Tracing slavery

Baltimore, Philly and Greensboro just aint the same after reading Octavia Butler’s science fiction on time traveling into slavery. Kindred — first published in 1997. First picked up by me in mid-August 2010.

I’ve trampled over history this summer of 2010. Looked at leaves swaying along the interstate south of Philadelphia. Seen Black youth, Black families and Black communities with new eyes. New eyes cast having read about the slave trade, migration routes, escape routes, and movement of commerce.

I sat in a branch of the Durham Public Library, pulling books edited by Ishmael Reed and Member of the Club, a collection of articles written by Lawrence Otis Graham. Slavery doesn’t look the same now that it sits on the other side of the wall. A wall capable of taking my arm off, as it did to Dana/Edana in Kindred.

Atrocities of commerce. Or was it genocide borne of commerce, in visiting Colorado’s Camp Amache and Sand Creek Massacre. According to the War Department, Amache was called the Granada War Relocation Center.

All this, for a mulatto in miscegenation nation.

on Foucault, for the first time

This is brilliant:

“The main interest in life and work is to become someone else that you were not in the beginning.”

I gleaned it from the wikpedia entry on Michel Foucault. (h/t to brotha Scott for the lead)

It resonates with some of my writing from two weeks ago:

i don’t seek understanding, to be understood by my people. i’ve been exhausted by judgment from others, and my own self-judgment and my judging others. i’ve reigned in some of that judgment, less consumed with burning my energy in that drain/waste. it detracts from channeling it elsewhere.

Hooah: anything + everything except no

I heard about this brilliant campaign video earlier that brings together Senators up for reelection, entitlement, corruption, the Gulf of Mexico, the oil spill. I hadn’t known of VoteVets previously, but I’m now glad to have the acquaintance.

That lead me to wanting to figure out how to spell ‘woo-ha’ that i remember Jake Gyllenhall hollering in that Swofford movie a few years back. It turns out that it isn’t spelled like that, and there’s a good deal of history. I shouldn’t be surprised that there is such history in military matters — reminds me of the question, What’s your military story?

Here are two tidbits:
From HOOAH!Bar

The word “hooah” (pronounced who-aw) is an expression of high morale, strength and confidence that usually means “heard, understood and acknowledged” but can mean almost anything except no. It may have originated with the British phrase “Huzzah!” that dates at least to the 18th Century, although many other explanations are offered. It grew roots in the Army infantry and has now spread to the rest of the U.S. military.

Then in wikipedia

Hooah (pronounced /ˈhuːɑː/) is a U.S. Army battle cry used by soldiers “Referring to or meaning anything and everything except no.”

Books at the decade’s dawn

Of all the books on my nightstand, there’s currently plenty o nonfiction:

Invisible Man, by Ralph Ellison
I Will Teach You to be Rich, by Ranji Sethi
Post Traumatic Slave Disorder, by Joy DeGruy Leary
Soul of Money, by Lynne Twist
The Summer of Black Widows, by Sherman Alexie

Ambitious to read books simultaneously, but it works better for me. It’s kinda like when I have an abundance of groceries in my kitchen rather than not enough. When I haven’t been to the grocery store, I end up glossing over the hunger I do have. And I hastily buy food out, which is rarely as tasty and satisfying nevermind nutritious and filling as what can be prepped or cooked at home. Similarly, too many books keeps my mind/soul in a literary state. I read more pages per week, or month, than when I stick to reading a single book that can stumble along, bore and lead me to putting that book down for days. And I avoid other books because I inhibit myself from picking up a different genre or author.

Here’s to reading more and more. Both online, on my mobile tech, and on the written and typed page. Back to Joy DeGruy to help me rest my eyes…