Sylvester Brown Jr.

Let Imus speak: He's making my job easy

2007-04-10T13:43:00.000-07:00

By Sylvester Brown Jr.
Reprinted with permission of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch

Don Imus issued yet another apology Monday on the Rev. Al Sharpton's syndicated radio program regarding comments made last week about Rutgers University women's basketball team.

Imus and his producer, Bernard McGuirk, described the student-athletes, eight of whom are black, as "hard-core ho's," "nappy-headed ho's" and "jigaboos and wannabees."

The remarks, which Imus defined Friday as "insensitive … ill-conceived and completely inappropriate," led to an onslaught of notable and racially diverse voices calling for Imus' resignation or termination.

Now, I'm no fan of the cowboy hat-wearing curmudgeon. But I say when his show returns (MSNBC says it will suspend his radio program for two weeks), let him do his thing. Do it exactly the way he's done it in the past: without interference.

It's best for the country.

Racism is easy to deny if it's not in your face. Guys like Imus make my job easier. The unfiltered, graphic, in-your-face, racist commentary makes a far better case than I ever could about the existence of racism.

There's a contingent of folks who worry when black activists, commentators or writers speak out about race. As if only black voices can stir black discontent.

Imus' syndicated show reaches millions. This latest antic has angered thousands — blacks, Hispanics, whites and "others." You couldn't manufacture a better reason for a massive outcry.

You see, not a week goes by that I haven't received a call or an e-mail insisting that I stop talking about racism. It hardly exists anymore, readers tell me. "Perhaps it will go away, if you just shut up," they say.

However, it's not like this is the first time Imus and company have made ugly racist remarks on the program. But where was the outrage at past offenses?

Just last month, McGuirk, in a spoof of poet Maya Angelou, read this little ditty:

Whitey plucked you from the jungle for too many years … took away your pride, your dignity and your spears … into whitey's world you was rudely cast … so wake up now and go to work … you can kiss my big black ass ...

McGuirk recited the "poem" at Imus' urging after the two talked about Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton's speech in Selma, Ala. She tried to "sound black in front of a black audience," the duo claimed, with McGuirk adding: "Bitch is gonna be wearing cornrows … and gold teeth … giving Crips' signs during speeches."

Where was all the fuss last year when Imus referred to the "Jewish management" of CBS Radio as "money-grubbing bastards?" Before being fired in 2005, another member of his morning team, Sid Rosenberg, called black female tennis players Venus and Serena Williams "animals" who should be featured in National Geographic.

Years ago, according to Imus critics, he called PBS's Gwen Ifill a "cleaning lady" and described a black New York Times sports columnist as "a quota hire."

If Rush Limbaugh can play a parody of "Barack, the Magic Negro" to the tune of "Puff, the Magic Dragon" (as he did in mid-March), why can't Imus toss out the occasional "jigaboo?"

What are the guidelines?

Did the "Imus in the Morning" gang go one "nappy-headed ho" comment too far? Maybe they crossed the line when they chose to target student-athletes instead of more well-known political or entertainment figures.

Still, we need those racist, vitriolic voices out there. It's just what America needs to hear.

Folks like Imus and Rush turn up the volume for those who ignore the racism that reverberates in our society.

During his appearance on Sharpton's show, Imus said he's not a racist, but a good man who made a mistake. To emphasize his point, he talked about how 10 percent of the sick children who visit his cattle ranch in New Mexico are black.

"This is not about whether you're a good man," Sharpton countered. "What you said was racist."

"I can't win with you people," Imus said during a testy exchange with Sharpton.

"You people?" Good Lord.

Tell you what, Don, stop apologizing. I hope you survive the storm. We need you, Rush and others out there doing what you do so well.

It's an ugly — but honest — side of the country we need to see more often.

2007-01-20T08:07:00.000-08:00

Racism lives, but influence weakens as time goes on
By Sylvester Brown, Jr.
Originally published in the St. Louis Post-Dispatch
Tuesday, Jan. 16 2007

Sitting atop the domed, 29-story Thomas F. Eagleton U.S. Courthouse downtown, Ray mocked the group marching down Market Street on Monday in honor of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

"We shall ovahcoooommeee. We shall ovahcome, sum da-aaaay!" he sang in a gravelly voice.

Ray absolutely abhors this time of year, when everyone reminisces about King and the civil rights movement. The whole thing repeats in February, during Black History Month, with recollections of slavery, the Jim Crow era, black folks' progress and highfalutin, politically correct talk about "race.

"Yuck! He hated it. All of it. Well … maybe not all of it. Some of the images remind him of his glory days, back when he was stronger, when he influenced most Americans. Heck, some of the "Negroes" even carried protest signs with his name on it: "End Racism Now!"

Ray — he never liked the "ism" at the end of his name — remembered the power he wielded more openly then. It was he, in fact, who told police to unleash slathering dogs and powerful skin-shedding water hoses upon marchers. Alabama Gov. George C. Wallace's declaration in 1963, "Segregation today … segregation tomorrow … segregation forever," were Ray's words. It was he who, in 1964, persuaded Mississippi Klansmen to beat, then fire bullets into the bodies of James Chaney, Michael Schwerner and Andrew Goodman — three naive civil rights activists who thought they could defeat him.

"Whoop, whoop," Ray shouted triumphantly about his past from his perch on high, before lapsing into a violent coughing spell.

He's getting up in age. These days, Ray vacillates from feeling a renewed strength to being sick, weak and obsolete. Is he dying? Sometimes, Ray isn't so sure.

He knows he isn't as popular as he used to be. There was a time he could walk around naked and bare, emboldened by a prideful Southern history and fueled by Northern fear.

Ray has to be more subtle, more discreet now. It saps a great deal of his strength to dress up as a banker, Realtor, employer or cop. He renews himself by hanging out near jails and courthouses, where a fear of criminals in black skin often still trumps equal justice.

Sometimes when his spirit is drained, he particularly enjoys watching "brother shoot brother," those who have digested his venom.

