It Is Bigger Than trump...

Thursday night I was flying back from Denver. I connected with a flight in Baltimore. Yeah, can you believe that? They flew me from Denver to Baltimore to come to Florida 🤷🏾.

So in the first leg of the flight I was speaking with a Black woman telling her that I needed to get the hell out of Florida. There was a white woman sitting next to her co-signing what I said and saying with an absolute look of fear on her face. "Yeah, get out of Florida", she said.

On the second leg of the flight I was sitting next to another white woman and when I started talking about Florida she asked me why I wanted to leave. And I said well, because soon they'll be rounding up Black folks trying to throw us on plantations. She responded with some exclamation of incredulity, like that could never happen. I don't remember her exact words but I raised her incredulity and told her that yeah, it could happen and people like her who voted for trump, which she did not deny, don't want to believe that they supported it or that their country is capable of such hatred. #slavery, how soon or how conveniently we forget. SMH...

She is not alone in that she just couldn't allow herself to accept that she had any part in electing something/someone so diabolical. I refrained from reminding her of America's history and/or that her vote and her silence are reminiscent of the Germans during the Holocaust... Has anyone shared with us the Jewish vote? There's been a lot of talk about Black and brown and white women votes, but what about the Jewish vote? How did that community vote? I digress, but not really...

Is it not amazing how everyone conveniently wants to forget the history that we already know? I shared with my flight partner a letter from Claflin University advising students about text messages being sent to students at this HBCU from the trump campaign warning that they would soon be put on plantations. She had no reaction. Of course those threats could be from a bot, but let's be clear, it is not far-fetched. Before I got off the plane I told her friend, not her, because she was much too "fragile", that she should watch the movie, Cosmic Slop, Space Traders. I told her she could find it on YouTube. Ms "I don't want to believe it", wrote it down. I wonder if she'll watch it...

I don't know what people are telling themselves who voted for trump. Let's be clear however, this is not about trump. He is merely the current face of many others that came before him. This is deeper than trump. This is an ideology. This is the republican party that has been feeding this kind of hatred for decades. They have now been consumed by the beast they fed. The few decent folks who are in that party now have to live with what they've created because trump is a manifestation of them. trump is the face of the very foundation of America which is built on racism and hatred and delusions of white superiority, all of that.

That is what we saw on Tuesday folks. We saw America show her true face. For many of us, it was just a confirmation of what we already knew, maybe we wanted to believe something else, but we already knew it. Now everybody else gets to own it because there is no denying that your back room conversations are now in the front room for everybody to hear.

trumpsters are your neighbors. trumpsters are your doctors and your lawyers. trumpsters are the police officers who stop and beat the shit out of you, now with impunity more than ever. They are judges who unfairly sentence you to harsh and sometimes infinite sentences. trumpsters are your school teachers and college professors feeding your mind with their narratives of heightened versions of themselves and their inferior version of you. trumpsters are the the parents of the person with whom you have procreated, sometimes they are even that person who tells themselves that you are "different than the other Blacks". trumpsters are your coworkers, that recruiter who won't hire you, that supervisor who won't promote you and who never evaluates or pays you fairly. trumpsters are those "good liberals" protesting in the "good fight" with, for, and alongside you. trumpsters are everywhere folks. If you didn't know that in 2020, you damn sure better know it in 2024.

At the end of the day, it's about the survival of whiteness. It has nothing to do with the fittest. It has everything to do with survival of whiteness. Take your blinders off people, no matter what side of the fence you sit on. And all you brown and yellow and even some "black" people who voted for trump, you're in for the rudest of awakenings. Do Not look to Black women to save you. We will not... We've done our part, as have our men. 

As a community Black folks have repeatedly reflected the moral fiber of this country. We are the soul of this nation. Repeatedly, we have shown up at the polls and overwhelmingly voted to save America. Now it's time for America to either own the truth of who and what she is and stop fighting it or it is time for her to save herself from herself because we are tired. Miss me with the blue bracelets and the pink hats. #symbolism 

The results of Tuesday will penetrate far beyond the reach of Black folks, immigrants, LGBTQ, people of color, and whoever else is the intended target of this latest version of America's hate. White women, wake up. You're back on the chopping block too...

If ever there was need for God to Bless America, it would be now but I'm all prayed out ...

Black folks take care of you. We are all that we have and WE have ALWAYS proven to be enough. Believe that...

~ Miss Higgi

Happy 83rd Birthday Reverend Wright!!!

Happy 83rd Birthday Reverend Wright!

