December 11, 2010 was the longest day of my life when I had to attended traffic school for a speeding ticket I got while driving to Los Angeles for the Thanksgiving Holiday. It happened on Highway 5, just south of the Grapevine going from 3200 feet downhill through Angeles’s National Forrest. About 5 seconds within my peripheral view, I spotted the Highway Patrol officer on the side of the road. Within three seconds, I braked noting my speed at about 90 miles which meant it would take me about three seconds to slow down to 70 miles. I was traveling about 135 feet per second. I passed the officer, but five seconds later he pulled from the side of the road after giving some poor sucker speeding home-bound a ticket, he spotted me and with his red flashing lights and summoned me to the side of the road. “Damn it! Another $500 donation to the state,” I swore to myself. The officer walked over and leaned with his arms resting on the side of inside of my window, “You were going 100.” Now, I admit that I was speeding at 90, but what the hell. Who is going to drive all the way to Santa Clarita in the middle of nowhere to dispute 10 extra miles.” No choice for me, traffic school it is. Back in the Bay Area, I go online to pay my fines and I sign up for traffic school. Somehow it feels more civil.
I saw that there were several schools with comedy and cheap in the name; Comedy for Less Traffic school, Great Comedians, Cheap N Fun. The names were endless. So I figured, if I have to suffer for eight hours then I should be able to laugh at my dilemma; so I chose Comedy Traffic School in Berkeley on Saturday. Great idea! I’ll deal with this before the New Year reigns and begin fresh.
Almost a month later on a stormy Saturday morning just before Christmas, I drive through the rain to arrive 8am at the La Quinta Inn on University Avenue, a dreary two-and-a-half-star AAA rated hotel. I go inside and ask the clerk, a twenty-something stringy-haired guy with blank eyes -where do I go for the traffic school. He points to his right towards a staircase covered in dingy red carpeting announcing, “Upstairs in the conference room on the second floor.” When I arrive to the second floor, I walk into a spacious room with a 1970’s popcorn asbestos ceiling dimly lit with chandeliers, carpeted wall-to-wall in a twenty-year old dizzying red paisley design with walls painted the color of baby pooh. The room itself was much too large and too cold for the small group of thirty-forty soon-to-be tortured violators.
The instructor appeared old and weary. He was a white guy who looked 88 years old, a gray-haired Air Force veteran who flew in WWII. Are you kidding me?? My great uncle flew in WWII and he’s been dead now for almost twenty-five years! His name was George Slayton. He was hard of hearing and he spoke painfully slow. George wore a navy blue shirt, dark grey trousers and a Members Only jacket with hearing aids in both ears. For an icebreaker, he told a joke, “An old farmer was stopped by a traffic officer going to town. The officer began to write out a ticket citing the old farmer for running a stop-sign with occasional stops to swat flies from his face. The old farmer said you kno’ those are circle flies. The officer said what’s that? Farmer said, circle flies ‘because they like to circle around a horse’s ass. His punch line was, “Never joke with the officer who is writing you a ticket.” The morning crept along minute by minute. By 11am, I felt lethargic thinking that I was not going to make it through the day. The young girl next to me was hiding behind her notebook and secretly texting her boyfriend. Everyone was struggling to stay awake. Why can’t he just let us go?
It was almost time for lunch. The instructor explained that he was required to keep everyone until a quarter to four and those we must return in time from lunch or we would have to stay to make up the time. Everyone rushed towards the door tearing down the stairs to escape the hotel. I drove around Berkeley, feeling relieved in search for something to eat. I drove down University to 6th Street then North to Gilman and back on to Pablo Avenue to Chipotle while listening to the Santa Claus Congress wars on This American Life. Everywhere the streets were packed with cars and people. My relief turned into a slight panic and my chuckles turned into cursing whispers as the minutes dwindled away and I still had not found food to eat. I circled the block a second time from Gilman and San Pablo and parked. Crossing in the middle of San Pablo, looking right and left hoping that no traffic cop was in sight, I ran across the street into the parking lot in front on Chipotle. It was my un-preferred meal for the day, a black bean veggie burrito with Pico de Gallo and extra guacamole. I sat at the counter and choked down my burrito. Glancing at my watched I calculated that I better get a start considering the rain and the Berkeley traffic to make it back on time for the remaining afternoon torture.
