Black Love Project x The Baton Rouge Youth Coalition

 I was recently asked to be the Poetry Slam Coach for the Baton Rouge Youth Coalition, a non-profit that works with high achieving, low-income high school students, preparing them to succeed in their collegiate careers. I will be working with local young poets and coaching them on their writing and performance, at the end of the season our goal is to compete in All City, a nationwide poetry slam for teen poets.Out of this opportunity also comes something I've envisioned for a while and I'm pleased to announce that  Black Love Project will be working with the Baton Rouge Youth Coalition in facilitating Griot, a creative writing workshop.  The workshop is a safe space for the kids to learn and discuss music, artists and socio-political statements of the African Diaspora. They will also be able to explore and express themselves creatively. Since a goal of Black Love Project is to gather black stories from black storytellers, these workshops will be filmed in order to give light and a voice to the young, gifted and black students of Baton Rouge.Griot will be held every Saturday morning at 460 North 11th Street. Baton Rouge, Louisiana 70816If you'd like more information or know of any youth who may benefit from the Baton Rouge Youth Coalition or Griot, please contact me directly: blackloveprjct@gmail.com

Back in the Day: Before the War Came: Nostalgia and Liberian Independence

[embed]https://youtu.be/TRCMJCx7o6I[/embed] Song: Comin' HomeArtist: Tecumsay RobertsAlbum: Comin' HomeWriter: Tecumsay Roberts, Anthony James, Boni BoyerReleased: Bamboo Records, Year UnknownAll Hail Liberia, Hail:Liberia, West Africa was colonized by freed slaves from the United States of America, through the sponsorship of the American Colonization Society. It was their belief that freed blacks would have more opportunity for success in Africa, and more than five-thousand black Americans were sent to Liberia. These Americo-Liberians or "Congo People" as my mother references them, created a socio-political caste system that mirrored that of the United States; a minority ruling class maintaining complete control of the country's socio-economic and political endeavors. This imbalance of power lasted for more than one-hundred years and erupted into a twenty year civil war. Liberia, a country of almost three-million lost close to one million of its population.History tends to sterilize the effects of imperialism and neocolonialism; as a Liberian I am both politically and personally aware of how brutal the effects can be. I often see the word revolution and war thrown around loosely during these times of activism in the United States and I remain silent at the casual manner of it all. It is important to understand that revolution is not fancy, it is bloody and brutal and becomes entangled with politics and greed; civilians always paying the price. So when the term revolution is spoken, it is important to understand the total implications and how much it changes everything in an instant. My family's history and so many Liberian's histories are indicative of how swiftly life changes.It All Began on July 26, 1990:I recently read a letter that described the death of my grandmother during the First Liberian Civil War (1989-1997). The fourth line read, "It all began on July 26, 1990. . ." and went on to describe the events that led to the passing of my grandmother, Mary Jumah Stevens. The letter read like something out of a book on human rights I may have read in college; however what is simple political literary fodder for many is a part of my family history. For many Liberians, this mixture of personal tragedy and political history is not uncommon. Liberians were given the fate of knowing how bitter war can be. Yet, in all the bitterness  we continue to be resilient and happy with what life we are blessed to have; we are a prime example of black strength and survival.My mother is from Gardnersville, Liberia and my introduction to Liberian culture was from the source of the children of Liberia's Golden Age. An era before the twenty year long civil  that ravaged the country between 1989-2003. My parents met and married during the Presidency of William R. Tolbert, an Americo-Liberian who ruled under the True Whig Party, which ruled the country for more than one-hundred years under the hand of the minority Americo-Liberians.From their memories, I know of a Liberia that thrived economically and socially, my father worked for the government and my parents enjoyed a life of privilege, until the war came. There are always two memories I am given about Liberia; life before and after the war came. When the war came, my parents fled to the United States in the early 80s and my mother has not returned since. Her story is not unlike many others, which both saddens and inspires me. What strength refugees carry to make a life when their old life has been buried in political and literal mass graves.But Liberia Will Always Be My Home:I grew up in a house hold that always smelled of clean linen and red palm oil. Where we ate rice every day and cassava leaf was my favorite. Where at any time a revolving door of aunts and uncles and cousins visited and we would sit down to eat rice with them. I grew up attending weddings where I always wanted to have a partner as the grand march wrapped around the reception hall, eating rice bread and watching men discuss politics and drink Heineken, the women discussed the men. Everyone discussed the war. I grew up experiencing early morning phone calls, having to speak loudly because of poor connections and relatives asking for help because "eh nah easy." I grew up always scared when the phone rang, because more often than not news from home was not  good news. I grew up not knowing half of my bloodlines because civil war tends to split families apart and mine was no exception. Despite these things, I also grew up surrounded by a people who laughed and danced and ate and joked their way through trauma. I grew up part Liberian.Growing up, the word "home" always meant Africa. For my mother and various aunts, uncles, and cousins (usually not blood related), "home" always meant Liberia. In retrospect, everyone I grew up with was a refugee. So the idea of going home meant returning to a land that purged itself of its native sons and daughters. Even I, who was born in the States, have a heavy longing to return to Liberia, in order to know the part of myself I've never met. All of us yearn to see the faces of people who are no longer, to return to the places that are burned down. Going home for a lot of Liberians means to return to a place that no longer exists. This is the aching nostalgia so many Liberians experience; the longing of a time and space that was violently taken and the only thing left to hold on to are memories of people and places and things gone by.  

