U.S. Govenment Apologizes For Slavery; Now It’s Our Turn

July 30th, 2008 | By Sonnie Johnson

When I was about 11 or 12, my mother rented all the episodes of ROOTS. I tried to watch it, but I couldn’t. I got real emotional and left the room. My siblings stayed and watched, but my mother joined me in another room. She told me it was O.K. because it was the past. It’s important to know the past. I didn’t watch the complete Roots, until I was 20.

When I was 14, we went to the slavery museum in Baltimore, Maryland. It’s a wax museum with a duplicate of a slave ship. I almost vomited when they started explaining what it might smell like, how long they had to endure these conditions, and how many of them killed themselves. I hated it.

I’m not big on apologies though. I never had to ride on a slave ship. I never wore chains around my feet, waist, and arms. I never had to endure 1/10th of the things slaves had to endure.

If the United States government wants to apologize, do it to all the people that love excuses. I love progression. If it weren’t for slavery, I wouldn’t be an American. If it weren’t for slavery, black people wouldn’t be apart of this great melting pot. That’s the truth.

The real apology should come from us Black Folk. I know I’m going to catch some flack for this, but fuck it.

I want to apologize to my Ancestors that were once slaves.

Once you were shackled and chained, separated from your children, and sold and traded like chattel. You were told were to live, how to live, and sometimes when to die. But you continued to sing songs of praise, and upliftment. You had a million and one things to complain about, but instead you put your faith in God to get you through.

I’m sorry we refuse to follow your example.

I want to apologize to Martin Luther King Jr

You knew this fight would probably cost you your life, but you fought anyways. I know you didn’t think you would see the changes in your life time, so that meant you were fighting for the changes in my life time. Your work wasn’t easy, but boy did you throw your heart and soul into it. I thank you.

I apologize for letting your death mean the opposite of your life. Your fight wasn’t about making excuses, it was about changing perception. You didn’t want black men in the streets creating violence, you wanted them at home with their families. You wanted them to teach their children the lesson you taught them. How we let you down.

I want to apologize to Malcolm X

Your life showed the struggle of a black man. When all that surrounds you are things to bring you down, you found light. You looked inside yourself to find what was missing. You allowed to see that growing is inevitable, not something to be ashamed of.

I apologize for not realizing that it takes all of us to make a positive change. If we want white people to start giving us respect, we first have to learn to respect ourselves. We wear pictures of your face and hold you in reverence, at the same time we’re spitting on the lesson you taught us.

I want to apologize to Rosa Parks

How much nerve did it take for you to sit at the front of that bus? I smile to myself thinking about it. That is a moment in American History were black women had some power. As black women, we always want to help out a black man, but sometimes that means showing them how to do some things. I get that from you.

I want to apologize for the place black women have allowed themselves to dwell. You proved our actions could have major repercussions. You showed us that our voice could be mighty. We pay you back by dancing on stripper poles, chasing niggers with temporary money, and refusing to realize we can make our own money with our brains and actions, not just our bodies. We owe you so much more.

I want to apologize to every single white person that participated in the Civil Rights Movement

You had no real reason to stand beside us. You did it because you felt it was the right thing to do. You marched with us, you got arrested with us, and you were subject to the same mistreatment as us, all by choice. Thank you.

I want to apologize for the attitudes we still carry; all white people are racist and won’t give a black man a chance. I know that there are white men that create black charities. I know there are white men that give black men opportunities. I know that there are white men that can look at a brother and not see color, but see a man.

Think about these things next time you want the government to apologize for the past. Alot of people fought to get us were we are today, and instead of looking for hand outs, follow the lessons left to us by some pretty remarkable people at a time way worse than it is today.

A Time For Change: Chapter 2

July 30th, 2008 | By Sonnie Johnson

I snuck out of the club a few minutes after Sky left. I only came out because I wanted to get Sky out of that dank apartment. She was so beautiful; I don’t understand why she just wastes her life away stuck inside the house. If I had those long legs and a smile that lights up a room I wouldn’t be in the situation I’m in now.

“How do you know Sky?”

The voice was one I had never heard before. I turned to look and there was the cutest white boy I had ever seen up close. He had a short hair cut, and the light hue of his hair made his hazel eyes so sexy.

“How do you know Sky?

“I don’t.” I lied knowing he could tell.

“Tell her it’s time to stop running.” He handed me a card, turned and began to walk away. Every girl waiting for a cab on the corner was checked him out as he walked away. With their eyes on him, it was easy for me to snag the first cab that pulled up to the curb. If Sky was running from him, she was a fool.

I stuck the card in my bag and told the driver ‘643 Telsa, please’. I closed my eyes and imagined how wonderful it would be to be Sky. Hell, right now I would be happy to be anybody but Atrishia Baxter.

