THIS ISN’T LIVING
Welcome to another web edition of THINKING OUT LOUD, and I'm your host, E. L. Pleasant. Thinking Out Loud, Though they all have one to tell, their story is no
different than yours, because it’s the one time that it doesn’t matter if your
name is Young Buck, T.I., or 2Pac, for the requirement has already been
established at birth if you are blessed to be born black. Out of every house hold there are at lease
one or more family member that are in jail or will be before the year is out
because of an unpaid traffic ticket(s.)
They have been unlawfully stopping blacks since 1940 and it wasn’t
called racial profiling until around 1980, when in fact you and I know it has
never been racial profiling, but a hate crime being committed by those that
sworn to uphold the law. The same people
that make the laws are the one’s that breaks them at will, because they are
above the law or at least over you and I.
So let’s start calling it what it is and that is, HATE CRIMES. We joke about it in our songs like, “Driving
Dirty,” too in our movies, like “National Security,” and saying, “Driving While
Black, to keep from dealing with the reality of what is happing every single
day when we venture out from our homes.
It is the same message that the whites have been sending since we
stepped off of their ships, and that is, they are going to tame/break us one
way or the other, meaning physically or mentally any means necessary. Think about it, every time you get behind the
wheel you fear being stopped, you do thirty five when the speed limit is forty
five and you panic when ever the police get behind you because you know he’s
running your plates. So you run like a
slave or if you had a weapon you would kill them is the only thing that comes
to your mind after being stopped more times because of your color than your
driving record. This is what they want
you to fear every time you get behind the wheel or venture outside of your
homes when you see them coming that they still have control over you. Their motivation is the same as their
grandparents, hate past down from generation to generation that will not be
broken. You have seen their dreams come
true, for they own every thing worth having and only a few successful blacks
have seen theirs come to light, but they refuse to remember where they came
from out of fear also. Because if they
acknowledge who they are and proud to be what they could not break or be bought
would be a indication that they forgotten their place, therefore they fear more
than anything of being treated or thought of as being one of us. So they do what they call beating them at
their own game when the whites are the ones controlling the dices.
So officers like Beekman will sit on a deserted parking lot
with only one thing on his mind and that is to arrest and get as many niggers
off the street and into a cage as possible because that is where we
belong. Nine out of ten he knows that
what be an issue because for every tenth car that he stop will be the only one
to get away. For every one of the remaining nine people is going to have
something wrong with them, from suspended license, revoked, unregistered car,
expired plates, no insurance too traffic warrants already being issued years
ago. Yet he had no reason(s) to stop you
other than his motivation and that is hate, which he call doing his job and you
can see that every time that you had to appear in court and seen one hundred
blacks like the million man march and less than a dozen of whites. Think about this also. All the money that is being raised out of you having to sell blood to pay for these tickets,
where to you think the money is going?
Dontay Hogan is the shit to those that know him well. He
drives two hours back and forth to Mexico Missouri for 15.80 every morning
unloading trucks and in between time locked- up in some county jail. A month in
the city work house, two weeks in another facility too 72 hours in Florissant,
Jennings, Delwood, Hazelwood, Molean Acres and so forth, you get the ideal,
he's a lifer and this is what life mean to him. He sits up from his laid back
position to spit his tail for now he has a captivating audience of one, which
is me to listen and decide for myself which is bull and the hold truth. "I
wear nothing but Polo and matching hats, when my girl and I moved in together
and she saw my shit, she was like damn you must think you're the shit." I
must admit I couldn't control my smile, because I could see that he thought so
as well, and he couldn't wait to continue telling me about his life as a rose
that sprung up from the concrete, with many broken dreams or misguided hopes in
all. How he flipped cars by buying them for 150 to 300 hundred and selling them
for1500 hundred, leaving him holding 20 thousand at onetime that most of his
peers would never see or hold in their hands to be able to hold the same bragging
rights like him. His hustling has taught him one thing and that is how to
survive rather it selling drugs, stolen items or what ever to get paid. He had
a white lawyer on retainer but he had to fair her because she wasn't about
handling business and just to think he was planning on making her their family lawyer,
so he said. "Once I was over my
cousin, right, my ex called me and asked where I was at cause she wanted to go
out, like I gave a fuck where she was going and she wanted me to keep my son.
So I tell her to bring him, shit, that’ll be cool little man can hang with me.