400 Years: On Confederate Flags and Black Liberation

Song: 400 Hundred YearsArtist: The Wailers/Peter ToshAlbum: Catch a Fire/Equal RightsWriter: Peter ToshReleased: 1973/2011 Legacy Release[audio mp3="https://blackloveproject.files.wordpress.com/2015/07/1-09-400-years-outtake.mp3"][/audio]My experience with the 4th of July has been a bit different, as I am a first generation American. My parents were never truly invested; however for the sake of their American born children, [they] assimilated to some customs; mainly throwing barbecues or going to Stone Mountain Park to watch the laser show. This was an all day affair; the laser show would bring together thousands of families who converged upon Georgia's Stone Mountain Park. They all came to sit on blankets to eat fried chicken, hot-out-the-grease funnel cake and six dollar sticks of cotton candy that melted from the heat of a Georgian summer. The air always smelled of sunscreen and bodies secreting sticky sweat and cheap beer; God bless America.As night fell, there settled a nice breeze and thus signaled the beginning of the long awaited laser show. The entire show lasts for about an hour and a half. There is a skit with a laser personification of the lyrics to Charlie Daniels’ The Devil Went Down to Georgia and tributes to Martin Luther King, Jimmy Carter and other nationally known Georgians, Ray Charles’ Georgia playing as soundtrack. All of this historic sentiment leads to the part of the laser show that would always make the funnel cake in my mouth turn sour; the homage to the confederacy and confederate flag.For those not familiar, Stone Mountain Park has a large mound in the center of it, aptly called Stone Mountain. Etched onto the side of this so-called mountain are the figures of Stonewall Jackson, Robert E. Lee and Jefferson Davis, President of the Confederacy. It is atop this same mountain the Ku Klux Klan revived itself during the 1950s, popularizing the burning of crosses and throwing lynched black bodies down the mountainside.The laser show begins this homage with a dramatic scene of soldiers fatally falling and then General Lee breaks his sword in defeat and the broken pieces morph into the starred x that crosses the confederate flag; all of this occurring while Elvis Presley croons I Wish I Was in Dixie.  It is at this moment that the crowd would erupt into a great roar; a greater applause than the ones given to Jimmy Carter and Martin Luther King, Jr., combined.There was a greater pride for the confederacy than for American independence and social progression. The contradictory duality of being both black and American was never more present than watching fireworks below Stone Mountain. The 4th of July only shines light on such contradictions.400 hundred years and it's the same old-time colonial and imperialistic, philosophy.There are recent conversations about the meaning and intention of the confederate flag, whether it is heritage or hate. If we are going to speak of flags as symbols of racial hatred, should the stars and stripes not also be examined?In secondary school, we were taught that the American Civil War was not about slavery, but state’s rights. What was so glaringly hidden from context was the southern state’s need to have the rights to continue to profit from slave labor. These are the rights they so valiantly fought for, under the banner of the confederate flag. During Jim Crow Era, when my alma mater, the University of Georgia, accepted Charlayne Hunter-Gault and Hamilton Holmes as its first black students, seven years after the 1954 Brown v. Board decision to desegregate schools; segregationists marched under the banner of the confederate flag. Between 1877 and 1950, in twelve southern states, there were almost four thousand lynchings of black people; six hundred of those occurred in the state of Georgia.  These lynchings were often done under the banner of the confederate flag and often went and continue to go unpunished by the stars and stripes.The confederate flag and the flag of the United States have both witnessed and allowed very dark portions of American history, all under the name of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. It would be ahistorical and dangerous to forget that the confederate and American flag are symbols of oppression. Oppression can be one's heritage and supporters of the confederate flag, and those who are blindly patriotic, should remember this.But come on with me, you are black and you're proud, so you've got to be free. Peter Tosh, perhaps the most militant of The Wailers, spoke candidly about the importance of black identity and liberation. His lyrics should be examined more, as his music is a soundtrack for black liberation and revolution. The song 400 Years, a reference to black sufferance and the covenant of 400 years of oppression mentioned in the Bible, should be referenced when speaking of the independence of any colony. A country's freedom always comes from a people who fight to obtain what they believe to be their inalienable rights from an oppressive system. Tosh was highly aware of how systemic black oppression was and called on his people to free their minds in order to become physically, mentally and spiritually free from the influences of white supremacy.I am acutely aware of the privileges being American brings, I cannot deny the things this country has afforded me as its citizen. However, these are strange times living as a black woman in America and I find it hard to give my full support to a country that has not and will not fight for me. Black people in America are still fighting for something to call freedom. I don't see American socio-political abandonment of black people as something to celebrate.I do not have any strong sense of connection or extreme patriotism when it comes to America's independence. America's independence is told like a fairytale of poor settlers who fled persecution and fought valiantly for a new life in a new world. What is hidden in this narrative is the destruction of so many groups of people of color; destruction is the foundation of American independence.I do believe that for the 4th of July, black people in America should focus on finding their personal liberation any and everywhere we can find it. Find the things that liberate you mind, body and spirit. Get free. No flag can take that away from us.Let's Discuss: As a person of color in the United State of America, what does the 4th of July mean to you?Tell me below in the comments!

