Not A Veteran Of Veteran's Day

Veteran's day. A day when we are asked to pay respect to those Americans who have fought and died in our nation's various wars and conflicts...

I'm gonna restart this entry...

Writing about Veteran's day is not easy for me, but at 10:25 tonight I realized that I had barely given any thought to the meaning of the day this year.

No, that's not true... The truth is that growing up in New York City, and much of that time in Greenwich Village, the concepts of soldiering, military service, war, and patriotism (at least in the standard popular culture definition) were not present. So Veterans day was just another day off from school.

My parents were not what our last president would consider "Good Americans (something that I'm sure they would disagree with)." My mother was raised by a socialist and a communist, and while she was not as “extreme” in her political ideology, she was completely devoid of any desire to conform to the American social status quo. My father could never be proud of a nation that rarely showed any desire to consider him, a Black man, an equal citizen of that nation. They both would agree that being a good American is far less important than being a good human being.

And then there was me. A tough kid growing up, getting in fights, but being raised with artists and Neo-hippie pacifists around, my heart was not of violence. War was the enemy, and those who wanted to fight, the ignorant stooges of the powerful.

As I've grown older I have learned to differentiate between those who fight wars and those who create them. One of my closest friends, a true brother, is a veteran of the second Iraqi war, or "Invasion." I see how that experience has affected his life, and I pain for him and all of the other young men and women who, while no longer drafted, were in many cases duped or forced into enlistment, due to lack of access to resources and opportunity elsewhere.

Recently I have found pleasure in reading Conan the Barbarian comic books. There are times when Conan joins up with an army because there is opportunity to make money in war. Thus, for Conan, just as for many in our real world, the risk of ones life for the opportunity of money (or survival, ironic in its contradictory nature) is an acceptable risk. For many Americans it is the ONLY opportunity. Luckily for myself, it was never even an option.

Also recently, I was discussing my Uncle Sy's military service with my mom. I thought that he had served in Korea, but she responded that I had it wrong. While her twin Sy had served later, it was her older brother Carl who had served in Korea. I started contemplating how the concept of military service has changed since the Vietnam era.

Historically, throughout the world, being a soldier carried a great amount of honor with it. Yes, in most cases young men were forced into service, but in America, fighting for ones country was greatly respected. In fact, for much of our past, if you didn't serve in the armed forces in some way, you were looked down upon by much of society. But the catastrophe of Vietnam, or as the Vietnamese remember it, "The American War," changed the way Americans understood military service.

60,000 U.S. military deaths, of which 17,000 were draftees, combined with the millions of Vietnamese civilian deaths, scared America for decades. Presidents were less willing to send soldiers into conflict zones(not necessarily a bad thing), the draft was abolished, and Americans lost great trust in their leaders.

Anyone over forty, or anyone who has taken a freshman Modern American History class has heard or read this all before. For members of the post-Vietnam generations, it is far more common (though nowhere near common enough) to find people who were raised like me- with disdain for the concept of war and military service. Yes, many of us are less hardworking than our ancestors, and many of us have become less physical. Violence in society has become more of a taboo outside of the sports arena and especially since the mid 1990's, the opportunities available to the educated, coupled with the lack of a draft, make military service seem very unnecessary.

I accept that there are times when fighting is necessary. To liberate my ancestors from Concentration Camps, or my other set of ancestors from institutionalized slavery I would fight. To make my country the place it boasts of being, full of opportunity and equal access to healthy, prosperous and sustainable lives, I would fight. For the lives of my family and friends I would fight. But I believe that the true fight is against the concept of war itself.

We have soldiers because we have not yet evolved as a species to a more efficient style or form of communicating, and understanding that war is the true enemy. Unfortunately, this means that each time we send our soldiers into battle, we take one step further away from our evolution as a nation and a species.

I suppose Veteran's day to me is a weak holiday. Not because it is a waste of time to honor those who fought for America, but because we still do not live in a country that honors their sacrifice. Because we should honor them by spending today talking and working together to try to end conflicts in our societies and around the world. Because the only honor you can really give someone who has put their life on the line for their country, is making sure that future generations do not have to.

D.C.W.

10/11/2009

Sprite NBA Dunk Contest Commerical Audition Poem

Went to my first Audition in many months this evening. It was for the Sprite NBA Dunk Contest. I wrote a spoken word poem and performed it in front of the camera. Thought I would share... Also check out my new blog updates at www.wheresmygv.blogspot.com and the new Blog about my upcoming book at www.whatbarackobamameanstome.wordpress.com. Subscribe and Enjoy!

