Welcome to Show #33-07

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Welcome to Show #30-07

Welcome to Show #29-07

Welcome to Show #28-07

Short Takes

 1. Sharpton, Westward Ho, And Questions Who Let Her Out of Jail.  Hope That's a Refundable Ticket

 2. Obama and Tony Who?

 3. BET Goes to the Land of the Rising Sun, A Damn Dark Day

 4. Judge Blows Off 10-Year Sentence for Oral Sex

Most mornings I walk with my son to the bus stop to wait for the bus that takes him to school.  But before you label me a "helicopter parent" let me be very clear, he's doing me a huge favor by acting as the external motivation for my sagging self motivation. After all the miles I've run, swum and biked, occasionally, I need a kick in the rear. Mojo, my four- legged, foot-tall, eleven-pound protector and I keep walking for another 5 miles after I leave my son at the bus stop.  Some mornings Jonathan and I walk in silence. Some mornings we toss a ball back and forth or kick a soccer ball to one another.  The biggest disruption is the laughter and finger-pointing about who let the ball roll into rush hour traffic.  As my son's 12^th birthday is fast approaching at the end of this month, I know my morning time with him may be coming to a close.  After all, junior high school awaits in September and no matter how good looking a boy's mother is, he just doesn't want to be seen with her--as it should be.  I've spent the better portion of my life working out, staying physically fit for those very moments five mornings a week when the only thing between him and me is an abbreviated test of athletic prowess.  But I'm running out of time.

When he was just learning to walk, it seemed that all of his steps led to my outstretched arms; chubby legs gaining confidence and unseen mental determination being formed with each step.  At some point after so many steps had been accomplished, as I expected, my son eschewed the safety of my arms and was able to start to navigate in the real world.  From the first time he rode the bus by himself at eight years old to now getting lost for brief periods after school.  Just long enough to flex his independence muscles but not allow me to worry too long.  I'm proud of the way he has handled his steps toward independence.  I'm thankful that he still allows our morning testosterone-driven play or just the silence of a spring morning.  Gone are the days when he used to look for my outstretched hand to guide him cross the street and protect him from the hazards that lurked there. That simple act of love and parenting has always fascinated me. I still love to see the innate and intimate choreography between children and parents just standing on the corner, waiting.  Then two hands meet, giving love and receiving it. Jonathan always seems to be walking in front of me now, as it should be.  I watch his long legs, his footwork around a soccer ball and I'm thankful that the genetics came together so perfectly and allows his body to work so effortlessly.

Just up 16^th Street about a half mile in the other direction from where my son and I walk to the bus stop is Walter Reed Army Medical Hospital.  In that place there are sons and daughters of other mothers who will not see their children play soccer, shoot hoops or walk anywhere.  In that place are men and women who have served their country and who are trying desperately to put their lives and bodies back together again, men and women whose own children will only know bionic hugs and handholding. They wear the replacement body parts of people who have sacrificed much for this country.

On May 29^th Cindy Sheehan announced her withdrawal from the anti-war movement.  Her son Casey was killed in Iraq in 2004.  He fought the good fight.  As have they all in Iraq, Afghanistan and Walter Reed.  Perhaps it could be said that Sheehan herself, also fought the good fight. She sacrificed much in an effort to insure that her son and thousands of other didn't and will not die in vain.  I can't say whether she allowed herself to be used by the Democrats, by Chavez or by Castro.  But what do you say of a cause for which even a mother who has lost so much is no longer willing to fight.

On the front page of the Outlook section of The Washington Post, on Sunday May 27th, there was an article titled "I Lost My Son to a War I Oppose.  We Were Both Doing Our Duty" by Andrew J. Bacevich.  Mr. Bacevich's son Andrew died on May 13^th , which this year was also Mother's Day.  In my last commentary I shared with readers the "confluence" of events that day holds for me.  Only in my most cruel nightmares would my son's death be added to that date which has become so significant to me.

Mr. Bacevich teaches history and international relations at Boston University.  He has also been an outspoken critic of the US Government's instigation and continued role in the war in Iraq.  He writes about people who "endorse" President Bush's "crusade to spread democracy across the Muslim world and to eliminate tyranny from the face of the Earth.  They insist not only that his decision to invade Iraq in 2003 was correct but that the war there can still be won.  Some--the members of the-surge-is-already-working school of  thought--even profess to see victory just over the horizon." He continues, "I believe that such notions are dead wrong and doomed to fail.  In books, articles and op-ed pieces, in talks to audiences large and small, I have said as much."

Mr. Bacevich's continuous outspoken criticism of the war has earned him accusatory letters after his son's death.  The poison pen wielding authors accused Mr. Bacevich of contributing to his son's death.  How absolutely disgusting.

I am saddened and sorry for Cindy Sheehan and Andrew Bacevich.  Two out of millions of parents and ordinary Americans who last September thought that their insistent voices and votes meant change was on its way. 

Shortly before the Memorial Day recess, over on Capital Hill, there was an accounting, a tally, yes a vote.  The American people lost.  After all the hoopla and histrionics for Democrats to take over the House and Senate during the mid-term elections--most specifically, so that they could end the Iraq nightmare--this is what the American people got in a losing effort.  The Senate voted 80-14 and the House voted 280-142.  The funding bill for the Iraq war was passed without a timeline for troops to start to return home. Nancy Pelosi for all her hundred-hour bluster upon taking office and the great photo op with the kids at the Speaker of the House podium and Harry Reid failed the American people and failed my son.  They cast their limp and spineless votes and left town leaving behind George Bush looking like a great politician. 

I challenge Speaker Pelosi to look into the eyes of those young children on the podium when she took office and tell them that in a few short years they will have to head off to a place where they will be used as nothing more than targets for angry people who don't want them in their country.  Wait, what am I thinking.  Madame Speaker's children and grandchildren will be safe along with all the other children of congressmen and senators or children from wealthy Texas oil families.

I guess the term "public servant" is outmoded and quite ridiculous to use in this day and time given the way public servants have taken to lining  their pockets even in this post-Jack Abramoff era.  Need a more recent example?  Try William Jefferson (D-Louisiana) making illegal deals in the House dining room.  And, no, I won't entertain any notion of trumped up charges and the White man trying to keep a brother down. $90,000 grand stashed in the freezer has a certain illegal feel about it. And, yes, I still believe in innocent until proven guilty. But whoever those people are over on Capital Hill and whatever you chose to call them, Democrats particularly, disappointed, angered, caused my outrage and tears.

But what is the mother of a soon-to-be 12-year old to do?  What can I do right now to save my son from possible death and dismemberment?  Sounds rather dramatic doesn't it?  But what if he and I were there on 16^th Street and I see the angry, growling grill of a car barreling toward those long, precious legs of my too-soon-to-be 12 year old son?  Would I just watch as the car knocks him out of his shoes, rips an arm from his shoulder, makes his legs no longer usable or takes the very breath and life out of his body?  Or would I muster every ounce of strength, courage and remaining elasticity in my body to push, pull, yank or tackle him out of harm's way.  And as the car goes whizzing past, smashing and exploding against a tree or something more expendable than my son's life, I would breathe deeply and pray, giving thanks that this was not the day he left me.

In the Nation's Capital last weekend, at a street fair, a car driven by a woman who was allegedly coked or cracked up, steered her car into a large group of people leaving the afternoon's festivities.  The group included extended families, friends and neighbors walking with children and pushing strollers after what should have been a good time at an annual neighborhood event.  The aftermath in words and pictures told the parent's stories, one after another, about pushing startled and frightened children or strollers with sleeping children out of harm's way.  The street was littered with flattened and mangled strollers. Fortunately, the injuries were mostly bumps and bruises instead of horrific deaths. 

Right now, today, if each parent could look into the eyes of their young sons and daughters and literally see their future, going off to war and returning without limbs or humanity. Would they sit by and let it happen.  Don't we owe it to our children to prepare them to live their best life possible?  Aren't we investing in our children's future when we teach them to read? Aren't we investing in our children's future when we save for their college education?  Aren't we investing in our children's future when we tell today's politicians, "No, not our children"?

Back to my morning reverie--I watch my son's liquid motions, quick smile and attempts to outdo me as we throw balls or exchange snappy one-liners.  In six years my son will be eighteen years old.  For several days last week I tried to imagine my son in six years with a swagger that hasn't been earned yet and full of himself and the belief that he can conquer the world. Will Iraq and Afghanistan still be raging?  Will North Korea or Pakistan or Palestine be the responsibility of the United States?  Right now the education system is failing too many children, too many Americans are hungry and homeless and those who thought that they had climbed another rung up on the ladder to home ownership are losing those homes to sub-prime mortgage failures. Louisiana hasn't been rebuilt, but somebody walked away from that financial disaster area with billions and the lack of health care for every person in this land of plenty is an abomination.  Perhaps the world would look a bit kinder on our fat American asses and interference in other countries' affairs if our own house was in order.  We all know it's not.