I Like It That Way

July 29th, 2008 | By Sonnie Johnson

In my mind

I see darkness

Well not darkness

but less light than normal

I like it that way

Power outages force

You to look outside

Only a yearning for light

Would cause a search for candles

I don’t seek

I pierce out the window

Judging things I see

In short lightening burst

Neglectful of things out of place

Inside! I didn’t admit that

I chuckle and laugh because

What else could I do?

Find light inside

Examine painful echos of the past

I don’t have all day for tears

So I’ll keep it dark

And prioritized by emotion

Allowing light to flicker in

Maybe I’ll look, Maybe I won’t

I like it that way

Russell Simmons: Don’t Blame the Rappers, Fix the Problems

July 26th, 2008 | By Sonnie Johnson

I think I nailed the equation to our problems, Black Family Breakdown + Excuses Excuses Excuses + Refusal to Integrate = The Black Plight.

Now there are few other things I want to get off my chest.

Somebody is to blame for the breakdown of HIP HOP.

Now there can only be a few culprits, so lets do a little break down.

The Artist

Just like an NFL quarterback, the Artist catch most of the flack in Hip Hop. Just like a NFL quaterback gets all the credit in victory. Is it fair? Not always, but if the quarterback threw 5 interceptions, your assessment would be dead on.

Music is a money making industry, so to be successful you have to generate buzz. The problem is most artist today don’t use creative ideas to get their name out. Instead the opt for the same path that lead other artist to success. Sex, Money, Drugs, and Violence.

Now Russell Simmons says you can’t blame the Rapper because he’s just painting a picture of what he sees. A few questions.

Are there no black women in the Hood with morals?

I know there are, because I was one. Where are the rappers the can tell a black woman they are beautiful, without being loose. Tupac did it. Niggas respected him even though he had respect for woman. Yes he had a video or two with women, but rarely were the women the main focus. And when there were the main focus, he gave us strength, respect for ourselves, and hope that some black men out there still have respect for us.

Are there no black men that chose not to hustle and make it.

Yes there are. For all my brothers doing your thing despite the cards dealt to you. There are no words for what I feel for you. Keep it up. Where is there voice? Eminem carries that voice. It might come from a white person, but it’s a every color struggle. What about those that never want to sell crack? That find other legit ways to make it out? Where is the song about them. Most rappers fit into that category. It’s just when the get famous they become Crack Selling Kings.

Are there no Mother’s and Father’s who stories should be told

Is there not one rapper who’s father was there for him? Is there not one rapper that got some girl pregnant and had to change his life not to repeat the same mistakes with there own child? Yes. The tell their stories on reality shows, magazine articles, and web pages. Then they put out songs that say just the opposite.

The Higher Ups

Now this includes radio, T.V., and Record Labels. They have the power, that’s plain and simple. They can control what we hear, when we hear it, and how many times we hear it. What we need to understand, they have to have a product to sell.

If Artists can agree Hip Hop is in trouble, especially when Soulja Boy is nominated for BEST RAP song, then they can all put out music that inspires some form of change. Do you have to take the violence out, No. Make it important that songs with value get the same airplay as the bling’d out songs do.

They don’t have as much power as you would think. No Product, No Business.

I have to add one more thing here. Commercializing Rap. This is not a bad thing. That’s were the money is. The problem comes when there are no truly talented people with a real message, and they have to take the most watered down on the crap.

The Fan

We are the real culprits. We should shoulder most of the blame.

Artist will try to make the music that sells. The Higher Ups will promote music that sells. The fans decide what music sells.

Women stop going out and buying Ludacris because you like one song, even though you know you’ll be called a ho on all the other songs. And yes he means you. Because he would throw money at your ass the same way he would anyone else.

If you have a young daughter, how can you spend a dime on R. Kelly. Seriously. At 16 did I think I knew what I was doing? Yes. Would I blame someone else for the decisions I made? No. But as a grown woman, I look to blame R. Kelly. Why? Because he is a grown man. Plan and simple. He could have any grown woman he wanted, yet he goes after little girls. That is Nasty.

More than that. We have to up our standards. Stop buying C.D.’s until they start to question why sales are hurting so much. Stop watch 106 and Park, TRL, and the likes, until they start to question why no one watched videos anymore.

They will come to us asking how can they get our Business back. And we can say, “GIVE US HIP HOP BACK”. We want the lyrics you have to listen to four or fives time to get it. We want females that spit fire, without showing their ass. We want our culture in commercials, but not when it depicts only the worst aspects of our culture. We want music that not only paints where we are, but where we’re going and how we are going to get there.

They would listen because we have the money to make them listen. Without us, they are nothing. And if we continue to do nothing, we’ll be the blame for the fall of HIP HOP.

