2000 A.D.

2000 A.D.

            The millennium was anticipated with bated breath.  I remember my wife, Anjail, my 7 year old daughter, Anjail Ahneda, and my daughter, Ihsan, and her fiance', Rasheed counting down the minutes to the epic event.  Once in a thousand years.  What could it possibly signify?

            A thousand years ago was a great age for Africans; a thousand years later, not so much.  I was apprehensive about the possibilities that the infamous Y2K foretold.  Dick Gregory, Shaherazade Ali, and numerous others were predicting doom and gloom - the computers (a recent phenomena) were going to stop because their digital mechanisms had not been set to go past 1999.  The ATM's (also, relatively new), and indeed, the whole worldwide banking system had been similarly shortsightedly constructed, and there would be an international collapse of monetary systems.

            Survival kits were selling fast and, I was smiling on the outside, but overwrought with second thoughts. 'Had I considered my disaster plans? Escape routes? Orders to congregate with my huge family, assiduously?' Although I had little respect for the conspiracy theorists, openly confronting them  every chance I got.  But, what if the nuts, for once, were actually right?

            5 minutes, 4 minutes... This was just like any other New Years Eve.  Times Square's big ball had dropped 3 hours before.  Would the end of the world start with the first arrival of the new year on any part of the planet, or would it wait until the last arrival on the planet? Had the utter destruction already begun?  Could we expect the Big Apple to crumble and the rest of the country to fall like dominoes?

            Then, I came to my senses and realized the enormity of what was happening.  Allah was blessing me to experience a monumental event.  What I said and did  were very likely to be around  a thousand years from now in some form.  My thoughts and deeds, seen from the proper perspective, could influence the thoughts and deeds of countless numbers of people, ad infinitum.  What an awesome responsibility!

            Two minutes to 2000 A.D. It didn't matter who the President was, the police chief, whoever, or what they did. Nothing could stop me, now.

            When I was born in 1944, my life expectancy was 55 years, meaning I was programmed to be dead in a couple of minutes, which did not seem likely, so I was celebrating, softly, my survival.  I grabbed hold of Anjail and hugged her hard, then, I hugged  her and little Anjail.  We raised our glasses and toasted the New Millennium with the traditional Martinelli's Apple Juice.  One minute... to realizing a million dreams of millions of Baker/Bakeers - ancestors who could not have even fantasized about the blessings, the good things I had been honored to have. 

            My Daddy and Momma got a glimpse, but they could barely dream of me making hajj.  Fortunately, they had seen and loved all of my kids, put their indelible marks on their morals and much else. They had shared the books, the movie, my houses, my careers, Al hamdullillah. Still I reflected upon my successes - more than any of our ancestors could possibly imagine.

            Anjail, Sharon, my kids and I had eaten better, dressed better,  been housed better, been educated more, travelled more, driven better  cars, spent more money, probably studied more Quran and Bible than any of our ancestors.  What more could possibly be waiting for us in the 3rd Millennium?  It could only be better.  No matter how grave the problems of the past.  It always got better.  So, let us greet 2000, the future, the next millennium with the triumphant chant that it was due.  Something fitting to be remembered for at least another 1000 years:

            "Allahu Akbar!  Allahu Akbar!  Allahu Akbar! Happy New Millennium!

            My wife, Anjail, and I kiss a truly historic kiss.

Charity Does Not Diminish Wealth

Charity Does Not Diminish Wealth;

It Purifies It

I make it rain for the waitress who smiles at me;

Then, I say something that makes her feel pretty.

I make it rain for my favorite sistuh behind the desk at the bowling alley;

Let her keep the change from the twenty.

I bowl, but I do not gamble, and I laugh at the people who play lotto.
I drive a new car, but it's not expensive; I save so that I can give.

I prefer not to spend my money in vain;

I love to help people; I love to make it rain!

I prefer to live simply, so I can give, amply;

I prefer to live my life, plain, so I can continue to make it rain.

I make it rain for the Brothers beating on congas in the park,

Especially when it gets close to dark.

I make it rain for the Brothers on the corner plotting crime

(Tired of doin' without all the time).

Before one of them can even think about bringing me game,

I make it rain!

I make it rain for the broken women

In front of the grocery store -

Hands outstretched, faces filled w/pain, begging and ashamed.

I love to see them light up when I make it rain!

Yes, I am addicted to putting hope back into hopeless eyes.

I stop my car for people pushing shopping carts overflowing w/pain,

Then, I  get out, and, "Surprise",

I make it rain!

When I go to the mosque, I make prayer, then, I make it rain.

And, it seems I can barely get out of the block

Before Allah (S.W.A.) has given the money back to me, again.

