Sylvester Brown, Jr.-Writer

JIGGA What?

2025-04-09T12:40:00.002-05:00

A Post-Election Screed

(in the spirit of Jay-Z’s “Jigga What, Jigga Who”)

Jigga What?

Wait…did ya’ll, for the third time in almost 30 years, allow a Black mayor to only serve one term in office?

Uh huh uh huh!

Jigga Who?

Did ya’ll help elect a white, barely experienced alderwoman to beat a Black highly educated, highly experienced Black female mayor?

OK, OK!

Jigga We?

Did we just turn the Board of Estimate and Apportionment (E&A), the powerful agency that controls the city’s purse strings, over to three white women?

Yup, uh huh uh huh!

Jigga What?

Did we oust the Black mayor who, for the first time in history, vow to invest millions in Black North St. Louis neighborhoods, jobs, businesses and housing?

OK, OK!

Jigga We?

Did we, after watching Trump’s billionaire tech bros buy his way into office, allow millionaire real estate developers to buy us a new mayor?

Uh huh uh huh!

Jigga How?

How did we allow a freakin’ snow and ice storm to be the determining factor in a mayoral race?

OK, OK!

Jigga What?

Did we let the biased coverage of the region’s daily newspaper convince us that the first Black female mayor was the most “corrupt” of all white mayors in St. Louis history?

Uh huh uh huh!

Jigga We?

Did we allow a Black comptroller with almost 30 years on the job…who repeatedly delivered an A+ rating for the city, be replaced by a relatively unknown White alderwoman from south St. Louis?

Uh huh uh huh!

Jigga How?

Knowing that everything Black-education, diversity, equity, history-everything sacred is under attack from the Right…how did we just vote for total white control of the city?

Uh huh uh huh!

Jigga What?

Did slightly more than 25% of registered voters even bother to turn out for the mayor’s race?

Yup, uh huh uh huh!

Jigga Who?

Are the Black preachers, politicians and those with petty gripes who conspired to elect a white woman over a Black woman for mayor now calling for “reconciliation?”

Uh huh uh huh

**************************************

All I can sadly say is (shaking my head) …

Jigga, Jigga, Jigga!

A Letter to My Long-Lost Daughters

2025-02-05T20:39:00.020-06:00

by Sylvester Brown, Jr. / Feb. 5, 2025

People have described me as a bold, courageous writer. I graciously accept those descriptions. But, to be honest, what I’m writing here scares the heck out of me.

Let me explain; I have four kids from two marriages. I am in constant contact with the older two. The younger ones…not so much. In fact, we haven’t spoken in more than ten years, about four years after their mother and I broke up. It started with them excluding me from school events and activities then that evolved into a total freeze out…denied visits, cut off from their phones and social media accounts and no response from the letters or emails sent via their mother.

So, why am I writing this? Maybe it’s desperation. After all, I am a Black man in his upper 60s. I have some of the disproportionate health maladiess that come with being an older Black man. I dread the idea of leaving this planet without ever, ever talking with my girls again.

Maybe it’s long-held curiosity; I’m just not sure what I did to warrant this lifetime ban. The wounded part of me wants to blame their mother. Perhaps she told them something that they simply can’t forgive. But I could be in denial. I could be mistaken. I don’t think so, but maybe I’m an unknowing narcissist who avoids accountability.

But unless they tell me, how am I to know…how am I to atone?

In a letter I sent them (via their mother) year ago, I asked them to rely on their memories. What about those times when I woke them up with a song or made them laugh on the way to school or played with them in the park or made goofy characters with their dolls and toys…just to hear their delicious, uncontrolled laughter.

What did I do that was so horrible it erased all those memories…all those magic moments?

Let me be perfectly clear; I’ve done some asshole things in my marriages and as a father but the major recipients of most of that asshole-ness was my first wife and my older kids. I Married at the age of 21 and had just been liberated from the strict religion of my childhood. Yes, I was wild adventurous and rebellious. But, by the time of my second marriage and 2^nd set of children I had matured and was running my own publication, Take Five Magazine.

At least, I thought I had mellowed.

My older kids-especially my first-born daughter-confronted me on my failures and shortcomings as a father. Yes, there was some pushback, some debate, some hurt feelings but we kept at it and found a path to reconciliation. Today I cherish our relationships, interactions and conversations.

Another reason I feel compelled to write this is because I want to know what’s happened or is happening in my younger girl’s lives. They were both naturally creative. The older one demonstrated a knack for writing and public speaking at an early age. I remember the joy I had helping her write short stories or listening to her address a crowd. She also had a quiet wisdom that encouraged me to share things that I couldn’t with anyone else, including her mother.

The youngest one was creatively rebellious and-even though she frustrated the heck out of me-I admired her spirit. I imagined her utilizing her gifts in the arts, as an actress, painter, a spoken word artist, a rapper or something loud and bodacious.

I wonder how they turned out. Are they happy, content, fulfilled? What’s their politics? How are they navigating this convoluted world? Have they found true love? Do I have grandchildren I’ve never met?

Not knowing gnaws at my soul.

I’m a graduate of the “tough Black man school of life.” I feel vulnerable sharing my feelings and pain. I worry about putting actual written words to feelings I’ve kept bottled up for years. I dread they might make things worse...maybe forever cement this mysterious, seemingly impenetrable void in our lives.

What eases these fears somewhat is that maybe, just maybe, this might motivate a response from my daughters. Maybe, just maybe, someone who knows them well or knows their mother might intercede and urge them to, at the very least, contact their father.

Who knows; perhaps they’ve been convinced that I want no part in their lives. Since we haven’t spoken in all these years, maybe they don’t know that I truly miss them; that I only want to hear their voices and hear their words, their triumphs, their sadness and happiness.

Dear friends have told me: ‘They’ll come around when they’re older.’ Well, they’re in their mid-and-upper 20s now. They’re adults. I just think it’s time we talk before it’s too late.

Whenever I’ve faced difficulties or hardships, my mantra has always been: “write your way through it.” So here I am, with fear and trepidation in my gut, writing my way through one of the most difficult challenges in my seasoned life. I just feel like I must take the risk, do something, say something, write something…and hope.

So, here’s hoping this “bold, courageous” but terrifying letter reconnects me with my long-lost daughters.

In the end, ignorance and racism won

2024-12-03T18:17:00.001-06:00

by Sylvester Brown Jr. | Originally published in The St. Louis American / Nov. 18,2024

I’ve been hoodwinked, bamboozled, led astray! I abandoned my own mantra: “Never underestimate the power of racism and ignorance.”

I let myself become optimistic about the presidential election. I fell for the hype, the hoopla and accepted the notion that Vice President Kamala Harris’ campaign might beat political, racist foolishness and somehow equate to real progressive, universal “change” in this country.

Silly me.

All the signs that betrayed this false narrative were there. An old, befuddled white man was not universally shamed for referring to a distinguished, accomplished Black woman as “stupid” and a “low IQ” candidate.

Speaking of gender; I was also certain his running mate, Sen. JD Vance’s age-old sexist trope, describing women as “childless cat ladies” would repel most women’ who had already lost their rights to bodily autonomy because of Trump’s hand-picked supreme court justices.

Nope, 53% of white women voted for him.

I let myself believe that people of color would reject Donald Trump’s racist assertions that Haitian immigrants were eating dogs, cats and the pets of Springfield, Ohio residents.

Surely, voters of diverse backgrounds would not accept the fearmongering of a presidential candidate who baselessly claimed that millions of “illegals” from Mexico, Venezuela, the Congo were pouring into our country raping, stealing, murdering and pillaging at unprecedented rates.

There’s no way legalized voting immigrants would back someone who promised reckless mass deportation of people who look like them.

I was incorrect; 45% of self-identified Hispanic voters picked Trump, up from 32% in 2020.

Despite asking his defense secretary if he could shoot
Black protestors then later promising to pardon convicted white insurrectionists who stormed the Capitol at his urging, Trump won an estimated 20% of the Black vote, doubling his take in 2020.

Because Trump won, some Democrats and the media are assuming he did something right.

I’m exhausted with all the “sane-splaining” of Harris’ so-called “failed” campaign. It was not her record as a prosecutor, senator, or vice president. It wasn’t her inability to connect with the middle class, nor was it her running mate, Minn. Gov. Tim Walz. Thise making those claims are loathe to dissect the very real reasons she lost to Trump:

Ignorance and racism.

How did more than 74 million people go to the polls and vote for a convicted felon, a tax cheat, a verified conman, a serial liar, alleged sexual predator and leader of a violent insurrection? Sorry to be so blunt, but those of you who knew those things to be true and voted for him anyway…well, that’s a serious indictment on your intellect.

I know of no polls that accurately details the number of racists in America. But let’s be honest; something in the psyches of millions of voters resonates with Trump.

Race and stupidity.

I know that is politically uncool to say, but I’m no politician and the future consequences are too dire to be silent about what has happened and will continue happening in my country.

We have reverted to a time when antiquated racist feelings and uninformed sentiments influence who gets to lead America. This, while media pundits are loathe to discuss it openly.

As a proud African American and a 67-year-old graduate of this country’s ‘Negro experiment,’ I should have known better. I should have instinctively recalled the calamitous, backwards history and the deadly ramifications of whites who felt marginalized, threatened and powerless.

But alas, I allowed myself to be influenced by “hope” and the woefully naïve notion that, deep, deep down “real Americans”-despite their politics-believed in the Constitution and our supposed “tried and true” principles of democracy, fair play and justice for all.

But, in the end, ignorance and racism won out.

Shame on me for believing otherwise.

Beyoncé’s anthem offers "Freedom" for the Bone-Tired

2024-08-19T12:39:00.001-05:00

By Sylvester Brown, Jr.

Aren't you tired?

I know I am. I’m tired. Bone-tired of the ignorance, the backward thinking, the lies, the hate and the reignited racism in the freakin’ 21^st Century.

I’m so done with the stereotyping of Blacks, Jews, women, soldiers and immigrants as criminals, as “dumb,” as stupid, as worthless and as wanton murderers.

I’m sick and tired of listening to angry white parents at school board meetings attempting to beat up on the LGBTQ+ community, erase black history, ban books or rid classrooms of a “theory” that was never ever taught in the nation’s classrooms.

How did we evolve (or devolve) into a country where Nicholas Fuentes, a white supremacist, was invited to dinner with the leading GOP presidential candidate who-by the way-thinks Nazi-loving, white nationalists are “very fine people?”

It saps my soul that my granddaughters must endure similar indignities of their grandfather, his father and their long-gone ancestors.

Perhaps this is why Beyoncé’s 2016 anthem "Freedom" adopted during Vice President Kamala Harris’ first public appearance as a presidential candidate resonated with me and so many other sick and tired Americans.

The song, which was used as a battle cry during demonstrations following the 2020 death of George Floyd, evokes the spirit of confrontation against the unacceptable.

Freedom, Freedom
I can't move
Freedom, cut me loose
Singin', freedom
Freedom
Where are you?
'Cause I need freedom, too…

Like Bob Marley’s “Redemption Song,” Beyoncé provides a needed reminder that winners “don’t quit on themselves…” No matter the odds, we gotta keep fighting…fighting for normalcy, for decency…for my granddaughters.

With Beyoncé’s permission, the Harris/Walz campaign has a theme song that captures the desires, hope and wishes of-not just democrats-but a helluva lot of “others.”

Try for me, live for me
Breathe for me, sing for me
Honestly guidin' me
I could be more than I gotta be
Stole from me, lied to me, nation hypocrisy
Code on me, drive on me
Wicked, my spirit inspired me…

As a “glass-half-full” kinda guy, I like to believe there are millions of “sick-and-tired” voters who are thirsting for a commonsense message that unifies beyond partisan politics. I like to think there are conservatives who realize their party-under Donald Trump’s populist spell-has gone off the deep end. I want to believe that they, too, want freedom.

What you want from me?
Is it truth you seek?
Oh, Father, can you hear me?
Hear me out…

Yeah, I’m jaded but I hold out hope that a sizable segment of the Republican Party are not down with a 2025 manifesto that condones workplace discrimination, dismantles the nation’s education department; allows drug prices to skyrocket; that limits individual freedoms while giving corporate interests free rein over the economy and our future.

Yeah, I’m tired…bone tired but I can’t be alone. I can’t be the only one…

Singin', freedom
Freedom
Where are you?

Bush or Bell? For me, it’s a Matter of Principle

2024-08-05T12:44:00.003-05:00

by Sylvester Brown, Jr.

St. Louis County Prosecutor, Wesley Bell is an affable, articulate, good-looking, polished politician. I like him. But I can’t vote for him in Tuesday’s Primary election.

For me, it’s a matter of principle. I have no choice but to support Bell’s opponent, 1^st District Congresswomen Cori Bush mostly because of her principled, courageous positions.

First, let’s do away with the hyperbole and misinformation. The millions raised to defeat Bush has nothing to do with her record of achievements in office; it’s because she had the temerity to call for a ceasefire in Gaza right after Israel was attacked by Hamas last year. With nearly 40,000 Palestinians-mostly civilian women and children-killed and another 2.3 million driven from their homes and facing starvation, Bush’s clarion call for a cessation of hostilities should have been heeded.

Pro-Israeli organizations like AIPAC vowed to end the careers of any politician who dared to criticize the retaliatory efforts in Gaza. After AIPAC spent 14 million to defeat Rep. Jamaal Bowman of New York, it set its sights on Bush.

I can’t in good conscious be a part of any effort to muzzle a candidate who spoke truth to power. Apparently, Bell and I don’t share that sentiment. Last year, Bell launched a campaign to take on GOP Sen. Josh Hawley for the Democratic nomination in the primary. Then immediately after the terrorist attack on Israel and after pro-Israeli groups vowed to eliminate Bush, he dropped his U.S. senatorial aspirations and inserted himself in the congressional race.