Sprite NBA Dunk Contest Commerical Audition Poem
11-10-09

Have you ever seen the top of the world?
Where the Shutter speeds of the Stars work to freeze elegance.
Frozen Moments in the solitude of silence with lights shining bright,
These Kings soar through the heavens.
We sip, they glide, and open our eyes with laughter and...
"Did you see that?!"

Did you see Dominique's cradles that curl brow lines, and Jordan's takeoffs from the foul line?
From birthday wish bandits to Carter's elbow in baskets.
Nate leap-frogs Goliath, cheer levels rise higher!
Some nights are made for the unbelievable, the magic of moments made possible by the greatness of Two...

A new decade now arises to witness great feats,
Of cunning and daring, of power and grace.
When the backyards and the playgrounds collide,
Where the Legends reside,
And the game of Five becomes one.

This is the NBA Dunk contest, this is the dream...
This is Sprite; Liquid magic, the tonic of Kings

Daisun Cohn-Williams

A Regal Kind of Comic: The Black Panther

About a year ago I fell into reading old issues of the "Black Panther" on my computer. For many, this title connotes a late 20th century Black civil revolutionist group, (or extremists depending on what your particular world view perceives). However, I am not referring to the “Black Panthers,” who were in fact an organization concerned with the education, safety, and prosperity of Black people in America (at times by any means necessary), nor the segregated, WW II, Black-American tank battalion.

The "Black Panther" was one of the first mainstream, Black comic book heroes. Premiering in Fantastic Four #52 (July 1966), he by himself dismantled the team previously mentioned. Why, one may ask, is a comic book so important that it for a long time trumped my completion of The Audacity of Hope, written by our President , Barack Obama? The Black Panther was not simply a Black hero, an occurrence for the most part previously unheard of in the mainstream comic book industry, but he was a brilliant, wealthy, Black man- the antithesis of the popular image of Black people in America... And he was a King.

In the African realm of "Wakanda," the Black Panther, T'Challa, was the benevolent ruler of all. He had been educated in Europe and in America, but not because schooling in these western countries was in any way better than that of his own isolationist nation, but rather, to gain a greater understanding of the outside world. Wakanda, a small nation, was also one of the wealthiest and most technologically advanced nations in the world; A nation which had never been colonized by Europe. The ability for a young Black child to pick up a comic book and read about an African King--wealthy, intelligent, caring, proud, and peaceful, was an image that could inspire.

When I was younger there were other hero's of color, though most on television played out racial stereotypes, as did many in comic books. By the time I was really into collecting Comics in the early 90's, the Black Panther was without his own title. Now decades later, through the inventiveness of Fiber optics and Intel processors, I am able to find and read scanned comics online. I've been catching up on this revolutionary character and the legacy he continues to create in his more contemporary titles (a lot of comic book reading since it has been many years since I could afford to spend my allowance on comics each week!)

The new edition comic is still an aberration from most of the industry (though Marvel has always lead pop culture in pushing forth progressive idealism), consistently dealing with political and social issues, including African disunity and White Euro-American-centricity (towards Black people and the continent of Africa in general). It has also continued a more general commentary on the state of the Human reality in the real world. From the Bush Doctrine and big business greed, to the racial and economic injustices of the Katrina response, to religious extremism, the Black Panther continues to go where many of us refuse: To the truths of the many injustices that plague the majority of people and places on this planet. A good resource for such a geographically illiterate people we Americans are!

Plus, what a role model! A true icon and image of what a Black man can be. I suppose in no small way is it a coincidence that my discovery of this Hero paralleled the historical election season Americans completed last November. The ascendancy of Barack Obama, the first Black Man, or non-white man, to the presidency of the Unites States of America, creates a more tangible representation of possibilities and hope and of the greatness that everyone can aspire to than a comic book. Yet, T'Challa came first. And with him came the question that Black folk in the Americas and the rest of the world have asked themselves for hundreds of years: “What if the white people had never come to Africa..?”

D.C.W

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_Panther_(comics)

Who's Bad?!

Tuesday June 30th, 2009


Rarely does an artist have the beat of an entire generation, much less more than one. Last week we lost our beat, our rhythm, our voice. Michael Jackson was more than the most famous and accomplished musician in the history of our planet... he was the heart and soul of of many of our upbringings. He spoke to us, taught us to care about others, reminded us to “live our lives off the wall.”

As I write this, I am singing along to my i-tunes playlist of Michael. In years past, it would have been my CD, or my cassette tape, or even my vinyl... "P.Y.T." is blasting from my laptop's pathetic built-in speakers, but my voice makes up for it with a passion that only a M.J. jam could incite.

