By Melek Heru
Be of good courage, and let us play the men for our people, and for the cities of our God: and the LORD do that which seemeth him good.
2 Samuel 10:12
*************
Our Young Black Men, and boys, need Mature, Upright, American Black Men, to move amongst them in the community, as a Positive Patriarchal Presence that:
1) models the appropriate behavior that we want to see in our Young Men;
2) reaches out to them in a strong, loving, creative, way that is becoming of mature Men (not fellow homies); and,
3) intervenes with sound answers, and solid solutions, when our Young Men have questions or when they need help solving their problems.
1) models the appropriate behavior that we want to see in our Young Men;
2) reaches out to them in a strong, loving, creative, way that is becoming of mature Men (not fellow homies); and,
3) intervenes with sound answers, and solid solutions, when our Young Men have questions or when they need help solving their problems.
This is imperative if we are to optimize the influence of our youth on the Global Culture.
I commute on the COTA Bus, in Columbus, Ohio, on a regular basis. This is a strategy that I picked up over twenty years ago, as a student at The Ohio State University, to beat the campus parking space drama; and, I continued it in the 2000s, as a community college Instructor. I fondly refer to the COTA Bus as the "Public Limousine Service." The COTA Bus is also like a theatre on wheels. My regular commutes help me to keep my finger on the pulse of the People, as I observe the antics of the youth and listen to interesting conversations, and debates, between the adults. Occasionally, I break up fights between young people. I also, on occasion, have the opportunity to get young adults interested in going to college. The people who ride the COTA Bus are the living people who University students theorize about in the classroom; they are the so-called masses that the Blacker-than-Black wannabe militant student-activists romanticize about. These commuters on the inner city COTA bus lines are the true Community Theatre Players who daily act out the simple, and complex, roles of God's People in a modern day stage version of the 'Souls of Black Folk.'
Several years ago, during a commute home from downtown, on a Northbound #1 Livingston Avenue-to-Cleveland Avenue bus, I overheard some Black American adults commenting on some rowdy, pants-sagging, Black male youth who had just gotten off the bus. This discussion morphed into an intense debate about the problem of the poor behavior of some of our male, and female, youth around the city. Someone noted that youth in other countries are imitating Black American Youth. The commuters ended up debating, about the causes of our present cultural, and spiritual, disaster and sharing their ideas about what must be done about the problem. What I heard from these Jubalee People that evening amazed me.
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There were about five or six debaters in the discussion---male and female. They appeared to be mainly in their thirties and forties. Also, sitting to the side, listening in intense, dignified, silence, was a stately old Black American Woman. Her gray hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She was beautiful with an air of wisdom and strength; and, it was obvious that she was quite fine when she was a Young Woman. The debate intensified to fever pitch with nearly everyone in the conversation talking over each other; nobody was able to agree on anything except that the Black Community is in a serious state of crisis. Suddenly, with one assertive motion, the old Woman sat up straight and moved to the edge of her seat. With her right index finger in the air, she raised her voice above the bantering fray and spoke seven clear words to the group so loudly, so clearly, and with such force, and conviction, of Matriarchal authority, that it silenced everyone in the debate at once:
"WHAT WE NEED IS...STRONG...PATRIARCHAL...LEADERSHIP!"
Everyone sat amazed; and, not one had anything to say in response. They could only nod their heads in affirmation. I will never forget that moment. I am invariably an American Black Man, the product of two lines of righteous Patriarchal Leadership that go back, at least, to the time of the Southern Reconstruction. Now, whenever I encounter the university-grown rhetoric of the Womanists, or the Black Feminists, categorically denying the legitimacy of Black American Patriarchal Leadership, I must take it with a grain of salt in light of the authentic Matriarchal Wisdom of this strong, beautiful, Female Elder from the Black Community. For she needs no "ism" to validate her Womanhood or to authorize her power; and, she has no axe to grind against the American Black Man. I trust this Wise Woman's insight; and, I trust her intentions. I try, in good faith, to act upon the solution that she so strongly asserted that evening.
This Matriarch's bold, unequivocal, affirmation of the Patriarchal Leadership of American Black Men speaks to the reality that, at our cultural best, The Patriarchate and The Matriarchate co-exist in a complementary relationship that produces healthy Men and healthy Women who themselves co-exist in complementary relationships. Let us be crystal clear; The Patriarchate, which is superior to the bitter offense that the Feminists call patriarchy, is male leadership that is strong, loving, nurturing, creative, and compassionate. This is most likely what the old Woman on the COTA Bus was calling for. She was certainly not calling for more patriarchy; she was too wise, and too strong, of a Woman to do such a thing.
