LIFE IS OKAY

                                         Nas - Life Is Good - Def Jam Records – July 2012


"Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own."
- Robert Heinlein

Whew! It’s hard to tell whether the title of Nas’ 10^th studio LP needs a question mark after the title or it’s simply a glass half full approach to the shit life hands you. The undisputed passionate, pragmatic poet from Queensbridge (who is typically immune to romantic matters of the heart) seems to be stuffing a world of introspection in the obvious void left by ex-wife Kelis.

Kelis' Inspiration

Esco’s penmanship rarely gets more personal than the throwback, Guy sample on “Bye Baby” which summarizes his marriage from courtship to courthouse. The nostalgic Guy sample (“Goodbye Love”) is creative and [lyrically] timely, but clearly NOT one of those jeep-jumpin’joints that has been a staple in the Nas catalog since the days of Illmatic and It’s Written.  In fact, this track flows like a heart-broken teenaged chick trapped in a room with a bowl of Häagen-Dazs and a zip locked dairy. That fact notwithstanding, Nas is still the same witty, wisecracking, jab-thrower that has made his work a signature on every emcee’s top 10 wish list. I sure hope Kelis has a sense of humor.

The Anthem to Marriage

SIDEBAR  -  If women REALLY knew the power they “sit” on they would truly understand that running this country from the would-be named Ovarian Office would be easier than a Wal-Mart greeter.

Never Personal

Now don’t for one second get it twisted; those thinking that Nas has remotely fell off; need to look no further than the spit-fire, storytelling track “You Wouldn’t Understand”. On this single you should understand, that rumors of his Nas’ rap demise have been vastly overstated. The Victoria Monet hook really doesn’t do any justice to the crime-riding riddles of the New York City streets. In fact the hook softens the story and invites a radio-rotation to the never-ending dichotomies of rap.

The Look of Love

The latter mentioned radio rotation is certainly amplified by the Rick Ross guest appearance on “Accidental Murders” which is an ode to fake gangsters (which is really ironic considering the guest star). If Nas is a true legend of the game, big boss Ross is the balance needed to keep the clubs hoppin’. Personally, I’d rather see the clubs elevated versus lowering the bar of legends. But, what do I know – I think a country with human rights SHOULDN’T need civil ones.

“Cherry Wine” features the late Amy Winehouse and just makes you wonder if “life is really so good” why must the gifted die so young. This is one of those rare rap examples where I believe the hook is actually better than the [spoken] verse. I sure hope he and Kelis mend their woes, as any rap legend wouldn’t want to make this a common occurrence.

“Back When” is the emcee’s thirst quencher and personally, I was anticipating much more of this. “Back When” is a classic, storytelling, window blaster, underscored with a MC Shane/Ronnie Gee sample, punctuated for those just landing from outer space looking for some historical Hip Hop context.



One of life's best medicines

This clearly isn’t my favorite Nas CD by any means, but if you are looking for a radio balance, then Life is okay and that’s Good.

1 Love,

Ray Lewis

LIFE, LIBERTY & FACEBOOK FOR ALL

In America the majority raises formidable barriers around the liberty of opinion; within these barriers an author may write what he pleases, but woe to him if he goes beyond them.

Alexis de Tocqueville

May 18^th - the No. 1 online social network raised as much as $18.4 billion in one of the biggest (IPOs) initial public offerings in U.S. history.

May 19^th - the birthday of the No. 1 social activist, who was slain for making his thoughts about racial equality in America public.  

Facebook Chief Executive, Mark Zuckerberg is a celebrated, heralded and modern-day innovator who is credited for bringing the world closer together, while standing behind a computerized podium.

Civil Rights activist, Malcolm X, was labeled a separatist (amongst many other, less kind adjectives) and was subsequently murdered while standing on an actual podium. Malcolm’s grave was being dug while he was trying to establish a peaceful social network for all – contrarians had other ideas.  Obviously.

On the surface, both gentlemen couldn’t have been more different than..., (oh) black and white. However, their one commonality was their zest for communication by (well) any means necessary. Mark and Malcolm shared one other subtle similarity…, the government’s role in how their galvanization would be received by their target.  Target being the operative word. 