Black Family Breakdown+ Excuses Excuses Excuses+ Refusal to Integrate= The Black Plight

July 25th, 2008 | By Sonnie Johnson

On CNN’s, Being Black in America, I was surprised by the lack of excuses put forth by many of the contributing Black Folk. It’s even better because they are all rich, accomplished, and made it to the spotlight.

Russell Simmons caught my attention. He said you can’t blame the rappers for the music. You can’t blame an artist for painting a picture of what he sees. Instead, we have to take the problems showcased in Hip Hop, and solve them. So let’s start there.

1. The breakdown of the Black Family.

When you were growing up, did you have that woman in your neighborhood that would beat other people’s kids? Yeah, that was my Mother. I was hated because she would whip your ass. My mother believed, “It takes a village to raise a child.”

How do you develop a suitable village to raise your child? See most of you are thinking it comes with a nice house, in a nice neighborhood, with nice schools. That’s not it. It comes when Uncles spend time with Nephews because their father isn’t around. It’s a grandmother telling her history, because you make your child sit down and listen. It’s not about economics, its about time spent.

A Home should be a sanctuary. It doesn’t matter if it’s in the middle of a ghetto or in the Hollywood hills. It should be a place where morals are established, goals are set, and a plan is hatched to succeed in those goals.

I’m a strong woman, so you won’t hear me say “Women need a man,” but I will say life is better when you have a real one. It’s important because your daughters are watching. If you bring an unacceptable man home, your daughter looks up to that, especially if she doesn’t have contact with her father. She’ll look for the things that make you happy, and if you only care how much money a man makes, that’s all she’ll care about.

Men. My black men. I just don’t understand some of you. Now, for my brother’s that didn’t plan to have that kid, but are taking care of your responsibilities, you got the message. You hated the fact your father wasn’t there, so you decide to break the cycle. Thank You. But all you brother’s with so much hate in your heart because your father wasn’t around, why are you the ones that walk away Someone close to me doesn’t know his father and cries about it constantly, but doesn’t put any effort into his son, because his new girlfriend doesn’t like it. He’s a big boy, literally. I could imagine if his real father came and told him he wasn’t there because of a girlfriend, he be ready to fight.

2. We love excuses

This is the worst. The breakdown of the family comes first because that’s where a lot of these excuses come from. It’s hard not to believe there is racism around every corner when it comes from your family. My family asked me what my perfect job would be. I said, I would love to write for a living. They told me you can’t make any money being a writer. My first response was J.K. Rawling, the author of Harry Potter. I choose her as an example because she is the richest author ever. I shot high with my aspirations. They told me I wasn’t white like her, so I couldn’t succeed. I’ve written a couple novels, a few screen plays, even came up with some ideas for reality shows. I know better than to listen to haters.

But what about the kids that don’t know any better? What about the kids that have dreams of becoming a doctor or lawyer, but are surrounded by people with no dreams or aspirations because they listened to the hater speech? Where is the accountability of our elected officials that should be saying “I made it and you can to”, instead we only see them when bad stuff happens? The message is simple. I made it. You can’t. Continue to vote for me. And it works.

Are there racist people in America, Sure. You’re probably one of them. Whether you hate Muslims for 9/11, Mexicans for immigration, or white people for slavery. Everyone carries some sort of Racism, but does that make America a Racist country. No. White and black people marry and raise families. Mexicans add their flavor to hip hop and the music sounds good. This is a melting pot. If you chose to make excuses instead of applying yourself, one day you will have to look back and realize racism didn’t steal your dreams, your undeniable belief in Racism did.

3. We don’t want to integrate

I was out with my daughter and see saw this really fancy store, so she wanted to go in. I was apprehensive taking a three year old into a store with crystal every where. So when the sales associate approached me upon entering the store, I wasn’t surprised. She asked me to keep a good eye on my daughter. I said O.K. My sister lost it. She went off. “I bet she don’t tell white people to watch their kids.” Everyone in the store started looking at her. Then she had to add “Racist Bitch.”

I was about to start my tirade, when the white sales associate came over. This white lady let the ghetto out. ” Nobody is Racist, your ass is just loud as fuck.” Then like some message from God, the lady’s husband walks in, Black as Tar. I couldn’t help but laugh. I didn’t think the lady was being racist. My daughter like to touch everything and I’m sure other kids do too. I’ve seen bad ass white kids is a store. I knew she was concerned about the merchandise, not because I was black, she was concerned about my daughter destroying it, and so was I.

We can take the previous two problems and add them in here. Black Family breakdown+ Excuses Excuses Excuses+ not wanting to integrate= the black situation of today. It’s no getting around it.

