This is me right here ~Wallace, from Season 1 of the Wire.
It had been a long time since I sat across from my mentor getting the look of bewilderment. I tried not to look at her as I ate my salad. However, I know her and know she is going to bemoan the point.
“So Mr. Thomas, why the change”
“In?” I respond trying to be coy
Ms. M tips her head slightly, “don’t be smart Mr. Thomas. I’ve trained you since high school. You know what I am talking about.”
I laugh. She is referring to the polemic emotions I have had for the past six months or so about walking away from Black Studies. At the end of last year, I had opted to make this my last run, get one more platinum plaque and move on. However, less than two months into 07, I am a man divided, walking a line between what I love and what is lucrative.
I take a deep breath and answer her question. “I don’t see what I’ve gained from Black Studies. I don’t see how it will benefit me or my sons.”
She looks at me, as she has always done loving but also with a sense of disappointment.
“How so?” she asks in a voice so calm, yet so serious.
“I just look around and I see folks with careers, homes, making it. Then I look at me and I’m struggling. I just see too many contradictions…”
She cuts me off before I can finish. “Contradictions are a part of the human life the presence of a contradiction doesn’t make you any less truthful or honorable.” She eats some more of her steak. “You know what it sounds like to me?”
“No what?” I ask, afraid because I know she is not to be messed with. Even though DM was one of my earliest teachers, she remains without question one of my best.
“It sounds like to me you making your people suffer because you made piss poor decisions.” I drop my head as I knew she was going to say that, but I was unable to stop it.
She continues. “You put the pursuit of a family, with a woman you were warned about no less, ahead of your career. Now because you’re not where you feel you should be professionally or educationally you want to throw a tantrum? That is not sound judgment Mr. Thomas.”
I take a sip of my lemonade. I struggle to respond to a charge I know in my heart is true as the day is long. “There is no money in Black Studies. I have children.” I offer as my next reason.
Without looking up from her plate she responds “And there is money as an English teacher?” She laughs loudly. Again, you need to ask yourself is that the fault of the discipline or you living above your means all these years. None of the elders ever tried to tell you about money and credit?”
I sat back and looked at her. I love this woman, because she’s good and she cares.
“Ms. M, I wasn’t prepared for this summer. I was like a fish out of water.”
“And do you think they selected you because you were a part of the pact or because you didn’t think like the norm. You had your head up your behind, worried bout everything other than your job. Those difficulties weren’t due to Black Studies. It was because you didn’t focus. Now the dress code and the office politics was something everybody had to learn. But you had the ability.”
“Mr. Thomas”, she continues in a voice so tender and stern, “I don’t know how you arrived at the decision to switch disciplines, but I am afraid to say the decision you’ve come to is not only wrong, its unfair. You are basing your happiness, or potential happiness of the acquisition of material goods. What did I tell you when you graduated from Olive Harvey?”
“Never sacrifice Black truth for white lies”
“And that is exactly what you’d be doing. You are turning your back on the very thing that got you to where you are. It got you to the dance, as you like to say. You kept walking in and out the party. Nobody is saying money isn’t important. Nobody is saying be poor. What I am saying is maintain your integrity in this matter. Folks are looking at you to carry on a legacy. Anybody can get paid, but not anybody can be asked to build an institution.”
I sat there silently, letting her words sink in. Our waiter comes over and asks do we need anything else. Ms. M looks at me and says “Mr. Thomas, will have a vodka and light cranberry, slightly chilled, and I’ll take the check.” As the waiter comes with both the drink and the bill Ms. M says “I have to get home to my husband. But you drink that and think it over. Tomorrow call me and tell me what you decided.” I get up to hug her. In my ear she whispers, “Never sacrifice…” trailing off expecting me to finish the statement: “Black truth for white lies”
We part. I sit down and sip my vodka. I think. After a few minutes I get up and go home.
When I arrive home, I go into my basement and look at my library. I look at my collection of pictures, movies, photos. Damn, Black Studies is in my soul. I even pull a couple of books to look over. Indeed this shit has been good to me, probably better than I have treated it.