Zuckerberg’s platform freely allows people to compile, share and disseminate unlimited personal information of the most personal and inner most thoughts to a group of people, while dressed in flip-flops and PJs. At any moment, at any given time, you can find out whether your friend chipped a nail or their very last words before the final nail sealed their coffin. In any instant, you can follow friends [or even a foes’] journey through life without ever uttering a single word aloud or ever leaving the confines of your home (in some cases, cell). The irony in Facebook being called a “social network” is almost too knee-slapping funny to uncover here. Besides, I have a feeling any revelation to the contrary of a “social” network would be greeted by a chorus of boos by the most vigorous en-users. You could almost make a case that Facebook has become the 21th Century version of the Emperor’s New Clothes.

I’ve always thought the #1 rule in socializing was actually being in a space of two or more people enhancing all five of your senses (6 if you are a mom). It is really hard for me to remotely think that I’m really being social if I cannot see your facial expression, interpret your eye-contact, or study an accent and presume one's birth origin. In one's actual space you can absorb one’s perfume (or cologne), examine one’s hair style, or inspect the color scheme in an otherwise unspoken environment.  You cannot take for granted the involuntary thoughts you have when you witness the body motion or the posture of a stranger (assuming you didn’t grow up with George Zimmerman). What about a person’s accessories or how a crowd responds to an entrance in a room? I just love to watch a person’s head nod or ears raise to an unfamiliar song.


It seems as though we willingly traded in all of these interpersonal skills and gestures, and left the “hand-shaking” to dummy terminals. And, why wouldn’t we? After all, Facebook has allowed family members to stay in touch and share family portraits that would (otherwise) be buried on a shelf next to Christmas cards, phone books and encyclopedias. Now with a point and a click you can share unlimited files of personal places, things and ideas with someone you spent your entire life avoiding – even if NOW they actually believe you are all of a sudden “staying in touch.” Heck, you can even send a birthday card to a person you haven't seen or spoken to in 20 years, while not knowing their address. Brilliant, huh?

Well, while your newfound friends, family & foes are dancing with their newly and reacquainted stars, Facebook and the government are just tickled that 99.9% of its users never bother to read the agreement. It’s that type of apathy that allows the USA to still be considered a democracy. Come on, you knew they'd be at least one political digression.

Many users MAY be aware that all the information posted on Facebook is the property rights of Facebook. Perhaps they know and just don’t care. Perhaps. Who knows, maybe that aspiring artist understands that if they shared a not-yet-released single with a group of social networked friends via Facebook that FB now has just as many rights to the song as the artist – even if the artist later deleted their page. Ditto, for all pictures, comments or any other information that travels from one “dummy” to the next. You may close out a FB account, but rest assured FB won’t, in fact quite the contrary is true.

Freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

DID YOU KNOW

Facebook has assembled a formula that will calculate the value of each and every user? The key word is “VALUE”. Yep, every user has a price, which is based (among other things) on: the number of pictures you post, the number of comments you send, your occupation/industry, your age, sex, home value, income, marital status, voting alliance/political affiliation, vehicle ownership, religion, spending habits and of course the people you call friends. Care to guess who would have the most interest in such a concise & updated database full of their citizens?



Here’s a clue, it’s the same assembly of people that would prefer you delete May 19^th from your terminal.

Consider February 21, 1965 a friendly reminder. 

click on link for bonus beats:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OWFrpUm3tTk

1 love,

Ray Lewis

HOUSTON, WE HAD A REAL PROBLEM

"We cannot solve our problems with the same thinking we used when we created them."

-- Albert Einstein:

Deep in the hearts of many of the community’s members -- if we were really, truly honest with ourselves -- we knew this wasn’t going to end well.  Sudden death (absent of a sporting event) rarely does. No matter how many examples of this Shakespearean cycle we witness you never get used to the heartbreaking headlines:

Whitney Houston dead at 48.

Back in 2000, I read an article in Savoy Magazine that begged, almost pleaded with Whitney to get back to the place that made her a mainstream, household name and leave the arm pits of Newark, New Jersey in her life’s rearview. I find it ironic that mainstream believes that it’s the solution and not a huge part of the problem. Clearly a debate for a less somber time.  One of the more memorable quotes from the Savoy article went as follows: “Whitney, we love you but you are starting to act like the cousin no one wants to invite to the family cookout.”  A couple of years later, Being Bobby Brown made its Bravo television debut – or as some might bookmark, the beginning of the ending. 