September 22, 1941

Over the years I have called myself a Jeremiah Wright groupie. If he was preaching at a church that I was anywhere near, I was sure to be there.

I have always been so inspired by his words of Black liberation, Black empowerment mentally and economically, Black governance and Black self-determination. He exudes confidence and wisdom. It is impossible to attend his sermon and not walk away a bit wiser because of it. Thank you Reverend Wright...

The Good Reverend is unapologetically proud. He is unapologetically Black. He is unapologetically committed to lifting Black people and our community. I just love me some him...

One of the first considerations for me to support Barack Obama was the fact that he was a member of Jeremiah Wright's Church. I knew, that he knew... So did others, which lead to Reverend Wright being on the outside looking in during Obama's administrations. That is unprecedented for any other president. Of course, their spiritual or faith leader is an intricate part of their inner political circle. They provide that place of calm and guidance that helps to give balance or anchor a POTUS in a very trying and stressful environment. It is unfortunate that such was not the case for Reverend Wright. Shame on the Obamas for not correcting whatever caused the riff, the details of which I do not claim to know. But what I do know, because Barack said it, is that Reverend Wright introduced him to his faith. If I'm not mistaken, he called him something akin to his spiritual Father. Reverend Wright and his lovely wife Michelle, both gave candidate Obama credence and acceptance in the Black community as a viable presidential prospect. Reverend Wright is up in age. President, Spiritual son, etc., needs to fix it...

There is such an interesting story behind this picture of Reverend Wright and me. I was at the first inaugural weekend for President Obama. Every year for Martin Luther King weekend, Reverend Wright is the special guest preacher at Howard University's Sunday service. This holiday weekend just happened to fall in line with the inauguration. Of course I was there to hear him preach, I'm a self proclaimed groupie and a Howard University alumna. I was there early to get what was surely a coveted seat.

This photo was taken as we were lined up to exit and show love for our good Brother and thank him for his "word". As you can see in the picture, he loves us back. As I was exiting the line, a young man walked up to me and told me that he had just gotten a really good picture of Reverend Wright and me and that If I had a business card, he would send it to me. Of course I thought nothing of his request. Fortunately I happened to have a business card, which I gave to him. I gave our exchange not another thought and went on with my lovely day of celebration.

The next morning my phone is ringing off the hook. I think Dean Barron Harvey was the first to call to tell me that "I'd done it again". To which I said, did what again. He said, "you're in the newspaper with Jeremiah Wright". The young man who asked for my business card turned out to be a photographer for the Washington Post. My picture was featured in the paper along with others marking the historical day. That was really exciting and such a nice way to forever memorialize the respect, adoration, and "groupie love" I have for this really positive, proud, and inspirational Black man who just happens to be a Great Preacher.

Happy Birthday Reverend Wright!!!

Note: Oops! Failed to post yesterday, September 22

A Walk Down Memory Lane, Inspired by Frankie Beverly

Miss Higgi & Frankie Beverly

St. Maarten, Memorial Day Weekend, 1995!

Sinbad's 70's Soul Music Festival. It was the best and most soulful vacation ever! Mature Black folks, between the ages of mid 30's to maybe late 50's, from major cities around the country, heeded Sinbad's call to board private planes, fly to St. Maarten where we converged on the island for 5 solid days of funk and celebration of the 70s, in music, in dress, and in spirit! We enjoyed concerts by night and beach parties by day. 

The parties actually began aboard the planes. Music was blasting, drinks were flowing, folks were cuttin' up like families reuniting, because that's what we do. We were having a good time even before we landed. By the time we arrived, everybody knew who was going to be their vacation crew. I was living in DC at the time so I was a part of that crowd. It was great! 

In planning for the trip, I purposely reached back into my past to invite someone to join me with whom I had actually partied in the '70s. I invited my college Sistah Friend, Gilda Cooper, nee Hawkins, who I had not seen in many years. It was just an all-around reunion with music, with friends, with nostalgia, in the hot sun on a beautiful island with perfect weather, beautiful beaches, and lots, and lots of Beautiful Black people. Sheer paradise. 

I booked a lesser expensive package thinking that we were not going to stay in the room anyway. How bad could it be? Well, little did I know... When our shuttle, filled with other passengers from various planes, arrived to our respective housing locations, many of which were small hotels/motels or private homes, and this is long before Airbnb, Black folks were greeting us telling us not to let the shuttle leave because we were not going to like our rooms. LOL! We're so special... 

