Ask Syl

Sept. 21, 2022

ASK SYL

R.V.R asks:

“With a perceived increase in America’s social consciousness and the rise of the Millennial’s “woke” movement, does political correctness hinder honesty in journalism?”

RVR: The topic has inched its way into my consciousness, R.V.R. I don’t think it has gotten in the way of me being honest. Not yet.

I wrote a commentary recently in which I referenced the N-word, more than once. It was titled “There’s a N***ga In My House. So it was a euphemism, but readers knew what I meant. I grappled with the notion that if they read the piece, they’d have to use the term in their minds. 

“Was it fair to make them do that?” I wondered.

By leaning in on the “honesty” part you mention, I decided to go ahead and publish the piece. I try to use good judgment, reserving the use of the word for a certain segment of our people. I think of my father, and olks I knew growing up and Black people who I know today. They would use the word when referencing thieving, raping and disgusting people of our hue.

The commentary was about a “brutha” who broke into my apartment while I was home and the word that popped out of my mouth when I confronted the bastard.

Yeah, I could have said “black dude” but, it would have been dishonest to call him anything else. The “woke” folk would surely disagree. In fact, a few wrote to say there’s never a good reason to use that word in today’s public discourse.

In a way, I acknowledge this to be true. I would have never written that piece for my former employer, the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, my current gig at the St. Louis American or for the BFBF newsletter (except in this case and as an example.). I wrote and published it on my own blog where I can take more liberties and no one has to deal with the blowback but me.

Your question, however, goes far beyond my work. “What does “woke” mean?” An online article published by NationalWorld last month (August) set about the task of decoding how language and phrases have evolved and the impact this has on mainstream conversations.

The writer, Rhona Shennan, describes the “old meaning” of the word as the “past simple of wake,’”as in to “wake up, or awake.” The new meaning, she wrote quoting Merriam-Webster is “chiefly US slang” as in: “Aware of and actively attentive to important facts and issues (especially issues of racial and social justice).”

Republicans, for the most part, have demonized the word for political gain.  Such is the case with U.S. Sen. Josh Hawley’s pandering use of “woke mob” to sell copies of his recently published book. In Republican speeches, tweets or talking points, the country is being destroyed by “wokeness.”

I don’t agree with their all-encompassing claims of dangerous “wokeness.” However, a part of me does subscribe to the idea that Millennial “wokeness” is unnecessarily impacting how writers, politicians, comedians and others communicate.  

Last year, I wrote a piece (again on my blog) titled, “I stand With Dave: And therein Lies the Problem.” The piece was about the backlash aimed at comedian Dave Chappelle over jokes about transgender people. Here’s a paragraph from that piece:

“I see a disturbing similarity between the so-called ‘woke’ crowd and Trump supporters who stormed the capital in January. Both, convinced of their ‘right-ness,’ feel they have an obligation to ferret out and destroy supposed offenders …and therein lies the conundrum.”

I urged the “woke crowd” to remember the McCarthy era when politicians accused people in Hollywood of belonging to the Communist Party. Many were blacklisted, fired, anf had their reputations destroyed.

I used that era, R.V.R., to speak to what you described as the “perceived increase in America’s social consciousness.” Change and evolution are good things, but in a world swayed by social media and political machinations, it can do great harm to innocent people.   

In the Chappelle commentary, I noted how comedians like Lenny Bruce, Richard Pryor, George Carlin, Mel Brooks and, yes, Dave Chappelle used humor to make “terrible things, uncomfortable things, controversial things…well, entertaining.” 

Maybe I’m just an old fuddy-duddy, but if there is no malice, no ill intent, no desire to spread hate or deny individuals their rights…well, no harm no foul. In other words, I reject putting limitations on what comedians say in the name of comedy.

I might be segueing away from your question about “wokeness” and its hindrance on “honesty” in journalism.  I hope not. I take great pride in the fact that my entire career, my musings, my writings are indeed honest.

Any writer worth his or her salt, should always consider their audiences. The rules shift according to where your work is published. Demographics hugely dictated what I wrote for the Post-Dispatch or currently write for the St. Louis American. 