Several years ago two African American representatives, Charles Rangel (D-New York) and John Conyers, Jr. (D-Michigan), sponsored legislation for compulsory national service.  It failed 402-2 in the House. What does that say about the commitment to the war effort?  In 2001, African-Americans made up about 22.3 percent of the Army, compared with 14.5 percent in 2005.  Given the lack of support for the war in Iraq in the African American community, what were these two Congressmen thinking?  This community that has been plagued by Black men's high rates of unemployment, incarceration, and public health issues, should now be sent to war?  Well at least we'd get them off the streets here and earning a paycheck, right?

Sometimes, for a mom, children's lives are remembered by developmental milestones:  first step, first word, first day of school. Their young lives are filled with "firsts." Maybe my tears that day, when the House and Senate failed me, were for my son's "will never be" moments should the US government decide to continue its role as the world police.  For my son and thousands of others who are at risk if this civil war in Iraq continues or if another acronym like GWOT is brandished by the Department of Defense and Homeland Security to gain and keep control of the masses, just like those damn terror alert colors.  Many of my son's "firsts" may never be in just six years.  Consider this:  The youngest of the troops serving in Iraq right now, the 18 year olds, were in high school last year; four years earlier they were in junior high.  That just doesn't seem right to me.

Sometimes, after I part ways with my son, I walk the other way on 16^th Street, north toward Walter Reed.  I slow and occasionally pause at the gated entrance.  I watch the irony of people running the track on the hospital grounds. I think about the mothers and families who are fighting, still, within those walls, trying to help make their sons and daughters whole again.  Sometimes it's very clear that becoming whole again will be a struggle for just for the mind, soul and spirit because IEDs took parts of their bodies which have been left in the desert a long way from home.

As Americans, are we really willing to leave the fate of our children in the hands of people who take the money and run and who don't have our collective backs?  Cindy, I'm sorry that the struggle was more than you could continue to bear.  Andrew, your question was not only appropriate but necessary, "What exactly is a father's duty when his son is sent into harm's way?" I'm sorry that some hawk-at-any-cost has tried to blame you for your son's death.  But now it's my son's life that is in danger and just as if an out of control car were careening toward him, I will do whatever is necessary to save his life.  As it should be.

See ya next time,
Sunny

Welcome to Show #27-07

Short Takes

 1.Time Magazine's Most Influential People Actually Found Interesting People of Color

 2. Mormons in the 'Hood, And After the Black Soul

 3. Oprah, President Maker? NewsMax Says Maybe

 4. Palestinian Moms, They Too Can Blow Themselves Up for God

--  Chicago Tribune, Hey, Is This An Anti-war Rally or An Obama '08 Rally, Or Are You Just Happy to See Me?

--  The Washington Post, Carter Blasts Bush with his Nobel Peace Prize-winning-former-president-with-a-successful-track record-of-diplomacy death ray!

--  Jena, Louisiana's Racial Demons.  Don't Worry This is the US of A, Those Pesky Little Things Never Go Away

--  Talk About Talk Radio

--  The Economist, Zimbabwe In the Dark, Still Wishing Mugabe Was in the Wind

--  International Herald Tribune, Africa's Colleges Teaching Who?

--  The Land of Milk and Honey is Just a Bus Ride from Haiti

--  Chicago's Schools Hip Hop Workshops

--  Editor & Publisher, Spike Lee Puts Money Where His Mouth Is, Film at 11

--  The Last Words from August Wilson

--  Who Ate Chocolate City?

--  For the Musically Stuck in a Rut:  Macy Gray & Me, Doin' Something!

--  Blatant Self Promotion for--what was supposed to be video and is now audio--New Feature, Sunny's Washington and More Blatant Self Promotion, The ABW T-Shirt!

See ya next time,
Sunny!

May 13:  Wedding Day, Mother's Day, Divorce

May 13^th is here again.  I was married on that date in 1989. In between then and now, I have celebrated fifteen Mother's Days, which sometimes fell on May 13^th, which was my wedding anniversary. And at the Superior Court in Washington, DC, I appeared before a judge who proclaimed me divorced.  It was May 13, 2006.  My marriage license and divorce decree are dated May 13^th.  For me the role of wife and mother comes to a bittersweet confluence on May 13^th.

I have often questioned my ability as a mother, at no time more arduously than after I filed for divorce.  Was I failing my daughter and son by acting on my long-term unhappiness?  Was I being selfish?  Was I depriving them and maybe even myself of a better life if I had just swallowed hard and stayed?  It was the fall of 2001, and Washington, DC; New York; and Pennsylvania burned with the hatred of people in a far-off place.  On September 11th I was strictly a mother.  As I sped to each of my children's schools, I hoped that the administration of Sidwell Friends and Maret had delivered the news in an age-appropriate fashion.  I was shopping along Rockville Pike when I heard it. Looking back on it later, I realized how shopping helped to fill the hole that had grown in my heart over the years of my marriage.  I ran out to my car and drove first to my son's school. I don't really remember driving, just crying.  I dried my tears and popped my son in his car seat and made my way to my daughter's school.  She had been told of the events of the day.  We rode home in silence, Joanna knowing and Jonathan oblivious.  As I pulled into my driveway I breathed deeply.  I had gotten all of us home and not encountered anything blowing up or anyone else dying. I had never been so happy to see their six- and ten-year-old faces.  If anything else was going to happen that day--another plane, a bomb--I wanted all of us together.  What I did not do was call my husband.  I knew then that I didn't want to spend the rest of my life living the life I was leading.  Two months later, I filed for a separation.  As any reader who can count has now figured out it took five years to undo my marriage.  A friend, currently in therapy, relayed my story to his therapist.  Apparently, mine was not the only marriage that failed that day in September.

Joanna and Jonathan are fifteen and eleven now.  Their father has remarried.  I have not.  I spent ten years as a stay-at-home mother and while I feel like the world is continuing to move forward, I am stuck in place, trying to find my place.  I always knew that I wanted to raise my children and not leave them in someone else's care. I consider myself unbelievably blessed to have spent that time with them.  When I was married and we started to reap the benefits of a successful start-up company, the time finally came and I kissed my 9-to-5 goodbye.  I traded it in for a 24/7--earlier dinners, playtime, carpool lines, regular trips to Toys R Us, Sesame Street, Blues Clues, and lots of face time at the children's schools.  There weren't any Mocha Moms. The private schools that the kids attended, and their friends' mothers and fathers, never warmed to minority parents. Our presence was simply to be tolerated in the interest of creating a diverse student body.  It was a lonely existence in which I never gave full consideration to what comes after.  But I never once questioned whether I was doing the right thing.

I am no longer a wife.  I will always be a mother.  But who am I as a person?  Prior to 2003 I hadn't worked outside the home for ten years.  My kids are closer to adolescence and adulthood now and I've learned to gradually loosen the tether that connects us to one another. Of late, out of emotional necessity and because of the void that has been created over the last fifteen years, I question more and more whether my motherhood defines me and how do I get to the woman that I'm supposed to be, because this can't be it. 

The last several years have been the most difficult of my life, doubly so because the upheaval has been played out in the presence of my children.  I've lost, given up, pawned, sold, bartered, and had repossessed just about all of my previous married existence and more than a few things from my now single life.  There is no sign left of my married self--except my children.  I've chosen to look at the casting off as something that was necessary and perhaps even from God--an exercise in living more honestly and regaining some part of my soul that had been lost while I tried to fill it up with material things.  Last month, I took my remaining Hermes scarves to the pawn shop to pay the last of my daughter's tuition for this school year--a responsibility that is solely mine because of shoddy legal representation.  While I was there the woman behind the counter asked if the mesh bracelet I was wearing was a Tiffany.  I didn't trip at the suggestion that it could have been a knock off; she didn't know me.  I sold that too.  And so it continues.

In the Sunday, April 15^th Book World of The Washington Post, Rachel Hartigan Shea reviewed The Feminine Mistake: Are We Giving Up Too Much? by Leslie Bennetts.  I haven't read the book yet, but I intend to.  What struck me was that the facts, as detailed by the author, resembled my life--no, were my life. 

