Saturday, January 5, 2013


The Solutions to Gang Murders

                                                                Sheikh Donald Bakeer

                                                                                Los Angeles, CA

The Solutions to gang murders are simple but not easy to apply.  The cure for gang banging is mass dosages of 2 vitamins, Vitamin A, and Vitamin L – ATTENTION and LOVE.  Mass doses of these vitamins reduce the tendency for youth to choose violent solutions to problems because adults are able intercede in those critical fat seconds with better decisions, lifesaving alternatives .  Of course, a condition that has festered since Slavery and Beyond will not be easily eradicated.  First, you must make a lifetime commitment, (the sick tradition has been going on for decades, maybe even to pre-slavery tribal roots). Secondly,  it must be properly analyzed, neutralized, then eliminated in stages.

I have been working with gangs since 1979 as an English teacher, a Muslim father, author, and filmmaker in South Central L.A. and Inglewood, my neighborhood. I am pleased to say gang murders (which surpassed 1000 per year in the bloody gang/drug wars of  the 1980’s and ‘90’s) have subsided to pre-CRIP and BLOOD levels. The L.A. Black gang wars are, predominantly, over.

In Los Angeles our Black gangs (CRIPS and BLOODS) were greatly influenced by the local militant Black organizations in the 1960’s – US Organization, L.A. Black Panther Party, and the Nation of Islam. The anti-establishment, anti-White, unabashed belief in violence as a primary solution philosophy appealed to pubescent wannabe heroes attending Junior and Senior High Schools in the early 1970’s, now, Black, Bold, and Proud. 

But, these powerful organizations, all of whom were avid readers and many who were intellectuals, left their bastard children a legacy of hatred for and resistance to society, but did not pass on their own positive tradition of literacy, i.e., the Black literature in the evolving Black Revolutionary canon:  How to Eat to Live (parts 1 & 2); and, Message to the Black Man by the sagacious Elijah Muhammad; the, Wretched of the Earth by Fanon; the Red Book (for some); the

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African writers, Diop, Soyinke, Achebe and, his prescient, Things Fall Apart; the Black poets - the militant Langston Hughes, the genius and General in the Art and Culture War, Amiri Baraka, Don L. Lee (Haki Madhubuti), and his strident,  Don’t Cry, SCREAM…, Gwen Brook’s, “We Real Cool”; Eldridge Cleaver’s prison diatribe, Soul on Ice;, and, The Spook that Sat by the Door, by Charles Greenlee, were just a few of the must-attempt-to-reads in those days.  

All of the Revolutionary organizations in the 1960’s were refining philosophies through their study and writing.  Ironically,  CRIPS and BLOODS  admired Malcolm, Huey, Bunche, Geronimo, et al, and, often dressed like them, at first, and the CRIP Constitution (1973) was written by U.C.L.A.’s BSU in the revolutionary jargon i.e., Community Revolution In Progress –CRIP- of the Black Panther Party).

But, the makeshift new tradition of the  emerging gangs eschewed reading and writing.  The tradition of voluntary illiteracy was so rooted in their culture that not one CRIP or BLOOD graduated from college until the late 1990’s because it was considered “slippin’” to attend.  

The average gangbanger  in L.A. is functionally illiterate, very sophisticated at hiding it, but reads at the 5th or 6th grade level. I know because I taught them in high school English classes for over 30 years in South Central L.A.  I know from experience that there is a direct correlation between illiteracy and violence.  The less literate children are,  the more likely they will be to perpetrate extreme violence. “Smart gangbanger” is an oxymoron.  If they become smart, they stop gangbanging.   By the Grace and Mercy of Allah (SWA) we were able to bust a hole in that ignorant tradition, and a critical mass of them are escaping into literacy since we created a new literature that speaks to their specific needs.

