The C in D.C: The Politics of Death

Calling D.C a 'political city' is an understatement. Knowing it is the center of all things bureaucratic, legislative and municipal is much more like it.The Districts veins ebb and flow with the political jargon of lobbyists, Congressmen and women, Senators, Representatives and the ever present hopeful intern, faithfully trailing along the way, trying to grasp every name and duty thrown their way.Not only is it the home of all three branches of American Government, but also the place of change and civic rebellion of the status quo. Dred Scott v. Sandford, Plessy v. Ferguson, Roe vs. Wade - the list of notable Supreme Court decisions is ceaseless. History is a testament to that.

And now, so is this week.

For two decades, the case of Troy Davis has resounded in the South and slowly but surely made its unjust presence known throughout the country and the world. On August 19, 1989 a trivial argument over a can of beer between a friend of Davis' and a homeless man ended in the shooting and murder of Mark MacPhail who was working as a security guard at Burger King. Troy was convicted in '91 of his murder and sentenced to death by execution. Though witnesses at the time claimed they saw Davis shoot MacPhail, and incidentally the homeless man as well, time has since changed 7 of the 9 key witnesses stories, and they now claim Davis is innocent of the shootings. The police never found a murder weapon, obtained physical evidence or DNA from the scene; their entire case revolved around testimony - now completely inadmissible - and matching bullet casings from a prior shooting Davis was convicted of. The myriad of facts are seemingly regardless now; the overall lack of evidence, his original lackluster attorneys, the four scheduled and then cancelled execution dates, the countless appeals and court proceedings, the massive continual outcry of injustice and inhumanity. All the matters now is that on Monday, September 19th the State of Georgia scheduled a hearing for Davis' 2nd clemency hearing. On Tuesday it was denied. And by Wednesday, after heart stopping last minute Supreme Court deliberation to review Davis' stay of execution request was denied, Troy Davis was indeed executed at 11:08 pm in the state of Georgia.

Though some would say that Davis was guilty, some would conversely say he was innocent and others among us may simply not care about a would-be criminal of any sort locked away on death row. However, Troy Davis and his case were anything but typical. The supreme lack of evidence, both then and unsought after now, is the key to the universal disparity and applicability of this case. Anyone who should so happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time accosted by a mob mentality of pointing the finger at any sacrificial lamb who appears to be guilty could be the next Troy Davis. Any man or woman, in the state of Georgia or outside of it, can be accused and convicted of a heinous crime such as callous murder should a mere few of the many factors needed in a civic court of law just so happen to line up and earn you a conviction, consider yourself Troy Davis. And when a seemingly sophisticated circuit of the highest courts in our society throw the book at you and sentence you to the barbaric and inhumane ledge of execution, despite obvious objection and with every inkling of doubt amid it's decision - then everyone of us has the opportunity to be Troy Davis. Injustice reared its ugly unlawful head this week - we all got a long and through look.

Now living in D.C perhaps I was made more aware of the proceedings going on both here and in Georgia because of the role of the Supreme Court, and it's proximity to my backyard. As a student at one of the most politically active Black colleges, my peers and I spread the word and others marched to the White House. Though Troy himself cannot be saved, the world knows his name and will never forget. And ambitiously speaking, this should never happen again. Please, let his story be a testament to that.

The C in D.C: Learning My History Amongst The Mecca

Howard University, 'the Mecca' for some who don't know, is a Historically Black University; an HBCU. Meaning it was established and is promoted as an institution for the advancement and greater education of Black people; moreover, minorities.While that implies several things, likely some of them true, it does mean that the history and contributions of Black people are truly highlighted, analyzed and celebrated. Most importantly, they are talked about to begin with. Though I didn't transfer from a backwards college in California nor an ignorant one, I should confess and explain that history - my history - was neither discussed or revered. We got the obligated synopsis of Mr. Columbus and his colonizing claim to fame; The Revolution and the American audacity for freedom; Slavery and its ugly omnipresence; Civil Rights and the endless struggle. A recap, if you will, that gets pawned over year after year in grade school. Admittedly, a large reasoning for my initial application to such a school, an HBCU, was that yearning and curiosity that college ignites: who am I? Where do I come from? What do I believe?

These thoughts had never been mauled over too much because I, for a long time, have been somewhat embarrassed at my lack of even knowing about my people. Suburban raised, I knew more and felt most comfortable with my Caucasian counterparts than with those who looked, hailed from and were seen as 'like me'. For some, this may seem like an easy fix: read a book, look it up or seek it out. For me, however, it was a mindset I was craving. A total overhaul of ideology, commonality and reference. And with that...here I am.

A part of my rigorous first semester at Howard is the mandatory selection of an African history class. Gleefully I signed up for what is, in so many ways, the first attempt at my history. Foremost, there is, in fact, a difference between 'African History' and 'African- American History', not just geographically, but in all other facades. Howard certainly distinguishes as such, and so, now do I. The choices were endless - The Harlem Renaissance, Intro to African Literature, African Systems of Thought, Black Asthetics, Contemporary Black Writing - and so was my decision as to where to begin this historical wonderment that had, in part, brought me to the East Coast. My decision was Afro - 193: The History of West Indians in America. As I sit in this class now, like I will for the next 14 weeks, already my horizon is on the brink of awe. Names I have vaguely skimmed in textbooks are now being brought to life in full dimension,through reflective context and most importantly, laiden with the truth. A raw truth already shocking, a tad disheartening and seemingly too blatant to be true, but it is. Black history is American history. Visionaries who would otherwise be lauded with awards, titles and respect had they been white, are so readily dismissed by the very history they were born to create. Students of life never introduced to the very people who died upholding the 'dream' and 'promise' of life and liberty that make America what it is.

Here, at the Mecca, actual home to names like Thurgood Marshall,  Kwame Toure or as the world has come to know him,Stokely Carmichael, this history - our history - has a place. And here, at Howard, I have begun to find what I have been looking for on the path to discover the answers to those universal collegaite questions of self...