Portfolio of an African-American Day Parade

A recent project of intimate and personal photos taken at Harlem's African-American Day Parade 2016

 

PRINCE IN A DAY

What happens when a community decides to throw a Birthday Party for someone who will only be there in spirit.

I Remember the Day I Died

I remembered when I had died.

That’s right I had died.

Not in the figurative sense.

Literally.

Dead.

No heart beat.

No pulse.

Stopped breathing.

Cold.

In the cradle of Dead.

Let me describe the experience.

It was like a weakening.

From all over.

My breaths had grown shallow.

My eyes began excepting a quickly approaching sleep.

My legs and hands grew heavy.

Then a shadow like cold,

slow but transitioning crept over me.

Then my words began to slur.

And in my fight to stay alive my eyes tried to capture the last images of a living world.

Sparks of blurred light danced around my body.

Later I was told that this experience was my body going into shock.

But it was more than shock.

Now I can call it beautiful

But then, it was consumingly bright.

And as the people who were present on the street gathered around me

I heard everything.

I saw everything.

And that’s when I knew I was dying.

You just know.

Like when the elderly say they’re going to sleep and it’s like different the last time.

Or when you walk out of your house and you know that it’s going to be one of those days.

It was almost like that but much more.

You see, my heart gently started to fade into the background noise of the world.

And finally I was cold.

Ice cold.

The blood that poured from my body no longer mattered.

Part of me thought that it felt good.

The sensation.

It was like singing the gospel before a pulpit of angles

When that shiver hits giving you those chills that run down the back of your spine.

And at the one exacting moment

My body felt warm.

In that moment, it wasn’t the sensation of my life flowing from my body that I sensed,

It wasn’t my pure essence flowing from me.

It was something else.

And all the while that I was dying in the streets of Harlem

I was living again in heaven.

And while part of me was calling for GOD to keep me safe,

Me bellowing to God to take care of my spirit,

To stop the physical pain,

There was a calming.

Like a second consciousness telling me to, “Shhhhhhhhh.”

And that’s when I closed my eyes one last time.

I closed my eyes.

And I was warm.

Warm like I was when I was in my mother’s womb.

Because at that point, I remembered what it was like.

Nurturing.

Healing.

Complete.

I heard everything.

The people on the street,

the crying of women,

radio and cell phones,

the police asking questions about what happened,

the ambulance coming,

the doctors testing my blood type,

hurried feet squeaking floors,

the metal and wheels banging,

the machines beeping,

the nurses clapping when they heard a heart beat.

But there was one thing that I remember more so than any other sound.

One voice.

My voice.

I asked,

“Can I go back?”

In my “No light at the end of the tunnel” state I asked GOD,

Can I go back?

And then I woke up.

Alive.

In my stay at the hospital I was numb.

Not from the drugs given to me to hide the physical pain

But from the fact that I was sent back to this simply by asking.

Why I asked to stay?

I still don’t know.

Why I was allowed to come back?

I don’t know.

But since my arrival I have noticed

every religious and spiritual person has been telling me what God has told them.

What they have heard from God.

Everything  according to God.

What I am suppose to do. According to GOD.

To Be.

To say.

To see.

What God had ordained for me and all of mankind.

But the words don’t sound like what I heard.

They don’t feel like what I felt.

The voice is different.

What I hear is like asking for directions and giving a recipe for Stir Fried Rice.

You know its wrong from the first word.

Preachers, and Popes, Ministers, and Muslims

They all sound empty.

They sound wrong.

Try as they might, they fall short of the voice I heard in my death.

It’s somewhat sad and comical

Cause none of these Motherfuckers have a clue.

No clue.

Not one fucking clue.

I walk along streets and see rows of dapperly dressed men and women

Noble men in black and white collars

Men draped in silk and embroidered gold

Staffs of reflective substance

Statues and Stained Glass images haunting and still

Halls filled with shouts , and hymns, the Negro spiritual ringing to the roof of  heaven

and I sense in it all great emptiness.

Oh my God, why is it so empty to me?

Why is it so hollow?

Absorbing?

Enveloping?

And people; week after week continue to feel good.

They feel rejuvenated.

But when I walk into those halls of holy healing

I feel sick.

I feel the opposite.

At home God talks to me.

No musical scales and screams

No preacher prattle

No reminders of Satan and his fall from grace.

No plates filled with the evils called money to be counted behind closed

doors by accountants.

Accountants dressed in Armani and Alligator shoes.

No overlapping calls of Amen.

No great book of by James or psalms upon psalms.

It’s the sun that rises in the morning to greet my opening eyes.