Patriarchy is the opposite of strong, loving, nurturing, creative, and compassionate, male leadership; it is basically male dominance through oppression. And oppressors are not strong; neither is their leadership true leadership. They are really just fearful weaklings who happen to have a false advantage. That is why they need to oppress, and exploit, others in order to maintain their advantage. Nor are they really loving; but, rather, they are either conditionally sentimental or remote and inaccessible. Patriarchal oppressors are not nurturing; they tend to be either overbearing, and overly critical, or indifferent and unsupportive. Patriarchal oppressors tend not to be generative, that is to say, encouraging and prone to bless weaker or younger people; but, rather, they tend to be stifling, discouraging, and overly critical. Patriarchal oppressors tend not to be particularly compassionate; but, rather they are prone to judge, condemn, and punish. Patriarchy, in principle, is rooted in the philosophies of 'Might Makes Right', 'The Ends Justify The Means,' and 'The Lex Talionis' (The Law of Retaliation).
The Patriarchate, on the other hand, is not oppressive; it is a Manhood that can affirm itself without disaffirming Women, Youth, and Children. It is a Manhood rooted in the philosophies of 'Might For Right' and 'The Good of Humanity Is The End of All Means' and 'The Power To Forgive Is The Strength To Live.' This is our true Masculine Heritage. This was a strong, spiritually healthy, Manhood that was secure enough to co-exist with a powerful Womanhood that produced such leaders as the Kentake Queens of Kush; Queen Hatshepsut, and Queen Mother Tiye, of Kemet; Queen Nzingha of the Matamba and the Ndongo; and, an unparalleled West, and Central, African civilization complex of Women that gave birth to the terrible, and peculiar, wonder known to History as the Black American Woman.
NOTE: Beware of the new "Anti-Sagging" laws that are being passed in cities around America (supposedly) just to get our boys, and Young Men, to stop sagging their pants. Think before you endorse this solution. Such laws set a legal precedent that can open the door to the revival of Jim Crow-type laws that will be aimed at our youth first and then at other Black Americans. This is a very real possibility and a very real danger. Let us be vigilant and realize that it behooves us to solve the problem of sagging pants, and misbehaving youth, ourselves. It is the responsibility of mature American Black Men, not "Anti-Sagging" laws, to get our boys, and Young Men, to pull their pants up and act right.
BE OF GOOD COURAGE...
AND LET US PLAY THE MEN FOR OUR PEOPLE...
I get Black male youth to pull their pants up by asking them to...without judging them or looking down on them with contempt.
For instance, early last Autumn I was standing at the Southbound bus stop at Cleveland and 161 (in Columbus, Ohio), waiting in the shelter for the #1 Cleveland Avenue-to-Livingston Avenue bus. It was a warm day; and, I was wearing the same t-shirt that I have on in the above photograph. The message on the front of the t-shirt says:
If You Are What You Say You Are, Then Have No Fear.
Two rowdy-sounding, ragged-looking, young Black American fellows came bopping-and-shuffling toward the bus shelter, approaching from the North. They were both teenagers about eighteen years-old; and, they were both low-sagging their pants like a couple of sad sacks. They quietly put their heads together in the North corner of the bus shelter, saying a few curse words. They were apparently planning to make a move toward me. They seemed to be trying to decide whether or not, or how, to approach me. The larger, and taller, of two fellows, a sullen, rough-looking, character, with a dirty-looking, uncombed afro, stood back and watched. He was obviously used to intimidating people. His running buddy, who was smaller, smoother, and more energetic, with a more recently shaped-up afro, quickly stepped to me.
"Excuse me, Sir," He said. "You got a dollar I can use?"
Although the fellow approached me with "Excuse me, Sir," he still had a cocky "tough guy" attitude. I attributed his good manners more to my size than to his home training. I out-weighed the rag-a-muffin by about 200lbs; and, I was a few inches taller than he was. I stared at him for a moment; he started to squirm.
"Ask for what you really need, Young Man." I said.
"I need a dollar to ride the bus." He said, sounding less tough.
"Is that enough to get you back home?" I asked.
"No." He replied.
"Then what do you need?"
"I need two more dollars for a day pass." He sounded like a little boy.
I took two spare day passes out of my wallet; and, I gave them to him. I usually carry spare day passes for just such occasions. This fellow was deeply grateful. He thanked me sincerely for the bus passes, which he very much needed. He obviously had not thought ahead as to how he was going to ride the bus the next day. The unspoken, and perhaps unspeakable, part of this Young Man's "thank you," which he communicated with non-verbal clarity, was his appreciation for my intervention as an older Man.
"WHAT WE NEED IS...STRONG...PATRIARCHAL...LEADERSHIP!"
