Today in Post-Race History: A Rock and a Hard Place

I really hate it when politics interrupt my fantasy football preparation. There I was checking Twitter for tweets that might help my abysmal fantasy team when I started seeing posts about presidential candidate Rick Perry's little problem.


In case you missed it, according to a story published in The Washington Post last Saturday, Perry's family's hunting camp was known as Niggerhead. In fact, the word was etched on a rock at the camp's entrance and, according to the article, the word was not painted over for quite some time.


Gosh, don't you just love vintage America?

Instant Vintage: Pres. Barred from CBC Dinner, Admin. Cries Foul

Last Saturday, President Obama was barred from the Congressional Black Caucus Foundation's Annual Phoenix Awards Dinner, and the administration is pulling out the race card.  Although President Obama had been scheduled to address the audience, the crowd was instead serenaded by the likes of Michael McDonald and Hall and Oates.  Now, those close to the Commander-in-Chief are claiming that he was not denied entrance because of his racial background.  "This is one of the more racist acts in recent memory," one White House spokesperson said during a Monday morning press conference.  "There's no doubt in my mind that he was denied entry to the event because he is half-white."

Today in Post-Race History: Hooray, Beer!

Let's face it, no one wants to sit around with the President, Joe Biden, Skip Gates, and some random police officer--with "diversity" training--drinking beer and pretending to talk about race. Sure, it's a (free?) trip to the White House and all, but I don't want to explain to Joe Biden what I mean by calling him the Pras of this Obama outfit with a bubbling belly full of Bud Light. (Buy American.) I'd be sitting in my chair, staring at the filth, counting Secret Service dudes, and trying not to hum Stevie and Sir Paul's "Ebony and Ivory" too loudly. Besides, I'd rather drink Hawaiian Punch and ask BHO how many times they've had Harold's flown in. But who can end racism when a black person brings up chicken? Personally, I firmly believe we might perfect this union more expediently over a 4-piece wing dinner (fried hard, salt, pepper, & mild sauce), but that's probably just me. Besides, I don't want to be blamed for getting the Bill of Rights all greasy. Either way, let this be a lesson to you (white) police officers out there: if you arrest the right black guy, you'll get invited to the White House. Don't shoot him, though, because that's not cool.

Anyway, trying to impress your new, black feminist love interest by pretending not to be high and staying awake during Daughters of the Dust (not that I've ever done that) is probably a more comfortable and entertaining night than being a part of this effort towards interracial inebriation (and I like free alcohol), so I've decided to make up some stuff. I thought: what might those Secret Service dudes have heard during Beerfest?

Here, in a rather desultory order, are some snippets from my somewhat gruesome and inappropriate imagination:



Gates and Obama: No, Joe, Dred Scott is not a good name for a reggaeton group. Besides, there's already a rapper going by that name.
Crowley: They're right. I think I arrested that guy.




Obama: So I said to Sasha and Malia the other day, 'Look, if I catch Bo doing a doodie in the Lincoln bedroom one more time, I'm going to hire Michael Vick as a dogwalker. I hear he's looking for a job.' They said, 'No, daddy! We'll call PETA!' So I said, 'I'm the president. You can call PETA. Heck, I'll call PETA for you--on the RED phone. But please know I will arrest their leaders, detain them at an undisclosed location for an indeterminate amount of time, and feed them dead houseflies.' Needless to say, Bo is doing his business outside, and I haven't had to veto his ass.
Biden: If you talked to Congress that way, we might get something done.




Gates: Part of the reason I was late coming home that afternoon was because I stopped in Africa on my way back from China to look for Obama's birth certificate. It wasn't until last week that I found out it's been in Cornel West's afro the whole time. Now, Lou Dobbs wants to shave his head.




Biden: Stop me if you've heard this one already. Homer Plessy, Sally Hemmings, and Barack Obama walk into a bar...
Crowley *laughing, trying not to spit out his beer*: I know this one! Tell it! Tell it!



Obama: Obama: Maybe it's the facial hair, but I think Ben Bernanke kind of looks like Uncle Pennybags. Which reminds me, I was playing Monopoly with some of my staff the other day, and Tim Geithner nearly went bankrupt trying to put hotels on Baltic and Mediterranean.
Crowley: Who ended up winning?
Biden: The Chinese.