I proceeded down San Pablo and took a right Camelia St and then left on 8th. I arrived 8th and Hearts and saw the Ethiopian church I dropped off Ahmed to attend a funeral. Across the street was open art studio where I managed to run in and purchase a pair of silver earrings with tiny pearls to give to my goddaughter Asia. Six minutes left. I’ve gotta get going if I am to be on time, so back in the car down 8th Street. Just when I get to University, a community bus in front of me and traffic isn’t moving on University. It’s just my luck to get stuck behind a BORP bus (BORP stands for Bay Area Outreach Program). Ugh! Three minutes late, I slam my car into park and BORP my tail in the Quinta Inn and up the stairs into the classroom. Everyone looks at me as though I’ve screwed myself, but George was too self-involved and in the middle of another one of his excruciating stories about the time he purchased a Ford T-Bird Diamond Jubilee, the best car ever built. The torture stories continued for another three hours mostly about WWII; about how the German villages were absent of me who were away fighting. He told us how the German women loves the foreign soldiers and if you were an American soldier you were the most sought after male in most of the European villages. You could see the pride of his past while he cruised down memory lane.
3:30PM-George talked about the corporate bail outs and called President Obama the CEO of Ford, the builder of the most fabulous automobile in the western world. He described how his father owned an eight cylinder Model-T automobile. When he was 11 years old, he learned how to drive sitting on books behind the wheel of a Model –T. Wow! Okay, I’m struggling to stay away and I notice the Indian lady on my right whose chin is resting on her chest. She is asleep. The African American woman in front of me is beginning to look lethargic. I know my excuse is that I was up late drinking Crown Royal, but I wonder what her excuse is. George begins to talk about tire traction and tread calibration, and there is a sudden chorus of deep sighs. The African American lady turns around and says, “Kill me now.”
3:56PM- Four minutes left. Everyone is antsy. The folding chairs began to feel like concrete over an hour ago. You could hear the continuous vibration of cell phones signaling. A young woman in the row behind me whispers into her iPod, “This is killing me. When this over, I am never going to get another ticket again in life.” George announces, “You all can go in two minutes after I go over some important road tips in the case of mechanical failure.” George’s last tip for the road was if your fan belt ever goes out, use a pair of panty hose around the pulley until you can get to the next stop. It is great tips like this that makes traffic school worth every penny raised for the traffic violation and time well spent for California drivers. After all, we Californians need to be punished, right? We need to continue paying exorbitant fines and blood fees. It’s all for the greater good of Comedy Traffic School. To the repeat offenders and the sadomasochists; for your next traffic violation, remember to go and see George. Help keep old humorless chaps like him and other jobless and unemployable comedians working in the exciting field of Comedy Traffic School.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Supporting Businesses and Keeping Doors Open
OAKLAND, Ca., June 28, 2010, A new public-private early warning network is coming together, hosted by Oakland’s Private Industry Council (PIC), to provide support in these difficult economic times for businesses in trouble – before they have to close their doors and lay off all their workers.
“This is a time to act to make sure these businesses can remain viable and can keep people employed,” said Lowell Rice, PIC’s Business Services Manager, speaking at the kickoff meeting of the group this week.
For several years the PIC has convened a Rapid Response Team, which brings services and resources directly to employees and employers when companies are facing large layoffs, moving out of the area or going out of business. However, given the present climate, PIC believes that a more proactive approach is needed, seeking to locate and support businesses before they actually close.
“What are we going to do for a business that might help turn it around?” Rice asked business, labor and civic leaders at the meeting. The idea is to put together a range of resources and strategic support from local businesses, public agencies, officials and others that can provide timely, concrete help, he said.
Averting layoffs saves money, said Rice. Every job lost costs an estimated $25,000 and up to $50,000 to create a new job. But it only costs between $200 and $4,000 to save a job. “That’s quite a savings,” he said.
Participants in the early warning network include the Oakland Private Industry Council—Business Services and Rapid Response Divisions, Employment Development Department (EDD), Alameda County Small Business Development Center, City of Oakland Community Economic Development Agency—Business Development Services Division, Community Bank of the Bay, Alta Alliance Bank, Bank of Alameda, One California Bank, East Bay Municipal Utility District, Pacific Gas &Electric, Oakland Metropolitan Chamber of Commerce, Central Labor Council of Alameda County and the Office of Assembly Member Sandre Swanson. Other elected officials have expressed interest in participating.
CONTACT:
Lowell Rice
lrice@oaklandpic.org
510-768-4466
“This is a time to act to make sure these businesses can remain viable and can keep people employed,” said Lowell Rice, PIC’s Business Services Manager, speaking at the kickoff meeting of the group this week.
For several years the PIC has convened a Rapid Response Team, which brings services and resources directly to employees and employers when companies are facing large layoffs, moving out of the area or going out of business. However, given the present climate, PIC believes that a more proactive approach is needed, seeking to locate and support businesses before they actually close.
“What are we going to do for a business that might help turn it around?” Rice asked business, labor and civic leaders at the meeting. The idea is to put together a range of resources and strategic support from local businesses, public agencies, officials and others that can provide timely, concrete help, he said.