I can’t in good conscious be a part of any effort to muzzle a candidate who spoke truth to power.

For me, that was an unprincipled, opportunistic stance. Especially in light of a story released last week by Drop Site News that included an audio recording of Bell-just a few before months launching his primary challenge-assuring Bush that he-“under no circumstances”- planned to run against her.

I not only have a problem with why he’s challenging Bush, but I also take issue with the way he’s doing it. Bell and his multi-millionaire benefactors have adopted an advertising campaign buoyed by the “angry, crazy, irrational black woman” trope. His ads claim that Bush was so irresponsible that her opposition to President Biden’s infrastructure bill-motivated by her petty politics-cost the city and state millions in federal aid.

Bell and his multi-millionaire benefactors have adopted an advertising campaign buoyed by the “angry, crazy, irrational black woman” trope.

Not true. All states including those represented by Republicans who voted against Biden’s mandate benefit from the infrastructure bill. When I asked Mayor Tishaura Jones if St. Louis was harmed by Bush’s no-vote on the bill, she emphatically answered “no,” adding:

“We are still getting infrastructure money, mostly in the form of transportation dollars...so, no, we have not been negatively impacted by her vote.”

Jones not only pointed to the “tens of millions” Bush secured for St. Louis after the flood of ‘22, she said she also secured “almost $90 million in infrastructure funding” for the city’s water department. Jones. who endorsed Bush in July, said Bush delivered “over $41 million in community project funding" to the district, with $22.3 million directly aiding the city of St. Louis and its public school system.

Despite Bell’s dubious claim that Bush has cost the region valuable resources, she has, in fact, delivered more than $2 billion throughout her time in congress. Mayor Jones credits Bush for helping the region secure nearly $300 million in American Rescue Plan (ARPA) funds. Jones is using part of that windfall to specifically revitalize North St. Louis.

Which brings me to another valid (and selfish) reason for supporting Bush. She and Mayor Jones have combined their “sister girl magic” through their partnership in Washington D.C. and St. Louis to bring resources to a segment of the city that hasn’t received any economic attention in 70 years.

Why mess with a good thing?

It’s no secret that Bell is receiving vigorous support from conservatives. In 2006, he managed the campaign of Mark J. Byrne, a conservative Republican running against former 1^st District Congressman, Lacy Clay. According to the Huffington Post, as of May, Bell had raised more than $65,000 in contributions from donors who normally give to Republicans. “They include a former GOP speaker of the Missouri House, the billionaire hedge fund founder Daniel Loeb, and the former finance chair for Sen. Tim Scott’s presidential super PAC.

Again, Bell is a likable guy but if powerful money motivated him to switch races to challenge Bush, what part will power, and conservative collaborations play in efforts to revitalize parts of St. Louis that these parties have historically undervalued?

I don’t like that I must take a side in the congressional race. I wish Bell had stood by his bold decision to challenge Josh Hawley who, let’s face it, needs to be run out of office by voters as fast as he was run out of the capitol by Jan 6 insurrectionists. Instead, I’m depending on Marine veteran and democrat Lucas Kunce to win the senate seat.

If powerful money motivated him to switch races, what part will conservative collaborations play in efforts to revitalize parts of St. Louis that these parties have historically undervalued?

I wish I didn’t have to point out how Bell seized an opportunity to destroy the career of a black congresswoman who courageously said the right thing at a time the powers-at-be deemed inappropriate. I can’t ignore his alliances with big moneyed conservatives with agendas opposite those I value. I can’t help that I’m not confident Bell is the right guy to stand by Mayor Jones and her efforts to revitalize North St. Louis if his powerful conservative backers don’t see the value of such efforts.

Bush or Bell? As a matter of principle, the choice is easy:

Cori Bush for Congress!

Sylvester Brown, Jr. is a St. Louis, MO-based writer, journalist and author. He is the former publisher of Take Five Magazine, former Metro Columnist with the St. Louis Post-Dispatch and current Deaconess Fellow with the St. Louis American Newspaper.

It’s not about age. It’s the agenda!

2024-07-11T07:54:00.007-05:00

By Sylvester Brown Jr.

July 11, 2024

Is it just me or do these ongoing conversations about Joe Biden’s age and his ability to continue serving as president seem … well, dumb? Is it just a stupid Republican argument or one that Democrats have dumbed themselves down enough to engage in?

Fact: The idea that one man runs the country is ludicrous.

It may be in bad taste, but if Biden was to pass away tomorrow, his administration of more than 2,000 staffers with policy-making responsibilities would go on enacting his agenda.

When President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in 1963, Vice President Lyndon B. Johnson took the helm. The Johnson Administration enacted Kennedy’s policies, which included the 1964 Civil Rights Act, the 1965 Voting Rights Act and the Civil Rights Act of 1968. In fact, it could be argued that Kennedy’s death motivated stunned voters to continue his legacy.

The hang-wringing and boo-wooing about Biden’s age is a cartoonish quarrel buoyed by a comic book myth of a lone, all-powerful decider-in-chief.

Now, sure, one can argue the policy and agenda of a dead president can drastically change if seceded by a vice president with contrary views.

After President Abraham Lincoln was assassinated in 1875, his successor, Vice President Andrew Johnson, a pre-Civil War slave owner, was intent on restoring property and power to white Southerners while denying constitutional equality to freed slaves.

There’s no evidence, however, that Biden and Vice President Kamala Harris have divergent agendas. If anything, a Kamala Harris presidency is the far-right’s worst nightmare, even if they won’t say that part out loud.

The mere fact that one 90-minute debate where Biden failed absolutely has prompted mass calls for him to drop out of the race is reactionary and ridiculous. How Democrats could sit back and let Biden’s mumbling and stumbling dominate the media’s response compared to Trump’s more than 30 outright lies and mistruths simply boggles the mind.

Facts: Trump bungled the federal response to the COVID pandemic which contributed to the death of hundreds of thousands of Americans. He is a career conman who was just convicted on 34 counts of falsifying business records to cover up a payment to silence a porn star ahead of the 2016 election.

During the debate when Biden chided him for having the “morals of an alley cat,” Trump bluntly responded: “I didn’t have sex with a porn star.”

No glaring media headlines demanding a felon drop out of the race. No bipartisan outrage. It was all about Biden’s age.

Republicans and right-wing media pundits deserve credit for their consistent, Nazi-like propaganda machine. No matter how many outright lies, verbal farts or downright insane things Trump spews in public, the Right propagandized past his foibles while hyping his easily refutable talking points. Damn the truth, under Trump, ‘America had the best economy, the best job growth and the best tax breaks’ for ordinary Americans.’

Meanwhile, mealy-mouthed Democrats have engaged with the Right in silly debates about Biden’s age when they should be “propagandizing” the “old man’s” accomplishments, which include: Historic job growth in his first three years that outperformed any previous president (yes, that includes Trump); under Biden, rapid disinflation is unmatched in modern history; uninsured Americans are at an all-time low; under the Biden Administration there has been a historic rise in real wages for lower income workers; and violent crimes, especially homicides, have fallen across the nation.

And those are just a few of Biden’s biggest hits.

Even at his most incoherent during the debate, Joe Biden struck an important chord that Democrats should stubbornly and constantly echo over the next five months: “Donald Trump; a lying, immoral, felon is not qualified to lead this country. He is not good for democracy nor the country. Never was, never will be.”

Yes, according to polls, most Americans think Biden is too old to navigate a second term. Fine. Move on. Would you rather have the administration of an insurrectionist, a declared despot with an agenda to dismantle the Constitution, overhaul the federal government, lock up dissenters, mandate “Christian nationalism” and further strip reproductive rights from women (think Project 2025)?

Or would you prefer an administration that’s dedicated to preserving the Constitution, democracy and maintaining how the federal government and executive powers work; that will codify the right to an abortion into law, preserve the country’s international alliances and agreements and deliver on climate benchmarks?

If “President” Trump goes to jail or if President Biden’s health further deteriorates, their administrations and agendas will continue.

So, Democrats, stop engaging in dumb debates. Please, propagandize on point:

“It’s not about age; it’s about the agenda, stupid!”

Fear of “Post-Racial" Voters

2024-07-01T10:25:00.022-05:00

by Sylvester Brown, Jr.

Examaning Race in the "Post-Racial Era" video by Sylvester Brown, Jr.

If you can, Google “post-racial America.” It was a phrase echoed ad nauseum in 2008 that signified the country’s transition beyond race. After all, a Black man, Barack Obama, was elected president of the United States. It was a self-congratulatory signifier that race no longer mattered and racism no longer existed in America.

White pundits, politicians and people gleefully engaged in the great pretense that the country had finally put its biases aside and elected a Black man. Never mind that Obama’s predecessor, President George W. Bush, had mired the country in two unfunded wars and the most severe worldwide economic crisis since the Great Depression. No, in the minds of many, America had simply transcended racism.

Poppycock! Days after Obama’s coronation, and throughout his presidency, he faced the most bombastic, racially charged backlash from the media and the public ever recorded. It was anything but “post-racial.” In fact, it was a “predetermined America” complete with a collective rebuttal dictated by race.

According to the Southern Poverty Law Center, the number of radical "anti-government" militia groups increased from 150 to 1,274 during the years of Obama’s presidency. Just three months before the 2016 presidential election, a whopping 72% of registered Republican voters doubted Obama’s citizenship, according to an NBC poll at the time. Donald Trump’s trajectory to the White house can be directly aligned with his leading the "birther movement,” where he publicly questioned Obama's birthplace and backed other outlandish conspiracy theories and racist tropes.

By election day 2016, a racially predetermined (not post racial) white America was conditioned, codified and masterfully prepped to vote for a candidate who would sooth their racial anxieties and “please, baby, baby, please…” “Make America Great Again.”

Trump was white America’s cue to act up and act out on their racial hangups and fears. Indeed, post-Obama, the time was ripe to stereotype all Mexican immigrants as criminals, drug dealers and rapists. White extremist’s behavior was so normalized by 2017 that, during a rally in Charlottesville, VA demonstrators with tiki torches boldly marched the streets chanting anti-Semitic sentiments like “Jews will not replace us.”

Under the Trump Administration, it was OK to label BLM protestors as “Black Identity Extremists” and “domestic terrorists” who posed a threat to the United States. This was the group, according to former Defense Secretary, Mark Esper, who Trump asked: "Can't we just shoot them in the legs or something?"

Ironically, it’s Trump, his cultish political allies and followers who are now labeling white extremists’ groups like the Proud Boys, Oath Keepers and others involved in the violent Jan. 6 insurrection as “political prisoners” and “hostages.”

Alternative nor mainstream media doesn’t discuss this much but everything regarding Trump and his third bid for presidency evolve from or revolves around race. As voting outcomes have revealed, it’s not just white extremists or poorly educated southern voters who slavishly support Trump and his ignorant, incoherent rhetoric. No, it’s so-called “good white people,” teachers and doctors and policemen and mailmen and... well, a huge segment of whites who are attracted to his subtle and not-so-subtle racially divisive messages.

In the upcoming presidential election, I don’t fear Black voters who are supposedly backing Trump. In 2016, Trump only received about eight percent of their vote. In 2020, Biden garnered 92% of the Black vote. No matter how many publicity stunts like the recent overwhelmingly white gathering of Trump supporters at his attempt to galvanize Black voters at a Black church; most Black voters will still reject Trump, no matter how many clownish mugshot T-shirts or garish tennis shoes he markets to urban voters.

No, I fear the un-polled; that quiet majority of “reasonable” white voters who ache for an America where Blacks were kept “in their place”; where Black history wasn’t taught in public schools or universities and no corporation, college or government institution was forced to abide by diversity, equity or inclusionary policies. I fear the voters who will gladly swap dictatorship for democracy, the Constitution for a career criminal.

I fear post-racial America.

Replace “Jews” with “Blacks” and See What Happens to Florida’s New Educational Standards

2023-07-30T08:36:00.000-05:00

OPINION

During the Holocaust, Jews learned valuable skills which, in some instances, could be applied for their personal benefit. Because of the genocidal treatment of European Jews between 1941 and 1945, they learned frugality, creativity and collective enterprising. Furthermore, it must be understood that some acts of violence during German-occupied Europe, were perpetrated against and by Jews.

Did that paragraph shock you, make you angry? Did it sicken you?

Good.

It should.

Now What?

Replace the words “holocaust” and “Jews” with “slavery” and “Blacks” and you might empathize with the shock and frustration of many infuriated over the new set of standards recently approved by the Florida Board of Education.

The new African American Studies curriculum standards include instruction on the "personal benefit" of slavery for Black people.” This means Florida public school students will now be taught about the advantages of various duties and trades performed by slaves, such as agricultural work, tailoring and blacksmithing.

The fact that Blacks (like Jewish people) were creative, enterprising survivalists long before slavery is overshadowed by this backwards effort to sanitize American history.

In addition, in accordance with the state's new academic standards, students will be instructed on "acts of violence perpetrated against and by African Americans."

The new rule specifically applies to the 1920 Ocoee, Florida massacre, where a white-led mob attacked and killed 30 to 35 Black residents and burned Black-owned businesses to the ground.

Students will learn how uppity, assaulted or even enterprising Blacks somehow contributed to race riots in Florida and, theoretically, throughout the nation during the early 1900s.

These educational additions are the result of politically- inspired legislation signed in 2022 by Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis.

Proponents claim they simply want to prevent the teaching of anything that makes people feel "shamed because of their race."

****

What’s happening in Florida is the opposite of what happened in Germany after it was defeated in 1945.

After the end of WWII, Allied forces felt Germans needed to be re-educated in democratic values. Therefore, through the process of “denazification” German society was to be cleansed of all Nazi ideology and influence in “society, culture, press, economy, judiciary, and politics.”