If being Bobby or Whitney wasn’t distressing enough, adding television footage probably illuminated the CHECK ENGINE light.   I watched Being Bobby Brown, not because I like reality shows or Bobby or Whitney. I watched for the same reason Dave Chappelle quit – I just wasn’t sure why I was laughing anymore.     

In life, one’s career can easily be confused with WHO we are instead of WHAT we do. When you walk through the inner city streets that raised you, you’ll find yourself skipping to the choruses of: “That’s little Johnny, he works for UPS.” Or “That is Ms. Sharon’s kid, Rachael, she’s an executive at IBM” or “That’s Barack, he’s OUR president.” In the ‘hood that blurry idolatry is cemented on your life’s resume with very little room to wiggle.  It’s a badge that stays on long after the uniform doesn’t fit anymore – many wonder if it ever did. There are so many unspoken dynamics that make-up the 8 million stories in a ghetto like Newark – and most are too difficult to explain.  Muddled in that fact is an audience of millions far more concerned with what we do verses the horrific, viral inspirations that led us to do it. The price of that duality can be costly, sometimes deadly. Obviously.


Honestly, outside of Whitney’s sultry, angelic voice there wasn’t anything remotely “mainstream” about her.  It was funny catching a glimpse…, like in her less than mainstream single: “My Name is Not Susan.” Lyrically, Houston confronts a partner for uttering an ex’s name during sex.  We all breathed a sigh of relief when that “beef” stayed in the studio. There were also the less subtle revelations into Whitney’s upbringing.  One came in the form of a late-night interview with then-host Arsenio Hall. Hall asked Whitney: “Do you think Bobby will have a problem with you starring in a love scene with Kevin Costner?”


Whitney sharply replied; “Nah, just as long as he doesn’t try to stick his tongue down my throat!”  Those unfamiliar with the 201 area code gasped in astonishment.., everyone else felt reassured, almost relieved, that despite the TV and movie screen presentation Whitney wasn’t all that removed from the 'hood. 

Or as Biggie -- another victim of the streets -- once preached “if you don’t know, now you know.”

There were other more revealing interviews like the one with Diane Sawyer, which had the drug dealers questioning their mode of operation. Through it all, if you were paying attention, Houston always found a way to remind us of the paradox of loyalty.  You name it: child custody battles, public court appearances or slap boxing with old edition Bobby Brown -- in Newark, that's called Monday.  This R&B couple became the poster parents for a 12-step program and you couldn’t help but pray for the reproductive steps that Bobbi Kristina seemed destined to inherit.

Despite the many years of pushy public relations people; hours of A&R laborers, hair sessions of industry-styled weaves and wigs, Whitney was and always has been – for better or worse -- that chick from Newark, New Jersey.

Newark is a tunnel ride from Manhattan’s fashion frenzy fanfare in New York City but it is centuries away from anything remotely fashionable.  Newark is home to the most notorious, drug-infested, crime-riddled communities in this nation, any nation. Many boys and girls use basketball as an escape mechanism, but the New Jersey Nets said, fuck this, we’ll leave.  

Being a rugged resident like a Whitney Houston is the sort of rep that often affords an inner city dweller “diplomatic immunity”.  The rough exterior allows one to riffle through the streets with minimal collateral damage, almost like a bullet proof vest fitted for your inevitable character assassination.  You can really see it when you peep through the iron gates to watch a Rucker Park legend or if you stand in an apartment window watching the corner drug dealer.  It’s almost like a bible verse; you may not always understand it, but it’s necessary if you are plotting an escape.

The scripted bios of the hoop legends and drug dealers tend to intoxicate the young, wanna-bees that are mad at “The System", or mad at “The Man” or just mad!! Sometimes the anger fuels the success and while the community celebrates, mainstream counts the “wins” with a gold statue or concrete star. Take the Grand Master Flash & the Furious Five Rock and Roll induction; or a CSI investigation led by criminal Queens resident LL Cool J.  Even TBS gets an occasional Ice Cube for their Ice T.  It’s funny, sometimes in the ‘hood, even the wins feel like losses to the community that never changes.

Whatever the outcome, the ‘hood stream-to-mainstream story always starts the same.  An industry insider is willing to pluck a rare, talented jewel from their community and roll the dice or bet on black that true talent will triumph the toxic traits that plague the streets that bred them.  It’s a dynamic that has eluded the most-seasoned psychologists, who only tallies the mainstream wins.