Averting layoffs saves money, said Rice. Every job lost costs an estimated $25,000 and up to $50,000 to create a new job. But it only costs between $200 and $4,000 to save a job. “That’s quite a savings,” he said.
Participants in the early warning network include the Oakland Private Industry Council—Business Services and Rapid Response Divisions, Employment Development Department (EDD), Alameda County Small Business Development Center, City of Oakland Community Economic Development Agency—Business Development Services Division, Community Bank of the Bay, Alta Alliance Bank, Bank of Alameda, One California Bank, East Bay Municipal Utility District, Pacific Gas &Electric, Oakland Metropolitan Chamber of Commerce, Central Labor Council of Alameda County and the Office of Assembly Member Sandre Swanson. Other elected officials have expressed interest in participating.
CONTACT:
Lowell Rice
lrice@oaklandpic.org
510-768-4466
Saturday, January 2, 2010
2010: A New Year, A New Decade
January 2, 2010: the beginning of the 2nd decade in the new millennium. So on a lazy and gray Saturday I spent most of the morning in my bed with my laptop and a cup of Roboos tea while listening to jazz classics on Yahoo internet radio when the next tune that came on was Billie Holiday song, ‘Day In Day Out’.
The year 2009 for me began with a profound dream: hearing the voice of GOD. From a grand foyer of rich polished oak walls framed of crown molding surrounded by floor to ceiling windows and stained glass, I ascended to the sky over an oversized staircase to enter through a massive door. In my dream, I leave a fearful friend and a sacrificial soul behind to still the turbulent winds that allow for me enter into another space and time: in a house above the sky to follow the VOICE that kept repeating, “I’m right here.” And just before I see the face of GOD, I am suddenly awakened from my lucid dream by good buddy in L.A. who phones me at 6 AM. It was not time for me to see the face of GOD and be able to tell others about it. But not just yet.
Recollecting my thoughts of 2009 since the beginning of the new millennium, it not seems like it was just a flash of space and time shared with many people. In 2009, we have seen Katt Williams get arrested yet again, Ophra Winfrey make an incredible announcement that she is retiring…how do you retire your ego when you have been the sole person on every cover of your own magazine for the last ten years?? While we were blessed to witness the unfolding of American history with the inauguration of an African American President, we lose Michael Jackson the King of Pop way too soon.
Weathering the storms of 2009 with good intentions, last January along with other local women I swore to serve an organization consisting of council of realtors in which we all witnesses the unraveling personalities that reflected the unstable leadership in place and the mortgage industry instability. By mid July the chapter all but completely disappeared.
Later in the year I sampled what it must have been like for post Katrina when thousands of people experienced life inside the Super Dome arena. I spent a minimum of fifteen hours for two days at Cow Palace in South San Francisco at a NACA event, in an attempt to get my mortgage modified along with thousands of other persons who camped out in the cold and rain seeking assistance to save their home; a matter that remains uncomfortably open.
For the last decade, Americans have witnessed the devastation of terrorism first hand on 911; weathered major storms like Katrina; heard interviews from only few Tsunami survivors; seen Wall Street come to its knees in financial crisis; and watch Olympians triumph and be defeated. We’ve been indoctrinated with Facebook, LinkedIn, and Twitter and entered into the reality of My Space beginning with the Flavor of Love through Court TV and watched the banter and foolishness of privileged housewives across America. I’ve had ten broken and lost cell phones, replaced numerous of inoperable cordless phones, removed computer numerous of viruses and ultimately replace five computers and four operating systems. I’ve watched my insurance sharply increase, then go down and then up again. I've purchased a CPap machine to keep me breathing while sleeping; I have nervously taken to the air domestically and internationally in friendly discomfort and in exchange rode Amtrak down the Capital Corridor repeatedly. I eagerly got married and wearingly filed for divorced due to "irreconcilable differences." And finally, I have allowed my passport to life to almost expire.
At the beginning of the century, reality for me was watching my dad transform from a proud single arrogant cocky golfing blue-collar well-paid BART-employed soul brother-man with income property and a descent pension who occasionally sprinted to Reno to post football bets; a man that often tinkered on his vintage 1976 Corvette and who frequently prepared his famous barbeque to passionately subdue the beckoning belly, to become a half-conscious feisty inaudible piss-smelling diaper-wearing pale old man-resident of the Lakeside Dementia –Alzheimer care center. I am his only visitor. And on every other Sundays, we go on occasional outings often to church.
All we have is today, Day in and Day out: just one day at a time. But what a difference a day can make! To quote the lyrics so poetically song by Dinah Washington: ‘Twenty-four little hours brought the sun and the flowers where there used to be rain.’ Today is another day to make the best of life, one day at a time. Wow! And just to think about the dream I had the beginning of 2009, is still like I just woke up this morning from the same dream - hearing the voice of GOD. It makes me pause right where I am, right now. Someplace else…deep and far away yet right here. It serves as a simple reminder of how close GOD really is. Have a healthy, happy and prosperous 2010.