Johnny Was: An Examination of Black Grief

Song: Johnny WasArtist: Bob Marley and The WailersAlbum: Rastaman VibrationWriter: Bob Marley, credited to Rita MarleyReleased: April 30, 1976, Island Records. Tuff Gong.  (album)[audio mp3="https://blackloveproject.files.wordpress.com/2015/04/3-06-johnny-was.mp3"][/audio]

Woman hold her head and cry. As her son had been shot down in the street and died just because of the system.

2015 is littered with murders of black men, women and children at the hands of law enforcement and white vigilantes. Rather, there is more media coverage of said murders. These incidents birthed a new era of protest and activism against harsh policing, particularly against black and brown communities in the United States. Since the August 9, 2014 murder of Mike Brown, the world has erupted in marches, die-ins and various methods of civil disobedience. The chant "Black Lives Matter," echoing to shame a system that murders its black citizens once every twenty-eight hours. It also challenges the manner in which the American justice system negatively affects the livelihood of its black citizens. As more of these stories surface, the image of mourning black families is becoming all too familiar. The manner in which these cases are portrayed in the American media is telling of the desensitization towards black death.Parents are forced to bypass the stages of grief, instead having to defend the humanity of their children. They must excuse any past transgressions and plead that the lives of their children do in fact matter. There is no time to fully mourn. This continues a suppression of emotion as a means of survival, an act historically imposed upon 'minority' groups. The stereotype of the black mammy is an example of this suppression; stripped of her own children and in the midst of grief forced to raise a white master all while maintaining an image of strength. This strength under burden has been the weight of black families the moment Europeans set foot in our spaces. Our intellectual and emotional capabilities are undermined in order to maintain the racist idea that we are nothing more than bodies and therefore do not have emotional bonds. There is the idea that black people do not feel nor love. Surviving in oppressive environments forces many to ignore their mental and emotional states.  It would seem that for a lot of us, mourning gets in the way of surviving.

How can she work it out? Now she knows that the wages of sin is death, if Jah Jah is life. 

