Messages In The Music

This is a Stevie Wonder and 70's music kind of day in my house. What beautiful, beautiful music. This new generation is sadly so culturally deprived of the brilliance of sheer musical genius innate to Black people. Music formerly called jazz, blues, soul or rhythm and blues. Black people are the creator of most genres of music, which, throughout history, has been stolen from us. I remember as a kid looking forward to watching the music award programs, because Black folks were sure to dominate and far outshine all other entertainers. No contest! We went to school on the following day, chests poked out and no short supply of bragging rights! We took full advantage of all such opportunities as they availed themselves. Of course, we did.

It has been taught to me recently that Black music was deliberately destroyed because they knew that's where we received our strength, our guidance and our positive messages to keep us strong, defiant and mindful of our value and worth no matter what was being said about us, told to us or done to us. 

From picking cotton in the blazing sun under the threat of lash, to the injustices of jim crow, to infiltration and destruction of the Black liberation organizations by the US government, flooding our communities with drugs and ultimately, all efforts to destroy the Black family, they could not break us, our spirit, our resilience or our will to fight. We were never intended to be strong, confident, independent or to survive. But we have...

Our music reminded, fortified and spoke to us. When all else failed us, our music lifted us, be it spiritual or secular. It was our source of pride and brought us common joy that sometimes only we understood.

So, they changed our music to what is now void of musical instruments, beats and melodic voices. Instead, it is now replete with self-demeaning, vile and negative messaging. It is so hurtful to my ears [and to my heart] that in the summer when stopped at a red light and someone pulls up next to me with the outrageous "lyrics" blasting from their car, I roll up my window and pull up if I can. I don't want it wafting in my window, not even for a minute.

Instead of building the minds of the listener, today's "music" is destroying the minds and the will of far too many and that folks, is deliberate, VERY deliberate and we are complicit in either our silence, purchase or performance of this "music". I believe that. Even some who perform and/or produce the junk "music" know the long term effects. They don't let their own kids listen to it. Yet they "sing" it feeling no responsibility to the collective. These individuals, with their individual focus, are responsible for loading the musical gun aimed directly at us and killing us, the collective, ever so slowly but ever so surely...

There is no way that one can repeatedly hear the same message, be it positive or negative, and not be effected to respond accordingly. Wanna' stop the violence? First step is to change the message in the music. Nothing about that is rocket science. It's actually pretty elementary...

Blow the dust off your old albums and play them! MAKE your kids listen. Share with them the happy stories and now abandoned traditions from your youth. Inspire them and as you are inspired to remember who we are, why we are, how we are, how we have come to be and how we have maintained, no matter the odds, no matter the hate and racism, no matter the obstacles. We are a phenomenal people and still we rise...

Beautiful, beautiful Black people. Beautiful, beautiful Soul music! Cherish It and Celebrate Us!

After The Debacle...

A day later after the fall out from the 'Will Smith Does The Oscars' debacle and I really, really hate that it ever happened. I am imagining that by now Will has assessed what he did and knows that it was terribly wrong. He has since released a public apology to Chris Rock, the public and the academy and probably wishes that he could take back or redo that one horrible minute of his life. I don't know what he was thinking or how he didn't, in that walk toward the stage, take time to [re]consider or take stock of what he was about to do. Take the mic, yell at or upstage Chris, anything but assault him...


I cannot imagine how Chris Rock, who demonstrated commendable restraint and who I think is a really nice guy, must be feeling. Surely he didn't think that he was about to be assaulted as he acknowledged Will's approach to the stage. Certainly, he didn't deserve what his friend, fellow comedian and/or colleague did to him on the world stage no less. Despite the shock of it all, being blindsided with a slap that has now been heard around the world, he was the consummate professional. He maintained his dignity, did not yield to cocky male ego or a need to "save face". Instead, he tried his best to rebound or salvage civility. In the midst of crazy, he did his best to manage a truly shocking, unpredictable and unexpected situation.


Thankfully, Chris did not respond in kind to Will's violence. There was nothing to have been gained from witnessing two rich and professional men all dressed up and physically fighting. Even from his seat however, Will was resistant to Chris' cooler head prevailing. He rejected following his lead of mature composure and further exacerbated an already bad situation.


I do not believe that Chris knew about Jada's alopecia. He does not have a history of being that kind of person. Heretofore, both Chris and Will have been thought to be nice people given their roles in Holly-weird. Recently Will has been open about coming to terms with a misplaced ego in certain aspects of his career and marriage and deeply remorseful about the horrible way he treated his co-star Janet Hubert (Aunt Viv). He used his power to ruin her and her career. It was refreshing to see him come to terms with and own the truth of his youthful arrogance and now this. It is all so unnecessary and so unfortunate...