The year 2009 for me began with a profound dream: hearing the voice of GOD. From a grand foyer of rich polished oak walls framed of crown molding surrounded by floor to ceiling windows and stained glass, I ascended to the sky over an oversized staircase to enter through a massive door. In my dream, I leave a fearful friend and a sacrificial soul behind to still the turbulent winds that allow for me enter into another space and time: in a house above the sky to follow the VOICE that kept repeating, “I’m right here.” And just before I see the face of GOD, I am suddenly awakened from my lucid dream by good buddy in L.A. who phones me at 6 AM. It was not time for me to see the face of GOD and be able to tell others about it. But not just yet.
Recollecting my thoughts of 2009 since the beginning of the new millennium, it not seems like it was just a flash of space and time shared with many people. In 2009, we have seen Katt Williams get arrested yet again, Ophra Winfrey make an incredible announcement that she is retiring…how do you retire your ego when you have been the sole person on every cover of your own magazine for the last ten years?? While we were blessed to witness the unfolding of American history with the inauguration of an African American President, we lose Michael Jackson the King of Pop way too soon.
Weathering the storms of 2009 with good intentions, last January along with other local women I swore to serve an organization consisting of council of realtors in which we all witnesses the unraveling personalities that reflected the unstable leadership in place and the mortgage industry instability. By mid July the chapter all but completely disappeared.
Later in the year I sampled what it must have been like for post Katrina when thousands of people experienced life inside the Super Dome arena. I spent a minimum of fifteen hours for two days at Cow Palace in South San Francisco at a NACA event, in an attempt to get my mortgage modified along with thousands of other persons who camped out in the cold and rain seeking assistance to save their home; a matter that remains uncomfortably open.
For the last decade, Americans have witnessed the devastation of terrorism first hand on 911; weathered major storms like Katrina; heard interviews from only few Tsunami survivors; seen Wall Street come to its knees in financial crisis; and watch Olympians triumph and be defeated. We’ve been indoctrinated with Facebook, LinkedIn, and Twitter and entered into the reality of My Space beginning with the Flavor of Love through Court TV and watched the banter and foolishness of privileged housewives across America. I’ve had ten broken and lost cell phones, replaced numerous of inoperable cordless phones, removed computer numerous of viruses and ultimately replace five computers and four operating systems. I’ve watched my insurance sharply increase, then go down and then up again. I've purchased a CPap machine to keep me breathing while sleeping; I have nervously taken to the air domestically and internationally in friendly discomfort and in exchange rode Amtrak down the Capital Corridor repeatedly. I eagerly got married and wearingly filed for divorced due to "irreconcilable differences." And finally, I have allowed my passport to life to almost expire.
At the beginning of the century, reality for me was watching my dad transform from a proud single arrogant cocky golfing blue-collar well-paid BART-employed soul brother-man with income property and a descent pension who occasionally sprinted to Reno to post football bets; a man that often tinkered on his vintage 1976 Corvette and who frequently prepared his famous barbeque to passionately subdue the beckoning belly, to become a half-conscious feisty inaudible piss-smelling diaper-wearing pale old man-resident of the Lakeside Dementia –Alzheimer care center. I am his only visitor. And on every other Sundays, we go on occasional outings often to church.
All we have is today, Day in and Day out: just one day at a time. But what a difference a day can make! To quote the lyrics so poetically song by Dinah Washington: ‘Twenty-four little hours brought the sun and the flowers where there used to be rain.’ Today is another day to make the best of life, one day at a time. Wow! And just to think about the dream I had the beginning of 2009, is still like I just woke up this morning from the same dream - hearing the voice of GOD. It makes me pause right where I am, right now. Someplace else…deep and far away yet right here. It serves as a simple reminder of how close GOD really is. Have a healthy, happy and prosperous 2010.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Sentiments on Michael Jackson
It has been almost two weeks since the passing of Michael Jackson and not one day has gone by that without the mentioning of his name in public or private. Just this week alone in warmer than usual Bay Area weather, at any given time a car passes along the streets with blaring sounds of Michael Jackson’s hits. It’s strikes me a funny to see even a hard-core brother who looks like he’s be banging out rap beats is playing MJ’s tunes instead, rather I am touched.
It was 1969, while I sat on the floor in the den in the house we live on Buckingham Road in Los Angeles, watching the Jackson 5 for the first time one Saturday morning. It was the first time my eyes locked on the television screen focused on Michael, my heart froze. Barbee dolls fell from my hands while my little girl heart skipped a beat then fluttered for the first time. Wow, what a feeling. Who is that little boy who could dance and sing like that? I was smitten henceforth for the rest of my pubertal years.
