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Cracking Up:
Post Katrina New Orleans
By Kalamu ya Salaam
Our driveway is cracking. Horribly.
Really cracking. Just saying “cracking” is an
understatement. One ridge sticks up two or three inches
higher than the rest. And the door that leads from the
den to the washroom (which itself is just a small
extension behind the garage), that door does not fully
close. Above the door sill inside the den there are
very, very ugly, highly visible cracks in the wall. And
we're lucky. Our house did not receive flood waters.
The phone has been ringing daily with requests. Right
now there are three or so interviews to do (or not do)
this week—we'll see how I'm feeling when the time comes.
The thing is people don't want to know the real deal.
It's too depressing. I usually don't bother even talking
about it. It bothers me when I talk about it, so I know
what it does to others.
Right now I've got a good idea of how the people of
Fallujah feel—it's been how long? Almost two years and
their stuff still ain't reconstructed. Yesterday some
government official was bragging about the oil
production was about to reach pre-invasion levels, like
that's some great achievement. Iraq was under siege and
broke before the invasion. New Orleans was falling to
pieces before Katrina.
So anyway our current home was suppose to be the last
time we moved. I hate moving. Trying to pack up when you
haven't even fully unpacked from the previous packing.
This house was recently remodeled, was in move-in mint
condition. Beautiful. Comfortable. A retirement squat
with plenty of room for grandchildren and friends to
visit. And now the ground is shifting. Literally.
Last week the daily paper ran a feature on the water
supply problem. Seems that two thirds of the potable
water that is produced is leaking into the ground. Wait,
it gets better (or worse-depending on your disposition,
cynic or sarcastic; they don't have too many pollyannas
running around New Orleans these days). The city figures
they are losing something like $200,000 a day. They
didn't even have to dig a hole to throw the money in,
they just let it leak into the ground. Plus, to add
insult to injury, they have to keep pumping more and
more water because if they don't, the water pressure
will fall too low.
Ok? Now here comes the kicker: fire and shit! Once
again, I mean that literally.
First the fire. The fire department has been having a
tough, tough time fighting fires. The water pressure
thingy. Plus, many of the fires ignite and get going
roaring good before anyone in deserted neighborhoods
notifies the fire department, and then all of the fire
stations are not back up yet, and the fire personnel are
overworked, and—well you get the idea. The bible
promises “no more water, the fire next time.” Well,
we've had the water and currently we've got major fires
burning up the city.
Now, as for the shit; the name of the agency that is
responsible for the water is the “Sewerage & Water
Board.” If the water is leaking into the ground because
Katrina did a number on the underground water
infrastructure, then it's axiomatic that the sewerage
pipes are also leaking. That's right, raw sewerage
leaking into the ground, and nobody has a clue as to the
rate of the leaks or at least nobody is owning up to
knowing.
Just like smart bombs doing dumb damage in Iraq, I'm
pretty sure Katrina didn't just crack the fresh water
pipes. But who knows, I could be totally wrong about
that. Right now there's no way to confirm or debunk
that.
What I do know for sure is that the streets are falling
apart, a long term result of first, Katrina flooding,
and currently a result of drought conditions that are
prevailing: water and fire. I may not know for sure why,
but I do know for sure there are craters appearing
seemingly overnight—I said “craters” because I didn't
mean your garden-variety, average urban city pothole; I
mean axle-busting, big-ass holes in the asphalt. I'm
telling you what I know from experience driving these
machine-eating streets. I know once I get home and pull
into the driveway, I've got to be extra careful. And I
know I can't fully close the den door. That's what I
know for sure.
I also now know for sure why “they” say ignorance is
bliss. It's because knowing what we now know ain't
nothing nice. Don't be upset if you call and I don't
answer or that if I answer and you ask how I'm doing,
don't be surprised if I mumble “ok” or “alright” and
change the subject. It takes a lot of energy to keep
from cracking up.
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music website >
http://www.kalamu.com/bol/
writing website >
http://wordup.posterous.com/
daily blog >
http://kalamu.posterous.com
twitter >
http://twitter.com/neogriot
facebook >
http://www.facebook.com/kalamu.salaam
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Guarding the Flame of Life
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New Orleans Jazz Funeral for tuba player Kerwin
James /
They danced atop his casket Jaran 'Julio' Green
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Track List
1. Congo Square (9:01)
2. My Story, My Song (20:50)
3. Danny Banjo (4:32)
4. Miles Davis (10:26)
5. Hard News For Hip Harry (5:03)
6. Unfinished Blues (4:13)
7. Rainbows Come After The Rain (2:21)/Negroidal Noise (15:53)
8. Intro (3:59)
9. The Whole History (3:14)
10. Negroidal Noise (5:39)
11. Waving At Ra (1:40)
12. Landing (1:21)
13. Good Luck (:04) |
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Blacks in Hispanic Literature: Critical Essays
Edited by
Miriam DeCosta-Willis
Blacks in Hispanic Literature is a
collection of fourteen essays by scholars and
creative writers from Africa and the Americas.
Called one of two significant critical works on
Afro-Hispanic literature to appear in the late
1970s, it includes the pioneering studies of
Carter G. Woodson and
Valaurez B. Spratlin, published in the 1930s, as
well as the essays of scholars whose interpretations
were shaped by the Black aesthetic. The early
essays, primarily of the Black-as-subject in Spanish
medieval and Golden Age literature, provide an
historical context for understanding 20th-century
creative works by African-descended, Hispanophone
writers, such as Cuban
Nicolás Guillén and Ecuadorean poet, novelist,
and scholar
Adalberto Ortiz, whose essay analyzes the
significance of Negritude in Latin America. This
collaborative text set the tone for later
conferences in which writers and scholars worked
together to promote, disseminate, and critique the
literature of Spanish-speaking people of African
descent. . . .
Cited by a
literary critic in 2004 as "the seminal study in the
field of Afro-Hispanic Literature . . . on which
most scholars in the field 'cut their teeth'."
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Sister Citizen: Shame, Stereotypes, and Black Women in
America
By Melissa V.
Harris-Perry
According to the
author, this society has historically exerted
considerable pressure on black females to fit into one
of a handful of stereotypes, primarily, the Mammy, the
Matriarch or the Jezebel. The selfless
Mammy’s behavior is marked by a slavish devotion to
white folks’ domestic concerns, often at the expense of
those of her own family’s needs. By contrast, the
relatively-hedonistic Jezebel is a sexually-insatiable
temptress. And the Matriarch is generally thought of as
an emasculating figure who denigrates black men, ala the
characters Sapphire and Aunt Esther on the television
shows Amos and Andy and Sanford and Son, respectively.
Professor Perry
points out how the propagation of these harmful myths
have served the mainstream culture well. For instance,
the Mammy suggests that it is almost second nature for
black females to feel a maternal instinct towards
Caucasian babies.
As for the source
of the Jezebel, black women had no control over their
own bodies during slavery given that they were being
auctioned off and bred to maximize profits. Nonetheless,
it was in the interest of plantation owners to propagate
the lie that sisters were sluts inclined to mate
indiscriminately.
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updated 23 July 2010
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