The Allied Control Council issued Directive no. 24 mandating that all schoolbooks that supported the destructive tenets of Nazism, Fascism or German militarism be eliminated. It required schools, universities, and public libraries, as well as booksellers and publishers, to immediately remove such works from their shelves.

****

Of course, there were no efforts to eliminate the tenants of white supremacy in public schools, universities or libraries after slavery was abolished in the United States. Long before Jewish people were demonized in Nazi propaganda, America’s religious, political and educational scholars upheld slavery on religious, moral and economic grounds.

It seems politicians like DeSantis want to revise the old-timey, white supremacist, religious rhetoric that taught slavery was a mandate from God.

The Biblical story of Noah and his son, Ham, was re-manufactured into “The Curse of Ham.” Slave-owners leaned on the tale of Ham and his descendants (reincarnated as “Africans”) who were bound to servitude forever and ever.

Then in the early 19^th Century, there were political figures like political theorist and the 7th Vice President of the United States, John C. Calhoun who wrote:

“Never before has the black race of Central Africa, from the dawn of history to the present day, attained a condition so civilized and so improved, not only physically, but morally and intellectually... It came to us in a low, degraded, and savage condition, and, in the course of a few generations, it has grown up under the fostering care of our institutions.”

Note Calhoun’s dehumanizing use of the word “it” for Africans.

In fact, everything taught in public schools after slavery was presented through the vantage point of “American” (white) values. That mandate continued well into the 1960s when most Blacks, as well as other minority groups, were educated in wholly segregated public schools that excluded Black history and culture.

Black history education became mainstream during the “Say it loud; I’m Black and I’m Proud,” turbulent ‘60s civil rights era. A newly integrated America inspired Black leaders, politicians, educators, students and others to boldly demand historical and cultural representation in classrooms throughout the nation.

****

And now, just 60 or so years after that educational “revolution,” right-leaning politicians like DeSantis and their hordes of like-minded followers are intent on reverting back to a time when whitewashed education was the norm.

To push back against Critical Race Theory (which isn’t even taught in public schools), DeSantis signed the "Stop WOKE Act" into law. Critics, including the ACLU argue that efforts such as those enacted in Florida are just blatant attempts to erase Black history and culture from the nation’s classrooms and American culture.

“Truths we once considered hard but self-evident are now being erased before our eyes,” the ACLU posted on its website in February.

“Sadly, more and more, this history is being challenged and even erased in our culture and, right now, in our schools, through tactics like curriculum restrictions and book bans,” the statement continued.

According to the organization, “30 state legislatures across the country have introduced bills to limit the discussion of racial history in a wave prompted by the emergence of critical race theory as a subject of political fearmongering. But that’s just the beginning, over 300 books by predominantly Black authors discussing race, gender, and sexuality, were also banned in the last year alone.”

I invite you to go back and reread the first paragraph of this commentary. Imagine school curriculums designed to alleviate German “shame” because of actions perpetrated against European Jews. Try to conceive the arrogance of a people who committed crimes against humanity demanding that their victims learn how they, too, were culpable in those atrocities. Imagine books written by Jewish authors who discussed the holocaust banned in public schools and libraries.

Are you incensed?

Good!

Now What?

Sylvester Brown, Jr. is a St. Louis, MO-based writer, journalist and author. He is the former publisher of Take Five Magazine, former Metro Columnist with the St. Louis Post-Dispatch and current Deaconess Fellow writer with the St. Louis American Newspaper.

Digesting Black History 365 Podcast - Sylvester Brown Jr

2023-05-03T12:12:00.002-05:00

From Pruitt-Igo to the Post-Dispatch to my current "old dude" life. This Podcast interview with Marvin Glenn gave me the opportunity to reflect on a "predestined life." Hope you enjoy!

Kim Gardner and the Big Pretense

2023-03-16T08:34:00.004-05:00

by Sylvester Brown Jr.

Those who condone, tolerate or support Circuit Attorney Kim Gardner’s forcible removal from office have engaged in a heavy dose of pretension.

Gardner has been on the hotseat since last month when a 21-year-old, Daniel Riley-who was on bond on a robbery case-caused an accident that left a young, out-of-town athlete, Janae Edmondson pinned between two cars. Her legs were later amputated.

Immediately after the incident, the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, ran an article that basically placed all the blame on Gardner’s office. The publication reasoned that since Riley had incurred more than 50 bond violations Gardner’s office should have had it revoked. That way, Riley would have been behind bars not driving recklessly on downtown St. Louis streets.

The region’s daily newspaper pretended that Gardner’s office is responsible for eratic driving and issuing bonds. For suspect reasons, it skipped over the responsibility of the police who supposedly control reckless driving or Judge Bryan Hettenbach, who actually issued Riley’s recognizance bond and hadn’t changed or revoked it even after numerous violations and a request from Gardner that he be jailed.

For suspect reasons, the Post skipped over the responsibility of the police to control reckless drivers or Judge Bryan Hettenbach, who actually issued Riley’s recognizance bond and hadn’t changed or revoked it...

Almost every local media story stubbornly focused on Gardner as the sole culprit. Several black local, state and “progressive” politicians immediately condemned Gardner. Mayor Tishaura Jones stated that Gardner had “lost the trust of the people.” State Rep. Rasheen Aldridge (D-St. Louis), Rep. Raychel Proudie, who represents parts of north St. Louis County, Board of Aldermen President Megan Green also condemned her. Like the media, they too dismissed Gardner’s claim that she is the target of a political and media hitjob.

To dismiss Gardner’s claim that she’s a political target is to dismiss similar allegations from black “progressive” female prosecutors across the nation. Prosecutors such as Baltimore City State's Attorney Marilyn Mosby, Aramis Ayala, the first black elected prosecutor in Florida’s history, Kim Foxx, Chicago’s first black woman state’s attorney or Rachael Rollins, a black female prosecutor in Boston are all under attacks similar to Gardner’s.

To dismiss Gardner’s claim that she’s a political target is to dismiss similar allegations from black “progressive” female prosecutors across the nation.

Jefferson City politicians are working feverishly to appoint special prosecutors to take over Gardner’s cases or remove her from office. It’s no coincidence that Georgia legislators are attempting the same maneuver against Fani T. Willis, the district attorney in Atlanta. No doubt, the effort is in retaliation for Willis’ ongoing investigation of former President Donald J. Trump.

It takes a great deal of pretension to ignore Gardner’s turbulent entree into the circuit attorney’s office. She was elected in 2016 on a promise to address the “long history of racial inequality and prejudice in the city’s criminal justice system generally, and within its police force particularly.”

After she was elected, the police union quickly opposed her bid to create a new unit to investigate police-involved shootings. The relationship worsened in 2018 when Gardner drafted a list of 28 officers whom she did not trust to put on the stand. Racism is so deeply embedded in the city’s police department that even president of the Ethical Society of Police, Heather Taylor, questioned how anyone could ignore its “long history of racial discrimination.”

It’s no coincidence that Georgia legislators are attempting the same maneuver against Fani T. Willis, the district attorney in Atlanta. No doubt, the effort is in retaliation for Willis’ ongoing investigation of former President Donald J. Trump.

Gardner’s critics have chosen to make-believe that “Red State” Missouri politicians are unlike Trump-loving extremists in Washington DC. Attacks increased exponentially in 2018 after Gardner made the audacious decision to prosecute then-Missouri Gov. Eric Greitens.

Then, in 2020, Gardner received vicious backlash, mostly from conservatives, when she filed criminal charges against Mark and Patricia McCloskey, after they pulled guns on Black Lives Matter protesters outside their Central West End mansion. Claiming that Gardner violated the McCloskeys' 2nd Amendment rights, Missouri Republican politicians wrote to then Attorney General, William Barr, calling for an investigation. Sen. Josh Hawley (R-Mo.) also wrote Barr and insisted the courts immediately "dismiss this case.” For his part, Republican Gov. Mike Parson vowed to pardon the McCloskey's even if they were convicted.

Gardner’s critics have chosen to make-believe that “Red State” Missouri politicians are unlike Trump-loving extremists in Washington DC.

Gardner’s critics have purposely ignored the more than two-decade history of problems within the circuit attorney’s office, similar to those under Gardner’s reign. Gardner’s predecessor, Jennifer Joyce, who is white and was elected circuit attorney in 2000, never received the kind of personal scrutiny and political backlash that Gardner has.

Police representatives have accused Gardner of being “soft on criminals.” Yet, in 2007, when Joyce’s office failed to bring charges against a man homicide detectives said they had DNA evidence that proved his guilt, there was no outcry for her dismissal.

Unlike previous circuit attorneys, Gardner’s powerful political critics have blamed her for everything ranging from in-office resignations to criminal case backlogs. Like Gardner, there was turnover and resignations when Jennifer Joyce took office. But, in Joyce’s 16 years in office, she was never held personally responsible for those departures.

Nor was Joyce blamed in 2008 when the St. Louis circuit courts was designated “the slowest in the state and carrying the largest backlog of cases.” At the time, the average age of city court cases waiting for deposition was 285 compared to 153 in St Louis County and 146 in Jackson County.

Unlike previous circuit attorneys, Gardner’s powerful political critics have blamed her for everything ranging from in-office resignations to criminal case backlogs.

Two years before Gardner was elected, Joyce’s office was accused of “last minute dismissal of felony cases.” At the time, at least 51 felony charges in 2014 were dismissed by the attorney’s office within days of trial dates. Again, there were no police or high-profile political accusations of Joyce being inept or “soft” on crime nor were there calls for her resignation or removal.

It takes a huge bucket of gumption to blame Gardner’s office for backlogs and delays in criminal cases during a once-in-a-century, global pandemic. Earlier this month, KSDK news reported that there were more than 4,500 criminal cases pending near the end of 2022.

Of course, Gardner has made mistakes. What politician hasn’t?

But even with backlogs and chaos in the courts due to the pandemic, her office boasts a 95% conviction rate including an 81% conviction rate on murder charges.

History is history and facts are facts. So, let’s stop pretending that attacks against Gardner and the orchestrated attempt to remove her from office are not politically motivated.

My Very Stressful “Stress Test.”

2022-09-09T13:00:00.005-05:00

I know all things Cosby-related are taboo to discuss now, but I couldn’t help but recall the hilarious Bill Cosby show episode, “The physical."

You see, my doctor set up a “nuclear stress test” for me at Barnes Hospital last week.

It was quite stressful.

The first red flag was the word “nuclear.”

A quick Google search explained it thusly:

“A nuclear stress test uses a small amount of radioactive material and an imaging machine to create pictures showing the blood flow to your heart.”

Wait, what? Someone is going to inject radioactive fluid in my veins and I’m supposed to be OK with this?

Fine! I trust my doctor…sorta.

The emailed instructions from Barnes stipulated that I not have coffee, chocolate, or cigarettes 12 hours prior to my appointment. My day begins with two of those things (don’t judge me, damnit!). The latter is probably why my doctor ordered the test.

Anywho, I show up at the hospital bright and early already stressed from deprivation. I check in and sit in the waiting room until a technician calls my name and takes me to the prep room. There, she checked my blood pressure and explained the upcoming process. She stuck a needle in my arm and a catheter which would be used to pump the liquid death into my veins that would travel to my poor unsuspecting heart.

All the while I’m peppering the tech with questions:

“Is this radioactive stuff safe? Has anyone ever been rushed to the emergency for heart surgery during one of these tests?"

“Yes,” and “Yes,” the technician answered, way too nonchalantly for my taste.

Stress!

After this I was taken to another room with a gurney and a treadmill nearby. Another tech came in, had me lie down on the gurney and placed about 12 sticky patches ("electrodes") strategically on my chest and torso. Next, she connected a bunch of wires to the electrodes before strapping a portable EKG machine around my waste that, she said, would measure the electrical activity of my heart while I "walked."

Next, I was told to stand on the treadmill. In a few minutes, the tech explained, it would start and gradually increase in speed and elevation for about 15-to-20 minutes.

“Easy-peezy,” I thought.

Like Cliff Huxtable, I was cocky, strutting on the treadmill like a Blaxploitation movie character to the beat of “Superfly” playing in my head.

About five minutes later, I had a Getto Boys moment where my mind started playing tricks on me.

“I can feel that radioactive sludge coursing through your veins,” it said.

Beads of sweat percolated on my brow, my arms and torso... making me think I might short out the EKG wires. I felt my poor heart beating rapidly in my chest, my temples and, for some strange reason, the back of my throat.

Stress!

“Stop being a punk,” my inner macho man demanded.

OK, but my legs joined my brain and started complaining: “Dude, we aren’t used to this. We drive places. What’s with all this walking fast crap?”

Ten to fifteen minutes, more speed, and higher elevation levels later, I started to really panic. I don’t know why they had that freakin’ EKG screen right next to. Every time I coughed the ragged line shot up on the screen. I can’t swear to this, but I believe I saw a flat line or two slip pass my eyes.

I think my intestines and bladder simultaneously decided to save me. Suddenly I needed a (#1 & #2) bathroom break…like immediately.

Stress!

Then, my legs, as if they had their own brain, just stopped. I grabbed the treadmill handlebars so as not to slide into the wall behind me. The technician must have noticed because she gently placed her hands on my lower back with gently reassurance: “Just keep walking it’s almost over.”

Finally, the treadmill ordeal was done. I desperately needed a cup of coffee and a cigarette (stop judging).

But, Nooo, I had to wait around for the second part of the test. Once my heart rate settled down, I was told I’d be placed in an imaging machine so doctors could see blood flow to the heart at its “resting rate.”

Whatever!

They gave me a small cup of cranberry juice and a tiny packet of graham crackers and sent me to another waiting room. Because I hadn’t eaten anything in the last 15 hours or so, I greedily consumed everything with a satisfied quickness. I’m not sure if it was FOX or News Nation but the latest "Trump news" blared on the waiting room's TV screen.

Stress and disgust!

