The Dustyfoot Philosopher

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BzmF-j3TiGk&feature=fvst]

April 7, 2011

Crazy things happen when you don't have cable. I was just flipping through the few basic channels that my TV receives when I caught a rhythm, so of course I stopped flipping and listened. It was a local station that plays videos from all over the African diaspora late at night. And the image on my screen was that of slender, brown-skinned gentleman, with curly hair that goes by the name of K'naan.

The beat that he rhymed and sang over was pretty catchy and his lyrics were somewhat profound, but what really caught my attention was the name of his album. It was called The Dusty Foot Philosopher. It's such an incredibly humble image reminiscent of the barefoot servant. When I read it on the screen it made me wonder what happened to our humility here in the United States. What kind of inner-confidence does K'naan--a Somali born Canadian MC-- possess that all of my favorite American born hip-hop artist have lost? Because, honestly, I can't see the most righteous American rapper giving his album such a bold title and expecting it to sell. Why is that? I mean shouldn't we expect our artist to be humbletruthsayers and not extravagant egomaniacs? Or maybe it can never be that simple.

On a personal level I am extremely ambivalent towards materialism. I am opposed to ostentatious displays of wealth through jewelry and fancy cars but at the same time I just spent $117 dollars on some tennis shoes that I don't need yesterday. That's pretty far removed from being either a barefoot servant or a dustyfoot philosopher. Or sometimes I'll go through a phase where I'm deep in my craft  of creative writing and I'll wear old worn out jeans everyday and refuse to shave or cut my hair, but then I'll take my daughter to the mall and let her get whatever she wants. Is that not the same thing?  Is that not evidence of me being just as blinded by capitalism as the man who raps about his Bently or the woman who sings about her designer handbag? It seems like I have the same mentality as they do it's just that they have more money to burn.

But once again the truth is never that simple. I would be remissed for not giving myself credit for at least trying to be a more humble person. In the end, however, I do wonder whether or not that will be enough. I don't know but then again that's not for me to decide.

The Game Needs Andre 3000

Roger Porter April 6, 2011

                Anyone who has listened to a hip-hop radio station in the past 3 years knows that Lil Wayne, without a shadow of a doubt, is the biggest thing in rap music. Considering his gift at creating outstanding metaphors and analogies along with his brilliance at playing on words (“Real g’s move in silence like lasagna”) I don’t disagree with Wayne being at the top of the food chain, however, I do wish that he had some competition. And I do believe that Andre 3000 is the only human being on the planet with the lyrical prowess to make hip-hop just a little less Wayne-centric. I figure diversity can only be a good thing.

                With that being said I’m just wondering when Andre 3000 is going to come out with a solo album. I generally do not get too excited over rap albums these days but if Dre dropped an album I swear to god I would camp out over night in front of the record store like a Star Wars fan for that joint. A few days ago I was thinking about the Speaker Box/Love Below double album by Outkast that came out in 2003 and it dawned on me that to this day I have never listened to Speaker Box disc in its entirety. I mean who wants to listen to regular rap songs when you have Dre covering “My Favorite Things” from The Sound of Music and doing duets with Norah Jones. Not to mention dropping dope lines like; “15 – love/ fit like glove/ Description is like 15 doves/ In a Jacuzzi catching the holy ghost/ Making one woozy in the head and comatose, agreed?” What! I’m just saying, if Wayne proclaims himself to be a Martian then Andre 3000 is from a small planet on an undiscovered galaxy that has a name which no human being can pronounce.

               The truth is that no one has pushed the boundaries of hip-hop further than Andre 3000 and as much as I appreciate the guest appearances ever so often, Andre has got to come out with a solo album.

               So where are you Dre, the game needs you.   [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=opB4oSsEYwM]

The Recession

Roger Porter

The recession is staying in the house on the weekend because you don’t have enough money to go out with your friends. Even if they agree to pay the cover charge then you still can’t afford to have a drink so what’s the point? 

And if your friends agree to buy you drinks in addition to paying your cover, then you  would still rather stay home because you feel as though having to depend on someone else to provide for you all night would be the equivalent of having your pride publicly mutilated.

