The Audacity to Be Both Black and Great

As I sat in typical DC rush hour traffic this morning, my text message indicator went off. It was a message from a friend. No explanation; no pre-commentary. Just a Twitter post link. As I often do, I searched for a key word in the link before opening and saw the word "Diddy." I immediately said out loud, "Oh this is gonna be good" in a I-know-this-is-going-to-contain-some-foolery-as-only-Diddy-can-bring kind of good. And yet he did not disappoint, for there he was styled in a black suit with a full-length embellished cape flanked by long-time "boo thang" Cassie in her own head-turning, full-length black gown.

They could have sashayed down the Metropolitan Museum of Art's Gala's red carpet with an equal amount of showmanship as any of the other styled-too-death couples, except for one thing: Diddy took his entrance up a notch (and perhaps Cassie's down two) when he, as he said, "got tired," and decided to rest on the MET stairs. Now, I'm sure Diddy wasn't that tired. But you don't get to be a multi-millionaire celebrity without a few calculated, attention-grabbing moves along the way. And so the photo went viral, Twitter went crazy, and I lost at least two hours of my morning once I got to work laughing at the numerous memes that were created from his now iconic move. Initially, I admit, my first reaction was of annoyance, as Diddy is never short of being, as folks say, "extra." After all, this was THE premiere fashion event of the year. Who would dare show it any contempt?

As an alum of Howard University along with Diddy, I recall the great divide between alumni over his being asked to deliver the Commencement address back in 2014. Many who knew "Sean" personally during his school days thought his being asked was a fitting invitation marking all of their "come up" from school boy to certified "Bad Boy"; however, many of us who hold Commencement at "the Mecca" in high regard were not so excited, as we held our collective breath on whether or not he would leave his "extra" at the gate of the Yard. Let's just say that in the end, both sides of the debate got a little of what was expected: a crowning moment of achievement with a dash of "turn up." But again, this is--and probably always will be--Diddy. And upon further reflection, I'm okay with that.

You see, at the same time Diddy was setting Twitter ablaze, another topic was also trending: that of Baltimore Orioles All-Star center fielder Adam Jones, who was berated by racist taunts at Fenway Park Monday night, while a bag of peanuts was thrown at him. Jones called it one of the worst cases of fan abuse he has heard in his career and, yet, he was doing nothing more than his job. And then my attention was pulled to a Washington Post article where African-American quadruplets, Nick, Nigel, Zach, and Aaron Wade, from Liberty Township, Ohio, announced their plans to attend Yale. It was an announcement many were awaiting, as the four had each gotten accepted into every Ivy League school they applied to, including Harvard, Duke, Georgetown, Stanford, Cornell, Johns Hopkins, and Vanderbilt. 

Three examples of excellence in entertainment, sports, and academics on display in one day. And although most comments on social media outlets were positive (and hilarious), as usual, there were several where race was again front and center:

On Diddy: "Why are we like this??"

On Jones: "What I learned on twitter today: Negro's get offended if you throw peanuts at them!"

On the Wade Quad: "Notice how none of them are named Tyreek, Jaquiz, or LaTron."

And then I was reminded of something my mother always said: "Damned if you do; damned if you don't." Even if all you're doing is having the audacity to be your best self, there's always someone lurking in the shadows with criticism--even if that someone is our subconscious self. 

You see, what most in our community may be too shy to admit is that America's complex history has always created an internal conflict within us as well; a juxtaposition of sorts between us "doing too much" and being "acceptable to the masses." And because we've been both equally praised and ridiculed for our (often imitated) unique flair and execution of expression, we unconsciously find ourselves struggling between being who we are and being who "society" says we should be. For every time someone acts "too extra," we mentally cringe out of fear that their liberation somehow shackles our own progress. Don't be too loud. Don't be too expressive. Don't be too angry. Don't be too outspoken. Don't be too funny. Don't be too extra...lest we all be judged as being "too Black." 

Now, I'm not saying "carte blanche passes" should be given for any outlandish or offensive behavior, regardless of race. However, if wearing outfits of meat to awards shows and riding half clothed on wrecking balls can somehow be celebrated as "trendy," then we have the audacity to be both unique, Black, and "extra" without apology, fear, or explanation. There will always be someone with something to say, but as the most expressive artist of our current day, Kanye West, said, "I'd be worried if they said nothing." So, here's to all of us with the courage to stand in our greatness, however we choose to express it, whether we're slaying--or laying on--the red carpet, excelling academically, or hitting a home run. Zero cares given. No criticism needed. Thank you for noticing.