In 1986 when  I published my first novel, South Central L.A. CRIPS (The Story of an L.A. Street Gang -1971 to 1986), it was the first book written to the CRIPS. In fact, even though “crippin” was at least 16 years old, it was the first book to even use the word CRIPS. I gave away dozens of hardbacks, fortunately, it sold like hotcakes, too,  and  they stole it out of every library in South

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Central. And, I could never recoup a full set whenever we read it in class.  But, these were 10th and 11th grade gangsters who read at the 5th and 6th grade levels and were slipping backward for lack of practice. The “anti-literates” who did not have the will to refine their reading skills, the ones who proudly called themselves “N*gg*s”, in class, not knowing it signaled their failure to graduate and likely doomed them to jail or death.

I was overjoyed. I had accomplished my goal of writing a contemporary Huckleberry Finn for Black youth, a doorway into reading, and gangsters went from getting caught slippin’ and laughed at for reading a book to everybody reading/wanting to read/or, claiming to have read the book South Central L.A. CRIPS... It was the late 1980’s and the ubiquitous, ignorant tradition of illiteracy began to die. It was not the “skill” but the “will” that was keeping them illiterate.

Gangsters were not so much illiterate as anti-literate. As we wrote more books that compelled them, gang aesthetics changed, subtly. I discovered that literacy    is critical for changing gang culture while I used my classroom as a laboratory.                                                                                                 

My techniques hit the front pages of the L.A. Weekly, I became the gang expert for then emerging CNN, and CRIPS and BLOODS began to get Hollywood’s attention, prompting the Ripoff blockbuster, “COLORS”; then,  John Singleton (whom I mentored when he was at USC) wrote and directed the profound homegrown and carefully crafted classic, “Boyz ‘N the Hood”(1991); followed by my own collaboration with Oliver Stone  and Warner Bros. to produce the subliminal dawah movie, “SOUTH CENTRAL”(1992), adapted from  my novel, South Central L.A. CRIPS…(1986), and true to the Malcolm X paradigm that prescribed reading in prison to rescue and revive the human mind and spirit.

                               



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The Solution to Gang Murders

PART II

In the 1990’s the rapper and former CRIP, Ice T, (whom I met and mentored when he headlined a concert my BSU gave) wrote the Ice Opinion for gangsters, then, Sanyinka Shakur (aka Monster Cody) (whom I was corresponding with when he was at Pelican Bay Prison) wrote the rights of passage bestseller of all in the genre, Monster, from his jail cell. Tookie Williams (who with Raymond Washington were the O.G.’s of Crippin’) wrote a series of children’s books and the rights of passage memoir, Blue Rage, Black Redemption from his cell on Death Row.    

Before he was executed Tookie was considered and rejected twice for the Nobel Peace prize; they had no idea how many lives he had contributed to saving by recanting illiteracy with words and actions.  I did a celebrity read-a-thon at Morningside H.S. in Inglewood one Saturday, back in the day, with  Tu Pac who recited, “I’ve Known Rivers”, by Langston Hughes. He told me he loved my book and movie; I was aghast. But,Tu Pac was well known as a reader, and, later on, wrote his own book, The Rose that Grew Thru Concrete, that inspired many a gangster poet and galvanized the poetry/rap explosion among lower and middleclass Black youth that began in the 1990’s and continues, today.   

There’s a whole lot more to it, like establishing public school uniforms in elementary and middle schools to negate the whole colors and gang insignia mania   (I got that from teaching boys in Muhammad’s University, 1972-74), and getting the whole village/city to buy-in to giving Attention  to our “Oops babies” (“Oops, I forgot to take my pill”, or,  “Oops, I waited too late to have an abortion”) - fornication’s  children doomed at birth by low expectations.

Many of the most afflicted cannot be saved, so the first focus is on the “wannabe’s” in elementary and middle schools, beginning with uniforms to take the burden of how to dress  off them and to Neutralize gang attire.               The singers, the rappers, the writers with street cred, and all of the artists have to create and show them Love by making “Peace Art” to validate nonviolence and subliminally change the culture of their neglected anti-literate fans.