Speaking of pride, behind the more than one million lost jobs, pride has to be the most significant casualty of the current economic collapse.

For it is very difficult to be proud while explaining to your six-year-old daughter why she can no longer be in gymnastics, why she can’t have a jumper at her birthday party and why you can’t take her to the movie theater. It seems that pride, like full time work, is a thing of the past. Right now full time work sounds like one of those long lost things that the old folks speak so highly of - like listening to a championship boxing match broadcast live on the radio.

Last Labor Day, President Obama spoke candidly about the recession. He spoke directly to the masses of unemployed Americans when he said, among other things, that when you lose your job you lose “a sense of purpose.” It was a great speech and he appeared to be as genuine as any politician can possibly be, but somewhere along the way he lost me.

I applaud the President for trying to empathize, but he can’t. It’s just that simple.

I think it is impossible for not only the President, but for the majority of Americans who are gainfully employed to understand what it’s like to have an education that is virtually useless because there are no jobs. And to spend your whole life avoiding every pitfall the ghetto has to offer, earn a Master’s degree and not only be broke, but be worse than broke because you've accrued a massive amount of debt - $45,000 to be specific - and I never thought that I would feel like such an idiot for going to school.    

There is a stack of bills on my dining room table. Often times I can pay them in a timely manner, but sometimes I can’t. I look at them and they make me drowsy. I yawn into my hand and smell my own breath, which serves as a rather rancid reminder that I haven’t been to the dentist in more than five years. One of my friends tells me that there is a dental school in the city that cleans teeth for cheap, but unfortunately for me, cheap is too expensive. When it comes to a dentist, I can only afford free.

There are millions of Americans who are struggling just like me, most of whom have it far worse than I do, and I suppose that should make me feel better, but it doesn’t. It only makes me feel more dejected as I wonder will the economy improve or will the hope of a country be the next casualty of this ghastly recession.

I Love My Hood

Roger Porter April 4, 2011

     It’s a gorgeous day today. I realized that as I was driving from block to block on my way back from work. I saw lots of people standing outside and I saw children spraying one another with a water hose in someone’s front lawn— it’s not yet hot enough for people to begin cracking open the fire hydrants but I’m sure that will be coming in a few months. As I continued down the boulevard I saw a drug addicted prostitute yelling at another woman who drank alcohol out of a brown paper bag. I have no idea what they were arguing about but as I watched them while stopped at a red light I thought to myself; “I really love my hood.”

     Now that’s not to say that I love my own oppression or I love to see ignorance manifest itself in daily life (I definitely felt sad that those two women had lost their way). But it is to say that I love my people. I like to be around good humble folks who aren’t afraid to show their joy or express their pain. I like those hot sunny days when everybody seems to be outside as if Keyshia Cole was shooting a video for her new single.

     I like the openness. I like to see a mother doing her daughter’s hair on the front porch while scrawny little boys have a water balloon fight with their shirts off in the middle of the street. I like the carefree attitude that enables a group of young ladies to dance in the middle of the sidewalk when a car passes by slappin their favorite song.

      On a warm spring day the hood transcends all statistics. The hood is alive, the hood is vibrant, and the hood is well. It is on these days especially, that I love my hood.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YkGY5EzA-h4

The Obama Dilemma

     Roger Porter

April 2, 2011

     So for the past year or so I've been experiencing a dilemma.  Basically I've been hit pretty hard by the recession and on top of that American involvement in the Libyan war really pisses me off. I'm really not sure how this country can afford to fight 3 wars at one time while so many people are unemployed but honestly that's not my dilemma. My dilemma is that as a black person it is becoming increasingly difficult to not "go bad" on our first black president.

       Ok hold on just a minute before you try to take away my black card. In November 2008 I was just as excited as everyone else. As a matter of fact when Obama was elected it marked the first time I had ever voted for a winner in a presidential election (I voted for Gore, then Edwards respectively). And I know that Obama inherited a country that was in economic shambles due to his mentally ill predecessor George W. but at the same time I feel like there are some things that he could be doing just a little bit better. Things like releasing the prisoners in Guantanamo Bay like he said he would and being more diplomatic when dealing with other countries instead of just continuing to blow things up.