My breath that allows me to say, “Thank You” for another day.

The water that washes away a past life of guilt and sins

and refreshes me for a day of saintly thoughts, deeds and sanity.

It’s the wind that touches my face

And the earth underneath my feet that tells me what is right.

I may not have traveled a heaven

I may not have traveled 10 feet above the streets of Harlem.

But I see the stars more clearly now.

Angles held both my hands and my head on that night

And God had awaken me gently into a World that is still sleeping.

And  I know I am blessed.

Everyday. 

Why am I here?

I still don’t know

But I am here everyday of my new life.

Work is the sole property of Shazza Nakim and is published with written permission by the artist.

 (c) Copyright 2001 

LOOK AT THE BUTTS ON HILLARY

I held off on the whole political reviews for the front running Hillary Clinton and Barak Obama, but recent events have snatched me back to the pen and paper. The Clintons were in Harlem. Actually the Clintons were in Harlem for a while since Bill Clinton held down Prime Real Estate up on 125th Street since the summer of 2000. I know I keep going back to this day but when he arrived, the Black residents of Harlem gave him the Red Carpet treatment. Some of it was justified but in the back of my mind I had misgivings about the level of festivity and adulation given to one man. Even if that Man opened up opportunities for “all” Americans and we (Black People) were able to benefit from those opportunities as well.

“Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it”, was never so real for people in Harlem. I recall conversations and the Public Relations Hoolpa of the media when Bill Clinton was looking for his Presidential Office in New York City. As a community activist and political analyst, people usually looked to me as the Man who sees conspiracy in everything political, economic and social issue but the truth of the matter is, I base my opinions on patterns, stated and or proven actions and a talent for seeing the loopholes in government, laws and business that the so call "Professional Analyst" seem to miss..

The Congress rejected Bill Clinton’s original real estate interests, which was in the famous Carnegie Hall Towers in midtown Manhattan. The whole issue was one of sticking it in the eye of Bill Clinton as he exited the White House. You had a newly elected George Bush and Dick Chaney in office and a newly elected Republican majority in Congress who with all things Clinton were all about throwing him to the curb on on his Ass as quick as a Tsunami wind. To give Clinton his way for Prime Midtown Manhattan was not going to happen so to the rescue, Congressman Charles Rangel worked out a deal to bring Bill Clinton uptown to Harlem. The move was made, signed and dealt to the residents of Harlem. Once he began moving in the furniture, the PARTY began. The swooning and swaying of the gospel choirs, the podium preaching, flag and banner waving, picture taking and dancing, the bullying of how “we showed them” cheered made me step back with pause. In my mind I said, "Something ain’t right with this picture. You just don’t get something this BIG without a price".

Then I began to see the players, Charles Rangel, Adam Clayton Powell IV, Rev. Calvin Butts, Rev. Dr. Floyd Flake, C. Virginia Fields, Jesse Jackson and Jesse Jackson Jr., even attorney Johnny Cochran (may he rest in peace) got into the mix and many others positioning themselves for the windfall that was to come with ex-President Clinton's move to Harlem. Those windfalls came to Harlem in the form of 5 Billion dollars for Upper Manhattan (Harlem, Washington Heights and Inwood) as community improvements, Grants and Loans. Funds that were to create the Empowerment Zone, Minority Small Business Development Centers, Empire State Development Corp., Educational Improvement Programs, Early Child and Pre-K Schooling Programs, Home Ownership Programs, Minority Contracting Jobs for New York City Residents and Waterfront Property Development Bonds.

As Black and Brown people in Harlem, inspired to build upon the limited economics that the Clinton years brought to them and ready to apply it within their own communities with that of the additional economic stimulus package, began to collectively map out their strategy for change. Knowing that aid from the New York State and Manhattan governments consistently invested south of 103rd street, Harlemites prepared to wait in line to ride that ride of their American Dreams in Harlem with aid specificly for them and having the CHAMPION of the People to protect them. Unfortunately no one told Harlem citizens that the economic stimulus package was not for them but for those willing to come on board to expand and assist Downtown into Uptown and for those who are on the Winning Team to make this happen would received the benefits for making this worth while. At the expense of those that have the desire to PLAY FAIR, they hold on to the scraps and bones thrown to the side of the road.

The lists of Gentrifying Atrocities are a mile long and the players involved in making this happen have made great financial strides in building and solidifying their generational wealth at the expense of Harlem residents. The players range from the aforementioned to the wealthiest developers such as Donald Trump and Bruce Ratner (add Jay-Z and Michael Jordan to the list of Ratner investors) to Ford Motor Group, Columbia University brokering deals behind closed doors and expanding into Harlem by use of imminent domain arguments, and Large Corporate Retailers and those entrepreneurs loyal to Team Windfall.