Hopefully this is reparable and will result in a teachable moment for all of us. For right now however, it is still really bad. Will lost a lot, so much more than Chris. He has enjoyed a stellar reputation as a nice guy, the good guy with the good Grandmother who demanded clean rap lyrics. He has always been a decent role model for our children and an example of a roadmap for grace and success for many. He was a West Philly favored son, born and raised. That's a lot of pressure. We all have our breaking point. Sadly, his was in the most public of settings and is forever memorialized. We must give him grace and space to be fallible, to be human...


This is all so unfortunate but yet another test for Will Smith. Others have rebound from adversity. It is my sincere hope and belief that he will too...

~ Miss Higgi

Don't Dance on My Pain...

A high school friend posted on her Facebook page that she attended a wedding at a plantation in Florida. I posted the forthcoming comment in response. Just say NO to invitations of celebration at plantations! It ain't cool! 

Plantations are former torture camps! The history is real. The history is painful. To celebrate at these venues is the height of insensitivity toward Black Americans, some of whom you may call "friend". Don't invite us. Better yet, don't you go! 

Partying at a plantation is like dancing in Germany's gas chambers. These places should not be celebrated and in no way can they be sanitized. Their history is real...

Want the truth of what happened on America's plantations? Visit Whitney Plantation in Louisiana. NOTHING good came from the barbarity of slavery as NOTHING good came of the torture of people of Jewish faith in concentration camps across Germany. Nothing! Somehow, Germany understands that. America wants [us] to erase or forget. Never shall I forget. My Ancestors won't allow it. They [We] shall not be canceled... 

Wanna' cancel something? Cancel these venues! #Boycottplantations 

I hope my classmate understands what triggered this emotion. In the spirit of raising her level of [racial] consciousness, increasing her [and others] sensitivity to the realness and existence of Black pain, in fulfillment of my civic duty to say something when I see something, satisfying my duty to say "ouch" when it hurts, here is what I unapologetically wrote on my classmate's page: 

Getting married, creating a Bed & Breakfast, or having any other kind of happy occasion at a plantation is akin to having a party at Auschwitz in Germany. It just ain't gonna' happen and no explanation of why it ain't gonna' happen need be spoken. It is as understood as is the inhumanity of the holocaust. So, what makes a plantation in the US different than a Jewish concentration camp in Germany, I ask in all sincerity??? 

This is more of America's history she refuses to face, what she is trying to erase. There is nothing happy or joyous about plantations. Horriific and atrocious acts of barbarity were committed at plantations. In no way should these places be beautified or glorified. To do so is the height of insensitivity to Black Americans and by extension, persons of Jewish faith. I hope neither community support these venues... 

There is no sanitizing or washing away the history or the pain of rape, torture and other acts of inhumanity that happened upon that soil. There is blood in the soil that cannot be washed or danced away... 

I wish ghosts were real or that  trees and walls could talk. My Ancestors would have plenty to say. There would be no joy or happy occasions to be had at America's southern plantations, as there is nothing joyous, happy or beautiful about them. As they are torture chambers, they should be boycotted.

Don't Dance on My Pain...

#Americandenialisreal #Boycottplantationsp

Protect Your Peace

I said to a friend a few weeks ago advice that I need to take for myself and that I gladly share with others. We must be intentional about protecting our peace. Once you find it, don't let others disturb it, no matter who they are... ~Miss Higgi (Photo, Ghana 2014)

Good Parents; Our Greatest Gift

 In preparing a lesson for my class to talk about poverty, I could not help but think of my Mother raising five children by herself and imagining the many, many sleepless nights she must have had trying to figure out how to keep us together and make ends meet.

Of course we were poor. She was a single woman with five children. Crazily however, people in the neighborhood used to say, "those Higginbothams got money!" How could we possibly have money? We were one of very few single parent families in the neighborhood. It was the 60s and 70s and yes, many Black families were still intact. Don't believe the hype! Against all odds to destroy our family structure, many were holding it down, poor and otherwise.

Despite a great start, my father gave up really early. He and my Mom had worked so hard that by the time I started kindergarten, we were the third Black family to move into an all white neighborhood, which is a story in itself. Let's just say, our white neighbors were not so welcoming. My Mom told us their stories of putting cherry bombs in our   mailbox, throwing for sale signs in our yard, of course, their children were forbidden to play with us and as more Black families moved in, municipal services like school bus transportation, just stopped. We were five so we played with one another.