        And...damn see here's the part where the dilemma sets in because as a young African-American it almost seems sinful to share the opinions of republicans and conservatives however, it's kind of hard not to when you're overeducated and underemployed (an MFA in Creative Writing? What was I thinking? Smh). I mean if I can't blame my problems on the president then who am I supposed to blame--myself?...Hell no!

       I'm just saying being radical was a lot easier when the president was a white man. It was a lot easier blaming the idiots in the white house back in the day when there actually was an idiot in the white house. Now often times when I hear people question the direction in which this country is headed I have the subconscious urge to actually defend the president which, at least for this black man, feels awkward as hell. Everything is all backwards now. I don't know if I'll be able to take this until 2016 but then what am I supposed to do vote for a white republican?

       Damn, what a dilemma.   

       

A Few More Notes on Bloodshed in The Ivory Coast

     Roger Porter

April 1, 2011

      I suppose if I were a more positive person I would think it's a good thing that the civil unrest in the Ivory Coast dueto president Laurent Gbagbo's refusal to cede power looks to be nearing an end, but of course I'm not that kind of guy. I think it's pretty rediculous that so many people (some put the figure at over 1,000 since November) have been allowed to die without international intervention because of the stubborness of one mortal man. 

      Could you imagine how much global concern and vitriolic rhetoric something like this would have stirred up had it happened in Isreal or Palestine? Oh and let's not forget the recent confirmation of that the United States government has been secretly supporting the Libyan rebels as they attempt to overthrow Muammar Gaddafi for at least 3 weeks now. And the media gave us all the footage they possibly could concerning the uprisings in Egypt a few months ago, just as they do the current situation in Libya.

       So one may ask what makes America and all the other Western powers get involved in Kosovo but not Rwanda? What makes them so concerned about the latest skirmish on the gaza strip but not about mass murder in Darfur? Why is NATO carrying out strategic military strikes in Libya but only sending letters of stern disapproval to the power drunk Laurent Gbagbo? Well, as I alluded to in a previous blog, maybe because the Ivory Coast exports mass amounts of cocoa and not oil  (And although we have been characterized as a rather obese nation, we're not quite willing to justify a war over chocolate). Or perhaps, and I may be going out on a limb here, it's because the people of the Ivory Coast--just like the people of Rwanda and the Sudan--are undeniably and unquestionably black. And America has an over 500 year history of appathy toward the human rights of those who of the darkest hue. I won't go much deeper into it right now, I mean I'd hate to turn this blog into a real essay, but I will end with the lyrics of a blues song that may be older than America itself; "If you white, then you alright/ If you brown, well stick around/ But if YOU black, If YOU black, If YOU black get back, get back, get back!"

For more information click the link:

http://enews.earthlink.net/article/top?guid=20110401/f38b7322-48d5-4018-a463-61aed5b5d4a0

My Epiphany in Oakland

Roger Porter

I’m 17 years old and it’s a Saturday night.

I’m driving my mother’s 1994 blue Honda Accord with two of my friends in the back seat. We’re about to get on the freeway to check out this party when we see two of our other friends riding in the opposite direction. So we both pull over and because I haven’t seen the other two guys since they dropped out of school, we have a little reunion on the side of the street.

We laugh, clown a little and try to figure out where we want to go. Everything is all good; the weather is warm, the women are out and it’s just a care-free atmosphere. Then we all stop talking as we notice a police car pull up behind us.

“Hey is everything alright?” One of the cops asks us, not out of concern, but to put us on the defensive.

We tell him "yeah" like, of course everything is OK why wouldn’t it be?

“Whose car is this?”

“That’s my mother’s car,” I respond quick and agitated.

“Hey don’t get an attitude with me bro. I’ll have everybody here lying face down with their hands behind their backs.”

Then another squad car pulls up and as I stare at the officer who is doing all the talking and is now a few steps away from me and I experience an epiphany. It felt like that moment represented a perfect culmination of my teenage experience — it was as if my ethnic identity had now become perfectly clear.

