Trump Blues

Collude, Collude, Collude

Be rude, be rude, be rude

Collusion is such confusion

But conspiracy is clear as day.

When your lawyer and your manager

Both get pinned on eight counts each

You can bet your bottom dollar

That you’re next, not out of reach

The blue wave is upon you

And Mueller’s just off-stage

So, nothing could save you

Not stupidity nor your rage

Collude, Collude, Collude

Be rude, be rude, be rude

Collusion is such confusion

But conspiracy is clear as day.

Fake news will tell the story

Of you and all your glory

Your money won’t mean nothin’

In a cell with your new husband.

Now, Putin might get jealous

And send some of his fellas

But that won’t mean a thing

When your buddies start to sing.

Collude, Collude, Collude

Be rude, be rude, be rude

Collusion is such confusion

But conspiracy is clear as day.

Now, all those little babies

That you stole from Mexico

Will be the ones to judge you

At the courthouse of your trial.

All the generals and the soldiers

Know you don’t deserve a parade

‘Cause you’re a 5-time draft dodger

Your M.O. has been made.

Collude, Collude, Collude

Be rude, be rude, be rude

Collusion is such confusion

But conspiracy is clear as day.

Your mouth is like a toilet

Spitting insults all around

But Manafort and Cohen

Are about to bring you down

Who knew a gallant sistah

From a Youngstown housing project

Would be the one to fix ya

Put the noose around your neck

Omarosa got the goods on ya

With the N-word and such

You had no idea she was on your case

Cause you were out of touch

She might have been a low-life

She might have been a dog

But she got you in the gizzard

Like a bullfrog on a log

Collude, Collude, Collude

Be rude, be rude, be rude

Collusion is such confusion

But conspiracy is clear as day.

You tweeted at midnight

And early in the morn

Your BS was your downfall

Since the day you were born

You tweeted about a witch hunt

And said it was a shame

But they caught five wizards

Calling out your name

Cohen, Flynn, Papadopoulos

Manafort and Gates

Were all your main men

And you’re next, just you wait!

Collude, Collude, Collude

Be rude, be rude, be rude

Collusion is such confusion

But conspiracy is clear as day.

Kellyanne and Sarah Huckabee

Can defend you all day long

But your lies are gonna get you

Cause we all know you were wrong

Wrong to defend the Nazis

White supremacists and the like

Wrong to kidnap babies

From their mothers out of sight

Wrong to call war heroes

Only victims of their fall

Wrong to call newscasters

Enemies of us all

Collude, Collude, Collude

Be rude, be rude, be rude

Collusion is such confusion

But conspiracy is clear as day.

Now, yo’ mama and yo’ sister

And yo’ daughters and your wives

Sure could not like you grabbin’ pussies

And disrupting women’s lives

You’re a bully and a despot

Who cares less about us folks

That’s why we wrote these Trump blues

Cause you’re actions are no joke.

Collude, Collude, Collude

Be rude, be rude, be rude

Collusion is such confusion

But conspiracy is clear as day.

 

©2018 Joan Cartwright and Sandra Kaye

 

My Song for Our America– a Poetic Essay

He that hath an ear, let him hear THIS!

Ramblingroz's Blog

I don’t call myself a poet, but yet I occasionally will write a poem. In honor of National Poetry Month, I will be publishing one or two of my works, and a couple of my daughter’s pieces (she IS a poet!).

This first submission is a spoken word piece I wrote for a show I performed in with my fellow Atlanta Drama Queens called Eclectic Noirisms or something like that, at Late Night at the Academy Theatre in Avondale, GA,  back in 2007.

Enjoy!

Roz

Glorify with me all the  bravests, greatests and firsts

Paid with turned backs,  exhile, stripped medals and other inexplicable hurts.

We’ve finished up King’s memorial,, now let’s go on to the next.

Put statues in D.C. of David Walker, Harriet Tubman, Ida B. Wells, and, yes, Malcolm X.

