calling him a black president.  The man is bi-racial.  I sometimes think it a measure of disrespect to his white mother to always call him black instead of bi-racial.    But that is the "one-drop rule" still lurking around in the American consciousness, that if you have even one drop of black blood in your veins you are considered black for all intents and purposes.  This was a law at one time in the early 20th century. Many states passed laws called Racial Integrity Acts, meant to further relegate people of African descent and circumscribe their activity in American society. 

People want to follow a strong leader, they want to know they are in good hands.  If there are sacrifices to be made on his watch, a good leader makes those sacrifices with his subjects, he will not ask of his people what he himself will not do.  Though President Obama has eloquence at his fingertips  (a small accessory to leadership) he needs strength and determination to overcome the obstacles republicans throw his way.  He needs to understand there are times when it is necessary to be unyielding as a leader so the people are able to identify your character and principles.   He does not seem to understand or be in tuned with the people, their needs and prayers, if you will. 

Yes, what we need is NOT a hero, but a Gladiator!

My Bucket List (For Nature)

Ever since the premier of the movie, The Bucket List, folks have been compiling their own lists!  I am no different, but being a typical Libra I have many lists.  This is my Bucket List for Nature, places of unrivaled beauty that would be a feast for my senses: swimming in pristine waters, gazing upon gargantuan mountain ranges towering above verdant valleys, breathing crisp clean air, standing next to magnificent trees that have stood sentinel for centuries on a forest floor.  Nature is astounding in its breadth and I long to see and sample it!

1.  The Valley of the Ten Peaks
     Banff National Park, Alberta, Canada

Canada is a massive country, much of it unspoiled or unpolluted by the commercial and industrial pursuits of mankind.  This mountain range, the valley of the ten peaks, hovering over this enchanting lake, I have found alluring ever since I first happened upon a picture of it.  I can just imagine the crisp, clean air with a slight chill and the vast pool of shimmering water with hues of blue and turquoise and green!

2.  The Sequoias
     Sequoia National Park, The Sierra Nevada, California

I have always been fascinated by trees.  And the trees in the Sequoia National Park are centuries old and tall beyond imagining.  I think it takes almost two dozen people, holding hands, to surround one.  Imagine standing in solitude for centuries while the world moves around you, being wrapped in the garments of the seasons.

3. The Great Seas of the World

 Often when I watch a movie I pay close attention to the surroundings.  In the remake of the Clash of the Titans and the Pirates of the Carribean series, they visit some of the most sterling waters on the planets.  The seas  of Greece,  the Aegean and Ionian, and  the Carribean never cease to mesmerize me, bound as they are by stunning cliffs and coastlines.

4.  New Zealand

Ever since the Lord of the Rings, I have longed to see this pristine island in the South Pacific with its phenomenal mountain, cradling valleys with clear lakes and springs and fields that go on for miles.

5.  Mosi-oa-Tunya (the smoke that thunders) or Victoria Falls
     Between Zambia and Zimbabwe, Africa

Sure there is Niagra Falls in my own back yard but I have always dreamed of Victoria Falls.  While it is "not the highest or widest, it does claim to be the largest" in the world.  I love these falls because of the river that snakes through it.  It looks ferocious and unyielding full of danger with its rocks inconveniently jetting out along the river's path.  I want to hear the thunder of the falls, smell the mist as it rises up from the river and feel the spray of the falls. 

6.  Red Wall Canyon      Death Valley National Park, California

There is something about rivers that snake through canyons of towering rock that my mind cannot seem to wrap itself around.  I have had dreams of places such as this where the two elements, water and earth meet.  These were places of such astonishing beauty that I could understand why I would encounter them in a dream, they were unreal!  But the pictures of Red Wall Canyon that I have seen come pretty close to those scenes in my dreams.

7.  The Grand Canyon

Obviously, a given considering the above.  This natural wonder of the world seems to go on forever.  I would love to explore it via plane (not sure I could withstand a helicopter), boat and mule to take as much of it in as humanly possible, to get some clue as to its the breadth and scope.

That is my bucket list for nature.  I am sure I will see some of them in my life time.  They all seem rather similar, of course.  I could probably kill several birds with one stone simply by going to New Zealand!

I'm Just Saying...

Amid all the fervor and excitement of the NY Giants winning the Superbowl  and the sensational parade and fanfare planned for them, I could not help but be reminded of soldiers who returned from Iraq with not so much as a whisper of consolation.  I, for one, who have never been a sports fan, could never understand the amount of energy this country, or any country for that matter, expends on sports.  When there are issues that drag this country down or affect our pocket books we can barely muster a boo.