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It takes a movie or two, also, because movies are wannabes’ novels; their values and behaviors are shaped by Hollywood and the latest rap gurus. Chicago screenwriters have to write specific stories about specific gangs, functional movies that  hook them on literacy with the Malcolm X and SOUTH CENTRAL paradigm. Save them from illiteracy and perpetual slavery.  

Los Angeles, also,  invested 10’s of millions of dollars to create an anti-gang bureaucracy that utilized reformed gangsters and neighborhood leaders to intercede in deadly conflicts, show both sides Love, counsel, inform and refer them to people who could help them.   

But, to succeed wannabe gangsters still must read, copiously, and most of that specific literature must be written by those who know well their dialect and culture (as well as Standard English). In Chicago, the Commons and Kanyes, the R. Kellys and that ilk have to pen “We’re All in the Same Game” type anthems and convert some of the great rappers from the gangs and the ‘hoods to do the same. Only they can easily inspire and uplift these unique bastard-victims of our 1960’s  Black militant philosophy, and fatherly neglect.

Allah (SWA) has given us a great challenge, but these are historic times, and out of great challenges come opportunities for great victories, the crucible for developing great people. And, I can guarantee you that when the wannabe’s minds are expanded, very few really want to be gangsters when they know they can be successful in life, legitimately. Remember, “with difficulty comes ease“. The Panacea is Work. Work Works!

(Donald Bakeer’s latest book is a memoir titled, I, Too, Can Create Light (From Negro to N*GG* to Muslim). The e-book is available, on most e-readers.  He, also, authored the critically acclaimed novel, …CRIPS…, and adapted it into the Warner Bros. classic film, “SOUTH CENTRAL”.  His books, DVD’s, and CD’s can be purchased at DonaldBakeer.com   He can be reached at DBakeer107@att.net)

   

Friday, January 4, 2013


You Need Reparations…

Many African Americans are suffering  from Post Slavery Traumatic Stress Disorder and believe that until the American government takes responsibility for repairing the damage done to them through their ancestors during slavery they themselves and their progeny will be handicapped in this competitive society.  I agree and I believe those of us who are still adversely affected by the egregious treatment of slave masters should be given special therapy,  free college education, interest free mortgages, and/or monetary remuneration.

I do not believe all African Americans are still victims of “PSTSD”, however, and I offer the following criteria to analyze those who are.

If the average immigrant (Mexican, Salvadoran, Cuban, African, South American, German, Russian, etc.) knows more Standard English than you do, You Need Reparations.

If you do more cursing than you do praying, You Need Reparations.

If you expect to live your whole life and die in debt,  You Need Reparations.

If you  think God/Allah (SWT) is a man, You Need Reparations.

If you think civil law will take precedent over Allah/God’s law vis a vis abortion (premeditated murder), You Need Reparations.

If you cannot remember the last book you read or one of the last books you read, You Need Reparations.

If you teach your children to dance (by your example) but not to read, You Need Reparations.

If you believe fornicating is “making love”, You Need Reparations.

If you brag around your kids or grandkids about being a fool in school, You Need Reparations.

If you think you have no responsibility to the poor/homeless, family members, etc., You Need Reparations.

If you think you can call yourself a N*GG* and not be negatively affected in any way, You Need Reparations.

If you think fornication is okay because you are homosexual, You Need Reparations.

If you think fornication is okay, and you are heterosexual, You Need Reparations.

Until you see divorce is an egregious curse on everyone involved, You Need Reparations.

If you love God/Allah’s (SWT) prophets more than The Creator Himself, You Need Reparations.

If you feel superior to others because of your color, You Need Reparations.

If you do not know or care about your genealogy, You Need Reparations.

If you think money is the root of all evil, consciously or subconsciously, You Need Reparations.

If you think you are a slave (not free), consciously or subconsciously, You Need Reparations.

