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...

C in D.C: Quakes, 'Canes and A Little Morning Mobile Masturbation

The District has welcomed me with open arms.

Very blunt, public and interesting arms, but open nonetheless.

As a new and excited member of this politically intriguing, culturally satisfying and historically enriching community, I feel as if the world has just opened up. And in so many ways, it has. Though I am here for school, this District is certainly teaching me about life, about true city life and the hardest lesson of all - about myself. Class is now in session:

With actual classes starting Monday and my boxes from California still amongst the postal chaos, I had lots to get done this week in order to get somewhat settled. Grocery shopping. my habitual run(s) to Target ( I really can't get enough of that place no matter where I am), meet-n- greets with friends of friends and naturally, school run around. All of this on the Metro and yes, on foot. I'm from a place where a car is key to any efficient or social life at all.

However by Tuesday, I got a small tidbit of home that I think others could have lived without. A 5.9 earthquake struck Virginia and rippled through the District and Maryland. Howard shook like a flag in the air while hoards of people screamed for their life. Yes, screamed. Because screaming has always been the protocol for emergencies such as earthquakes. *shrugs*

With the quake heard round the east, classes were dismissed indefinitely ( hindsight: it was only until Thursday), as were most other schools and business, and all of D.C was free to roam about. True to character, I used that time to try a new happy hour: Zatanya in downtown. Success.

By Thursday, life has ensued and I headed to a full day of classes: Communication orientation, West Indian history, Spanish and Social Theory. However, I didn't even make it to class when I caught wind of a very private, very intense masturbation session with some strange man in his car. On the street - the main street. I didn't believe my eyes, until I saw what I saw increasingly getting closer and closer as I walked toward my school and inevitably, toward him. After the initial shock and dismay, I proceeded to vow I would always walk the streets with my sunglasses on; day or night, just for any extra protection against any added visuals. And prayed I may never see him, or his member, again.

Thursday also brought about news of a possible hurricane approaching the east coast. Irene was set to touch down in North Carolina by Saturday. Family and friends from the west coast flooded my phone with tips and warnings about how to be careful during a hurricane. Might I add, to the best of my knowledge, only one of them had actually been in a hurricane. I digress...I prepped like any naive person would: I just starting buying stuff. Extra food, toilet paper, and a personal Brita filter...anything I could get my hands on. Stores were filled to the brim with weary and nervous neighbors looking to purchase just one more candle, one more battery to hopefully keep them safe against the 'cane. After spending all day Friday personally attempting to stimulate the economy, I exhaustively set out to finally unload the last of my traveling boxes from home and make my room complete. The weekend started off quiet, but it wasn't long before consistent and heavy wind-assisted rain drenched D.C. Though we didn't get nearly the worst of it, the city was bathing in Irene's water, with Virginia and of course, North Carolina getting the brunt of her wrath. Indoors and without the balls to step more than a few feet out of the house, I watched Irene from my window and the porch. What a feisty bitch. Sunday bought about some of the best sun and breezes that I have seen since leaving California and because of that, all is forgiven between Irene and I.

Alas, my week was one I may never forget here in the District. A first for so many things on so many levels. Not many people can say they experienced an earthquake and hurricane all in one week. Now I will. And should anyone ever ask me what I feared most during this week of firsts in D.C., assuming I will respond with either the quake or the 'cane, it will now, and forever be, the man with the mobile morning masturbation.

The C in D.C: And It Starts

Once upon a time, say last year, a young 20-something year old dared to pursue her dreams. Better yet, she finally stopped dreaming. She'd never seen fulfillment fully done, didn't know exactly what to do or how to make 'it' happen but something, just something in her knew it was time to start living what she thought she was born for. Self-doubt and lack of imagination had kept her hostage for far too long.

With the types of her keys and the support of several inspirations, she lept...onto the pages of college applications, hoping somewhere in between the generic someone would see her passion and propel her toward her future. Name. Check. Address. Check. Reason for applying? To conquer the word as a writer. Little did she know, that was easier written than done. Eight applications later, she waited. And waited. And waited, for what seemed like a lifetime. Her lifeline lay in the balance of when, where and what if.

It was the beginning of Spring and an all encompassing transition on the horizon; the leaves awakening, the sun peeking through the winter slumber, and the arrival of possibility in the mailbox. Atlanta. San Francisco. San Diego. But it was D.C., the east coast and so far from home in sunny and temperate Southern California, that captured her curiosity and confirmed her road to Howard University.

In fact, that is where we find our anxious, newly acquainted city-girl now: in the throws of change roaming around an unknown jungle where the final moments of the old and the beginning of the new are encroaching. With the end of her first full week in tow, but very much at the start of what is bound to be a wonderful and challenging chapter...

A strangers plea

Princesa
Im writing this directly from me to you - it couldn't come faster from my heart. 
A quasi kindred spirit though we are in every sense so apart.

You dont know me but I feel like I know you. 
So innocent yet so battered and blue
This big wide world is trying its best to swallow you
Trap you into a statistic and never nourish you
Keep you longing by a window and never encourage you
and I just want to give you a hug...

I too am a kite that a bad decision had almost hindered my flight. In so few words, I feel for you. 

Cry on my shoulder and vent about realities tough love. I could be there to listen.