However, I’m unsettled by the fact that I must intentionally overthink what I write because language and phrases have evolved or because I am anticipating kneejerk responses based on political or social media whims.

Until Next time,

Syl

August 23, 2022

C.B, whose father and uncle once owned gas stations in Kinloch, Mo., asked:

“Why doesn’t anyone ever talk about the atrocities that occurred to Kinloch and its connection to Ferguson? (Afterall) before there was Ferguson, there was Kinloch.”

C.B., I have either forgotten or never knew the connections between the two Missouri towns. But by Googling “Kinloch and Ferguson,” I was taken back to 2014 and the killing of Michael Brown, 18, by a Ferguson policeman.

Apparently, there was a quite a bit of talk eight years ago about the connections between Ferguson, Kinloch, and Brown’s murder. On August 19, just days after Brown’s murder, former St. Louis State Senator, Jeff Smith, wrote a commentary for the New Republic that spoke to the social and economic tragedies that befell Kinloch. In fact, Smith argued, it’s hard to understand what happened with Mike Brown in Ferguson if you don’t know Kinloch’s history.

Smith described how Kinloch, the oldest black town in Missouri, “thrived for nearly a century after its founding in the 1890s.” The Wright Brothers and President Theodore Roosevelt visited Kinloch Airfield. Newspapers shared images of a young Charles Lindbergh carrying out one of the first airmail shipments from Kinloch. There was also a streetcar line that ran through Ferguson and Kinloch where, Smith noted: “blacks and whites rode the streetcars as equals.”

But, by the 1980s, according to Smith’s account Lambert International Airport began snatching properties in Kinloch to build an additional runway.

“From 1990 to 2000, Kinloch shed over 80 percent of its population, and as the community fabric frayed, it was increasingly plagued by crime and disorder,” Smith wrote. Many of Kinloch residents displaced by the airport expansion project wound up moving to Ferguson. “Specifically, in Canfield Green,” Smith stressed, “the apartment complex on whose grounds Michael Brown tragically died.”

Filmmaker and artist, Jane Gillooly’s 2019 documentary, “Where the Pavement Ends,” devotes significant time discussing the literal roadblock (a cement barrier) that kept black residents from Kinloch out of white Ferguson. During a 2019 St. Louis on the Air interview, Gillooly, shared her thoughts about the wall that separated the two towns.

“The understanding that I had was that this was a way to keep people from Kinloch from entering that section of Ferguson, and it was clearly there to keep people from Kinloch from driving down Suburban Avenue as a cut-through.”

A modern-day analysis of Ferguson’s relationship with its black residents reveals how police and city officials viewed black residents as human ATM machines. While they were basically kept out of government jobs and services, Blacks were systematically targeted, harassed and heavily fined based on the color of their skin.

During their interview, St. Louis Public Radio’s Andrea Henderson asked Gillooly what kind of racial questions she wanted people to raise after viewing her film. Her answer was not only relevant in 2019 but it also speaks to modern-day implications:

“I think the kind of questions that people are addressing now, like housing segregation and income inequality and real estate steering. Also, the way certain parts of communities are allowed to decline, and other cities get investments and it’s not shared. I also want people to look at the tax structure and how it affects the school system unequally.” 

Filmmaker, storyteller, and content creator, Alana Woodson also produced a documentary titled, “The Kinloch Doc.” The film not only sheds light on the history of Kinloch, it speaks to the heart of a burgeoning community that, at its peak, had 6,500 black residents but has dwindled down to less than 200 residents today.

“The beginning of the word ‘Kinloch’ is ‘kin,’ so they regarded each other as kinfolk,” the filmmaker explained. “So even if they weren’t blood-related, they had a mission to support each other for whatever they needed.”

Perhaps the connections between the atrocities of Kinloch and Ferguson aren’t talked about much now, C.B., but it was an important topic in 2014. Many Ferguson’s residents, or their parents, formerly lived in Kinloch. Smith’s commentary and Gillooly and Woodson’s films a few years later documented a troubled past but they can also serve as starting point in discussions about race, equity, the role of government and justice. Because, after all, “before there was Ferguson, there was Kinloch.”