"Keep marchin'! Y'all never gonna beat me," Ray shouted at the King Day celebrants.

He recognized a feebleness in his centuries-old rant. Such weakening had become more evident since 1955. That's when an unassuming seamstress, Rosa Parks, challenged Montgomery's segregated public transit rules. Ray expected Negro grumblings when Parks was arrested for not giving up her bus seat. He didn't, however, expect the full-fledged protest, led by that uppity King, to incite the world.

Martin Luther King Jr. scared Ray then. He still does.

"That King fella and his nonviolent ways changed everything," Ray remembered, shaking his head in disgust. But he'd taken him on anyway. If not for television blasting biased images into everybody's homes, Ray still believes he could have defeated King and his ilk.

"No matter what I threw at him, he just kept comin' and comin' and comin'," Ray spat.

The chants and songs faded as marchers headed into the distance. Ray stood, shaking his fist, cursing maniacally. He again doubled over, coughing, wheezing, feeling dizzy and weak.

"This is it. I'm dying," he thought, feeling frantic. He fell backward, catching himself before sliding off the building. Oddly, he felt better, as though the stainless steel of the dome itself had given him strength.

"Keep marchin'," he moaned weakly. "Y'all never gonna beat me."

Everybody Should Sue Michael Moore

2006-06-05T16:06:00.000-07:00

Let’s all sue Michael Moore. Heck, if Iraqi war veteran Sgt. Peter Damon wins the lawsuit he filed in Boston last month, it’s open season for a bunch of folks.

The Middleboro, Massachusetts veteran claims the Oscar-winning writer/director used a clip of him in the film, "Fahrenheit 9/11," without his permission and misrepresented his feelings about the Iraq war.

The segment featuring Damon at Walter Reed Army Medical Center was taken from a "NBC Nightly News" program about the medical treatment provided to veterans. The National guardsman lost both arms while servicing a Blackhawk helicopter. Damon is shown on a stretcher after U.S. Rep. Jim McDermott, (D-Washington) made what many, including Damon, consider an “anti-Bush” statement: "You know, they say they're not leaving any veterans behind, but they're leaving all kinds of veterans behind."

Damon, who reportedly supports the war and President Bush, said the footage makes it appear as if he‘s “anti-war.” He told reporters that he’s “proud of his service” and “has no regrets at all.” The veteran seeks damages of $25 million, punitive damages of $75 million and additional damages of $75 million. His wife wants another $10 million due to "mental distress and anguish."

I sympathize with Damon. He proudly supports Bush’s Big Democracy Adventure and feels he’s been compensated for his injuries. Then, all of a sudden, BAM!, he finds himself in a controversial film criticizing his core beliefs, while ridiculing his president.

Let’s say I were filmed by a news crew after I’d been robbed and beaten by gang bangers. Now suppose that clip was included in a propaganda film geared to stir up emotions for tougher, anti-gang laws or used in a pro-death penalty documentary. Considering I don’t support either position, I’d be pissed.

But would I have grounds for a lawsuit?

Maybe. If the film's narrator said, “Sylvester Brown wants congress to get tougher on gangs and he supports the death penalty,” that would be a clear misrepresentation of my words and image.

If, however, a director of an anti-crime film used the news clip that shows me bruised and wailing in the background, I don’t think I’d have a legal leg to stand on.

Moore didn’t claim Damon was in anyway disappointed with Bush or the war. Moore used licensed NBC footage. Damon, at best, served as a symbol. As in any other war documentary, no one assumes that the soldiers shown in the footage have a pro or anti-war position, unless the soldier specifically makes such a statement.

I’m sure all the victims shown in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina didn’t blame the Bush administration for the horrific emergency response, but their images solidified that position for millions of us watching the news.

If Damon’s claim has legal merit, then several others appearing in "Fahrenheit 9/11” might want to cash in, too.

First in line should be members of the Saudi royal family and members of the bin Laden klan. Moore’s film reinforces the perception that the Saudis and Bush have a lovey dovey relationship. One of the most damning indictments in the film depicts the Bush administration allowing more than 20 members of the bin Laden family to evacuate the United States immediately after the 9/11 attack.

Who knows, though? Maybe some of Osama’s kinfolk share Moore's views. How dare Moore give the impression that all bin Ladens are cozy with the Bushes?

Sue the bastard.

The author of “The Pet Goat” might have a case, too. People who saw Moore's movie watched as Bush sat in a Florida classroom for seven, long minutes after being told the country was under attack. He just sat there, listening as children read "The Pet Goat." Thanks to Moore, this children's story will forever be associated with the image of a clueless, dumbfounded president in the midst of national catastrophe.

Sounds like grounds for litigation to me.

A CNN clip of singer Britney Spears is also used in the film: “Honestly, I think we should just trust our president in every decision he makes and should just support that, you know, and be faithful in what happens."

Hey, Britney, you should, like, you know, go to court, because you came off, like, you know, a totally disillusioned, gum-chomping airhead.

That lapdog dude shown helping Deputy Defense Secretary Paul Wolfowitz prep for an interview, definitely has a case. What self-respecting woman would ever want to be seen in public with the man who fussed over Wolfowitz as he combed his hair with a saliva-soaked, plastic comb?

Ugggh!

If a jury helps Damon reap millions from his suit, then all the wounded Iraqis shown in the film have a case, too. I'm sure some welcomed the “liberators” and regime change by military force. Heck, Moore made it appear as though some actually suffered from the invasion and mourned the loss of their loved ones.

The cad. They should take Moore to an international court and, like Damon, sue for misrepresention.

It wouldn’t surprise me at all to learn that Damon’s legal team came courtesy of the Bush/Cheney/Rove “Discredit, Defame & Destroy” propaganda machine. The lawsuit has the stench of the same group now seeking to prosecute journalists with the gall to investigate Bush’s many transgressions and wrongdoings.

At the very least, Damon has bought into the right-wing conservative dogma that fuels attacks against 1st Amendment protections.