The topic of police brutality against black bodies is often countered with statistics of black on black crime. An argument asserting that if there is no self value within a community, then no outside group will respect said community. The argument isn't a solid one, as most murder victims are murdered by someone of their own race. That is not to say that we should ignore the pockets of our communities that suffer from extreme violence. Yet, it is important we do so with a critical lens.  Marley refers to a system and a sin responsible for Johnny's death, essentially a cause and its effect. The system, or the cause is global socio-political and economic policies that are responsible for the corruption and oppression of poor black and brown communities. Poor education, poverty, lack of opportunity and a so-called War on Drugs are by-products of such systems. The sin, or the effect become the corrupted environments which in turn breed corrupted minds. The sin stands as an example of the raw human instinct to survive in concrete jungles.  Black people are not the only people to do this. Superficially, we view violent neighborhoods as nothing more than that, but on a deeper level what we are witnessing are outcomes of war zones. We must understand the psychological damage suffered by these populations. Many black people suffer from unacknowledged and untreated Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and depression.  When we see protests like those in Ferguson and the so-called Baltimore Uprising, what we are witnessing is the physical manifestation of unexpressed grief and rage.

Can a woman's tender care cease towards the child she bears?

Turn to any media outlet and these murders become sensationalized stories for a consumptive audience. We feed off of these murders, the videos and pictures are tangible evidence of our pain and outrage.  I can never bring myself to watch the filmed murders, as it makes the situation more personal than it already feels. When another murder is announced, I always view the victims as someone I may have known, or they remind me of people I know and love. Aside from the systemic and systematic reasons as to why these murders are a shame, what evokes feeling is the thought that the next victim could be someone you know. Robert Nesta Marley, a product of communities affected by white supremacy and capitalism,  wrote the story of many families from a deeply personal level. Families who weep for the loss of a loved one who has fallen victim to an environment not created for their survival. Johnny Was is a song about a woman mourning her son. Plain and simple. Outside of the system, outside of inquisitive passersby, outside of his sins, that was her son. "Johnny was a good man." Let's Discuss: How have you been taught to deal with grief?

Pack Light: On Self Love and Healing

Song: Bag LadyArtist: Erykah BaduAlbum: Mama's GunWriter(s): Erykah Wright; pka Erykah Badu and Andre Young; pka Dr. DreReleased: September 12, 2000[audio mp3="https://blackloveproject.files.wordpress.com/2015/02/12-bag-lady.mp3"][/audio]

bag lady. let it go. let it go. let it go. let it go. i bet you love can make it better. 

As one goal of Black Love Project is to explore love, I think it important to question myself in terms of what I know love to be. It is a question I ask those I encounter and it is a question I am currently facing.  Every day I am given the opportunity to learn and fall in love with myself, including the lesser parts of me that need healing. This learning and healing process has forced me to turn inward, conducting a self-evaluation. Life and love leave their imprints on all of us, but it is our responsibility to never become victims of our past. Both life and love are best enjoyed when you have no burdens of your past blocking what could be a beautiful present and future. Bag Lady, from Badu's 2000 album Mama's Gun is a perfect guide for understanding how beneficial letting go is. So pack light.

i guess nobody ever told you all you must hold on to is you. one day all them bags gone get in your way. so pack light. 

I never realized how romanticized love was until I found myself in love again. Love is not solely about romance. It comes down to the bare soul and willingness of the people involved. We are taught that love means to give yourself heart, mind and soul. This is but a mere fraction of love. It is important that we first give ourselves the things we wish to offer another. Self love is the foundation of any successful relationship. No other love will be successful if you do not first love yourself. We must first belong to ourselves holistically.  When a lover enters our lives, be they seasonal or permanent, it is important to understand that they are nothing more than blessings. We do not need them, but have been given the opportunity to love them. As both blessings and people can be transient, we must know that we are the only constants in our lives. We must be so in love with ourselves that the presence and affection of another does not sway the way we view ourselves if and when they leave.

sometimes it's hard and we can't let go. when someone hurts you oh so bad inside, you can't deny it, you can't stop crying. 