I’ve seen published reports that rejoice in the fact that Whitney Houston’s illustrious voice has scanned more than 170 million copies worldwide. I’d be very curious how many of those people ever spent one night in Newark? 
Or how many understood that the fatal fact Whitney never left.  

 1 love,

Ray Lewis

SAY IT LOUD

"Wars of nations are fought to change maps. But wars of poverty are fought to map change." Muhammad Ali

Who Are We? What are we doing? Where do we go from here?
The Black Power Mix Tape Documentary takes a rather serious and widely successful effort to unveil the very real conditions of black folks in America through the eyes of a handful of powerful leaders. Swedish filmmaker Goran Hugo Olsson’s basement-stored footage does a remarkable job of taking the temperature of blacks in a tension-filled, highly-divided America from 1967-1975. Intended or unintended, Olsson’s non-American roots glare with the film’s (missed) opportunity to link the black power movement in the latter 20th Century to today’s very similar climate – thus leaving on-lookers with a more magnified mirror to scrutinize.

Black power can be clearly defined for those who do not attach the fears of white America to their questions about it. S. Carmichael

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.

Another [perhaps] unintended reward of the Black Power Mix Tape is the neutrality of another Swedish journalist who approached Angela Davis with a concern about the alleged violence that was associated with some of the movement‘s leaders. Davis’ reply is nothing short of riveting.

Much to my delight the film more than captures the foundation that real Hip Hop is rooted.



Talib Kweli does a magnificent job of unveiling his influences birthed from the black power movement. Ditto for Erykah Badu, whose entire presence can be traced to Angela Davis’ plight in America. Once the credits roll, you may have a series of unanswered questions. However, one thing is certain, if this black power movement continues to fade at this alarming rate, look no further than where you were and what you were doing when it happened.



click blog title/arrow for bonus beats


1 Love Ray Lewis

AL B. SURE??

"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:

1 love,
Ray Lewis

Decoded

You don't have to burn books to destroy a culture. Just get people to stop reading them.
Ray Douglas Bradbury

To be honest I’m really not a huge Jay-Z fan. I like him and I believe his music can be revealingly witty (at times). However, too often he abandons that path for the fast, commercial commerce road that many of his juniors take because (unlike him) they actually have no other alternative. It has been widely accepted that his first CD Reasonable Doubt is one of the best LPs of its time and without question, one of Hip Hop’s classics. Unfortunately, Jay-Z hasn’t come close to ever doing that again – and why would he since it was one of his least profitable -- and that my friends is where the music satire begins.

Naturally, as art would have it, his book Decoded reads like Reasonable Doubt (reincarnated) with a hint of Sam Greenlee’s The Spook Who Sat by the Door and the commerce from this book is sure to follow. The semi-autobiography highlights the interesting crossroad between the streets & the suites and by the time Mr. Carter is done you are really not sure what side of the fence is safer, more profitable or more immoral. Additionally, if you were in his shoes the quizzical path you may choose. Just image the dynamics of a 14-year-old paying the light bill so that your mom can have enough light to sign the truant letter denoting her teen son skipping school? This is a scripted tale within this scripted tale.

Decoded tackles the paradox of loyalty and what makes Shawn, Jay-Z and vice-versa. It literally reads like a season of HBO’s The Wire – and you’ll find yourself rooting for the bad guy, because the so-called “good” guy’s hustle is just as foul -- just not as illegal – which in itself should be criminal.

Decoded is the epitome of irony in the most straight-forward, concise manner. You'll learn a great deal about language and how great Hip Hop is far more complicated than the inane people who are too lazy or unqualified to analyze it. The lyrical ending in many of the book’s chapters seems to be directed at many of those people. Honestly, you don’t have to be a fan of Jay-Z or Hip Hop to find enormous value in this book. And, if you happen to be a fan of either, it’ll be a blueprint that you’ll treasure for years – no doubt!

Click on link for bonus beats
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NBE4A_If0Uw



1 love,

Ray Lewis

THE LONG & SHORT OF IT

The great enemy of the truth is very often not the lie -- deliberate, contrived, and dishonest -- but the myth -- persistent, persuasive, and unrealistic. John F. Kennedy

There are certain phrases that on the surface seem fairly normal, but in your lifetime, you’ll never hear them uttered aloud. Phrases like “hand me that piano;” or “you know, I never realized how cute Flava Flav was,” or “I think Sarah Palin would make a great tutor.”