Until Next time,

Syl

July 15, 2022

Today’s question comes from K.W. who wrote:

“Do you think African Americans are paying enough attention or are as engaged with the Jan. 6 Hearings as they should be?”

Your question is timely for me. I’ve been consumed with the hearings and all the details they have exposed to date. But to be honest, KW., I’m not feeling like my peeps are as engaged as I am.

I haven’t looked at any polls or surveys to back up my gut feelings and, indeed, some of my black writer friends are up-to-speed on the hearings. The Black folk I casually chat with at bars, restaurants and other places have me concerned.

Mostly, I get the “if they were Black” responses-as in “if Obama did what Trump did, he’d be in jail,” or “if Black protestors did what the white rioters did there’d be dead Black bodies all over the Capitol grounds.”

These sentiments are probably true but, for me, they lack the necessary level of introspection on the danger Black people and voters of color face in future elections. The 2021 insurrection may be only the start of actions that threaten voters of color.

It boggles my mind that there is even a debate about the the sort of people who stormed the Capitol. Right wing pundits and politicians do not define them as rioters or terrorists. An ABC/Ispos poll, taken nearly one year after the violent attack on the U.S. Capitol, found that more than half of Republicans believe the rioters were “protecting democracy.”

In acts of sheer denial, Trumpsters have claimed the rioters merely held a peaceful protest in response to a fraudulent election. Some still insist the riot was orchestrated by leftists from Black Lives Matter, Antifa or even the FBI. Many claim that there are nonviolent rioters being jailed as “political prisoners” with the former president promising to pardon all if he’s reelected.

None of this purposeful nuancing was applied to Blacks during Trump’s presidency. In late 2017, the FBI’s Counterterrorism Division invented a new term for Black protestors called “Black Identity Extremists.” These Black protesters were considered possible terrorist threats to the United States.

After George Floyd’s murder in May 2020 prompted massive nationwide protests, White House aides, responding to the president’s wishes, drafted a proclamation to invoke the Insurrection Act against Black protestors. And, as revealed in former defense secretary, Mike Esper’s book, “A Sacred Oath,” Trump suggested shooting Black Lives Matter protesters outside the White House.

Keep in mind, there were no right wing or governmental calls to target white hate groups under the Trump administration even after August 2017, when white supremacists converged on Charlottesville, Va., boldly occupying the night streets with tiki torches and chanting: “Jews will not replace us!”

Watching the hearings should remind Black people of the fragility of their rights to hold peaceful protests. What if the FBI had scrutinized white extremists’ groups like the Proud Boys and Oath Keepers like they did Black protesters? If those groups were better monitored and if security was better prepared, perhaps the violent insurrection could have been prevented or at least the lives that were lost could have been saved.

African Americans and Latinos especially should take scrupulous notes on Trump and his allies who created a multi-layered plot to disenfranchise millions of voters. In nine of the nation’s most competitive states — Arizona, Florida, Georgia, Iowa, Michigan, North Carolina, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and Wisconsin — the number of Black Americans eligible to vote was at a record high of 30 million.

The Jan. 6 Hearings have highlighted the president’s efforts to challenge votes in some of those swing states with claims of voter fraud. Further research shows that most of the targeted areas were comprised of large segments of Black and Latino voters.

The hearings not only stress the need to hold those responsible for the Jan. 6 insurrection accountable but the urgent need to make sure Trump’s attempted coup never happens again in this country. 

A Democracydocket.com article titled, “Election Subversion is the New Voter Suppression,” noted how “Republicans in states across the country are already applying Trump’s 2020 blueprint to 2022 and 2024 campaigns by introducing 229 election subversion bills in 33 states. Some of these bills include dangerous precedents such as changing who is responsible for certifying election results on state and local levels and a wave of laws aimed at disqualifying otherwise legal ballots.