Michael Jackson was passion, in every extreme. The love and attention he put into each cord, each word he sung, each movement he turned into dance, into art, seemed expressions of his soul. And we, the fortunate who witnessed even fragments of his career, which spanned almost his entire life, would cry and rip our clothing (sometimes ridiculous looking clothing inspired by him as well) in response.

When I was a little kid I couldn't get to sleep without my “Best of the Jackson Five “ cassette playing. Often times I would have to get out of bed to flip it to side B before I stopped singing along and passed out. I, like many other youngsters, mimicked everything about Michael (till this day some of my best dance steps are based on his earlier years' smoothness). My Parents and their friends would force me to put on M.J. shows, were I did my best to moonwalk and grab my crotch in the most adorable way... Or adorable I'm told...

The news of Brother Michael's death was not as much a shock to me as an event that still seems to have been a mistake. My first thought was "he can't die, he figured out how to stay alive forever...” Maybe it was his childlike essence that always seemed to embraced the wonder and excitement of life. Or perhaps it is the invincible persona that he built over the decades, always coming back strong, despite his awkward and futile physical transformations, and family and legal troubles. Somehow, I like many other fans, tried to ignore the clown face and the sideshow, superimposing an image of his younger days over that of certain present realities.

Perhaps one of the problems has always been that we failed to hold Michael more accountable for some of his eccentricities and actions, because we enabled him, and even pushed him, into them. And then we judged. Was this wrong? Could we have even avoided it? For some people, in no small measure influenced by the way in which the mass media covered Jackson, his weirdness and alleged antics, overshadowed his accomplishments... or at least tarnished them.

It's hard to think about parallels to such a superstar. There is no real precedence, or any true heir to such an achieved fame, although another M.J. comes to mind. Michael Jordan was an international sports icon much like Muhammad Ali had been decades earlier, except without the socio-political content and to the tenth degree of fame. No athlete on Earth was better known at the apex of his career. And while Jordan became the “air” to Michael Jackson's global marketing icon status, he too had his problems. Though the media seemed less inclined to exploit all of his dirty laundry (perhaps because his public persona was far less controversial than Jackson's became), we did learn about the gambling addiction and the sweatshops that made his sneakers. Many forget, or if young enough, never experienced, all of the violence and killings over Jordan's sneakers in the early 1990's. Yet, despite his involvement (whether De facto or not) in what some would call institutionalized, economic slavery abroad, and in the enabling of the plague of Black on Black inner city violence over his “gear, ” the media, and we as a society, seem to have forgiven Michael Jordan far more easily than Michael Jackson, allowing him to continue building a business empire and be revered as the greatest of all time. One has to wonder what Jordan would have been like if he too had been a superstar before he had even hit puberty...

The man, some would call “Wacko Jacko,” a most disturbing and ugly nickname in the opinion of this writer, was possibly the most famous person this world has ever known. There is not a country you can visit in the world today where people do not know, and most likely revere him. And how could there be? In the West, he was an entertainer, who influenced every facet of our popular culture, from what we understood to be music videos and the soda we drank, to the clothes we wore and the acceptance of the first white/black friend we brought home to hang out. Most importantly in the U.S., Michael Jackson and his family made Black mainstream and slowly, more acceptable to the White majority.

To the rest of the world, he was simply a super hero! From helping raise tens of millions of dollars to fight hunger around the world, to the conscious minded lyrics he wrote in attempt to push the “haves” to leave greed aside and take up the human cause, he was loved and respected uniquely. For some of his fans, hearing him let them know that they were “not alone” in their plight, while for others, seeing and hearing him perform in person was to be touched by the divine.

On Saturday, I went to a Michael Jackson tribute dance party at a bar/club in Brooklyn, New York City. I had been eagerly awaiting his next tour, in hopes that it would come to Madison Square garden at some point, but now, DJ Spinna would be the closest I would ever come to my dream. The space was not huge and got busy and humid rather quickly. Thankfully, the DJ was truly gifted in his craft and as we sweat and flowed, and released to the greatest musical collection ever assembled it truly felt, as one friend put it, like “Church.” Rarely have I been so captivated, mesmerized, entranced by a DJ, as every single song invoked a different memory of my own life, and of Michael's...