Gates: It took several years of debate, but the last time I picked up my Harvard sweater from being cleaned, I finally convinced my Cambridge dry cleaner that The Canterbury Tales in Middle English is indeed worse than water boarding!" [*cue* collective fake laughter]




Biden: So, Crowley, what kind of music do you listen to?
Crowley: I listen to a lot of hip hop. My favorite song is Biggie's "Who Shot Ya?"
Obama: Really?
Crowley: Yeah. Told you I wasn't a racist.




Gates: Crowley, I still can't figure out why you arrested me. I'm just as white as Obama. I should know. I took a DNA test, and shared the results with the world during one of my famed documentaries.
Crowley: Yeah, I heard you were 50% white, genetically speaking. That's why the charges were dropped.




Obama: Officer Crowley, when I said "stupidly," what I meant was, you behaved in a manner that would have been perfectly acceptable had you not been arresting Professor Gates.




Crowley: I have no idea why anyone would think I am a racist. I use "A More Perfect Union" in my diversity training seminars all the time.




Gates: Crowley, I have to admit, that "yo['] mama" line in the police report was pretty terrible. It was so bad that I wanted to swat you with my cane. Have you not heard of my work? I've heard better quips on the yard at Harvard University, where I teach. You could've done much better. Let me teach you how to signify. Barack, yo['] mama's so white, you got elected president. [Confession: that's a semi-recycled joke]




Obama: Let's go inside, guys. The Real Housewives of Atlanta is on.

black like me

from: Day in Pictures - Sacramento News - Local and Breaking

"[S]o in a few thousand years, I who regard you will also have sprung from the loins of African kings.” -- William Faulkner

I love black people. I love to see them happy. I especially love to see them happy about things other than, I don't know, rims and Tyler Perry movies. But my joy at black people's overwhelming happiness on election night was tempered, and nearly destroyed by a distraught sadness that even my apathetic cynicism cannot render obscure. I am sad for myself; I am sad for black people.

I make no argument that what happened on the night of November 4, 2008 wasn't historic. It was. We should be elated that we--and the world-- survived eight years of the Bush Administration. We should be relieved that we endured over twenty months of campaigning. And yes, we should celebrate the fact that a person of color has somehow found a way to become the leader of the so-called Free World. Then again, it's this last point that troubles me.

As I watched journalists interview countless black people--both famous and not--about the significance of this moment, my disbelief and furious inner-critic could not be quelled. I wondered: Why are we celebrating? What are we so happy about? Why do some of us tearfully utter that we've [finally] overcome? That the Promised Land is in sight--and this time our view isn't a picture of Oprah's southern California estate courtesy of Google images? As friends have noted, the moment was as if the resounding, "Not guilty," coming from a Santa Monica Courthouse one Tuesday (I didn't even have to look at a calendar, the memory is so clear) morning in 1995 had been heard again; except this time, there were a few white people dancing in the streets, too.

I'm sad for black people. I'm sad because we can be so forgiving, and willfully forget how Obama became President-elect. That one essential element of his campaign was to stand atop and juxtapose himself against some of the same kinds of black folks who celebrated his victory as if he were a son, a brother. We forget that we had to wait until white Iowans validated his candidacy, as if they were saying, "It's all right this time. We like this [or is it that?] one. Go ahead. Dream," to shift our support from Clinton to him. That Obama disavowed his minister and spiritual mentor when semantically exagerrated portions of several sermons were leaked, allowed those views to be considered racist, and thereby implicitly suggested that maybe part of the motivation to join that church was to gain footing in the Chicago's southside black community. And even though most of those black people in the streets celebrating the outcome of this election didn't think there was much wrong with what had been said, this Reverend Wright, this old crazy uncle became expendable because he made too many white people uncomfortable.

I'm sad because his wife--and I think she's incredible-- had to make a speech to prove herself safe enough, and not bitter. And she still got called a black militant in the process. Satirically, of course. (No, I don't know why the caged bird sings, but I do know why they send a canary into a mine.) I'm sad because Obama felt it necessary, with cameras rolling for whites to see and nod in approval, to chastise black parenting, to suggest that they voluntarily feed their children Popeye's for breakfast, as if the McDonald's or the liquor store across the street is a better alternative. As if they make their children sit at home and watch television rather than subject them to the danger of these streets. (I have police cameras on my block because a young black girl was shot and killed on the playground.) I'm sad because he allowed black pathology to be regarded as an ideological position, and was somehow the creation and fault of blacks. And I'm sad because the people he maligned then, are the people he ignored especially in the latter part of his campaign: Sure, you want to reaffirm the middle class, but what about poor people? Or are they expendable, too?