So, as I hope you can see, K.W., Black folk need to be paying attention, taking notes, holding review sessions, and plotting strategies based on what’s coming out of the Jan. 6 Hearings. There is too much at stake for us to be ambivalent, unconcerned or unaware of what happened in 2020 and what may happen as a result in years to come.

Syl

May 31, 2022

Today’s question comes from C.S.C. who wrote:

Since low profit margins are reasons given for not putting stores in food deserts, why can’t a nonprofit run a grocery store since Schnuck’s and others have limited interest? Is it just a matter of changing the model?

Great question, C.S.C. and the short answer is “yes.”  It is about simply changing the model. However, implementation is far from simple, especially as it applies to low-income urban communities where most food deserts exist in our region.

A network of well-funded, heavily resourced nonprofits is key in rebuilding and maintaining thriving disenfranchised communities. The challenges, however, are embedded in the words, “well-funded” and “heavily resourced.”

Secondly, there’s a cultural/psychological component that must be addressed.

I’ll use my own experience to illustrate these points.

The mantra of my life can be summed up by Nike’s “Just do it” campaign. In 1987, I started a publication, Take Five Magazine. I didn’t study the industry; didn’t raise enough money to operate and I had no experience in running a business.

I just did it.

In the same mode, in 2012, I started a nonprofit, the Sweet Potato Project (SPP).  Both endeavors were started because I recognized a need. Realizing my own ignorance about my people, my culture, our history, and Black politics, I dove right in without hesitation. It was great training ground for me as a writer but the publication never, ever, made any real money.

Before starting SPP, I’d worked with nationally known commentator Tavis Smiley’s book company. This was one year after Obama’s election. I found myself in the company of some of the nation’s top black thinkers such as Smiley, Cornel West, Minister Louis Farrakhan, and writer Michael Eric Dyson.

To my dismay, I found that none of these “thinkers” were working in concert with the Obama administration. The president had introduced initiatives aimed at rebuilding disadvantaged communities, but the black “thinkers” were either unaware or uninterested. They did nothing to inform, encourage or help Black people take advantage of these promising measures.

Recognizing this reality and another “need,” I started SPP with little to no knowledge about how to start, operate or sustain a nonprofit. 

The area that excited me most was aimed at food production in urban areas. I watched as well-funded, start-up nonprofits mostly run by whites took advantage of  Obama’s efforts. They secured abandoned properties and got the funding to  clean up waste and contamination, irrigate the land and then use it to produce productive, food-producing ventures. These agencies had the know-how, information, connections, and resources to make it work. Most were rewarded with positive press, government and business alliances and the public support to sustain their missions.

Of course, there’s a little nonprofit envy to my story but, in the end, I have no one to blame but myself. My mission: teaching young people to be entrepreneurs in their own neighborhoods now-not after college-was met with great enthusiasm. I was able to recruit and pay kids (ages 16-20) a weekly stipend for a good eight years. But it cost me dearly. First, I didn’t know I was employing the kids. I thought as a nonprofit, I could just pay them a stipend like the churches we were working with did.

Wrong! I wasn’t a church. After our first four years, Uncle Sam not only reminded me of that, but it also levied heavy fines and penalties against SPP, me and my board.  I was good with the kids, my curriculum was unique and fun but fund-raising, recruiting professionals and delegating aren’t my strong points. I’m a writer for God’s sake.

Eventually, maintaining the program basically alone became too much for me, no matter how good my intentions. So, in 2019, I had to give it up.

Back to your question, the potential for nonprofits is great, especially in the arena of food insecurity.  However, much work must be done to prepare future non-profiteers in poor neighborhoods to succeed. They must be walked through the process of leveraging government and philanthropic resources.  They must learn the power of nonprofits in instituting great change in marginalized communities. And, finally, they must learn the power of uniting around a collective mission.

Going back to my Obama-era experience, Black thinkers, politicians, and well-connected individuals must teach the language and create the opportunities for inexperienced, starry-eyed dreamers like me. They must be walked through the arduous processes of establishing legitimate nonprofits, creating, and maintaining effective boards, hiring employees, and adhering to strict government guidelines.