We didn't like our room and that shuttle wasn't about to leave us! Back then there was no cell phone to call a taxi or to flag a not yet even imagined, Uber. Those shuttles were not getting away. We piled back in and the drivers dumped us back at the host hotel where Sinbad was in the lobby doing his very best to sort this housing debacle. He had left this part of planning the event to a travel company that seemingly didn't do such a good job at vetting the housing. This festival was happening in his name. It was his brand, formerly known as his reputation, at stake and he genuinely wanted everybody to have a really great time. 

Gilda and I, who remember, had purchased one of the cheaper packages, ended up staying in the host hotel for not a dime more! It doesn't get better than that. So, we definitely were in the mix with the celebrities who were obviously staying at the same hotel. It was great! Understandably it was taking Sinbad a while to negotiate these unexpected changes for his unhappy "guests". Gilda, who was obviously still spoiled (LOL), threw a hissy fit and almost blew the deal for us. Sinbad looked at me and said you better control your friend. I told her, you need to be quiet so that we can get this room. It was crazy but we got a great room with a balcony and all (there's a balcony story to be told at another time)! I don't recall the name of the hotel. I think it was something like Maho. It got destroyed in a hurricane the next year. 

Sinbad's vision was to relive music from the '70s. Already, back then, we were missing real music. It has only gotten worse over time. We are a talented people who seem to have lost our way musically. I digress...  

All sorts of celebrities responded to Sinbad's call to help create his dream vacation for all of us. Frankie Beverly, whose death, sadly announced earlier today, triggered this walk down Memory Lane, was but one of many celebrities performing at the festival. The talent line up was incredible, and I still have the t-shirt to prove it! 

The t-shirt!

The O'Jays, Ms. Gladys, Teena Marie, EWF, Ohio Players, WAR, AWB, Confunkshun, Al Green, who folks booed because he was now Reverend Al Green and didn't want to sing his secular lyrics. He would just be quiet and let the music play and not say the words. People were wanting him off the stage. LOL! As I recall the Commodores and Stephanie Mills were there also. I might be confusing 1995 with the next year in Jamaica but were there all kinds of celebrities supporting the festival. Not everybody was performing. I remember Isaac Hayes being there and Ms. Angela Bassett groovin' with the peeps in the crowd. She hadn't exhaled yet! The celebrities were cool performing by night and hanging out with the regular folks by day. 

Everyday there was a party on a different beach. I will never forget Orient Beach. It is a clothing optional beach, meaning you don't have to take off your clothes, but you didn't have to keep them on either... Well, when we started showing up in mass numbers, little by little, white folks were getting off of that beach, which was good because we wanted their beach chairs. I think some fearful that Mandingo was going to whip it out at any minute mesmerizing their wives and daughters. LOL! There they were just chilling on the beach, they looked up and out of nowhere came all these Black people, with a DJ in tow spinning the records from big loud speakers, Black folks dancing and electric sliding in the water. Nobody took their clothes off. A few women took off their tops. There was some men in the water waving their shorts over their heads but never exposing themselves. In short, there were no Mandingo moments. LOL! It was just a great day at the beach. 

Every day was filled with absolute Black joy. Of course there was breakfast in the morning, exercise with Donna Richardson, who had not yet married Tom Joyner, who was also at this event, we then piled on buses to go to whatever was the designated beach for that day to have nothing but a party! Food grilling, music playing, a little bit of weed smoking, of course people were drinking. It was just pure adult fun, no fuss, no muss, just Black people lovin' each other. It was beautiful. 

After the beach party we would head back to the hotel and change for the concerts, which were recorded and aired on HBO at a later date. After the concert, we would hang out at the club til' some crazy hour in the morning, MAYBE get a nap, because it sure wasn't sleep, get up the next day, which was actually later the same day, and do it all over again. It was non-stop fun! I recall barely sleeping and mostly forgetting to eat. It was just a great time for everyone. Mission accomplished Sinbad. It is truly one of my fondest travel memories. 

So how did I "meet" Frankie? He was minding his business having dinner in a restaurant when I saw him. I probably screeched like a crazy fan before I said, "Oh Frankie I hate to bother you". To which he said, "Come on, sit on down" I'm sure he called me Suga', or Baby, or something like that. LOL! Of course he didn't have to ask twice, I sat on down. And then, as any silly 35-year-old star struck woman truly infatuated with this sexy man would say, I said, with glazed eyes and all 32 pearly whites on full display I'm sure, "Has anyone ever told you how sexy you are?" (something goofy like that)? Yes, I really said that. He just laughed because of course he'd heard it all his life! He was so gracious and posed for the above picture with me. I don't know where Gilda was. I was hanging out with Scarla, a woman from MD, who I met on the DC party plane. She took my picture with Frankie, with a real camera, a 35 MM. Do you remember those? There were no cell phones back then. We actually had to wait for the photo to be developed and pray that it came out good. There were no do-overs. Scarla also got a picture with Frankie Beverly that night. It was pure magic. 