We were about three hours in at this point. I might have to stick around for another two hours or so, the tech told me, if the doctors weren’t satisfied with the images from the treadmill and scanner.

Damn! Rotating images of Starbucks and Parliament's 100s circled my imagination.

Anyway, I was sent to the imaging room and was told to lie down on this machine that looked like part oversized metal donut and part coffin. I lay under the donut part first, with my arms above my head holding my wrist. The whirring donut rotated back and forth for a few minutes then the gurney-thingy slowly slid into the metal coffin part.

Again, my mind started tripping:

“Man, it’s awfully snug in here,” it complained.

I didn’t know I was claustrophobic but for some reason, I started breathing funny and felt my eyes bulging. Laying there under whirring coffin cameras, the little boy in me pleaded:

“Momma!”

Finally, finally, it was over. “No more tests needed,” the Tech told me. “The doctors think they have what they need.”

I was released.

On the way out of the hospital, I stopped at a kiosk and got a hot cup of java. I sat in my car on the parking lot sipping coffee and doing that other (nonjudgmental) thing I mentioned.

I don’t know the results of the tests yet but I was feeling pretty good. For those precious, caffeine and nicotine-filled moments, after hours of self-inflicted mental anguish...

I drove home stress-free.

****

Sylvester Brown, Jr. is a longtime, St. Louis based write and author of three books, including White Castles with Jesus & Uncle Ray at the Used Tire Shop.

Understanding the Rise and Dominance of White Extremism in Today's America

2022-08-08T11:26:00.000-05:00

White extremism was evident in the mobs that stormed the Capitol on Jan. 6, 2020. To truly understand its resurgence and prominence in today's political and social landscape, we must go back 14 years to a supposed "post racial" time in America. I produced this video two years after the election of Barack Obama. The video, presented during a MLK celebration ends with the question: "Are we really living the American Dream?"

There’s a N***a in My House

2022-06-29T13:58:00.004-05:00

by Sylvester Brown, Jr.

June 30, 2022

It took my mind a minute to process what my eyes were seeing.

I was sitting on my bed watching an episode of “The Boys” when I noticed a figure creeping toward my bedroom doorway. Other than the TV light, it was kinda dark in my upstairs apartment. I couldn’t see the face clearly. My mind went through the checklist: It’s not my girlfriend. This body was bigger and beefier than my brother, Tommy, who lives next door. These are the only two who have keys to my apartment.

“N***a, who the f..k is you?” I shouted like a semi-illiterate, Samuel L. Jackson.

Please excuse my use of the N-word here but, damnit, sometimes it applies…for black folk that is, not the descendants of those who’ve abused the word to snatch the lives, liberties, and freedoms from blacks.

In my young world the word applied to trifling, no good, thieving, lying, raping, or murderous black men. In my old world, it’s still apropos.

I jumped from the bed and got directly into this stranger’s space. He backed up a bit too slowly for my comfort.

“Am I going to have to tussle with this dude? At 65, can I still tussle?”

Still, I kept advancing, keeping my eyes on his hands as he back walked toward my kitchen.

He nonchalantly handed me my keys and said, “you shouldn’t have left these in the door.”

I was taken aback. “Did I leave my keys in the door?” Maybe. It didn’t matter. This dude should have knocked or shouted before creeping into my apartment.

“Outside,” I said, glaring into his creepy eyes. He tried to say more but I pointed above his head. “I said, OUTSIDE!”

He left and hustled down my steps toward the courtyard. I took a quick inventory of my apartment: Wallet was still on the stand in the kitchen. Nothing seemed to be missing from it. My laptop was on my desk, and nothing looked out of place.

Then I got mad. “This N***a was in my freakin’ house!”

Anyway, I grabbed my “weapon” and went looking for the dude. I was urged on by images of him creeping toward me still burning in my memory. What if I were asleep? Would I have been woken by a knife in my chest or a bullet blazing through my body?

I live in the Old North neighborhood, not far from Crown Candy. There’s an interesting collective of people here. It’s comprised of working class, lower-working class and people doing what they have to do to get by. Let’s just say that seeing the occasional crackhead in the vicinity isn’t that rare.

Once downstairs, I saw two neighbors from across the street standing in the alley.

“Did you guys see a creepy-looking dude in a greenish shirt?” I asked.

“Yeah, he just walked around the corner,” the male neighbor answered.

It was sort of heartwarming to see how my eclectic neighbors-my brother, a constant rehabber, a back-alley mechanic, and some people I’d never met- gathered behind my building all discussing and searching for the mysterious intruder.

I don’t know why but I didn’t call the police. I just thanked the God’s that I wasn’t harmed or robbed. I double-locked my door and went to sleep.

The next afternoon, standing in line at a fast-food joint, I pulled out my wallet. The $45 I thought I had was gone.

“I’ll be goddamn…that MF did rob me!”

When I got home, my neighbor, the rehabber, knocked on my door.

“That guy who broke into your apartment, walked into another guy’s house and was harassing the young lady who lives below you,” he informed me.

Apparently, the other guy whose home was invaded had called the police. No one has shown up, the rehabber informed me.

It was then that I decided to call the police. Within a half hour, the rehabber again knocked on my door to tell me the police were downstairs. I don’t know if my call had anything to do with their visit or if they were responding to the other call or both.

Anyway, it seems the rehabber and back-alley mechanic had done some impressive reconnaissance work. They knew where the dude lived, how long he lived there and who his girlfriend was.

Me and the other home invasion victim gave the police our accounts of what happened. Fifteen minutes or so later, there was another knock at my door. The police wanted to know if I’d get in the back of their cruiser to identify the suspect. Through tinted windows, I saw the creepy-looking, black dude again, this time handcuffed between two police officers standing against a building about six or seven dwellings from mine. He had the gall to have a put-upon look on his face.

“Yeah, that’s him,” I told my driver.

The next day, I got a call from the circuit attorney’s office wanting to know if I would testify if they decided to prosecute the guy.

“Yeah, sure,” I answered.

This whole interaction has left me stunned. The thought of what the guy might have done to me if I was asleep or what he may do to others; me being on the side of the law and genuinely appreciating their work-all of this has left me in a vulnerable, disturbing, introspective mood.

Mostly though, I’m still grappling with the eerie reality that this apparently up-to-no-good, possibly nefarious, possibly drugged out, creepy-ass n***a was actually in my house.

Sylvester Brown Jr. is a long-time St. Louis journalist. He currently writes for the St. Louis American newspaper and is the author of three books, "When We Listen: Recognizing the Potential of Urban Youth; White Castles with Jesus & Uncle Ray at the Used Tire Shop and his first novel, Gateway Gas. More information can be found here.

“What If This is it?”

2021-12-06T08:36:00.000-06:00

by Sylvester Brown, Jr.

I am a nocturnal creature. Poetry, songs, words, or complete storylines come to me in the wee hours of the night. But, by the time I go from bed to bathroom, from coffee to computer, the muses quickly dissipate. I am often disappointed at the attempt to recreate, restructure or reimagine what was authentic or powerful enough to wake me. Sleeping with my phone at my side helps. Messaging myself, helps seize it and squeeze a semblance of meaning from the nighttime missives.

And so, it was last night. I rose from slumber with the jarring thought:

“What if this is it?”

The question followed an apocalyptic dream obviously inspired by my research on the omicron variant of COVID-19. Reading about the coronavirus’ spike protein and its unusually high number of mutations ignited my unconscious imagination. In unrestricted slumber, the thought of a disease stronger and faster than science became real. It was the end of times unlike what religion taught me as a child. There was no heaven or hell, no “good or bad,” no saved and definitely no savior.

We were all doomed.

Still in bed, I Googled “Literature during the Spanish Flu.” Through my limited research I read that there were few books, movies, songs, or poems written explicitly about the 1918 flu pandemic that killed between 50 to 100 million people.

Some historians say that the man-made pandemic, WWI, was one reason for the pandemic’s literary blackout. They reasoned that tales of brutal trench warfare, the sheer cost of human life coupled with the travesties of an unseen and largely misunderstood virus might have overwhelmed the collective consciousness.

Still, it’s hard for me to imagine there ever being a situation that creative people didn’t address. The unfiltered mind goes to taboo places. They write, sing, or speak to outcomes that make the masses quiver. They release…not for effect but for freedom. If they don’t get it out; it consumes them, stalls them, constipates their flow.

Thus is the curse of the creatives.

Therefore, I allowed myself to run with my dreamlike narrative:

“What if this is it? What would I feel? What would I do?"

All the intricacies of my working life became miniscule. In that state of mind, I released myself from the ongoing fight against racism and inhumanity. The rise of white extremism or “black power” became inconsequential. What was, what is, were mute points. I no longer cared about politics or political crazies. The return of Trump held no threat. Dialogue about the “unvaxxed vs the vaxxed” became unimportant, inconsequential. It was too late for the blame game.

Being a “creative,” I’d use my remaining time to speak to LOVE. I’d make sure the people I truly care about, know I love them, despite our perhaps artificial differences. I’d find the daughters I’ve lost to a broken union. I wouldn’t beg for understanding or absolution; I’d simply say, “you have been and will always be loved.”

I was comforted by the creative liberty of release. Freed from the ingrained fear of celestial punishment for deeds or misdeeds, I was simply able to be…me. The mere thought of uncontrollable, unmanageable, unstoppable death made me drill down to my core values and basic principles. For brief, fleeting pre-dawn moments, I was released from the perceived ramifications of wrong choices, wrong moves, or false friends. One succinct, pointed question about death paved a pathway for living:

“What if this is it?”

*********

Sylvester Brown Jr. is a St. Louis writer and author of three books: When We Listen: Recognizing the Potential of Urban Youth (2019), White Castles with Jesus & Uncle Ray at the Used Tire Shop (2021) and his first novel, Gateway Gas (2021). Sylvester is also the Deaconess Fellow with the St. Louis American newspaper writing about COVID-19's impact on the Black community.

Uncle Ray...Redux

2021-11-28T19:09:00.004-06:00

by Sylvester Brown, Jr.

Illustration courtesy of "White Castles with Jesus & Uncle Ray at the Used Tire Shop" by Sylvester Brown, Jr.

“Whoop, whoop!”

The last time I spoke with Uncle Ray, I was writing for the St. Louis Post Dispatch, more than 15 years ago. When first writing about him, in 2000, I explained that his name was a euphemism for “racism.” I compared it/him to a crazy old uncle that kin folk hide in the basement when company is over who invariably comes out and shows his ugly, vile, racist side to everybody. Talking with Ray has been all at once liberating, frustrating, and depressing. But I cherish our conversations. Instead of allowing it to eat me up, devour my mind and soul, I can release these feelings with racism.

Recently, while rousing from a deep sleep, I heard that familiar raspy voice:

“Wake up, boy. I’m ba-aack!”

“Uncle Ray,” I reply groggily, “what brings you around?”

“Ain’tcha been watching the news? I been scoring victory after VIC-TO-RY!”

I knew what the bastard was talking about. That night, I read where 18-year-old Kyle Rittenhouse had been exonerated for shooting three men during a Black Lives Matter protest in Kenosha, Wisconsin. The teen, whose mother drove him across state lines with a loaded semi-automatic, AR-15 rifleclaimed he went to Kenosha to protect businesses from being vandalized and provide medical aid. Reportedly, out of the 12 jurors and eight alternates, only one was a person of color.

“Did ya see what I did there, sonny? Did you see how I had my judge, Brucey, fix things during the trial?

Yeah, I knew. I was sickened by Judge Bruce Schroeder’s declaration to the prosecutors that the people Rittenhouse shot couldn’t be referred to as “victims” but the defense could indeed characterize them as “looters” or “arsonists.”

A novice would have concluded that allowing the jurors to hear this and give a defense witness a round of applause, supposedly because it was Veteran’s Day, was a clear endorsement of the type of “patriotism” Rittenhouse represented. That sentiment was highlighted when Schroeder's cellphone briefly chirped with the ringtone “God Bless the U.S.A., a favorite ditty played during former President Donald Trump’s rallies.

“Did ya see what I did there, sonny? Did you see how I had my judge, Brucey, fix things during the trial?

“It was downright magical…hee, hee, ha, ha!” Ray brayed. “It was like the glory days back in good ole’ Mississippi: Innocence by a like-minded judge and a sympathetic jury.”

“Yeah,” I responded sarcastically, “like in 1955 when you selected an all-white jury to exonerate Emmett Till's killers.”

Ray abruptly stopped laughing and looked at me curiously.

“Seems to me you don’t see the brilliance in my moves, boy.”

“You mean Trump, his followers and the rebirth of racism,” I answered. “Yeah, I see it and I guess it is 'genius'...in a Hitler-ish kinda way.”

Ray again burst into laughter:

“Hee, hee. Ha, ha. You killin’ me, son, you are kill-in’ me! You being so melodramatic and all...you’re missing the genius of my moves these past few decades. Trump wasn’t the start; he was just a part of my long-term strategery.

“See, you and the rest of them lily-livered liberals thought ya’ll accomplished something when ya’ll elected that Nig, Obama. What ya’ll really did was scare white folks; made ‘em think ya’ll was looking for a little git’-back. Shoot, all I had ta do was use the Intranets and Fox News to speak their fears out loud, whip ‘em into a frenzy, validate what they wuz already holding inside. They just needed a little proddin’ that’s all. They just needed to hear ‘this here’s the white man’s country…forever and a day.' God Bless the U.S.A., know whatI’msayin’? Ha, ha!”

Ray was winning the “argument” if you can call it that. As incredulous as it seems, racism is again mainstream. A vile, sexist, and racist con man was indeed elected president. He won despite using racist tropes to stir up his base. He referred to Neo-Nazis as, “very fine people” after they marched with tiki torches shouting, “Jews will not replace us.”

Since Trump’s victory, other elected racist extremists are loudly and proudly pushing bodacious, not-so-subtle legislation aimed at snatching the voting rights away from people of color.