From time to time I give a talk for Phoenix Group Seminars titled "A Smart Woman's Marriage: What to Do before and after Saying 'I Do.'"  I have told many times over the stories from my marriage and given advice on how to avoid the pitfalls that I stumbled into.  But nothing speaks to me louder than the facts and figures contained in The Feminine Mistake.

Men tend to benefit financially from divorce, while their ex-wives usually see their standard of living sink by more than a third.

After a divorce, a woman's standard of living drops 36 percent.  A man's rises 28 percent.

Only 74 percent of stay-at-home mothers who want to return to work land jobs; of these, only 40 percent are able to find full-time, professional employment.  And that's after being out of work for an average of just 2.2 years.

Mothers are 44 percent less likely to be hired than nonmothers with the same experience.

Employers offer mothers an average of $11,000 less in starting salary than nonmothers with the same qualifications.

Women lose 37 percent of their earning power after three years at home.

These are sad statistics.  Statistics that I wish more women--particularly young women would pay attention to.  There is more thought put into buying shoes and getting nails done than creating a plan for managing their marriages. It's so easy to say, "It won't happen to me." But with nearly half the marriages in America ending in divorce, it's happening to lots of people. It is no wonder that as of late, looking for something more than just a job, and believing that the skills represented on my resume are top notch and that I've got something great to offer an employer, apparently, what prospective employers are seeing, overwhelmingly, is that I'm a mother trying to return to the traditional workforce.

I have been complemented on my children's manners, intelligence, and integrity.  I am proud that I guided my children through the lean and fat times.  We have weathered some ferocious storms collectively and independently, as it should be with kids who are starting to make their own way in the world.

In the last day or so, while I alternated between dreading and looking forward to writing this piece, Joanna coincidentally reminisced about a flower that I planted annually in a garden we don't own any longer. The flower bloomed with delicate, pendulous red or pink blossoms. I had planted it when times were different--I've learned not to say better. I was rather surprised by her remembering the name of the flower.  She always seemed to be ignoring my attempts to get her involved in my gardening. There along a shady part of the path leading to the side of the house, I planted bleeding hearts.  As a mother, my heart will always bleed and ache and burst with pride for the children that I've brought into the world.

As a woman trying to find her way, my heart, my spirit, my soul, questions: What do I do now? Is it my turn?  Will I find a way to fulfill my dreams and fight against what seem to be insurmountable statistics?

I am a writer. It's taken me fifteen years, two kids, and one divorce to find my voice.  I am proud of it and proud of my efforts to live the rest of my life genuine and true and always listening.  Perhaps, I can flip the script a bit, and one day the kids will be proud of me.

So, on Sunday May 13^th I will think about the children's father and forgive him for not loving me the way I deserved and needed to be loved.  And I am starting to forgive myself for losing so much of myself for so long.  I will celebrate Mother's Day, my wedding anniversary, and the date of my divorce.  All three events helped to shape who I am and who I am to become.

So what! CBS cut Don Imus loose. It doesn't mean that we won't have to suffer his brand of "humor" or "journalism" ever again.  I have grown weary of hearing other media types describe his show as entertainment.  As if that justifies the bigotry.  These are the days in which any thing can be said and accepted by the masses as long as it wears the "humor" or rap music label.  The list is long of like-minded organizations that exist in the mainstream and on the fringe, major networks included, who will be more than willing to find a place for Don Imus and his very special brand of racism, sexism and misanthropy.  Don Imus's fall to earth will be gentle, trust me!  He received millions each year for his particular brand of "humor."  His firing will not pose a hardship.  Somewhere an executive is furiously trying to contact Imus's agent to sign him to a new big fat contract.

After a week of television and radio networks and civil rights groups posturing, the fallout from this mess is still sending ripples across the public opinion pond.  But I hope there isn't anyone who believes that first GE, the parent company of NBC and MSNBC, and then CBS looked into their individual and collective psyches, moved a few cobwebs out of the way, found a door with a rusted lock, opened it and discovered the right thing to do just lying about amongst the clutter and litter.  Noooo!  What CBS and MSNBC found was that advertisers rule.  And in the mist of its own self destructive bender for the last six months GE/NBC didn't want to add empty advertising coffers to its long list of problems. Don Imus had been allowed to run amok and unchecked for over thirty years. The decision made by Steve Capus and Jeff Zucker of NBC and Les Moonves at CBS was a financial one, not one intended to stand up to the cultural cesspool that some media outlets have been for years or to exhibit a whit of social responsibility.

While some folks think that the firing took too long coming, the delay in doing the right thing gave civil rights organizations and anyone else who thought they could impact the situation an opportunity to rally their forces, get press releases written, and get lots of face time doing what seems to be the ever increasing list of morning news shows.  So I for one am very happy that CBS and MSNBC paused and looked over their shoulders to see if anyone was paying attention before firing Mr. Imus. 

I remember when I first heard the news.  I had just returned from a trip to North Carolina that I thought would be the topic of my next commentary.  Trying to catch up after being unplugged for a few days, I was greeted by the Don Imus story leading the evening news.

I've waited to see how the media would handle one of their own and I especially wanted to see how civil rights groups would proceed.  I wanted to pick up the phone right then at 7:30 p.m. and ask Rev. Jackson and the Urban League and the NAACP what are "we" going to do.  I wanted to see who would come to the defense of Black women. I didn't want to wear my journalist's objectivity.  This was personal on many levels. 

I am an athlete; I have a 15 year old daughter who is a strong, capable and still-developing athlete.  I'm an African American woman who on most days doesn't have a hair issue, but have friends who do. Finally, I have worked in broadcasting throughout my career, most recently at NBC News' Washington Bureau. I know the mentality of that field of work all too well.

So there I sat on my sofa, mouth agape, outrage and anger building in me so quickly and so hot that my breathing quickened and nervous sweat stained the armpits of my t-shirt.  I thought about the time when I was 8 years old, playing kickball in the back of my grandmothers' house with my cousins and the last little white boy in the neighborhood whose family hadn't fled to the suburbs. He was angry that his face had, accidentally, been used to stop one of my ferocious kicks.  He called me a nigger.  I snapped. Very quietly I went to get a knife from my grandmother's kitchen.  He didn't know that I was fresh from Boston, that I had lived with Ella Collins, Malcolm X's half sister, that I had the benefit of young impressionable ears which had listened to Malcolm X many times over and that my heart still ached for him.  I was not going to tolerate being called a nigger by this white devil.  Fortunately, my cousin stopped me before I eviscerated that boy.  But, that's the ancient-I-don't-want-to-feel-this-crap-ever-again anger that Don Imus stirred up in me on April 4, 2007.

I thought of all the advancements that Title IX had bestowed on female athletes.  While the law itself has been the source of much debate and litigation, what cannot be refuted is that the number of female athletes skyrocketed since its enactment.  While not specifically designed to benefit athletes, that has been the most obvious result.  The Tennessee and Rutgers women's basketball teams are the continuation of women's commitment to themselves and their futures.  The players are at the apex of their physicality, reveling in their journey to the NCAA Basketball Final. They are walking in the footsteps of so many women who have come before and after Title IX's 1972 enactment and excelled beyond belief. To have their efforts, their passion, their legacy, soiled and sullied by a networked-sanctioned bigot is outrageous.

Just a reminder of some who came after 1972: 

1980 - Mary Decker becomes the first woman to run a mile in under 4 and a half minutes in Philadelphia on Jan. 25.

1982 - The first NCAA college basketball championship for women is held. Louisiana Tech defeated Cheyney State 76-62.

1984 - Georgeann Wells-Blackwell, a 6'7" center for West Virginia, is the first woman to dunk a basketball in a collegiate game against Charleston on Dec. 21.

1986 - Debi Thomas becomes the first black woman to win the US figure skating singles championship.

1987 - Jackie Joyner-Kersee becomes the first woman athlete to be featured on the cover of Sports Illustrated (aside from the swimsuit edition)

1988 - Picabo Street, age 16, wins the national junior downhill and Super G skiing titles.

1989 - By the end of the decade, the number of women playing tennis had risen from 4 to 11 million.

1991 - The US Women's Soccer team wins the first-ever women's world championship, beating Norway.

1997 - The NBA hires two female referees, Dee Kantner and Violet Palmer, the first to work regular-season games in a major men's pro sports league.

The list of women is long and illustrious who have kicked down doors, pushed the limits of their mental and physical endurance, tested their mettle and left a trail for other girls and women to follow, like my daughter.  Last year my daughter decided she wanted to wrestle.  My daughter's school does not have a girls wrestling team.  So she competed, the only girl, on the boy's team.  Damn, did she get strong!  She gained confidence in her own body's ability and started to understand the importance of a "don't mess with mess with me" persona that will prove invaluable later in life.

