COMMENTARY: AFRICAN AMERICAN SCIENTISTS AND INVENTORS
By Black Kos Editor, Sephius1
One afternoon in the fall of 1939 in the small town of Alexandria, LA, a skinny six-year-old boy peeked shyly round the wide gate of a bus company maintenance depot. In the big yard, a large-framed black man was busily washing bus windows. The little boy watched him for a time, too timid to approach until summoned. His family, after all, had forbidden all contact with his estranged father. The man noticed his son soon enough, for the visit was not entirely unexpected. Little Hal had been sneaking by for almost a year now, and whenever he could spare it he would slip the boy a nickle or a penny. Today he had something special for him.
"C'me're, sport," he said with a grin and a wave. It was the signal Hal had been waiting for, and he ran forward, smiling.
"How you doin'?" his dad asked, pausing in his chores.
"Okay."
"Yeah?" The man withdrew a brown paper bag from his coat pocket and handed it to the boy. "Here," he said.
Hal took the proffered packet curiously. The week before, his father had asked if there were anything special he might like, and he had immediately answered, "A B.B. gun!" Hal Sr. had smiled; they were all the rage with kids just then. But they were also well beyond the means of a poor black man who earned pennies an hour cleaning buses. So he'd done the best he could.
Hal could see the bag was too small to contain a B.B. gun, but he opened it excitedly anyway, and pulled out the most marvelous toy he'd ever seen: a genuine Buck Rogers ray-gun pistol. Its space-age design was weird and wonderful, and when he pulled the trigger sparks inside illuminated red cellophane around the breech. "Wow!" he said.
Hildreth (Hal) Walker Jr. had come a long way since his father had given him a toy ray-gun 30 years before. Whether due to accident, instinct or design, his father's gift presaged what was to become a remarkable career in science—one that overcame many hurdles and pitfalls.
Hal Walker grew up in the institutionalized segregation of the Deep South before the Civil Rights movement. Opportunities for young black men to do anything other than menial labor were practiclly nil. In Louisiana, though, Hal managed to befriend the only white residents of his poor neighborhood, an Italian family that owned a vacuum cleaner repair shop. Free time spent watching the repairman rebuilding and rewiring the machines was his first brush with the mechanics and electronics that fascinated him. Later, in a Los Angeles junior high school, he was fortunate to have a kindly workshop teacher named Mr. Dietz who recognized the young student's aptitude for mechanics and electronics, as well as his determination to master and improve anything he touched.
At this time, too, between the ages of 13 and 15, Hal befriended several fellow students who shared his love of electronics. This was the age of do-it-yourself crystal radios and simple motor kits, and the budding scientist experimented with everything he could get his hands on. "I got shocked a few times," he says now with a laugh, "but it taught me the power and potential of electricity; the rules of action and reaction."
Also during this period, largely thanks to his teacher, Hal became interested in the movie industry—not in front of the camera, but behind it. Filming technology transfixed him, and he wanted to work with the cameras. Upon graduation from high school, he planned to apply for a job in the film industry. But it was not to be. Because he was black, the industry unions stonewalled, not even permitting him to work as a lowly projectionist in the cinema. A promising door was slammed in his face.
After a period of confused despair, Hal picked himself up and decided to enter the military; at least there he might have a chance to work in technology. By 1951, the Korean War was making itself felt even in Hal's neighborhood, and he joined the Navy, hoping to serve on one of the giant aircraft carriers that had long intrigued him. This wish, at least, was granted, and four years later he left the Navy as a qualified electrician's mate. He now had his first professional status, his first real-world experience outside the US, and the key to the door of higher education: the G.I. Bill.
While considering the next rung of the ladder he proposed to climb, a chance meeting with a recruiter from Douglas Aircraft Co. opened a door for Hal. He took a job installing radar systems on US Navy jet fighters. By 1955, at last gainfully employed as a technician, he started taking night classes in electrical engineering at L.A. City College, married, and started a family. The future looked rosy......Read More
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
News round up by dopper0189, Black Kos Managing Editor
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ahead of the Super Bowl, the artist and former NFL player reflects on the messages society gives Black boys about their worth. Color Lines: Martellus Bennett: 'Let Black Boys Dream Big'
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sunday’s (February 3) Super Bowl LIII wraps yet another National Football League (NFL) season without Colin Kaepernick. His continued lack of employment on an NFL roster, combined with the league’s treatment of players protesting police violence, reflect a broader sports culture that devalues the rights and values of Black athletes. As Martellus Bennett writes for The Washington Post today (February 1), the underlying racism stretches past the NFL and into the DNA of youth sports—especially for Black boys turned into men like he and his brother Michael.