The suit is not about misrepresenting or misusing a soldier’s image. It’s about maligning and neutering a badass director who brilliantly demonstrates how grossly this administration has misrepresented and misused power.

If a judge or jury rewards Damon’s claim, then every panicked New Yorker, every frustrated Flint Michigan resident, every wounded soldier and everyone pictured in the documentary may as well cash in, too.

It's not a lawsuit motivated by wrong or right. It's another thinly-veiled attempt to silence critics of a corrupt administration that ... to put it bluntly ... simply can't stand Mike.

Ode to My Blog

2006-05-29T09:43:00.000-07:00

(An update, inspired by Hamlet)

To be a blogger, or not to be: that is the question:

Nay, past 30 days and nights, and mine voice remain silent.

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of a columnist who doth not blog or a blogger who doth not columnate.

Serve two masters … a foolish fancy? Perhaps. But a scribe’s dream:

Words without dictate, without limit. Words never to heaven go, but swirl for eternity in the great techno-divide.

O villain, villain, daunting, electronic damn'd villain!

“Build it and they will come, by thousands, by millions, ” words that taunt me still.

Seduced by thy templates, tutorials, promises of hard returns, double returns, FTP paths, HTML tags, RSS syndication and Adsense that made so much sense …

I fell captive to thy temptress’ song.

Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice;
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment until thy hearest from me

Thus was the very ecstasy of love.

O most pernicious .com woman!

Your wild and whirling words seduced so many of my creed.

I was but one of your suitors sent begging for favors:

“Come, visit, ping me, link me, take me home, please, please, please?

But to my mind, though I am native here. I am columnist. Man of local recognition. Words produced for modest, monetary reward. More words, more rewards.

Thus was the motivation of our mad, impetuous affair.

What is't but to be nothing else but mad?

Though this be madness, yet there is method in't.

To grunt and sweat under a weary life. Column by day, blog by night.

Easier to dream. Difficult to live.

Read, write, edit by day. Read, blog, edit by night.

O day and night, but this is wondrous strange!

But to persevere. In obstinate condolement is a course.
Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief;

Dick & George; a parody. Smite thy emperor’s throne. Shaggy hypocrisy laid bare. A walk with Christ, a pox on O’Reilly’s house;

Penniless pearls lost in a sea of more pearls, celebrity muse and pithy, petulant blather.

Oh, leftist lovers, mourners of darkened light and arrogant right, where art thou?

“Come, visit, ping me, link me, take me home, please, please, please?”

To be a blogger, or not to be: that is the question:

Perhaps, to take arms against a sea of troubles, admit thine humanity and render the renegade blogger’s voice to die: to sleep;

For all that live must die,

O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible!
If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not.

Let me not think on't: Frailty, thy name is woman!

Rest, rest, perturbed spirit!

Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution

Press on. Press on. By all means, press on!

To be reborn: that is the answer.

To blog as a columnist; never more.

Shackles of daily habit, tossed aside at dusk.

Brevity is the soul of wit.

If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart,
Absent thee from felicity awhile,
And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain,
Listen, while I speak once again

More matter, with less art. The rest is silence.

Sweets to the sweet: farewell!

By Sylvester Brown, Jr.

(With humble apologies to “the Bard”)

“Decider” House Rules

2006-04-18T20:51:00.000-07:00

"I'm the decider and I decide what's best."

President George W. Bush's words a couple of days ago, stating that he planned to stand firm behind embattled Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld, gave me pause.

“Decider?”

Is that even a word?

Well, if someone who runs is a runner, then someone who spits must be a spitter and someone who decides must, then, be a "decider." I guess we're all "poopers," too?

Really, though, shouldn’t the leader of the most prosperous and advanced nation (though I have my doubts of late) use better ... I don't know ... more "growner upper" words? How about, “I’m a leader and I stand by my decisions" or “I contemplate, then stand by my convictions"?

But "decider?" Really?

Oh well, our “decider” has decided and that’s that. No matter how big the pile of poop he's created gets, Bush says Rumsfeld's done "a fine job" -- kind of like Brownie, I guess. This despite recent charges from the New York-based group Human Rights Watch that Rumsfeld might have been fully aware of the abuses inflicted on at least one prisoner held at Guantanamo Bay. The international human rights group is asking the president to appoint a special prosecutor to investigate Rumsfeld and other senior Pentagon officials.

"The question at this point is not whether Rumsfeld should resign," said Joanne Mariner, HRW's director of terrorism and counter terrorism, "it's whether he should be indicted. A special prosecutor should look carefully at what abuses Rumsfeld either knew of or condoned."

The "Decider is sticking by his man even after six retired military commanders publicly declared Rumsfeld “unfit to lead the nation's military forces” and called for his resignation.

“What's best is for Don Rumsfeld to remain as the secretary of defense," Bush responded in news conferences.

The military critics, as the St. Louis Post-Dispatch pointed out , are not "perfumed Pentagon princes." They’re Marine and Army generals, who unlike Bush and Rumsfeld, have seen up close combat that's taken soldiers' lives.

But, hey, what do those who Bush and Rumsfeld describe as “two or three or four retired people” really know?

Apparently quite a bit. Just listen to NPR host Diane Rehm’s interview Tuesday with Retired Major General John Batiste and other military leaders. Batiste, who specifically retired to speak publicly against Rumsfeld and the poop he and Bush created in Iraq, lays out a succinct argument for the defense secretary’s ouster.

No matter. We abide by “Decider” House Rules these days and that's scary stuff if you allow your mind to dwell on it -- especially considering his response to the question about plans for a nuclear strike against Iran:

"All options are on the table,” the president replied.

What!?

Just how exactly are China, Russia, Germany or any key members of the U.N. Security Council supposed to keep international tensions on low-boil with a trigger-happy “decider,” who's still cowboying through Iraq by the way, blabbering about dropping nukes?

Now, I’m no Condoleeza Rice, but how can Bush expect Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad or North Korea’s Kim Jong-il to quietly abandon their nuclear ambitions when he’s unwilling to take a nuclear option against them off the table.

