Stop Being So Damned Sensitive

Why Senator Harry Reid finds himself embroiled in a public relations nightmare right now is beyond me. The man wrote the truth! IMHO, anyone who believes Barack Obama's light complexion and lack of "negro dialect" didn't factor into his electability in the American subconscious is a fool in denial. Senator Reid's comments cut through the bullsh!t and expose white America's reluctance to accept black men who don't first put them at ease with their blackness. They have always chosen those black men they perceive as least threatening to whites as good leaders and representatives for black folk in this country.

Republicans are just playing politics with this issue. Democrats are so stuck on being politically correct, they can't ignore this issue, and blacks in general, are so caught up with the messenger being white that they want to ignore the truth of his words. We are NOT in post-racial America yet. I'm proud of this white man for ADMITTING Americans are still not mature enough to elect a dark skinned, male, descendant of slaves to the highest office in this country's political system. Chew on that...

Whatever Happened to Those New York Katz?

I'm a New Yorker (NYer) - born and raised. In general, I don't tell people where I'm from; I don't see the need. People usually figure it out anyway. It's important to note that I relocated to Baltimore, MD, twelve years ago, and I work in DC most of the time. NYers are not strangers to folks native to the B'more/DC region. Morgan State and Howard Universities are magnets for NYers seeking higher education, and it's not uncommon for many to remain here after acquiring their degrees.

I don't mean to offend my folks from Greater New York by excluding them, but for this entry NYer is limited African Americans from the 5 boroughs, southern Westchester Co. and Long Island. NYers in the 35-50 year age range tend stick out like sore thumbs - at least, the men do. This is the generation that really introduced the rest of the country and the world to Hip-Hop, and in particular, the NY brand. The men of this generation share certain characteristics that are often instantly identifiable if not intentionally repressed. But the black male NYer has changed, and I fear those common traits that set us apart from everyone else are going to die with my generation.

Let me thank my brotha, Marc, for sparking the conversation that led to this entry. Like me, Marc moved out of NY some years ago and now resides near Philly, PA. This entry is largely about our observations. Let us begin.

1) I'm a NYer. I AM NOT A DAWG! I'M A KAT - a kool Kat, but a Kat nonetheless. I walk with a slight limp, and it is not easily mistaken for a Crip walk. My limp is not the result of injury; it is the gait of a Kat that conveys the NY brand of Kool. It was consciously chosen, practiced and refined until it became second nature, and if not forced to consider it, I'm generally unaware that I'm doing it anymore. NOT all NYers can strut that way. If your persona didn't support your limp, believe me, you were gonna have your ghetto card checked to see if you were worthy of your walk.

2) I'm a NYer. I GOT STAHL ("style" with extra emphasis on sty and pronounced as a single syllable)! I am abandoning use of the word swagger and its derivative, swag. It's nothing more than a rebranding of stahl. Stahl is intangible; it's hard to describe it, but you know it when you see it. Although it is impossible to give the definitive definition of stahl, I will attempt it. Stahl is the embodiment of the way you walk and talk, your b-boy stance. It's the way your clothes hang on your frame "just so". It's the tilt of your hat and the line of your beard. It's the nonchalant way you handle stressful situations, and the passion exuded when you're pushed to your limit. It's the "I got this" look in your eye at all times like everything in your world is always under your control. It's always visible whether you've got on a suit and tie, jeans and a t-shirt or a uniform.

3) I'm a NYer. I wear leather! There is at least one leather outer garment in my wardrobe at all times. If I'm limited to one, it must be black. I come from a place that requires warm, wind breaking attire 4-5 months out of the year. If you've never walked around Manhattan in winter, you just wouldn't understand (unless you're from Chicago). Warm leather is a black NYer's best defense against "the hawk."

4) I'm a NYer. I go for self! I don't bring personal beef around my people; I handle it myself. The victory or loss is mine, and mine, alone. The purpose of your crew is to ensure that you get a fair, one-on-one fight. There is a reason the presence of Crips and Bloods in NY is incomprehensible to my generation: Gang culture is an anathema to the "go for self" mentality of a NY Kat. Jay-Z said it best, "B.I.G., you'd be ashamed to see NY gang-bang..."

It used to mean something to us to be NYers. We did "us" whether others approved or not. That gave Katz the courage to go out of State and wear Cazals without lenses in the mid-80s. It didn't matter if we faced ridicule because the ridicule was always short lived. Like so many things we represented with wherever we went, sooner or later it would just be accepted as that NY shit and that made it all good. That mind set is universal among NY Katz. You can't be on some NY shit while reppin' L.A. gangs and their colors. You can't be on some NY shit while copying what Dirty South rappers are doing. NY males are losing their identity and as a result are squandering the hard earned respect older generations garnered for us from the rest of the country. Regrettably, you dawgs from NY will never know the place of honor held by NY Katz because you forsook the tradition of being regionally unique, original and trend setting, but that's to be expected when you stop "doing you" and start duplicating what others do. Being NY Katz was your birthright, but you elected to be common dawgs. Chew on that...

Still Trying to Answer That Question

Why do I write? I've been wrestling with that question for some time now, and a definitive, succinct answer to it eludes me. However, I recently inched a bit closer to an answer while listening to an interview with world renowned cellist, Yo-Yo Ma. I have known of Mr. Ma and his musicianship for many years, but had not listened to any of his work until the day of the referenced interview.

To say I was touched by his mastery of an instrument which has made his a household name would be an understatement. Emotionally, I was moved by the conversation that took place between his brain, heart, hands and cello. I want to move people that way. I want to touch people with words the way I was touched by those musical notes. Actually, it isn't so much the words I want to touch others with as much as the thoughts behind them; words are just a vehicle.

Why not take writing classes and attend writing workshops? The simple answer is: I dread convention and conformity. Everyday I go along to get along to survive. I adhere to regulations specific to my field of work, so when I embark on a creative venture, I want to be free. Real freedom is raw, unpolished, organic and honest - real freedom is natural. Real freedom is the embarrassing things young children say or ask with no regard for who might be in earshot. That kind of honesty is the antithesis of political correctness. It is neither god nor evil, black nor white, loving nor hateful; it just IS. It is truth as each individual perceives it. Albeit well intentioned, classes and workshops are designed to indoctrinate their participants. While I can never again be as honest as a young child, I find that level of honesty something worthy of striving toward in my writing. In my mind that is what keeping it real is supposed to be about.

So, why do I write? I still don't have a definitive answer. I write, in part, because I find it liberating. While writing, I can shed my armor and allow myself to feel without hindrances and express those feelings with all the honesty I can muster. My hope is when others read my words they will sense the honesty and maybe even be moved, just as I was moved by Yo-Yo Ma's music.