A Family Watches "Freedom Riders" by Stanley Nelson

I went to my brother and sister-in-law's home in Virginia two weeks ago for Mother's Day. Jenny B. Silver had wished for an extended Mother's Day weekend with her children so we obliged. It was a sweet weekend of enjoying each other's company and playing with Hoshi (my brother and sister-in-law's dog). Saturday, we took Ms. Silver shopping where she picked the gifts of her choice. That night, we went to a Japanese hibachi steakhouse but on Mother's Day my brother cooked a traditional soul food dinner, a highlight of the day.

 

The other highlight was Freedom Riders, the documentary by renowned filmmaker Stanley Nelson. The new film is based on the journey of young activists who, in the spring of 1961 (50 years ago this month), decided to challenge Jim Crow laws of the south. I'd brought the DVD to watch on the train ride to Virginia but didn't get that chance so I asked my family if we could watch it together. My mother agreed reluctantly. It was sometimes difficult, she said, to re-live this particular past.

 

I think you'll agree, if you watch the film tonight on PBS, that Freedom Riders is an instant classic. Eager to capture the personal feelings of someone familiar who had lived during this time, I got my mother on video. Click the image below to hear from the woman who birthed and raised me. She was 13 when the Freedom Riders came to the state where she was born.

 

click images above to WATCH VIDEO

 

Know Stanley Nelson and Firelight Media

I've known about Freedom Riders for about nine months now. Last summer AKILA WORKSONGS (AW) was hired to do a Put On BLAST!® email marketing campaign (POB!). While I missed the screenings then, I acquired a copy of the DVD in April from a friend working on the film's community outreach. And on May 4, Oprah dedicated a show to the historic journey and it included Stanley. It was exciting to watch Mr. Nelson being warmly appreciated by one of the most powerful media titans in the world. Yet I was floored to find out later that POB! was a part of Oprah learning about the film in the first place!

 

My first introduction to the master filmmaker was via Ras Baraka in 2001. At the time I didn't know who was behind a documentary that Ras kept talking about. Once I watched Marcus Garvey: Look for Me in the Whirlwind, however, I understood what all the raving was about.

 

In 2003, AW managed and publicized the  National Black Writers Conference where Dr. Brenda Greene featured Mr. Nelson and his latest project, The Murder of Emmett Till. Another classic. In 2006, AW began working with Byron Hurt, one of Nelson's mentees. Nelson executive produced Hurt's Hip Hop: Beyond Beats and Rhymes, the award-winning film documentary that also aired on PBS. Over the years, I'd come to watch and/or promote other Nelson projects: Running: The Campaign for City Council (2002), Sweet Honey in the Rock: Raise Your Voice (2005), Jonestown: The Life and Death of People's Temple (2006), and Wounded Knee (2008).

 

I do not understand how one becomes as prolific and uniquely revealing as Stanley Nelson. He makes hard working people look like slackers. However it happens, I'm thanking God for Firelight Media. The company's work is necessary in our journey for self-knowledge as a community. The writer Joan Morgan once said, "I don't know how you can call yourself a Black writer if you haven't studied James Baldwin." By extension, I don't know if you one can claim they know the Black experience if they haven't seen a Stanley Nelson film.

 

Freedom Riders airs on PBS tonight but you can also own a copy, get background educational information, join the outreach campaign, and/or make a donation to keep this kind of documentary filmmaking alive.Take the next step now.

My Stuff on Trial (Or: The Joy of Letting Go)

What I learned coming into 2011: I have separation anxiety about everything!

Last month, my brother and sister-in-law visited for a weekend, right before Christmas. Omar barely took two steps into my apartment (which he hasn't been in since 2004) and said, "Yeah, you have to get rid of some of this stuff. You're a hoarder." I was mortified.

Prior to his arrival, I had asked him to come prepared to give me his honest opinion about my apartment once he arrived at my place. Don't know what triggered that solicitation, but I knew that I trusted him and that he would be honest...brutally so. But how, on God's green earth, could he call me a hoarder?

"I'm nothing like the people on the TV! Have you seen that show? Are you calling me one of them? " I asked arrogantly.

I was in total shock because, in fact, I am neat, organized, not messy, and definitely not filthy! Feeling attacked, I went on to argue about how orderly my space is; that my office and my home are one in the same. I have simply out-grown the apartment. Things would look quite differently once I separate home and office.

But Omar said I sounded like an alcoholic presenting the case of not being a "sloppy, non-functional alcoholic." He went on to ask, as he eyed the bottom shelf of one of my book cases, "What are you doing with those telephone logs from 1993?" I had a sound reason so I explained and he actually sided with me. But though I was relived, I couldn't deny the fact that perhaps I was holding on to too much stuff. For the first time, I was beginning to see a larger issue.