Haven't our misguided adventures in Iraq convinced enough Americans that the president's simple talk comes with very dangerous consequences? How long was it after Bush uttered the words "axis of evil" that we found ourselves embroiled in the nation-building, democracy-spreading fiasco that is Iraq?

I get nervous when Bush sounds his goofiest. Because while we're laughing, the "Decider" is deciding and nothing ... I mean nothing ... is funny about that.

FUN WITH DICK & GEORGE

2006-04-12T22:23:00.000-07:00

by Sylvester Brown Jr.

"If You're Not Completely Appalled, Then You Haven't Been Paying Attention..."

My wife's bumper sticker speaks volumes about America's response to the capers of the Bush administration, but only partly.

Within the past few months, we've heard about the president's illegal wiretapping program, his efforts to allow takeover of American seaport operations by a state-owned business in the United Arab Emirates, and his recently exposed plot with Britain's Tony Blair to start the war in Iraq even if no WMDs were found.

Then, last week, we learned Bush directed Vice President Cheney to leak classified information (already proven false, by the way) to bolster the case against Iraq. The winking and nodding that insued ultimately exposed a CIA agent, Valerie Plame. Why? To discredit Plame's husband, former ambassador Joseph C. Wilson, who dared to challenge Bush's whopper of a tale about Saddam Hussein's attempts to obtain "yellowcakes," a processed form of natural uranium ore, for his nuclear weapons program.

Are Americans paying attention? Some are, but it seems to make little difference. The Bush crowd figured out a long time ago that the attention span of many Americans lasts about as long as OxyContin in Rush Limbaugh's briefcase. All the administration has to do is deny, deny, deny and sprinkle the debate with a few cliches like "executive privilege" and "war on terror." They then turn to Limbaugh, Ann Coulter and other journalistic prostitutes (those at the FOX News brothel included) to parrot the rhetoric and Presto! our A.D.D.-challenged electorate gets distracted by the pretty, red, white and blue balloons.

It's not like credible information isn't available. Last week's Washington Post article painstakingly laid out how Cheney's former top aide, I. Lewis "Scooter" Libby, followed orders giving select members of the press "select" classified information to discredit Plame's husband. HuffingtonPost Blogger, Larry Johnson, offers an excellent chronology of events that blows away any doubt that the president lied (and kept lying) about the whole sordid Plame affair.

Yet, the masses of voters act as if all is well in the White House. Why? Because "the facts" are more complicated -- the evidence not as visible as a stain on a blue dress.

If Democrats and the so-called "liberal" press ever want to get serious about exposing the president's follies and contradictions, they'll have to find a better, more effective means to communicate. Forget about blogs, mass e-letters and in-depth investigative reports. That's a waste of time with the majority of lazy Red State voters.

Maybe the progressives ought to borrow a tried and true method that helped millions learn the "basics." Maybe it's time to communicate with the uninformed, uninspired voters on another level. Maybe it's time for a simpler approach:

FUN WITH DICK AND GEORGE

Red State Reader Books

CHAPTER ONE

"Come, George, come and see," said Dick.

"What is it, Dick? I can't see," said George.

"Yellowcakes, yellowcakes, see, George, see. See the mean brown man with yellowcake? He wants to blow up the world. We should tell everyone," said Dick. "Every boy and every girl."

"I'll pretend to see," George said. "Will everyone else see, like me?"

"Don't worry, George, we'll make sure they all see what we see," said Dick.

"This is a happy day for me. A happy, happy day," George clapped.

CHAPTER TWO

George was sad. No one believed he saw yellowcakes.

Mean old Joe said there was no such thing.

"George told a lie, lie, lie," Joe told everyone.

Dick was mad at Joe for making George sad. Dick was mad, mad, mad.

"Don't worry, George. I'll stop Joe. You wait and see."

"How?" asked George.

"I'll tell his secret," said Dick. "Then everyone will stop believing Joe and believe you again."

George was afraid. He and Dick were team leaders. They were supposed to play by the rules. Revealing team secrets is wrong, wrong wrong, George thought.

"Oh, no, Dick. If we tell, we might go to jail."

Dick laughed at George.

"Ha, ha, ha. Don't worry George. I will tell Scooter to tell. He will tell. We won't go to jail. Never, never, never! We will never go to jail."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," George said.

CHAPTER THREE

Scooter said, "Come here, Judy."

"Come here, Matt."

"Come here, Bob."

"See, see, see? See what Dick wants you to see?"

"I see," said Judy.

"I see," said Matt.

"Where? Where?" asked Bob.

"Will you tell all the others?" Scooter asked. "Will you all tell?"

"I don't know," answered Matt.

"Pretend I was never here," said Bob and Bob ran away.

"I'll tell, I'll tell," said Judy, happily. "I told everyone about the mean brown man with yellowcakes. I'll tell this, too."

"I will tell everyone what Dick wants us to see. Tell, tell, tell," Judy sang.

CHAPTER FOUR

George was sad. The team found out he and Dick were telling secrets.

Matt had told. Bob had told. Judy went to jail. Scooter might go to jail, too.

George was afraid that he and Dick might get kicked off the team.

He started to cry.

Dick laughed at George.

"Ha, ha, ha. Don't cry George. The team will blame Scooter, not you, not me. Scooter will go to jail but we won't. Never, never, never! We will never go to jail."

Dick gave George a pretzel and let him sit on his lap.

George felt much better.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, Dick," George said.

And George fell fast asleep.

Other Red State Reader Books:

Dick and George Steal an Election (Parts 1 & 2)

Dick and George Go to Church

Dick and George and the Scary Hunting Trip

Dick and George Have Fun With the Constitution

Dick and George Go to Jail

2006-04-06T21:20:00.000-07:00

Rise of the Black Racists?

An interesting phenomenon has occurred in this country over the past 40 years or so.

Back in 1966, a person tagged with the term "racist" more than likely had white skin. Back then, it was the Confederate-flag-waving, civil-rights-loathing, black-skin-hating, KKK, Bull Connor, Gov. George Wallace type who wore the label.