Although he was young enough to be my son, I could tell that this Young Man could not quite process me, at that moment, as a father figure, even though his energy suggested that he wanted to. He most likely had no frame of reference to do so. I waited in silence for a few moments, watching the traffic, until there was a line of cars at the stop light in the Northbound lane across from the bus stop. I noticed that some of the drivers were Black Women and that some of the Black Women drivers were glancing over at the two sagging teenagers and me. I motioned to the two fellows; they stepped forward and leaned in to hear what I had to say. I addressed them with warm authority.
"Listen, Fellas...Do you see the Women in those cars over there?"
"Yeah." Replied the boy that I had helped, as he gazed over at the cars.
"Uh, Yeah." The other boy replied.
"Why do you think they keep looking over here at us?" I asked.
"Guess dey checkin' us out." Said sloppy-afro, with a lusty grin.
"Aw, yeah...Dey checkin' us out." Said no-bus-fare, staring, with one eyebrow raised, at a Young Woman in a blue car.
"Aw, yeah...Dey checkin' us out." Said no-bus-fare, staring, with one eyebrow raised, at a Young Woman in a blue car.
"No," I said. "They are looking at me; and, they are saying 'Why doesn't this Black Man do something about these boys?'"
The two fellows were amazed. They looked at me then looked back at the Women in the cars; then, they looked back at me again.
"You know what I'm talking about...don't you?" I said.
Both fellows grinned with embarrassment. I looked right into their eyes and lowered my voice to a bass whisper.
"Now, you don't want me to go out like that, do you?"
Their eyes met mine; and, their grins suddenly faded into that solemn, steely-eyed, look that Men get at the exact moment that they realize it is time to ante-up, stand together, and represent.
Both boys promptly squared their shoulders, pulled up their pants, and tightened their belts.
The light changed to green. We watched the cars pull off. I noted the pleased expression on the faces of some of the Women. One in particular, who had been watching from the other lane, nodded her head in approval as she drove away. She was dressed like a professional; and she appeared to be in her mid-thirties. Turning to the two Young Men, I looked them over and smiled.
Little did he know that the song Papa Was A Rollin' Stone was "old school" to me when I was his age. This photograph of me, in my late teens, with a young teenage girl, was taken by an Army Intelligence photographer, at High Noon, on June 21, 1982, fifty-five days before my eighteenth birthday, for this very purpose: to create an icon of Young Honor for Black American Youth of the future.
...AND THE LORD DO THAT WHICH SEEMETH HIM GOOD.
Since that day at the bus stop, whenever I have seen the young fellow to whom I gave the bus passes, he has had his pants pulled up; and, he has had a generally cheerful attitude (whether he was aware that I was watching him or not). The last time I saw him, he was alone, moving like he had a purpose, walking swiftly to some apparently important destination. The last time I saw the other fellow that was with him that day at the bus stop, he was by himself, as well, meandering aimlessly, holding up the front of his sagging pants with one hand, as he shuffled along, looking lost, angry, and depressed. Please do not assume that I made no impact on this Young Man. Just pray for him and believe that my impact on him is just not visible...yet.
When older Black People, turn their noses up and complain, with self-righteous disdain, that our youth are a "lost generation," they convict themselves and beg the serious question. Who lost them? If today's Black youth are lost, who lost them? Think about that. Maybe these young fellows are subconsciously trying to communicate a message to our society with their sagging pants and unseemly ways. Maybe what they are saying, to an older generation of Black Americans who were so distracted with other priorities that they forgot to make a way for the young people who were coming up behind them, is simply this:
"Look at how you left us...ASS OUT!"
If our Young Men, and boys, are lost, it is the responsibility of mature American Black Men to find them and guide them home to the Light. We must do this firstly, by modeling the appropriate behavior that we want to see in our Young Men and boys; secondly, by reaching out to them in a strong, loving, creative, way that is becoming of mature Men; and, thirdly, by intervening with sound answers, and solid solutions, when our Young Men, and boys, have questions that need to be answered and problems that need to be solved. Every Man's genuine effort counts. Do the best that you can, according to the time, resources, and opportunities, with which you are blessed; and, know that you are making a difference. Be of good courage, and let us play the men for our people, and for the cities of our God: and the LORD do that which seemeth him good.
May God grant us a special dispensation of Wisdom, Strength, Courage, and Grace, that We, the Survivors of American Chattel Slavery, may recover from this cultural, and spiritual, disaster and parlay our influence over the Global Culture into the power to lead the People of The World to Higher Ground.
******************Their eyes met mine; and, their grins suddenly faded into that solemn, steely-eyed, look that Men get at the exact moment that they realize it is time to ante-up, stand together, and represent.
"Naw." They both said with nostrils flaring.
"Do, me a favor; and, pull up your pants."
Both boys promptly squared their shoulders, pulled up their pants, and tightened their belts.
"Now, you look like soldiers." I said.