I want national memorials for Colonels Tye, Turner and Brown

In fact ALL the fearless freedom fighters wh0 dared to take evil…

View original post 755 more words

“Summertime” – It’s Meaning

Too many women of every race sing the most well-known song from the opera “Porgy and Bess“,  “Summertime” with no understanding that George Gershwin wrote it for a BLACK WOMAN SLAVE holding a white child telling him/her that everything is gonna be alright cause ‘your daddy’s rich and your MAMA’S GOOD LOOKIN”, while she’s breast feeding this child and cannot even FEED her own chillun’ or her chillun’ have been sold to the plantation owner 100 miles away and she may never see them again.

It’s a bitter pill to swallow and there’s absolutely nothing to be done about it. What’s your opinion? And please don’t tell me to just let it go!!! It’s an abomination and I must express my disgust.

Watch this video.

Responses:

I’ll bet most people don’t know this.  I didn’t.  I tried to research it to put on my Facebook page to enlighten people but could not find anything about why DuBose Heyward wrote the lyrics.  If you have a reference send it to me so I can disseminate it to our Conductors for them to circulate.  We are so ignorant of our history and that is done deliberately on the part of whites.  I remember reading the book, Black History, Lost, Stolen or Strayed. White folks know that without knowledge of our history, we are at a disadvantage.

HB

In response to HB:

Dianne Reeves made a seething comment about this song in her rendition of it. I heard her sing it live in Montreux, Switzerland, in the 1990s. That’s when my mind was opened to the true meaning of the song.  In this video does it sound like she’s singing a lullabye? Certainly, her reference to Oshun, the Yoraba Orisha has NOTHING to do with Gershwin’s interpretation.

We have to make certain assumptions about the song “Summertime” written by George Gershwin for the Broadway play or opera “Porgy and Bess” with lyrics by DuBose Heyward. If it’s a lullabye sung by a black woman, during slavery time, or shortly thereafter, there is NO WAY she is singing about her own husband being RICH. She must be referring to a white child’s father. And, of course, “your Ma is good lookin'” written by a white man was not referring to a black woman because the standard for good looking women was, of course, a white woman.

Heyward’s inspiration for the lyrics was the southern folk spiritual-lullaby All My Trials, of which he had Clara sing a snippet in his playPorgy.[8][9] While in his own description, Gershwin did not use any previously composed spirituals in his opera, Summertime is often considered an adaptation of the Afro-American spiritual Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child, which ended the play version ofPorgy.[9][10][11] Alternatively, the song has been proposed as an amalgamation of that spiritual and the South-Russian Yiddish lullabyPipi-pipipee.[12] The Ukrainian-Canadian composer and singer Alexis Kochan has suggested that some part of Gershwin’s inspiration may have come from having heard the Ukrainian lullaby, Oi Khodyt Son Kolo Vikon (A Dream Passes By The Windows) at a New York City performance by Oleksander Koshetz’s Ukrainian National Chorus in 1929 (or 1926). [http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Summertime_(song)]

Did you see this article about the opera?
http://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/Summertime-for-George-Gershwin.html?c=y&page=2

It is my contention that other people cannot tell MY story. Likewise, this reporter, Dan Sax, said “its depiction of black life by…white men” was met with “African-American opposition” (p. 2)
_____________________________

I agree with you. I cringe when black women sing it without understanding the role. This particular version is not memorable. Maybe this is an issue you could take up from a point of view of history, and find a way to make it an area for discussion in the hopefully global atmosphere of your upcoming conference. You are an organization that deals with the history of women in the business..This is an extension of that history–and remember these other “races” singing this piece probably don’t even know that Gershwin left behind instructions that the role in the play must never be sung by anyone other than a black woman.  That may be a fragment of a fact–it could be that the entire cast has to be black–I’m not sure. In a workshop, that little detail you mention is a part of understanding what you should know in order to put the song ‘over’. I’m the wrong one to ask you to “let it go”. It’s part of the education process to discuss this with our younger sisters, and you do know two young black sisters brought “Porgy and Bess” back to Broadway just this past year, Susan Lori Parks and Dierdre Murray, playwright and musician,respectively. So the issue is timely.

BHB

To BHB:  Thanks for the words of enlightenment and encouragement. Truth is Light and it will set you FREE!