Photo credits: N/A

Review: Immortal Adaptation 'Lacking' Depth but Worthy of Recognition

On Saturday, HBO debuted the story of one of American history's greatest medical miracles made possible by one of African-American history's greatest unsung heroes. Although the story was quietly known in medical circles and also addressed in a four-page June 1976 Ebony magazine article titled "The Miracle of 'HELA,'" most Americans had no idea that the research which led to advancements for cures in treating polio, tuberculosis, cancer, Parkinson's disease, HIV, and numerous other diseases, were made possible by the most important cell line in medical history: the immortal cells of Henrietta Lacks; cells that continue to multiple until today.

Lacks, a then 31-year old African-American mother of five from Baltimore, Maryland, found herself at the center of medical history on her death bed at Johns Hopkins Hospital, when upon being treated unsuccessfully for cervical cancer, her cells were taken, tested, and multiplied for scientific advancement all without her knowledge, the knowledge of her family and, most shockingly, without any compensation for her remaining survivors; compensation that still has not been received.

Just as swiftly as Lacks was making history, she was also being erased from it by doctors who in 1951 changed her name to Helen Lane to hide her identity and then used the first two initials of that first and last name to identify her cells. And that's where Lacks' story ended for many, until a young freelance, science writer--Rebecca Skloot--heard of the immortal HeLa cell line in a biology class and was ignited to learn all she could about Lacks, in an attempt to bring her story out of the darkness of lab rooms and into the spotlight for all the world to know. Thus, the biography "The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks" hit bookshelves with rave reviews in 2010, stayed on the New York Times best sellers list for six years, and was re-birthed on the television screen this past Saturday.

Produced and starring Oprah Winfrey as Lacks' daughter, Deborah, and starring Rose Byrne as Skloot, award-winning director George C. Wolfe's attempt to bring the complexity of Lacks' life, death, family, and unsung heroism from the page to the screen would prove challenging. Personally, having read Skloot's biography when it debuted, each night I committed to the novel was a roller coaster ride filled with frustration, disbelief, and personal pain, having lost my own mother to cancer a few years prior. Though I was 30 when I lost my mother, the Lacks children were far younger at her death, and the inability to manage life without their matriarch led to a family legacy wrought with crime, depression, and mental illness, exacerbated by years of confusion and fatigue in their struggle to learn who their mother was (in particular, for the children who were too young to fully remember her) and adequately tell her story. As Skloot carried readers on a long, arduous journey to deliver Lacks' story, told primarily through Deborah, unpacking such an enormous yet mysterious life was surely daunting for Skloot but was, nonetheless, done masterfully in 381 pages. Like a hearty meal, Skloot's masterpiece required slow, careful digestion.

This is why Wolfe's adaption at a mere :95 minutes could not begin to do Lacks or her family's story the justice it continues to deserve. As are many of us, Lacks' children and relatives are both colorful and complex, in having to live in the shadow of their mother's enormous legacy yet without receiving any true acknowledgment of her life. Though Lacks physically left them over half a century ago, the concept of her "living" on for eternity is as hard for them to grasp as it literally sounds. However, on screen, the portrayal of these offspring feel rushed and one-dimensional, without much feeling or depth to unveil the pain they bore and continue to bear.

Further, Oprah in the leading role as Lacks' troubled, youngest daughter struggling with bipolar disorder, while uncovering the mystery of her mother's immortality, is both a blessing and a curse: a blessing as her name alone most likely drew many to the HBO adaptation where many possibly first learned of Lacks, but a curse in that, with a persona as large as Oprah's, it distracts from the real character: Lacks' story itself. There's not much Oprah has not or can not do well, but perhaps a lesser or unknown actress would have allowed all the space that was needed for Lacks' story to soar on screen, while allowing a newcomer's career to set sail as well. Furthermore, Wolfe's adaption largely tells Deborah's story and, while rightfully needing to be told as well, it somehow continues to leave Lacks' story as a secondary character yet again--much like the secondary character she's always played to her own immortality.