Thanks to my father, and my Mother who also worked, we were living the dream, "moving on up!", so to speak. My parents were in their 20s. Once however, my father decided not to come home anymore, the court ordered $25 per week child support for FIVE kids! Laughable! He never paid. He lived and died in arrears...

My Mom raised us singlehandedly as did many other Black Women. Therefore, hashtag, I AM NOT A FEMINIST! Black Women were "roaring", if you will, burning their bras, bringing home the bacon and frying it up in the pan long before it became fashionable, courageous or some catchy soundbite for white women to  wear as a badge of honor symbolizing having found herself or announcing to the world her newfound freedom demanding to be seen, validated and heard.

Not necessarily by choice and certainly not to make a political statement, somehow single Black Mothers found the strength to protect and make sure that her children never went without. I know nothing of being hungry, cold, wearing tattered or shabby clothing, bearing the responsibility of raising my younger siblings or going without the necessities of life. We had as much in terms of material things, and maybe more love, as did most other children in our neighborhood.

It was a different time. Kids were not hung up on overpriced designer labels. Some kids got teased yes, but no one got killed for a pair of sneakers.

Designer labels hit the scene somewhere during my high school years. Mommy bought us knock offs or moderately priced slightly "irregular" Gloria  Vanderbilt or Calvin Klein jeans or Chuck Connor Allstar sneakers. Remember that? LOL! There were whole stores specifically selling "irregulars"!

Despite the odds, my Mom sacrificed, likely her life with stress and worry dying of cancer at the tender age of 45, so that we could live a decent life. My Mother was not unique. Many a poor Black child never knew or felt poor thanks to many a Black Mom. Since slavery, the Black Mother  has been the epitome of the "tiger" or  protective Mom, born likely not by choice but from necessity,  probably having  to do with bearing the pain of her husband being sold away from her and having her suckling babies literally snatched from her breast and also sold on an auction block. Let us never forget...

The Black Woman knows pain, thus giving birth to the facade of  Strong Black Woman. Is she real? Are all Black Women strong or us it an ill-gotten perception? How does she show up in the world when she is not strong? Is her strength an asset, a burden or is it the mask she wears to cover her [our] pain? Sistah love is real and imperative to feed our soul, so Black Women, we MUST Gather...

Although outwardly strong, our Mothers were not super women, they were tired women and we must always honor, revere and protect them where we can. I have always said, if I must be poor, I choose being Black and poor. So many times we manage to wear "poor" or mask it in pride so well, such that even we forget.

Many a Black Mother shielded us to never have poor mindsets, despite our financial reality. I remember my Mom saying we were "poor kids with rich ideas". I recall her ever so clearly saying that to me when I told her I was going to study abroad in Spain. We had never been on an airplane before. I was 21. She was 39ish. She died never having flown. Never did she get to meet the jetsetting spirit she unintentionally unleashed in her daughter, who would travel the world,  during that long reluctant drive to JFK Airport wherein she prayed all the way that I would not dare get on that big ole' airplane to parts unfamiliar, beyond her reach and protection of her wing. She really did pray that I would come to my senses and drive back home with her but still, she let me fly. She was proud. She loved bragging rights about her kids. Me living in Spain, was one of those rights for sure! Seemingly she was oblivious, never fully realizing or  understanding that it was she who planted those "rich kid" seeds in our minds. My greatest regret is not being able to take care of and spoil her in return. I did little things before she died, but I wanted to do so much more.

I'll Always Love My Mama! STILL, she is truly my favorite Girl!!!

Pass this blog post on and share your stories of love about your Black Mother or Father with others, especially your children, preferably with her or him if s/he is still here to receive your flowers. While the story of my father is woe, leaving my frame of reference maternal love, I fully appreciate being deprived of the great love many a child knows of their father. Celebrate him too! Don't wait until your parents birthday, Christmas, Mother's or Father's Day or God forbid, theit funeral. Give them their roses everyday! If we are blessed, one or both of our parents are our gift that never stops giving. Miss Higgi Says, Thank them...

Where Is The Humanity?

 

Murder Victim Daunte Wright with Baby Son

An Asian female judge cried when she had to sentence the white woman killer cop to a mini vacation in prison for the murder of Daunte Wright. The Black female judge hugged & gave a Bible to the white female killer cop that she "was forced" to send to prison for the murder of Botham Jean. Are you seeing any trends here?

White women cops killing innocent Black men. Turn on the waterworks. Flowing tears resulting in slap on the wrist sentencing and remorseful judges. Tears, hugs and Bibles not for the victim or his family, but for the "poor" white woman cop a jury forced these fragile, and clearly biased, judges to sentence to prison. What?