If you don’t  vote because you don’t feel like a full fledged American, You Need Reparations.

If you don’t monitor and sometimes censor Hip Hop, Your Kids Are Going to Need Reparations.

If your kids school is rife with profanity, Your Kids Are Going to Need Reparations.

If you think you don’t need God/Allah (SWT), You Need Reparations.

If you think it is okay for our country to commit mass murder under the guise of war in Iraq, Afghanistan, Vietnam, etc., You Need Reparations.

If you are not committed to giving charity, You Need Reparations.

If you do not know African American history or Literature and don’t care, You Need Reparations.

If you are proud to be a N*GG* and/or a felon, You Need Reparations.

If you don’t have children and don’t like them, You Need Reparations.

If your kids are in foster care, their grandparents’ care, or homeless, You Need Reparations.

If you can’t commit to Love until death do you part and beyond, You Need Reparations.

If you can’t quit putting curses on your kids, You Need Reparations.

If you still trying to control your spouse or children with brutality, You Need Reparations.

If you stopped studying when you stop school, You Need Reparations.

If you think Oprah, Tyra, Ellen, Steve Harvey, Shirley strawberry, or any other unmarried or divorced person is a relationship expert,You Need Reparations.

If you are incarcerated or going to be incarcerated, again, eventually, You Need Reparations.

If you feel compelled to show you’re a**, You Need Reparations.

If you think b*tch, and/or N*GG* is a term of endearment, You Need Reparations.

If your Social Security card is broke, You Need Reparations.

If you call your mama  by her first name or street name, You Need Reparations.

If you have tattoos of men/women that you hate, You Need Reparations.

If you are broke and unemployed with no prospects, You Need Reparations.

If you think you can get over in sports or on women or rapping/singing/dancing, You Need Reparations and a real job.

If you are still gangbanging or slanging,  You Need Reparations.

If you are still conning God, and lying to yourself, You Need Reparations.

If you don’t believe in saving for a rainy day or a house, car, college, etc., You Need Reparations.

If you don’t believe you reap what you sow, You Need Reparations.

If you smoke around your kids, You Need Reparations.

If you give your kids alcohol, You and your Kids Need Reparations.

If you hate one or both of your parents, You Need Reparations.

If fornicators and adulterers are your role models, You Need Reparations.

If you don’t think you can work your way to your dreams, You Need Reparations.

If you think God is white consciously or subconsciously, You Need Reparations.

If you fear white authority, even when you did nothing wrong, You Need Reparations.

If you think what is good to you is good for you, You Need Reparations.

If you love Christmas, but don’t love Christ enough to love your neighbor, treat people like you want to be treated, or keep the peace You Need Reparations.

If you think you are supposed to be the dumbest, and/or the most treacherous, and/or the most  dishonest , You Need Reparations.

If you are a b*tch who loves dogs or vice versa, You Need Reparations.

If you can only see illicit sex in your future, You Need Reparations.

If you think Asians are naturally smarter than you or whites or any other race,  You Need Reparations.

If you are grown and still blaming your parents or the system or whites, You Need Reparations.

If you have given up trying to be a better person, You Need Reparations.

If you have had an abortion, or two, or 20, You Need Reparations.

If you think your body is an ATM, You Need Reparations.

If you can walk past the homeless/helpless without giving or feeling,  You Need Reparations.

THROW YOUR HAT OUT THE CAR…

It was  1963  and I was a blur of energy because so much had happened to me in the last school year at Howard University: Kennedy and Krushchev had played nuclear stare down and everybody in D.C. had been locating their nearest bomb shelters one very long night back in the Fall right after I first arrived.   My first time alone out of town, and I had been all set to die (I was determined to die last, but, resigned to death, nevertheless). Fortunately, I had survived.

Less than a month later, I had stupidly stumbled on a Freedom ride bus following  Stokely Carmichael and my road dog, Tony Brown from Tulsa.  Almost got beat up/down, spit on, stomped, kicked and bloodied up chasing after white girls on that bus to Cambridge, MD.   I was scared to death to even tell My Daddy about that one.