HeLa Cells

Regardless, the more Lacks' story is told in any capacity and on any platform is always a win. Knowing that many of us owe her contribution to science to our own healing or the healing of any family member or friend who's fought--and won--a life-threatening illness, is a gift that can't be measured. Henrietta may have "lacked" notoriety and fame while alive, but what we've gained from her death is too monumental to truly be contained by any medium, be it on a page or on a screen. Yet, for all she's quietly and unknowingly done to change history, she always deserves to be celebrated--immortally.

Photo Credits: N/A

Still Jonesin'

I remember it like yesterday: March 14, 1997, when a college friend and I decided to check out a Friday night movie at the Rivertowne Theater in Oxon Hill, Maryland. A new urban, contemporary love story being advertised as "a hip when Harry Met Sally" was debuting and from what we could gather from the trailer (sorry, no social media buzz back then), it was reflecting everything we were at the time: progressive young black adults, fresh out of college, starting our careers, and navigating our first real adult relationships. From the moment the theater lights went down and Darius Lovehall--played by a still new Larenz Tate, fresh off the heels of his polar opposite O-Dog character in "Menace II Society"--began to recite his spoken word piece, "A Blues for Nina," for the gorgeous Nia Long, we were hooked. And I, for one, was never the same.

Everything about Love Jones was, in a word, authentic. From the poetry to the brother-sister-like friendships to the ish talkin' over a game of Spades to the deep chats while shooting pool to the candid conversations in the back of cabs to the lovemaking sessions and the make ups and break ups to the final mad dash through a train station to save love, Love Jones was telling the story of Black relationships, in all of its complexities and glories, and looked damn good doing it in the process (not to mention, making cheese omelettes forever mad sexy). 

That is why on today, 20 years later, it still stands firm as one of cinematic history's great Black love stories and why when it was honored at the American Black Film Festival Awards last month, it received a long overdue standing ovation, which even I gave in my own living room. Although it never became a box office hit, only raking in a little over $12 million dollars at the box office, it became something much more important: a cult(ure) classic and a reminder, every time you see it, that Black love is worth believing in, rooting for, and celebrating.

So, on that note, I'll simply say "cheers" to one of the best love stories of all time and to one of the best directors that ever did it--a then 24-year-old Theodore Witcher. Besides, the Centric Network is showing the movie in celebration of its 20th as I type this, and as Darius Lovehall would say, "...this here, right now, at this very moment, is all that mattes to me...and that's urgent like a muthaf*cka." Love you, Love Jones. Always have. Always will.

Black Boy Joy...and Pain

Jenkins and McCraney. Photo Credit: N/A

At the close of another (always too brief) Black History Month, celebrations of our accomplishments past and present recently reached a pinnacle on one of the world's largest stages: the 89th Academy Awards. In a year that broke records for presenting the most African-American nominees with Oscars wins, the barrier was further broken when the year's Best Picture award was (ultimately) presented to "Moonlight," the fictionalized story of a young black man's arduous journey to manhood and in discovering his sexuality, while growing up on the tough streets of Miami. Having received the Best Adapted Screenplay award earlier in the evening, when its writer Tarell Alvin McCraney gave his acceptance speech, he thanked everyone on behalf of himself and director Barry Jenkins as just "two boys from Liberty City (Florida) up here on this stage representing the 305."

Trayvon Martin. Photo Credit: N/A

Amidst so much "black boy joy," however, I was reminded of the pain, as the Oscars February 26th award date also marked the fifth year anniversary of the death of Trayvon Martin--a non-fictionalized, young black man on his own journey to manhood, whose life was cut short on a Florida street, and who's death sparked the movement we came to know as Black Lives Matter. Yet, such a stark juxtaposition of highs and lows has always been the norm within "our community," where we're often leery of celebrating too long in anticipation of what may be yet to come; where the same weeping that endures for the night and brings joy in the morning easily gives way to those joys that endure for a moment but can give way to tears that last a lifetime; where on our journey toward progress, we tread lightly lest we make one wrong step; and where we're reminded that although awards and accolades, while warranted and often long overdue are appreciated, will never compare to the magnitude of change that's still needed and of the work that's left to be done.