JC

Blues plus Jazz equals Cotton

Read: A HISTORY OF AFRICAN AMERICAN JAZZ AND BLUES

TALKIN’ THAT JAZZ
Joan Cartwright

It’s still a soul song.
It’s still a soul song.
It’s still a soul song.
It’s still a soul song.
It’s still a soul song.
It’s still a soul song.
It’s still a soul song.
It’s still a soul song.

Bebop off beat with sweet jingles
Hip hop cold beats and street lingo
Conductor pace set big band on time
DJ MC hype man gone shine

From Stacey’s to shell toes
Straight A’s to dope rhymes
Kool Herc to King Cole
Ice Tea to Eckstein
Player Daddyo
Break beats broken time
Pork pies and kango
Whodini to Earl Hines

Uptown Harlem at Minton’s in Manhattan
Is where the cats would improvise while other cats were scattin’
Then it moved downtown where upper classes hung out
To listen to the hep cats talkin’ that jazz

And in the fifties the lingo crossed the water
To Berlin and to Paree where a Baron’s daughter
Understood the story spoken in all blue notes
Fast notes, hot notes, soundin’ like some new notes

The music was a smash hit and such a sensation
It traveled ‘round the world receiving thunderous ovations
It soon became a language that everyone could dig
Because the beat is so hip when they’re talkin’ that jazz

At 7, I discovered I was imitating Ella
And making sounds like Hendricks, boy, was he a swingin’ fella
By 17, I dreamt of singing with my own band
And talkin’ that jazz in far exotic lands

Then it finally happened, I vacated Manhattan
And took a trip to Europe where all the cats were scattin’
I said, “Arrivederci,” to my friends in the city
And, “Comment ces’t va,” a mes amis nouveaux en France

It soon became apparent that language was a must
I had to talk to people. Boy, did I feel like a clutz.
But they could understand me ‘cause I could talk that jazz
And life on Earth was really not so bad

And now I go a trav’lin’, a singin’ and a croonin’
A bluesin’ and a croonin’, happy as a loonin’
To propogate the music, I make the razzmatazz
I’m walkin’ and a squawkin’ and a talkin’ that jazz

Listen to the hep cats talkin’ that jazz
Fast notes, hot notes, soundin’ like some new notes
The beat is so hip when we’re talkin’ that jazz
The beat is so hip when we’re talkin’ that jazz

Fast notes, hot notes, soundin’ like some new notes
The beat is so hip when we’re talkin’ that jazz

I AM the lucky ONE!

They've moved on!

After five days of reflecting on the suicides of Michael Jackson, Don Cornelius and Whitney Houston, the email message below prompted me to write down my feelings.  Please read this message, then see my response at the bottom.

Diva JC

ON WHITNEY HOUSTON

If we know anything about the entertainment industry, especially music business, it’s a very ruthless, cut throat, bordering on criminal environment, in spite of the number of success stories associated with it.

Most entertainers that navigate the entertainment business are probably tough enough to abide the criminals and the inhuman demands.  But some entertainers are not tough enough and should be protected from the ravishes of that business.

And then there are those entertainers who are just plain tender and who, though they may project bravado in the public arena, are really collapsing in their personal arena.  Whitney Houston was tender.  Michael Jackson was tender.  Marvin Gaye was tender.  Jimi Hendrix was tender.  Billy Holiday was tender.  And their tenderness is understood or misunderstood buy the outside world only when their tenderness is exposed. And nothing exposes the tenderness of these artists like the results of being unable to handle the use of drugs and stimulants.

For decades I’ve understood and raged about how well-connected, usually Jewish, white male producers, with a huge pool of talent to choose from, will “discover” a nonwhite talent and make millions, and in recent times, make hundreds of millions of dollars by controlling their “product”.

Yes, business is business, and like all markets, the music business has its particular rules and practices, but the participation of nonwhite artists in that business, business controlled by white criminals, is of deeper significance.

First of all, the bottom line is that the music industry in America, since the era of minstrel shows, has essentially commercialized our pain.  It is the pain of our existence that produces the pain expressed in our music. Even gospel music, which was born of the same chords and strains as the blues, is music of pain, if for no other reason than the nonwhite church for centuries has served as a massive reservoir for the pain of our people. This was the legacy infused in every note of Whitney Houston’s melodies.

