I do not know the power of my handI do not know the power of my black handI sit stumped in the conviction that I am powerless,tolerate ceilings that make me bendmy godly mind stoops, my ambition is crippledI do not know the power of my handI see my children stuntedmy young men slaughtered...I see the power over my life and death inanother man's hands and sometimesI shake my wooly head and wonderLord have mercy!What would it be like...to be free?Excerpt from When I Know the Power of My Hand, Lance Jeffers1974There are a few things about this era, my favorite era, that must be said before I move on. The 1950s through the early 1970s were a time in which people were willing to speak out, to fight, for what they believed in --hell they were willing to die for their beliefs. America was watching and she was listening.But this was also an age beset with hypocrisy and self-righteousness. Peoples of Color were encouraged to ignore their own problems, to look back on history with rose colored glasses.We seek to learn from history. One of the biggest mistakes we can make as we journey through the 21th century is to deceive ourselves that all of our problems are from some place outside our own communities -- outside of ourselves. We have to be secure enough to clean house, no matter who happens to be looking on. Growth, real growth, engenders self-discovery and change.From 1964 through 1968 Black folks took their rage to the streets, President Johnson commissioned a study of this "problem" and the myth of the Black Matriarchy was born.Copyright Valjeanne Jeffers-Thompson 1997, 2009 all rights reserved
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