Then, Drew Hall, my dorm, had gotten totally trashed one night, a crime I had nothing to do with but my friends did and the dorm director called me to his office and had me scared to death.  Threatened to take away my scholarship (which didn’t happen, then, but did by the end of the year when me and most of my friends had  gotten victimized by  wine and beer).  The classrooms seemed so boring when the whole world was roaring in the streets. I was gonna try, but I knew it was going to be hard to explain to My Daddy that  I had to save up enough money to go back to Howard, again.

Fortunately, I had, recently, used my political sense and confidence and walked in on Rep. Richard Bolling, boldly,  at the House of Representatives Office Building  without an appointment , then, asked him for a summer job.  He had acted, immediately, calling the Kansas City, MO main post office to secure me a cushy  job as a postman.

I had been working  for a few weeks before I was accused of stealing a letter filled w/cash and embarrassing the whole race by causing a huge racial brouhaha that was about to hit the papers. It would have shamed My Pops who worked for the local Negro Newspaper, “The Kansas City Call”. 

Being only 18,  I never quite understood what they were talking about but knew you couldn’t  talk back to white people, so, naively, I was preparing to merely get another government  job (I had tested at the top of all the lists) when the letter turned up, and all these white people were suddenly kissing my behind. Then, they gave me this  fabulous job  driving around all day with my friend Carlucci putting the first Mr. Zip Code stickers on mailboxes and laughing at white construction workers, stripped to the waist in the 100 degree heat, bathed in sweat, earning less than half of our $3.35 per hour wage.

“You’ve got the best hand”, we’d jibe them.

 “If I had your hand, see these 2 fingers here, I wouldn’t need ‘em; I’d cut ‘em off.”

“Yeh, you got the best hand;  you got it made in the shade. Oh, there is no shade… Guess you don’t have it made, then, huh.” And, we would laugh until we were gasping for air.

Ironically, they would smile at us, happy to engage us in repartee because we were obviously college boys just having fun, world at our fingertips.

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That near debacle had turned out well, but I don’t know how I coulda faced My Daddy if the story about the stolen letter had come out in the Kansas City Star – setting  the  race back at least 10 years, proving that we weren’t  ready, yet. I probably would have died of shame if I’d  had to tell him that.

You would think that would have slowed me down, but it didn’t.
So, here I was laying up in a hospital bed stitched up in various places from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet.  Trying to remember what happened after I climbed in the back seat of that beautiful Oldsmobile  convertible Crazy David Thompson had come by in.

‘Take a ride? Why not? I’d be less than a friend. .. Stop!  Let me out!’, I remember crying out just before we veered into the tree… ‘What the Hell will I tell My Daddy?’ Then, everything went bleary.

“Donnie, can you hear me. You seem like you can hear me.” I suddenly awoke from my coma and My Daddy was looking down, smiling at me. Tears rushed to my eyes; I was just glad to be alive, but I mumbled apologetically, “I tried to get him to let me out, Daddy.”

I had never seen My Daddy cry; he just wasn’t that kinda dude.  But, he took out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes, then, quickly recovered and said,

“Take it easy, Donnie. You been in a coma for a month. Slow down, now.”

But, being who he was, Jack Baker, My Daddy, he could never miss a teaching moment,

“Next time throw your hat out the car, Donnie, and say, ‘Stop, Man!  Let me go get my hat. It just blew out the car!’     Even a fool will let you out to get a good hat.  Then run.”

The profundity of those words never escaped me and saved me many times over the years when I would be confronted with “impossible situations”.  I had learned to think fast because there is always a solution.

Nevertheless, since the car was stolen I had succeeded in setting the race back several years, anyway, when the picture of me bleeding in the street (having been thrown from my precarious perch on the back seat, over a tree) appeared on the front page of the Kansas City Star, proving without a doubt that

“we were not, yet, ready”.   