It's hard to write in eulogy of such a controversial figure. I've noticed that some writers feel like they must examine all of the facets of the subjects life... Not this one. I write out of love for my childhood hero. I cannot hear a M.J. song without smiling, tapping my feet, and singing along, while remembering days of childhood free-spiritness, and love. Was he a weirdo? Yes he was. Did we help create his eccentricities? Absolutely. We couldn't help but love the man and his brilliance and in pushing him for more and more of it to the point that we invaded all of his personal life and space, we enabled his psychosis'... whatever they were. Still, I'll never believe that a man who dedicated his entire life to making the world a more fun, beautiful, and better place, especially for children, would ever do anything to harm them.

They say that with fame and fortune come all kinds of problems that “mortal” men and women cannot fathom. And perhaps, if any of us had been put in the same situation as Michael, we too would have found ourselves living the lives of the strange and barely accepted. Fifty years of brilliance is a short span, especially if most of that time is consumed with loneliness. But I like to believe that some are here, whether randomly or by universal design, to show the rest of us things we have never seen before. People like Michael Jackson make life more interesting.

If Michael Jackson was simply an entertainer, this moment in history would not be so intense. However, Michael was the true reflection of our culture... our world. He was beauty coupled with turmoil, and compassion with narcissism. He tried to make the world a better place for so many years, fighting for peace and those “without,” yet he could never seem to find a measure of it within himself. He transformed artistically and physically with our world on the grandest stage, which perhaps says a tremendous amount more about the rest of us than him. He truly was the “Man In Our Mirror.” Maybe he made some wrong choices in his life... Maybe it's our turn to start making things right....

That's why I'm starting with me...

DCW

To Loud People: SHUT THE F UP!

Here's the thing about loud people... I don't care what ethnic or cultural background you come from, when you're loud there are certain rules you need to follow... rules set aside especially for you. Us quieter folk put up with your inability to temper your volume with thoughtfulness, and in some cases selflessness. However, in return you must remember that there are always exceptions. There are some times and places when you need to SHUT THE F UP!

I've been sitting in the waiting room in the E.R. all evening. I have a broken nose and a migraine that should have already sent me pulling a “Columbine" on everyone in sight...

There is a Dominican family here, and I'm talking extended family here, whose numbers have steadily grown each hour we have shared this small waiting room. The volume has gone up and down at random intervals, but in general it's been LOUD. People cracking their gum, playing bass deficient music off their phones, loud not because any one person has an especially powerful voice, but because everyone is talking at the same time.

Now look, I'm a “self-loving” Black man and I know how many Black Americans appreciate a constant loud volume of conversation, especially the women, especially the young women. The same holds true for many Latin peoples, and even Jews and Italians, amongst other groups. I'm used to blocking it all out as background noise when needed and have no real problem with people enjoying themselves to the fullest... Some times I find it comforting...

However, when people break the rules... the rules that grant the rest of the world who may not appreciate noise or who are maybe just having a bad day, a short respite from the harassment of sound, I get MAD. One instance, for example, is the movies. Yet, sometimes a film has so much energy that it inspires additional noise from the audience. Not always a breach of contract... but the waiting room of an emergency room? How selfish and self centered can you get? What if I was suffering from an ear infection and sound was tormenting me..?! The point is SHUT THE F UP and respect people when they are sick. Especially when you are waiting for other people and are not sick yourself!

And where the hell are the hospital workers who should be regulating the amount of people hanging around the inner waiting areas, and their behavior. I'm here to help myself get better... so far I'm just getting worse.

F loud people when they can't obey the rules... Libraries, Movies (at times), anytime a group of strangers are stuck in an uncomfortable small place.. like a gondola or something... I got one thing to say... you got it! “SHUT THE F UP!”

D.C.W.
3/9/2009

Fly Ancestor, Fly...... A poem for Lem

I once knew a man who loved himself some cornbread,
And every chance he had to eat some he did, with some smacks and a smile.

I once had a teacher who loved to talk, he talked of the lives of trends and truths.
He talked of the movements of questions, and we listened.

I once had a mentor who had mastered his craft, he lived to share and guide,
He tried to show me the way he walked his, while helping me to find my own path.

I once had a friend, fun and full of spark, who would run up the court,
Sarcastically commenting on my shot selection, while he jogged back down the court,
Giving his very few wrinkles a chance to catch up with him.

I once had a brother, who helped me through my pain, while allowing me to aid him through his own struggles... an honored trust... a bonding of men.

I once had a father who would laugh at perfection, it wasn't familiar to him,
Though he always had to be right...

I now have an ancestor, who will continue to guide me,
And through his Wisdom I will continue to grow,
And through his lessons my children will glow...

If he is now my ancestor, then I am part of his legacy...
I will honor myself in honor of him.

R.I.P., L.M.C.

-DCW
4/8/2009