The next thing I know I'm standing there on the porch with my cousin talking
when the police rolls up, get out, and asked me what my name were, I say
Dontay. Then he asked me what my last name were, and I asked him what he wanted
to know my name for. He said he had a warrant for my arrest. That crazy bitch
told them that I jumped on her. My cousin told them that I been there all
evening because my girlfriend had my car, so there was no way that I could have
done what she said, I tell them that she called me saying she was bringing my
son over to me. Those mother fuckers arrested me any way because they said I
had a traffic warrant, that, that white bitch was suppose to have taken care
of. So when I get there I call my girl and tell her where I am and she says,
stop lying, I say for real girl and come and get me out." He's smiling as
if he has been holding this shit in waiting for someone to come alone so he
could relieve himself. "He tells her to life up the arm rest as he could
hear her scream damn, and he is telling her to be quite. Then he tells her to
take the key and open the glove box, and she screams again, saying damn you
must think you're the shit, I been driving around all this time with all this
money up in here. That's what I do, because we were supposed to go out that
night."
Every one of the twenty or more awaiting inmates had a story to tell how they ended up here with only one or two variations that still came down to the same conclusion, just another hate crime being committed by those sworn to uphold the law.
Every one of the twenty or more awaiting inmates had a story to tell how they ended up here with only one or two variations that still came down to the same conclusion, just another hate crime being committed by those sworn to uphold the law.
Joey Bittle resides two cells down from Hogan, one of two
white cell mates that will be spending the night, though he had been feverishly
trying every ten minutes or so to get his mother to bail him out by making
hollow promises that he will pay her back no matter what ever it takes. You can
tell by his eyes he doesn’t want to be around no Negro any longer than he can
hold his breath, for there are only two of them here tonight. The guy that is
sharing a cell with him is a mixed therefore he's not white though he surely
could past for one with his shoulder length blondish hair, his conversation
tells us he have accepted the term nigga as he spend his tell fucking some
white bitch as he described her. His words not mine. He was at some red neck
bar as the story goes and he took her out back, fucked her and left her where
she bent over. He's been drinking cranberry and goose all evening so he said.
When he got ready to reenter this fine establishment some big red neck
motherfucker stepped to him asking the where about of that white bitch, and “I
asked him what business was it to him, he said some shit and I stole him. When
I woke up I was in jail with a broken nose twisted to one side like Owin
Wilson. Man I Never got my black ass beating by some white boys in my life.” Joey
is sitting across from this one gentlemen who name I failed to catch as he rest
his head against the bars laughing. But Joey isn't laughing and there's
contempt in his eyes. Maybe it's because he didn't like the idea of him talking
about being with a white woman or the fact he can past for white but he's
black. He springs from his metal bunk and grasp the phone once more. "Mom
please, I swear I'll pay you back, are you listening to me? I didn't start the
fight with Cory, he started hitting me, shit, are you fucking crazy? No, I'm
saying you act like you're not hearing a word I'm saying, mom I didn't go over
there to fight Cory, you can ask Brian." His call is disconnected for the
third or forth time, in which he had cursed her out repeatedly asking her for
help. Another guy on my left chimes in on a beat. "We always want to blame
the white man for the situation that we are in, when we are the one's that
didn't pay that ticket." Every voice fell silent to these unsolicited
comments nor did anyone care to debate with this individual, not even I with my
intellect. Unable to stand a second longer the phone is once again in the
24year old Joey Bittles hands, not to apologize, but demand to be set free by
his mother. Now swearing to get her money back to her, his mother, this went
from three days to now two in the time he said it would take, for desperation
calls for any means nessacere. He will walk home if she just come and pay his
two hundred dollar bail in between a few more curse words. Pleading how he want
to spend the holiday with his son. "No mom, why you keep trying to make me
out to be a bad person, I 'm the one with the bruises and he called the police
on me. Then call Brain mom and ask him for me to come and post bail for me. The
phone goes silent as I'm ask to vacate the premises while ever eye in now on me
and the President. “Still Asking What’s The Meaning of Life?” from the streets
I give you “PAHZAZZ” for THINKING
OUT LOUD, I’m E. L. PLEASANT
Charle Major @IamCharlesMajor
"To Live is the rarest thing in the world, Most people exist, that is all."
"PAHZAZZ"
STORY BY:
E.
L. PLEASANT
STORY
EDITOR
BRANDON
DE’LEONCE
MUSIC
BY:
BONONIASOUND
SHINERECORDS
ISTOCK
PHOTO
PRODUTION
MANAGER
JOHN
WESLEY
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PUBLISHING
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SPECIAL THANKS TO THE FOLLOWING CONTRIBUTORS:
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Malcolmxfiles.blogspot.com
Cornel West
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