We were Black boys. And to be born a Black boy is to be born into athletics. Black fathers are often disappointed if their sons aren’t good at sports. Not excelling at sports as a Black boy meant not being cool—even weirder, it meant not really being Black. When you’re growing up as a Black boy, it feels like the world tosses you a ball and says, Good luck. Go get ’em, Champ.
Bennett retired from the NFL and now runs The Imagination Agency, a creative company specializing in animation and illustration. He argues for a society that values Black boys’ contributions off the field and supports their personal and creative growth:
No one ever told us about all of the other possibilities the world offered. No one ever made us feel that we could achieve anything and everything we dreamed of. The NFL is nearly 70 percent Black, so we knew we belonged there. But the tech industry is less than 8 percent Black, so we didn’t really feel like that was for us. Only 6 percent of doctors are Black. Only 2 percent of teachers are Black men. There are only three Black CEOs in the Fortune 500. Black directors made only 5 percent of Hollywood’s biggest movies in the past decade. Those worlds look mostly White, because they are.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Frank Robinson, the first African-American manager in Major League Baseball and the only player to win MVP in both leagues, has died at age 83, MLB said Thursday.
An outfielder and first baseman, Robinson was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1982 in his first year of eligibility.
A fearsome hitter, Robinson ranks 10th on the career home run list with 586. He won the Triple Crown with the Orioles in 1966 and became the first black manager in MLB history in 1975 with the Cleveland Indians.
He also served as MLB's executive vice president of baseball development, with his focus on increasing African-American participation in the sport. He later served as a senior adviser to commissioner Rob Manfred.
"We are deeply saddened by this loss of our friend, colleague and legend, who worked in our game for more than 60 years," Manfred said. "On behalf of Major League Baseball, I send my deepest condolences to Frank's wife Barbara, daughter Nichelle, their entire family and the countless fans who admired this great figure of our National Pastime."
Robinson was born in Beaumont, Texas, but grew up in of Oakland, California, where in his high school he was captain of a state championship basketball team with Bill Russell -- who would go on to be the first black manager in the NBA -- as his teammate.
Robinson won his first MVP in 1961 when he helped lead the Cincinnati Reds to their first pennant in 21 years. He hit .323 with 37 home runs and 124 RBIs and led the majors in slugging (.611), OPS (1.015) and intentional walks (23) for a 93-61 Reds club that lost in the World Series to the New York Yankees.
After a 10-year stay with the Reds that included a 1956 Rookie of the Year award, the 1961 MVP and a Gold Glove, the 30-year-old Robinson was traded by Cincinnati to the Baltimore Orioles ahead of the 1966 season.
Despite coming off a 33-homer, 113-RBI season in 1965, Robinson was called an "old 30" by Reds owner Bill DeWitt and shipped to Baltimore. In return, Cincinnati received pitcher Milt Pappas and two other players -- none of whom came close to the stature of Robinson.
In his first season in Baltimore, Robinson showed he still had plenty left in his 30-year-old body as he was named the AL MVP following a 1966 campaign in which he won baseball's Triple Crown. His MLB-best marks of 49 home runs, 122 RBIs, .316 batting average and 122 runs scored helped carry the Orioles to their first World Series title.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The callous response to the rapper’s detainment by ICE shows how easily the rhetoric of law-enforcement agencies can influence public opinion. The Atlantic: 21 Savage and the False Promise of Black Citizenship
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Though casual listeners know the rapper primarily for his chart-topping raps about worldly excesses—illicit drugs, emotionless sex, and riches of dubious provenance—21 Savage has also long exhibited an investment in the cultural products and historical legacies of black people around the world. Ifa, for example, is a Yoruba spiritual tradition; the practice finds its roots in what is now southwestern Nigeria and parts of Benin and Togo. Like many hallmarks of the African diaspora, Ifa’s primary route of travel to the Americas was the transatlantic slave trade.
For both the religion and the rapper who practices it, that pathway is a contested voyage. On Sunday morning, shortly before the Super Bowl commenced, the 26-year-old musician was reportedly detained by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement. According to The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, 21 Savage was taken into custody following a “targeted operation” in the Atlanta area. ICE authorities allege that the artist came to the country on a visa in 2005, which he overstayed when it expired the following year. In a statement that emphasized Abraham-Joseph’s felony conviction (though not its later expungement), the agency spokesperson said that the rapper has been placed in “removal proceedings before the federal immigration courts.” The statement referred to him as a “United Kingdom national,” and later messaging cast the rapper’s Atlanta-driven popular image as a calculated falsehood: “His whole public persona is false,” the agency spokesperson reportedly told CNN’s Nick Valencia.