Another Frankie moment occurred at some other of his concerts I attended. He threw his bottled water into the crowd, or did he hand it right to me? LOL! I kept that 1/2 bottle of water for the longest time because he had actually drunk from the bottle before he screwed the cap back on and tossed it to the crowd, I mean, tossed it to me in the crowd. I swear it is only in very recent years that I actually got rid of that bottle. Creepy right? I agree. I was just a HUGE Frankie fan. 

My first Frankie concert was high school graduation 1978, Ohio. It was a gift from my cousin Carolyn. For many years after that, rarely a summer went by that I didn't don an all-white outfit and make it my business to see Frankie perform somewhere. Not to mention, there has been many a road trip where Frankie and I performed in concert together as I drove to the sound of his music blasting from my car speakers. In later years when his voice gave out and he couldn't reach the notes, it didn't matter. Loyal fans at his still sold-out concerts, took over and sang the words for him. He was adored by us, and he loved his people. He never crossed over. I am sure many folks not of our community have no idea who he is and how deep this loss is for us. I can't believe I was not intentional about making his farewell tour. I have a CDs, records, t-shirts, pictures and great memories to sustain me. He will truly, truly be missed...

The More Things "Change"

So you guys know that they stripped Ms. Chiles of her medal. Ironically, or not so ironically, it happens after the infamous photo of two Black women bowing to another, which got millions of views and gave significant pride and joy to many Black folks seeing Black Women celebrating, not competing with, one another, that they make this decision to reverse themselves from an error they still own but have the audacity to blame the reversal on some 4-second rule. Give me a break! 

Also don't lose sight of the fact that we had white woman, Mykayla Skinner, weaponizing her tears against her former teammates when she publicly criticized that her teammates were lazy, undisciplined, or not focused, despite their winning gold medals WITHOUT her! 

Don't get it twisted, this action of taking back the medal is a repeat of the backlash in 1968 received by Tommy Smith and John Carlos, when the Olympic officials and the United States could not stand their display of Black pride and activism they demonstrated for the world to see. Did you miss the similarity? Don't be fooled. Racism is as strong today as it was in the '60s... 

Insecure others are still intimidated by Black pride. Our self worth must be sanctioned by them or it will be destroyed by them by any means necessary. 

Shame on the Olympics once again! In 56 years it seems they have learned absolutely nothing! Still, I bow to my little Sistahs, each and everyone of them AND our Brothas, who showed up at the Olympics and represented! We see and we love you!!! 

👊🏾❤️🖤💚👊🏾

https://www.nytimes.com/athletic/5693972/2024/08/11/jordan-chiles-bronze-medal-olympics-ioc-reallocate/

The Black Mother

Where can I find love that never changes

Smiles that are true and always just the same,
Caring not how the fierce tempest rages,
Willing ever to shield my honored name?

This I find at home, only with Mother,
Who cares for me with patient tenderness;
She from every human pain would rather
Save me, and drink the dregs of bitterness.

If on life's way I happen to flounder,
My true thoughts should be of Mother dear,
She is the rock that ne'er rifts asunder,
The cry of her child, be it far or near.

This is love wonderful beyond compare;
It is God's choicest gift to mortal man;
You, who know Mother, in this thought must share,
For, she, of all, is Angel of your Clan.

My Mother is Black, loveliest of all;
Yes, she is as pure as the new made morn;
Her song of glee is a clear rythmic call
To these arms of love to which I was born.

I shall never forget you, sweet Mother,
Where'er in life I may happen to roam;
Thou shalt always be the Fairy Charmer
To turn my dearest thoughts to things at home.

Marcus Mosiah Garvey

Celebrating Black Mothers especially and All Who Know Her Love...
~ Miss Higgi

The Juice Is Dead

 Note: I wrote this on the day of OJs death. I got distracted and never proofed or posted it... 

The Juice is dead! 

For you young people, "Juice" is what they used to call OJ Simpson. 

I will never forget where I was when the news broke that he was acquitted by a majority Black and female jury for murdering his white wife. I was having lunch with colleagues at TGIF in Greenbelt, Maryland. There were five or six of us, 50/50 Black and white.

Over the years, I have described the scene as like being at a funeral and a wedding at the same time. Black folks were jumping for joy and cheering loudly, not for OJ, but for what felt like a taste of justice. White folks were sobbing and jeering, for what presumably, felt like a denial of justice, a response completely foreign to them in a legal matter such as this.