"You’re missing the genius of my moves these past few decades. Trump wasn’t the start; he was just a part of my long-term strategery."

As if reading my mind, Ray speaks with mock compassion:

“Did it shake you to the core to see my loyal minions carrying the Confederate flag as they stormed the Capitol to overturn that sham election?”

I respond bitterly:

“You mean that group of crazies who pissed and wiped their feces on the walls while beating Capitol police and threatening to lynch the vice president because he wouldn’t endorse Trump’s lies ? It was sickening but not shocking?”

“Did it shake you to the core to see my loyal minions carrying the Confederate flag as they stormed the Capitol to overturn that sham election?”

“Whatcha mean, boy?” Ray replies, seemingly disappointed.

“Because you’re right,” I answer resolutely. “I been watching you, studying you. This outcome, our state of affairs; its predictable. We are where we’ve been before. But, if you recall, we’ve kicked your ass before, too. You may have scored a victory with Rittenhouse, but you got your ass stomped in the Ahmaud Arbery case. Those crackers who thought they could also claim “self-defense” after chasing and shooting a black jogger got a taste of swift justice when they were found 'guilty.' And remember, buddy, there was only one black juror in that trial, too.

"You see, in your arrogance, you always go too far. You always go to a point of revulsion. It’s just a matter of time before one of your political loonies, like Boebert, Greene or Gosar, does something that reinforces the danger of radical racism or leads to something even deadlier than Rittenhouse’s crime. Soon, my old rabid enemy, you’re gonna slip up…again.”

It looks as if Ray is seriously pondering my words. As if flipping through a mental rolodex of racism’s rise and decline over the centuries, he stares at me long and hard. Then, a nasty snaggle-tooth grin slowly spreads across his face.

“Almost had me there for a second, sonny. Had me thinking my moves were mistakes when they wasn’t. That was jus’ me messing wit’ ya’ll’s minds…making ya’ll think you was making…let’s see what’s that word…oh yeah, 'progress!'

I gives a little to get a lot, knowwhatImean? Again, as Bushy put it 'strategery!'

“Rest on that for a while, boy. I got’s things ta do. The midterms next year and the return of my prodigy in ’24…lots and lots ta do.

"Meanwhile, you gone back to sleep now and keep...hee, hee...hope alive. Hate to break it to ya, boy, but you got a long wait a-coming.”

With that, Ray disappears. I try to go back to sleep but, in my mind, I hear a familiar refrain:

“Whoop, whoop.”

Sylvester Brown Jr. is a St. Louis-based writer and author of three books. Two "Uncle Ray" essays have been re-published in his book of short stories, "White Castles with Jesus & Uncle Ray at the Used Tire Shop.

Audio excerpt from Gateway Gas (Chapter 14) by Sylvester Brown, Jr. Warning: Not suitable for children

2021-11-08T09:35:00.002-06:00

Excerpt from Chapter Fourteen

The Ever-Mysterious Olivia

March 15, 2017

"Hey, Sol, look, it's the newspaper man."

Sal yelled to his twin brother as Cliff entered their business, Sol & Sal's Used Tire Shop. The shop has been in the Ville neighborhood on Martin Luther King Drive before there was a MLK Drive. Back when Cliff was a kid the street was named Easton Avenue. The twins had run the business since the early 1960s. Business was always good. A new set of tires for the average sedan could cost up to $1,000. Customers could get a decent set at the used tire shop for $300 or less.

The address given for Olivia was just a few blocks from the brother’s shop. Cliff knew they knew everybody and everything that happened in the neighborhood. Maybe the twins would have information about the prisoner he could use.

Cliff appreciated the metallic tinkle of the rusted bell above the door as he entered. The sound was a throwback to times when elderly black business owners always had a word of advice or an odd job for neighborhood kids like Cliff.

Sol, Sal’s brother came through the dingy burgundy curtains that separated the storefront from the huge, garage-like area where the brothers serviced cars and trucks. “Hey, youngblood, he said, wiping his dirty hands on an even dirtier rag. Sol embraced Cliff. Though in his late 70s, Sol is linebacker strong. Sal, not so much. Cliff took comfort in his embrace. He also liked the fact that no matter how old he was, he’d always be “youngblood” to Sol & Sal.

The twin brothers are total opposites who rarely agree on anything – race, politics crime… not even the origination of the shop's name. Sal said the name was inherited from the previous Jewish owners. Sol told Cliff that his brother was “full of shit.” The shop, he said, was an abbreviation of their first names - Solomon and Salvatore Nester. Sol’s version made more sense. Sal’s story relied on the unbelievable fact that two Jews sold a shop to two black men who happened to share their first names.

"What's on your mind, youngblood?” Sol asked. “You only come around when your cogs are stuck." Sal, laughing, chimed in: “Yeah what problem can we solve for you today, young man?”

Cliff wished he could deny it, but it was true. He was still shaken from his brief but brutal conversation with Olivia. His first impulse was to go back to the Globe and tell Tink, he wasn’t doing the assignment. He’d tell his boss that Olivia was batshit crazy and there was no way he’d get anything useful out of her. After driving around aimlessly, he found himself trolling his old neighborhood.

“You guys heard about that lady who killed that baby?”

The brothers exchanged glances. They were communicating something with their eyes that Cliff didn’t quite understand. Sal looked at his brother as if seeking permission to speak:

“Crazy ass, woman. What kinda mother kills her own baby?”

Sol rolled his eyes at his brother, turned his back and went behind the counter. He pulled out an old hat-sized, tin box with World War II-era stickers pasted on its lid and sides. It once belonged to the twin’s father, a soldier of the war, Sol once told him. Cliff got the impression that Sol was carefully mulling his words before responding to his brother’s comment:

“Stop it Sal, we don’t know the facts, only rumors.”

“Rumors my black ass,” Sal retorted. “They found a dead baby and some crack in the house. Case closed. She’s gonna get the death penalty...unless…”

Again, the weird communication thing.

“Unless? Unless what?” Cliff wondered. It was as if Sal wanted Sol to fill in the unfinished sentence.

Usually Cliff appreciated the brother’s different take on things. Sal has little patience for today’s black people. He rails incessantly about “no-account, do-nothing, lazy ass, welfare and drug addicted niggas,” especially “young niggas with sagging pants and even lower IQ’s and morals,” he’d say.

Sol is an old school, black pride, “everything wrong with blacks is because of racism” kinda guy. Somewhere in between their divergent philosophies, Cliff usually found a balance that guided his thinking and some of his writing.

But not this time. Sol wasn’t playing the usual tit-for-tat game with his brother. He nether indicted or defended Olivia. Cliff stared at Sol as he tinkered with items in his box.

“What is it, Sol?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” his old friend replied. “I just think folks who don’t know what they’re talking about ought to shut the hell up…Sal!

“I’m jus’ sayin’,” Sal replied unusually noncombative.

“Wait, do you guys know Olivia?” Cliff asked. “If you do, that will be helpful ‘cause I found very little about her in the public records.”

Again, the brothers swapped curious looks. “Well, I think Sol knew…” His brother’s angry glance stalled Sal’s words.

“You ever seen a Luger up close, Cliff?” Sol asked, pulling a black semi-automatic with a brown base and elongated barrel from the tin box.

Cliff walked closer to Sol’s extending his hand. “Can’t say that I have,” he answered, cradling the gun. Cliff imagined the twin’s father fighting the German’s in the trenches of WWII. His respect for them deepened as he realized that they, too, were soldiers but in the Korean War in the 1950s. The fact that they and their father fought for “freedoms” overseas that they were denied in their own country, humbled him.

What snapped Cliff out of his mental revelry was the realization that his old friend had side stepped his question.

“What were you about to say, Sal?”

Sol answered before his brother could. “I don’t think we’re going to be able to help you on this one, youngblood.” He retrieved the gun, put it back in its tin, closed the lid, turned his back, slid the burgundy curtain aside and returned to the back of his shop.

Sal just shrugged his shoulders. “I guess we ain’t got nothing to say.”

The bell tingled again as Cliff exited the tire shop. He looked up and down the street of his old stomping grounds. Cliff instinctively felt the Nester Brothers knew more about Olivia than they were letting on. but were refusing to talk for odd some reason.

He fired up the Lexus’ engine. As he peered in the rearview mirror before whipping a U-turn to head downtown, back to the Globe, he vowed that he would learn more about the mysterious, troubling Olivia Johnson.

CLICK HERE to Purchase Gateway

“I Stand with Dave.” And Therein Lies the Problem

2021-10-26T10:05:00.006-05:00

by Sylvester Brown, Jr.

Oct. 26, 2021

The phrase, “I Stand with Dave” has been trending on social media after the outrage over comedian Dave Chappelle’s recent Netflix comedy special, “The Closer.” Surely, you’ve read how Chappelle’s jokes about the LGQTB community offended them and their allies. Although I’ve been reading about it, researching it and thinking about it; I’ve been hesitant to write about it.

Why? Because I have friends and followers in the gay community who have supported me for years. I sincerely don’t want to offend them.

And therein lies the problem.

Throughout my 35-year writing career, I have never shied away from controversy or worried about losing fans because of something I’ve written. I’m not comfortable with the idea of self-censorship out of fear. Therefore, I feel obligated to say what this comedy-driven outrage represents in our society.

For me, it’s not the “why” many respond to things they disagree with; it’s the “how.” I see a disturbing similarity between the so-called “woke” crowd and the Trump supporters who stormed the capital in January. Both, convinced of their right-ness feel they have an obligation to ferret out and destroy supposed offenders. Reason, facts, nuance, ill-intent, malice, or no malice…all be damned. Both groups have stormed the barriers of free speech, free thought, and traditional norms to obliterate anyone they feel fits in the category of their discontent.

And therein lies the conundrum.

Social media is a wonderful, world-changing tool for change. It’s been an effective weapon to beat back tyrants and dictators, killer cops, and corrupt politicians. Because we can share our thoughts, coordinate our actions, and broadcast our intent globally, people who had no voice now have powerful platforms of relevance, meaning and action.

We can change shit! And that’s a good thing.

But as the old saying goes: “With great power comes great responsibility.” It is within this arena where we need to check ourselves; examine our actions and remember the ramifications of what many considered “right” in the moment.

I see a disturbing similarity between the so-called “woke” crowd and the Trump supporters who stormed the capital in January.

The folk exercising their right to target those they find offensive should remember the era of McCarthyism when clusters of firm believers accused people in Hollywood of belonging to the Communist Party. Facts had no sway. People, many of whom were not communist, were nevertheless blacklisted, fired, had their reputations destroyed and were publicly crucified out of fear, paranoia, and unchecked political power.

For those intent on ending the careers of comics they deem offensive, I’d suggest they watch, at least, the first season of “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel.” The show based in the 1950s and ‘60s revisits a time when comedians like Lenny Bruce were arrested on obscenity charges because of their comedic materiel.

As we root out the evils of comedy, we should be very, very careful and remember that comedians, like Bruce, Carlin and Pryor pushed the envelope and challenged the sacred cows of religion, race, politics, and culture. They endured mainstream hatred but, in the end, opened doors for some of today’s most notable comics.

Many gay rights activists have taken offense at Chappelle’s transphobic humor because now, in our society, trans people are being attacked and killed simply because they are trans people.

It is a reasonable concern if you stubbornly subtract malice and intent.

I remember when Richard Pryor told jokes about cops choking black people to death when cops were choking black people to death. Things haven’t really changed that much but the point is sometimes, comedic gold can be mined in times of great turbulence and social unrest.

In today’s hyper-sensitive environment, I seriously doubt if Jewish actor, comedian, and film producer Mel Brooks could make films like “Blazing Saddles” (with its copious use of the N-word), “History of the World Part I” and “The Producers” (remember “Springtime for Hitler”) which made fodder out of Jewish tragedies.

When I think of the mess Chappelle is in today, I reflect on Brooks who once said, “My job is to make terrible things entertaining.”

Dave Chappelle makes terrible things, uncomfortable things, controversial things…well, entertaining. I sense no malice, no ill intent, no desire to spread hate or deny the gay community their right to be openly and proudly gay.

I think, as a society, we must be very careful in this effort to intimidate or censor comedians. During an episode of Netflix’s “Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee,” host, Jerry Seinfeld and guest, Eddie Murphy talked about how comedians find humor in everything, even death. Trying to change how comedians think is akin to trying to change the predatory habits of a lion or tiger.

When I think of the mess Chappelle is in today, I reflect on Brooks who once said, “My job is to make terrible things entertaining.”

I stand with Dave because I find him to be a principled, cerebral comedian. I loved the witty brazenness of the “Chappelle Show.” In fact, I became more of a fan when Chappelle walked away from the lucrative, $50 million dollar gig out of principle.

Last year, on “My Next Guest Needs No Introduction with David Letterman,” Chappelle explained how the show challenged his sensibilities and led to his departure. The ill-timed laughter of a crew member made Chappelle wonder if the response stemmed from something unrelated to satire. As he told Letterman, "It just raised an interesting question to me, which I was already wrestling with in the first place."

That response fits with the persona I have attached to Chappelle. He doesn’t seem to be in the laughter game simply for cheap laughs. Looking at the backlash over his recent comedy special, I’m forced to wonder if viewers noted the deliberation Chappelle provided before going in on the LGQTB crowd.

I noted his thinking process in the 2019 Netflix special, “Sticks & Stones.” In its opening minutes, Chappelle opined about how the gay community accused the black community of being homophobic because they didn’t support gay actor Jesse Smollett’s questionable claim that he’d been a victim of a racist attack in Chicago.

Chappelle then challenged the audience to decipher an imitation. They laughed as he went into a dufus-sounding dissertation: “Uh, duh. Hey! Durr! If you do anything wrong in your life—duh!—and I find out about it, I’m gonna try to take everything away from you!”