The rapper’s representatives have now publicly stated that he was brought to the United States at the age of 7. Alleging that he is under 23-hour lockdown, they referred to the arrest as a civil-law violation. Much of their ire rests not just with the circumstances of his arrest, but also with ICE’s framing of Abraham-Joseph’s inherent criminality: The agency did not note that he was brought to the U.S. as a minor (a circumstance many Dreamers share), or that he filed a visa application in 2017. Nor was there any explanation of the rapper’s ethnic background; Abraham-Joseph was born in London, but his family has direct links to Dominica, as he has discussed in interviews.
Immediately following news of the detainment, narratives echoing ICE’s language proliferated online. Many American-born fans did not further inquire about the rapper’s history, or consider that living in the U.S. through his early teen years might have influenced his decision to use the slippery catchall identifier “African American.” Instead, perhaps unsurprisingly, rap enthusiasts and casual observers alike began to recycle markedly unfunny and callous jokes. There were references to redcoats, Queen Elizabeth II, Hogwarts, and of course, tea—plus a dubbed-over rap video and edits to the cover of his latest album, i am > i was. Naturally, there were plenty of Drake comparisons.
These quips relied on the dangerous logic of ICE’s statement: the implication that Abraham-Joseph’s newly revealed immigration status renders him a fraudulent cultural interloper. This, despite the rapper having spent his formative years in Georgia’s DeKalb and Fulton Counties. The uncritical responses reflected an unfamiliarity with the agency’s wide-ranging tactics to discredit its detainees, and the broader systems that contribute to that targeting. Absent from many of the responses to the rapper’s detainment was a nuanced understanding of how dangerous the process of immigration can be, how mandatory assimilation can feel upon arrival in America, and how easily black humanity is revoked.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Vera Institute of Justice’s new Arrest Trends interactive database underscores racial disparities in the criminal justice system. Color Lines: New Tool Maps Arrests Nationwide With Eye to Reform
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Launched today January 31, Vera Institute of Justice’s new Arrest Trends is an interactive visual guide that allows users to “access, customize and analyze decades of policing data that previously had been disparately located and difficult to interpret.”
By mapping every arrest made in police jurisdictions across the country, the tool seeks to “empower diverse stakeholders such as community advocates, police practitioners and policymakers to explore and better understand police enforcement”—and search for ways to improve the system. It not only reports who is arrested, but what they are arrested for and who was impacted by the crime. It also lays plain the gaps in the data that jurisdictions report.
Arrests disproportionately affect Black, Latinx and Native people, which ultimately causes communities of color to distrust the police, and may make them less likely to report crimes. That’s why Vera officials see the tool as a crucial part of remaking the justice system. Per its findings, the data presented there challenges “the notion that America’s reliance on enforcement is a necessary component to achieving oft-stated public safety goals—or indeed, a means of achieving justice or equity.” The group’s ultimate goal is to “reduce the criminal justice system’s footprint” by highlighting the need for a new approach to policing and the dangers that come with an overreliance on arrests.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The new content were all made by the original creator Aaron McGruder and the series animator Seung Kim in honor of Black History Month. They address current topics including the #MuteRKelly movement and President Donald Trump.
Charlamagne included a quote from McGruder about the possibility of the show returning. “Did these for fun (and to see if I still could). More to come… exactly how much more is tough to say.”
The Boondocks was a daily syndicated comic strip created in 1996 for Hitlist.com, an early music website. In 1997, it was printed The Source magazine, a monthly hip-hop magazine. It was later picked up by the Universal Press Syndicate and made its national debut in April 1999.
McGruder sold the television and film rights to Sony Pictures Entertainment and the satirical comic strip was turned into an animates series for Cartoon Network in November 2005. It aired until June 2014.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Angie Thomas’s first book, The Hate U Give, recently celebrated its 100th consecutive week at No. 1 on the New York Times best-seller list. It was a runaway and well-deserved success, a YA novel that handled the police shooting of an unarmed black teen with equal parts sincerity and warmth.
Thomas’s second book — On the Come Up, out this week — is well on its way to becoming just such a runaway success. It’s wise and witty, and it boasts Thomas’s characteristic ability to handle serious questions of systemic racism with a light and even joyous touch.