So I allowed myself to be picked at by Omar and Maria (my sister-in-law). It was surreal. I felt like a rat in a maze: There was hardly a place to escape. For nearly every rationalization, excuse, and reason that I offered as to why, for example, I had so many books (five floor-to-ceiling bookcases...and that's just in the living room), I got trumped. They did, however, cut me some slack on the nostalgic items. When I proudly showed them the outfits that Omar and I were baptized in as babies, my mother's purse from her wedding day, and a baseball glove from Omar's pre-teen era, they conceded. "Sentimental things make sense to keep, but most of this stuff is not sentimental, April." I went on to explain that it was important to me to save items that represent various eras of my life...from childhood to now. "Why is it not okay to save a few things like that?" I pleaded. They didn't argue that point, but they did ask "When was the last time you watched any of these videos in your media cabinet? And do you even own a record player for all this vinyl over here in the corner? And, again...why do you have some many books?" Few people can relate to my love of books.

I began to look at my apartment through a "stranger's" eye. I do have stacks of media (Cd's, DVDs, those VHS tapes, cassette tapes and even one or two 8-tracks...just for the fun of it). My rationale was air tight, I thought. I work in communications. I'm naturally going to have more media than the average person.

"Then why haven't you made a digital conversion? Why don't you have an e-reader? " they asked. My logical (?) response: "I simply haven't gotten around to that yet, but that doesn't mean that I need to throw it all away...right?"

No matter where I scurried, I was losing this tug-of-war. When they asked why wasn't this "stuff" in storage, I said that I don't want that expense. As small business owner, I have better uses of my hard earned money. I'd rather neatly organize and store items in my apartment until such time that I can afford to pay rent on a space that's not generating income.

So my brother offered a solution: "Whatever you can pack up, we'll store in our basement and it won't cost you. We have more than enough space." To his surprise, I had two boxes ready to go the next morning. A few weeks later, I had four more boxes ready to ship. I have come to admit that all this stuff is more than I need.

Since Omar and Maria's pricking, I have been examining my behavior like a mad woman. My issues are glaring and I'm feeling quite naked during this first week of 2011. I have control and trust issues, my need to be self-reliant and always prepared is a tad abnormal (at this very moment, for example, my make up bag has everything in it from safety pins to mouthwash), and I have an obsession with "not letting go." For me, its tantamount to betraying the past (and if you know my work as an activist, then perhaps you can appreciate the symbolism here).

So today, I paused from work to confront my magazine collection that has been stacked in my closet since 1992 or so. I can't fully explain why I have so many issues of Essence, Ebony, Vibe, The Source, Black Enterprise, American Legacy, Black Scholar, and other magazines. Nor can I explain what I'm going to do with the vintage comic books that I have neatly stored in the other closet. Whatever the reasons, I'm examining them all...and letting go. Over the years, I have rationalized that I need these magazines, and books, and phone logs to document my journeys, to recall our culture, to re-visit important past stories - in my personal life and in my community. I have rationalized that, as a writer, I need to be able to reference this media content for all the books that I'll someday write.

Wow. I heard myself, in that moment, explain this to myself and all I could say was "Wow! You, old gurl, are a coward." I can now admit that I'm probably the neatest hoarder there is, but a hoarder nonetheless. I don't know if I would have come to that realization if it were not for the unintended intervention from my family and an episode of "Enough Already! with Peter Walsh" that I watched today on OWN. Kind of freaked me out.

Now my 'not wanting to let go' has come to symbolize all the blockage in my life, all the things that are not growing creatively, not growing in my love life, and not growing in my business. So I'm excited at the shedding that will take place this year. I can't think of a better way to blossom.

"Daddy’s Girl and Her Music"

Late last summer, Words.Beats.Life invited me to write an essay about my relationship to my father and hip hop. It's not as weird as it seems. I'm publishing it here today for his b'earthday. Happy Birthday, Daidy.

Daddy's Girl and Her Music"

“Don’t give up now, baby.
You’re closer to your goal than you were yesterday.” -- Eddie Silver


I first heard these words from my father decades ago, and I don’t remember exactly what we were talking about or when. I just remember how relieved I was in that moment to catch one of Mr. Silver’s many pearls of wisdom. It’s most likely that he was trying to help me figure out what to do with my life as I prepared to head off to college. That was a gut-wrenching period for me and I was overwhelmed and excited by the sheer scope of it all. At 18, I was gladly leaving Los Angeles to return to the East Coast to attend an all-Black university in Washington, D.C., but I was also fearful of starting a new life alone, without the immediate safe haven of my close-knit family.