I come upstairs and sit at my computer. I pull up the fiscal projections for the MPA, an old friend gave me. I am so confused. So I say a prayer asking Jehovah to guide my decision and bless my thought process. I turn off my computer and go to bed with the understanding of how I feel when I wake up will be my official and final policy regarding this matter.
The next morning I wake up and get dressed to meet with an old friend and colleague Red. We head over to the Pizza Hut in
“What’s wrong T?” she asks.
“Red, be honest with me. Would the Olive Harvey program continue without me in the game?”
Red looks at me and shakes her head “Of course. It would. Mr. Allen made sure of that. But it would go so much easier with you there.” Then she makes a face and says “that’s not true. The rest of us would take it out of loyalty, we wouldn’t necessarily want to. Everybody else has found their career niches. You want the academy. You are the heir apparent.”
I sip my beer, and ask “What about you or Dre?”
“Again, we would do it out of love for Mr. Allen. But we’ve got our missions. So it wouldn’t be a task we would seek. We would work for it, but you want it.”
I nodded, taking it all in.
“T haven’t you noticed that your energy drives the crew? We follow your lead.”
I laugh. “Dre told me that in so many words a few weeks ago”
“And he’s right,” she says. It would continue, but you’d make shit a lot easier. Besides T you’re the theoretical man. You bothered to learn Mr. Allen’s style. But you’re also practical, I mean before you plugged with us you came from the activist tradition. I mean your email was nkruma at hotmail”
I sit back and listen taking it all in.
She continued on: “I know it seems like it’s been slow moving, but it’s your time. I promise you this.” Red sits back and then smirks at me. “I know why you changed. You thought it would make shit different. I assure you it didn’t. People have always respected your consistency, the fact that we knew what to expect. This MPA shit aint you. It’s an illusion to make people accept you. But I think if you went back to being true to yourself, you’d get what you want. And anybody else who cant deal with it or handle it, then fuck em. That’s the T I know and love like a brother. So right now, ask yourself: Who are you?” She looks up from her pizza with one eyebrow raised, as I sit back nodding.
“Who am I?” finally getting the message?
Red smiles, because she knows I understand.
“I AM Black Studies Bitches!”
That is the fundamental truth. Despite it all I am organically Black Studies. I was born and raised in the discipline. I slept, eat and shit my discipline. The way Tiger Woods practices golf, the way Kobe Bryant practices basketball is the way I practice Black Studies. I truly love what I do.
I also realize that any set backs or problems I have encountered within the discipline can best be summoned up in a lament and reflection by Malcolm X: “only the mistakes have been mine”. I didn’t apply myself; I allowed other things from Sigma to Nicole to cause me to lose focus. I simply didn’t get it done. And Red was right, when I did get my title shot I was more concerned by getting her back to the table than making it do what it do. My challenges this summer with the state was not due to an inadequate discipline but rather a nigga not on his game.
Bottom line is this: This discipline and my family therein have been good to me. They had helped shape me into the man I am. Even if I switched and thrived in an MPA setting it would be off of the foundation laid by Black Studies. I can not escape who I am. Economically speaking, it’s not the most lucrative and it has to figure out a way to get back to the streets, but then again its’ not the role of the discipline to help me be a millionaire. I need to stay consistent in balancing my own budget and finances. Flaws and all this is my home. I will not sell it out just to be a part of a middle class who I already believe has forgotten the struggle that go them here.
Most important, I am primed to inherit a legacy, a foundation and to shape that into whatever vision I see fit. Anybody can earn a few dollars, not anybody can shape an institution. I’m sure my decision will elate some and disappoint others. Either way I can’t be concerned. I can only do what I am trained and entrusted to do. Who am I?
When I get home from lunch, I sit down at my computer and pull up the projections I was given. I smile, and reflect on the kindness of such an act. However this projection isn’t the truth. So I delete it. I purge all copies from my computer. I discard the MPA folder I have collected from other schools and replace them with PhD programs from around the country. I pick up the phone and call Ms. M. When she answers the phone I simply say. “I AM Black Studies”. (Of course I didn’t dare say bitch to her!) Finally, I feel at peace at peace about the matter. In all things one must be true to thy self.
And the truth of the matter is this:
I AM Black Studies Bitches!
And that is Straight, No Chaser
TLT
4-3-2007
3:45pm
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