Sometime later during the pre-thriller years, my musical taste matured to a new infatuated passion for other artist like Prince and Marvin Gaye until MJ’s come back with the talented producing of Q that not only reawakened my love for MJ, but appreciation of him as an artistically talent who had masterfully overcame the labeling of a childhood star to come into his own identity and his own voice which so few are able to achieve.
My fondest and cherished memory is when my mom Margie, my aunts Dot and Verna decided to treat my beloved grandma Chandler or Ma’Dear for a special night on the town for her birthday to see the musical Dream Girls at the Schubert Theatre in Century City. This was so special for Ma’Dear who was from DeKalb, Mississippi although she was living in Los Angeles she never left the house nor was it customary for her to dress up in fine clothes, pearls and heels for an evening outting. But on this night, we surprised her and took her out to see the play which brought her and all of us true joy. That evening while at the Shubert, I went to the lobby during the first act to go to the ladies lounge when while walking through the lobby I turned my head to speak to Dot who was just steps behind me. Suddenly I bumped into someone, practically stepping onto his foot. I paused and looked up. Inches from my face was the face of the incredibly sweet and handsome Michael Jackson looking down at me with a hospitable smile. He simply said, “hello.”
I was too startled to speak or move. I smiled back nervously. Once I snapped out of the trance, suddenly I realized that there was a trail of fans in the lobby that began to push and shove as the reality of the situation registered in my brain. Once I could move my legs,I was finally able to step aside for him to pass. I shall never forget as this was the highlight of the evening.
We love Michael because he continued to forge his identity while redefining the superstardom that the world had never seen before his existence. There are few world figures like Princes Diana, Mother Theresa, the Pope; Nelson Mandela that came at a time that many countries on the globe would embrace a global figure. Michael Jackson would be the only superstar musical performer that would supersede all others. You have to wonder, could it be that he was simply persecuted in the media and by those because he loved too much? Could it be that he was Christ-like, pure in heart and wrongly persecuted and died because of that? In MJ’s case, I think that there are several to blame. I cannot help but feel sad and sorry for this pure loving and passionate man.
Perhaps my thoughts and comments are redundant and echo many other comments. But just like everyone and anyone who has been touched my MJ, I too have my sentiments and feel the need to express my grief and sorrow as well as the need to reminences the sweet sentiments and joys of the past that his music was much like the score of a movie that played throughout many scenes.
All that matters is that he loved his children, his fans and his music. No matter what anyone says, his music was honest, pure. ”No legacy is so rich as honesty.” William Shakespeare. We love you Michael, rest in peace.
It was 1969, while I sat on the floor in the den in the house we live on Buckingham Road in Los Angeles, watching the Jackson 5 for the first time one Saturday morning. It was the first time my eyes locked on the television screen focused on Michael, my heart froze. Barbee dolls fell from my hands while my little girl heart skipped a beat then fluttered for the first time. Wow, what a feeling. Who is that little boy who could dance and sing like that? I was smitten henceforth for the rest of my pubertal years.
Sometime later during the pre-thriller years, my musical taste matured to a new infatuated passion for other artist like Prince and Marvin Gaye until MJ’s come back with the talented producing of Q that not only reawakened my love for MJ, but appreciation of him as an artistically talent who had masterfully overcame the labeling of a childhood star to come into his own identity and his own voice which so few are able to achieve.
My fondest and cherished memory is when my mom Margie, my aunts Dot and Verna decided to treat my beloved grandma Chandler or Ma’Dear for a special night on the town for her birthday to see the musical Dream Girls at the Schubert Theatre in Century City. This was so special for Ma’Dear who was from DeKalb, Mississippi although she was living in Los Angeles she never left the house nor was it customary for her to dress up in fine clothes, pearls and heels for an evening outting. But on this night, we surprised her and took her out to see the play which brought her and all of us true joy. That evening while at the Shubert, I went to the lobby during the first act to go to the ladies lounge when while walking through the lobby I turned my head to speak to Dot who was just steps behind me. Suddenly I bumped into someone, practically stepping onto his foot. I paused and looked up. Inches from my face was the face of the incredibly sweet and handsome Michael Jackson looking down at me with a hospitable smile. He simply said, “hello.”
I was too startled to speak or move. I smiled back nervously. Once I snapped out of the trance, suddenly I realized that there was a trail of fans in the lobby that began to push and shove as the reality of the situation registered in my brain. Once I could move my legs,I was finally able to step aside for him to pass. I shall never forget as this was the highlight of the evening.
