Whose world is it…

In 1994, I wanted presidents to represents me. To be specific, I wanted dead presidents to represent me. In a limited sense, having money felt like freedom. But since I am not sure I have ever felt what freedom feels like, I’m not sure that sentiment is true. Ontologically, I never connected the lust for money with Toni Morrison’s “White Gaze.” But can they be separated?

Taking a step back, in 1984, I wanted to be paid in full. If I was paid in full, I could play basketball in the park all day and drink Gatorade instead of putting my mouth on the johnny pump. I could go to the Chinese store and get four wings and shrimp fried rice instead of the French fries. The scope of my concept of wealth was defined by deprivation. This scarcity mindset limited my ability to truly understand what to value and how to value.

In 1987, Chuck D’s uzi weighed a ton and I understood that power to supersede money. Public Enemy’s commitment to empowerment and black liberation provided a framework for freedom that I never heard before. By introducing me to the ideology of Malcolm, Stokely and Hampton, I became aware of my deprivation. More importantly, I became aware of the intentionality of my deprivation. But even with lyrics at war with capitalism, Chuck and Flav made me value that ubiquitous Oldsmobile ‘98.

I had questions about Flav and his commitment to the time, so in 1990, the Grand Verbalizer told me what time it was. In the conceptual tradition of Dr. Ben and John Henrik Clarke, I understood blackness as the origin for all things. The son of Sonny Carson provided the foundation, but Brother J’s descriptive words were a seed of black thought that developed deep roots in my community. Even the drug dealers were wearing leather African shaped medallions.

So in 1994, I was firmly rooted in my blackness. But, my worldview was shaped and developed on the defense. My entire existence felt like it was in defense of my blackness. My objection to capitalism was defined by it’s effect on my blackness. So, when Nas told me it was my world, it sounded good. It sounded incredible. In fact, it felt incredible. But, the word “incredible” is a tricky word. Incredible is defined as impossible to believe. And so, I didn’t believe it was my world. I didn’t believe it was my world because I was out for presidents to represent me. More accurately, I was out for dead presidents to represent me.

And what does it mean for me to say that the world is mine, but I want dead presidents to represent me?

When western missionaries visited West Africa in early colonial times, they endeavored to “civilize” a people who still “worshipped” false gods. The goal was to stop generations of idolatry and to convert west Africans to an acceptable version of Christianity. These missionaries were offended by the statues, idols and symbols that indigenous Africans valued. Similarly, colonial slave holders endeavored to indoctrinate their slaves so that they would abandon their traditional practices of idol worship. This idol worship, or idolatry, was considered a sin. A greater sin, in fact, than slavery, rape, robbery and murder apparently. And Africans were expected to trade in the idols they valued for the value system being forced upon them by slave owners or missionaries.

Parenthetically, I am a deep fan of every musician creatively referenced in this article. So, my conflicts are unresolved as I battle with the notion that the world is mine because it feels contingent upon trading in my values for the values being forced upon me. Those values are dead presidents. These dead presidents are the idols of colonialism, imperialism, mass genocide, drugs and white supremacy. If these presidents represent me, I can be free to get Gatorade, the wings with shrimp fried rice, the Oldsmobile ‘98 and every other thing that will make me comfortable in my present situation.

There is a distinction between obtaining comfort in a situation and changing a situation. And that’s the framework that I missed as I sought comfort. The brilliance of capitalism is that it causes you to perpetually chase comforts. The truth of revolution is that it will change your situation. And so, as I seek to create a space for myself in the world, its not defined by what comforts I can obtain. Alternatively, it’s defined by a set of values that are developed in community with others who understand whose world this is. This world is not owned by us. This world is us. And if we value agency over ourselves, then the responsibility we owe to each other is deeper than what we can obtain.

For generations, the world has been defined by what humans could take from one another. But, in the tradition of destroying the conceptual framework of the white gaze, our values should be defined by what we can build. And so, as we build upon the traditions of our wise elders and ancestors we can also learn from the mistakes of the ideas we reject.

So, can the world be mine if I reject the dead presidents and what they stand for? Of course. The only thing defined by dead presidents is the American system of idolatry and idol worship. But, contrary to popular opinion, America is not the world. Similarly, The world is not America’s. The world is mine.