More and more, however, I'm hearing seemingly articulate, professional, high profile white folk casually refer to blacks as "racists."

Just the other day, embattled former House Majority Leader Tom DeLay (R-Texas) called Rep. Cynthia McKinney (D-GA) a racist while threatening to file ethics charges against her. Last month, conservative pundit and syndicated columnist Michelle Malkin dissed a young prodigy, Autum Ashante, after the girl's poem, "White Nationalism Put U In Bondage," made national news.

"Meet the 7-Year- old Racist Poet," Malkin wrote in her March 15th blog. According to Malkin, the child shouldn't be blamed; she's just the product of Black History Month in public schools, separate recruiting programs, and government contracts awarded by race.

"Autum Ashante is the natural offspring of militant multiculturalism and government-sanctioned identity politics. We reap what we sow," Malkin wrote.

I'm assuming everyone with a computer, TV, radio or newspaper has read or heard about Ashante and McKinney. There's definitely room for criticism and defense of both individuals, but I'm not going to wade into those murky waters -- at least not now.

Instead, let's discuss the application of the word "racist." Readers of my column sometimes call me racist. It always puzzles me. Yes, I discuss race relations and hot-topic cultural issues and, at times, I even criticize perceived racist actions, but I don't consider myself a racist.

When did it become racist to talk about race? Can African Americans even be racists? Have we enjoyed so much cultural progression that the word has taken on a generic connotation?

I read quotes from several whites that called McKinney and the young poet racists, but they weren't the only ones. Some blacks did, too.

Maybe the word has been revised. After all, rappers claim they've changed the meaning of the words "pimp," "Ho" and the "N" word. Perhaps whites and a few blacks flipped the script on the "R" word, too.

If so, I missed the memo.

I turned to my nifty desktop dictionary for clarification.

"Racist (noun): The belief that race accounts for differences in human character or ability and that a particular race is superior to others. Discrimination or prejudice based on race."

So, according to the dictionary, blacks can, in fact, be racist. In a practical, historically accurate sense, however, I don't agree.

Racism without power is like a gun without bullets. Sure, blacks can be prejudiced. I'm sure there are many who don't like whites simply because they're white. And, yes, blacks can be racial opportunists. They can certainly use race to advance their careers or cover transgressions. McKinney might be an opportunist and young Ashante may very well be prejudiced, but can they be racists?

I don't think so.

McKinney's and Ashante's actions and words are not powered by slavery, rape, lynching, Jim Crow, and property theft or the denial of basic privileges like home ownership, voting rights, education, civil liberties and the use of public accommodations. Their words are just words. Their "prejudice" lacks bullets.

In my day the definition of a racist was clear. I suspect it still is. Unless, of course, you ignore the history from which the word was born.

2006-04-04T08:32:00.000-07:00

Jesus and the Dead Presidents

He reflected on his father’s orders as he walked down the billowy path.

“Things are out of control down there,” his Father boomed. “Go, choose one to return and straighten things out.”

He absolutely hated going to that room. Some of the occupants were pleasant. Others were enlightened and wise. But most were just so, so … full of themselves. Even here, in this perfect place.

The atmosphere in that place was not at all like his favorite spot, the room of “Peace and Philosophy.” The many years he’d spent there, discussing everything (and nothing) with Plato, Sojourner, Confucius, Gandhi, Aristotle, Nietzsche, Einstein, Curie, King, Teresa and the other “Wise Ones” passed like hours.

Even the crude “Room of Comedy” was far better than that other room, Jesus thought to himself, recalling how the room had livened since Pryor’s arrival. Why, just the other night, he’d helplessly spit a mouthful of wine on Peter and Paul while laughing at Foxx, Hope, Belushi, Skelton, Bruce and Pryor as they engaged in something they kept calling “the Dozens.”

He could already hear quarreling despite the fact that he was yards from the dreaded room. No doubt, some of them were engaged in their usual debate over the same meaningless matters.

He had begged his father not to give these souls their own quarters. After all, on Earth, they were of the same hue and from the same country. How could they possibly attain a higher, more enlightened status if they mingled just amongst themselves? Jesus had asked his Father.

But, no, Yahweh, still very much in favor of “free will” (despite the whole Adam and Eve fiasco), didn’t interfere. When the boisterous ones of the group pleaded for special quarters, his Father granted their wishes.

“Perhaps they’ll learn from each other’s mistakes,” God had told Jesus.

Jesus looked up at the sign hanging above their garish door:

“The White House II,” they’d named it.

“As if that matters here,” Jesus muttered, shaking his head.

“It makes ‘em feel important,” a quiet voice responded. “That’s all that matters to them.”

Jesus, smiled, instantly recognizing the voice of a frequent visitor to the room of “Peace and Philosophy.” He was relieved to find his old friend outside, playfully arranging and rearranging stars.

Perhaps he wouldn’t have to step foot into the ghastly “White House” room after all, Jesus thought with relief.

“Abe,” he gushed. “So good to see you. I need you. Things are in total disarray down below. Allah asked me to choose the most qualified to straighten things out. You’re the perfect ….”

“No,” Lincoln interrupted. “I did my best, Jesus. Really, I did. But things are still the same. One party thinking they’re better than the other. Whites thinking they’re better than blacks and countrymen thinking they’re better than the whole darn world. It’ll take a better man than me to fix what’s going on down there …

“Please, choose someone else,” the lanky, bearded gentleman exclaimed.

“I understand,” Jesus answered, placing his hand on Abe’s shoulder before turning toward the door, which obediently swung open.

The bickering was even louder and more chaotic inside the room. These souls argued daily and loudly about who had had the best, strongest, most expansive, most effective foreign policy, war strategy, domestic agenda or social reform policies. They hadn’t even noticed the Son of God in their midst … until he shouted.

“I NEED ONE OF YOU TO GO BACK AND STRAIGHTEN OUT YOUR COUNTRY!” Jesus yelled through cupped hands.

