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January-February, 1987 « SPELMAN SPOTLIGHT » Page 15
On This Man’s Mind
Black Power in the Dollar
By Mike F. Weaver
Recently, I was drying a pair
of pants in a neighborhood laun
dromat. The facility is adjacent
to a convenience store and both
are owned by a Korean family.
There was also a young lady
with four kids in the laundromat.
I know there were three girls
around the ages of eight, four
and two years old. The other kid
1 couldn’t make out because of
his jheri curl, but the kid ap
peared to be around six years
old.
While drying my pants, I
couldn’t help but to hear my lit
tle sisters. They played a guess
ing game with a young Korean
boy who was the “manager” of
the laundromat. Needless to
say, the kids were filled with
many solecisms. At one point
the lady who was with them, I
guess their mother, stated,
“Hell, I don’t know about ya’ll,
but I wouldn’t never try to guess
his damn name!” She chuckled
afterwards.
Prior to that statement, the
Korean boy mentioned, “My
name has four letters and it
begins with I and ends with K.”
The little girls surmised Kick.
Even the mother couldn’t figure
the boy’s name.
The little kid with the jheri curl
was the adventurous kind. The
kid roamed all over the laun
dromat. The kid turned dryers,
stuck his head in the washers,
and jumped on the tables. The
lady never mentioned anything
until the child was in her way.
The Korean boy tried to slyly hit
the kid, however, the mother
saw this out the corner of her
eye and said, “That’s right.
Knocka’ ass out the way if you
want to.” The mother had a bag
with an opened bottle of beer in
side. It was not my place to in
terject anything, so I remained
quiet but attentive.
After some time had elapsed,
I began to critically listen to the
Korean kid’s grammar. Though
he was a youngster, I realized
how well-versed he was. And
the other kids, well, as far as
their speech, there was no com
parison. I began to look around
the laundromat. I noticed one
sign in particular that read,
“Dear Brothers & Sisters;
P.W.B. store is kind people
and member of our church.
They care about our black com
munity, and help anyway they
can.So, let’s all try to help each
other and prevent any terrible
accidents might happen.
Dear Fellow Brothers &
Sisters;
I request you to help these
people. Afterall we are one big
family under Jesus.
First Mt. Pleasant Baptist
Church of Atlanta
Rev. R. B. Hawk minister
God Bless Us All.”
Now this sign took me back a
few centuries. I reminisced over
the times I read that the Native
Americans (Indians) and the
Africans shared a special bond.
I thought about the times when
our struggle was one in the
same. That struggle was one of
overcoming oppression and
suppression by the exiled Euro
peans. Then I came to the nine
teenth century. I reflected over
the ties shared in the building of
the railroads. People of every
color were working together. On
that railroad track, color was a
meager skin variation (though
we did lose many brothers until
the invention of the Jenny
Coupler).
But then, I came to the early
twentieth century. I thought of
the North and New York in
paticular. I began to think of
how the Jews won the blacks’
trust and, in turn, their dollars.
The Jews were in the black
community taking their money
while all the time the Jews’ kids
were getting the better educa
tions and the better jobs.
Meanwhile, the black kids
were raised on the flipside of the
coin, i.e., the streets and ghet
tos. I began to think of the
Greeks. The way the Greeks
first saw that the Jews were do
ing well exploiting the black
community and eventually the
Greeks cashed in. Well, you
may say, that was then and this
is now. Is it?
Brothers and sisters, if you
hadn’t noticed by now, here
come other rapists to the black
community. These rapists differ
only by nationality, but have the
same intent: getting the black
dollar. These rapists are of Asian
descent. (They all look alike;
Koreans, Vietnamese, Chinese,
Japanese, and Philippines and
they probably say the same
about us). They are here in the
black community in 1987. They
are in Atlanta. They are in the
Atlanta University Center. They
are on Fair Street. They are in
the Mall West End. They are
taking our clothes off piece by
piece. Now that’s the mugshot
of the rapists, let’s see what they
do with their loot which is the
black dollar.
It’s no different from before.
They send their kids to the bet
ter schools to get the better
education and the better jobs.