We love Michael because he continued to forge his identity while redefining the superstardom that the world had never seen before his existence. There are few world figures like Princes Diana, Mother Theresa, the Pope; Nelson Mandela that came at a time that many countries on the globe would embrace a global figure. Michael Jackson would be the only superstar musical performer that would supersede all others. You have to wonder, could it be that he was simply persecuted in the media and by those because he loved too much? Could it be that he was Christ-like, pure in heart and wrongly persecuted and died because of that? In MJ’s case, I think that there are several to blame. I cannot help but feel sad and sorry for this pure loving and passionate man.
Perhaps my thoughts and comments are redundant and echo many other comments. But just like everyone and anyone who has been touched my MJ, I too have my sentiments and feel the need to express my grief and sorrow as well as the need to reminences the sweet sentiments and joys of the past that his music was much like the score of a movie that played throughout many scenes.
All that matters is that he loved his children, his fans and his music. No matter what anyone says, his music was honest, pure. ”No legacy is so rich as honesty.” William Shakespeare. We love you Michael, rest in peace.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
The African Presence in México: Present History Revealed
The restrained mouth of history for where once was a hundreds of thousands of wrestles truths buried insignificantly in shame and all but forgotten has been rescued and resurrected from centuries of silence to reveal timely cultural treasures in the exhibit of African Presence in Mexico: From Yanga to the Present now showing at the Oakland Museum of California. This is a small exhibit, nonetheless powerfully significant.
It is common place in the US that Americans traditionally discuss race relations in terms of American History, past and present. At times it appears that most American students have little knowledge about geography or anything about countries outside of the US. Unlike many European nations and countries that were colonized by the United Kingdom with educational institution established by the monarchy, most students outside of the United States have a far better awareness of countries and geographical locations. Perhaps this can partly be attributed to Great Britain’s successful colonization and claim on several countries. Whereas in the US, history largely focused on the mark of establishing independence from Great Britain and later the Civil War that was fueled by the political dissension of providing freedom to enslaved blacks.
But here we are today in the twenty-second century with the booming influx of Mexican and Hispanic immigrants over the last two decades; while challenging the politics of black and brown race issues and immigrant workers, the Nation Museum of Mexican Art tours the exhibit of African Presence in Mexico revealing the third root that made a strong cultural influence on art, music, food, and wars.
Who Knew
Between 1580 and 1640, Mexico had the largest African population in the New World.
1570 New Spain’s (Colonial Mexico) population includes 23,008 blacks and mulattoes.
1573—Professor Bartolome de Albornoz of the University of Mexico writes against the enslavement and sale of Africans.
1598 Isabel de Olvera, a free mulatto, accompanies the Juan Guerra de Resa Expedition which colonizes what is now New Mexico.
1600-1790s—Persons of African ancestry are among the founders or early settlers of numerous towns in Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and California including San Antonio, Laredo, El Paso, Santa Fe, Albuquerque, Tucson, San Diego, Monterey and San Francisco.
1602 By Spanish law, mulattoes (people of combined African and European ethnicity), convicts, and "idle" Africans may be shipped to Latin America and forced to work in the mines there.
1609 Fugitive slaves in Mexico, led by Yanga, sign a truce with Spanish colonial authorities and obtain their freedom and a town of their own.
1617 The town of San Lorenzo de los Negros receives a charter from Spanish colonial officials in Mexico and becomes the first officially recognized free settlement for blacks in the New World.
1646 New Spain’s (Colonial Mexico) population includes 35,089 blacks and 116,529 mulattoes.
1750 The census of Albuquerque reveals that 25% of the families have some African ancestry.
1778 A census of San Antonio, Texas shows 759 male residents including 151 blacks and mulattoes but only four are enslaved.
1781 Los Angeles is founded by 44 settlers including 26 who have some African ancestry.
1820-1825 Free African Americans from the United States settle in Mexican Texas. One of the most notable is former North Carolinian William Goyens who settles near Nacogdoches in 1820. By the time of his death in 1856, Goyens will have acquired 13,000 acres of land.
1824 A New Mexican Constitution adopted on October 4 outlaws slavery throughout Mexico including Mexican Texas.
1829 On September 15, Mexican President Vicente Ramon Guerrero mixed of African Indian ancestry, issues the Guerrero Decree which prohibits slavery in any form in Mexico. Guerrero however issues a subsequent decree on December 2 which exempts Texas from the ban.
1831 Pio Pico, a descendant of persons of African ancestry, becomes governor of Mexican California after overthrowing Colonel Manuel Victoria, another person of African ancestry.
1835 At the beginning of the year there are approximately 25,000 English-speaking inhabitants of Mexican Texas including 5,000 enslaved African Americans. The Tejano population is approximately 6,000 and there are 14,500 Indians.