Why should we have to integrate into white society? You don’t, but you have to be respectful of it. You can’t demand respect, if you don’t command respect. Meaning, if you don’t want to be treated like a Nigger, don’t act like one. If you walk in a store with your pants falling down, talking loud on a cell phone about how much you liked jail, with a mouthful of Gold, as a black woman, I think nigger. No different than you seeing a man on a horse, wearing a cowboy hat, and spurs on his boots, I’d say cowboy.

We want to be treated as equals without acting equal. We want the ability to tell the cops when and where they can arrest us. We want to tell the government they have to pay for us, because we can’t work for ourselves. We want the entire world to think America is a racist country, without taking one step to improve our own situation.

Integration doesn’t only mean white people accept us and our culture. It also means we have to all other people and their cultures.

When we put all these things together, we have the solutions to the problems that plague us. The only question is if we want it solved

Barack Obama! You Can’t Pick and Choose Your Morals

July 24th, 2008 | By Sonnie Johnson

Race is an important issue in this campaign. I’m not talking about them picking on Barack Obama because he’s black. I think it’s important to learn the real lessons of racism of this election.

Does this upset me?

Yes, but what else does this show me? It shows me you can’t stop a Nigga from doing anything. Back in the day, if you were black you could actually be lynched, now all they can do is draw a picture. This picture isn’t ruining Barack Obama’s chance at becoming President. It didn’t even make national news.

This picture was created to show the Conservatives relentless attacks on Michelle Obama. The point of political cartoons is to garner as much interest with one look, and the author accomplished that. So I say Kudo’s, because I know this is a picture and nothing more.

Does this upset me?

More than any stupid drawing ever could. If you’ve read YOU WON’T GET MY MONEY, you know how I feel about Ludacris. How can Barack Obama justify this picture? He wasn’t talking to the misogynistic Hip hop’er about cleaning up his lyrics, he was talking to him about the future of our black kids.

So you have a conversation with a rapper that only degrades women about the state of little black girls and boys. This is the man that tells little girls, their ass is a money maker. What if someone came out and said that about Michelle Obama? She’d make a great first lady because her ass is fat?

Imagine the outrage. Why not outrage for the everyday sister’s that are tired of only hearing negative shit? Is Michelle Obama some how better than us? She doesn’t deserve any scrutiny, but all the rest of us do? What about your daughters? Are they protected against attack? Of course they are, but not my daughter.

Racism is not an issue of color. It’s an issue of How does it benefit me at the time? Barack Obama doesn’t want to be the black candidate, but he pulls the race card when it suits him. If you’re a Barack Obama supporter, ask yourself this. Why does he only talk about black issues when he’s in front of a black audience. Congress is not black audience, so do you really think he’d bring up our issues when it really matters? He doesn’t go in front of white people and talk about absentee fathers. What his he really saying about black people.

The just. Morals should be set in stone. You should know what you believe in and follow those rules. If you love Michelle Obama and think that she is a strong black woman, then you should refuse to talk to an artist, who’s lyrics imply as a black woman, your wife is a HOE. Don’t forget your daughters, because the messages Ludacris sends out, will help shape the man that could one day marry your daughter.

More than that. Black people have been fighting ourselves to get out of this rut. So when a black presidential candidate will pose with anyone with any message, it doesn’t help our fight. It gives us more to overcome, because you lend him creditability. Little black boys see Ludacris surrounded by half dressed woman, calling them everything but a child of GOD, and then they see him standing with Barack Obama. You tell me how to separate the two.

Is Barack Obama the Tony Soprano of Politics?

July 22nd, 2008 | By Sonnie Johnson

I wasn’t completely wrong in my assertion on Barack Obama, I just underestimated the Gangsta in him.

You think I’m being funny, I’m not. In the Mafia underworld there is a tier of power and at the top sits THE DON. Is it really that hard to make the comparison, we’ll here I go?

Don’t touch my Made Men

Everybody knows you can’t touch a Made Man. If you have a problem with that Made Man you go to the Don and ask his permission to handle your business, but if THE DON says no, keep your hands off.

Barack Obama has made Michelle Obama a Made Man. She is now cloaked in his protection. If anyone has something to say about Michell Obama, Barack is coming after you full force. Never mind she made herself a public figure by going out on the campaign trail and making comments that warrant reporting. Never mind that most Americans think the character of a First Lady matters. NO. NO. NO. THE DON says she is untouchable, so there she stands.

I decide the fate of my MADE MEN

If a MADE MAN becomes more trouble then their worth, THE DON will handle the situation.