Still, my game plan was airtight: I would go to college, get my degree in English, and become a successful writer at ESSENCE. In fact, I would become one of the magazine’s most respected writers. Along the way, I would return to New York (where I was born) and begin working on the first of many books. I had no crisp idea of my subject matter, but I knew at least one of them would be Susan Taylor-esque. She would write my foreword, of course. That was my criteria for success, period.

“Daidy” (how my brother and I pronounce “Daddy” to this day), on the other hand, wanted me to study journalism and maybe become a television anchor. “You could be like a Connie Chung for Black people, big time on the big screen,” he said. Even then, I suspected that I was too passionate for the field of journalism so I frowned on that career choice. Daidy was supportive regardless. Both of my parents were. College life was new territory for all of us and we were open-minded. My parents were banking on the fact that they had “raised me right,” and so they gave me room to breathe. That was circa 1986.

Fast forward to 1989: Daidy finally got to see his daughter on the big screen. I was also in the local and national newspapers, in Ebony magazine, and all over the radio in D.C. and throughout the region. I’d even made international news. In fact, I was in the news quite a bit, but as a subject, not a journalist.

In early March 1989, I played a visible leadership role among the students who successfully took over the administration building (the “A” building) at Howard. We forged a non-violent student protest that shut down the school for three days. Picture unarmed occupying students in black tams, with more courage than fear, standing against police in riot gear, helicopters, SWAT teams, lights, cameras, and a herd of television reporters. We were the breaking news stories of the week (and as head of one of the student organizations that called for the protest, I was the designated spokesperson). To further buck the system and all its “nice” symbols, days before the actual takeover we had boldly interrupted the high-class pomp and circumstance of convocation. Bill Cosby was the keynote speaker. Surrounded by a sea of silk and velvet robes, we politely told Mr. Cosby that he had to get off the stage. We had some business to conduct with our beloved university. At that moment, I took the microphone and started breaking down our demands to a group of gasping elders. I was surrounded by defiant students--on the stage, in the aisles, in the auditorium lobby. Not exactly what Daidy had in mind, I’m sure.

But as any loving father would be, Daidy was focused on my total well-being. In the one or two times that I had a chance to call home to explain why I was all over the news, I had to assure my parents that I was safe (which wasn’t entirely true). Daidy was less concerned about why we were organized against Lee Atwater (then the controversial chairman of the Republican National Committee and a newcomer to the board of trustees at Howard) but more concerned about whether or not we knew what we were doing, if I firmly believed in this cause. He, along with my mother, questioned why I was fighting against the school that I had come to love so much. I told my parents: “We’re taking over the ‘A’ building because we love Howard. We know it can do better by us.” That was enough for them.

* * * *

I doubt that Daidy was terribly surprised about how deep-rooted my convictions were or that they blossomed while away at school. He already knew their origins. It was under my parents’ roof that I learned to think outside the box and to stand up for what I believe in. It was under their roof that my brother and I grew up studying Black history, beyond what was taught in our classrooms. And equally significant, it was my father’s record collection that introduced me to the sweetness of being Black. I grew up somewhat obsessed with this collection, most of which I took with me when I went left home, unbeknownst to him. Whatever artist Daidy loved, I loved. Whatever song he knew, I sang. Whatever he had, I preserved. It was his Curtis Mayfield, Marvin Gaye, James Brown, Nina Simone, Isaac Hayes, Earth Wind & Fire and Hugh Masekela albums that helped me uncover the value of what Black people have created with our own talents and skills, be it music or institutions of higher learning such as Howard. It was the liner notes of his albums that I studied on Saturday mornings after the chores were done. Sprawled across the carpet, I played those songs over and over again, ear up close to the speaker, memorizing not just the lyrics but the names of the musicians, songwriters, and recording studios. I don’t know why the back-stories for these albums were so important to me, even as a teenager. I didn’t have plans for how to use this information. I realize now that this studying was my attempt to be totally immersed in the souls of Black folks via our creativity, something that I can now articulate from a spiritual context.

So by the time I first heard hip-hop music, I was primed for my lifelong journey into another level of Black genius music. My father’s love of our music prepped me for Public Enemy, KRS-One, X-Clan, Queen Latifah, Poor Righteous Teachers, Sister Souljah (her 360 Degrees of Power was the first album on which I got my first shout-out), and many others. Daidy played a large role in why hip-hop felt so natural to me.