Recently, a friend in Atlanta called me and said, Ray!!!! Have you heard the news (blah, blah…..and on the call went for what seemed like an hour); finally she paused long enough to say: “Man, poor Eddie Long!!” I thought, hmm, I never, ever thought I’d hear a member of New Birth say that. In fact, that goes against the very foundation of their recruitment process. I believe that team will probably be dusting off their résumés real soon.

CNN’s: Sexual Molestation by a Decatur Pastor: “breaking news” headline didn’t seem that “breaking” or “news” worthy to me – especially after my phone call the night before.

.


However, given society’s level of intellectual engagement, my CNN assessment isn’t even newsworthy anymore either.



There are a few things in life worst than:

a) Being accused of a sadistic act you didn’t commit. Or
b) Abuse of power. Or
c) Not experiencing the benefit of the doubt for either.

For over 20 years, I’ve lived less than 5 miles from New Birth Missionary Baptist Church in Lithonia, Georgia and I don’t mind saying Eddie Long was part of the reason I chose Lithonia to reside. I moved from the Bronx, NY to Decatur, GA., mainly to own some land -- but more importantly, I wanted to literally build a community! I wanted to take some land, build a house on it; hopefully surround myself with like-minded neighbors/friends; and circulate our dollars more than 10 times before it fell into the hands of community oppressors.

[Don’t worry they know who they are, even if you don’t].

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love New York (hence my temporary residency in Queens Village now). But New York City just isn’t the type of place to actually build a new community. The only thing new in New York is the growing number of people wondering will there ever be a middle class again?

The first Saturday, after my move to Decatur, Ga., my cousin took me to the South Dekalb Mall.

My first reaction was, WOW, I wonder who is sponsoring this weave-a-thon? Then I realized oh, it’s just Saturday in the Deep South. Fun though.

After a half-hour of watching people purchase things they don’t need, with money they don’t have, to impress people they don’t like,

I went outside for some much needed air – again something the Bronx summers didn’t offer enough of.




When I got outside, there was a cat standing next to a black, dark-tinted, sweet, wide-bodied S-600 Benz-O. The whip, windows and wheels were wiped project clean – underlined with some deep-dished, chromed rims (hey it was 1990). The paint was just glistening – so much so that it was hard to directly stare at it – counter to the owner’s purchasing goal, I’m sure. I am a huge fan of clean cars no matter what the make, but clean foreign cars always seemed real cool to me. So, despite the shine, I stared endlessly until this cool-looking cat popped out – leaving the doors open wide enough to hear the instrumental version of Rob Base’s “It Takes Two.” I didn’t really know how much I missed New York until those doors opened. Man.

The dude that pimped out of the ride was wearing a fuzzy Kangol cap (turned to the back), a black ADIDAS jogging suit and matching shelled-toes. I thought oh, he must be here for the weave-a-thon too. Nice whip though.

My cousin finally came out of the mall and walked up to the Benz driver and dapped him up. I thought, hmm, my cousin doesn’t have a weave. When we headed to her dirty Toyota Camry, I asked, “Who was that guy you greeted?” She said, ALL IN ONE BREATH, “Oh, that’s Eddie Long, he’s the fabulous preacher at New Birth Missionary Baptist Church, they have 3,500 members and it’s around the corner from the house, he’s really cool, he’s great, smart, funny – and you’ll like him because he does wonderful work in the community.”
I thought:

a) Man that was a long sentence.
b) Who knows the exact head count of a church they don’t attend? And why?
c) He probably had nothing to do with building this mall.
d) My cousin, who just spent $200 in a marbled-floor flee market knows an activist?

The activist thought is the only one that lingered in my brain until the next day.
On that day, I got dressed and went to New Birth – probably more out of suspicion than salvation, but I have since repented for that choice. After the 30-minute recital from the largest choir I had ever witnessed, the Benz cat from the day before strolled on stage to a Prince-like ovation – really, prince as in royalty, not artist. In either case, I’m not real sure Jesus was ever this popular. Long spoke for about an hour and while I don’t really remember the topic or message, it was truly entertaining, sort of like Prince (the artist), not royalty.




It took Coretta Scott-King’s death to get me to attend another service at New Birth; not surprising, since all of my appearances on earth can be neatly traced to activism.

The TRUTH: It may not lead you to where you thought you were going, but it will always lead you somewhere better. When ignored, it will eventually show itself. The closeness of your relationships is directly proportional to the degree to which you have revealed the truth about yourself. It can be painful.