Do they put the money back in
to the black community? Of
course not. they send for their
relatives and get them started in
a business in the black com
munity. And the cycle con
tinues. The money goes out of
our community into their com
munity and stays in their com
munity. To them, America and
“Lady Liberty”is a symbol of
prosperity.
In the meantime, this
nefarious educational system is
miseducating our children. Our
little brothers and sisters go to
school with high expectations
only to be let down by an educa
tional system that was de
signed to break their zeal for
knowledge. This system was
designed long before they came
into this life.
So, we have the rapists and
the victims. We know what they
do with their loot. Just as the
Black minister wrote the sign in
the laundromate to support the
rapists’ activities, do we continue
to let these rapists take us for
bad or do we fight back? Are we
going to continue riding in the
back seat or are we to take the
wheel?
These are difficult questions,
but they are thoughts on this
Black Man’s mind.
Dear Readers,
The Spotlight encourages you
to voice your opinions, make
suggestions or comments and to air
your grievances. All letters must be
typed and signed.
Sincerely yours,
Spelman Spotlight
Opinions expressed in the
Spotlight are not necessarily
those of the publisher.
White, Yellow
Black Girl
By Clarence Anthony
The black students walked in
to the classroom, talking and
laughing, a few looking bored
and tired, some just there, but
as he walked in, indifference
covered his face; not apathy.
Just a look of being alone. As he
sat down in the back of the room
so not to have to participate in
the silly conversations amist
him, he did not notice the fine
yellow girl who had sat in front
of him; nevertheless, as the pro
fessor began the lecture he
opened his eyes to see what he
considered pure beauty. Like
the speed of light he quickly
closed and opened them again.
He had never seen this girl
before, and as he sat there stu
dying her, his sex began to throb
impatiently. Her firm, yet
delicate dancer-like frame, he
knew could easily support the
weight of his body if they ever
made love. The tight little
muscles that spread all over her
body proved this theory. His
mouth began to water as he
dreamed of licking her smooth,
carmel colored skin. The long,
straight easy flowing brown hair
that fell upon her shoulders ex
pressed the whiteness that had
infiltrated her past, but he
wondered to himself how white
she really was. Was she just a
beautiful black sister that had
some white features, or did she
really want to be white? He
looked down at her ankles that
were so light that from a distance
they could easily pass for white,
and yet, his knees began to ram
ble as his eyes traveled up her
legs, up to her thighs, ending at
her sweet yellow treasure. Oh!
if only he could plunge his mid
night black body inside her,
shooting a stream of infinite
blackness. His tar skin, that
gleamed only when the sun was
at its hottest, and when the
moon glowed to its fullest,
would smother her every part
until all she could see was
blackness. If she was truly a
white black yellow girl, he would
forcefully stick his tongue into
her mouth, probing until it found
that white sickness within her,
pulling it out and spitting it into
the darkness of the earth. He
would then take his strong black
arms, squeezing her so tight,
surrounding her with feelings of
love and loneliness, that every
time she saw and old black man
with gray, nappy hair, lines so
deep in his face that you could
rest a pencil in there, eyes red
from years of work, and when
she saw him, she would smile
for she would know that is
where she came from. He
would kiss this white black
yellow girl so tenderly, that
every time she viewed young
black children playing excitedly
in the gust of water from a fire
hydrant, she would smile and
join them. He would talk and
listen to her so attentively, that
when a basketball from the
“brothers” ball game rolled and
hit her foot, she would pick it up
smiling and ask if she could play.
He would take care of her so
good, that when the night time
came, she would smile. This
smile would be a smile of love
and satisfaction, for she would
know that her black man was
waiting for her, and when they
both were exhaused from
bedroom giving and taking, they
would just lie there and smile at
each other. Afterwards, she
would get up and look into the
mirror, producing another smile.
This smile would be a very
special smile because she would
stand there naked and
vulnerable, looking at her
blackness, smiling at what she
saw and felt.
Yet, as he stared at this fine
yellow girl, dreaming this
wonderful dream, she turned
abruptly around as if she knew
she was being observed. The
look of contempt and disgust
that evolved in her eyes, as she
looked at his dark black skin, his
sad ebony eyes, his reddish,
purplish lips, his yellow teeth
and kinky hair, all told him that
this white black yellow girl could
never be his.