All heads turned first toward Jesus, then to the balding, pudgy statesman who stood, grabbed his feathered hat and sword and strode slowly toward Jesus.

“I’ve been awaiting your orders, Commander,” Washington said, saluting.

“Once we climbed back in bed with the Brits, chaos was sure to follow. It’s not our fault, you know,” Washington whispered. “It’s the Brits – you can’t trust them.”

America’s first president paused to fasten his red battle vest.

“It’s all part of that Cheshire cat Tony Blair’s little plan to get his grubby little paws around the throats of our broken and battle-tired country. It won’t happen, I tell you. I won’t allow it!”

Teddy Roosevelt pushed Washington aside like a rag doll. “Balderdash,” he shouted. The other presidents parted as Teddy lunged through the crowd, swinging a big wooden stick.

“I’ll go. The world needs a real rough rider, not a mumbling, illiterate pretend cowboy,” Roosevelt thundered. “Give me another swing at it, Jesus. I’ll straighten it out. Real quick like.”

“No, that’s okay … really,” Jesus replied, scanning the room of souls. His eyes rested on a shivering ghost, crouched in a far off corner, cramming jellybeans in his mouth.

“You, there, Ronald. Won’t you go?”

The former actor’s eyes widened. His skin grew pale. “Well … uh … I… c-can’t,” Reagan stammered. “Those, those men … Cheney, Rumsfeld, Wolfowitz, Baker … they scared the bejeebies out of me when I was there. Their empire is even stronger now. Please don’t make me … I -I just can’t face them again. I - I won’t go back, not now … n-not now.”

Richard Nixon stepped up.

“I’m your man, Jesus!” he said dressing his hair with a spit-soaked comb.

“My old party is in control. And GOD … oops … oh … I’m sorry … but haven’t you heard? They’ve LEGALIZED wire-tapping. I was just before my time, you know. Today’s scene is my scene. Please, Lord, send me. Send me.”

“Err ... No,” Jesus replied curtly, turning his back on Nixon.

He briefly glanced at Franklin D. Roosevelt and Harry S. Truman. Both souls dropped their eyes. Jesus knew their hearts. Both were sickened by the acts of man. His Apostles Matthew, Luke and John had told him of the men’s anguished pleas for forgiveness. Truman’s nightmares of the atomic bombs and those charred bodies haunted him still, even now … even in heaven.

Andrew Jackson sat shuffling a deck of cards at a nearby table. When their eyes met, Jackson gave the Son of God a knowing smile. Jesus read his silent thoughts. They angered him.

“No, Andrew! It is out of the question!” Jesus bellowed.

“My Lord, forgive me,” Jackson whispered, “but … but, who else?”

“No, Andrew,” Jesus protested weakly, anticipating the seventh president’s thoughts.

“Great One,” Jackson continued gingerly, “some of us have learned many things here. We know the folly of war and the foolishness of greed and power. But the weapon used now … the tool that motivates the madness, manipulates their fears, unites the uninformed and inspires this chaos is much greater than all of us who call this room home.”

“And what is this all-powerful weapon?” Jesus snapped, already knowing the answer.

“It is You, Great One. They use … YOU … as their weapon,” Jackson replied.

“ENOUGH!” Jesus shouted, rushing out of the room.

How desperately he wanted to dwell quietly in the room of “Peace and Philosophy.” He longed to detour to the “Room of Comedy” – if only to blot out his memories with laughter.

Instead, he walked into the House of Jehovah.

“Well?” God asked his son.

“These men in the White House … Father … They are of no use to us …”

2006-03-29T00:23:00.000-08:00

America's Racial Plight: The New York Times' "New" Old News

If I see, hear or read one more analysis of "what's wrong with black men," I'm gonna, I'm gonna ...

Erik Eckholm's piece, "Plight Deepens for Black Men..." which ran in The New York Times, raised quite a media stir. Using data from recent studies, Eckholm concluded that young black men have fallen further behind in education and jobs -- despite burgeoning opportunities of the past two decades.

Media outlets wasted no time trotting out black pundits, activists, commentators and other members of the black "intelligentsia" to explain the dire statistics to the rest of us.

America has this strange little psychological game it plays when it comes to race matters. We talk, discuss, debate, and mostly ignore it, for decades and then stand sincerely aghast when the problem doesn't fix itself.

Way back in 1899, black scholar Dr. W.E.B. Du Bois predicted crime and chaos among the black underclass. The legacy of slavery, unemployment and the inability to receive fair treatment in the criminal justice system, were some of the factors Du Bois attributed to black crime and despair.

Although Eckholm's piece wasn't really "new" news, it still stunned many whites:

"What, 50 percent of inner-city blacks don't finish high school?"

"You mean to tell me 72 percent of 20-year-old black male dropouts are now jobless?"

And ... "Gee, Wally, half of the 20-year-old black men with high school diplomas, are jobless, too?"

"Really? Incarceration rates are still climbing for blacks in these times of opportunity?"

Professional, well-informed blacks address these questions with gusto, as if they were seriously helping America sift through some complicated, newly discovered data.

"It's Bush's fault," some have said. Others blame racism, parents, rappers, drugs ... on and on they go ...

Consider this past Friday night as I sat with my wife and mother-in-law thoroughly enjoying Bill Maher's HBO program, "Real Time." His guests included reporter Michael Ware, actor Jason Alexander, author Reza Aslan and Georgia Rep. Jack Kingston. Before the program ended, talk show host Tavis Smiley popped in for a satellite interview. After exchanging a few niceties, Maher brought up the Times piece and asked Smiley the "what's wrong with black men" question.

Smiley gave seasoned and informed responses. I'm not sure I could have pulled it off as well. Of course, blacks, like everyone else, need a little push. We should all parent better, mentor more and become even more involved in the lives of young African Americans. But, I mean, really, how many times can we talk about a problem without really addressing it? How's anybody, who is remotely clear on history, poverty and the criminal justice system, supposed to pretend that the "black man's plight" is a new or unpredictable phenomenon?