When I was 13, I remember walking home from school one day and having a black woman around my mother’s age, with huge burning eyes, ask me if I had any rocks to sell her. By the time we were 15, everybody asked us for dope; Mexicans, White people and black folks as well. They would ask me, my cousin and our friends for drugs while we walked home from football practice with our pads on like that was our one purpose on Earth. 

And when we went to the corner store on E. 15th, down the street from my cousin’s house, to get some Now & Laters or some Funions or Donald Duck orange juice, the old Korean lady would shout “Philly Blunt?” as she held two cigars up, one in each hand, behind the cash register. And we would have to tell her, just like we told all the dope fiends, "NO!"

So now there are like five cops gathered around us and I suddenly understand that I, along with my friends, are now fully-grown monsters. I mean if criminality had a color then it was the same complexion as us. If criminality had features then it would look exactly like our reflections in the mirror. If criminality had a dress code then it would wear its pants, shirt and shoes exactly like we did.

“I got a report about a fight ... is there any fighting going on here?”

“Naw, no fighting.”

“Can I see your drivers license?”

I show it to him and he looks at it with a flashlight because apparently he needs to analyze every letter and every number. When he’s done, he tells us to have a good night and both of the squad cars speed off to their next confrontation.

My friends and I stay there for a few minutes and try as hard as we can to regroup. But needless to say, we find it to be impossible.

When Master P Ruled the World

3/28/11

Roger Porter           

         What ever happened to Master P? I saw his son Lil Romeo on a commercial for “Dancing with the Stars” the other day and I was deeply saddened. It almost completely ruined my day to see the heir to the once mighty No Limit Empire ballroom dancing on a show for B rate celebrities. It sounds crazy now but by the time I got to high school I thought the dynasty would never crumble. Boy was I wrong.

            It’s hard to imagine a man that was once so “Bout It, Bout It” disappear from the scene the way Master P did. Not after being at a house party the summer of the 9^th grade and watching everybody go ballistic when “How you Do Dat Dere” came on, not after coming home on the bus after a varsity football game in the 10^th grade listening to that Ghetto Dope album on a boom box and hearing the whole bus scream “Pass me them thangs! Let’s Get em!” in unison. Ahhh, my No Limit memories are endless. Back then I never would have believed that the dream team of Mystical, Snoop Dogg, C-Murda, and Master P would ever be disassembled but I guess things change. And in the end even a gold plated tank isn’t indestructible.

            Thanks for the memories P. The late 90’s wouldn’t have been the same without you.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d5ZvzIOO6aU&feature=fvwrel]

I Can’t Take It

3/27/11

Roger Porter

                Recently I’ve been called a sexist by two of my female friends because I won’t let my 6 year old daughter listen to Rihanna’s latest music on the radio. They say I’m being a hypocrite because I let her listen to the likes of Wacka Flocka, and Gucci Mane. I do beg your pardon but to me these are two completely different issues.

                I mean my daughter has been listening to Rihanna for literally her whole life. As a matter of fact we both used to jam to Disturbia. “Dum- dum de-dum dum dum dah-dum dum, dis-tur-bi-a” man those were the days. When Rihanna was still a teenager and her music was so innocent. Even Nickelodeon Kids Bop covered that joint, but now her material is just way too extreme. And I don’t want people to get the wrong idea about me. I mean I’m not one of those ultra-conservative parents when it comes to music, film, and art. I allow my child to be exposed to many different forms of expression, however, there is something about hearing my little one sing; “TAKE IT, TAKE IT, TAKE IT, TAKE IT” in the back seat of my car that I will not tolerate. Every time that song comes on we go straight from KMEL to KBLX with the quickness.

                I just can’t believe the nerve of Rihanna and I can’t understand how some women view that as empowering. Personally when I hear a woman singing “Take it, Take it” it sounds like it’s glorifying rape in the same vein that Lil Webbie was glorifying rape when he sang “Girl Gimmie Dat!” (Another song that got no radio play in my car). And to make matters worse on her next single she says “Sticks and stones may break my bones but chains and whips excite me.” OK so more power to Rihanna for liking S & M. I know she’s not the only one but I do find the theme of violent sex in her music to be particularly disturbing considering the fact that she was just involved in a very high profile domestic abuse case two years ago. I for one have not been able to separate her new music from the battered young girl that I saw on that infamous photograph shown on TMZ after Chris Brown put his hands on her. And I know life goes on but for me the whips and chains are just a bit much, and as far as my daughter is concerned you can forget about it.