When Jeremiah Wright was Barack Obama’s top seller, helping him get elected in Chicago, he was a MADE MAN. So when Wright’s comments became a media story, most reports waited to hear what THE DON had to say before voicing their own opinions. Then when he could not longer provide protection to Wright without compromising himself, he took away his status. Now everyone thinks Wright is the the LOON. Never mind the fact, Barack Obama said that he got most of his values and morals from this man. Never mind the fact, Barack Obama spent over twenty years in Trinity Church, got married there, and even let his children be baptized there. Wright is wrong because THE DON said so.

I wasn’t wrong, I was right

Incorrect assessments can lead to a power struggle, so THE DON can never be wrong.

Barack Obama is now in Iraq visiting the troops for the first time since he started to campaign for President. This will be the first time he has talked to the Generals on the Ground, and now he’s starting to imply the surge is working. Anyone who watches the news knows the surge it working. Everyday we don’t hear something about Iraq, we know were winning. Yet Barack Obama can’t bring himself to say, the country I love is winning in Iraq. Why?

Because the Don can’t be wrong. Even though he knows his main supporters aren’t going anywhere, he still refuses to state plain facts, because they contradict his original position. See, that’s gangsta, to know you’re wrong and have everyone to scared to call you on it. Gangsta.

Don’t question me

Even THE DON has to sit down to meetings he doesn’t want to. If another family has just as much power as your family, and they want to talk, you go and talk.

Now this really makes Barack Obama Gangsta. Fox News is the highest rated news network on cable T.V. That’s a fact. More people sit and watch O’Reily than all the other networks combined. Why hasn’t Barack Obama appeared on O’Reily, Hannity and Combs, not even a little sit down with Geraldo?

They would ask tough questions that Barack Obama would have to answer. Now you would think this far along in the campaign, Barack Obama could handle anything. He should be able to spit answers to any question asked of him. THE DON doesn’t want to speak, so he doesn’t. Never mind he is running to become President of the whole United States, not just the left wing that supports CNN and MSNBC. How about us independents that want real answers to real questions?

I’m THE DON

Let’s do a little run back. Don’t you talk bad about anyone close to me. Even though I’m surrounded by crooks, shady people, and far out preachers, don’t question my ability to judge another man’s character. My wife is off bounds, I don’t care what she does. I don’t care if they say we’re winning, I don’t want to fight. I don’t need to know what’s actually going on, if I’m wrong, I’ll say I was right when the smoke clears. And don’t you ask me any questions about my opinions, just believe in the CHANGE I stand for.

Tell me how that’s not Gangsta. The funny part, the American People love a good Gangsta.

P.S. It’s funny because there are different kinds of Gangsta. President Bush is a Gangsta, but he puts his money where is mouth is, and dares you to stand in his way. He is more concerned with his own ideals than the ideals of others. He is a respected Gangsta. You might not like him, but you gotta respect him.

Now Barack Obama is another type of Gangsta. He’s the type that only cares about the power. When it comes down to getting his hands dirty, he passes the buck. His opinions will change when the sentiment of his peers changes, not when common sense calls for it. It’s hard to respect a man, we you don’t know where he’ll stand tomorrow.

A BIG HOUSE REALITY: CHAPTER 2

July 21st, 2008 | By Sonnie Johnson

James sat in the office once occupied by his senior V.P. It had been six months since he had to sell his business to keep from going bankrupt. He was lucky the new owners saw some potential in him and kept him around. They even kept him as the CEO; the only difference was the office. He hated this office. His new office was occupied by Cindy Walsh, a perky little white woman that swept through like a hurricane.

She fired half his staff, dropped most of his long time customers, but managed to take the near bankrupt company into the black. James had owned Simmons programming for the last twelve years, and he needed seven of those years to turn a profit. Though it was meager, it was a profit none the less. He resented Ms. Cindy for doing what he could never do, in a shorter period of time. He resented her for the fast talking constantly moving people that now surrounded him. Most of all he resented himself for letting it happen.

The phone began to ring. He dreaded when the phone would ring these days, especially when the secretary didn’t buzz first.

“Simmons Programming, this is James Simmons can I help you.”

“You need to come home and get your son. He rigged the bathroom door to electrocute me when I touch it. You need to let him go away so he can stop doing things like this.”

He could hear Tom in the back round yelling over Shavon’s tears. “She got her pills and her vodka in there. She’s alright”

“Come get this boy before I kill him.”

“I know more ways to kill you. Maybe I’ll just up the wattage. What do you think Ma?”

“I’m sure he’ll let you out if you calm down. I don’t know what you did to provoke him this time, but don’t call me.”

“I did nothing to provoke him, he’s the devil. You have to come get him before he really hurts me.”

“Hurt you. Tell him what you did to Julie. Tell him how you called her a slut and pushed her down the steps. Tell him that, while you’re crying about me.”

“Where’s Julie?”

“She ran her fast ass out of here, probably at one of those little boys house.”

“I’ll be home soon just calm down.” He hung up and called Tom on his cell phone.