So when white producers, along with the entertainment industry, banks and all, in the name of “good” business, commercializes the pain of nonwhite people, they essentially are saying: “We will have your art, in fact, we will take your art, but you can keep the conditions and the history that produces your art.” 

In the end, the entertainment industry, by its business practice, slyly sidesteps any obligation to do something about the injustice that they uncover in the process of ferreting out nonwhite talent.  In fact, music moguls thus have a disincentive to address the injustice that they see when addressing it might alter the conditions that produced their “product” in the first place.

Meanwhile, music moguls, with their array of award shows, become filthy rich in the process, diversifying their portfolios in unrelated markets.  For example, I would not be alarmed to learn that much of Israel’s financial support is derived from the commercialization of our music.

Anyway, there is probably some good to come out of this.  When I hear Asian performers rendering Whitney Houston or John Coltrane or Jimi Hendrix (they can’t quite get James Brown or Aretha Franklin yet) I am made aware of the greater purpose of nonwhite people of African descent in America.  Fittingly, for the sake of the point I am making here, music, like all art, is truly a universal language; it is understood and is capable of transmitting information much more readily than tongues.

That being the case, the globalization of our music, though done so via commercial enterprise, is an indication of the role we have played and continue to play in the unfolding circumstances of human development.

For thousands of years, human intelligence has known of the cyclical convergence of consciousness that takes place in human existence.  Such a cyclical change is upon us as I write.  So much that it becomes clear that the thrust of our people to freedom and justice in America is indeed the spearhead of a larger thrust for freedom and justice by the entire human family, and our music is a deeply connecting element in the course of human evolution.

R.I.P. Whitney.  You did your part.

France Jackson

_____________________________________

First, I commend France Jackson for taking the time and energy to think about this subject, write about it and distribute it to those of us in cyberspace who received it.  That being said, I’m prone to disagree that some entertainers are “tough”, while others are “tender”.  I believe we all have toughness and tenderness.  Not one of us, even the most vile criminal is tough all the time.  Toughness comes from being tender and learning to fend off insane actions committed by others.

All of the entertainers France mentioned – Whitney Houston, Michael Jackson, John Coltrane, Jimi Hendrix, Marvin Gaye and Billie Holiday – fought their own demons, created by drug addiction.  They lost the fight, all before the age of 50.

Consider this:  Each of these performers, except Don Cornelius, agreed to reincarnate to bring their musical talents to humanity on one condition – that they would be dead by 50. Cornelius was 72.

I contend that most human beings have the wrong idea about death.  I think it’s like graduation from high school or college.  Once you get the lesson, you are free to move on up to the next level.  However, one psychologist disagrees with me.  She feels that suicide is not a healthy action and that people prone to killing themselves can be helped.  I don’t think so. If that were true, surely one of these stars’ mother, father, brother, sister, aunt, uncle, cousin, husband, wife, girlfriend, boyfriend, child, god child, best friend, manager, producer or someone in their circle could have save them.

I think, like Jesus Christ, Joan of Arc and Martin Luther King, we each have a destiny, a time to be born and a time to die and nothing nor any one can alter that  occasion.  Every soldier that picked up a weapon and charged toward the enemy is suicidal. People who smoke and drink are suicidal.  People who overeat are suicidal. People like Evel Knievel born Robert Craig Knievel, an American daredevil and entertainer was suicidal, just like every race car driver, skydiver, fire fighter, police officer, coal miner, window washer of skyscrapers – every person that takes a risk to get anything accomplished, which, by the way, includes drug dealers and pimps, who know that what they are doing is downright dangerous.  Let’s not forget that every woman who gives birth to another human being puts her life in jeopardy for nine months and the moment of child birth is a very sensitive one.

On the issue of “white producers, along with the entertainment industry, banks and all, in the name of ‘good’ business, commercializing the pain of nonwhite people,” I published a book entitled, A HISTORY OF AFRICAN AMERICAN JAZZ AND BLUES that spells out the reasons why this music makes millions for Europeans and Euro-Americans, while African Americans reap paultry profits from their cultural production.  The problem is that most people, particularly African Americans, are not interested in hearing what I have to say.