Friday, November 23, 2012

THE MOTHER (FOR GWEN BROOKS)


THE MOTHER(For Gwen Brooks)

You will never know

The joy of staunching my runny nose

But, you will miss it;

Eventually, you’ll miss it.

You will never know the elation or frustration

Of being my fueling station;

But, you will reminisce it,

And, The need to nurse will visit your dreams

But, you will not admit it

 

Your conscience will awake its stupor,

And, you’ll feel the unimaginal agony of my torture –

The tearing, the scraping,

The sucking, the cutting

Just To keep me from being.

Though only a despicable clot,

I was not without feeling, or caring,

Or the capacity for hurting

And as excruciating as the pain was

What hurt, mostly,

Was that you were

a willing participant in my killing.

 

SOL SMILE OUT LOUD


SOL
M
I
L
E   OUT LOUD!!
DON’T MISS SO MANY  CHANCES TO SMILE OUTLOUD ! TRY IT IN A SEEMLY CROWD WHEN SOMEONE SAYS,
HOMIE GOT A GUN AND HE SHOWIN’ IT, SON, DON’T SHOUT OUT…IF YOU HAVE TO CONFRONT HIM,  SOL, SMILE OUT LOUD!.
OF COURSE, ONE MUST BE WELL PRACTICED TO TAKE ON A DEADLY CIRCUMSTANCE SUCH AS THIS, AND I WOULD BE REMISS IF I DID NOT CAUTION YOU OF THE POSSIBLE DIRE CONSEQUENCES IF ONE IS THE SLIGHTEST MOMENT TOO SLOW TO REACT TO SHEER IGNORANCE WITH GRACE AND ELEGANCE.
BUT, WHEN IN DOUBT SOL (SMILE OUTLOUD!)
YOU COULD PRACTICE AT CROWDED INTERSECTIONS  WITH TRAFFIC GOING IN ALL KINDS OF DIRECTIONS , (CRENSHAW & KING, BLACK FRIDAY, TRAFFIC BACK TO BACK).  YOU STOP TOO CLOSE IN THE RAIN - ALMOST MAKE CONTACT
W/HOMEGIRL FROM THE 40’S, BUT, NOW SHE TALKIN’ TO YOU LIKE SHE WAS A COP. AND THAT MEANS  SHE GOT THE RIGHT TO DO ANYTHING TO YOU SAY ANYTHING TO YOU, ANY CRAZY CRAP, AND YOU MIGHT PROBABLY GET SLAPPED.  
STEP TO HER, DON’T STEP AWAY.
SHOW HER HOW BIG YOU REALLY ARE;
GET OUT OF THE CAR  
WITH A LOOK
THAT MAKES HER FEEL PROUD TO KNOW A STAR
THEN, S.O.L. (SMILE OUTLOUD!).  
BE  WHAT YOU REALLY ARE!.
TAKE CONTROL OF THE SITUATION WITH FINESSE
SOL (SMILE OUTLOUD! LIKE YOU KNOW YOU’RE BLESSED, DISARM! DON’T DISTRESS.
BE GRACIOUS ADMIT YOUR FAULT AND OFFER YOUR CONTRITION.
GIVE HER THE CHANCE TO BE RIGHT , MAYBE SHE’LL DEVELOP AN APPETITE FOR IT. GIVE HER YOUR INSURANCE INFORMATION
AND, ASSURE HER IT WON’T VIOLATE HER PROBATION THEN SOL.
MAKE HER FEEL PROUD.
IT IS, INDEED, FULFILLING TO A SPIRITUAL NEED WHEN YOU KNOW
HOW TO REACH INSIDE AND TOUCH PEOPLE’S SOULS THAT BLEEDW/GREED
AND, HOW MUCH LOVE YOU CAN GET FROM  ANY HUMAN SMILE,
SO,  SOL – SMILE OUT LOUD!