The vision of Maxine Clark, founder of Build-A-Bear Workshop is a big step in the right direction. Her new project, Delmar DivINe, serves as a workshop of sorts for non-profits, providing office space where they can collaborate with other organizations in a unique startup kind of  environment.

It’s a great idea that could lead to a bevy of nonprofits, like the grocery store you mention, C.S.C.  If SPP had such a resource, we would have been better prepared to succeed in the nonprofit bubble…maybe.

Finally, and probably most important, we must create political, social and media climates that recognize and support powerful, collaborative nonprofit missions aimed at rebuilding disadvantaged communities.

It is here where Black political leadership is necessary. I’m hoping that Mayor Tishaura Jones will lead the charge in this area. Jones has gotten my attention and support because of her commitment to shake up the model that funds community development. She’s sworn to enact “equity” in her plans to rebuild long-ignored neighborhoods. That’s great but it means absolutely nothing if the people or nonprofits in those neighborhoods fail to find opportunities.

Nonprofits can train people (especially young people) how to secure vacant land and rehab abandoned buildings. Under a nonprofit collaboration, politicians can push government incentives for first-time homeowners and entrepreneurs in urban areas designated for development.

Imagine such a vision for MLK Drive just north of the upcoming NGA (National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency) at Jefferson and Cass. Imagine politicians partnering with Delmar DivINe participants with a specific mission to set up retail, cultural and food-based nonprofit establishments in an area that’s soon to be populated by thousands.

I am aware that I come off like a wide-eyed dreamer. But C.S.C, if it’s like you say, “a matter of changing the model,” then that change has to start with a dream.

Until next time.

Syl

April 27, 2022

Today’s question comes from K.N. who wrote:

Although COVID does have an attachment to our body, do you feel that it is a spiritual battle as well? How can we point our people in a better direction to pass love and healing to one another and generations to come?

Great question, K.N. It aligns with a book idea I have involving a protagonist on a global quest to see if diet, spirituality, or religion had any effect on COVID infections and deaths. So, I just happen to have a few notes on the topic.

First, when you mentioned “our people,” I instantly thought about race and religion. I’m assuming you’re African American and, like me, you probably know people who put their complete and total faith in GOD to help them navigate the pandemic. As the COVID Fellow for the St. Louis American, I’ve interviewed many Black people who refused vaccinations based on their faith that God will protect them and their loved ones.  No judgement. Just a cultural reality.    

Since you asked about spirituality, I’m purposely avoiding a religious conversation. Religion is a specific set of organized beliefs and practices whereas spirituality, to me, is an individual thing that has to more to do with finding peace or a sense of purpose in life.

Back to the research regarding my book idea. First, I Googled countries that have not been adversely impacted by the coronavirus. The Cook Islands, Kiribati, Nauru, and the Pitcairn Islands are but a few. These islands are in south, central and western Pacific Ocean areas respectively. According to a January 2022 CNBC report, some small islands nestled in the Pacific Ocean have remained virtually Covid-free throughout the pandemic. The islands, according to the article, maintained “a long-term state of zero Covid infections” largely because they were closed “to all non-essential international travel,” and implemented strict quarantine measures.

The article didn’t, however, speak to the spirituality of the islanders. I did think this paper “Indigenous Traditions and Sacred Ecology in the Pacific Islands” by Rachelle A. Dickie spoke to our topic. Her opening paragraph caught my attention:

“For many primal religions, the land, sea, and all that exists are interwoven and interconnected in all of life’s processes. The Pacific Islands and their people survive within a reciprocal relationship held with the land and are a perfect representation of an interdependent existence.”

The thesis concluded thusly:

“The native peoples of the Pacific Islands find their love and respect of land imbedded into all aspects of their lives, finding history, beauty, and sustainability on every level. This perception has allowed them to live for generations in peace and health with the sacred land that surrounds them.”

To me, this is the perfect example of how spirituality can produce positive outcomes and healthy mindsets even during a global pandemic. It seems a truly spiritual person would take every precaution-not based on their own beliefs or teachings-but based on what’s best for those they love, know, or don’t even know. They are, as Dickie wrote, committed to living in “peace and health” with everything surrounding them.

