hold on, my people.

gayle,

you know what really bothers me? black people who refer to their job site as a "the plantation," or derivatives thereof. quite a while ago, i was peeping in on some myspace pages, and saw a picture this woman had taken of herself while sitting in her cubicle. the blurb under it read, "at the plantation." that is, frankly, utterly ridiculous. i was incensed (maybe i overreacted. perhaps i was ovulating-- or whatever). so much so that i mildly wished there was an overseer nearby to give her a lash or two, just for being an idiot. though i make no arguments about things in this world being sacred and untouchable, i just don't think most black folks today can make analogies about their current predicaments being like the middle passage and events thereafter. especially if you have a job. that pays you. and a digital camera. and internet access. besides, no one's going to cut your foot off for trying to take a "vacation" up north.

anyway, the point? well, i've consistently argued--to anyone who would half listen to my not so sober ass-- that modern-day black folks were just weaker, a bunch of punks compared to our ancestors. my cuticles, for example, dry up if i fail to apply burt's bees lemon butter cuticle creme after each hand wash. can you imagine them after picking cotton? my cantankerous claim about my skin folks, however, was directly challenged, and subsequently dismantled, during every minute of the latest documentary on hurricane katrina, trouble the water. after the film, i dined on (jim) crow. (actually, i just went and checked out epic burger. the burgers are only so-so, by the way.)

a synopsis. two documentary film makers head to new orleans to shoot footage of the hurricane katrina aftermath. as the gods would have it, they run into kimberly rivers roberts, an emcee (black kold madina), and her husband, scott, two ninth ward residents who have survived the disaster. not only have they lived to tell their story, but astonishingly, kim had the foresight--and bravery-- to film their experience, and that of their neighbors, with her video camera. interspersed with footage by the documentary film crew and clips from various news and media outlets, we witness the roberts' life immediately before, during (yes, during!), and after the hurricane hit. it's a documentary that exposes the true nature of endurance, humanity, survival... and just how fucked up the government is.

we are a chosen people. we must be.

what i like about the film is that there's no old-school anthropological fetishizing of the subject bullshit here. there's no vulgar marxist mythologizing of the folk. because, for the most part, this time the folk got to tell their own damn story, and vocalize their own assessments of the situation. no one needs or dares speak for them--on the high or low(er) frequencies. they know exactly what's up, and they don't mind telling us.

the story is biblical--in proportion and theme. it's the story of noah, moses, and jesus in one; an old and new testament cocktail. the flood: well, that's obvious. roberts points her camera, and shows us her view from the attic: hard rain, a massive deluge of water covering street signs. noah: suddenly, the camera's eye catches larry, a ninth ward neighbor, literally wading in the water with a heavy boxing bag in tow. he's decided to transport his neighbors, one by one, to higher ground. roberts commentary is pithy, "katrina is a bad bitch."

moses: after the storm, scott finds a truck and transports 30 of his neighbors to a naval base, only to be met by a salute of m-16s. so they wander, looking for some sort of refuge. yes, the end of the storm is only the beginning. zion remains ever-elusive.

trouble the water made a believer out of me. whatever "slave mentality" our previous kinfolks had to survive the middle passage, slavery, jim crow... dwells somewhere still. (i know i'm making an essentialist argument. i kind of don't give a fuck.) unfortunately, it seems that inhumanity has to rear its ugly head for us to remember how incredibly resilient, creative, and, perhaps, human we are. that we hold within us a legacy, and descend from and remain a part of an enduring community of survivors. black survivors.

we are a chosen people.