How do people like Smiley keep a straight face when whites act as if some out-of-this-world intervention is necessary to address an age-old American dilemma?

"What should America do about violent black gang members and murderers?" many ask.

Oh, I don't know, how about the same thing we did with the murderous Irish and Italian gangs of the 1900s and 1920s? Why treat black crime like it's a new, foreign form of crime? The same poverty, unemployment, selfishness and hopelessness that fueled the violent gangs of New York, Chicago, St. Louis and other cities, still exist today.

Maher, among others, blame hip-hop and the gangsta' mentality. "Isn't that really the problem?" they ask.

Gee, lemme see ... Kids are raised with gory slasher films, Jerry Springer, "Elimidate," and "Terminator" movies in homes of divorce and materialistic values. Yet, somehow, rap music has this strange, overpowering effect on black kids? This despite the fact that white kids religiously support the genre as well?

But, for sake of argument, let's say it is rap. What should we do?

Probably the same thing we did when America's youth in the '30s and '40s idolized the Hollywood gangster and thug images. Just as Tinsel town countered negative gangster films with positive, pro-justice flicks about G-Men and FBI agents, America could flip the script on rap.

What if the millions who criticize negative rap fought back by purchasing music by positive, uplifting rappers? I'm guessing the industry would cater to consumer demand -- that's if consumers demanded it, of course.

Young rappers model themselves after real and Hollywood gangsters. Let's face it, gangs are as synonymous with America as Rock and Roll.

What did we do to stop the gangland slaughters of Capone, Dillenger, hit man Bugsy Siegel and other Mafia types? For one thing, we made the illegal liquor business legal when America ended the farce of prohibition. Maybe there's a lesson to be learned as it relates to the illegal drug trade? Hey, I'm just sayin'...

Opportunity played a big part, too. The Italian, Irish and other European immigrants were allowed to integrate into America's economic and social systems. This while the country legally denied blacks basic rights until they gained quasi-freedom in the late 1960s.

It's a little premature to expect blacks to overcome segregation, degradation and decades of cultural, economic and social retardation in as little as 40 years. The "plight" of Black men is a byproduct of America's unfinished business.

Eckholm prompts even the well-intentioned to ask, "Why are so many young black men in jail?"

Well ... simply put, we keep putting them there.

America sends more black men to prison than college. Why? Because that's what we've always done. We have a criminal justice system geared to house, feed and contain people, so we use it -- liberally, it seems, as it pertains to young black males.

How many more studies do we need before it sinks in that it's not such a good idea to lock up 25 percent of any male demographic -- as misguided as they may well be?

We know race is involved. We know that prosecutors will throw young black "LeRoy" and "LeShawn" behind bars quicker, and at a younger age, than they do young, white "Bobby" and "Bertrand," even if they have committed the same crime.

Six years ago, the Leadership Conference on Civil Rights published a report, "Justice On Trial: Racial Disparities in the American Criminal Justice System," warning that racial disparity in the criminal justice system is the most profound civil rights crisis of the century.

"...In one critical arena -- criminal justice -- racial inequality is growing, not receding. Our criminal laws, while facially neutral, are enforced in a manner that is massively and pervasively biased," the study stressed. "The injustices of the criminal justice system threaten to render irrelevant fifty years of hard-fought civil rights progress."

It costs more to send and keep kids in prison than it does to send them to trade schools or community colleges. Instead of investing so much of our tax resources on the back end (the incarceration end) why not invest on the front end? Jump on young LeRoy's problems as soon as they surface. And what does LeRoy need? Clothes, tutoring, mentoring, food ... tough love?

Jump on it.

Sure, it'll cost a lot more in time and energy, but the investment would pay off in the long run.

Instead of tossing young black drug abusers and dealers into prison where they'll become old drug dealers and abusers, why not create real federally funded educational facilities where prisoners earn high school diplomas and learn real trades for the real world?

Here's a crazy notion: Give tax breaks, subsidies and federal contracts to businesses that employ or sub-contract to these newly-trained ex-cons. Just as F.D.R.'s Public Works program provided dignity and experience in the post-Depression era, a new deal-inspired program would stop many black males from becoming dire statistics. Such efforts would be well buoyed by a community's commitment to buy the products or services of these participating businesses.

Radical? Not in the least. This is but one of many serious reclamation projects that could be instituted if Americans were serious about the plight of young black males. History has provided numerous examples to follow. We could fix this problem. We already know how. It's time we stop reporting the obvious, feigning surprise and trotting out black commentators to gingerly interpret what we already know.

2006-03-20T19:49:00.000-08:00

Leave O'Reilly Alone ... He's Just Crazy

I remember a drunken, seemingly deranged bum in my old neighborhood who walked around with soiled pants, talking to himself and cursing anybody and everybody who crossed his path.

If my mother caught her kids laughing at the bum, she'd scold us, "Leave that man alone. Can't you see he's crazy?"

Fox's million-dollar blabbermouth, Bill O'Reilly, reminds me of that neighborhood lush. Perhaps we "liberals" ought to leave him alone, too. After all ... he's just crazy.

There's no better explanation for the man's behavior. Last year in January, as a guest on his program, "The O'Reilly Factor," I told the host that the "liberal" media commentators he criticizes, rarely resort to the type of name-calling and insults he does on his show.

"That's not true," O'Reilly countered, adding that he never calls people names.

I had just heard O'Reilly call California Senator Barbara Boxer a "nut" and her constituents "loons" on his radio show days before our interview. So, there I sat, in front of millions of his viewers, trying to convince a soggy alcoholic that he'd again peed his pants.

After labeling me a "fraud," O'Reilly promised to check his transcripts. He wagered a dinner at Tony's, a posh restaurant here in St. Louis, if my accusations about Boxer turned out to be true.

The next day, Media Matters for America posted several of O'Reilly's personal attacks (mediamatters.).

"Brown was right and I was wrong ..." O'Reilly begrudgingly admitted on his program that night. Of course, he reneged on the dinner bet by changing the focus of our debate.