The American soldiers who participated in the Iraq War, an experiment in manufactured consent if ever there was one, have returned to their homes amid silence and an unassuming attitude toward the sacrifices they made.  To be sure, they were doing their job.  To be sure we did not "win" the war, it was a wash.  That being said, as American we could have given our men something to acknowledge the ferocious and strenous work they do as a matter of course.  We could have said thank you in some form to let them know that while we here in the United States, shopping, going to school, feeding our families  and going about our business, that they were in our thoughts and prayers.  We could have done something.  But we can come out by the thousands and tens of thousands because some players won a football game.  I'm just saying...

Ah, youth!!

Another beautiful young face!!  Such hope, aspiration, charm and youthful, budding love written across that charming,  alluring face!!

Cuba Never Looked So Beautiful!

These two pensive specimens are from the work of Kevin Slack Photography.  Mr. Slack has a particular fascination with the little island of Cuba.  His work centers on delipidated towns made somehow enchanting and even stunning with these young, muscular Cuban boys protruding out against them.   Against the back drop of decrepit old buildings that were obviously once grande dames, the beauty of these young men lures one into delicious fantasies. 

The two young men above, Andro and his twin brother, Marlon (no idea which is which), are the subject of a good portion of Mr. Slack's photography along with other sets of twins.  This particular photograph I spirited away from another site.  But I love the way the twins look into the camera like they are looking straight at you with those delectable and challenging light brown eyes!  And the peeling paint in the background simply augments the beauty of the whole photograph infusing the decay of Cuba with the spirit of its beautiful youth. 

I could stare at this picture for hours!  There is so much her: the bond between the brothers insinuated by their pose; the individual personalities of each that peek out from behind those enchanting light brown eyes; the presence of old Cuba hidden underneath peeling walls, themselves bodies of art in their own right.  They need to lift the travel restrictions to Cuba!  With inventory like this, I'd swim down the coast right past Florida and make myself right at home in the sunkissed arms of...Cuba, of course!

T

Beautiful!

I snatched this little gem up from somewhere on the world wide web.  I find it so...beautiful!  The expression on each of the lover's faces, so content, so in love, so unique and individual, yet each contributing their half to make a whole, a whole picture of their love.  I love the way they each embrace the other in their own particular way.  And they way the each look out into the camera, acknowledging their way as lovers.  They may be two complete strangers posing for a photography, lol, but they communicate something extra-ordinary in this photo, a wonderful love painted in their expressions and their embrace.

"You Ain't No Brother"!

Back in the early 1900s (lol, it was a long time ago!) when I worked in Manhattan and took the train from Penn Station, I was waiting one day and saw this black guy pan-handling.  He was not a bum, but dressed casually.  He was going about asking for money.  Since I was in the train station every day I knew him by site and what he was doing.  He identified me and started to approach me, say, "hey, brother."  But when I gave him the cold shoulder and a none-too-friendly glare, he passed me by, saying under his breath, "you ain't no brother."

That little scene pops into my head every now and again.  It is something that I have been accused of on a few occasions, "not being a brother".  So here in Black History Month I wanted to take the opportunity to revisit the innuendo and insinuations that statement made.   I might start by saying there was a time when I was mortally embarrassed by the antics of black folk who were not reared with the same middle class values and comportment I had been subject to.  I really did not come into contact with these black folk until we had returned from Germany in 1983.  If this language reflects a degree of separateness, it is intended, for that is how I felt, separated and cut-off from lower income blacks.  They behaved abominably, often loud and raucous with no regard for decorum and they  hopelessly flaunted their ignorance.  Here I am making a connection between low income, low standards, and low quality.  Forgive me for submitting to stereotypes, but stereotypes do contact a grain of truth to them.  I had cousins who acted this way and was confused.  My mother grew up in the same family my aunts did.  Yet my mother always maintained a clean home, taught her children values and decorum as well as manners.  Why some of my cousins did not have them was always a mystery to me. 

One of the effects of military life in Germany, since we were basically isolated in the midst of the Germans, was there was an equalizing force of some kind at work.  We were all the same in Germany, all Americans living in the presence of Germans.  There was some sense of class as far as the officers and their kids were concerned because the housing areas were based on rank.  But in school I was friends with fellow non-commissioned officer's children as well as officer's children and the children of civilian personnel, such as teachers (whose status was just above non-commissioned officers and just below officers).  When we returned to the US and I was signing in to my new school, my step-father commented at how raw and unruly the school was and even hinted that they might consider placing me in a private school.  While looking for housing off base in NJ, we came to a minority area.  I distinctly remember my parents being put off.  We eventually settled into military housing. 