My final analysis leads me to believe that I AM the lucky ONE!  A veteran of the stage, since the age of four, I reached my 64th birthday unscathed.  I had violent and abusive marriages and relationships.  I encountered drugs and alcohol but managed to stave off addiction.  My heart was broken by lovers, children, grandchildren, friends and enemies.  I was overlooked as a singer and musician, while those with far less talent rose to the top, only to fall flat on their face or die senselessly.  And I’ve survived.  Only last night, I sang at a black-owned restaurant in Miami and taught an entire group of young people about Ella Fitzgerald and Billie Holiday.

No, I don’t own a mansion in New Jersey or L.A.

No, I don’t get tons of royalties from the 60+ songs I’ve composed, performed and recorded.

No, I don’t have millions of dollars in the bank (not saying that I won’t in months to come)!

But I am still alive.  I’m still in the game.  I’m still in the running for fame and fortune that we all seem to think we deserve.

I survived being punched in the face by a man who was in this country illegally, using me and my kids as his cover.

I survived near-death car accidents.

I survived a tumor in my uterus.

I survived friends like Freddie Hubbard who recorded my song “Sweet Return” and lots of people who said I didn’t have any talent but their enterprise went south, while mine prevails.

I AM THE LUCKY ONE!  None of my children are drug addicts, dealers, pimps, thieves, murderers or con artists.

I lived long enough to see a black couple in the White House.

I survived every airplane flight I’ve ever taken.

I survived a Carnival Caribbean cruise, not long before the sinking of the  Costa Concordia cruise ship in Italy.

I AM THE LUCKY ONE! And I’m happy to report that I appreciate living as long as I have and, if I’m even luckier, I’ll live as long as my father who will be 93 on May 7, 2012, and has a wife more than half his age!

For me, the key to life is recognizing that you are blessed and appreciating what you have, who you are and the people around you.

Yes, it’s true that Michael, Whitney, Marvin and Billie had scoundrels around them but I truly believe making their transition at such an early age was a choice they made BEFORE they ever stepped foot upon this Earth! They are all angels, now!

What do you think?

Diva JC

www.joancartwright.com

____________________________________

This is a remark sent by Javier Bailey

I want all of my FB Family to know that the death and demise of Whitney Houston, Michael Jackson, and many others is no coincidence. I am not saying that there was any conspiracy. However I want all of you to know that the music industry and the gangsters that run the industry, reach down into our churches, neighborhoods, and schools, and extract our best and brightest; then they introduce them to money and drugs, and a lifestyle that is totally destructive. They provide no protections for them and will dump them as soon as the money stops flowing.

Pro athletes started unions in order to give themselves some protections, but artists in music and film are sheep for the slaughter. The death of these icons is evidence of what happens when the money no longer flows from their works. The industry allows them to kill themselves so that they don’t have to continue paying out their contracts. Prince, Public Enemy, Sly Stone and others have revolted and refused to work for the major labels. Just take a look at what I am telling you and you will find that when an artist stops producing a cash-flow for the big labels, somehow that artists ends up getting prescription drugs from some industry supported doctors , and eventually the artist find death around the corner.

I AM AUTHOR

In my twenties, thirties and forties, I held authors in the highest esteem. I wondered why there were so many books. In my fifties, I began to understand that everyone has a story to tell and that’s why there are so many books. Some people have multiple stories to tell, thus, increasing the size of the Universal Library.

In 2003, I moved from Florida to Georgia and, in 2004, I began compiling my poetry and memoirs. For 13 months, I wrote my first book IN PURSUIT OF A MELODY, which includes my memoirs, photographs, poetry, songs and two lectures. That book was published at TRAFFORD in Canada.

In 2006, I spent 5 months in China and Japan. When I returned to Georgia, I knew it was not the place for me, so I returned to South Florida. By the end of 2007, I was teaching 8th grade Music at a charter school. But I was laid off in January 2008. I received unemployment compensation for the remainder of the year and discovered www.lulu.com online.

***
I republished my first book there and broke out the poetry into three books; the song book; Amazing Musiwomen; and So, You Want To Be A Singer?

