Yo, thank you for another year. We experienced daggon near a 200% increase in visitors (i mean, they couldn’t all be my momma, could they?) and i’m more than grateful! So i just wanted to take this opportunity to say thanx.
In the spirit of my man, Sidik, i’ve decided to set some goals for the O-10:
i’ma post more regularly
diversify my bonds with more guest appearances
Expand Scattered People beyond being just a blog…i just came up with that one, so give some time to iron out the specifics
Umm…and i’m just gonna go ‘head and say it:
make it to 50,000 hits! (that means you gotta tell your friends)
So as we move into the new roman calendar year, let’s be great. Love and be loved, inspire and be inspired.
At the dawn of the 21st century (Kemetic Calendar Year 6250), African people are as embattled with global white supremacy as ever. Increasing poverty and displacement, persistent state-sponsored terrorism, obscene incarceration rates, kwk., this reality of war is nothing less than genocidal. These actualities are further corroborated by a corporate media that either ignores or obscures Black suffering by failing to acknowledge it, or transforming “isolated incidents” into decontextualized charity cases (Rwanda, Darfur, Live 8, etc.).
BlackPowerMedia.com has emerged to fill the void of independent media that centers the experiences and liberation of African people. More than simply “filling the blanks” of the mainstream, BPM captures and projects the struggles and victories of African people from Kinshasa to Cleveland, Brixton to Bahia.
The goals are simple: inform and inspire. The means: multi-media productions that understand themselves as weapons of liberation.
Welcome. This is Black Power Media.
Nothing more, nothing less.
i’ve been wanting to write something on this joint since the first time i heard it a few months back, but couldn’t find the words. i mean, it’s so damn raw, so real, so…vulnerable in a bold ass way. i strive for this level of honesty, yo!
You know exactly how it be, too. You know that she would be so perfect if she would just…if she would just…well, you can’t exactly explain it, but you know what it is. And she do, too. And that’s what make it so terrible! She know, too, except she too damn stubborn to admit it. (more…)
Two people engaged in a kiss in front of a row of dingy, colorful houses set on cobble-stoned hills. Here, of all places: the center of Pelourinho, Salvador da Bahia, Brazil, where enslaved Africans were tied in public square to be beaten for entertainment.
These two, however, got they mind on something else, something which the hands of neither cracker nor time could ever destroy.
21 years is barely enough to make a man. The raw materials of life are still being molded by the apathetic hands of experience. And although those hands have been particularly hard on us, most of us continue to allow them to shape, and thus determine, our reality.
But Fred Hampton was no typical, passive 21 year old. He had long since seized the responsibility of his own destiny, a rising Black fist knowing only one purpose: the liberation of his people.
He joined the Chicago chapter of the Black Panther Party for Self-Defense in November of 1968 at the age of 20, quickly becoming the chapter’s leader. Over the next year, Chairman Fred mediated a truce between Chicago’s leading street gangs and was instrumental in other Party activities, such as the Free Breakfast Program, the Free People’s Medical Clinic (including Sickle Cell Anemia testing), a police surveillance program, and Political Education Classes for the community. (more…)
You’re staring into another time. Maybe it’s the past. Maybe an alternate present. Wherever it is, you’re staring into it. And you’re with her. Doing something. Anything. Perhaps you’re laughing, walking, holding hands. Maybe arguing. Or maybe you’re just with her. Staring into her eyes. Losing yourself just like you’ve lost yourself now: in thought, in wonder, in this alternate reality where you’re with her maybe holding hands, laughing, walking, arguing, but together.
She could’ve just been honest, you know? Honesty you can deal with. It’s real. Concrete. Tangible. She could’ve told you the truth. Instead, her delicacy with your feelings, which was really callousness, resulted in their devastation. Ok, ok, you’re being dramatic. Not devastation. But you were hurt real bad in an intriguing sort of way. So much so you ask if you’re a masochist for sensing arousal in this pain. Or a narcissist who likes the taste of wounds. Sicko. Whatever it is, you have yet to recover, as you stare into this other time of you and her together as it may or may not have actually transpired in reality or what-would’ve-been reality had she not murdered the chance with impeccable aloofness, that god-forsaken weapon. (more…)