The Original Griot

Quiet as It's Kept

         (2016 zeitgeist)

Homosexual sex is  no longer considered illicit;

It's literally celebrated, no matter whether

The sexual partners are "legally mated".*

But, what's most cruel to me

Is that we (society) have blindly

Assuaged the way to homosexuality

For our youth

And created yet another slippery slope

For those who have, traditionally, chosen chastity.

*Jason Collins, professional basketball player who was celebrated by the White House for admitting he was having gay sex.

"Don't Be Surprised by My Death"

After my last breath,
Praise Allah, and
Pray for me.
For I was a Free Man
In a great land
Shrouded with the utmost dignity.

"There aren't very many of those ol' dudes left,"
Would be a triumphant funereal refrain
For my decomposing brain, now, bereft of trivia,
Zealously tallying up my Charity.

I'm Blessed to still be here because
I caught pneumonia not long after my birth.
It went into prolonged bronchitis at around 2 or 3
And, eventually, breath sapping asthma attacks
And, emergency room quick fix insulin shots at 6.

Asthma, my foul friend; I've become accustomed to
Your endless weight on my chest -
Whether after 10 mile runs or even at rest,

You are always handicapping my best.

I've never had a serious scuffle,
Yet, I've disarmed crowds of angry people
With no lethal force.
Some of the worst killers
Put their pistols away, so they could hear what I had to say.

'Cause on the flip side I was teaching them to Pray,
So, Allah (S.W.A.), as promised,
Keeps sending angels my way
Like when I was nose to nose with an East Coas' Crip
About something trivial. Gave him a  precautionary put down
Shamed him in front of his own convict crowd
In the same week when he committed a robbery and mass murder of 4.

Then, 2 days later killed 2 more in another robbery
But, between the 2 mass murders, that Sunday morning, my hot water tank
Caught some laundry afire, and Spud risks his life to put out the fire.
Close call for me and all of my family.

The crazy 90 mph car wreck at 19 was the closest I have been to death.
But, Allah saved me, against all odds. At least a month of coma,
Fleeting consciousness, and drugged sleep.
Then, oral surgeries, facial and body scars
Before going back to drunken driving and near death wrecks.

Then, being drafted -Basic Training, Advanced Individual Training,
and Officer's Candidate School before Vietnam.
What sustained me was Allah (S.W.A.) - I was calling Him Christ back then.
And, I was reading The Gospel which strengthened my resolve
To avoid killing or being killed; do not drop my guard.
Avoid all opportunities to die in the air assaults, ambushes, driving jeep on recon,
Any good chances to be a common statistic.

.

I'm Confused; Who Am I Supposed to Hate... This Month?

I’m Confused; Who Am I Supposed to Hate... This Month?

          I’m a Vietnam Vet with PTSD(Post Traumatic Stress Disorder), and I consider… no, I have proven myself more  patriotic than all of the Presidential candidates (and all but a very few of Congress) who found good reasons for not serving in the military.  I see no bravery in having put my life on the line for my country in war, only commitment, a commitment to America that has been cultivated through nearly 4 centuries of documented genealogy here.

          I have a sense of entitlement to and responsibility for America that dwarfs fleeting political commitments. That Spirit I share with all sincere Americans: a Spirit of doing good and helping the world, not continuous killing (“for ‘good’ reasons, of course”, they say). We have fallen victim to what President Dwight Eisenhower warned against – The Military Industrial Complex. The people who manufacture and sell weaponry never lose at war.

          No one wins these wars, anymore: Korea; Vietnam; Iraq; Afghanistan; Libya; and, now, Syria? The carnage is cannibalistic. We feed, literally, millions of men, women, and children to the gods of war, unceasingly, and, justify it with media magic… “If you tell a lie long enough, it becomes the truth for most people”, they say.

          ‘Is Vietnam better?’ It bothers me, a lot, lately. Wakes me in the middle of the night, tee shirt dripping sweat, in full fight mode.  2,3,5, or 8 million murders, and millions of tons of ordnance later, is the country better because of my/our so-called help? Do today’s history books discuss the Gulf of Tonkin Lie as our pretext for starting the war, the reason why over 50,000 of my fellow soldiers had to die and twice that many have since been driven to suicide?  And, now, over four hundred  thousand disabled vets are treading water – waiting to get what they earned or be lied to and denied, again, before they, finally, die. America is certainly not better for having attacked Vietnam.

          And, we are not better for attacking Iraq twice. Saddam Hussein was tyrannical, but he was not responsible for 911 and had no weapons of mass destruction. Iraqis would not have had as many of their citizens slain or as much of their infrastructure destroyed if Saddam had not been deposed and killed. Iraq’s government is much more in disarray, today. Neither America, nor Iraq are better for over a decade of war. The only people winning, again, are the people who make the weapons.