Don Imus did not just strike at female athletes, he struck a blow at Black women's image of themselves and how the world sees all of us.  I thought about these talented African American athletes that to him were not just "hos," they were "nappy headed."  And as the interminable wait in any hairdresser's shop on a Saturday can attest, Black women and their hair have issues.  If there is any one word that stabs personally and emotionally and still ties us to our slave history, it is "nappy headed."  Having "good hair" went hand in hand with being fair skinned and being more acceptable to the black and white world.  The world where the possibility of attaining a better life through good hair and lighter skin is part and parcel of the collective yoke and amnesia that we as women still want to bear and wallow in along with the jar of Nadinola bleaching cream. Recently, I worked with a woman at the Corporation for Public Broadcasting.  Ms. J. very clearly had a weave.  But not just a track or two.  Can you say Barbaro.  This was a mane down her back that would make Barbie jealous. And when it went bad it also went ugly--tracks and thread visible at five hundred paces.  The only thing it wasn't was blonde and I was rather surprised by that.  So much effort and money is spent in the pursuit of a perceived ideal that is artificial at best and denigrating and self defeating at its worst.  How could we not be defensive about a duplicitous psychology in which we have been complicit for several hundred years?

Jason Whitlock, a columnist from Kansas City, suggested recently on the Today Show that the women of Rutgers should not feel offended by Imus's remarks.  Perhaps if it had been a blow that landed in the middle of his overly ample male form, we would see what issues bubble up from his psyche.

India Arie sings "I Am Not My Hair." I guess it's just a song with a nice beat that's easy to dance to because by the looks of the ever increasing numbers of Black women who have succumbed to the weave we're still not comfortable with our own hair or in our own skin.

As news organizations pay lip service manuvering this ordeal to its quiet and nothing's-really-changed ending, I thought about my time at NBC News' Washington Bureau.  The number of minority correspondents, producers, writers and even desk assistants was miniscule.  I often, quietly--yes, just to myself--questioned the vision and the corporate culture of an organization that could not see that the world was changing.  The world is becoming more brown--and that perspective needed to be represented. NBC seemed to be ignoring all of the signposts that would have successfully and gracefully pulled it into the new millennium.   It was always amazing to me how many of my daily conversations with other minorities at the bureau centered on race.  Minority correspondents would pitch stories that were DOA or they were left with stories that had no legs. Joe Johns, Suzanne Malveaux and Gwen Ifill (whose appearance on Meet the Press this morning made me proud) are talented correspondents who have moved on quickly from NBC News and in most instances moved on to enjoy professional success at CNN and public television and in ways that NBC simply did not have the vision to allow. And just to give credit where it's due, it was the one African American correspondent at the bureau who believed in  me and encouraged my efforts to work in radio.  Recently when I was on XM, I called on him for an interview--he didn't hesitate.

Minority producers were openly undermined by prima donna correspondents who dictated, quite specifically, that they would not work with the few minority producers on staff at the bureau. Minority producers are a rarity at the bureau these days.  If correspondents are the face and voice of a news piece, producers are the heart and soul.  They know how and where to get information and how to turn it into a well-rounded story.  And, yes, it is ok and right that the perspective, while always objective, come from a person of color. There were at most five minority producers in the bureau several years ago.  Checking with friends and colleagues in the last several days and who have survived the cutbacks, that number has dwindled due to NBC's latest round of buyouts, cutbacks and layoffs.  In training are desk assistants, the next generation of broadcasters, mostly blonde, blue-eyed women who learn the ropes in the same subtle and unbelievably racially charged atmosphere.  Their reality continues to be that the world looks like them and that world is monochromatic.

Recently, on Meet the Press, Tim Russert presented separate graphics of the Democrats and the Republicans who have appeared on Imus's show.  What would have been more honest would have been an accounting of the number of times he and other NBC News correspondents had appeared on Imus's show.  Don Imus was on NBC's payroll, spewing garbage and until the last week it didn't seem to bother anyone at the network enough to stay away from the garbage heap. 

Ask the vice president, bureau chief and moderator of Meet the Press, about the minority producers, correspondents or researchers he has working on his show or The Chris Matthews Show, The Today Show or NBC Nightly News.

Meet the Press has been on the air for 60 years. Its first year on the air, 1947, was the same year Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier in major league baseball.  Soon, the National Association of Broadcasters Hall of Fame will celebrate the Meet the Press achievement with an award ceremony.  But what has changed for minorities in broadcasting in those same 60 years?  Hopefully, the civil rights groups that garnered so much face time on the news in the last week will continue their efforts while the networks plead mea maxima culpa.  Let's see what happens after the cameras are turned off and the phones stop ringing.  Let's see who will step up to insure that television starts to look more like the real world.  How long can the hypocrisy of using Black culture to sell cars, liquor, cell phones or athletic shoes continue?

So goodbye and farewell, Don Imus.  There are lots more just like you out there on the airwaves spreading their feathers and strutting proudly thinking that they are safe for another day.  And sadly, they probably are.

See ya next time,
Sunny!

Welcome to Show #26-07

--  Sunny Does XM, Very Well, Thank You

--  Mother Jones, For Sale by Owner

--  University Diversity, Excludes US Blacks

--  Bolivian Women Finding Their Way

--  Deval Patrick, Never Was Daddy's Little Boy. Video

--  Chess, 'Hood Style, Still A Game for Kings and Queens

--  Slavery, Who's Sorry Now

--  Attention . . . A Salute to Black Airmen

--  Plastic Surgery Down South, and I Don't Mean Alabama or Georgia

--  "Maxed Out" A Must See

--  Terrance Howard in a Speedo? I'm There! "Pride" Makes a Splash and Other Confirmations that Black Folks ARE NOT Afraid of the Water

--  Obituaries for Robert DeForrest and Walter Turnbull

--  Joplin, Bobby McGee's & Me--Nothing Left to Lose!

--  Sunny's Washington - U Street

See ya next time, Sunny!

Because That's Where the Voters Are

There are lots of things that have pissed me off this month.  Let's see, just last week the Senate approved legislation including a pull out date for US troops from Iraq.  The President has already said that he will veto the measure.  Now, we get to watch a time wasting game of chicken. You see, money that funds the troops in Iraq is included in the pull out bill.  The Justice Department scandal doesn't have a clear and identifiable scapegoat just yet.  Just since I've been writing this piece, another 1,000 families have lost their homes to foreclosure because of subprime mortgages and in another battle up on the Hill, sure to reignite after the Easter break, the taxpayers get to see what legislator, in the name of taking care of his or her state, can load the most pork into any one piece of legislation, while preening for C-SPAN, trying to appear sane, reasonable and fair.  Lastly, the presidential campaign is in full swing earlier than ever before.  At this rate the 2016 race will start immediately after the polls close in 2012.

So I'll just wade in here on that last issue and on--what some of my listeners have called my long-standing favorite subject--Barack Obama.  On March 4, at Brown Chapel AME Church in Selma, Alabama where Martin Luther King gathered the marchers for the historic march across the Petus Bridge and then to Selma, Barack Obama stood among the living and ghosts of people steeled with nothing but strength of spirit and determination to see a better day for themselves, their children and communities. According to him he came "home."

"I am the fruit of your labor," he told those gathered to mark the 42nd anniversary. "I am the offspring of the movement. So when people ask me if I've been to Selma before, I tell them "I'm coming home."

As any good shrink can tell you, being the offspring of anything can leave scars, emotional, physical and even spiritual scars.  Sometimes those scars are an indication of a well lived life, scars which burst open with pride.  Like when my smiling son shows me the newly acquired gash running down his knee.  He finally learned how to do a new trick on his skateboard.  My son will always remember when, where and how he earned the scar.  And perhaps over time or in the retelling to his kids, the details will become richer and take on mythic proportions.  Where are Mr. Obama's scars?  Not to suggest that he has lived a life that has not garnered him any, it's just that Selma, Alabama's scars are not his to claim, he didn't earn them.  Just the term that has been used for the march, Bloody Sunday, state resoundingly, wounds and scars.

