I'd like to say thank you to everyone who has supported me on my journey to completing my first novel. To those of you who don't know me or my work and are visiting this page for the first time, welcome.

Over the next few weeks, I hope to share with you a little of my progress as I begin research on my new book -- a yet-to-be titled historical novel, set in the 1920s and involving the founding and establishment of The Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters, the predominently African-American labor union, led by A. Philip Randolph. Sleeping car porters worked on the railroads, cleaning and preparing sleeping cars and acting as valets and waiters for passengers. The union struggled for more than a decade before they received recognition and equity from the Pullman Company.

As part of my research, I'll be traveling by train from Oakland to New York City, following the path of those porters from years ago. This trip will include a visit to the A. Philip Randolph Museum in Chicago. Along the way, I'll be sharing with you what I learn and experience. Thank you for coming along.

Monday, January 12, 2009

To Andrew Lewis (young man arrested and speaking on the 6 o'clock news)

On Wednesday, I listened to sirens as they drove past my home, wail after wail throughout the night. Earlier, I heard the whisking blades of helicopters as they raced from airport pad to downtown. I went out into the chilly night, hands deep in my pockets and watched as they circled, like vultures over downtown. At the time, I had no idea of the destruction taking place there. I didn't have to turn on the news, though, to know that there was pain and rage released there. Oakland is a city, where passions seem to run high, whether for the Raiders or young men killed before their time. When I drive downtown these days, I see the boarded windows of businesses and broken glass still strewn in the gutters. Business owners, their customers, folks just trying to live shaking their heads in confusion and frustration at both the authorities who need to be held accountable and those who think their violence is justice. Fear and anger hang over the city like fog every morning since New Year's Day, but it isn't burned off in trash bins set afire or dispelled by shattered windshields. It hangs over us, clouding our vision. I think, Andrew, that it has clouded yours.

"It was for a cause. I feel like I have to fight for him."

I, too, was shocked and horrified by violent murder of Oscar Grant. I am tired of young black men being targeted by police. I am angry that again and again black life seems to worthless in the eyes of the people charged with protecting us. Maybe I'm worried, too because I am not as shocked as I could be and because I am becoming too accustomed to violence being meted out against young black men, not just by the police, but also by other black men. Violence has become too commonplace in Oakland. Right now, even as I type, yet another siren wails by my building. The herald of more violence taking place somewhere in this city. I'm tired. Tired of the news, the hopelessness, meaningless and the lack of love that lies beneath each act of violence.
We must fight for Oscar Grant and every man like him. We must fight for safer streets and we hold accountable everyone, everyone who takes the life of a young black man. But how do we fight, Andrew?

"I know they wasn't part of but somebody has to pay."

While I am tired of the unjustifiable homicides, I'm also tired of you, Andrew and your undirected rage and your inflated self-righteousness being unleashed on innocent by-standers. Oscar Grant's death does NOT give you the right to unleash your rage on anybody unfortunate to be in your path. Acts and times such as these, demand that we respond, not react. A response demands and expects accountability and justice. A reaction is a reflex, thoughtless and reckless. A reaction is a display of force; a response is a display of discipline. A response would have been about Oscar Grant, his life and his death. Reaction, such as the one you made, was about you.
Seems to me that if we are fighting we need to know what we are fighting for, what it is we are seeking to achieve – a show of force, a mere grand display of our collective anger and grief might be gratifying in the short-term but it is ultimately empty and impotent, the equivalent of a temper tantrum. What about the man who pulled the trigger and the institution that trained him that black lives have no value? Who will ensure that they pay? Not you, Andrew, when your attention is focused on burning trash bins and breaking windows at McDonalds. While the cameras are trained on you, or the store owners whose businesses were damaged and the police officers who arrested you, while all of that is happening, where is Oscar Grant? The man who pulled the trigger slips away into the shadows. The authorities who tried to cover it up cover their tracks. Customers on the BART system are afraid of you, not the authorities who conspired to keep the truth from them. Justice for Oscar Grant slips away as this becomes more and more about the riots and the police response to the riots and less and less about what happened January 1st at the Fruitvale BART.

"You can replace a car. That man can't get his life back."

Oscar Grant was murdered on New Year's Day, not maliciously, but seemingly casually, as absently as pouring salt on slug. You watched the video. He was lying on his back. He was being subdued, knees in his back. You, are holding him down, if you simply let your rage dictate your response.
You want to fight for the Oscar Grant, Andrew? Make this more about him and less about you. You want justice or do you just want to fight? Because there is a difference. HOLD BART accountable. HOLD the officer responsible accountable. Boycott BART every Friday until this man and every person who tried to cover it up is behind bars. You can't give Oscar Grant his life back but you can get justice for him. That is how you fight.

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