I'm sad. I'm sad because on election night, a tearful Roland Martin pointed out that 100 years ago (roughly), the NAACP was founded and now the United States was electing a black president. As if the NAACP, CORE, any black organization or leader or person had only existed to put a brown face at the head of this nation. As if Obama hadn't garnered the national spotlight in 2004 by denying the existence of Black America, only for some of us, a mere four years later, to celebrate his victory by singing the national anthem of this non-existent entity. But he's Joshua, right? I'm sad because in order to be happy, to find joy in a system that continually jeopardizes our tenuous citizenship, we must suspend our critiques to celebrate and defend "Close enough."

I'm sad because this moment affirms for me, not that any black person with the will and desire can be president, but rather that any black person can't be president. Could Obama have become President-elect with his wife's geographical origins? Or mine? Or yours? Riddle me this: if Barack Obama had been born in the summer of 1961 not in Hawaii, but in Oakland, CA, would he be here? I venture to suggest no. For if he had, he might have made the mistake of living too close to Black Panthers' headquarters, and accidentally eating one of their free breakfasts on his way to kindergarten.

Could he have become President-elect had his father been an American? His mother black? If he had been raised by grandparents who look like those who raise so many black children? If he'd not had the auspicious luck of being born on an island in the middle of the ocean, and not on a continent, a terrain trod with racism and the fight against it? Understand me, this is no fault of Obama's. Yet if these are the essential ingredients in creating a serious black presidential candidate (and at this juncture, I'm not sure I can believe they're not. Recall: the only other "viable" potential black candidate in recent memory has been Colin Powell, and he's also light-skinned and the child of Jamaican immigrants.) how many young black boys and girls can replicate that kind of chance? What American Negro can replicate the exceptionalism that assuaged Obama to whites? This is not an argument that Obama isn't black. He is. But he's a special kind of black. As a friend and I like to say, an "Accented Negro," slightly--and just enough-- different from the rest of us. Just enough to make enough white folks feel better; just enough for us to celebrate him anyway.

And what are we happy about? What are we celebrating? That this brand of American Imperialism will be brought to you by a melanined face? For nothing in Mr. President-elect's foreign policy makes me believe that American occupation in other countries is over, just a bit nicer and served to you with a smile. Sure, whatever he does will be a change from the Bush Doctrine, but how hard is that? Won't poor black and brown folks continue to be deployed, only to return with no options? That is, if they are not already incarcerated in our for-profit prisons? Because you can't become president without making white people feel safe. And unfortunately, that safety necessitates keeping the hometown persons of color from rioting, and the away team persons of color at bay.

So, what are we crying tears of joy for? I woke up this morning, and I'm nowhere near a promised land. I'm still in Chicago. And police cameras keep a bird's eye view of my street. I know it's still hard to be black. And it's still hard to be Muslim--or at least look it.

I'm sad because I can't help but rain on black people's parade.

Hold on, my people. Please.

hail to the hater: things i've learned and/or thought about during the election cycle

• um, if we are the ones we have been waiting for, didn't some of y'all just vote for the wrong nigga?
• and while i'm at it, if you've been waiting all your life for this, does that mean you can die now?
  
• oprah had a shirt on yesterday that said, "a bold new world." that's not too far off from "brave new world(order)" is it?
  
• an election party is some real white shit. it is essentially the celebration (or the exorcism of disappointment) of a white person's mood when he/she voted that morning.
  
• can't we come up with a law that limits this whole thing to nine months? seriously, if one can have a baby in 9 months, can't one run for president in nine months? or fewer?
• change i can believe in: taking some of the change obama raised, and helping folks get out of foreclosure. that woulda got you even more votes than the infomercial. trust me.
• i woke up this morning, and i'm still in chicago. i know this isn't the promised land, because a homeless nigga asked me for money on my way to the bus stop, and there are still flashing police cameras on my street. joshua generation my (black) ass.
  
• obama elected: i guess i have a reason to live (or die?). i'm breathing better already. inhale...exhale...
  
• i want to smack the shit out of jesse jackson. more than i want to smack the shit out of roland martin. and i really can't stand roland martin.
• and while i'm at it, all these non-CRM i-cried-my-eyes-out-we-have-overcome-yes-we-did niggas can get the bozack. catch a cab in new york. i dare you.
  
• i swear to god, if another white person asks another black person, "did you ever think you would ever live to see this day?"--and said black person answers with words-- i will join the new black panthers. (why is my beef with white liberals on tv so hard to understand? like nas said, "it ain't hard to tell.")
  