                So yeah maybe I am a little hypocritical for letting songs about females “Dropping it low” and so forth get play in my ride while Rihanna doesn’t. As I’m writing these words I realize that I do need to be more consistent as a parent, therefore, I’m pretty sure Wacka Flocka will be banned next. But as of right now grown up Rihanna gets no love on daddy’s radio. I will not take it.

The Immortal and Universal "N" Word

3/26/11

Roger Porter

So I’m hitting the heavy bag at the boxing gym the other day when I notice my young Afghan friend walk through the door. As he walks toward me I realize I hadn’t seen him at the gym in about 3-4 months. So I momentarily stop my workout to say what’s up and ask where he’d been. He just looked at me while shaking his head. Then he leaned in close to me and said in a tone slightly above a whisper;

“I ain’t gone lie. A nigga got shot up hella bad you feel me.”

“For real?” I responded kind of surprised that he had gotten shot but even more surprised that he considered himself to be a nigga.

“Yeah dude. These Mexican Norteno niggas got at me over some punk ass shit.”

And I stood there dripping with sweat feeling tired and dumbfounded. I was wondering when did the “N” word become so universal. I mean I’ve been hearing Cambodians, Mexicans, and even some white boys refer to themselves as niggas since high school but it was something about this particular occasion that really struck me. I started asking myself does he feel like a nigga because he grew up poor, or because he is an immigrant, or because he had been shot, or because he listened to rap music, or simply because he wasn’t white. And even more importantly, is that OK?

My parents of course would answer that question with a resounding NO! Both of them having grown up in the segregated south they always felt like it is never Ok for anyone to use that word under any circumstances, but then again we always disobeyed. When my siblings and I got out of the earshot of adults we said the “N” word just as frequently as we used the “F” word and the “S” word. And even though all of our playmates were black we still knew it was wrong. We all knew about slavery, the KKK, the lynchings, and the marches but we still decided to throw that word around like it was harmless but now it was being thrown back at me.

I felt like maybe I should have been offended but I really wasn’t. I was just like wow this guy sounds really dumb. I thought about something C-Lo Green said back in the day when he was one of my favorite rappers and not just a soul singer. It was on the Goody Mobb’s “Still Standing” album when he dropped the line; “You ain’t a nigga because you black/ You a nigga because of how you act.” Well in that case if he wanted to be a nigga that badly then I guess I had to let him be that nigga. The choice was his.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SymAYR3F_yo]

The Notes of an Amateur Boxer on Training Camp

3/25/11

Roger Porter

                There is something very pure about training camp. Something completely consuming and deeply spiritual. There is something very raw and addictive about having dozens of people crowd around you and having each one of them tell you that you can do it. That you can accomplish your goals, and then there is something so inspiring about having a goal that is so attainable. And it doesn’t even matter whether or not ones chances of achieving that goal are great or slim, for one knows without a shadow of a doubt what he has to do—beat that man. Beat that Man!

            And you work harder than you ever imagined you could every day of the week. And you put your heart and soul in the ring. And you give up all those things that you love and desire. And your life is split right down the middle between what’s good and what’s evil. And you live amongst all those good things and keep all that is evil out of body and out of sight. And it is by these means that the human experience becomes pure. And it is only through the art of boxing that the individual athlete is able to become a walking extension of god.

Notes on Bloodshed in the Ivory Coast

Roger Porter

I just want to take this time to remind people that while America is still rejoicing over the recent political overthrow in Egypt and supporting the next one in Libya there are still people being murdered at will in the Ivory Coast. At least 400 hundred human beings have been killed in that small West African nation since the presidential elections in November but you would be hard pressed to find a front page article on the topic or see the media saturated with images of the conflict. There is no Western Alliance helping to restore any semblance of peace there and you won’t hear people talking about it at your local Starbucks. You won’t hear students debating about it on your local college campuses either.