Today, all of my books are available in soft and hard cover format, as well as ebooks. This is my book store.

***

It has been my supreme pleasure to teach children about the Amazing Musicwomen who brought blues and jazz music to the forefront of American society and abroad! Also, I have taught students about the intricacies of the Music Business.


Through a grant from BankAtlantic to my non-profit organization, I was able to visit summer camps at three elementary schools to present my children’s songs.

  

Many  of my songs have been recorded on CDs by my group Jazz Hotline and by other artists like Freddie Hubbard and Sandy Patton. My CDs are available at www.cdbaby.com/jcartwright and www.cdbaby.com/jcartwright2
   

I’ve taught others how to write and publish their books:

Jackie Rodriguez and Joshua Kassar

Finally, I’ve instituted a blog for a new project featuring my book about my spiritual journey: www.divineconnectionchurch.com

Author’s Roundtable in Miami

A History of African American Jazz and Blues

On July 26, 2011, I participated in an author’s roundtable with Sisters in Harmony (SiH) at the Courtyard Marriott on Bayshore Drive, in Coconut Grove, Miami. Along with 9 other authors, I presented my book and discussed questions posed to all of us.

The audience was minimal but everyone in attendance enjoyed the presentations.

On September 1, 2011, I will be the co-host with Ed Umoja Herman on The Knowledge Tour, an online radio program featuring authors. Tune in at 8 p.m. at http://blogtalkradio.com/sisters-in-harmony

 Visit Joan’s Bookstore

NO JAZZ in Miami Gardens – it’s an outrage!

Jazz is not just a WORD! It’s an art form that came out of the African experience in America. It’s a music that spoke of the FREEDOM of Spirit of a people kidnapped, exploit and worked to death by a vile and vicious oppressor in the form of European slave traders and owners.

Fast forward to the 21st century!

[Miami Gardens, FL] I don’t agree that Jazz in the Gardens is so great. I have never attended but this event draws 35,000 deluded people. This year, there will be only two jazz artists, Al Jarreau and Branford Marsalis and <strong>NO female jazz artists</strong> at all. This is an outrage.

The people on this festival are R&amp;B and that is NOT Jazz. They never have jazz. It’s an insult to me and all the real jazz musicians I work with and promote in my organization. That would be like having a reggae festival that features country &amp; western.

It’s abhorrent but the City uses the word “jazz” for insurance purposes. And they should be ashamed of themselves for exploiting the cultural production of African Americans who think above their navel.

Bobby Brown, Lauryn Hill, Gladys Knight, Charlie Wilson, En Vogue, El Debarge, Doug E Fresh, Slick Rick, none of these are Jazz Artists, meaning that people like me who perform jazz are continually OUT OF WORK. We are never engaged by these cities to bring real jazz to the community. I worked day in and day out to promote jazz music in South Florida and get very little recognition by any of these so-called jazz promoters. They are liars and thieves of the “only true art form in America”. Ella, Billie, Carmen, Betty are turning over in their graves from this fraudulent false advertisement. If I had the resources, I would sue the City of Miami Gardens for this terrible and continuous offense that is killing the art of jazz and all the hard work that so many African Americans artists did in the 20s, 30s, 40s, 50s, 60s and 70s.

It is a huge insult to the hundreds of African Americans in South Florida who know what jazz really is. However, I’ve moved away from being the complainer because people in South Florida have no respect for the culture of African Americans anyway, unless it’s gospel.

I wrote a book about Amazing Musicwomen – see it at http://fyicomminc.com/books.htm
See also my book


Visit our site: www.wijsf.org

Also, see my site:www.joancartwright.com

http://www.facebook.com/note.php?created&amp;&amp;note_id=10150114212673036

Freedom vs Slavery

The injustice suffered by Africans in America and around the world at the hands of vile and vicious European slavers is coming to bear with the rough reality of the shooting of 20 people in Arizona, murder of two Miami police officers, natural disasters that are destroying luxury properties owned by Europeans in Europe, Australia and other parts of the world. That there is justice in the Universe is evidenced by the rebellion of poor people everywhere. There is no vile act that will not be reconciled. As poor people, black, brown, red, yellow and white awaken, the powers that be need to pay attention and accept that their actions reap reaction, not only from people but nature, itself.