Perhaps to the exclusion of all else, Mr. Obama is a politician.  And I have come to excuse his ilk of the truth stretched, the credentials embellished, the big 120-count Crayola box of shading and coloring, you know the political difference between Cerulean and Pacific Blue can be significant in the game of politics.  Ask the Bush administration about the difference between "Mission Accomplished" and "Shock and Awe." Well, that would be more like the difference between black and white. But I'm willing to forgive Mr. Obama's misguided homecoming.   He has, after all, used his Limited Edition Politician's Crayola box of colors.  Selma is not home for him. Nor was it for his parents or grandparents.  What he was doing was making a pilgrimage, which, on its own merit, is honorable and ultimately necessary. But to suggest a pilgrimage would have smacked of not belonging to that place.  A place so rich in imagery for the news clips and rich in Black voters to fill the ballot boxes that, not to come would have been an even bigger mistake.   Also speaking from the podium on the 42nd anniversary was Congressman John Lewis.  That place, that church, that podium is indeed his home.  Congressman Lewis has been in that place for each anniversary of that march since 1965.

I wish I could have been in the audience on March 4.  I want to determine for myself Barack Obama's earnestness.  I wanted to feel if he generated any heat or sincerity when speaking at such a historic place about such historic, personal and indeed, scarring issues or was he just picking at scabs.  For thousands of Black folks present during those turbulent times and those not yet born, but who have benefited from the tired feet of those who came before, the March on Selma was personal, the assassination of Martin Luther King was personal, the fear of Bull Connor and his minions was personal, the murder of four little girls in a church was personal, the murder of Emmitt Till, Megar Evers and Malcolm X was personal.

So, Mr. Obama had better learn to come correct and humble, because this is not his history, which is also what makes him so appealing on one hand and so easily demonized on the other.

As the list of other infamous, scoundrels, scallywags, politicians and celebrities can attest, when trying to curry favor, win votes or convince their brethren that they are not a child molesting freak of nature, they go to the Black church.  There they will find salvation, redemption, and perhaps the road to a renewed recording career.  Can you say Michael Jackson and R. Kelly?  It still amazes me that two of the biggest celebrity freaks sought very public refuge and forgiveness in the Black church, but the Black gay community is still ostracized from houses of worship across this country (oops, sorry, that's another column).  There wrapped and warmed in Big Mamma's forgiving bosom, nourished by collard greens and fried chicken, forgiveness can be found.  Black folks love a story of redemption and of the poor hapless souls who find that the road to righteousness leads to God and the sanctuary of their church, amid the pastor whooping it up, the chorus of "amens" and a verse or two of "Amazing Grace."  It reminds me of a very old joke.  A bank robber was asked why he robbed banks, he replied, because that's where the money is.  Why do politician insist on the trip to whatever high-profile church they can get themselves invited to or that will get coverage on the nightly news?  Because in their, oh, so last century thinking, that's where the Black voters are.

Now on the same day, just a scant block away, Hillary Clinton spoke at First Baptist Church.  The game of catch up politics was never so obvious.  Obama's popularity among Black voters was increasing.  Polls had just been released that indicated that after being ignored as an outsider by the civil rights movement's old warriors and at a loss to align himself with credible young Turks who had taken up the civil rights mantel, the tide was shifting.  Obama was now Black enough and Hillary was worried.

Politically, those folks down south were hers and by God she was going to claim what was hers.  And before her, those southern Blacks belonged to her husband.  The 2008 Clinton campaign apparently believes that Black folks, like furniture, land or other belongings itemized in the old deed books in the many county courthouses that I've visited throughout North Carolina in search of my maternal ancestors, belong to her. "I William Jefferson Clinton, do hereby bequeath to my faithful and long suffering wife Hillary, all of the Negros of Edgecombe County, North Carolina."  In Alabama, North Carolina or South Philly for that matter, the Clinton Blacks were actually entertaining this interloper and Hillary had to show them who was Mast-- . . . I mean the best candidate.

Back up north, The Washington Post recently ran an article about famous Chicago community organizer Saul Alinsky.   Obama and Clinton have very different experiences with Alinsky's organization and brand of activism.  I was pleased that Obama had learned a thing or two about connecting with people at the grass roots level.  It's an education that will serve him well.  I'll summarize by saying Obama took the job and Hillary declined. It makes for interesting reading.

As the road to the 2008 election plods along, I should revisit my last commentary "Run, Barack, Run." While extolling his virtues, but warning about his naivete, I didn't give the Senator from Illinois enough credit for having what it takes to fight down and dirty politics.  In the last week a rather creative and provocative ad was posted on the internet recreating an old Apple Computer ad, recasting Hillary as Big Brother.  A staffer from the Obama campaign was finally credited with creating the ad.  The staffer was also quickly fired and the Obama camp denied authorizing or creating the ad.  Was the video a test balloon to see just how far campaign advertising could go.  Well, whatever  or whoever put it in motion, Way to go, Obama! 

So for now I'll allow Mr. Obama to claim Selma, much as we accept a transplant from one state or country to another or of one person's heart in another's failing body. If you heard other portions of Mr. Obama's text from his March 4 speech or Bill Cosby, of late, you'd think that the collective African American body is indeed failing.  Keep in mind that transplants are sometimes rejected and all the drugs in the world can't stop the body from rejecting what it sees as foreign.

I hope that Mr. Obama understands that his pilgrimage was just the healing salve that will give the transplant time to heal.

See ya next time,
Sunny

I have said for months that I hoped that Obama would not run in 2008.  I truly believe that 2012 would be a better year to mount a winning campaign for the White House.  On this issue, I'm almost embarrassed to say that I line up behind all of those that say, if he should run for the White House, his inexperience is his Achilles' heel.  But he certainly has something that has been lacking in a presidential campaign since Clinton ran for office--excitement, promise, vision, the appearance of integrity and there's that word again "charisma."  But is charisma enough to win an election and lead a country and is a lack of experience enough to keep him from his goal?  The 2008 list of contenders for the White House is starting to grow and as of this date Senator Clinton hasn't even announced the time of day.  These contenders have been at the game a lot longer and are more adept at it than Obama.  Also, what if a 2008 race leaves him licking his wounds, deep in debt and so battle scarred that a run for 2012 is out of the question?  Did you know that presidential elections have grown so expensive that very little public money was used in the primary campaigns of George Bush and John Kerry in 2000 and 2004?  And raising $500 million seems to be the goal of any viable candidate in the 2008 election. So, who's at the head of Mr. Obama's Really Big Contributors line?  He and Senator Clinton have certainly been raking in the loot.  Both are in the top five of democratic fundraisers. In addition Hilary still has $22 million left over from her senate race that can be transferred to her presidential run.

You know it is going to be worth eating my words, just to see how far America has come, if Mr. Obama is elected.  There are those who say that the mixed race Mr. Obama is electable because he is not of the U.S. African-American experience.  That he may look like us, but doesn't come with the mantel of anger and attitude that slavery and racism has foisted upon us.

Perhaps my opinion is too conservative.  Perhaps this is Mr. Obama's time.  He has lived overseas and does not appear to have the clumsy xenophobic notions of some other politicians.  After all, the world is growing smaller.  He must be prepared to take the world stage.  He is young and old enough to appeal to the millinials, the Gen Xers, the Gen Yers and the ever present baby boomers.  Curiously enough, for someone who aspires to live in the White House, it seems as if the Gods handed out committee assignments to Mr. Obama.  He serves on the Foreign Relations Committee, the Committee on Veterans' Affairs, the Committee on Health, Education, Labor and Pensions and finally, the Committee on Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs.  For someone who is potentially going to run a post 911 country, these committees will provide a great opportunity to learn if he weren't so focused on running for the White House.

Over dinner late last year, an acquaintance asked why I was so against an Obama run for President.  I responded that it was just the opposite; I want the stars to be aligned and the path to be very clear as he heads for the White House.  I want Barak Obama to be such a clear and overwhelming choice that race will mean nothing and everything.  That his race for and winning the White House will change the yardstick by which America and the world measures the value of Black folks. Our country's collective paradigm would change.  Yes, I know that's a lot to place on his shoulders.

I don't know if I believe Stanley Crouch of the NY Daily News, but I know Obama looks enough like me, sounds enough like me and wants a better world for his kids just like me to make praying for his survival and fortitude a regular occurrence.

See ya next time,
Sunny

What a difference an election makes! I hope you saw the most unflattering picture of Condi Rice on the cover of the New York Times today (Friday, January 12, 2007).  If you didn't make a point of seeing it.

As I have conveyed before, sometimes the real story is in the picture.  This particular picture conveys more than just a bit of frustration and anger. This is not how Condi is used to being treated when visiting the Hill.  This picture says that it is a new day and Bush administration officials will now have to answer to a newly emboldened Congress.  I hope they can do more than hold the Black girl's feet to the fire.  It'll take more than Boxer's offhanded comment about Condi's lack of children to get the administration to listen to the American people.

