Slaving Away

I'm in Don't Get It Twisted edit land. But that's not the reason for the blog's title.

Edits are actually going fairly smoothly. Sorry, no neurotic outbursts to amuse those who enjoy seeing me spiral slowly into madness.

I read two very interesting books earlier in the week, both revolved around the issue of slavery.
Do not ask where I found the time. It would require a math degree, some fuzzy accounting and admitting that something was left horribly neglected for two solid days. Lest my editor is reading this - certainly it wasn't the edits that were left undone.

Perish the thought!

No, more like I didn't cook dinner or forgot to pay a few bills. You know, small stuff.

Anyway, I read Forty Million Dollar Slaves by William C. Rhoden (no thanks to my boy, D, who was supposed to let me read the joint nearly seven months ago) and the 2006 Coretta Scott King Award winning, Copper Sun by Sharon Draper. Reading these two books back-to-back made for some interesting internal struggle.

Side note: The hubster hates reading "slave" stories or watching them on TV. It makes him angry. I enjoy them, but found myself fighting that boiling anger that accompanies the reality of life and attitudes during the height of slavery.

Deep breaths!

Sharon Draper vividly portrayed the journey of fifteen-year-old Amari as she was brutally snatched from her village in Africa and sold into slavery in the colony of South Carolina.

Copper Sun is the story of struggle and triumph over adversity. Draper handles the issue of instituionalized rape on the plantation especially well. Keep in mind its YA. Sex, much less rape, is a pretty hot and controversial topic. Yet, I thought it was depicted with finesse.

I greedily lapped up every page of Copper Sun. I felt anger, anguish and pride mixed with the slight dizziness of confusion that goes along with the question - what is my responsibility to the black community as a writer?

By the way, I have no idea how to answer that last one.

It's one of those rhetorical questions that every African American asks themselves periodically. Not sure you ever answer it. You just do what you can to toe your part of the racial line.

And that's where Rhoden's book, which I actually read first, comes in - truly pressing the issue, exactly how much are we each responsible for when it comes to improving current conditions as not just professionals but black professionals?

Rhoden, a sportswriter and regular on ESPN's Sports Reporters, took on the issue of the rise and fall of black athletes. The title boldly asserts that despite their wealth, black atheltes are still akin to slaves due to their lack of power and control within the very sporting world which benefits from their talent.

This relates directly to the lack of black team owners, GMs and, in some cases, coaches in the land of professional sports.

Rhoden's book incited some real confusion, on my part. I was able to push beyond his voice, which, unsurprisingly, tends to ramble. He's exactly like that on Sports Reporters, often taking a long time to make his point. The book was also quite repetitious. Still, as he reviewed the history of black athletes, I found two points especially interesting:

1) The Jockey Syndrome - The act of the establishment changing the rules of the game when the competition begins to gain ground. A mechnaism Rhoden says has been used in American sports for many years to tilt the playing field.

Rhoden gave enough examples to show it's not some figment of the imagination.

Not sure there are any comparable goings-on in the publishing industry. If indeed the Jockey syndrome occurs within every profession, the publishing playing field is, apparently, not yet balanced enough for new rules to be necessary to tilt it.

2) Rhoden's round about assertion that black athletes need to "make a statement" through action even if it's to that individual's detriment.

I'm unable to agree with Rhoden on this. And it's very possible it's nearly impossible for us to see the issue the same simply because we see it from different angles. Rhoden is from my parents generation - a time when HBCUs (historically black colleges and universities) were often the only choice for an African American to seek higher education.

My generations ability to choose whatever college they want was thanks to the struggles of our parents and grand parents fight for civil rights.

So when Rhoden laments that Chris Webber and the rest of his Fab Five compadres chose Michigan rather than a HBCU...well...I don't agree. If the Fab Five had chosen an HBCU, yes it would have certainly made for an interesting media story for that school. But would it have afforded Webber, Howard and Rose the chance to make it into the NBA, like playing for Michigan on national television did?

Doubtful.

Should Chris Webber have shouldered that burden trying to change an entire system by choosing another school?

And would his decision have really changed anything?

Doubtful again.

HBCUs rarely have the wealthy boosters or TV contracts...that a Division I school has. The Fab Five attending one would have changed neither of those things.

And Webber admits as much in the book.

So, where Rhoden and I disagree is on how each individual needs to play his part in righting wrongs, gaining ground and pushing for progress. Rhoden seems to believe that a person should forgo some of their own ambition if it means a step forward for all.

And I believe that my own progress will benefit others behind me. So I don't agree I should attempt to make a decision based on what's for the good of "all" instead of the good of me.

Again, I'm fairly certain this is a generational conflict.

I've tried to see it Rhoden's way. But I'm a product of my generation just like he is of his own. We can probably meet one another half way - but I'd likely have no luck persuading him to my side, either.

It's likely that I'm naive and even that my view on this will change as I get older. But right now, I believe there's a way to change the system (albeit slowly) by working within the structure. And I do so hoping it will benefit others, not just myself.

I've done it many times as an adult. It's possible. Tiring, yes. But possible.

So I hope any strides I make in the YA field will open doors for future black authors on the rise just like Mildred Taylor, Sharon Draper and Dana Davidson's strides did so for me.

In the end, I can't cry too many tears for athletes. After all the book is called Forty Million Dollar slaves.