I was still a "fraud," O'Reilly maintained because I use "Media Matters' stuff all the time ... they just feed it to him, and he prints it."

Whatever, Bill.

After pointing out in my column that O'Reilly was "spinning" his way out of his own wager, I let the matter go. I held on to a naive notion that the huge slice of humble pie O'Reilly was forced to swallow might help him come to grips with his long history of casting disparaging zingers.

Silly me.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I listened to O'Reilly's debate with former M.A.S.H. star and activist Mike Farrell late last month. Farrell commented that O'Reilly had gained credibility due to his style of "personal attacks."

"No, I don't do personal attacks here, mister," O'Reilly responded authoritatively (mediamatters).

Media Matters busted O'Reilly again, this time with a video montage of his greatest put-downs. On the tape, O'Reilly described Media Matters as "vile, despicable ankle-biters" who use his words "out of context" then "feeds stuff to the mainstream media to discredit" him.

I then wrote in my column that O'Reilly, other conservative pundits and even the president tend to blame the media when things aren't going their way.
During his March 17 television show, O'Reilly lashed out at actors Susan Sarandon, George Clooney, Senator Russ Feingold and other "ultra-liberal" members of the "Kool-Aid left." I was among those included in the "personal attack:"

"Fanatical, progressive columnist Sylvester Brown," who writes for the "liberal St. Louis Post-Dispatch," took "information from a far-left smear website, which routinely distorts comments from anyone the site doesn't like."

The fact that I print "dishonest garbage" says "a lot about" me and the Post-Dispatch, O'Reilly continued. The "tens of millions of people" who watch or listen to his shows, know I'm "distorting the truth," he claimed. "Just as they know the far-left smear websites are in business to injure rather than inform." (mediamatters)

Whatever, Bill.

It used to be fun catching O'Reilly in his own lies. But now ... well, it's just sad. I mean, he must see himself on video or read his own transcripts that clearly prove he routinely engages in personal attacks.

I just don't get it. It's not a sin to publicly diss your opponents. I'd be a fool to deny calling O'Reilly "crazy," knowing darn well the statement is right here with my name attached.

Why doesn't O'Reilly just fess up? He could say it's part of his schtick, a byproduct of his passionate positions, or he could blame it on his birthplace, New York. "Hey, we New Yorkers insult people -- fughedaboutit!"

But, no. Like the soiled, cantankerous drunk who blames the bottle for his condition, O'Reilly invites ridicule when he denies, dodges and responds with paranoid proclamations that the "liberal" media and "smear web sites" are out to get him.

It used to be fun exposing Fox's biggest windbag but now, after realizing O'Reilly is stuck in the permanent spin zone of manic denial and manufactured enemies, well, it's just sorta sad.

The Shaggy Administration

2006-02-23T22:57:00.000-08:00

Remember the hit reggae song, “It Wasn’t Me,” from a couple of years ago?

To be a true player you have to know how to play …
Never admit to a word when she say
And if she make a claim, tell her baby “no way!”

But she caught me on the counter (it wasn't me)
Saw me banging on the sofa (it wasn't me)
I even had her in the shower (it wasn't me)
She even caught me on camera (it wasn't me) …

Yeah, that one, by Shaggy.

Kind of reminds me of president Bush’s leadership style.

No, I’m not talking about his excuses for launching a costly, non-winnable war. Everyone knows by now it wasn’t the president’s fault when he told the world Saddam was a chemical and nuclear arms–building, America-hating, Al-Qaida -training, madman intent on world domination.

Bush was operating on the same “faulty intelligence” as the CIA, FBI, Congress, and every other country in the world that didn’t push for the invasion of a sovereign country and the removal of its leader.

No, that’s old news.

I’m talking fresh, new, just-last-week news that the president had no knowledge of his administration’s most recent controversial actions.

(it wasn’t me)

The day after Bush’s “State of the Union Address,” his energy department cut $28 million from its primary renewable energy laboratory in Colorado. Let’s remember that this cut came on the heels of the former oil pusher’s promise to help “addicted Americans” get the petroleum monkey off their backs.

The laboratory researched alternative energy like solar and wind power and ethanol from plants – you know, the sort of stuff Bush promised to fund in his speech.

Due to the budget cuts, the lab laid off 32 workers. As divine irony would have it, the president was scheduled to visit the lab recently. Quick, fast and in a hurry, the Energy Department transferred $5 million back into the laboratory's budget and the 32 employees were reinstated -- but not in time for the president’s appearance.

(it wasn’t me)

His administration sent "mixed signals" to the Energy Department, the president said.

Just days later, the White House told reporters Bush was unaware of the pending sale of shipping operations to a state-owned United Arab Emirates business. The $6.8 billion sale of six major U.S. seaports had already been approved by his administration, a White House spokesman told reporters.

Bush staunchly defends the deal, but faced with backlash from Democrats and rebellion from within his own party, his “wasn’t me” defense gives him just enough wiggle room if the whole smelly deal winds up swirling down the toilet.

You’d think the American people would be bored with Bush’s tired song:

The spiteful, partisan outing of a CIA agent …

“To be a true player you have to know how to play …”

Secret memos detailing plans to build “crisis” for war …

“Never admit to a word when she say…”

Planting a porn star playing a reporter in the White House press corp.…

“… tell her baby “no way!”

Torturing and sexual humiliation of Abu Ghraib detainees …

(it wasn't me)

Insensitive, inept management of Hurricane Katrina relief …

(it wasn't me)

In one of my columns last year, I compared the country’s love affair with Bush to one of the comedy routines of the late, great Richard Pryor. Pryor told a story of a woman, so in love with her man, that even after catching him in bed with another woman, she was persuaded to believe he did nothing wrong.

"Who you gonna believe? Me or your lying eyes?" the man asked.

The “wasn’t me” line provides love-struck Americans a way to deny their “lying eyes” despite the obvious indiscretions of this shaggy administration.

Like the disillusioned lover, I guess we deserve what we get. As my elders used to say, if you lie down with (shaggy) dogs, you better expect some fleas.