Rewind to 1982. I was as hooked as any other Sasson Jeans wearing teenager when Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five released “The Message.” So was Daidy. It seemed that everyone could relate. “Yeeeah! People do piss in the station like they just don’t care. Broken glass is everywhere.” As though he was relieved that somebody put his feelings to music, my father used “The Message” to affirm some cruel realities: Life is hard, especially for Black men, he taught me. Some people do live on the edge. Everybody is trying to keep from going under. “Your Daidy can relate.” These conversations would sometimes be sprinkled with stories about how he used to hang out with Kurtis Blow when hip-hop was new on the scene. “Really?” I asked, all smiles. But in my head I was laughing out loud. “Sure, Daidy. You know Kurtis Blow.

* * * *

Life is hard. Growing up, I would come to understand this “thing” about being Black. As a child, I digested the music, television, and movies that seemed to prove that Black people were different from white people. We are at a deficit in this thing called “society” because of a thing called “racism.” It seems that our lives warrant the need for constant reminders that we are “okay,” or that we should not give up, or that we should stick together, presumably against white people or “The Man,” because nobody likes us in this world. I came to understand that music was our healing ointment and it is an acceptable way for us to entertain ourselves, this so-called despised lot that we are. We can be affirmed and stay bonded with one another through music. “Ain’t No Stoppin’ Us Now” by McFadden and Whitehead (the Black people family picnic theme song during the 1970s), “We Are Family” by Sister Sledge (ditto), and so many other songs helped make our “different” lives bearable. Without thinking about it, I had come to an understanding that music, art and culture were supposed to be functional, not merely entertaining. We needed something just to get by if we were going to make it in this world and our creativity seemed to be as good a hook as any.

* * * *

I don’t remember a great number of politically charged father-daughter talks growing up, but we have many now. And as a child, I don’t recall Daidy telling many stories about him marching with Dr. King (though he did). There were certainly no social justice organizations that took up his time after work. That wasn’t his thing. Daidy has always been a quiet, simple man who likes to cook, tend to his vegetable garden, read the newspapers, and have a good time. What was brilliant to me growing up, however, was the foundation that he helped provide. A visionary man of humble beginnings from Suffolk, VA, he took pride in his ability to help feed, clothe, and shelter his family. Often, we took family vacations so that our lives were well-rounded and meaningful.

As in any family, mine had drama too, but we had a sacred anchor and we remain committed to one another. Individually, our personalities and lifestyles seem incompatible, but where it matters most, we are fiercely unified. And that’s how I relate to my community-at-large. We are worth the struggle and we are closer to getting what we want and need out of life, if we fight the right fight. That thinking sculpted my political behavior as a student activist when I co-founded the nation’s first hip hop conference (there had not yet been any connection of hip hop to the academy); it sculpts the way in which I handle my business as a social entrepreneur who primarily services people of African ancestry. That thinking also drives me personally. Like a mad woman bridled with child-like giddiness, I’m excited to tell this particular Daddy’s girl story, lest somebody keep telling a singular, narrowed–minded story about a generation of Black fathers and the music they made room for.

# # #

"Daddy's Girl and Her Music" was written at the request of Words.Beat.Life / www.wblinc.org. Stay tuned for when the edition featuring this essay will be published. Enjoy.

POETRY: "Grandma Mae Said" Haiku

Looka here lil gurl,
When throwed up against a wall
Even cats fight back.

Copyright 2010, April R. Silver

Quote of the Week: When Hiring...

Best quote of the day:

"You can buy someone's time, their talent, and their skills, but you can't buy nor train some one to be dedicated."

- E. Omar Silver

Wow.

Get Affirmed ;-)

Second best quote of yesterday (and I'm paraphrasing):

"Some people look at great success stories and get inspired...that's it. They never actualize what inspires them. Their response is emotional. Others look at great success stories and get affirmed because they are already en route to their own version of that success."

E. Omar Silver (at it again!)

Dear, Mr. Silver. I Love You, Dearly!

My father is Eddie Silver, Jr. from Suffolk, VA. I am his first born and for that and other reasons, we share a special bond. I love him dearly and I'm a better woman for the man and father that he is.

Happy Father's Day, "Diedy"

I'm a Featured Speaker at the National Father's Day Rally THIS SATURDAY

Father's Day 2009 marks the 100th anniversary of Father's Day. Who knew?

This Saturday (June 20) at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, DC, there's going to be a national rally to bring attention to a number of issues related to the topics of fatherhood and strong families. I'm honored to be among many of the distinguished guests who have been invited to speak. As editor of the anthology "BE A FATHER TO YOUR CHILD: REAL TALK FROM BLACK MEN ON FAMILY, LOVE, AND FATHERHOOD" (Soft Skull/Counterpoint), and as the loving daughter of a responsible father, I will have 3 minutes to address speak about what all that means to me and the community that I serve. Because it looks like it will be a mixed audience, I'll have to use my time wisely. Gotta speak in sound bites. Three minutes is like a nano-second when you think about all that could be said. Whew! We'll see if it goes well. Stay tuned.