My cousin was right, through my years in Lithonia, Long was credited with a great deal of the “happenings” in the Lithonia community – most of which are free or of a minimal charge. Long’s outreach is well-noted: He’s funded private businesses, offered countless professional workshops, health and sports initiatives, limo services, restaurants, political podiums, Lisa "Left Eye" Lopes' funeral service, concerts featuring: Mike Phillips, Rachelle Farrell, Bebe & Cece Winans, Fred Hammond, and the ever-popular, annual Fourth of July fireworks show.

Oddly, it’s the alleged fireworks of a sexual allegation involving two boys (and former members) that has the community reeling about the fate of Bishop Eddie L. Long. The reaction has been as predictable as a holiday sale. The members (that I spoke to) said they are standing behind their pastor. Non members are saying this is one of the many worldly reasons they would NEVER join New Birth. Few have given any unsolicited thought to the boys –whom quite frankly (whether innocent or guilty) will never be the same. One current member told me, I need you to pray for my Bishop – note the possessive term. I wonder if that ownership will be there if Long is actually found to be culpable?

I asked my friend just that…, what if he’s guilty? She said, I never thought of that... – then he’s really going to need your prayers. I thought an attorney would be more immediate (which I believe he’s addressed). A prayer for wisdom is where the LONG-term resolution will ultimately end. Or, maybe it’s me praying aloud for this short-sighted community to grow.



1 love,
Ray Lewis

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Fields of Dreams

A pedestal is as much a prison as any small, confined space.
Gloria Steinem

If you would, please take the minute to think about the most demeaning, embarrassing, worthless, humiliating, degrading situation ever bestowed upon you. Take another minute, in fact, take two. Multiply that “situation” by 10! Now, take a knife and drive it through the heart of your self esteem. If you’ve followed this traumatic exercise you are now half way down the dark alley of understanding the psyche of a rape victim. And, no matter how normal a person may appear on the outside, these victims will probably never (fully)recover from this on the inside -- literally.
As horrific a violation as rape is to one’s human rights and dignity; there is a legal aspect that is equally discomforting. And for Ghetto Proverbs regulars – you probably already guessed, this is where our frightening discussion will begin.


Ben Roethlisberger is a 28-year-old player for the famed Pittsburgh Steelers and the youngest starting quarterback to ever win a NFL Super Bowl.
Mike Tyson is a 43-year-old retired boxer and is the youngest undisputed heavyweight champion to ever to win the WBC, WBA & IBF world heavyweight titles – the sport’s Super Bowl equivalent.


If you just landed from outer space, welcome. Please note, there are two sets of laws that govern life in America. There are rules for the rich and rules for the poor. And if you are a highly-compensated public figure, those rules are a tad bit blurry. If you are a highly-compensated white male, that blur is a mirage. If you are a black male, that mirage just became a nightmare. If you are a woman, start packing for outer space.


Roethlisberger and Tyson have more in common than two highly sought-after, highly visible, and highly-compensated sports icons. They both reached their (public) low by raping a woman (in private).

In March 2010, Ben Roethlisberger met a 20-year-old female college student in a nightclub in Milledgeville, Georgia. After a couple of hours (and a few drinks) he was having sex with her in the club’s bathroom, while his bodyguards manned the door -- manned being the operative word.


In July 1991, Mike Tyson met an 18-year-old female beauty queen at a pageant in Indianapolis, Indiana. Later that evening the woman graciously accepted a chauffeur-driven limousine ride to Tyson’s hotel room. After her arrival (roughly 1:36am), the two had sex, while Tyson’s bodyguard manned the door -- manned being the operative word.



The spectators’ accounts leading to both “proceedings” are almost as unbelievable as the [eventual] outcome. Roethlisberger’s on-lookers flagged Ben’s vile, contemptible, and intrusive in nature; while Tyson’s observers applauded his very candid, explicit, straight-forward “goal(s).” Both playas had their share of tainted off-the-field incidents, but nothing close to rape.

The college student and the beauty queen both filed rape charges; after unveiling horrific accounts of their respective recollections. For their “participation” Ben got community service, while Tyson got 10 years – or one year for every hour the jury deliberated. Tyson was released after serving three years...




... perhaps one year for every side to a story.