“That’s you,” Chappelle said pointing at the audience before adding: “y’all niggas is the worst motherfuckers I’ve ever tried to entertain in my fucking life. Goddamn sick of it. This is the worst time ever to be a celebrity. You’re going to be finished, everybody’s doomed!”

Throughout both comedy specials, Chappelle worked hard to convince the audience that he held no malice for gay people. In fact, near the end of “Sticks & Stones,” he said: "If you’re in a group that I made fun of, then just know that I probably only make fun of you because I see myself in you."

During what appeared to be a recording from a recent live set, Chappelle said he “won’t be summoned” but is open to having a conversation with Netflix’s transgender employees. If and when they have a sit-down, the comedian listed three conditions, one of which is that participants must have watched his special “from beginning to end.”

I totally understand the caveat. Critics of “The Closer” had to work awfully hard to ignore the gut-wrenching story about his transgender friend and comedian, Daphne Dorman. Chapelle’s anger over the fact that Dorman committed suicide days after defending him on social media was evident when he said:

“I don’t know what the trans community did for her, but I don’t care…because I feel like she wasn’t their tribe. She was mine. She was a comedian in her soul.”

Throughout both comedy specials, Chappelle worked hard to convince the audience that he held no malice, no hatred, no ill intent for gay people.

Those were not the words of someone who hates gay people. They were the words of a person pushing back against the “movement of the moment” …the self-delegated, crowd who determines “right vs wrong,” “funny vs offensive” and who’s allowed to say what and when.

Chappelle has not buckled under pressure even though the backlash has been real. During the recent live set, Chappelle talked about a new unnamed documentary he’s about to release, noting: “Now, today, not a film company, not a movie studio, not a film festival, nobody will touch this film.”

Not to be deterred, Chappelle will be host screenings of his documentary across 10 cities nationwide so, as he put it, fans can “see what they’re trying to obstruct you from seeing.”

I admire Chappelle’s moxie. He’s a cerebral thinker, and a damn funny comedian. I admire him because he has made me think, made me write about something despite fears of losing friends and followers. He’s lived up to the tradition. Chappelle is like the comedians of yesteryear who continued to stoke the nation’s consciousness despite threats of arrest or censorship.

It’s for these reasons and more that…

“I stand with Dave.”

*******************

Sylvester Brown, Jr. an award-winning, St. Louis-based writer and author. His first novel and latest book, “Gateway Gas” was published in Aug. 2021

2021-09-22T10:00:00.001-05:00

Excerpt from:

Chapter Seven

The Assignment

Cliff got off the elevator on the fifth floor, the Globe’s hustling, always bustling newsroom. There was a huge maze of dull, carpet-paneled cubicles designated for reporters, columnists, sports, political and other writers. Copy and line editors, researchers, photographers, layout artists, the editorial team, the archive room and Tink’s office were all behind glass-enclosed sections on the newsroom’s floor.

Before starting his computer, he noticed a square, yellow Post-It pasted to its screen. It was from Tink:

“Come see me as soon as you arrive.”

Red-eyed and drained, Cliff trudged toward his bosses’ office. He knocked before entering. “You wanted to see me, Tink?”

“Clifford, how ya feeling?” Tink said measuring Cliff with his youthful, sea-blue eyes.

“Fine, fine, Cliff responded guiltily. “Thank you for looking after me last night. Man, I don’t know what it was…the food, the liquor…maybe I just haven’t been getting enough sleep. But whatever it was, I’m fine now.”

Tink seemed to survey Cliff from head-to-midsection for several uncomfortable seconds: “Cliff, don’t bullshit a bullshitter,” he said motioning for Cliff to take the seat in front of his desk.

***

The memory of their first conversation blipped in Cliff ’s mind as he waited for Tink to address his drug usage and job performance.

“Am I about to get fired?” he wondered.

“Something’s not right with you, my boy.”

Normally, Cliff would have chewed the head off any white muthafucka who dared call him “boy.” But, coming out of Tink’s mouth, it seemed warm, fatherly even.

***

Tink slapped the morning edition of the Globe on his desk. Those eyes of his were like lasers through Cliff ’s soul.

“Have you read today’s lead story?” Tink asked.

Cliff had not. Yeah, he had glanced at the headline about a crack-addicted woman who allegedly suffocated a baby but, as far as he was concerned, it was just another cumulative indictment, another validation of a centuries-old myth of black savagery. Sure, whites routinely committed horrid acts against children, but the multiple representations of positive “whiteness” couldn’t, wouldn’t impact the collective image of their almighty race. But stories like this one could easily erase decades of so-called “progress” by simple reminding whites that blacks have always been and will always be nothing more than soul-less animals.

***

“This is a life raft, son.”

Tink’s trenchant voice snapped him out of his moment of revulsion. “I’ll be goddamned if I’m going to leave this place with my prodigy in tatters.”

Cliff opened his mouth to protest but Tink raised a flat palm to silence him.

“This is your beat for the foreseeable future, son. You are going to take our readers into this woman’s dark, disastrous life. You are going to give us every sordid, ugly, depressing detail of this tragedy up until she’s tried, exonerated, convicted, incarcerated, put to death or sent to an insane asylum. You are going to resurrect those skills I saw when I first hired you."

“Accept this assignment or pack your things and get out of here.”

Tink continued with sad eyes and furrowed gray brows:

“The choice is yours.”

Gateway Gas is available through Amazon.com

Learn more. Click here.

"So, So St. Louis...So What?" Reading at Kasimu-Tet Jazz show

2021-09-18T16:48:00.001-05:00

The following is a spoken word piece I read during intermission of the Kasimu-Tet concert at Joe's Cafe on Sept. 16, 2021

So, So St. Louis…So what?

I am so, so St. Louis…

So what you might say…what does that have to do with Kasimu, the man we came to hear play?

Everything…I reply…

Then you’ll probably ask…Why?

Well, because I am a reflection, a projection, a manifestation, a creation of a city in the 1950s…a product of Pruitt-Igoe…built so leaders of the Metro could transplant the negro so the city could grow…where black families and black businesses had no choice…but GO!

Millcreek, the home of thousands, demolished in the wake of 33, 11-story, crowded, concrete towers near Jefferson & Cass…that didn’t last…20 years before they were CAST to the barrios of Wellston, Normandy, Jennings, and Ferguson…soon to be the home of a lost SON

Music

I am so, so St. Louis…

So what you say…

You see I was born that day, three years after Brown vs the Board of education deemed segregated schools illegal throughout the nation…but here, there was procrastination, hesitation, machinations to never, ever invest in poor, black, city schools…

…they bent the rules, packed black kids on buses destined for suburban schools…where they learned by association, affiliation, indoctrination to love the white world and regard theirs as an abomination…

Taken from their neighborhoods…where “less than,” was understood…where Daddy Knew Best, where Lucy & Ricky, Wally and the Beaver, Ward & June Cleaver lived opulent lives while we got by on what we could…

Them that's got shall get…them that's not, shall lose…so the bible said and it still is news…you can help yourselves…but don’t take too much…

It was just understood

By association, we were supposed to learn to read and write…instead we were force fed the reality of black & white…where kids did homework by candlelight…had to learn fight or flight…with no relief in sight…living off condemnation, food stamps, hot plates, and cold baths at night…

Music

I am so, so St. Louis…

So what you say…

I am Vess Soda, Crown Candy, Imo’s Pizza, W. C. Handy, Saint Paul Sandwiches, canned spaghetti, Redd Fox, Josephine Baker, Chuck Berry and Dick Gregory’s legacy…

I am the Jefferson bank demonstrations, Percy Green climbing the Arch to highlight economic segregation…I am James Buford, Eric Vickers, and Al Sharpton…closing down Hwy 70 so blacks could participate in a little monetary emancipation…

I am Mike Brown…shot down with his hands in the air…Wilson didn’t CARE…nor did the armor-clad cops with slathering dogs and tanks and rubber bullets who wantonly threw tear gas in the AIR…

Music

I am so, so St. Louis…

So what you might say…

Well, because anyplace else…I don’t think I could have turned out this way…nurtured by soft, benevolent white support and hard black love…I learned to believe in the majestically, magical power from up above…

with examples…in the shadows of creative genius… Robert Guillaume, Maya Angelou, Michael McDonald, Quincy Troupe, Clark Terry, Eugene Redmon, John Goodman, John Hamm…here I became another naïve seeker…stubbornly carving out his own little piece in the promise land

This town is my song … It’s My Kind of Town, St. Louis is…filled with people who-oftentimes, sometimes, once and while…smile at you…

PAUSE

It’s what Louie described…Oh St. Louis is…with that Arch man…shining bright over downtown streets…fancy joints, man, where people meet, eclectic eats, walkin’ historic streets…

Don’t. Forget. About Kingshighway (huh, huh) and Graaand Blvddd…art after dark, there’s Forest Park, U. City chill, BBQ on the grill and that groovy old Italian hill…

Different people all across the city, man… downhome Ville, the Grove’s surreal, zoo’s a thrill and that old Timey…BEVO MILL…

St. Louieeeee….It’s a Hell of a townnnnn….Look out St. Louie is BACK!

Music

I am so, so St. Louis…

So what you say…

Those of us, born and raised here understand…St. Louis’ terrain is rough…we’re molded to be tough…we’re not highbrow, stuck up or dumb…we just want to know what high school you come from

St. Louis is tenacity, and resiliency…we pay our dues, we make our own rules, we rock Nelly’s grooves and resonate with Marquis Knox’s blues…St. Louis is courage and creativity… we’re hewn from sturdy stones…It’s why we elected our first black, female mayor…TISHAURA O. JONES!

Music

So, don’t ask me “so what?”

If you’re from St. Louie, you feelin’ what I say…That’s why you’re here today…to hear the magnificent, melodious, uber-talented, unstoppable, young, St. louis trumpeter who’ll touch our hearts and make our souls SWAY, SWAY, SWAY…

Kasimu Taylor/Kasimu-Tet…

MAN…will you please PLAY, PLAY, PLAY?

Thank you!

9/11 Excerpt from "Gateway Gas" by Sylvester Brown, Jr.

2021-09-11T09:03:00.000-05:00

"Cliff was hired a year before Middle Eastern madmen reminded America that terrorism was not just a threat on foreign soil."

Excerpt from "Gateway Gas": A novel by Sylvester Brown, Jr.

Chapter Thirty Four:

A Foreign Affair

September 11, 2001

Cliff barely paid attention to the news that morning. He was getting ready for work, casually watching the Today Show. After a commercial, Katie Couric, who sat on a couch with her co-anchor, Matt Lauer, announced: “We have a breaking news story. Apparently, a plane has just crashed into the World Trade Center here in New York City. It happened just a few moments ago, apparently. We have very little information available…”

It was almost 7:00 a.m., central time. Cliff watched the news footage of cloud-like, dirty smoke billowing from the north tower of the skyscraper. What he thought was just a horrible plane crash became much more moments later. Another Boeing 767 had slammed into the second south tower of the World Trade Center.

Within the hour, there were reports of two more plane crashes, one into the side of the Pentagon and another somewhere in Pennsylvania. Cliff ran to his apartment’s balcony and looked skyward. Was America under attack?

When he arrived at work, the newsroom was an intense flurry of activity as the Pentagon burned and the fiery twin towers eventually collapsed. Horrific images of people jumping from wounded, burning buildings; smoke and ash filled city streets; soot-covered pedestrians running for their lives; emergency responders heroically and desperately working to save lives-all dominated the news across the world.

The next day, President George W. Bush addressed the nation, promising vengeance on a yet-to-be-identified enemy. Nine days later, Bush spoke before Congress, announcing a “War on Terror” against a fanatical Islamic group known as “al Qaeda.” Bush vowed to defeat it and “every terrorist group within global reach.” Five days later, Sept 25th, Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld announced the beginning of the anti-terror campaign called “Operation Enduring Freedom.”

***

Cliff had never paid attention to the name “Laila Ashani” before September 11, 2001. She worked in the “Features” section of the newspaper, which he never read. But two months after the terrorist attack, Ashani penned an editorial about her experience as a Muslim born in America. She wrote about her parents, Ghasaan and Maraam Ashani, and their dream of coming to America from Pakistan in 1982 and starting their own business.

Within ten years, the East Indian couple owned three motels in the St. Louis and East St. Louis regions. Their only daughter, Laila, worked in those motels along with the Ashani’s brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts and other Pakistani relatives and friends. Under her parent’s scrutinizing eyes, Laila excelled in elementary, high school and college where she earned a full-ride scholarship in journalism at the University of Missouri. She was hired at the Globe immediately after graduation.

On the day her commentary was published, Cliff found kinship with the writer. He then read her company profile where she proudly spoke of having the wonderful opportunity to break down stereotypes, misunderstandings, cultural differences and explore the things Muslim-Americans had in common with native born Americans.

Laila was largely successful in that endeavor until nearly 3,000 people lost their lives during the terrorist attacks. When she wrote her editorial, the U.S. had already gone to war in Afghanistan, reportedly targeting the Taliban and al Qaeda training camps. Laila detailed how life had suddenly changed for her, her parents, and any Muslim or “Arab” who remotely fit the ever-evolving description of what most Americans deemed a “terrorist.”

Laila wrote that she saw the “best and worst of America,” citing the love and support Americans displayed for the victims and their families. She spoke of her own bereavement for the lost lives while, at the same time, detailing how Muslim-Americans had become the latest victims of racial and religious discrimination, government oppression and physical attacks. Lalia ended her piece with a plea for understanding, compassion and her personal desire to grieve without the fear of retribution from “fellow Americans.”

Cliff read the responses from readers who mostly condemned Laila and Muslims in general. They spoke of deporting “internal enemies,” rounding up Muslim immigrants and placing them in internment camps. Some questioned the Globe’s commitment to the war, “American values” and demanded Laila’s immediate termination.

After her editorial was published, Cliff made a point to introduce himself.