I did not understand why some black folk acted the way they did given my upbringing and environment.  My first initiation came as a result of a cover article in Newsweek, I believe in the 1990s.  The cover was of Nefertiti and a series of articles followed on Afrocentrism, a word I was completely ignorant of.  That article changed my black life!  Replete with accomplishments and history of black folk that were not offered in grade or high school it gave me a faith and hope in black people that I cannot explain.  No longer was I ashamed of being black, the progeny of slaves, an associate of welfare queens and drug dealers and the same color as thugs and neck-twisting black girls.  For some reason I realized for the first time in my life that black is not homogeneous anymore than any other race or ethnic group is.  We are heterogeneous; we exist along a broad spectrum of color, attitude, and disposition, class and distinction, etc.  My new attitude allowed me to be aware of this spectrum and absorb it in such a way that I could identify with all my black brethren. 

We call each other "brother" and "sister" because we are united in the suffering and oppression, economic, social and political that we have experienced in this country.   America is our parent having abducted us and reared us from birth, though refusing to nurse us. But she adjusted her attitude to place us along side the rest of her children.   Folks are often unified by their experiences, experiences that can cross all manner of boundaries.   Unfortunately those experiences are often the offspring of suffering and devastation, the like that accompanies riot and war.  Only then do we come together and overlook class and distinction. 

Truth be told, I am a brother!  Truth be told, Condoleeza Rice is a sister!  Truth be told, the drug dealer on the corner and the "welfare queen" in the projects, are brothers and sisters, too.  Black folk have been stripped of the customs and corollary attitudes that made the African village a community.
Our long, three plus century sojourn here has suppressed the African sentiments that united groups in the motherland.  We have divided ourselves and turned against one another. We are all Black, Afro-American, if you will.  We are thugs and drug dealers; we are scientists and educators; we are politicians and entertainers; we are criminals, we are lawyers, we are CEOs and CFOs

Tickle, Tickle, Tickle!

One of my favorite pieces by one of my favorite artists!  Though my soul belongs to classical music, I love an exceptional pianist, regardless of the discipline.  Art Tatum had unfathomable technique and was admired by Horowitz himself.  I do not possess the harmony and theory to understand how magnificent his arrangement skills were, but that does not stop me from appreciating those glorious keyboard pyrotechniques as he tickles the ivories!

Welcome, Black History Month!

It is here!  Once again  Black History Month has arrived, prompting the United States of America to review and contemplate the rich, troubled history of the Afro-American on its shores.  However,  Black History Month has always seemed to me to be more of a review and contemplative activity for Afro-Americans or Blacks than anyone else.   There is so much about our own history, as a racial group, that we are unfamiliar with.  I have often had to hold my own head in shame at discovering some morsel of history or some personnage that I had never heard of.   That is because we left the telling of our story to those who bludgeoned us with malice, demoralization and murderous contempt.  It is only in the past two decades that our story has begun to be told by us, that the annals of history have vastly broadened to show us how rich indeed our history has been.  African American studies courses now flourish across campuses, rooted by black.  These are thankfully accompanied by Gay and Lesbian Studies, Women's Studies and other ethnic and group studies.    Recently, however I read an article on AOL where some group was challenging a Mexican Studies course actually citing the course was used as a nationalist front meant to incite hatred against America.  Yes.  Sad but true. But as I stated, you can never and should never allow someone else to tell your story or your history (unless of course you are dictating it).   I always say the person telling the story is the person who is the hero.  Be your own hero!

The sad truth is I believe Black History Month should be more for whites than for blacks.  It should allow whites to uncover our history, the history that they want to turn their backs on.  This act would evaporate so many of their stereotypical thoughts and preconceived notions once they become intimately familiar with our history, which is the deformed, decrepit part of their own history.  That history is the history of the United States of America, of the white man, of the black man, the Native American.  We cannot hide from the ugliness in our character.  We must confront, subdue and transform it.  Otherwise we will never be fit to stand with integrity or to moderate character in others.

This country has an august destiny, but it cannot reconcile its past by dragging the chains of old ghosts behind it from one decade to another.  I  pray that more white folk will acknowledge the history, the black history of this country and the untold contributions and sacrifices that are buried in the soil and the blood of this nation.  As well, I think as a part of Black History Month, the black community should acknowledge the untold contributions and sacrifices of the many whites that have been our saviors, conspirators, friends, lovers and confidantes over the centuries.  In many instances our progress owed its success to their efforts. 

We all have much to do!  Let us do it for the sake of our country, for the sake of liberty, egality and brotherhood, the only things that truly make America...beautiful.