The light changed to green. We watched the cars pull off. I noted the pleased expression on the faces of some of the Women. One in particular, who had been watching from the other lane, nodded her head in approval as she drove away. She was dressed like a professional; and she appeared to be in her mid-thirties. Turning to the two Young Men, I looked them over and smiled.
"Do you want to see what I looked like when I was your age?"
"Yeah." They both replied, leaning in to see what I had.
I showed them this photograph of me that I keep in my cell phone:
The larger fellow was genuinely mystified, and dumbfounded, by the image of me at his age. He just stared at the picture with a blank look on his face. When the energetic little fellow whom I had blessed with the bus passes saw this image, he leaned closer, cocking his head to the side for a better view. The boy looked at the image intensely for a moment; then, smiling from ear-to-ear, he suddenly raised up and shouted:
"Aw...dats 'Papa Was A Rollin' Stooone' Old School!"
Little did he know that the song Papa Was A Rollin' Stone was "old school" to me when I was his age. This photograph of me, in my late teens, with a young teenage girl, was taken by an Army Intelligence photographer, at High Noon, on June 21, 1982, fifty-five days before my eighteenth birthday, for this very purpose: to create an icon of Young Honor for Black American Youth of the future.
...AND THE LORD DO THAT WHICH SEEMETH HIM GOOD.
Since that day at the bus stop, whenever I have seen the young fellow to whom I gave the bus passes, he has had his pants pulled up; and, he has had a generally cheerful attitude (whether he was aware that I was watching him or not). The last time I saw him, he was alone, moving like he had a purpose, walking swiftly to some apparently important destination. The last time I saw the other fellow that was with him that day at the bus stop, he was by himself, as well, meandering aimlessly, holding up the front of his sagging pants with one hand, as he shuffled along, looking lost, angry, and depressed. Please do not assume that I made no impact on this Young Man. Just pray for him and believe that my impact on him is just not visible...yet.
When older Black People, turn their noses up and complain, with self-righteous disdain, that our youth are a "lost generation," they convict themselves and beg the serious question. Who lost them? If today's Black youth are lost, who lost them? Think about that. Maybe these young fellows are subconsciously trying to communicate a message to our society with their sagging pants and unseemly ways. Maybe what they are saying, to an older generation of Black Americans who were so distracted with other priorities that they forgot to make a way for the young people who were coming up behind them, is simply this:
"Look at how you left us...ASS OUT!"
If our Young Men, and boys, are lost, it is the responsibility of mature American Black Men to find them and guide them home to the Light. We must do this firstly, by modeling the appropriate behavior that we want to see in our Young Men and boys; secondly, by reaching out to them in a strong, loving, creative, way that is becoming of mature Men; and, thirdly, by intervening with sound answers, and solid solutions, when our Young Men, and boys, have questions that need to be answered and problems that need to be solved. Every Man's genuine effort counts. Do the best that you can, according to the time, resources, and opportunities, with which you are blessed; and, know that you are making a difference. Be of good courage, and let us play the men for our people, and for the cities of our God: and the LORD do that which seemeth him good.
May God grant us a special dispensation of Wisdom, Strength, Courage, and Grace, that We, the Survivors of American Chattel Slavery, may recover from this cultural, and spiritual, disaster and parlay our influence over the Global Culture into the power to lead the People of The World to Higher Ground.
'Owthu Hadar, Heru Bar-Chanan, Ha Melek (Melek Heru) is the Prince and Priest of The Holy Zawadi Nation: 'A Loving, Caring, Sharing, People, Striving To Be A Light Unto The World.'
Melek Heru was born in Anchorage, Alaska, in August of 1964, christened Horace Columbus Neal II, and raised in Columbus, Ohio. He is a paternal descendant of the Prophet Nat Turner (1800-1831) and his wife Cherry. He is also the Great-Grandson of Professor John Roland McCormick, Esq. (1878-1959) of Washington, D. C. and his wife Bettie Cash McCormick. He is the eldest son the late Horace C. Neal (1931-2009), a career Military Man and Entrepreneur, and Bettye "Mama" Neal, a Professional Storyteller.
Melek Heru was born in Anchorage, Alaska, in August of 1964, christened Horace Columbus Neal II, and raised in Columbus, Ohio. He is a paternal descendant of the Prophet Nat Turner (1800-1831) and his wife Cherry. He is also the Great-Grandson of Professor John Roland McCormick, Esq. (1878-1959) of Washington, D. C. and his wife Bettie Cash McCormick. He is the eldest son the late Horace C. Neal (1931-2009), a career Military Man and Entrepreneur, and Bettye "Mama" Neal, a Professional Storyteller.
Melek Heru is the author of Go Down, Moses! A Hebrew Mystery: Volume 1; and, he is the host of The Kinsman, an hour-long, weekly broadcast that airs on Wednesdays at 6pm EST on Talktainmentradio.com.