Now that Ms. Pelosi is large and in charge, the Dems are selling lots of wolf tickets.  Let's see if they can create a cohesive unit and get some real work done.  The clock is ticking on her 100 hours!  Look, I never said that Nancy was capable of hitting the mark, just that it was going to to fun watching her and the Dems continue business as usually while pretending to be something different.

Brooklyn's Freshman Congresswoman Needs a Little Polish (not on her toes) or a New Handler

While driving to a breakfast meeting several mornings ago, I was listening to an NPR interview with the freshman congresswoman from Brooklyn, New York, Yvette Clarke. Here's what I heard toward the end of a very bland interview--
Question: Do blacks still feel at home in the Democratic Party?

"I think that there... certainly have been challenges along the way, that need to be addressed head on. I'd like to think that we have a new day, a new moment and a new hour. And I can say that, certainly, I'm bringing my unique chemistry to this body. And I will be very vocal in letting folks know when they're stepping on my corns."

What the hell was that?  The congresswoman was speaking to a national audience, she occupies the seat the Shirley Chisholm held with dignity and power and grace and she  uses the very down home expression "stepping on my corns" when she has an opportunity to sparkle for a national audience.  I'll bet there are still people (white folks and/or young folks), questioning what she was talking about--has some other strange Black slang infiltrated the august halls of power?

The ABW Balances Plate and Wine Glass, Lives to Tell the Story

If I'm not careful, I'll turn into a real Washington insider who regularly attend receptions and eats finger food and knows how to juggle my little plate atop my drink glass.  That said, on Wednesday night I attended an AmericanLifeTV-sponsored event in support of Darfur.  In attendance was Martin Luther King III and Nick Clooney, yes George's dad.  George did drop in via satellite.  We had all gathered to watch the documentary  "A Journey to Darfur."  Clooney, Jr. and Sr. had smuggled themselves into Darfur to see first hand the devastation that these people are living in.   It was a splendid evening.  And it seemed to me to be really about putting the genocide and how to stop it out front and not the stars who have attached themselves to this issue--I don't think that was George with a little Black infant on his hip!?

Hip-Hop in the Nation's Capital

For hip hop fans and critics in the Washington, DC area, on January 28 at Busboys and Poets restaurant,  ITVS' Community Cinema is sponsoring a screening of the documentary I have been telling you about for months, Hip-Hop: Beyond Beats and Rhymes.  To attend RSVP at www.info.itvs@communitycinema-dc.org.  See ya there and . . .

MAKE SURE YOU LISTEN TO SHOW #25-07

See ya next time,
Sunny!

Hello 2007 and Welcome to Show #25-07:

3.  Lions and Tigers and Muslims, oh, my! Keith Ellison, another 1st for Congress.

4.  Oprah's South African school for girls, vanity project or a heart felt $40 mil?  (see Christian Science Monitor 1/5 edition for GREAT article on educating girls) Also, why would anyone want to extort money from the queen of talk? 

5.  REMINDER: The Washington Post continues its series on "Being a Black Man."  Come on, keep up!

6.  The Kofi Annan era at the UN is over. Mr. Ban Ki-Moon, now in charge, appoints female to 2nd highest UN post.

7.  Hindus take a forgiving dip in the Ganges, the largest religious gathering on the planet!

News for 25-07

--  President Bush can open your mail without a warrant, the "signing statement" says so. Don't know what that is? Very few do.

--  Gates Foundation causing as many problems as it wants to solve.  The Los Angeles Times

--  New Orleans, bloodied and down for the count?

--  A Louisana's mayor's death, suicide or hate crime?

--  Supreme Court adds race discrimination case to the docket

--  After 10 year absence, American diplomat visits Somali

--  Zimbabwe to White Farmers, "Please come back"

--  Tanzanian woman 2nd highest post at the UN

--  2008, Another White male?

--  A Muslim in da houZ

--  San Franciscans employ the beat down on anything between them and their parking spaces

--  Ladies stop giving your money away to cosmetic companies and their weird concoctions for your face. You can always send it to me--the money that is.

--  My last words on Da Bratz, The WEEK

--  Finally, India's men--smaller needs?

Last Minute Shout Outs:  Dordt College, University of Cambridge UK, US Naval Academy, University of Alabama

See ya next time, Sunny!

You can bet that Borders, Barnes & Noble and your local independent record store, if one still exist in your neighborhood, have placed their orders for every James Brown CD in his catalog of music.  You can also bet they'll hear "ka'ching" for the next several months because of the Godfather of Soul's death.

As a young girl, JB told me it was "a man's world" but today, I say it loud, I'm Black and I'm Proud.  I grew up and finally listened to the rest of the words to "It's a Man's World" threw on a crisp, white button-down (see "moving on") and didn't mind the lyrics so much.

Thanks for the music and one hell of a show.

Update December 29th:  Today, The New York Times did right by the Godfather of Soul.  A great picture above the fold, laid out for his last audience.

Moving on,

Since this is cyberspace, it may be difficult to get a real sense of my very real dimensions, personality, likes, dislikes and passions, so I'll help you out a bit.  I love men's shirts!  There I've said it and I am not ashamed.  When this post is done I'm headed straight to Thomas Pink for their annual sale. I'll only pick up one shirt, and I may not be able to afford that,  but it will be a man's shirt--yes, they sell women's shirts--but let's just say, I'd rather not pop any buttons while wearing the shirt.  French cuffs, of course, oxford cloth, pinpoint, herringbone--I  love them all, crisply starched, of course.

So, that said, a few days ago, when I thought no one would be in the office, I decided to wear not just a man's shirt, but a great tie, with a half Windsor knot, tied all by myself, thank you very much, and jeans. Now I thought I filled out the denim a lot better than the shirt but, what the hell is it about a woman wearing a man's shirt and tie that starts tongues to wag and rumors to fly?  By the end of the day I had racked up 8, yes I counted, comments about my shirt and tie, and my sexuality had been questioned openly to my face and quietly, behind my back.  What's that all about?  Somebody help me out.  Yes, I know the basic notion that I'm pushing the envelope of sexual identity, but the men looked like they loved it and the women averted their eyes!  Now ordinarily, I keep my "shirt thing" neatly tucked inside my tailored pencil skirts and slacks.  And no one notices or at least doesn't comment.  So it must be the damn tie.  The universal symbol for all of manhood and defines your place in the world of work.  Really?  I could go on, but I'll stop myself here because I'm just baffled.

Lastly,

I hate caller ID!

OK, caller ID  is a wonderful thing except when you've REALLY committed yourself to quitting a relationship, no, I don't mean like your relationship with the creditors from Macy's or Nordstrom's--they will find you and never go away.

What's up with finally deciding that you have had enough of someone hurting your feelings, not valuing you, is damaged beyond all repair and it's now up to you to walk away, as gracefully as possible--when that someone calls?  You see the number in the caller ID, you cringe, your brain farts, it feels like the butterflies in your stomach could actually lift you off the ground.  You foolishly  think about answering the phone or calling back, if you missed the call.   You start to waiver, lose your resolve and think, ok, one last time.  With just one more conversation, that person will see the wonder and glory of YOU, appreciate what you brought to their life and will hang up to rush to your house in the pouring rain, bang on your door, and scream your name, "STELLLLLLAAA."  OK, bad movie reference.  No place here for Street Car Named Desire or How Stella Got Her Grove Back.

Don't believe your own hype, it's not true, stop trippin'. Delete the call log, delete the number from your phone book and turn the phone off.

What? What sound? I'm not making a call.

I hate *^&%$ caller ID!

See ya next time,
Sunny!

Hello again,

To my dismay, I haven't yet progressed to being able to sit at home and make money from The Angry Black Woman Show with Sunny James.  I, indeed have a full time job, without benefits, the lack of which is another commentary altogether.  But for the last handful of months I have been working in a downtown Washington DC office building entering and existing through the airy, marbled lobby.  The coolness of the marble was immediate in the humid Washington summer and has been cold and austere this fall and winter.  Once a week the lobby is visited by the shoeshine man. And this is how I referred to him--the shoeshine man. Sometimes when I passed him I would nod in that strangely masculine way, sometimes I would offer an audible greeting, "hello" which he would return in a soft and smoke-enveloped voice.  He would sit with his elbows buried in his kneecaps, giving his coccyx bone a workout, reading the paper, propped on the edge of the chair as if on an exterior stoop, ready to go with the flow should another more pleasing pursuit come his way. Other times he had several rows of vacant shoes in front of him.  I never saw anyone who dropped off the brown, black, or ox blood loafers, lace-ups and sensible heels, but by the end of the day each pair had disappeared, to which the outstretched legs of the shoeshine man attested.  He is a slight man, about 60, thin and less than average height, and very discretely salt and peppered.  Not my physical type, but my goodness, the color of him is something to behold.  He is the color of the men my 91 year old grandmother hated that I would make a habit of bringing home--dark and creamy.  And perhaps it was this last reason that I always took note of his presence in the lobby.  This island of familiar darkness nestled in a constant stream of whiteness. 