Kalief Browder. Photo Credit: N/A

On such a note, the debut of hip hop mogul Jay-Z's powerful six-part docu-series, “TIME: The Kalief Browder Story”(trailer here) premiering March 1st on Spike TV could not be more timely. Having debuted at the Sundance Film Festival and also featured in Ava DuVernay's powerful Netflix documentary "13th," that examines the prison to pipeline phenomenon, the docu-series follows Browder, a former Bronx resident, who was sent to Rikers Island prison in 2010 at age 16 without a trial following allegations over a stolen backpack. His experience at the prison complex unveiled abuse from guards and inmates, as well as countless days in solitary confinement. The case was eventually dismissed and Browder was released from prison in June 2013. He committed suicide in 2015. And, yet, Browder's story is but one of many that need to be told and for whom we continue to fight.

Ava DuVernay. Photo courtesy of Instagram @ava

So, as the fanfare of award season concludes and we're able to give the #OscarsSoWhite hashtag a rest (for now), let us not be blinded by temporary celebrations of "inclusion" and continue to invest our time and best resources in what really matters: keeping the movement alive and moving it forward. As African-American, history-breaking, Emmy, Tony, and now Academy Award winner Viola Davis said in her acceptance speech this year, "[When I'm asked] what kind of stories do you want to tell, Viola?” I say, exhume those bodies, exhume those stories. The stories of the people who dreamed big and never saw those dreams to fruition..." Stories just like Trayvon's. Stories just like Kalief's.

A Black History Love Letter

Photo Credit: Erica Kennedy

As February competes with two of my favorite celebrations--Black History Month and Valentine's Day--it was difficult deciding which would be the focus of this month's blog. Luckily, a recent New York Times article highlighting the historical wedding announcement (here) of one of my favorite icons in Black History made me realize the two need not be autonomous. So, for the love of my people and the written word, I salute Ida Bell Wells-Barnett (July 16, 1862 – March 25, 1931).

I was a print journalism major at Howard University when the life of Ms. Wells, also a journalist, in addition to being a newspaper editor, activist, suffragist, sociologist, and feminist, became more of interest to me. Notably known for strapping herself with a pad, a pencil, and a pistol, Ms. Wells set out to document the conditions of blacks in the south and, most hauntingly, the lynchings that were taking place there. Fast becoming a target from angry white men and women, Wells was advised by friends to ease up on her editorials. Instead, she declared "[I had] already determined to sell my life as dearly as possible if attacked. I felt if I could take one lyncher with me, this would even up the score a little bit."

Photo Credit: Erica Kennedy

With that same fiery will, determination, and tenacity, it would be no surprise that, in addition to the many movements she created and was a part of throughout her life, that her most impacting would be working closely alongside historians and activists, W.E.B. DuBois and Booker T. Washington to found the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People in 1909. Ms. Wells would continue her activism, working with Frederick Douglass to organize boycotts, touring the U.S. and Europe with her anti-lynching campaigns, and serving as an educator, all the while continuing to publish articles and pamphlets to bring awareness about the "Negro experience" in America, proving that she always knew the pen was mightier than the sword--even if not mightier then her pistol--and continued in the fight for equality, until her death.

Photo Credit: N/A

Although there are countless African-American heroes who not only shaped black history but American history, Ms. Wells' "unapologetic boldness" as an early female journalist is worthy of recognition and celebration, which is why on an anticipated visit to the National Museum of African-American History & Culture, I anxiously made my way through countless, powerful exhibits stretching from the Middle Passage to the Reconstruction Era, searching earnestly, until I came "face-to-face" with her, and then I smiled. And I exhaled. Because long before the Oprah's, the Cathy Hughes',  the Gwen Ifill's, and countless other tellers of our stories, there was Ida: courageous, intelligent, innovative, unshakable, and determined to not only make a difference but to be the difference.

At a time when claims of "fake news" is used in an attempt to dismantle the truth and the ethics of journalism are being constantly called into question, I am reminded of the power of the written word and in the importance of capturing both the good and bad of history. As we venture forth in this country's uncertain climate, where justice and liberty are facing a "lynching" of their own, let's all remain steadfast and vigilant in our fight to speak the truth and to be the truth, whether by picking up a pen or even a protest sign and, like our ancestors, continue to be foot soldiers for justice--just like Ida.

Happy Valentine's Day and Happy Black History Month!

Photo Credit: S. Ffolkes