Pio Pico again serves as Governor of Mexican California. He is the last governor during Mexican rule.
1846-1848 War with Mexico.
1848—On February 2, Mexico and the United States sign the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo. The treaty transfers control of California, Arizona, New Mexico, Nevada, and Utah from Mexico to the United States. Mexico also relinquishes its claim to Texas in exchange for $20 million.
1849 The California Gold Rush begins. Eventually four thousand African Americans will migrate to California during this period.
Early African American settlers in San Francisco create the first two mutual aid associations for blacks in the far west, the West Indian Benevolent Association and the Mutual Benefit and Relief Society.
1850—The Compromise of 1850 revisits the issue of slavery. California enters the Union as a free state, but the territories of New Mexico and Utah are allowed to decide whether they will enter the Union as slave or free states. The 1850 Compromise also allows passage of a much stricter Fugitive Slave Law. Despite California’s status as a nominally “free” state, approximately 1,000 blacks are in slavery with most of the bonds people brought in from slaveholding states.
Resources: http://www.smithsonianeducation.org/migrations/legacy/alm.html
http://www.nationalmuseumofmexicanart.org/af/africanpresence.html
It is common place in the US that Americans traditionally discuss race relations in terms of American History, past and present. At times it appears that most American students have little knowledge about geography or anything about countries outside of the US. Unlike many European nations and countries that were colonized by the United Kingdom with educational institution established by the monarchy, most students outside of the United States have a far better awareness of countries and geographical locations. Perhaps this can partly be attributed to Great Britain’s successful colonization and claim on several countries. Whereas in the US, history largely focused on the mark of establishing independence from Great Britain and later the Civil War that was fueled by the political dissension of providing freedom to enslaved blacks.
But here we are today in the twenty-second century with the booming influx of Mexican and Hispanic immigrants over the last two decades; while challenging the politics of black and brown race issues and immigrant workers, the Nation Museum of Mexican Art tours the exhibit of African Presence in Mexico revealing the third root that made a strong cultural influence on art, music, food, and wars.
Who Knew
Between 1580 and 1640, Mexico had the largest African population in the New World.
1570 New Spain’s (Colonial Mexico) population includes 23,008 blacks and mulattoes.
1573—Professor Bartolome de Albornoz of the University of Mexico writes against the enslavement and sale of Africans.
1598 Isabel de Olvera, a free mulatto, accompanies the Juan Guerra de Resa Expedition which colonizes what is now New Mexico.
1600-1790s—Persons of African ancestry are among the founders or early settlers of numerous towns in Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and California including San Antonio, Laredo, El Paso, Santa Fe, Albuquerque, Tucson, San Diego, Monterey and San Francisco.
1602 By Spanish law, mulattoes (people of combined African and European ethnicity), convicts, and "idle" Africans may be shipped to Latin America and forced to work in the mines there.
1609 Fugitive slaves in Mexico, led by Yanga, sign a truce with Spanish colonial authorities and obtain their freedom and a town of their own.
1617 The town of San Lorenzo de los Negros receives a charter from Spanish colonial officials in Mexico and becomes the first officially recognized free settlement for blacks in the New World.
1646 New Spain’s (Colonial Mexico) population includes 35,089 blacks and 116,529 mulattoes.
1750 The census of Albuquerque reveals that 25% of the families have some African ancestry.
1778 A census of San Antonio, Texas shows 759 male residents including 151 blacks and mulattoes but only four are enslaved.
1781 Los Angeles is founded by 44 settlers including 26 who have some African ancestry.
1820-1825 Free African Americans from the United States settle in Mexican Texas. One of the most notable is former North Carolinian William Goyens who settles near Nacogdoches in 1820. By the time of his death in 1856, Goyens will have acquired 13,000 acres of land.
1824 A New Mexican Constitution adopted on October 4 outlaws slavery throughout Mexico including Mexican Texas.
1829 On September 15, Mexican President Vicente Ramon Guerrero mixed of African Indian ancestry, issues the Guerrero Decree which prohibits slavery in any form in Mexico. Guerrero however issues a subsequent decree on December 2 which exempts Texas from the ban.
1831 Pio Pico, a descendant of persons of African ancestry, becomes governor of Mexican California after overthrowing Colonel Manuel Victoria, another person of African ancestry.
1835 At the beginning of the year there are approximately 25,000 English-speaking inhabitants of Mexican Texas including 5,000 enslaved African Americans. The Tejano population is approximately 6,000 and there are 14,500 Indians.
Pio Pico again serves as Governor of Mexican California. He is the last governor during Mexican rule.
1846-1848 War with Mexico.
1848—On February 2, Mexico and the United States sign the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo. The treaty transfers control of California, Arizona, New Mexico, Nevada, and Utah from Mexico to the United States. Mexico also relinquishes its claim to Texas in exchange for $20 million.