“I liked your commentary,” he told the beautiful, sundrenched, brown-eyed reporter.

“What you wrote took a lot of guts.”

Gateway Gas is available at Amazon.com

Live Up to It! Interview with Sylvester Brown, Jr. -June 17, 2019

2021-08-18T04:53:00.008-05:00

UMSL student, Grace Morrow, interviews Sylvester Brown, former resident of Pruitt-Igoe housing project, former St. Louis Post-Dispatch columnist, director of The Sweet Potato Project, and narrator of The Pruitt-Igoe Myth.

"I wish I knew Sonny better."- A Father's Day Recollection

2021-06-20T11:00:00.006-05:00

Who was Sylvester Brown Sr.? I wish I knew Sonny better

By Sylvester Brown Jr.

Originally published in the St. Louis Post-Dispatch / Sunday, 6/20/2004

Left: My father, Sylvester Brown, Sr., with some of his kids. That's me with the sunglasses on the right

"Evelena, I just hit somebody!"

My mother moved with the swiftness of a paramedic. She grabbed blankets, instructed her two oldest boys to fetch their coats and follow her. My older sister was told to watch the little ones.

It was winter 1968. I remember fat, fluffy snowflakes floating from the sky as we ran like athletes toward the car. I was 11. My brother was just a year older. I can still hear the rapid-fire questions Mama shot at my father as we ran.

"What happened?" "Was he still breathing when you left?" "Have you been drinking?"

The car, still idling, was parked at an odd angle. The headlights magnified the steady falling snow as it landed on the moaning figure in front of the bumper.

My mother knelt by the man. He was semiconscious and very old. She looked up with tears in her eyes. My father looked down with fear in his.

"Oh, Sylvester…He's white," she whispered.

I was too young to understand the consequences of a poor, drunken black man running over a white man in the late 1960s. As police sirens echoed in the distance, Mama told my brother and I to run back to the house. We didn't see our father for years after that night. I later learned, he was sent to prison.

Sylvester Brown Sr. was my father. Everyone, including his children, called him Sonny.

When I think about Sonny, memories like the wintry night so many years ago come to mind. He's been dead for nearly 20 years, but I've been thinking about him lately. I guess it started in January when Joe Corrigan, a member of the Ethical Society of St. Louis, asked about him.

"You've written a lot about your mother, but who was Sylvester Brown Sr.?" Corrigan asked.

I wish I knew. When I think about Sonny, I think of drama, like the accident. I think of feelings. I think how sad and angry he made my mother. His battle with the bottle brought him in and out of our lives. We missed him when he was gone and rejoiced when he was home.

Sonny was an alcoholic, that much I knew. As an adult, I've come to understand that his disease brought grief into our lives. As a child, though, his drinking didn't bother me. In fact, I liked him better when he drank. He laughed and hugged us more.

My father looked like actor/dancer Sammy Davis Jr. He held and lost many jobs. He was a truck driver, a construction worker and he worked in scrap yards. He laughed long and hard at Bugs Bunny cartoons. He made intricate toy cars out of cardboard boxes and string.

I fondly remember him staggering home some nights and heading straight for the refrigerator. He'd grab a carton of eggs, an onion, and a bell pepper and make wild concoctions with whatever meat was available. My mouth still waters thinking of the eggs and mackerel, eggs and chicken or eggs and hot dogs he shared with his kids.

But I can't honestly answer who Sonny was. I never knew the source of his addiction. Were his parents alcoholics? Did it have something to do with low self-esteem? He had attended only a few years of grade school and couldn't read or write.

Who was Sonny? I know he gambled and was fond of the ladies. I know my mother loved him dearly. I also know he suffered from seizures.

I remember the seizures.

My older brother Daniel, Sonny and I were watching a western on TV one night, probably 1969. There was a climactic point in the movie. The good guy was shooting it out with bad guys. My brother and I laughed at the funny gagging sound Sonny made. We stopped when his eyes rolled upward. We stood frozen as his arms and legs went rigid, as he shook violently and blood trickled down his cheek.

My mother rushed into the room, wrapped her arms around him, shoved a spoon in his mouth and talked him through the episode. There were many, many more.

Mama later explained that drinking brought on the seizures. They increased as he got older. After my parents' divorce, when I was in my teens, Sonny had a debilitating seizure. He lay in the snow for hours before an ambulance was called. He never regained his full mental or physical capacities. He spent the last years of his life in a convalescent home.

I received a call from the facility one day in 1987. My father had suffered a stroke. He was dead, the voice informed me. I was asked to come sign the death certificate. Sonny lay on a bed, wrapped in a white sheet when I arrived.

It had been years since we talked. I guess I harbored the grudge of a son raised without a father. I touched his soft gray and black speckled hair. The texture was the same as my mother's and mine today. I said goodbye.

Who was Sylvester Brown Sr.? I wish I knew. Sure, when I think of him, I think of his alcoholism, wasted talent and missed conversations. I think of the lessons he taught me without meaning to. Like the fact that I've never been much of a drinker or that I make a point to hug my 18-year-old son often.

When I think of my father, I think of cardboard cars tied up with string, Bugs Bunny, laughter, old westerns and the smell of eggs, mackerel and green peppers.

That was Sylvester Brown Sr. My father. The man everyone called Sonny.

Addressing the “Cancer” Rampant in the St. Louis Police Department

2021-05-01T09:23:00.000-05:00

Newly elected mayor, Tishaura O. Jones has put the police union on notice: They have to get rid of [St. Louis Police Officers Association business manager] Jeff Roorda if they want a seat at her table. The police department is in the middle of negotiating its collective bargaining agreement with the city and Roorda, Jones said, continues "to gaslight racism in the region." Jones' election represents a crossroads in the city's relationship with police. This commentary, published in 2017, speaks to who Roorda is and the challenges Jones may face in ridding the city of a long-ignored, long-tolerated cancer in the ranks of the city's police department.

************

Originally published at Medium.com Sept. 25, 2017

by Sylvester Brown, Jr.

Mayor Lyda Krewson deserves points for her Sept. 19th public statement on the root cause of protests in the St. Louis region:

“This is institutional racism.”

Krewson is 100 percent correct. Institutionalized, systemic racism is the rancid cancer that has metastasized in the region’s organs for centuries. It’s a rotting parasite flowing through the arteries of employment, housing and economic development, the courts, radio airwaves dominated by conservative talk and the comment sections of the city’s top media outlets, most notably, its daily newspaper.

Krewson, also to her credit, has been front-and-center since protests ensued after Circuit Judge Timothy Wilson handed down a “not guilty” verdict for former police officer Jason Stockley for the shooting death of Anthony Lamar Smith.

However, in her break-down of systemic racism, Krewson lost points for not directly mentioning the institutional body that is most infected yet emboldened by the disease: The St. Louis Metropolitan Police Department.

The SLMPD shares this malady with police departments throughout the country. However, the city’s police department has a long, ugly history of brazenly flaunting its illness to intimidate politicians, protestors and anyone they feel defies them or question their tactics.

In 2014, after the police shooting of Mike Brown, the head of the St. Louis Police Officers Assn. (SLPOA), Jeff Roorda, fanned the flames of hatred on Fox News by declaring what he thinks St. Louis protesters really want:

“Dead cops, dead cops. That’s what they want.” Roorda said.

Established in 1808, the St. Louis Metropolitan Police Department has a long history of racial division. Today, in 2017, it has two police associations that represent the collective bargaining rights of officers. There is some overlap, but most white officers belong to the SLPOA, while most black officers are members of the Ethical Society of Police, which issued a public plea to find former officer Stockley guilty of murder.

The SLPOA is the same organization that, in 2014, tried to flex its collective muscles after five St. Louis Rams football players made a “hands up” gesture in solidarity with Ferguson protesters. The police group’s statement called for the players to be disciplined and for the Rams and the NFL to deliver a strong public apology.

Roorda threatened to reach out to other police organizations around the country to enlist their support: “I’d remind the NFL and their players that it is not the violent thugs burning down buildings that buy their advertiser’s products. It’s cops and the good people of St. Louis and other NFL towns that do,” he said.

Jeff Roorda, head of St. Louis Police Officers Association

Protestors, police and their supporters all have free speech rights. The police union is a very, very powerful agency with extensive social media tentacles, like its newsletter, the Gendarme, metropolitan police department websites and other pro-police groups like Blue Lives Matters. This would be all well-and-good if they didn’t cross over into the arenas of propaganda and intimidation.

Not only do the organizations use volatile rhetoric towards communities of color, often labeling young black men as “thugs” or peaceful protesters as “home-grown terrorist” and uses its influence to encourage an “us vs. them” narrative between police and protesters. Most disturbingly, however, is how these organizations threaten the livelihoods of individuals, businesses and anyone they’ve targeted as a threat.

Consider the recent case of Chris Sommers, co-founder of Pi Pizzeria. According to Sommers, on Friday, Sept. 15th, St. Louis police, in full military regalia, gassed his restaurant after protesters left the area. Sommers admitted he had some course words for police:

“I lost my shit and screamed at them for terrorizing our guests and hiding behind their shields and guns when there were zero agitators on our corner.”

When police lobbed a tear gas canister in his direction, someone next to Sommers threw it back, he says. Police rushed the restaurant, Sommers added, saying that he barely made it inside and locked the door before police reached him. After he posted the incident on social media and called out “the insane, illegal behavior by the police,” Sommers claims he’s become “public enemy №1” to the police and their supporters.

“Blue Lives Matters put Sommers on blast for his response — and the union representing St. Louis County police officers shared the link and echoed the call on its Facebook page, the River Front Times (RFT) reported. Pro-police groups shared the phone numbers of Pi’s Central West End, downtown and Delmar Loop locations and urged its supporters to express their “freedom of speech” rights and call the restaurant.

“Let’s get the word out that if you bash the police, you won’t be getting our business,” Blue Lives Matter wrote, according to the RFT.

Apparently, the word spread and their actions have affected Pi’s business. “The Blue Lives Matter (only) assholes are physically threatening me and my businesses, with hundreds of one-star reviews on Yelp, Google and Facebook,” Sommers stated in his response to the police’s accusations.

Andrew Gibson, a member of “Faith for Justice,” a coalition of Christian activists who’ve been involved in recent protests, recounted a harrowing tale of aggression and intimidation after police posted (on the SLMPD website) the names and addresses of protestors arrested on Sept. 15th, including members of Gibson’s group:

“The police did more to put us in danger by posting the addresses of everyone immorally arrested…, knowing there are white supremacists and blue lives matter groups who would love that information, knowing that there are children at those addresses,” Gibson wrote on his Facebook page.

City cops have become so brazen in their attempts to bully people, they fear no repercussion. On Sept. 16th, a St. Louis police officer posted a photo of Back Lives Matter protesters on a stranger’s Facebook page. The captions read: “The Klan with a tan” and “domestic terrorists.” Because the cop didn’t conceal his name, social media users connected him to his job through a Google search. The St. Louis Police Department was alerted and, according to a spokesperson, launched an investigation.

St. Louis area police seem to gleefully opt for militarized confrontation with black protesters. Unlike what the nation witnessed in Charlottesville, Va. Armed, torch-bearing, antagonistic, white supremacists and Neo-Nazi’s yelling racial slurs and anti-Semitic remarks were not greeted by the national guard, tanks, teargas or rubber bullets, which seems to be the first option local police choose for black protesters.

Angela Helm, a correspondent for the Root underscored the blatant disparity:

“The racists are still marching with guns and hair-trigger tempers, but the police have taken a unique “hands off” approach to the melee and letting these white men enjoy the very privilege that they whine is being taken from them.”

Two days after the PI Pizzeria incident, protesters, bystanders and at least one journalist, were reportedly roughed up and rounded up by police. During the melee, officers were overheard chanting, “Whose streets? Our streets,” stealing the familiar mantra of local protesters. The next day, interim police chief Lawrence O’Toole, reinforced the message by saying, “the police owned tonight. We’re in control.”

It was the Kansas City Star, not our local daily newspaper, that noted the danger of treating mass arrests like a “World Series win”:

“When St. Louis police in riot gear chant the same thing (as protesters), it’s meant to menace, to exclude… and not implausibly, to exult in the acquittal of Jason Stockley… The perception that it’s cops and not those they serve who ‘own the streets’ and the whole criminal justice system is why demonstrators are out marching in the first place,” the Star’s editorial board wrote.

Police brutality and intimidation may wind up costing the city dearly. The American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) announced its filed a lawsuit claiming city cops violated the constitutional rights of protesters by: “Attacking people indiscriminately with gratuitous use of pepper spray, pepper balls, rubber bullets, and tear gas when no apparent illegal activity had occurred; excessively use of force, including violent arrests that caused injuries; deploying chemicals, such as tear gas and pepper spray, without warning; deploying tear gas on routes where people were leaving.”

“Intimidation is not conduct that lives up to the standard of behavior expected by city police officers,” Mayor Krewson said during a Sept. 19th press conference. It’s important to note, however, that the mayor praised the police before pledging that any incidences of misconduct would be investigated by the department’s internal affairs division.

And therein lies the problem. For too long, city leaders have coddled racism. Placing the onus of change on the police is akin to asking cancer to cure itself. Like the literal disease, racism must be aggressively attacked with the most sophisticated tools and most qualified people. It must be killed before it consumes the entire body. Unfortunately, it seems, the arm of the SLMPD is completely disease-ridden.

A Sept. 19th New York Times article explored the “political tightrope” Mayor Krewson treads as a defender of protester’s rights “while also condemning lawlessness and standing in support of the police.”

During the mayoral race earlier this year, Krewson was heavily criticized for the endorsement she received from the St. Louis Police Officers Association and her relationship with the controversial Jeff Roorda.

