Extemporaneous musings, occasionally poetic, about life in its richly varied dimensions, especially as relates to history, theology, law, literature, science, by one who is an attorney, ordained minister, historian, writer, and African American.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
BLACK BOY WITH A BOOK
“Black Boy with a Book”
By Rev. Dr. Larry Delano Coleman
Friday, March 16, 2012—began
Sunday, August 11, 2013—finished
Black American boys are famously averse to books for numerous reasons.
There are, however, notable exceptions.
I unexpectedly encountered two of them in 2007 at St. John Missionary Baptist in Alton, Illinois, during a “youth rally” at which I spoke. Two boys, aged 14, and 15, who did not know each other, shocked me when one said that he had read BEFORE THE MAYFLOWER by Lerone Bennett, Jr. and the other one said he had read THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF MALCOLM X by Alex Haley. There were about 70 children present; only these two responded.
Their exception establishes the rule.
Even so, I was encouraged. That small percentage, 2.8%, was undoubtedly greater than the percentage of black adults in America who had read either book! It was certainly no worse! That vast non-reading adult public explains the aversion to books of most black boys, and to a lesser degree, of most black girls who read erotic fiction, primarily. Not to overgeneralize about female readership habits, though, another surprise awaited me. A guest church’s female van driver extemporaneously recited a beautiful Civil-War era poem by Frances E. Watkins Harper, by heart, being so moved by the Holy Spirit. The children applauded her.
Still, seeing a black boy with a book is an anomaly. Returning home from school, most of them carry no books at all, apparently disdainful of that “punk” image.
In school, itself, they can barely read them. This fact was disclosed by a 7th grade, Rochester, NY 13 year-old black girl, when her book report on The Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, generated so much controversy in February 2012.
Black male thugs, gangs, and their hangers-on, beat-up on, maim, or even kill, the few black boys who dare to interest themselves in anything so “white” as reading, learning. Refusal to join their gangs, or to conform to their debased “values’” structure symbolically, is a death warrant for many. This black male undertow complements larger societal negations, which the boys perceive as “white. “ By the same token, their haughty insolence and willful ignorance they misconstrue as “black,” tragically. Their concomitant fratricide and parasitism they deem manly.
“White” to these perverted pupae is the opposite of “black,” which to them, means cool, hip, “what’s happening,” or “dope.” By implication, then, “white” is unhip, uncool, non-happening, and non-dope. These children have twisted cultural preferences with respect “learning,” itself. Much of it is derives from home, where reading is the exception, and where unfiltered television is the rule.
These non-readers’ adoring girlfriends, meanwhile, actively denigrate the readers. They mock or tease them into conformity with their reading-averse, consumerist-orientation, whose lactation is non-productivity, delinquency, or worse. This fatal phenomenon has long, famously, occurred in New York, Chicago, Philadelphia, and in other major American cities. It has now poisoned the smaller cities, towns and villages. It has also stigmatized, terrorized and ostracized black boys and black girls who are secretly interested in learning, in reading books, but who are fearful.
Fortunately, as stated earlier, there are small, but encouraging exceptions to this rule of peer-group beat-down, to this rule of adult non-readers, described above. One of them is a 13-year old girl from Rochester, New York, Jada Williams, the Frederick Douglass essayist referenced above. Here is her video presentation:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=T-lG1Wb2AfM
Sadly, this child’s truly commendable effort was not greeted with enthusiasm by school officials in Rochester, New York. Retribution has set in for this child. After her presentation, she received 3 D’s, when she used to get all A’s. She was negatively impacted for having written and delivered her essay on Frederick Douglass, a former Rochester, New York resident, as was Harriet Tubman. Below is a news article setting forth the price Jada paid for being truthful and honest:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/03/05/jada-williams-student-allegedly-harassed-for-essay_n_1321926.html?utm_hp_ref=fb&src=sp&comm_ref=false#sb=1683625b=facebook
So, black kids are condemned if they do not read, and mistreated if they do read! Still, books open the mind, the heart, and the spirit. It is better to read than not.
“Learning to Read,” the poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, alluded to above appears here below:
Learning to Read
BY FRANCES ELLEN WATKINS HARPER
Very soon the Yankee teachers
Came down and set up school;
But, oh! how the Rebs did hate it,—
It was agin’ their rule.
Our masters always tried to hide
Book learning from our eyes;
Knowledge did’nt agree with slavery—
’Twould make us all too wise.
But some of us would try to steal
A little from the book.
And put the words together,
And learn by hook or crook.
I remember Uncle Caldwell,
Who took pot liquor fat
And greased the pages of his book,
And hid it in his hat.
And had his master ever seen
The leaves upon his head,
He’d have thought them greasy papers,
But nothing to be read.
And there was Mr. Turner’s Ben,
Who heard the children spell,
And picked the words right up by heart,
And learned to read ’em well.
Well, the Northern folks kept sending
The Yankee teachers down;
And they stood right up and helped us,
Though Rebs did sneer and frown.
And I longed to read my Bible,
For precious words it said;
But when I begun to learn it,
Folks just shook their heads,
And said there is no use trying,
Oh! Chloe, you’re too late;
But as I was rising sixty,
I had no time to wait.
So I got a pair of glasses,
And straight to work I went,
And never stopped till I could read
The hymns and Testament.
Then I got a little cabin
A place to call my own—
And I felt independent
As the queen upon her throne.
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