In response to the article below, Helen B wrote:

This is why it is so important to hold our Saturday classes where all these facts can be brought out so our children understand the price paid for them to have so many opportunities available to them. Also, I agree with you that today’s Blacks are lacking in courage; but, additionally, they have adopted the white man’s ways to the extent that keeping up with the Jones and conspicuous consumption causes them to have a false sense of security.They have become “comfortable” and are satisfied with the fact that they can own and drive expensive foreign cars and homes they can’t afford to pay for. It’s all about appearance instead of reality. No Black person in America is free and will NEVER be free until we understand how our history and culture were stolen from us; and, we are no longer original people. We are the white man’s slaves and clones. The more we emulate him, the more satisfied we are with ourselves. We must seek and embrace our own culture because our roots are not only deep, but they are richly profuse in every aspect of human advancement in every area and aspect of life. We are the original people; but, we’ve allowed ourselves to be relegated to an inferior status. Never, will any white person make me think I’m inferior to him or her. If I were to take a more subjective view, I would say that the Black race is the superior race. No race of people has been able to endure the horrendous treatment to which we have been subjected and still we rise! Additionally, there are false assumptions based on education, color and other shallow values that keep us separated, unlike other ethnic groups who come together to support each other as they help the other one to advance. We are so busy pulling each other down that we don’t take time to realize that together we are stronger than we are as one. I pray daily for my people and pray that I can live long enough to see them open their eyes, their hearts and their minds to realize that we are our brothers’/sisters’ keepers.

The history that your teacher never taught!

Our ancestors did not have TV or Newspapers and most could not read but they understood the difference between existing as slaves or living as free men. This is a value and a courage that is non-existent in today’s society. It appears that one thing is certain, there will never be another Crispus Attucks in this country!!!!

MAAT
Kariba
http://www.thestar.com

Untold story of U.S. slave rebellion retold centuries later
January 23, 2011

Details of paintings depicting 1811 Louisiana slave revolt by New Orleans folk artist Lorraine Gendron.

By Mitch Potter Washington Bureau
DESTREHAN PLANTATION, LA.—A long-lost chapter in American history is being written anew, today, as southerners begin to come to terms with the previously untold story of the continent’s largest slave revolt.

And, while historians today debate the details, a consensus is forming around just how close New Orleans came to becoming a free black colony precisely 200 years ago when a makeshift army of some 500 slaves, some just a few years out of Africa, rose up in carefully calculated unison with epic consequences.

Here at the pastoral Destrehan Plantation, the aftermath of the January 1811 insurrection was especially brutal — newly unearthed colonial records show the estate was the epicentre for a judicial reckoning, with the white slaveholders ordering as many as 100 ringleaders shot or hanged.

The black rebel leaders then were decapitated, with their heads mounted on stakes in a horrific necklace of retribution stretching 70 kms down the Mississippi, all the way to the gates of what was then America’s most crucial frontier city.

“It is one of the most striking moments of amnesia in our national history. What you had in the end were plantation owners sitting down to sumptuous five-course meals as they looked out the window at their own beheaded slaves,” said historian Daniel Rasmussen, who began his investigation as an undergraduate student at Harvard.

“The planters were outnumbered and terrified. They thought of their slaves as sub-human and they saw ritual beheading as a prime way to get their message across.

“And what followed this gruesome display was a concerted attempt to write it out of the history books. The southern newspapers suppressed the story, either refusing to publish or delaying for months. Only a few papers much further north published small paragraphs condemning the savagery of the planters.”

Tulane University, the African American Museum in Treme and Destrehan Plantation all are filling in the blanks with the launch of a yearlong look at the 1811 uprising.

But it is Rasmussen’s riveting new book, American Uprising: The Untold Story of America’s Largest Slave Revolt that is turning the most heads, in academia and beyond.

Collating clues from dust-encrusted plantation ledgers, colonial court records, obscure snippets of antebellum correspondence and the oral memory of slave descendents, Rasmussen’s study recreates the intense planning and careful timing that underpinned the audacious bid for freedom, involving slaves from a dozen plantations, along the river.