For the Ivory Coast is a black African country, and even worse still, a black African country with no oil. Therefore there is no reason for any capitalist superpower to get involved. Even the murder of 7 unarmed women protesting the refusal of former president Laurent Gbagbo to cede power failed to create global outrage. Maybe it’s because Gbagbo isn’t the prototypical bad guy like Muammar Gaddafi. Maybe he doesn’t talk as loud or dress as conspicuously. Or maybe it’s because the infamous brown paper bag test (initially used in the Pre-Civil war south to denote the more acceptable shades of black) is being used to dictate American foreign policy. You be the judge.  

http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/20110324/wl_africa_afp/icoastpoliticsunrest_20110324143927

The Moment

Roger Porter

                I just saw this girl I went to college with yesterday and I swear to god she was looking pretty as hell. But she looked pretty in a professional stylish kind of way, you know with the purple petticoat and the Bluetooth in her ear. I saw her sitting in her parked car on Telegraph and I immediately recognized her—although I hadn’t seen her in like 4 years—and she recognized me as well.

                So I walked around to the driver’s side and she gets out of the car and we’re just standing there talking in the street. I asked her about some of her friends and she asked me about my daughter. I said she looked good and she said I looked good as well. Everything was cool I mean we were vibing and everything but as I looked at her I felt as though I should ask her for her phone number or give her mine. I mean here was this beautiful educated woman preparing to take the MCAT and she was right there smiling in my face. But then as she’s talking to me I’m talking to myself and I’m saying, Damn I really don’t want to cheapen this moment by asking for a punk ass phone number.

I don’t know if that ever happens to you but I just didn’t want her to think that I was only having a conversation with her because I wanted something else; like a phone number, or a date, or sex. I didn’t want to do the typical thing (you know what everybody expects me to do in that situation). So I just told her it’s always a pleasure and left.

Notes Before the Verdict

Roger Porter As I lay suffering in the intense discomfort created by the countdown to the verdict that will inevitably change my city - maybe even the whole country - forever, I have come to realize what most saddens me about the murder of Oscar Grant and subsequent trial of Johannes Mehserle.

It isn't the fact that Grant was shot in the back while he was laying face down on the ground, and it isn't the fact that after the "accidental" shooting the first thing that Mehserle thought to do was to handcuff a mortally wounded man and search him for weapons (emergency medical personal wasn't called until several moments later).

Oscar Grant leaves behind so many things, among them a daughter who is the same age as my little girl. The fact that his daughter Tatianna will never see her father again because of Mehserle's deplorable actions on that platform that night is extremely frustrating, but there is one thing that bothers me even more.

What saddens me more than anything else about this murder is the collective failure of every branch of law enforcement to condemn or even criticize Mehserle for killing an unarmed man. There has not been one police officer of any kind to state publicly that what Mehserle did was wrong and that he does not represent all police officers.

I think about the reactions of the community when those officers were murdered on 74th and MacArthur. There wasn't just one person who called 911 there where multiple calls. There was also a man who ran to the scene of the crime to perform mouth to mouth resuscitation on one of the officers. In the aftermath of the event, there were several religious leaders and community members who openly expressed there disdain for the actions of Lovelle Mixon because it doesn't matter who you kill in a just society, murder is wrong - period.

But what happens to a society when the very people who are supposed to stand for justice do not see it that way? Perhaps even more importantly, how are we as a society supposed to react once we realize that the police reserve the right to take our lives without being held accountable by the courts or even on the most basic level, they won't even be held accountable by their own peers?

How in a just society can we value their lives as dearly as our own while they shoot us in the back in front of scores of people and handcuff us while we quickly bleed to death?

I think about the concept of justice, and I pray that it be served soon in that court room in Los Angeles. But I also wonder about the lack of trust. How are we to ever trust these people who repeatedly place there "fraternity in blue" over the humanity of the very people who they have sworn to protect and serve?

This piece was originally published July 6, 2010 at OaklandLocal.com