Erykah Badu has mastered the ability to convey the functional and dysfunctional aspects of love and emotions. She has never been afraid to openly pen her experiences with insecurity, sensuality, bliss and sadness; the yins and yangs of love.  In some shape or form we have all witnessed examples of dysfunctional relationships. Be it from those who raised us to the first lover who did not know how to love us. These instances of tainted love accumulate becoming the baggage Badu sings of.  Often, we do not realize the weight of our wounds, the baggage we've been carrying,  until we try to love again. It is not until someone offers to hold your hand while exploring new love that you see that your hands have been full. Matters of the heart can leave one heavy and jaded. It is a part of life. But this heaviness, if not released, will hold you back from the beauty of allowing someone to love you. Allowing old lovers to continuously haunt you creates a blockade to the blessing of new love.  Letting go of the things that hold us back from experiencing love is essential in being able to love again, to not be a prisoner of the past and to not be afraid to love fearlessly and vulnerably. Bag Lady urges us to recognize this. So let the hurt go. Pack light. And let love make it better.

Him and I: The Cultural Importance of OutKast

OutKast, CounterPoint Music Festival, Black Love Project©[audio mp3="https://blackloveproject.files.wordpress.com/2014/01/09-da-art-of-storytellin-pt-1.mp3"][/audio]Da Art of Storytellin' (Part 1) is perhaps one of the most persistent songs from my childhood memories. I was ten years old when I first heard it and I remember the feeling it gave me, as it gives me the same feeling now. That feeling was and is Atlanta. What I mean by that is the feeling of the Bill Campbell, So-So Def, Mike and Carol in the Morning, Braves Win Atlanta. Economically and artistically, Atlanta was steadily growing in strength and influence. The energy from that growth, to me, can be heard in Aquemini. It is a reflection of the environment within which OutKast was creating. When Andre asks, "What you wanna be?", I remember ten year old Monique questioning what being an adult, a woman, would be like. Would I be beautiful? Would I be loved by a man? Who would I be? Sixteen years later, I've experienced things my younger self could only imagine; I have lived and loved in this city. I know what it is to be on Edgewood, "so engulfed in the Olde E." (SpottieOttieDopalicious, Aquemini, 1998), with good friends under the Atlanta skyline, or to literally be riding dirty on 85, or to just sit on my porch and listen to the city breathe. This is my Atlanta now, but what remains is the energy I felt in 1998, the energy that comes when I hear this song. As new questions arise and life goes on, it is beautiful to me that one song has held the same weight for almost twenty years. This is a prime example of OutKast's ability to reveal you to yourself through their music and it is the reason their artistry will endure. It seems Sasha Thumper had it right in aspiring to be alive; for when we are alive, every day is another chance to begin again.

Three in the morning, yawning, dancing under street lights. We chillin' like a villain and a nigga feelin' right. In the middle of the ghetto on the curb and despite all of the bullshit, we on our backs staring at the stars above. Talkin' 'bout what we gone be when we grow up. I said, "What you wanna be? She said, "Alive."

On August 3, 1995, having just won an award for Best New Rap Group at The Source Awards, Andre Benjamin alongside Antwan Patton, gave one of the most prophetic acceptance speeches in merely six words, "The south has something to say." OutKast remains one of the most influential and important groups to exist. They continue to prove that the south does indeed have something to say. One only has to listen to any radio station across the country to hear the heavy influence of southern music. It is important to note that I am not only speaking of the south's influence on hip hop, but American music in general. The foundation of American music is built largely on the musical contributions of southern black people. Early black American music carried with it heavy African traditions: call and response, the ritual of song during communal harvesting, which turned into the work songs of forced labor in the case of the Diaspora, and the aspect of spirituality and a connection to higher powers, later found in Negro spirituals. All of these traditions can be found in OutKast's music, however, perhaps the most important tradition OutKast masters is the art of storytelling. Big Boi and Andre are not merely rappers, they are storytellers. They are the Jeli , or Griots, of the American south.  West African Jelis are storytellers who are charged with observing and reciting the social, political and historical events of their people through word and song. They are historians and social commentators, which is what OutKast has become for the south.

Just shoot game in the from of story raps, now.