But you have to know better.
You cant run away from life's reality forever. You cant defeat the inevitable no matter how clever - chasing boys instead of chasing books will leave you on the hook for things bigger than you could have ever imagined. I bet your beginning to grasp the possibilities following such an endless white rabbit down a bottomless hole can have. You dont want to be hopeless, lost in his habitual wonderland...
So many have never come out. 

Take this with all the love and concern an absolute stranger can have for another - I do mean well. I have sisters your age and for them to be you, now, makes my tears swell. I wonder where your thoughts are chasing you now... please, just stay. Nothing good has come from tackling the world your way. 
It all seemed so cool, Im sure - fleeing in the night, dismissing those who care about your true light to be with one who would leave you should he like. Think: where is he now? Smoking god knows in back alleys, hanging with who knows and they perpetuate the scene. Believe me pobre chica, mama always said nothing good happens after midnight - especially in the streets of Santa Ana. But I think you may see that now...maybe. Maybe.
Princesa. The world is yours; should you want it enough to have it. Take it. Dont let your life and your will be steered by others who want nothing for you...but everything from you. Alas, right now, you may not have anything else to give but the rest of your life to gain. Take it....I only wish you knew your not alone. No. Your simply in a test and I pray you make it to the other side...wheres there is a hope and possibility.  Nothing, es impossible. Countless women have trudged to pave your way. Keep pushing. Cry when you need to. And push. Breath when you need to. But push. Fight when you have to push push push to acheive what some may not think is in your future. Princesa...I dont know you and yet I know your boundless. You should too. 

And I just want to give you a hug. 

Column: Self-Serving Our Way to Becoming Disposable

In an effort to steadily keep up with the leaps and bounds made by 'The Jones', I found myself buying yet another, even smarter, smart phone. Im already behind on the IPad, still dont narrate a Twitter and downloading songs circa 1997 is my new joy and hobby. The least I could do for my tech-cred is to keep a decent phone. It has all the 'necessities' that come standard with todays smarty pants cells, and then some. In fact, the truth is: its smarter than me. This isn't a new revelation, nor a solo one Im sure; but one I am ready to now say and assert out loud. It thinks, predicts and supplies me with information from an endless app mall that could rival any library - all in the palm of my hand. Except when it pauses, hesitates...slows down for any reason, I spaz like Ive lost my best friend. Such is the case today. Instead of eating at lunch, I headed straight for the ATT store and puppy-eyed them as soon I as walked in the door - 's.o.s, my phone isn't thinking for me'.

EXCEPT - i wasn't met with a person or any form of a real live human being. When they realized my service was cut off for being a DAY late with my bill (that I hadn't known was due - hello, I just got the phone), immediately I was directed to the holy Kiosk - a huge burden of a machine in the middle of the sales floor and the ultimate would-be demise of half the employment in the store. To get help doing almost anything -paying said late bill, checking coverage, getting tech help or adding a line - the Kiosk was my go-to right man. Er, well right Kiosk. In fact, one of the overly paid and unnecessarily employed employes told me that to get actual help it would cost me $5 per transaction. So all in all, Im paying you to do your job....that your already being paid for? Nonsense. However, this is not the only place that is doing this.

For years, self-serve stations, kiosks and registers have poped up everywhere from the grocery store to post offices to international airports, all with the higher goal of efficiency in mind. YOu and I use them regularly and without apprehension; corporations swear customers appreciate the productive and timely service, and employees are free to handle other concerns. But at what cost? While it may not always be a nominal charge, using self-serve help comes at a different price. Lack of catered assistance, personal interaction and continually relying on technology to assist us in the most basic of needs - literally, in need - is a problem to be thought about. As well, the need to consider actual people and their contingent employment based on the usage of these self-service stations versus the employee; lets face it, its cheaper to buy a few machines then to maintain a salaried employee. I for one appreciate the occasional convenience - but it far too often come with mass-tailored questions, roundabout waiting and, my personal pet peeve, entering in your information several times. In such a case, as is the norm far too often, I will take the overly-bubbly far too talkative girl behind the counter who may be a smidgen less efficient than a kiosk, but whom I can engage i a personal interaction with, whilst meandering for the help I need.

Just dont have me pay her $5 extra bucks - thanks.

I Think

I think...
I think I may have found it, but I don't want to say.
Like a child in play, Im afraid it may be sought after, snatched up, or worse, taken away.
This discovery is made from life's beautiful things...its bliss enrapturing and Im caught in its spellbinding ring. The result leaves me breathlessly smiling.
Time waits for no one and this finding has impeccable timing.

Im ready for something incredible.

I think...
I think he may be right on time. Appearing when there was nothing but lost hopes, sighs and cries. A tackled heart crushed by a crush gone awry...
A doubled-over party hangover from which some life didnt survive.
Yet Ive found he - he, I - here like a silver lining not to save me, but to be by my side and help me shine.

Cautious whispers that say I may [not] find something better one day are uninteresting; Im happy today - who has time to worry what tomorrow may bring?
Complexity rearing its head making its way into my happiness...
After other attempted couplings, you would think this girl would look at past stings and say - don't rush things. Ah,
But don't all great fools rush in? This thing I have found may begin to tinge with the 'what if' its festering in should I not enjoy it, and fully delve in - I don't want to miss what so innocently began as...Hi.

The difference in what I have now from my past demise is profound. Call me jaded but I started to think men like this simply weren't around - maybe I got the last one? Im not looking for anymore to be found. One's all I need.
I think...
I think...
I know I havent known this feeling of adoration in a long time.
I just hope you'll stay awhile.