Two Asante warriors, Kook and Quamana, likely battle-hardened from wars in Africa, conspired with Charles Deslondes, a mulatto slave-driver of mixed parentage, who Rasmussen describes as “the ultimate sleeper cell.”

All had been, in one way or another,  “sold down the river” — a cliché first conceived to describe the especially horrific nature of slavery at the southernmost end of the Mississippi, where extreme violence underpinned the extreme wealth of the lucrative French sugar plantations.

Spiked collars were the norm for the uncooperative — the spikes pointing inward to prevent sleep. Deslondes, working on behalf of his plantation owner, was responsible for administering punishment, including the lash for those who would dare refuse the backbreaking labours of harvesting, beating, boiling and refining the sugar cane.

Haiti was also a factor. The slave revolution of 1791 was, in its own way, a shot heard round the slave world, as French colonial refugees and their slaves washed into New Orleans. It remains unclear whether Deslondes came from Haiti.

Louisiana was a vital American territory 200 years ago, but just barely — Napoleon had sold France’s claim to the vast Mississippi watershed to the United States a few years earlier for a paltry $15 million, a gift that would ultimately open the drive to the Pacific. But Louisiana’s French colonial class had nothing but contempt for its new American overseers, who were in January 1811, preoccupied in battles with the Spanish to secure a tract of west Florida. New Orleans was nearly defenceless.

“The attack came at just the right moment — the Americans were fighting the Spanish and with the harvest completed, the French planters were focused on the month-long series of lavish carnival balls and all-night parties leading up to Mardi Gras. And several days of steady rains had turned the road to mud, impeding any counterattack. Their guard was down,” Rasmussen said in an interview with the Toronto Star.

“Scarcely a resident in New Orleans had a musket. The city had a weak detachment of 68 troops.”

The rebels rose first at André Plantation, after sunset on January 8, 1811. And within hours, they were on the march to New Orleans. A ragtag army, perhaps, but one that marched in uniform, having seized militia clothing and weapons from plantation armories. Their numbers grew as the march advanced and as rumor of the uprising swept down the river road, the ruling class fled for the safety of the city.

“The planters couldn’t understand it — the idea that the slaves were not just savages, but that this was something planned. You had an army marching in military formation, wearing military uniforms, carrying flags and banners and chanting, “Freedom or death,” said Rasmussen.

New Orleans was on the edge of chaos — not least because its own population was 75 per cent black, awakening the fears of a second front rising up within the town itself. The city would order its taverns closed, imposed a curfew on all black males and summoned able-bodied whites to arms. Simultaneously, fleeing French planters regrouped on the West Bank of the Miscopy upstream from the city.

The two forces, American regulars and French planter militia, ultimately were able to confront the freedom fighters from both sides in a series of pitched battles beyond the city gates in the days that followed. Surviving slaves fled to the swamps and manhunts ensued, with dozens rounded up for the rough justice to come.

In the end, 21 slaves were interviewed by their colonial overseers in a bid to piece together the roots of the conspiracy and assign criminal blame. Elements of the story, says Rasmussen, survive in the oral histories of slave descendents, passed down and told “even to the present day at family reunions.” But the main snippets are to be found, refracted through the writings of the white ruling class, which show extent of fears never before told.

“They were sitting on a powder keg and, when it exploded and was put down, everything changed. Instead of a mini-Haiti, Louisiana society became militarized. The revolt pushed this old aristocratic society into the hands of the American government,” said Rasmussen.

“What you see is that the foundations of American power in this part of the deep South were built upon the commitment to restore and uphold slavery. Essentially, the French planters decided to cling to the United States as an ark of safety.”

As for Kook, Quamana, and Charles Deslondes, only now are historians weighing how to elevate them alongside the likes of far better known revolutionaries like Nat Turner and John Brown as major figures in the American struggle for emancipation.

“None of this has ever been taught in American schools and the hope now is that these men, who were executed for the strongest ideals will take their rightful place in history,” said Rasmussen.

“They were political revolutionaries, they deserve a place in the national memory and there is a sense now that they are getting it. We need to wrestle with this history if we are ever to truly understand it.”