And who but black people have been an outcast in America? Who else then but OutKast to tell their story? Atlanta, Georgia (what do we do for ya?) has seen the socio-political and cultural evolution of its black children and it is OutKast who are their descendents. They have risen to tell the story of their people; a people who have been affected by a harrowing but rich history. People who see and hear themselves in the lyrics and rhythms of the Dungeon. OutKast reminds us of our kinfolk, of the Kims and Cookies and Nathaniels we all know. They represent the duality of existence for many southern black people; articulating what it is to be both a "hemp-selling" nigga and a man aware enough to understand his history and how it affects his present condition. I was able to see them perform at this year's CounterPoint Music Festival and as I spoke with festival goers, I probed why they travelled an hour outside of Atlanta to see OutKast perform. The recurring answer was, "Because I grew up with them." People did not grow up just listening to OutKast; their lives intertwined with the progression of OutKast's music. OutKast grew with us as we grew with them.

OutKast: (adj.)  An OutKast is someone who is not considered to be part of the normal world. He's looked at differently. He's not accepted because of his clothes, his hair, his occupation, his beliefs or his skin color. Now look at yourself, are you an OutKast? I know I am.  As a matter of fact, fuck being anything else.Big Rube (True Dat Interlude, Southernplayalisticadillacmuzik, 1994)

Seeing OutKast perform in Atlanta will be a historical moment for music, but particularly for Atlanta. As many OutKast fans see themselves in the music, we are all going to relive a memory through song. Perhaps you first fell in love to Stankonia or met your best friend to ATLiens or just drove around the city to Aquemini, whatever the reason, there is a feeling or memory attached to OutKast's discography. As a child I did not understand the depth of their lyrical content but as I've grown, the songs have taken on newer meaning as life continues to expose itself to me. Which Andre said would happen in Da Art of Storytellin' (Part 2), "Hope I'm not over your head, but if so, you will catch on later." Seeing them perform in Atlanta will allow us to relive and capture a certain time in our lives with thousands of other people who are there for the same reason. And I cannot wait.OutKast, ATLast.

Bobby Womack : When the Sun Goes Down

[audio mp3="https://blackloveproject.files.wordpress.com/2014/06/04-thats-the-way-i-feel-about-cha.mp3"][/audio]Bobby Womack (March 4, 1944- June 27, 2014)My mother's Saturday morning ritual was to get up early, play music and clean the house from top to bottom. This, I believe, is where my affection for soul music and Bobby Womack in particular was born. One song I that played frequently was Harry Hippie by Bobby. I remember watching her folding clothes or washing dishes while singing along to this raspy, forceful voice coming through the speakers. My mother was the person to tell me that he'd passed and I couldn't help but to feel a bit of sadness about it all.Most of us take on the habits and inclinations of our parents. In some way we are brought into this life as a continuation of them. We are here as living testaments to their legacy and existence. For me, my love of music is the continuation of my mother's thirst for melody and song. And when it is my turn to have children, I will undoubtedly wake up every Saturday morning to clean and play songs that they too will remember as they grow in life, songs that will later have greater meaning to them. I rediscovered Bobby Womack in my early twenties, when I found myself in the middle of a heartbreak. Bobby's That's the Way I Feel 'Cha played a role in helping me sort and justify all the feelings I had within me. The song begins like a good amount of Womack's songs do; a short monologue over the music before breaking out in song, "You're pushing my love, just a little too far. I don't think you know how blessed you are." That line was so poignant to me. It was the line I needed to hear when I felt that perhaps my love was not good enough, when really my love was a blessing to a man who did not know how to receive love.Bobby Womack and his writing spoke of life plainly. He did not shy away from speaking about his feelings about love or the social issues he witnessed. He came from an era of musicians whose background began in gospel music and took that particular musical delivery into the secular world. They were storytellers, musicians who created in order to release their emotions and perspectives out of themselves and into the world. "I feel that anytime I got something to say I'm going to say it. Maybe it might help you on your merry way." (Fact of Life/He'll Be There When the Sun Goes Down, Facts of Life, 1973). Bobby's lyricism was simple and matter of fact and told stories of love from a black male perspective. He was what a younger generation would call real; unafraid to express his thoughts, aware of reality without blinded sentiment and a gritty and soulful delivery of it all. Bobby Womack did not entertain under the pretense of a gimmick, the lyrics and music came straight from his soul and straight into ours.May he rest peacefully.Song: That's the Way I Feel About 'ChaArtist: Bobby WomackAlbum: CommunicationWriters: Bobby Womack, Jim Grisby, Joe HicksReleased: 1972