For Black folks, finally, the criminal "justice" system, rigged and used against us, had worked in our favor. 

So often in America, Black defendants enter a courtroom where the prosecutor gets up to bat and already is on third base. S/he need only punt the ball for a homerun conviction. That didn't happen in this case and white America is still angry...

The white patrons on that day at TGIF were visibly shaken, shocked to their core, and quite angered by our elation. Some were even crying as they paid their bill and got the hell out of there! 

The remainder of lunch with my colleagues was awkward as we struggled to suppress our emotions of joy or anger out of courtesy and professional respect for one another. 

I will never forget my exchange with Dennis, a white male colleague and lunch partner that day. He was mad at me and probably never really liked me after that afternoon. He couldn't believe I was so happy as he had heard me speculate that OJ might have done it. I wasn't yet an attorney, but still, I understood enough to explain to him that it wasn't about OJ or what I thought, it was about a crooked criminal justice system that unjustly or unfairly convicts Black men everyday. I told him my joy was because OJ, notwithstanding guilt or innocence, had the money and the resources to afford his legal defense, therefore justice, typically reserved for white Americans. To  his chagrin, and that of many other white Americans, the[ir] criminal justice system failed them and  inadvertently was extended to OJ, a Black defendant.

Most importantly, however, the prosecutors failed to prove the case - bottom line! They were so inept at proving the case, the jurors passed on even the theater of long deliberation and promptly delivered a speedy verdict. 

Chris Darden, the Black male prosecutor, is still crying to this day about his very public smack down from the late and great legal genius and icon in the Black community, Johnny "If the glove doesn't fit, you must acquit" Cochran. May he rest in peace...

The prosecutors over played their hand and wrongly assumed a jury of majority Black women would deliver the verdict they wanted, conviction of a Black man known for his attraction to white women. They abandoned their golden rule, to strike Black jurors from the jury pool. They bet wrong on their "Angry Black Woman" trope. Justice prevailed over any presumption of resentment of OJ harbored by Black women who were not swayed by planted evidence and shoddy testimony from racist cops, jaded and rehearsed in-laws, or lazy house guests.  

From the slow speed Bronco chase, to the trial, it was sensational and televised every day.  People were glued to the tube. Isn't it interesting however, that almost  three decades later, Bill Cosby's case was not televised? It was just as sensational. It was not televised because the state knew they had a BS case, based on mostly BS witnesses who could not have withstood public scrutiny. They knew their witnesses to be so weak, that once observed in a court of law, the court of public opinion would have swayed in Cosby's favor. Be reminded, the first trial ended in a hung jury. The jurors were not convinced. TV is a powerful medium. I digress... 

The OJ verdict was, and remains, another stark reminder of just how deeply, some say divided, I'll say different, are our experiences as Black and white people living, breathing, and just trying to be, in America. 

The Juice is dead. I guess white folks, especially the Goldmans, now get to have their "wedding". The difference is, Black people are not having a funeral because it was never about OJ for us. May The Juice rest in peace. If he did it, may he meet his maker.

My Sister's Journey; Ice Chips & Applesauce!

 

For those who are following my sister's journey, I have been in California since Friday, and there has been nothing but good news to report. Thank you for your prayers... 

She is talking in FULL sentences, most times coherent, sometimes not, but she is speaking, remembering, giving advice, shelling out orders, sending us home when she is tired, all of that and it is good! 

Yesterday, she passed the swallow test and had her first morsel of food since Feb 2nd. Imagine that! No liquids and no food for 38 days! She was rhet' to eat! Ice chips and applesauce are her new best friends! 

When the therapist asked her to write something, she wrote with her left hand, she is right hand dominant, so even that should have been a challenge, but she wrote, "I mean buzinezz", indicating immediately to the therapist that she purposely misspelled business. My nephew said it's an inside joke. 🤷🏾 All that matters is that she is moving toward recovery AND that she means Buzinezz' in doing it! LOL! 

We have a very long way to go but we are on our way! We now pray that she is accepted into a very rigorous and intense rehab program so that her fight for recovery can continue. I tell you, that she is still here, is a miracle! I keep telling her that. She has quite a will to live, a strong  purpose to live, or both. Either way, when she is ready and able, she will have one helluva' story to tell...

She knows that you all are praying for her, which also fuels her fighting spirit. I join her in thanking you all VERY MUCH! Please keep praying and/or sending positive affirmations. If ever it takes a village, it is in times like this. I will keep you posted...

🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