"A man will fight harder for his interests than for his rights." Napolean Bonaparte
The year was 1989 and New York was in the mist of its sweaty, sweltering summer madness. The seasonal discomfort is masked only by illegally opened fire hydrants, bells from Mr. Softee, Italian Ices’ and window-shaped air conditioners (fully throttled) attempting to make sense of the shade-less temperatures. The unbearable summer climate in the concrete jungle confines is matched by the short-fused residents. Somehow, the wind-less heat always has a way of igniting those not-so-tempered temperaments. Often times the summer atmosphere in New York inspires the dehydrated natives to escape to a land lined with [more] trees and grassy walkways – somewhere far south of the Lincoln Tunnel.
On August 23, a boiling Brooklyn block erupted to an unspeakable level that is more suited for those infamous confederate states found 800 miles south of the tunnel. On this day, a 16-year-old black kid named Yusef Hawkins rounded-up a few friends to take a look at a used Pontiac that Hawkins found in an ad the day before. What the eager shoppers didn’t know was an angry mob of (mostly) Italian-American boys were waiting to “lynch” a black kid that was rumored to attend a Sweet 16 party hosted by one of the Italian boys’ ex-girlfriend. The mob armed with sticks and bats were more heated than the boiling 90-degree thermostat centered in the core of The Apple. As the shoppers entered the Bensonhurst block in Brooklyn, the gang attacked -- beating Hawkins as if Emmett Till was the party’s co-host.
While Yusef’s friends staggered to safety, Hawkins was continually beaten – until a slick-haired kid named Joey Farmer pulled out a pistol and shot Hawkins in the chest killing him instantly. Farmer escaped to upstate NY, while the close-knit Italian community went silent, hoping the tragedy would simply go away and Farmer would elude prosecution.
What happened next was nothing short of the north, gone south. As the days turned into nights and the nights turned into days; the temperature rose faster than a Monica Lewinsky date. Still there was no justice in sight. That is until a local activist named, Alfred Charles Sharpton Jr. emerged. Rev. Al – would be his brand name once his media-made audience grew. However, on this August summer day, Sharpton was a local 60’s preacher searching for justice the old fashion way. Sharpton organized and led a nightly march in Brooklyn that attracted scores of news media and famous New York movie stars and pop singers – including a short, Brooklyn film maker named Spike Lee. The peaceful protest included many NY Knick ball players and budding stars like Chris Rock who were greeted in Bensonhurst with tossed watermelons, hurdled chicken bones and chants of
“monkeys go home!” At the head of the protest line was a sweaty, stubby, perm-haired man, donned in a velour jogging suit…, igniting so much national pressure on this small Brooklyn Block that Farmer eventually emerged from hiding, as he turned himself in (aided by a neighborhood resident).
That’s Al Shaprton in summary. He has ALWAYS been DEEP in the trenches, fighting for the voiceless and underserved. If there is a cause or fight for injustice (especially a black one), if there is a need for fair and equal treatment you can set your clock to an Al Sharpton appearance – unless Jesse gets there first.
Nevertheless, you name the injustice: Jena 6, Sean Bell, Bernhard Goetz, Mike Tyson, Amadou Diallo, the Dunbar Village Rape, the Howard Beach uprising, the Crown Heights Riots, the US Military in Puerto Rico, Sony Music vs. Michael Jackson, Proposition 48, and who will ever forget, Tawana Brawley.
I LOVE Al Sharpton – mostly because he is one of the few people whose actions often match the
What Would Jesus Do conundrum. I’m not always sure He would address these issues the same as Sharpton, which is why we are ONLY built in His image – the execution is our puzzle.
On this past Sunday’s edition of 60 Minutes, Al Sharpton officially unveiled a different phase in his life. Some supporters will call it growth. And, some questioning his motives will call it a digression. And, many others will see it as a 180-degree about-face – sadly, the latter is probably where you’ll find me. And it hurts. I mean it really hurts. Badly.
"A fraudulent intent, however carefully concealed at the outset, will generally, in the end, betray itself." -- Titus Livius
If you turn your clocks back to 2008, a black Chicago truth-fighting native was building a rocket headed straight for the White House – a familiar target of Al Sharpton. Barack Obama was different though. He talked of many struggles that he and Sharpton shared. In fact the only real difference was their approach to justice. As often reminded by the media, Barack has a Dr. King-like design. He crosses his legs when he speaks. Obama looks you in the eyes, and his articulation is a thing of American beauty and comfort. Barack dresses the part too. Neat suit, handsome ties, Harvard Law diction, two adorable kids, no mistresses, white shirt, polished shoes, neat American hair cut, no posse and an almighty Oprah endorsement.
Hell, I almost sent him a check. Obama’s Save the World campaign speeches not only won America’s Oval Seat it earned him a Nobel Peace Prize – something Sharpton wouldn’t even be considered for – although one can argue Sharpton’s history is probably more deserving. Barack Obama made the same ‘ole promises that every would-be president proclaims: No free rides for the rich, no more wars, no children left behind, no more new taxes, no [more] blow jobs in the office. Yet, even a political skeptic like Rev. Al had to admit, this run for office was a wee bit different. This guy seems to have a different aura, a different appeal, a different vibe. In fact, he seems more Koffi Anna and less systematic. Barack seems more Jim Brown and less Kobe Bryant. He seems much more Arthur Ashe and less Don King. More Prince, less Diddy. Much more Powell than Thomas – much more Roses than Guns. What American citizen wouldn't want a US President that pointed less guns?
Well, since Barack has been in office, with his peace prize polished and tucked away there has been: One additional war, 10k more troops in the Middle East, several Wall Street bail-outs, one beer summit, an unchanged 9.9% unemployment rate (and we won’t even mention the black community numbers), an amended Patriot Act with HIS signature and extension, and
NOT ONE WORD ABOUT A MOSTLY BLACK NEW ORLEANS which has been buried in a sea of rumble for over 5 years. Normally, Al Sharpton would’ve led a uprising march on the White House lawn during dinner. But, as Al said in his 60 Minutes interview: “…in exchange for access to the White House I will never criticize Barack Obama in public again." In fact, when black activists (such as Cornel West, Tavis Smiley or others) attempt to challenge Barack’s OBVIOUS black community apathy, it is Sharpton who will defend Barack's policies or lack thereof.
It is really hard to imagine that after all these years of truth fighting that all one had to do to keep Al Sharpton quiet on issues that adversely affect the black community is to grant him access to the people that make the inequality just.
It is plainly obvious that Al Sharpton’s White House badge grants him access to a room that is much cooler than all of those New York summers combined. Maybe Sharpton has one more march up his tenured sleeve. Maybe Sharpton has elevated his fight and has pulled off the ultimate Spook by the Door deception. No one will really knows what Sharpton’s eventual plan is. My only hope is… if Al Sharpton’s legacy is contingent on the right side of justice, then
Al (better) B. Sure…, the den you’ve entered doesn’t belong to the
lying. click on blog title for bonus beats:
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Ray Lewis
One of the documentaries’ frequently memorable moments was certainly captured with the unfiltered flashes of the brave and spirited Trinidadian-born Black Panther leader, Stokely Carmichael. Carmichael’s unyielding, uncompromising, unapologetic speeches truly underscored the leader’s relentless "audacity of hope" – a remarkable irony occupiers of Wall Street will find impossible to ignore. Carmichael’s impromptu interview with his mom divulges an inflexible, pit-bull aura that Caribbean men like: Harry Belafonte, Louis Farrakhan, and Marcus Garvey (among others) have been known to frighten white America with.
