I love Islam and cream soda

One year ago today, my life was measured in eight gunshots. Five of those bullets found their mark: one tearing through my eye socket and exiting my neck, the others shattering my arms, shoulder, and elbow. The impact detached my retina; the damage to my carotid artery triggered a stroke that stripped the feeling from my entire left side. A year later, the physical toll remains. I live with searing nerve pain and partial vision. I struggle to tie my shoes or type with the speed I once had. On the nights I do sleep, I often wake to the echo of those shots and the metallic taste of gunpowder on my tongue. I remember that night with haunting clarity. I felt a dark energy approaching and I moved first, throwing an elbow that made him scream—his teeth marks are still etched into my skin. The next sound I heard was the bullet entering my face. The case remains open as attempted murder. The police have their theories—ranging from a gang initiation to a disgruntled ex-b...

By Brother Taj   - June 2019 In 2007 and 2008 while working as a political market research manager I had the privilege of having then–candidate Barack Obama as a client. However, I would have voted for him anyway on the basis of one consideration: he was Black. Voters who would admit to this motivation are decried as reverse-racist and a traitor to the idea of post-racism, but given a national culture that rides on 4 centuries of enslavement and exclusion, no apologies are needed. We have had enough of inhumane consideration and treatment. Enough of institutionalize bigotry. Enough of racially motivated violence and murder. Enough scourging by drugs and brutal policing. And, enough of mass incarceration. It should all cause Black Folk to rise up in protest, refusing to perpetuate anything similar with our own hands. What more effective repudiation to white supremacy and its insidious effect, then for a Black person to refuse to shoot, rob, assault, rape, chea...

Islam (and by extension, Arabia) has always been connected to (and saved by) Black people and Africa. First, notice on the map that the most populated regions of (western) Arabia are bordered by Africa. Among the first/original tribes of people called "Arabs", the majority of these tribes originated in the southern region, especially Yemen. The Qahtanite tribe, whose progenitor is held to have originated the Arabic language, after whom it is named, has a grandson that all Yemenite tribes trace their lineage thru.Muhammad also traces is lineage thru the Qahtanites. Yemen has always been connected to African peoples - dark ones from Ethiopia. For centuries, Yemen was run by the Abyssinian/Aksum (Axum) empire, (think, modern day Ethiopia and Somalia - as well as Sudan, since Aksum conquered the Kush empire). For centuries not only were Yemenis a mix of cultures but an ethnic mix of Semitic and African peoples. It was these dark tribes that migrated northward as far a...

If our criminal justice system is the "New Jim Crow", and if our prisons are neo-plantations, then our network of county and city jails are akin to slave ships - the "New Amistad", if you will.  There's an appropriate visual when you consider cells like those in Colorado's Arapahoe County Detention Center that have been modified from double to triple bunks - at a glance they resemble the cramped bowels of slave ships where African inmates-as-cargo were lain in tight stacks and rows.      Appropriate analogies abound - like slaves, jail inmates are a valuable commodity; local lockups get paid per body and operate like any business by cutting costs of operation as much as possible to maintain create revenue. Slave traders made and maintained profits by providing the barest minimum for slaves to survive transport to auction, often leaving them naked with no medical care and feeding them scraps for food. Jail menus provide so minimal calories and...

Click HERE for Part 1 I got out of prison in August of 1996 on a Friday, released early from my sentence to community based supervision in a halfway house. I was initially housed at the County Jail, awaiting bed space, and was given the opportunity the following Monday to hit the streets after 7 years. I made a bee-line to my wife’s apartment on the Eastside. I had just missed her leaving to work but the kid's were home. A bunch of hugs and high-fives later, everyone was off doing homework and chores and I stood in the living room soaking my freedom in and basking in the glow of my new castle. The responsibility didn’t escape me, though. I was a full-fledged stepdad, and my wife was also my baby mama, being a couple months pregnant at the time. “You need to protect those girls.” That edict from my Sister rung over and over again in my ears. I not only had to provide for my step-kids as head of household, I had to keep them safe from a predator (allegedly) w...