This judge who, between tears, plead the case for this MURDERER even better than did her paid counsel, had the audacity to interject George Floyd in her sentencing, justifying her inadequate sentence because murdering kim didn't leave her knee on Daunte's neck for 9 minutes. Somehow this made her commission of murder of a Black man less harmful, less impactful or less destructive than chauvin's murder of George Floyd and thus, warranted only slap on the wrist, sentencing well below the standard. I guess in her mind, kim the murderer has suffered enough. Do these judges have this kind of compassion when the defendants are Black? Where are the tears, Bibles, hugs and regrets of sending them/us off to prison?

This judge obviously saw the murdering white female cop as human, a sentiment not bestowed the Wright Family. The tears she wept were not for Daunte or his Family but for the murderer cop who she all but called a good cop and for the pain of feeling forced to send to prison even if only for a minute. Her life mattered said the judge who told us of all she still has to offer society. What about Daunte? Had he nothing to offer? How about his now fatherless son? What about his grieving parents?

What would be the Asian judges sentencing if the dead victim and grieving Family looked like her? Would she then see them as human and dispense law in the name of law not in the name of her emotions? I guess not only Becky' hides behind their tears...

It seems for Black folks to get justice or to be perceived HUMAN and capable of feeling hurt or pain, murders of us must be brutal AND televised? And then, maybe then, this judge, racist cops and others might see us as human and grant us dignity and some semblance of justice! When they see us...

This case took me right back to Latasha Harlins. Her life did not matter either. It was a white female judge who sentenced a Korean woman to probation for the cold blooded murder of her. She was 15 and already regarded as less than human. Her Family's pain was irrelevant. This fight is never over...

How dare this woman who society gives cover as a person of color, thereby denoting some understanding or appreciation of the experience of being Black in America, which is the foundation of all that is race in America. She knows not my experience and never can she stand in my shoes... She is a convenient scapegoat or deflection used to avoid the conversation of race as it pertains to Black folks in America. POC or biracial my ass! She is Asian. Daunte was Black. The ending of this tragic story unfolded accordingly. His life and his death mattered not. This judge, as did the murdering cop, saw not his humanity or content of his character, that other convenient deflection or distortion of Dr. King's words, she saw the color of his skin. Justice in America reigns on.

Where Is the Humanity, you ask? There is no humanity! 

 

 #BlackFamiliesHurt2 #BeckyTears #BlackTwitter #whentheyseeus #Karen #dauntewright

Happy Birthday Dr. King!

Happy Birthday Dr. King!

This morning I listened to a friend's radio tribute to Dr. King and was reminded of the struggle to get recognition of his birthday as a national holiday. AZ was the last hold out state to oppose the holiday under the late "great" Senator John McCain. Ironically, it is now AZ Congresswoman sinema who is threatening our right to vote. Damn Arizona!

We were just kids. Stevie Wonder, Coretta King and others were marching in the streets and fighting for the legislation of his birthday as a holiday. My earliest memories, long before the holiday was confirmed, are that Black students did not go to school on his birthday. We didn't wait for others to acknowledge, validate or give us permission to celebrate our hero, we affirmed ourselves for ourselves. May we find that same audacity again, especially during the urgency of now...

The least political of Black parents supported the children's annual boycott of school. I would imagine many of them, those who could, took the day off from work. The Black community made our own holiday and decidedly celebrated Dr. King in our own way.

Black churches and others in the community started a "day of service" in celebration of Dr. King. It was not to be a day off but a day to be "on", to do something constructive in the community, volunteerism of some kind. I remember volunteering at many a soup line or homeless shelter. It was a very special time in the Black community that spread to the community at large once the day became a national holiday. We must now protect the day from losing any bit of its legitimacy by becoming commercialized.

Today, feeling very despondent by the current state of things, I CHOOSE to be reminded that Dr. King did not die in vain. I CHOOSE to be reminded and inspired that he was in his mere twenties when he picked up the baton and began his fight for civil rights, equality and justice for all. I will CHOOSE to be reminded and inspired that he was only in his thirties when certain others decided, as now have their offspring, that he was too great a threat to their version of "democracy" and therefore should not continue to live. They assassinated him as their descendants are currently very preoccupied with trying to assassinate Black access to the polls and our right to vote AND everyone's right to learn the truth of America's history, theirs and that of Black Americans.

I will CHOOSE today to be deliberately and positively moved by the spirit, memory, legacy, might and audacity of Dr. King.

Happy Martin Luther King Day Everyone!

(2022)