          Let’s see: We’re fighting against the Assad regime in Syria and so is Al Qaeda, but they are our enemy; We’re fighting against ISIS, and so is the Assad regime, but Assad’s government is, still, our enemy. And, Russia is our ally against ISIS, yet, fighting in support of the Assad regime whom we are bombing. Iran is fighting against ISIS, and, so are we, but Iran is supporting the Assad regime which we (and ISIS) are fighting against ????

          No one will win these wars. The people on both sides will suffer greatly, and no stable governments will emerge.  The destruction will be monumental; much ordnance will be used (much money will be made), but when  G.I.’s who survive return and realize that they were merely misguided mercenaries, many will probably consider suicide. Many more will get in the back of that disability line - waiting to get paid or denied, again, before they die.

          Come on, America! We are so much better than this. 

      

Whoever Controls the Poetry...

Whoever Controls the Poetry…

By Donald Bakeer

          Whoever controls the poetry controls the youth, and whoever controls the youths aesthetics will determine the future.   Their politics are determined by  hip hop & rap poetry, and/or R&B poetry. Their morals mimic much of their parent or parents’ Oldies poetry.

          In fact, this generation is bombarded with powerful lyrical poetry 24/7 (as the gangsters first said) – all night and throughout the day their vocal music poetry is pumping out mostly misguided messages through a myriad of devices, and the words shape them - their language (heavily profane and slang), their values (heavily materialistic and spiritually lacking), sexual behaviors (mostly illicit), spending habits (reckless and undisciplined), their relationships (tempestuous and temporary), and their children (neglected and often abandoned). 

          A cappella (traditional) poetry, however, has next to no impact on the masses, today, because most of it’s esoteric, sterile, and anti-technology. Some Spoken Word poetry is promising, however. And, quite frankly, there are more poets, today, than there have ever been. So, I predict a renaissance in these poets' influence on society as a whole.

          When they realize, en masse, that poetry has a social function beyond self flagellation and purging psychoses, or  preening for praise (for that matter), these pubescent bards will be the spirit behind historical social solutions. Their potent poetry, raps, and songs will inspire solutions to homelessness, ignorance, poverty, illiteracy,  pollution, and incessant war.

          These cultural flower buds will grow into a powerful resource – fertile moral ground to create a healing zeitgeist in our society.  But, we must strive to control the messages of all of our poets, be they rappers, singers, spoken word artists, or plain old fashioned a cappella scribes.  We must curry their favor, and offer them our wisdom for they will write our future.       

"Straight Outta The Compton-Carson-Watts-East Side-South Central L.A.-Inglewood-West Side Village

"Straight Outta The Compton-Carson-Watts-East Side-South Central L.A.-Inglewood-West Side Village"

The phenomenal success of "S.O.C."  is a tribute to the dynamic culture of the African Americans  who live in a veritable village that although separated by different names, is, in fact, contiguous: Compton is separated from Watts and South (Central) L.A. only by El Segundo Blvd.; Watts is separated  from The East Side only by Central Ave.; The East Side is separated from South (Central) L.A.only by Main Street (or the 110 Fwy, if you prefer); South LA is separated from Inglewood by Van Ness Ave.;  Inglewood is separated from the nebulous West Side by Crenshaw and/or Western Ave.; and.  oh, yeah,  the same applies to Long Beach and Carson, although I am not sure what the border streets are.


My point is that the designation of City names occludes the fact that this huge group of African Americans frequents the same festivals, can be found in the same schools, likes the same foods, speaks the same dialect, attends the same churches and mosques, are buried in the same cemeteries, riot at the same time (and for common reasons); and, have the same  aesthetics in music and film because they are the same people living in what amounts to the same huge village.
There is little benefit in our artificial divisions; our unity would negate most of the fruitless rivalries that keep us divided and easily conquered and controlled politically and financially.


The world respects our treasure trove of athletes and musical artists.  But, our village has contributed significantly to the art and culture of filmmaking, also.  "Straight Outta Compton", "Boyz 'N Tha Hood", "SOUTH CENTRAL", "Menace to Society", the "Friday" movies, and many more have all come from our village.  And, the rest of the country (and, soon, the world) expect us to continue to contribute  fascinating  stories to   our unique genre of films.


I believe it would be beneficial if we had an appropriate name  for our mega village, i.e., "Black South Hollywood", "Sollywood", "Black Wood" etc., ... You get the idea. Send me some of your possible names for our village. 
I might be able to use one for my new feature film, a PG-13 comedy set in South Central L.A. and Inglewood with a leading lady who is much like Lucille Ball in "Lucy", righteous but not always right. It obviously defies many of the stereotypes about us.


I believe we are in the midst of a Zeitgeist that will exceed the artistic explosion in "Motown". Our Village simply has so much talent that we will be flooding the domestic and international markets with high quality  films.  And, "Straight Outta Compton" represents,    mightily, for "Tha Village".