• now that he has won, i submit that the folks over at tvland digitize an image of barack obama next to black jesus, so he can be in seen every episode of good times. ain't we lucky we got 'em?
• maybe it's me, but this is the first time i've seen craig robinson's white wife all in the open like this.
• i really should've watched the real housewives of atlanta. fake is the new real.
• congratulations, negroes. you have now been recognized as citizens. psyche!
• where's the nearest army-navy store? 2012 soon come.
  

dear mr. president(-elect),

i know i'm the divisive asshole you've warned your flock against, but thanks for extending an olive branch last night by saying you were still my president. mighty white of you.

love,
summer of sam

(get your independent ass out of here) question:

hi gayle,

riddle me this:

if john mccain is crazy and barack obama is infuriating, for whom does one vote?

biden my tongue

hey gayle,

here are thoughts on day 4:

afternoon

i fucking hate msnbc and these crying black women they've chosen to interview.

dear obamanuts: if elected, he will disappoint you. love, me.

i'll be re-reading octavia butler this weekend. i'm sure she covered this whole thing somewhere.

barack obama is officially nominated. and white people feel good about themselves.

i used to like keith olbermann--when he was an anchor on sportscenter.

why am i so thoroughly underwhelmed? *checking pulse now*

evening

bubba clinton! the original black president.

wjc gets on stage and folks forget about all the clinton hate.

admit it: y'all would vote him a third term if you could.

michelle obama cannot even muster a smile with teeth. icy.

speaking of dentals, at what point during this speech did bill clinton start lying through his teeth?

"renewal of the battle against hiv/aids at home." good call, clint.

i think i'll call day three, "old white guy validation night."

bill clinton could've had the dnc's shortest speech if he had said what he wanted, which was, "i hope he loses."

"and what about katrina..." that's what's up, bill.

political conventions are very much like las vegas: both inspire very tacky fashion.

bill clinton is way cooler than barack obama. and he doesn't even have the "benefit" of melanin!

bill clinton was a black preacher in a former life.

hmm... a black woman introduces joe biden, and talks about the violence against women act. still i say: ANITA HILL. ANITA HILL. ANITA HILL.

countless women get a second chance at life? maybe. second chance to put a justice on the supreme court? maybe not.

joe biden is boring me. i need him to say something inappropriate in 5...4...3...

i don't know why, but i keep thinking about all the right moves.

"freudian slip!" that's close to the joe i know.

"that's not change. that's more of the same." that's not very catchy. not even for a fast food commercial.

bruce springsteen. what an obvious choice.

...and there's the anointed one now.

he speaks!

shouts out his boo.

"hillary clinton rocked the house?" what is he? a hype man? from '83?

if barack "big ups" someone, i will enthusiastically vote for him. and make sure dead people vote for him, too-- chicago-style.

i wonder what the musical selections will be for bho tomorrow. personally, i'd love some lil wayne. it'll prolly be earth, wind, and fire or someone like that.. though, if you're gonna go 70s, i'd prefer parliament funkadelic. no, wait. he should play some lionel richie.

michelle got that, "that's my boo," look.

i need a (traveling) pantsuit.

mayor villaragossa is a handsome dude. and sitting right behind bill clinton. let's call that section "philanderer's corner."

bill clinton is always within spitting distance of a black dude.

did i just see judge mathis?

"no way, no how, no mccain." i likes, hillary. i likes.

shout out puerto rico! boricua, baby!

"sisterhood of the traveling pantsuits." that's two, hillary! two!
hi gayle,

here are my thoughts on day two of the dnc:

way to shout out those who have passed on, hills. pour out a lil liquor.

"...twin cities... awfully hard to tell apart..." hillary is slaughtering these dudes. she should become a battle rapper.

so, it's not michelle obama, but hillary clinton who shouts out the black women ancestors? ironic, no?

is it too late to vote for hillary clinton?

on some identity politics game, i'm kinda sad for the women who won't live long enough to elect a woman president of the united states. i hope i don't become part of that group.

conventional observations.

hi gayle,

i don't know if you saw any of day one of the democratic national convention last night. i did. i've posted some of my reactions below:

i have nothing bad to say about ted kennedy.

michelle obama is freshly relaxed. yep, yep. frankie said it, and she followed suit. bouncing and behavin'. go, (south side) girl! hawaiian silky, beyotch!! (has she been on the cover of sophisticate's black hair yet? i'm sure she has. hell, ebony is acting like the obamas are the only black family in the country.)

no microphone near joe biden. good call. just show us those pearly whites, and the white hair that rivals anderson cooper's. takethattakethattakethat, andy.

will i live to see the day when the most non-threatening black people on the planet no longer have to be all subtly obsequious, subliminally telling white folks that they aren't black nationalists? i mean, fuck, her relaxer is FRESH! she is not sweating that shit out by rocking black leather and a beret in august! damn...

and while i'm at it, will cindy mccain have to make a similar speech? probably not. actually, not at all.