“Dad…”

“Up the wattage, I’ll be home late tonight. Oh yeah, remember to unplug the phone this time.” He hung up.

The phone rang again. “Daddy, what time you getting off today?”

“I was just about to call you. You alright?”

“I’m fine. It wasn’t as bad as Mason made it out to be. Wanna get something to eat?”

“Scants in thirty minutes?”

“See you there.”

The phone rang again.

“What?” he shouted into the receiver.

“Mr. Simmons, this Wendy Watchman from FR productions. Is this a bad time?”

“No. I’ve been waiting to hear from you. I mean you just send us a check and then nothing.”

“Sorry we were having a little trouble with our financial backers, but know we have a perfect location reserved for two weeks from now. That won’t be a problem will it?”

“No problem. I own my own business I can take off when I want.”

“I must stress that the agreement is only valid if your entire family shows.”

“No problem. I have a wonderful family. I know you’re just going to love them.”

“And you’re sure that you have kept confidentiality?”

“I’ve told no one. My family will just think we’re going on vacation

“Great, all the information you need will be delivered by email. I look forward to meeting you and your family.”

James hung up the phone and let the smile masked his pain slide away. He would have cried but he was meeting Julie and she could always tell. He told his secretary he was leaving for the day, and purposely walked the long route, so not to pass his old office. He missed his office.

David Banner: Comments From B.E.T.

July 20th, 2008 | By Sonnie Johnson

If you’ve read Top 10 Hip-hop’ers with Swag, you’ll know I placed David Banner on the list because of the intelligence he displayed when speaking to Congress. He had notes and demonstrated his points articulately and I appreciated it (not that I didn’t expect it). So many probably thought they would hurt their careers by standing in a Congressional Meeting Hall.

That’s not the only reason I give David Banner props. I have a lot to say about the disaster in New Orleans, like why would the people re-elect Nagin when all the buses were just sitting there, I digress. But more importantly, when Kanye West was on T.V. making an ass out of himself, David Banner was on a boat trying to help save people. While all other black people were at home complaining, David Banner was donating more than a couple dollars, he gave his time, his words, and hope to a lot of people and for that I say thank you.

But that’s were the compliments stop.

Recently on B.E.T.’s Hip-Hop vs. America, David Banner pissed me off. Just once I would like to see a Hip-Hop brother come on with no excuses. Instead Banner had them written down and spouted ignorance at the highest levels. Let’s have some fun.

It’s not my job to raise your children

David Banner, I don’t want to raise my child. I do that. That’s my responsibility. But I want my daughter to love Hip-Hop. Can you help me with that? Can I let my daughter hear your song, cuss words and all, because it makes a point? When she understands what you’re talking about, will she grow in some way?

When I was in High School, my teacher had a sign that said, “It takes a village to raise a child.” I believe Hip-Hop is our village, yet the elders preach selling drugs, fast fleeting money, admonishment for “Squares”. What about those of us who look to Hip-hop for culture, opportunities, or just a place to forget our pain. We got money too, make us a target audience.

They are in the Streets crying for help

That was the only part of David Banners speech that I agreed with. I was excited so I sent an email out to my male friends, and they ALL wrote back “I’m still in my fuck the world stage.” This coming from 20 something year old men. They don’t want help because if they get it and educate themselves they get picked on, by us.

We don’t give them the time to struggle, make mistakes and correct them, and finally succeed. If they don’t have it right away, they get clowned. Girls say that want a man with a plan, but if he don’t have a Range Rover we don’t give them the time of day.

I believe Black Men and Women are in the streets crying. I don’t believe they know why they are crying. Life is hard. I know. My mom would’ve rather smoked crack than raise me. I lived with my dad, but I couldn’t tell you one thing he taught me. I made it important to educate myself. I wanted more.

So, maybe they are crying because they want it too. They just don’t know, we, as black people, want them to have more. All they hear is reasons they can’t make it from people who’ve made it.

What about Martin Scorsese? Nobody points to his Gansta Movies

Everybody might have watched his movies, but most black people wouldn’t know it was his movie. I don’t pay attention to things like that. Furthermore, when we’re talking about problems in the black community, what the hell does Scorsese have to do with it? Last time I checked he was white.

White people are not killing themselves at alarming rates. White people don’t have the highest death by A.I.D.S. statistics. White people have so much variety, a couple of gansta movies don’t affect public persona.

Every rap song these days talks about money and cars, most black people can’t afford. Drugs, most black people have someone addicted to drugs in their family. Fucking, some black women think they can’t make they’re own money, they go after dealers, artists, and sports stars to get ahead. It might not have originated in our culture, but we’ve grabbed on to it and embraced it, like it’s a good thing. And David Banner had more to do with writing that script than Martin Scorsese did.