The shoeshine man comes with his tall, black chair, with brass foot rests affixed to the front.  As the Christmas holiday approached, I noticed that his chair was occupied more often than not.  I would sometimes catch bits of his low-key exchange with the white men who always seem to have a need for polished shoes. While they sat several feet over his slight frame I could hear his 'Yea, Sir' and 'No, Sir' with a noticeable but quiet drawl on the end of each "R." Over the course of several months, unbeknownst to him, I developed a dislike for the service he provided.  The visual was more than I wanted to think about--this throwback to a time when Black folks provided invisible services.  And the service, damn well, better be performed in silence, unless, of course, the White person was feeling magnanimous and wanted to hear what foolishness would tumble out of the servile mouths of doormen, maids, cooks, grandmothers or the shoeshine man.  I often questioned myself, if the same shoeshine man were doing business on U Street or H Street instead of in this very white world, would I have as much of a problem with his trade?

I wondered, is this what he had done all his life?  How had the shoeshine man become the shoeshine man? So I thought I should rectify my distain for what he seemingly did for a living. I decided that my crocodile boots, that I had been polishing quite expertly myself for sometime, would survive my mission to correct my thinking. 

Last week, I approached this small man and his very tall chair and announced that my boots could use a polish.  He, 'yes mamam'ed me and took my hand as I took my first big step up and then another into the very tall seat.  I quickly understood why I don't see any women in the shoeshine chair and I was thankful for my wardrobe choice that morning.  The conversation started easily enough, the weather, the holidays and the losing Redskins.  I told him that my son wasn't much of a 'Skins fan.  And then the lights came on.  I watched Mike's face light up as he smiled from ear to ear.  He shared the news that his own son was expected home from Iraq the next day.  His son was a paratrooper who had followed in his footsteps and after the holidays his son would be starting his second tour of duty in Iraq.

Mike told me about his wife of 30 years, Bea, who he loved completely and who had died a year earlier of diabetes and how he stayed busy mostly because he missed her so.  Mike told me about his shoeshine stands in another six buildings in Washington and how he was making money hand over fist and how much he was going to enjoy spending it and spending time with a son he was, so clearly, proud of.  As I got out of the chair, I knew I couldn't have gotten into or out of his chair without his assistance. When I got down he seemed taller and more filled out than when I had climbed up.  I'm thankful for his and his son's service to this country. I'm glad I stopped for a shine.  And now when I walk the marble floors and catch a glimpse of Mike, I am sometimes at peace in this constant stream of whiteness. 

See ya next time,
Sunny!

If you're not from Washington DC I hope will forgive me for tackling this local issue, I am after all "The Small Voice In the Nation's Capital" and I'm sure that DC is not the only city government that has screwed its constituents while they weren't looking.  At least they could have kissed us first or sent complementary K-Y.

While the city council members bitch and moan about it having been since 1999 that they have received a pay increase and certain more bellicose council members have complained that while the city council position was originally designed to be a part-time gig, it has turned into much more and warrants the increase. I look around and see chronic and systemic ineptitude with the exception of the ability to hire more ticket writers to hound hapless visitors and commuters on the cities streets.

These flimsy justifications are offensive to me and should be to Washington voters.  The council patting themselves on the back with monetary reward is akin Nero watching Rome burn and commenting on how warm and lovely the flames are. There is one overriding reason for my absolute disgust with the city council's pay increase and it is the indisputable failure, the broken-busted-dysfunctional-hasn't-worked-in- decades public school system.  School and city council members will point to the few and far between new school buildings or the few successful charter schools (which are operated and governed differently) but for the most part the buildings are dilapidated and sometimes hazardous to the children's health.  Staff has been cut to the bare bone and resources are outmoded or nonexistent.  The school system administration has a history of cronyism and mismanagement.

My son's school, one of the better public elementary schools, has discontinued time in the library because there is no longer a librarian and the books are frayed and tattered, and will not be fit for use in another several years.  And African-American voters sit around with their collective thumbs up their butts finding it impossible to do what it takes to change this horrid situation.  My guess is that if the White population of the city relied on public schools, the situation would be unrecognizably different.  But Washington has a thriving private school system that understands its unique position and ability to ask for and get $17,000 to $22,000 per year, per student.  In the District the motivating emotion of the well-to-do and near-do-well parents who borrow and mortgage for a private PK thru 12^th grade education is FEAR.  While the parent comes to the city to do business, practice law, serve on capital hill or as a diplomat, flush with cash or well connected, it is thoroughly unacceptable and shocking to enroll their children in the public schools here.  Where does that leave the District's every day working family who is just getting by, believing that they are doing the right thing by insisting that their kids at least get to the schoolhouse.

Listen to Show #24 about what TIME Magazine has to say about how the US system of education is failing even good school systems and what needs to be done to bring public education out of the 20th century.  If even good public school systems need guidance on how to educate children in the 21st century, can you imagine what must be done for the children of the District of Columbia?

And don't forget that the cost of a public education for one child in DC is approximately $15,000 which is almost the highest rate of many large city school systems, of which Washington is not one. That's almost enough for a good private school education.  But where is the money going?  All I see is cutbacks and cut corners.

When the council's pay raise takes effect in a few weeks, councils in cities with larger populations than the District of Columbia will earn LESS.  It must be something about the citizenry of the Nation's Capital that make governing fewer people more expensive! The US Census puts the median household income for the District at $47,221.  Here's the slimy new, annual rundown:  the mayor-elect and the council chairman both get a $48,000 increase to $200,000 and $190,000 respectively; council members get a pay raise of $22,000 bringing their salary to $115,000. 

In Boston, the council equivalent makes $87,500 and in pricey New York, they earn $112,500.  To their credit, there were three council members that voted against the pay raise.  Although it's easy to appear to be doing the right thing when you know the raise will pass without your vote or you're leaving the council.  (Is my cynicism showing?)

And while council members suggest that their raises are a cost of living increase, as people on the public dole, I'd like to see them make something closer to what Jane Q. Public's reality is.  This city's government is broken.  Would you go to your boss and say, "I know I messed up that big report, and I'm always late, and I lost millions with my shoddy bookkeeping, but how about a raise anyway." Recently, even monies that were given in the form of federal grants to the DC schools were almost lost.  The school system had $18.5 million that had to be spent in two days in order to keep the funds.  But where'd it go?  There is still no accounting for how the $18.5 mil was spent.  In November an accounting firm found that the school system lacked internal controls which raise the issue of misappropriation.  Somewhere in the District is somebody having one hellva Christmas thanks to a very serious case of "I'm gonna get mine?"

I've always said to my kids "Trust is doing the right thing even when no one is looking."  Well, to the DC City Council, who must have thought that no one was looking, this city has been betrayed and this city's children have been and will continue to pay a price in ways that can only be imagined and will be felt for years to come, in this, the school system of Nation's Capital.

See ya next time,
Sunny

Hello again,

As I have been telling my listeners for a while, I am always looking to do what I do, BETTER.

After much thought, probably too much and seeking wiser counsel than my own, I have decided to undertake an almost daily blog.  I was hoping to unveil this along with the first podcast of the new year, but news waits for no ABW.  I just didn't want to believe that I've got that much to share, criticize, praise or ruminate over, to warrant this daily sharing and exploration of the world according to me.  I'm going to guarantee that The ABW Daily will not be a treatise on life or world affairs, but just a bit of living, thinking and observing in the moment.

So with that said: I was perusing the net--can you peruse the net, or is that just for printed material?--when I found the accompanying article on Zimbabwe.  During Show #24, I asked you to find Zimbabwe on the map, and told you about China's interests in certain African countries, Zimbabwe among them.  Here's something to supplement your African current events from CNN.com. The 1st link is to the actual article the 2nd is to the site.

See ya next time, Sunny!

--  Immigration in Black.  The Wall Street Journal

--  The Sleeping Giant Stirs, Is the Congressional Black Caucus Ready to Flex it's Tired Muscles?

--  How to Bring our Schools OUT of the 20th Century. TIME Magazine

--  Kimberly Oliver, 2006 Teacher of the Year

--  Racism by Jurors in Boston. The Boston Globe

--  Do Black Lawyers Lag at Major Firms? The New York Times

--  The French and THEIR Poor Race Relations, Part Trois. The International Herald Tribune

--  $150 Laptops.  Yes, I covered this before, but now detractor say the 3rd World doesn't need laptops.

