The Death of Black Power

I'm so sorry to deliver this distressing and disappointing news, but Black Power is dead, and it didn't die gloriously on the field of battle and noble struggle, but within warm homes amid the blue glow of HDTV's and flickering cell phone lights. Yes, Black Power is good and dead, and affluence killed it. Now before the Black community and kind-hearted liberals leap up, with arms raised, flailing about, let me just take a moment to clarify what I mean. Conducting a simple comparison and contrasting of the Black community of today and the one during the Civil Rights era (and before) one must agree that even under the leather boots of oppression and socio-political injustice the Black community was a cohesive, tightly-knit organism that seemed to have one mind, one heart. Of course I speak in generalities. The power of the Black community of yesteryear emanated from the family- the complete, often extended family, with a strong-willed male at its head. That husband and father was driven by the expectation that the ensuing generation would be better off than his own, made possible through his own sacrifice of labor and self-denial, lessons learned from parents who more than likely died under the sweltering, bloodthirsty evil of the South. That husband's wife was like a wolf guarding her home, always giving more than she believed she had available, loving ever more than she thought she could to bring to life her dreams of a better life for her offspring. So many times she had to accept demeaning work, and long hours of it- but the brightness of the future spurred her on, and she never let go of her integrity or her family. By both, education was held in high esteem and was an absolute requirement to be pursued in excellence by the children. Great material wealth was rare. Richness of family, pride, and tradition appeared omnipresent. Jim Crow just had to fall before such a people; the Civil Rights Act had to come, it was inevitable. Color barriers had to fall.
Now, consider the Black community of today. We now live in homes that our grandparents would only have imagined in their dreams, and these massive houses have parked in front sleek, stylish vehicles worth more than the houses of our parents. Within, silence battles the constant stream of information from lavishly priced television sets, and our cupboards overflow with bounty. There is, however a humiliating, shameful contradiction to the aforementioned prosperity evident in the deplorable, sub-standard living conditions exemplified by government subsidized housing, in the slums, and ghettoes ruled by death, drug-addiction, and hopelessness. What is shameful is not that these neighborhoods exist, but what is shameful is that we allow them to exist. And in that, we have the cause for the death of Black Power. Self-absorbed affluence strangled the life from black, clenched fists once held high and an entire movement fell apart, never to rise again. Perhaps.
Yes, as long as we swam upstream in the white-foamed rapids of the Struggle, our resolve was unshakable, undaunted and formidable, but as soon as we made it to the glistening still waters of opportunity, we lost our focus. When we lost our focus, our connection to each other was lost and we found it acceptable to coexist with the ghettoes, as long as we had our non-ghetto piece of the American pie. Weak-minded males did more to destroy Black Power than anything that segregation or Bull Connor could ever have done, as when the fires of conflict waned, these scum found fulfillment beyond the fences of their own homes (incentivized in some cases, by the way).
Perhaps Black Power died because of its failure to adapt to new conflicts to a new Struggle, not with police dogs and water hoses, but against Jerry Springer, misogynistic Hip-Hop music, Jesse Jackson-like demagogues, and horrible education. Maybe Black Power died because we wanted it to, because we were tired of fighting and just wanted to enjoy being Americans and the fruit of our labor, as our forebears desired over the decades, even the centuries.
By the way, Black Power is not best exemplified by tightly fitting ebon gloves, leather jackets, and berets, no, but by families headed by men willing not just to die for those in his care but to live for them; by women dedicated to a higher form of integrity and duty, seriously attending their duty as first teachers to their children. Black Power is not allowing ghettoes to exist or to pollute our children's minds with a lifestyle that is not worthy of a people who have come from a proud, indomitable stock.
So is this a plea to resurrect Black Power? No, at least not as we once knew it. Rather, let us breathe new life into the Black Family for in it is the strength of the Black community and the antidote of the "ghetto state of mind." Fathers are needed who are disciplined enough to be husbands first as are mothers who view themselves too precious to circumvent marriage. The new Struggle is for the minds and souls of our children, and for quality education. The Family must be the weapon of choice or Black Power will forever be dead.

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