“Roorda’s comments on social media are incendiary and abhorrent,” Krewson said during one community forum. “I do not stand with Jeff Roorda and those comments. But I do stand with the 1,200 city police officers today. I can’t help who they hire.”

It’s that “stand” with police that’s sparked Krewson’s renewed criticism. In the NY Times article, city treasurer, Tishaura Jones, one of the mayoral candidates, said Krewson seems “like she’s taking the side of the police.”

Mayoral candidates, including Krewson, offered a litany of proposals regarding police reform and public safety during the many debates and forums. Their ideas included de-escalation training for officers, violence intervention programs for would-be offenders, better community engagement, racial-equity training for police and increasing police presence in the city’s most violent neighborhoods.

In the end, Krewson won the election. Bottom line: the buck stops with her. She can’t be both an advocate and adversary of cancer. “Tightrope” or not, as the city’s elected leader, she must lead the charge in addressing police intimidation and aggression.

A Sept. 21st St. Louis American editorial labeled our city “the new Selma.” It harkens back to a time when Alabama police used brutal and inhumane tactics such as batons, water hoses and mass arrests to break the back of the civil rights movement. This is a designation that St. Louis doesn’t need. It is, however, a moniker the city will forever wear if the cancer of racism, aggression and intimidation isn’t completely and quickly eradicated from the body of police and our criminal justice system.

A Simple Plan for a Mayor Who Listens

2021-04-15T09:26:00.002-05:00

By Sylvester Brown, Jr.

I’m a simple guy.

In my mind, most challenges require fundamental, basic solutions: End racism by thoroughly addressing race-based stupidity. End poverty, crime, and violence by increasing opportunities for marginalized people. Elect politicians with the heart, mindset, and determination to do something different, radical even.

See, simple.

I supported mayoral candidate, Tishaura Jones because I believe she will listen and react to basic, simple plans that address the multitude of problems plaguing St. Louis’ long-denied and long-ignored black communities. I know this because she sat down and listened to me and others I know.

My desire is that the black community recognizes and utilizes the magic of this moment. Make no mistake about it; Jones is not our savior. I do see her, however, as a listener and possible do-er. If a plan make sense, if they impact the lives of the marginalized, I believe she will not only listen but offer some form of meaningful direction and leadership.

She said as much during her first national interview after winning the mayoral race. On the April 7^th broadcast of “Roland Martin: Unfiltered,” Jones talked about her plans to listen to everyone; those who voted for her and those who didn’t; city and county residents, politicians, stakeholders and the disenfranchised.

This is important. The almost 300-year history of this city has been dominated by white men who listened and responded to the wishes of powerful white leaders. Black leadership, however, shouldn’t start with Jones. It should begin in black communities. The people must bring her something practical, powerful, and attainable. Jones must see a cadre of individuals in economically hard-hit neighborhoods doing the heavy lifting and then seeking her help and whatever resources she can muster.

Black leadership, however, shouldn’t start with Jones. It should begin in black communities. The people must bring her something practical, powerful, and attainable.

Let me give you a basic, simple vision and a way Jones could help accelerate it:

There are several nonprofits in the city with the intent to build homes, grow food, start businesses, and rebuild neighborhoods. These nonprofits need to come together and develop a collective plan for North St. Louis.

There are experienced African American developers like, Kevin Bryant, of Kingsway Development who, like white developers, know how to put together proposals that include tax breaks, government subsidies and other perks. They should work with the community, develop the plan, put a price tag on it and go forth with assured determination.

President Joe Biden received the lion’s share of black votes. We must hold him accountable for promises made to black voters. Substance outweighs symbolism almost every time. But, in this case, Jones could be the symbolic impetus needed to galvanize an across-the-board movement of community ownership. If she is presented a viable plan, I believe she will listen and act accordingly.

Substance outweighs symbolism almost every time. But, in this case, Jones could be the symbolic impetus needed to galvanize an across-the-board movement of community ownership.

Jones could rally her Washington DC and other powerful connections and officially announce that St. Louis is implementing the first “reclaim and rebuild” movement in modern history. By 2024, Biden could use St. Louis as a national template of re-investment and redevelopment in urban neighborhoods.

The young people terrorizing the streets of North St. Louis need direction and inspiration. “Black ownership” needs to be a cool, communal moniker. We need talented poets, rappers, artists, writers, and activists to make words, songs, images, slogans, banners, and memes that encapsulate a 21^st Century urban movement.

But symbolism must be complimented with substance.

The young people terrorizing the streets of North St. Louis need direction and inspiration. “Black ownership” needs to be a cool, communal moniker.

During her interview with Martin, Jones said she will use her bully pulpit to work with civic groups, businesses and schools to find solutions, instigate “really hard conversations about the role race plays in our government” and move forward.

Jones defined St. Louis as the Midwest’s “best kept secret’ regarding its influx of agriculture, biotech, technology industries and the upcoming National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency. She said she wants to make sure that students from our region’s institutions of higher learning, such as Harris Stowe State College and Washington University, graduate with a degree and a job offer from industries in St. Louis.

This is good news, but we should not, must not, rest our hopes and dreams on white corporations saving black communities. Black folk have to step up to the table and illustrate the untapped economic and societal power already existing but never fully utilized within long ignored black communities

Imagine a plan to resurrect a couple of abandoned public schools as urban entrepreneurial educational centers. Imagine black kids from K-12 being taught the ABC’s of owning land and property, making and marketing products, growing, selling, and manufacturing fresh food and food-based products. Teaching young people these skills will not only make them viable entrepreneurs, it will also position them to be viable players in the burgeoning industries Jones mentioned.

Imagine a plan to resurrect a couple of abandoned public schools as urban entrepreneurial educational centers.

Right now, many of our kids live in environments where they instinctively learn the supply-and-demand methods of the illegal drug trade. If they’re taught the economics of urban life-how we live, dress, spend our money and entertain ourselves (the things whites have perfected)-young people would not only be prepared to draft their own destinies, but they will also be unstoppable in the new frontier of urban economics.

Our youth must immediately see the connection between education and entrepreneurism among their own people and within their own neighborhoods. They should graduate from entrepreneurial elementary and high schools with paid scholarships to institutions like Forest Park Community College, Rankin Technical School or Harris Stowe State College which already offers urban agricultural degree courses. They should be specifically primed to excel in areas targeted for redevelopment. Graduating students should be gifted a vacant lot and the resources to grow food. Meanwhile, nonprofits can build farmer’s markets, burgeoning business strips and perhaps a food manufacturing plant to employ new graduates.

Students trained to start and operate businesses should be awarded a stipend to open businesses in targeted areas, perhaps a diverse University City Loop-like destination along Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd. Those who graduate (or not) should be trained to build and rehab homes and businesses in resuscitated neighborhoods. Stipends should be given to young, first time homeowners to stabilize neighborhoods and provide reliable customer bases. Theoretically, Jones can be in the background convincing congress, local and state legislators, banks, and government entities to fund this massive, do-for-self reinvestment effort.

I recently met a young man, Alex L. Hodges, who owns his own security firm. Certain, more wealthier neighborhoods hire private security firms who work with the police department to patrol neighborhoods and properties. A black-owned private security firm with employees from inner city neighborhoods could be an asset in addressing crime (both street crime and police abuses) in areas targeted for redevelopment.

Of course, there’s nothing “simple” about this vision. However, it revolves around fundamental, basic, common sense ideas. The biggest hurdle in this endeavor will be overcoming our shared defeatist mindset. Black St. Louisans have been beat down, betrayed, belittled, and ignored for decades. Political division, greed, nepotism, and incompetence has run rampant in the city’s darker-skinned wards for decades.

Symbolism is needed to convince people that power does not lie in the hands of politicians alone. Substance will encourage and assure them that they can lead and accomplish this yeoman’s task with or without politicians. In fact, a new mindset will threaten any politician that’s usurping or sabotaging this collective effort.

As a black, progressive, female mayor, Jones has the juice, connections, art of persuasion and potential to pull off such a radical effort. Am I confident that she will rise to this simple, common-sense challenge? No. I am confident, however, that she will listen and act on a practical, people-oriented plan that outlines self-determined benefits for long-denied communities.

This alone is a simple yet powerful start.

Sylvester Brown Jr. is long-time St. Louis journalist and writer and author of “When We Listen: Recognizing the Potential of Urban Youth.”

Two Decades of Dumb

2021-01-28T11:24:00.000-06:00

By Sylvester Brown, Jr.

Originally posted Jan. 1, 2020 / Medium.com

We’re entering a new decade of the 21st century. Historians, I predict, will define this first 20 years as a pivotal point in American history. Where we go in 2020 and beyond is anybody’s guess. Candidly examining our trajectory so far, may help us right our seemingly wayward and chaotic course.

In the early 2000s, the Internet came into its full powerful force. Like a two-edged sword, it changed how the world communicated, giving anyone and everyone the power to decipher, define and disseminate “news.” Mainstream media suffered a massive blow. Its lifeblood, advertising revenue, was now siphoned off to “alternative news” sources. The Internet empowered a whole segment of the populace, some who share dangerous, outdated, xenophobic and paranoid beliefs. Suddenly, a horde of uneducated, uninformed readers, viewers and voters had well-financed media platforms to validate and normalize their darkest and dumbest beliefs.

In short, ignorance had gone mainstream.

This throng was ripe for exploitation after the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks. World leaders expressed sympathy for a relatively baby country that found itself vulnerable to deadly, strategized aggression. Countries the US considered “hostile” like North Korea, Cuba, Iran and Libya condemned the attacks and expressed sympathy for the loss of thousands of American lives. Fearing that Muslims around the world would become alienated and victimized, allies and adversaries alike cautioned against pursuing an indiscriminate, disproportionate, deadly course of military hostility.

The George W. Bush Administration instead launched a dumbed down, simplistic rationale for war: Our enemies simply “hate us for our freedoms.” This sophomoric, open-ended “good vs. evil” cliché expanded the definition of “enemy.” Illogical interpretations from religious leaders like Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson claimed the terrorist’s attacks were “a punishment from God.” “Pagans, abortionists, feminists, gays and lesbians” were all complicit in the horrific attacks on America, they said.

Stunned Americans, comforted by the illusion of military and economic superiority, were primed for unfettered, John Wayne-style vengeance. The president and willing politicians capitalized on the nation’s nativist fears, misunderstandings and growing hatred of anyone deemed “foreign.” In the newly revised media landscape, a war based on lies, greed and deceit was propagandized. Under the cloud of mass hysteria, a new, private, corporatized army was employed to help guarantee the capitalist’s desires to control oil-rich countries.

The terrorist’s attacks led to a decaying of our constitutional and democratic principles. Warrantless domestic wiretapping and the torturing of our enemies became legally and socially acceptable. After 9/11, immigration enforcement became synonymous with the “war on terrorism.” New government policies betrayed the words etched on the Statue of Liberty that, for centuries, welcomed the tired, the poor and the “huddled masses” yearning for freedom.

***

Two underfunded, ongoing wars, mounting deaths of American soldiers, a harsh recession brought on by the reckless actions of big banks and mortgage lenders and a ballooning deficit had many voters itching for “change.” It came in the form of a likable, compelling orator and Illinois Senator by the name of Barack Obama. The 2008 election of America’s first black president was falsely heralded as the “post-racial” era. In fact, the opposite became obvious.

By 2010, polls and studies substantiated a growing anxiety among whites who felt they had lost their place and stature in America. FOX News and other right-leaning news organizations fed this fanaticism with exaggerated stories of lost liberties, uncontrolled immigrant invasions, black contempt for police and orchestrated liberal attacks against traditional “American values.” The uninformed, prejudiced and paranoid bought into media hype that questioned the birthplace and legitimacy of President Obama. The loudest mouthpiece of this racist, misleading campaign, Donald J. Trump, incredulously wound up winning the 2016 presidential contest.

With Trump’s presidency, a whole slew of political, religious and social norms has been upended. Amazingly, a narcissist, a conman with a documented crooked background, an uninformed, self-admitted philanderer has been dubbed God’s messenger and savior of the free world.

Trump has been impeached and now faces removal from office. It’s doubtful that this will happen. But even if it did, Trump’s ouster is akin to removing a polyp from a malignant, cancerous, spreading tumor. The people, politicians and the press that elected him, codify him, excused, enabled, empowered and are protecting him will still be very much in power.

Trump is but a mere reflection of our collective hypocrisy, arrogance, selfishness and ignorance. We boast of “democracy and justice” while more than 2,000 children, without their parents, are locked in cages by the US Border Patrol. Trump has normalized a strange relationship with our long-standing enemy, Russia. We now have the president and his republican allies regurgitating Putin’s talking points while downplaying our own national security agencies’ warnings.

Religious leaders loyal to Trump have blurred the lines between “immoral and moral” conduct. Our government is cutting aid for the poor while increasing the wealth for the wealthiest Americans. Prodded on by competing media outlets, Americans are more misinformed and more divided than ever.

Do the first two decades of this century represent a new normal or a normal necessity? Sometimes extreme circumstances spur collective, corrective action. American history is replete with dumb, dangerous ideas, policies and people. Slavery, prohibition, the bombing of Nagasaki and Hiroshima, McCarthyism, internment camps, Cointelpro and the “War on Drugs” are but a few pertinent examples.

We enter 2020 at a bizarre point in American history. But, as a naïve optimist, I cling to the notion that enough of us have had enough of the chaos, inhumanity, hypocrisy, greed and mind-manipulating propaganda. The fact that there are millions of young people ready to vote, take to the streets, tweet, post and challenge wrong-headed adults also give me a sense of calm.

Today, we start a new decade. We have a new year and another chance to chart a new course. Take heart. Have faith in our collective and individual potential. Let us remember the words of anthropologist, Margaret Mead:

“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed, citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”

***

Sylvester Brown Jr. is a former columnist for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, the founder of the Sweet Potato Projecd and the author of “When We Listen: Recognizing the Potential of Urban Youth.”