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1 love,
Ray Lewis

The Rebirth of a Nation

And in the end, it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years. Abraham Lincoln

It’s a warm, moist, muggy pre-summer afternoon weekend in Atlanta. Naturally, the malls are predictably packed with a high degree of traffic searching for non-essential items to add to Visa’s very essential assets.

And, so goes a nation once built to lead; now struggling to follow, and teetering in the final stages of irrelevance. America’s reality is being swallowed in a flat-screen of scripted, high definition reality. Entertainment is being masked as news and [would-be] news journalists are being assigned to chase kids hiding in air balloons; or finding Tiger Woods’ “playmates,” or hyping American Idols – the latter being the saddest of oxymoronic. Meanwhile “Rome” is burning in a blanket of apathy stitched by a pyromaniac. How on (what’s left) of the earth did we get here?

Charred are the IBMs of the American fabric. Imploded is the once-leading car manufacturer, General Motors. Grounded is wing-less United Airlines. Exploded is the World Trade Center. And, while the rubble is gone, the rumblings remain. What were once financial staples in the world’s fabric of business is now an ad-hoc of infamous mergers and emerging uncertainties.



I truly believe that America’s deepest desperation has reached record proportions and the voices of reason are drowning or being sponsored by bloody oil spills. The growing gap of “who matters,” “who cares,” and “who’s left” is widening with every corporate merger – which increases the triage of the unemployed.

America’s triangular structured wealth chart is getting pointier and the circular vision of saving the poor is spinning endlessly in a shore of political pessimism. Entertainment isn’t even entertaining anymore. Bands are synthetic replications birthed from an expensive suit. Movies are 3-D sequels of the top box office receipts from the week prior, while sports are the real estate version of “Let’s Make a Deal” or “Pin the Tail on the Lebron."

The question atop of the “100,000 Pyramid” is, who is going to step to the podium of truth and justice? Who holds the band-aid to impartiality? Who? When is greatness going to ignite this new millennium and save our souls – or (at the very least) resurrect soul music? You know…, there was a time when the former provoked the latter.



Where is King’s DNA? I still see his bloody murderers – in fact, Barack is perched at the tip of their organizational chart. How’s that for irony? Who is going to reveal the mask of perception and plow the road of redemption?

Naturally, Jesus could, but half of His so-called followers would probably be conflicted if His attire was too casual when He returned. Again.

Barack could – and there are more than a handful of "his" citizens that believe Obama is doing all he can right now -- especially given his “inheritance.” I interpreted that as a rosy-colored no! The fact that a LARGE portion of his blueprinted campaign strategy was funded, designed and filed in the board rooms of British Petroleum…, well, you just have to question that silly, unrealistic optimism. Instead of putting my faith in the hands of people that continue to defecate on my head, while calling it fertilizer… I (instead) turn to the largest force on earth; the force of which they’d be no earth. I call on the woman -- mother of earth.



Now I know that most women don’t even like women…, but this rebellion is different. I know no one has been more marginalized, abused, misunderstood, and mistreated than the very species that breathes daily life into the world in nine month intervals. I know being a mother, wife, or First Lady is one of the more thankless jobs on earth (you can search the Bible for further confirmation).
Sadly, aside from Mother’s Day and the occasional “Hi, Mom” from an attention-deprived athlete; what universal honor can woman hang her hat on? In fact, this sexist nation isn’t even courageous enough to elect a female president. History has proven some of the world’s greatest decisions are made with the total exclusion of women, yet women are always there to wipe the tears of their fallen counterparts.
It is for these reasons (and so many other untold ones) that women should conspire to change the world… literally.

No society can exist without the strength, love, charm, compassion, birth canal or maternal instincts of a woman.

So, here’s the plan.

What do you think would happen if women banded together and stopped having sex with men for one year? Bedroom Boycott -- the headlines would read. [At times the media can be so creative].

Never let a problem to be solved become more important than the person to be loved.
-- Barbara Johnson

Clearly, the violence would be immediate and constant – as is often the case with powerful movements. The birth rate would decrease – and it probably should. Men would be more hostile than their typical dented car rage. I think some women would be angry too. However, this band would be the most extreme action since Christ left – and most have forgotten His sacrifice - or don’t believe it ever happened. This call to "non action" would spark a refresher course in the religious dialogue – which is probably necessary too. In fact, this “boycott” may spark some real redemption.

Maybe.

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1 love,
Ray Lewis