I tried positive music, but it didn’t sell

Then you are a compromised artist. That was your way of telling us, you don’t believe what you rap, that makes you fake. See, I thought the thing about gangsta’s is they always tell the truth, whether someone want to hear it or not. Where’s your backbone?

Oh, I get it. It’s not about a backbone, it’s about that money. So fuck the fact that you could continue to put out positive music to help those black people you hear crying in the streets, just make sure you got money. Then you can give that money back to the streets. Don’t you realize you can’t separate the message from the money. Which leads me to my last point.

I’m not a role model

Taking into account everything I’ve already written, how can you not be a role model? David Banner undoubtedly has begun a path most artist would shy away from. That makes you a role model. Those people you helped rescue will look up to you as a role model. Women like me, who might not fully agree, look to you more than the Jesse Jackson’s and Al Sharton’s of our communities.

We love Hip-Hop. It’s not just music. It’s a billion dollar industry. It’s our melting pot for ideas, healing, and advancement in all fields. If we could get artist that think that role model is not a bad word. Live your life right and make your words match your true feelings, and it shouldn’t matter if other look to you for inspiration. Those that don’t want to be called role models, more than likely, don’t agree with music they make. I can’t imagine Mary J Blige telling black girls not to learn from her struggles and successes. Where are the Men that are willing to stand up and say “follow me little black boy, and I’ll show you how to get out the ghetto?”

For feeling this way, I’ve been called some pretty horrible names, but I don’t care. See it’s not just about making money for me. I do want money, but I have my limits. I will not whore myself, nor will I encourage other black women to whore themselves. I will not preach excuses. Yes, there are still racist people in America, but I don’t care. They can’t stop me, because I won’t let them. I will not support artist that never have a single nice thing to say about a woman, nor will I support artists that have wives at home, and sing about being a pimp. I will not be compromised. I know that makes my road harder, but I figure if I keep to my morals, some black girl or boy will see it and say that’s how I’m going to do it.

Do I want to be a role model? No. Will I take the job? Yes. With all my faults, I would still preach the same message. YOU CAN DO IT. What ever “it” is. I could tell you a million reason you won’t make it, but how is that helping? Instead I’ll say it’s not easy, I know, but damn is it worth it.

A Time For Change: Chapter 1

July 19th, 2008 | By Sonnie Johnson

I shouldn’t have come. Everything in me said go home before something bad happens. Something bad always happens to me. I can never go out and just have a good time.

“Come on, let’s grab a table,” Trish exclaimed as she grabbed my arm and pulled me through the hoards of mother’s that left their kids with god knows who, trying to find one of this men who haven’t seen their kids since their baby’s mama took them to court for not paying child support. God I hate people. Here I was in the middle of the most desperate of them. I shot a tense smile at Trish as I snatched my arm from her grasp. Go home Sky, go home.

Trish jumped into a booth just as a big sista was about to sit down.

“Sorry, taken” she said with a smile on her face. I stepped up and took a seat next to Trish. Big sista was dressed to the T. She wore an all black Armani suit with a pair of heels over 6 inches. Every hair was in place, and her make-up looked like Picasso had painted it. She was sharp, and by the look on her face she was also mad.

Two skinny girls walked up behind her. Neither had half the class of big sista. The one in the bright red and yellow tube top leaned over and whispered into big sista’s ear, which caused her to look at me with a long hard pause.

“Why don’t you sit down and have a drink?” I said as I returned the glance that all three were now shooting at me.

“Okay” said big sista as she slid into the booth opposite Trish. Her two flunkies attempted to scoot in, until both big sista and I focused those glances on them. Bright red and yellow tube top pushed bright yellow and red tube top into the sea of dancing idiots until they disappeared.

“I’ll go and get us some drinks. Rum and coke?” Trish asked.

“Make sure it’s Bacardi white, please.” I replied.

“And you?”

“She isn’t staying,” I said cutting off Big Sista. Trish shrugged her shoulders and disappeared into the crowd. Big sista told me what she wanted and I gave her instructions on how to get it. Then I told her I needed her i.d. She looked reluctant then pulled it out without making me ask twice. I liked her swagger, and returned it in kind by not looking at it. I nodded my head and big sista got up and left. For someone who never left the house I had a face that was to easy to recognize.

Trish came back and put my drink on the table. That was why I could chill with her. She just went with the flow. Never too many questions, and when something went down she wasn’t scared to swing. My nigga.

I grabbed my drink and took it down quick. Then I offered to go and get refills. Trish looked surprised, but didn’t say anything just nodded her head. I got up and tried to make my way to the bar. Then I spotted Travis. He saw me and pushed the skank shaking her ass in front of him out the way. She looked disgusted when she turned to see who had caught his attention. She looked at me, and her face dropped. I shook my head and she lowered her eyes and made a hasty get away.