Its what the facts are, political analysts have observed, demographics have detailed and all Harlemites have witnessed their diminishing numbers as residents since the ex-President's arrival to the neighborhood. Some would argue that the events post 9/11, the failing economy, the invasion in Iraq, crime and other socio-economic element have cause the down turn in Harlem. Not true. Harlem actually prospered more during the period of 2000 until 2008 but only for those within that Windfall Circle and under that Most Favorite Business status of the Empowerment Zone and the Clinton deal. So the numbers of Black and Brown residents out of the debate, the discussion, the investment and ultimately in the cold continues to grow with the excuse being the BUSH ADMINISTRATION.

Fast forward to 2007/2008 and you have Hillary Clinton courting the Black and Brown vote in New York City. Both Barak Obama and Hillary Clinton have campaigned in Harlem up on 125th Street. Obama in a rally on the stage of the Apollo and then with a quick bite to eat with New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg, Hillary accepting the support of Rev. Calvin Butts of the Abyssinian Baptist Church. For those who don’t know, the Abyssinian Baptist Church is to Harlem, New York and the North as Ebenezer Baptist Church is to Atlanta, Georgia and the South. Although I cannot speak to the leadership of Ebenezer, the people of Harlem can of the hording of opportunities; economic opportunities and favoritism consolidated by the Rule at Abyssinian such as its establishment of a Contracting Group, which hired NO HARLEM BLACKS and investigated for having illegals workers on the payroll. As Rule, which underhandedly ostracized the interests of the people, corporate and wealthy interests moved into Harlem from both the front door and back door with the tools of gentrification handed to them from those who were Charged with protecting the interest of its people politically and spiritually. Who is at the head of the Abyssinian Baptist Church? You will find Rev. Calvin Butts on its throne, the same Butts that had recently endorsed Hillary Clinton.

This is a problem, not only for me, but also for Harlem residents who are already swayed towards voting for Barak Obama. The notion of being burned again is unsettling for a people who are already fighting like Palestinians holding sticks and stones against tanks, jets and high-powered rifles. Now I know someone will read that last statement and call me anti-Semitic BUT since I am Semitic, its hard to label me that so my example STANDS AS IS. What that endorsement says to the people of Harlem is that, “Even with another Clinton as President, you will see even less coming your way and more in TEAM Windfall’s pocket”.

After the Rev. Butts endorsement, Hillary Clinton made a press conference outside the Abyssinian Baptist Church only to be received with Boo’s and Jeers. To the media it seemed as if the responses were those from anti-Hillary and pro-Obama supporters but they were actually anti-establishment and gentrification activist. This isn’t good, especially since the week prior, Hillary allied herself with ex-BET’ founder and CEO, Robert Johnson, someone who not only through his words and actions but how he does business, is insensitive to the very community he comes from. Yes, he may be an American Capitalist at its best and I will be the first to not knock any American for pursuing this way of life if your soul and spirit believes this to be who you are, but to advocate it with a smile while smoking cigars made of ‘greenbacks” leaves me with a chill and I would not turn my back on him for a second.

As I said about the John Kerry endorsement with Barak Obama, I feel the same for people like Johnson and Butts. Hillary should drop them and yet I know it will not happen. At this point the idea that BLACK voters are being lead straight to that same dilemma we have faced for decades and that being “voting for the lesser of two Evils” is becoming crystal clear and that taints the illusion of POWER BLACKS believe they have as the caucuses and primaries continue in America.

As a person who has not made a decision on the candidates, my Pros vs. Cons chart is all over the place on the support factor. While others are concerning themselves with Race and Gender (both are non-factors because Ageism is the real issue with Black Americans) I keep to my formula of “What are the issues” and “Where is your MONEY coming from?” The last question is so important it screams at you. Senator John Edwards in the South Carolina debate hammered this issue several times. Directing it at both Clinton and Obama, “people don't donate that much money if they do not want something in return.” John Edwards was refering to the money donated to both candidates from Corporate Lobbist (Hillary) and Hedge Funds (Obama). The same can be said for endorsement. It is not unusual to find CHRISTIAN LEADERSHIP promising Black votes for (financial) favors. The issue is those favors are only consolidated in house and behind closed doors and with their parishioners in mind. In the case of Harlem, if you are not down with Abyssinia and their Christians, you are pretty much Ass’ed out. And that’s what the Hillary endorsement meant for the people in New York City and Harlem.

Booooooo Hillary !!!!!