"...like hillary clinton..." nice gesture. you shoulda big upped shirley chisholm. though, it might've been disorienting for white people, i imagine. right now, i'm pretty sure you, beyonce, condoleezza rice, and oprah are the only black women that white people think exist. yeah, y'all and shawanda down in human resources. what can i say? all the black people are men, all the women are white... (what is, but some of us are brave?)

i really wish barack had joined us via satellite from a black home. i know there are some nigs in kansas city, mo. i've met a few. can you imagine it? barack drinkin' a forty, playing bones, eating barbecue, peeping his shorty spit game to the delegates. why ain't eddie griffin at the crib?

what's this? michelle obama got ass! duly noted.

sasha and malia? straight press and curl.

kids with microphones are as cute as kids on answering machines: not at all. kids only get a laugh from me when they cuss. a nineteen-month old saying, "this is some bullshit," gets me every time. way better than fart jokes.

i think donna brazile is attractive. and a dagger. you think she hooked michelle up with her stylist? donna's shit is always shining! both should get pantene sponsorships after tonight.

avuncular. black. comedy.

hi gayle,

i don't know if you read it, but i really enjoy the blog, stereohyped. i check it frequently, as it cuts down on any extra internet searching i'd have to do to get all upset about the world. anyway, i just checked the minority report, and apparently good ol' reverend jeremiah wright is at it again. according to the blog, what about our daughters, word on the street is that rev. wright has an "october surprise" for the obama campaign, and presumably, the rest of (goddamn) america. allegedly, wright will publish a book and go on tour just before the november election. now that's a crazy uncle for that ass!

i did some searching, and maybeprobablyapparently this is a dirty rumor, but i don't really care because it inspired a great idea. i've decided to write a treatment for a sitcom--because black life in america, if anything, is sitcom-worthy-- called, "that's my crazy uncle." here's the concept: an upwardly mobile black couple with two children (maybe two daughters, or a boy and a girl) have decided to take in the wife's aging uncle, a former minister, war veteran, etc.. he's recently had a stroke (a la my beloved sophia petrillo, r.i.p.), and shouldn't be left alone. he has no children, and refuses to go into a nursing home. since the couple is the most well-off of anyone else in the family, they've decided to take him in. the laughs mostly come from the interaction he has with the children, the well-meaning, liberal white neighbors and friends, and the husband--who, though black, didn't really grow up around other negroes (maybe he was adopted by a white family or something) and doesn't really code switch with the best of them. maybe the uncle, let's call him uncle tom, has a nickname for him, a version of george jefferson's "honky" or "zebras," but something more creative than "oreo." i'd suggest "nesquik," (br'er rabbit for that ass) or maybe even "ovaltine," but that might cause some legal issues.

i imagine the pilot episode might be called something like "the housewarming." the family has recently moved into a new neighborhood, and they've invited a few of their white neighbors over for dinner. say they serve, i dunno, baked chicken, and the uncle makes fried chicken jokes and such. though his niece suggests that baked chicken is more healthy, he complains. he says things like, "when white people come to black people's houses for dinner, they expect several things. among those things are fried chicken and the electric slide." maybe he pretends to be benson the whole night--we could constantly refer to other black sitcoms, in that quentin tarantino kind of way. do you see where i'm going with this? (oh, and there could be the episode where one of the children is doing a school project on u.s. history... or one where the son has to confront a bully at school...)

"that's my crazy uncle" could be the "dy-no-mite!" or the "whatchu talkin' 'bout, willis?" every black show has to have-- something catchy and not really funny that white people can say to each other while tailgating or talking to their black colleague at work. you know, it can be a line the the husband or wife says right before bed when they're chatting it up the way cliff and clair used to do back in the day.

is upn still in existence? i really don't want to pitch this to bet. i don't think they'd get it. though if donnie simpson would do a cameo during the first season, i'd totally go that route.

people may find it controversial, but i think this idea is way better than a sassy maid. what do you think, gayle?