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Do Not Abort That Thought


The original blend

(or, “do not abort that thought”)

 

And, I think thoughts that have never been thought before

And will never be thought, again,

And from the moment these virgin thoughts

Leave my mind I realize that they had never been thought before

And will probably never be thought, again.

 

Yet, how amazing is God/Allah to blend

All of the pristine thoughts of both women  & men

Into the same conclusion – conception!

Do not abort that thought.

Refine creation. Make it better & better!

Again and again!

 

Despite the fights, sterile philosophies,

Deceptions, aborted attempts at “perfected contraception,”

Wom-and-men, keep copulating and populating,

Rejuvenating that Original Blend –

Celebrating Allah’s pregnant thought

Given to humanity for eternity.

 

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

CONCLUSIONS: The Night before the Election


Conclusions:
THE NIGHT BEFORE ELECTION

November 5. 20012

 

            My issue in 2008 was Iraq; I painted “Stop the War in Iraq; Vote for Barack!” signs all over my white van for the man. And, he came through; we’re almost completely out of Iraq, and close to being out of Afghanistan. And, I think Barack is much more likely than Romney to keep us out of Iran. 

            I don’t believe Barack Obama has that love for killing disease that the Military Industrial Complex types think he needs to be President.  My most vital concern is at the end of the next term which one will have been responsible for the most murders.  That’s the one I want to spurn.

            And, although I can’t be angry at you because most people don’t know that we had 500,000 abortions of black babies in the last recorded Census year(2010),

as a father of 7 and a granddad of 12,  I, frankly, feel threatened by this environment. Am I voting to make it conducive to killing my future grandchildren?  A chilling thought, and are we even allowed to think like that if we are Democrats?

But, in case you have become catatonic, to put it another way, what if the Crips killed 500,000 black children last year and were going to kill more this year?  What if the Ku Klux Klan hanged, tarred, feathered, and burned a half a million black kids? Would it be historic to us? Would we, African Americans stand up and say, “No, we will change it by any righteous means necessary? And make our own mark on history. “ Or, would we pathetically say, “There’s too many bad black kids, anyway?”

Yes, I have concluded, ultimately, that I will vote for you, Barack, but the day after the election, I will be lobbying to change the traditional policies that accept, even recommend abortion for fornication gone awry. Hundreds of thousands of .007 morally immature mothers licensed to kill potentially marvelous black human beings.  I have daughters like you, Mr. President, that I feel responsible to protect from harm, and the thought of  them having an abortion and depriving life to a baby at the risk of their own souls is commensurate to  my utter failure as a father. If you have not come to this conclusion, yet, you will. 

Let us do everything we can to dismantle the environment that has conceded our youth to fornication for hetero or homosexuals.  Let us create and support hip hop with profoundly moral messages.  Movies that are cutting edge, but uplifting (ie., “South Central”). Let us infuse African American culture, deliberately, with values that disdain murder and substance abuse – values that champion intellect and our own dynamic literature.

Let’s stop giving away condoms and have book giveaways – thousands of  books that even the “bad” kids want to read.  Let’s  eliminate black illiteracy, as a tradition.

Then, let us set a goal of reducing our abortions by at least 100,000 in 2013 and make strategies to achieve it.  Before you “A woman has a right to determine what she wants to do with her body”  spiritually blind people retort,  I chasten you; beware of putting your fate on Yaum al kiyama (The Day of Judgment) in the truth of a cliché.  Do not let The Whisperer trick you into joining the ranks of the murderers (or, those who are complicit to murder) on That Day.  

If we are sincere, we will admit that we will acquiesce to truth for the good of America and the world, even if that truth comes from a Republican. Approximately, 16 million black children aborted since 1973.  We have been duped into complicity to our own genocide.

Barack,  If this missive finds you victorious, use your bully pulpit to continue to save lives, but, now, let us focus on saving at least 100,000 of the  black babies, here,  who are,  otherwise doomed.