On the Come Up’s main character is 16-year-old Brianna, or Bri, a committed hip-hop head and aspiring rapper. Bri dreams of living up to the example of her dead father, an acclaimed underground rapper who was on the cusp of mainstream fame when he was killed by a gang.
She also dreams of providing for her family, who are only just barely able to get by on her mother’s church secretary salary and the wages her older brother Trey is able to scrape together at the local pizza place. (Trey, the family golden boy, is college-educated, and his inability to find good work despite his degree forms one of On the Come Up’s most affecting subplots.) The best way for her to do both, Bri figures, is to become a rapper herself.
She has the talent for it. Thomas shows off Bri’s freestyling skills convincingly, staying tight in her head as she improvises, so that we can see her cast around for the perfect rhyme.
“Manners. A lot of words rhyme with that if I deliver them right,” Bri muses mid-battle as she tries to come up with the best way to take down her opponent. “Cameras. Rappers. Pamper. Hammer — MC Hammer. Vanilla Ice. Hip-hop heads consider them pop stars, not real rappers. I can compare him to them.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Get Out starts with a familiar trope – the audience sees Lakeith Stanfield’s character walking through a bland suburb before being thrown into a car and driven away. At first glance, a black man is the first to die. The twist, we find out later on, if that at least part of him survives.
One of the surprises of Horror Noire, a new documentary examining how black characters fare in horror cinema, is that the cliche Jordan Peele subverts in his Oscar-winning commercial smash is not as common as we believe. In a decade-spanning documentary, director Xavier Burgin upends a number of myths in a project that owes an inevitable debt to the 2017 hit.
“Get Out was a game changer for so many of us,” says Tananarive Due, a horror writer, academic and executive producer. “People didn’t understand that black horror was a thing. It wasn’t the first black-themed horror film, but it started a conversation about the history of blacks in horror cinema.”
Horror Noire begins by covering the depiction of black people as criminals and monsters in the 30s. Birth of a Nation, of course, is the prime example of this mentality – the white lost causers “save” white women from the hands of rapacious black men. Academic and writer Robin R Means Coleman, whose book the film is based on, argues that this was a way that Hollywood “use[d] its messaging to create fear around black people, especially fear around black men”. Burgin says that “for white people, Birth of a Nation is beautiful and prideful, and it was shown at the White House” – but “for black people, it is a horror movie”.
Yet some of the examples that the academics and actors bring up are far less expected. The observation that King Kong is a metaphor for the black experience is such a common one that it can be found in everything from Academy Award-winning monologues to magazine covers, yet racial overtones could also be found in other major studio horrors in the years that followed. Coleman critiques the particular racialized appearance of 1954’s The Creature from the Black Lagoon; the physicality of monsters like the titular creature could be compared to the way “black facial features were misrepresented and caricatured back in the 40s”, says Due.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
To see Misty Copeland dance is to witness seemingly physics-defying strength and utmost grace in action. In 2015, Copeland became the first African American woman to earn the title of principal dancer for the American Ballet Theatre, and she’s since starred in classic productions like The Nutcracker and Firebird. But her life story wasn’t a straight path to stardom; a tumultuous upbringing defined Copeland’s younger years.
“The environment I grew up in, in an underprivileged community … I felt like my skills, my communication skills and my brain development, it wasn’t really ‘there’ until I discovered ballet,” she says.
There is scientific evidence to back up the thought that physical activity – and dance in particular – improves cognitive skills. This is the idea that underpins MindLeaps, a nonprofit organization for which Copeland serves as an ambassador. MindLeaps provides dance-centered programming and vocational training to at-risk youth in post-conflict and developing countries. The organization has done extensive work in Rwanda, Guinea and Bosnia-Herzegovina, and recently expanded to Mauritania, Uganda and Kenya.
Copeland was introduced to the organization in 2012, and has worked closely with its scholarship program, the International Artists’ Fund. In 2015, she first traveled to Rwanda to help launch MindLeaps’ inaugural girls’ program. The organization has an established presence in Rwanda, a nation with a tumultuous history and a large population of children living in the streets. There, MindLeaps works with boys and girls from rural villages, providing dance programming as well as health education about community issues like water conservation and HIV/Aids.
“It was mind-blowing to see this small studio that's just a couple of rooms in the middle of the village,” she recalls. “Many of the kids have never been in school before. Most of them are illiterate, and a lot of them don't have living parents and are taking care of younger siblings.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
WELCOME TO THE FRIDAY’S PORCH