“What is up?” Travis slurred through the gold teeth encasing his mouth.

“Two rum and cokes to my table please.”

“Anything else?’

“Yeah, stop calling my house after 11:00. I like you, but I really hate repeating myself. We clear.”

“Yes ma’am.” He said as he turned and walked away. His whispered bitch under his breath, but as long as he kept it under his breath, I’d let him keep his breath. I turned to walk back to the table when I noticed Trish’s sister had arrived with her 2 stooges. The booth was now full and I was not about to squeeze in, so I stood at the table until one of them had the sense to get up.

Lisa, Trish’s sister grabbed crony number ones hand and they went off dancing. Crony number two was at the table trying to cover her black eye. I said nothing as I sat down. I had met both cronies before, but they were never important enough to remember their names. Go home Sky, go home.

Travis came to the table carrying 4 little tumblers. He placed them all in front of me and began to bat his eyes.

“Come and check on me a couple times and I’ll call you when I’m leaving.”

“You the best” then he walked right back to the skank he was with earlier and she just smiled and started to shake her ass on him again. I shook my head with the same disgust she had shown me only moments earlier. I hadn’t had sex in 2 years and now I remembered why. I slid two tumblers to Trish and drank one of mine like it was a shot. My insides began to warm and my shoulders to relax. I picked up the second tumbler and took a small sip. Trish and Crony number two had been talking since I had come back to the table, but I couldn’t focus on their conversation because I just didn’t care.

“What would you do, Sky?”

“Huh”

“How would you get a man to stop hitting you?”

I laughed out loud. I mean real loud. It even caught Travis’ attention which allowed me to motion to him for another drink. I tried to control my laughter and it was made a lot easier when I saw the look on Trish’s face. I stopped my banter as I tried to figure out what I was reading on Trish. She looked serious and stern; I had never seen that look before.

“Come on, you’re great at giving advice. What would you do?”

“Do about what?” Lisa asked as she scooted in beside me. I turned and stared her dead in her face; she scooted out and told Trish to move.

“I don’t want your opinion I was asking Sky. What would you do?” I didn’t like the way Trish was pushing this on me. So I figured I’d break some of the promises I had made to her before we left my apartment.

“Okay first of all, one of the first things I tell a man when we meet is ‘If you ever hit me I’ll kill you’ and I mean it. Second, you have to be tired and then you have to be tired of being tired. And until you get there, there’s nothing else that can be done.”

“What would you do when you’re tired of being tired?” That was it. Trish was tired of being tired. The thing was I never knew she had a reason to be tired. I thought she and her boyfriend had a really great relationship. Her eyes pleading for a response made me mad. She’s a dummy. How could I have been so wrong? Well here comes a reality check.

I turned and looked at crony number 2. “Are you tired of being tired?” She shook her head yes. I grabbed crony number 2 and punched her in her unbruised eye. She jumped up, fist balled into knots. “I bet when he hits you, you fall into a fetal position. I can bring more harm to you than he ever could. So if you can fight me back, why can’t you fight him?” Lisa was now behind the booth warning crony number 2 that she didn’t want it with me. “Sit down. She’s a grown ass woman she doesn’t need you to tell her what to do.” I guess the beat down I had put on Lisa when we first meet still rang fresh in her mind.

“You’re my size. He’s too big.” She still had her fist in knots, but I knew she had no intention of swinging on me. She wanted me to tell her how to fix her pathetic life; she wanted me to be her savoir.

“Unclench your fist and have a seat. What is your name?”

“Samantha, but them call me Sam.”

“Well hypothetically, I would make my man a good dinner. Make sure I fixed all his favorites. I’d do nothing that made him mad, just be a good little girl.” I felt myself slipping back to all the scenarios I had played out in my head. “Then I’d run him a shower and tell him to get ready for a terrific night. While he was in the shower I would slip into something real sexy and wait for him to come out. I’d strap him to the bed and well then you could just imagine the possibilities.” I was staring blankly at my empty rum and coke. I picked up the class and tasted the watered down soda in my cup. I snapped my head around trying to locate Travis, but instead HE was there, staring at me.

I turned back towards the girls who were now laughing at my plan, all but Trish who looked like she had more questions she wanted to ask. I saw the pain she was in, but it was nothing compared to what I was feeling. Had something gone wrong? Was Flake ok? No. Can’t deal with this right now.

“Trish, honey, I gotta go.”

“Okay, but I’ve gotta talk to you soon. Don’t forget.”

“Never would. Gotta go.

I rushed out of the club, and straight into a cab. His being here couldn’t be a good thing. Had the time come already? Was it finally time for me to go home.