--  Morgan Freeman Gets on the Technology Train. The Washington Post.

--  Black History Treasure Trove Hopes to Find a Home. The New York Times

--  Visting Washington? Stop in at the Anacostia Museum and see the  History of Black Paper Dolls.

--  My Hometown, Boston, Trying to Shed it's Racist Image, Wooing Tourist to Roxbury of All Places.  The New York Times.

--  Bob Marley's Son Making a Fashion Statement.

Update December 24:  The New York Times article about Byron Hurt and Hip-Hop: Beyond Beat and Rhymes.

See ya next time, Sunny

Hello Everyone,

Thanks for joining me again.  Thanks again to the many, students and faculty at colleges and universities across the country that listen to The ABW with Sunny James:  Vanguard University, Cleveland State University, the University of Massachusetts Dartmouth, the University of Illinois, Western Kentucky University, Western Illinois and Carleton College.  The list continues to grow and I sent out an audio thank you to many more schools.  There will be no "Short Takes" for Show #24. Instead I have provided a year-end list of issues that have stayed with me this year and like the ghost of Christmas' past, I'm sure, will visit me into 2007. The elections, starvation and negelect in Africa, the celebrity-obsessed masses, racism, a former president's plagiarism and yes, even cheerleaders' uniforms have pissed me off this year.

Last month I attended an outreach program at the Corporation for Public Broadcasting which was designed to support the 2007 PBS airing of "Hip-Hop: Beyond Beats and Rhyms."  This meeting brought together many outreach and support groups for women, youth and homosexual/transgendered communities and others from across the country who are looking for some common ground and understanding of the images and politics of hip-hop music.  If you would like to know who in your area is participating in this outreach, please drop an email and I'll get you the info.  My personal belief is that if you listen to and watch hip-hop videos, if you love hip-hop or hate it, you need to understand the real politics and money that is driving this genre of the music industry.  Check show #20 for some background on the very dynamic, African-American director whose love of hip-hop and need for answers drove him to create this compelling documentary.

Update December 24:  See The New York Times article about Byron Hurt and Hip-Hop: Beyond Beat and Rhymes.

Closing out the year, kismet was doing was kismet does, as I was putting the finishing touches on Show #24, TIME Magazine named me "Person of the Year." Well, you too are a "Person on the Year."  So here's a year-end toast to all of us who upload or download and believe in the media by and for the masses.  Here's to me and my enduring strength and here's to you my listeners for finding what I do worth listening to.  Happy/Merry (fill in the blank) and a PEACEFUL NEW YEAR to us ALL!

                                NEWS FOR SHOW #24

--  Immigration in Black.  The Wall Street Journal

--  The Sleeping Giant Stirs, Is the Congressional Black Caucus Ready to Flex it's Tired Muscles?

--  How to Bring our Schools OUT of the 20th Century. TIME Magazine

--  Kimberly Oliver, 2006 Teacher of the Year

--  Racism by Jurors in Boston. The Boston Globe

--  Do Black Lawyers Lag at Major Firms? The New York Times

--  The French and THEIR Poor Race Relations, Part Trois. The International Herald Tribune

--  $150 Laptops.  Yes, I covered this before, but now detractor say the 3rd World doesn't need laptops.

--  Morgan Freeman Gets on the Technology Train. The Washington Post.

--  Black History Treasure Trove Hopes to Find a Home

--  Visting Washington? Stop in at the Anacostia Museum and see the  History of Black Paper Dolls.

--  My Hometown, Boston, Trying to Shed it's Racist Image, Wooing Tourist to Roxbury of All Places.  The New York Times.

--  Bob Marley's Son Making a Fashion Statement.

See ya next time, Sunny! 

Farewell 2006

What a year it has been!

The mid term elections are over and the main stream media has not finished trying to cram Barrack Obama down our collective throats.  Now in the last several days the executive and legislative branches are holding their collective breath either hoping for the recovery or demise of Democratic senator Tim Johnson who suffered a brain hemorrhage last week.   I wouldn't be surprised if his room isn't under armed guard to insure that the Republicans don't slip in to pull the plug on dear Senator Johnson.  Oh, come on you know somewhere some Republican thought it.

The news media is still giving the viewing and listening public what they seem to want more than anything--more news about pantyless stars and celebrity's pimped out rides. It's their lives that reigned supreme and filled countless TV and radio hours this year.

Darfour is still dying and choking on it own blood.  Ethiopia and Sudan are again saber rattling. In 2000 the China-Africa cooperation forum was established and this past November china stepped up its courting of Africa.  The largest gathering of Chinese and African leaders in history took place in November with the convening of 48 African leaders in Beijing. But World Bank president Paul Wolfowitz accused China and its banks of ignoring human rights and environmental standards when lending to certain African countries.  But the us government has perfected ignoring Africa, unless of course, it's to sell arms to a crazed despot.   But here in the last weeks of December, the White House weighs in with the PMI--that stands for the President's malaria initiative.  Yes, malaria kills but so does genocide and AIDS.  And those are two things that didn't get enough attention this year.

Jimmy Carter tried to sort out the convoluted and confusing history surrounding the Israeli-Palestine conflict in his latest book titled Palestine: Peace not Apartheid, but got accused of plagiarism in the process.

If someone tries to tell you that racism is a thing of the past, I've got Mel Gibson and Michael Richards' phone numbers.

On a personal note:  to those of you who thought I was being a hard ass for not letting my son play basketball last year, you'll be glad to know that thanks to his great grades, he is on the team this season.  And the team has not won a game yet.  Let's just say he's learning the old saying--it's not whether you win or lose, but how you play the game.  As I sat in the gym last week watching his team give a great effort to a losing cause, I was entertained by the cheerleaders.  These weren't high school or even junior high cheerleaders.  The squad was made up of 5^th and 6^th grade girls.  They were all of varying shapes and sizes--no cookie cutter beauties here.  But what dawned on me was the fact that I had just finished watching the 1^st half of my sons game.  He wore the requisite, very long and very baggy shorts and jersey that kept flopping down his shoulders at the most inconvenient time.  But the basketball uniform used to look different.  Some of you might remember the more fitted uniforms from back in the day.  But the cheerleader's uniforms--seemed to me--hadn't changed in many, many years.  I watched as the young girls--who obviously lacked the confidence, fine tuning, finesse and athleticism which will come in several more years--hurriedly and uncomfortably pulled at short skirts and fitted tops.  I know that age, for the new listener, I also have a 15 year old daughter.  And I was a majorette in high school and varsity tennis player at Towson State University--I know short skirts.  But my son's uniform was longer than the cheerleader's skirts.  I watched as one of the more athletic girls surveyed the gym to see at which corner she could cartwheel and round off to as not to flash so much of her spanky pants.  Then a young girl in the audience, equal in age to any of the cheerleaders decided to take to the floor and perform her own half time routine.  She flipped and cart wheeled so effortlessly that the difference was immediately obvious to me.  The ad-hoc performer was clad in yoga pants and a tank top.  After completing a few lines of flips to all four corners of the court, she pulled herself up from her full split at center court and scurried back to her seat. As she rose she didn't pull or tug at her clothes.  She didn't seem the least bit concerned about what she was wearing.  She just wanted to do some flips.  After the game I asked what turned out to be the girl's mother, if the girl was a cheerleader at another school or had had lessons.  She replied "no" to both questions. The mother told me that the girl had learned her skills on the playground with many of the girls on the cheerleading squad, but declined being on the squad because she didn't want to wear the uniform. 

You didn't have to go far this year to find a story about how parents have allowed and Madison Avenue and the clothing makers have succeeded at sexualizing our young girls.  At a time in their lives when body image is most precarious, shouldn't we be looking at ways to make them more comfortable in their own bodies? Wouldn't younger girls be better served by a uniform that allows full athletic expression?  Instead of worrying about getting through a routine so she can hurry up and adjust what she's wearing?  I mean the boys have certainly embraced the wardrobe change.  Oh, I get it! It's more important to continue the image of young girls in short skirts.

And finally, I'd like to thank Time Magazine for naming me "person of the year."  Well, you too.  As I can attest, it's been a great year for people to take back their devices and their choices. It's all been driven by you. So congratulations! We plugged in and sometimes tuned out.  And mostly we were led around by our noses by media conglomerates that played to the lowest common denominator.

I, for one, am ready for a clean slate.

See ya next time,
Sunny