The Melting Pot is Boiling Over

I just finished reading a post by a journalist named Wendy C. Thomas on All Digitocracy. I ain't mad at her. She did an excellent job of expressing how she feels as a black person, a black woman and a black woman in America. But what really made my ass want to sing a solo was a comment by someone posting as Jen that 90% of black people kill black people and that's what we should be concerned with.

Now, I don't go around badgering people in print because of their opinions, but this person said she was stating facts. From whom?! Is what I'd like to know.

But the post from the journalist, then the comment from Jen, all makes me wonder: was the movement for civil rights toward the right direction?

The part in Thomas's post about "hunted in their own country" disturbs me because this is not "our own country," no matter how free we "think" we are. It's theirs. And they've never wanted us here. Period. Separate but equal somehow seems a better balance to me. For us.

If separate but equal were the case, we would have been forced to have more black professionals (i.e., doctors, lawyers, judges, police offers, educators, inventors, scientists, researchers, leaders, politicians, lawmakers, etc.) and not depend on our counterparts to fill those roles both as leaders and motivators.

To that end, maybe, just maybe, black girls and women would appreciate the roundness of our asses and thighs, the fullness of our noses and lips, the kinkiness of our hair and the rhythmic sway of our hips, instead of spending so much, financially and emotionally, trying to emulate who we are not.

Maybe so much of our history wouldn't be lost or watered down, and our black children would of course know about Martin, but would also of course know about Bayard Rustin. They would know about Malcolm, no doubt. But no doubt also know Benjamin Banneker. They would definitely know about Parks, but also definitely know about Claudette Colvin. The Waltons, Kennedys and Rockefellers would be important too. But so would Madam C.J. Walker, what an ankh is and the fact that the first Chinese people were black. Yale, Harvard and Stanford would be impressive, but, first of all knowing what an HBCU is, then knowing what it feels like to have their rich histories flowing through our veins would be inspiring!

Black school children everywhere would also know, proudly I might add, that most of the household items that our counterparts use and improve upon today, were invented by blacks who were intelligent enough to develop products based on need. Maybe this knowledge would prompt them to invest in our own education, communities and businesses, instead of doing what we do today--spend our dollars in "their" communities, businesses and schools.

And finally, maybe a blog poster named Jen wouldn't offer statistics that are smoke screens and mirrors based on facts from whites, by whites. She should know the undocumented cases are never spotlighted, usually because they were imposed by whites. #TheStateOfOurNation #SignOfTheTimes #TheMeltingPotIsBoilingOver

Post Script: If Jan was as astute in her observations of Wendy as a professional as she was in her "facts" about black on black crime, she'd have noticed that although Wendy is a journalist, All Digitocracy did note that, "This piece first appeared on Wendi’s blog and is republished here with permission from the author.

"Identity Theft: Searching for Psychiatric Balance™"

Imagine driving along the coast in a convertible. The fresh air is crisp and blowing gently around your face. The sun is setting. It's the "golden time of day." Ahead you see a huge boulder that has tumbled off the rocky cliff. It's falling down..down..toward the road, fast. When you see it, you drive at top speed because you want to drive right under it so that it crushes you. Robin Williams probably felt the same way. Lost and alone in a world full of people.

Before his body was probably stiff, Robin Williams's death evoked pleas all over social media for humanity to take better care of ourselves and each other. But all the accountability in the world is no match for a cocktail of mental illness and drug abuse. It's impenetrable. Being there is awesomely commendable--people need that. But it's simply not enough to penetrate the root.

The Root: you're laughing with your family or friends, having an amazing day! All of a sudden, you call your mom a bitch and your grandmother and weak. You call the cops on them, but curse them because they have on dark blue uniforms instead of tan. Your words cut everybody deep because you blurt out secrets you've been told or expose insecurities of those you know are weak. An hour later, you're laughing again and have no clue why everyone else is crying or upset. You cozy up to a few of the people you've just masticated to the core. You don't remember a thing. When you're reminded by the very people you've hurt, you become depressed and lie in bed for days wondering who you are and why you do the things you do. One minute you're Shirley Temple-like, the next, you're Linda Blair during her exorcism. It's mental identity theft. A chemical imbalance in your brain. The beast that attacks your mind.

Let's do more to attack this beast at it's core. I challenge you. I DARE you. Let's change mental health legislation. One of the most difficult tasks I've ever had to face is trying to get mental health rehabilitation for someone who suffers mental illness. For four years, I relentlessly tried to get help. So far, the red tape is permanently sealing the box of hope.

All a mentally ill adult has to say is, "No, I don't have a problem," when asked if they want help, and that's that. Umm...they're mentally ill. What did you expect them to say? And for a mentally ill teen? Forget it! They call it puberty and drag out the process until they become adults. Despite a collection of medical, criminal and academic records as proof of mental, emotional, physical and social disarray, the movement for psychiatric balance is a long night of mental slavery.

The biggest fallacy is mental health clinics-- they're legalized trap houses. Someone who suffers a mental deficiency can go into a government-funded clinic, admit they need help, wait about eight to twelve hours, talk to a psychiatrist for five minutes, then receive prescriptions for a bag of pills, which might be the wrong dosage. Usually they are the wrong dosage.

While researching my upcoming book, "Identity Theft: Searching for Psychiatric Balance™," a psychiatrist told me mentally ill people self-medicate with drugs or alcohol to subdue the mental chaos, and a social worker said their lives usually end tragically or too soon since they put themselves in dangerous situations trying to reach their mentally ill high (which is more potent that cocaine or crack) or calm it.

So please, let's be a shoulder, soother, confidant or BFF, but let's be MORE than that. It is imperative that we communicate with legislators. Find the right level of government to approach in your area. Write senators, aldermen, congressmen/congresswomen, mayors, even the President, to change minds (pun intended).