1849 The California Gold Rush begins. Eventually four thousand African Americans will migrate to California during this period.
Early African American settlers in San Francisco create the first two mutual aid associations for blacks in the far west, the West Indian Benevolent Association and the Mutual Benefit and Relief Society.
1850—The Compromise of 1850 revisits the issue of slavery. California enters the Union as a free state, but the territories of New Mexico and Utah are allowed to decide whether they will enter the Union as slave or free states. The 1850 Compromise also allows passage of a much stricter Fugitive Slave Law. Despite California’s status as a nominally “free” state, approximately 1,000 blacks are in slavery with most of the bonds people brought in from slaveholding states.
Resources: http://www.smithsonianeducation.org/migrations/legacy/alm.html
http://www.nationalmuseumofmexicanart.org/af/africanpresence.html
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
ViBeJuice Review - Dobet Gnahore
Twenty-five year old Dobet Gnahoré, West African singer from Cote d’ivoire gave a captivating performance at Yoshi’s Jazz Club in Oakland July 2008. Having never seen nor heard the singer, I ventured along with a friend Jet to hear what’s new in afro-world beat.
People from ages twenty to seventy, a mix Americans, hip, old and young crowded into the venue with a palpitating excitement, most whom Jet and I thought were the least likely to attend a show on a Thursday night to see the African songstress. We pondered how did these ticket holders know of the headliner? How had they been introduced to this type of music? I though perhaps some of the younger ticket holders had served in the Peace Corps in Africa and was exposed to local culture of political instability, disease, food and music; well at the least they looked like the type.
The show began on time, while late comers scampered to find the few remaining seats. There was a tense anticipation as the three musicians walked on stage: bass guitarist and singer from Tunisia, Nabil Mehrezi, and guitarist from France, Colin Laroche de Feline; and Togolese drummer Boris Tchango.
The intro music began with a throbbing and pulsing rhythm as Dobet gracefully entered the small stage with her powerful scales of melodic chants then burst into afro-operatic bellows. Her small shapely and strong frame was draped in a black with skirt worn over pants and a black leotard; hair tied with a black scar and sculpted high like a crown, while her face boldly pronounced and beautifully adorned with paint, gold, and jeweled like a Dogon mask.
Gnahore is a youthful relentless performer. She is a powerful dancer with rhythmic sways, complex footwork from bent knee and sudden jumps into incredibly high kicks while occasionally freezing abruptly on a hard downbeat …stop….pause in a warring pose… break into a fast deep rhythmic dance that had you dancing along with her from your seats, applauding and shouting in amazement. (YouTube)
Gnahore played the Congo drum, not typical or tradition for female performers. One song in particular, she sat on the far right of the stage and sang out a beautifully scale of melodies in one of the seven dialects she speaks while she played a gourd. Dobet’s stage presence is gracious in every since of the word which can only be described as beautifully enigmatic. (My Space).
People from ages twenty to seventy, a mix Americans, hip, old and young crowded into the venue with a palpitating excitement, most whom Jet and I thought were the least likely to attend a show on a Thursday night to see the African songstress. We pondered how did these ticket holders know of the headliner? How had they been introduced to this type of music? I though perhaps some of the younger ticket holders had served in the Peace Corps in Africa and was exposed to local culture of political instability, disease, food and music; well at the least they looked like the type.
The show began on time, while late comers scampered to find the few remaining seats. There was a tense anticipation as the three musicians walked on stage: bass guitarist and singer from Tunisia, Nabil Mehrezi, and guitarist from France, Colin Laroche de Feline; and Togolese drummer Boris Tchango.
The intro music began with a throbbing and pulsing rhythm as Dobet gracefully entered the small stage with her powerful scales of melodic chants then burst into afro-operatic bellows. Her small shapely and strong frame was draped in a black with skirt worn over pants and a black leotard; hair tied with a black scar and sculpted high like a crown, while her face boldly pronounced and beautifully adorned with paint, gold, and jeweled like a Dogon mask.
Gnahore is a youthful relentless performer. She is a powerful dancer with rhythmic sways, complex footwork from bent knee and sudden jumps into incredibly high kicks while occasionally freezing abruptly on a hard downbeat …stop….pause in a warring pose… break into a fast deep rhythmic dance that had you dancing along with her from your seats, applauding and shouting in amazement. (YouTube)
Gnahore played the Congo drum, not typical or tradition for female performers. One song in particular, she sat on the far right of the stage and sang out a beautifully scale of melodies in one of the seven dialects she speaks while she played a gourd. Dobet’s stage presence is gracious in every since of the word which can only be described as beautifully enigmatic. (My Space).
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