The official name of the event is THE NATIONAL RALLY FOR RESPONSIBLE FATHERHOOD, ON BEHALF OF AMERICA'S CHILDREN: A CALL TO PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY. It's going to be huge. If you're in Washington, DC on June 20, come through. There will be plenty to absorb. And copies of BE A FATHER will be on sale, of course.

Here's a link to the National Father's Day Rally website for more info, the agenda, and a list of other speakers: www.fathersdayrally.com

Quote of the Week: "On Children" by Khalil Gibran

Khalil Gibran is a poet, philosopher, and artist...born in Lebanon (1883 - 1931). He is one on my favorite poets. My father introduced me to him when I was a child.

On the ocassion of Byron and Kenya's baby shower today and because they asked me to offer a blessing or a prayer, I hope to share this poetic prose from Gibran at the gathering. It is from "The Prophet." The Prophet of God, Almustafa, left these parting words of wisdom for the people of Orphalese before he returnd to his homeland :

"And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, Speak to us of Children.
And he said:
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's long for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from wich your children as living arrows are sent froth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swit and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Quote of the Week: "Closer" (From My Daddy)

"You're closer to your goal today then you were yesterday, baby."

That's what my loving father used to say as words of encouragement to his weary daughter trying to get through college. Thank you, daddy. That helped more than you know.

Quote of the Week: Life Lessons from Jenny B. (Moms)

"You can't say you love me and *?@! me over at the same time."

"Call it crazy when you see crazy coming!"

"You have to deal with some people with a long-laddled spoon so they won't bite your finger."

Jenny B. on the finer things in life: One day I'd asked my mother about the pros and cons of buying a new or used car. In one of her classic witty comebacks, she said, "I never liked the idea of used cars. I've always bought new ones. If it becomes time for me to get another one, then what would I want with a used car? I already got a "used" car!"

- Jenny B.

What I Love

Tis the season where love is comtemplated more now then any other part of the year. Here's a random list a just a few of the people and things that I love, from the silly to substantive (just a few):

God, my parents, my siblings, my extended family, chocolate covered peanut clusters, pecans, pecans with raisins, quiet sundays, harriet tubman, adelaide sanford, malcolm x, kwame ture, my friends, learning, writing, reading, listening to music, teaching, akila, h20, salmon cooked with cabbage carrots peppers...on top of the stove (thanks, zed), coach bags, sexy boots, bolthouse juices, playing monopoly, open spaces, palm tress in LA, the laughter of children, being understood, being forgiven, 20 minute power naps, weekly massages, when the trains come on time, solutions to problems, order, balance, harmonious relationships, the color purple, the color silver, the bluest eye, the women of brewster place, khalil gibran, the dictionary, being wealthy.

The Kidding of Children

"God has lessons for us, but sometimes God has The Devil to deliver them."

That's the soul of the message that I got from wise woman NANA CAMILLE YARBROUGH a few years ago. Don't know what we were talking about, but it applies to this next entry.

I dated said deliverer once, but I learned a few things from him. For example, he used to always correct people when they referred to children as kids. "A kid is a baby goat! Our children are human beings."

Good grief! That was the epitome of over-analyzing a thing. So over the top, I thought. As much as I adored him at the time, he could be overbearing.

Today, I share the same disdain for the word "kid." It didn't take much for me to look more deeply into this. I, as an English Major, surely couldn't shy away from the fact that language has deep meaning and those meanings are attached to the essence, the spirit, the energy of a word.

I used to teach 6th, 7th, and 8th grade students in Brooklyn. It sensitized me to how young people think...and how they hear us. It often reminded me of how I viewed the world as an adolescent. There is a world of language that adults use when referring to young people. "Kid" is not normally heard as a loving term. It carries the weight of dismissive-ness and detachment, very subtly.

My disclaimer: I am not a parent. I have not raised children. My most direct daily relationship to children was years ago when I was in the classroom. My closest connection to a child is my eight year old sister and she lives in Florida. To the extent that I can help guide her through life via my frequent phone calls is the extent of my regular engagement with children. So I don't profess to know more than any parent or teacher whose lives are immersed in raising children.

I do remember that as a child, that I wished that adults would show more respect to children and would listen more. That whole "do as I say, not as I do" irked me then and irks me now. But who was I to say anything, just some kid who didn't know any better.

Enjoying Lexus