In 1995, the World Health Organization declared “spirituality” an important dimension of patients’ quality of life. An article at JAMA Network spoke to how “shifting perspective, searching for meaning, obtaining fulfillment in compassion, and seeking the support of relationships” may address the spiritual needs of healthcare professionals, especially during the COVID-19 pandemic.

Doctors, nurses, clinicians, and others in the healthcare profession are on the frontlines of the pandemic. But they are human, too. Some empathize with patients who are experiencing pain, struggling to breathe, or dying in isolation?” The article notes how healthcare professionals experience “real grief” and how stresses related to political interference, risk of exposure, work overload, stubborn resistance to vaccines, coronavirus mutations, death in general and more takes a toll on their mental health.

The article stresses that the COVID-19 pandemic could encourage practitioners to “focus more on the process of healing patients, offering them relationships, compassion, and caring.”

K.N., I think this applies to all of us. A connection to spirituality may not mitigate the pandemic but I believe it can, as the article I noted, “help provide a path to finding (or rediscovering) meaning while facing disease and death.”  

I hope this answers your question or at least provides food for thought.

Until next time.

Syl

March 31, 2022

Today’s question comes from R.W. who writes:

What do you make of the media coverage of Cora Faith Walker’s death? Along with an outpouring of grief came questions, anger and bitterness.

It’s interesting how some questions here seem to come when the topic is heavily on my mind.  Your question, R.W., fits that mold. Not long ago, I was at a nearby gas station and a woman who knows me as a writer, started talking about the St. Louis Post-Dispatch’s coverage of Walker’s death.

“I think it’s a shame how they’re ruining that woman’s reputation just because she was a friend of the mayor. I mean she’s only been dead a few days,” the woman said.

I am honored that this black woman and other African Americans trust that I will give them the unfiltered, real deal about things that happen in our city. Therefore, I feel obligated to speak up when I feel Blacks are being maligned or misrepresented in the press.

That said, I have to admit that I had been trying not to form an opinion on the news coverage of former state lawmaker and St. Louis County official Cora Faith Walker. I must admit to being a tad biased and defensive. Decades of writing on Black issues and about Black people has left me convinced that white editors and writers cover Black people and Black politicians differently than they do their white counterparts. I find undue speculation and negative assumptions in the coverage and sometimes not-so-subtle insinuations of guilt before all the facts are disclosed. 

Already burdened with these feelings, I was instantly put off by coverage of Walker’s death on March 11.

My first thought — the normal thought — was how tragic it was to lose such a personable, popular, qualified individual at age of 37. Then the news, particularly the St. Louis Post-Dispatch’s coverage, seemed to veer off into Walker’s friendship with Mayor Tishaura Jones and the fact that she died after attending Jones’ 50^th birthday celebration party.  The Post-Dispatch, which has had a cantankerous relationship with Mayor Jones over the last several years, seemed to be heading toward tawdry territory. And the newspaper wasn’t alone in taking this approach. Other media and other politicians were asking questions that seemed ill-timed and inappropriate.

The Riverfront Times picked up on the vibe in a cover story authored by Ryan Krull, Rosalind Early and Ben Westhoff.   

 “Coverage of Walker’s death has increasingly moved toward that of a political scandal, including (yet unsubstantiated) reports of a federal investigation into Walker’s death,” they wrote.

The RFT noted that Republican County Councilman Tim Fitch who asked that the State Highway Patrol investigate Walker’s demise. This was necessary, according to Fitch, because of Walker’s “close friendship” with the mayor who has authority over the police. This, in the mind of Fitch and some reporters, constitutes “a conflict of interest.”

On social media, Fitch wrote: “Her family and the people of St. Louis County who employed her deserve to know the circumstances surrounding her tragic and untimely death and if any official misconduct or criminal acts occurred before or after her death.”

Wait, what? Who exactly does Fitch think committed, “official misconduct or criminal acts?” Why is this even a question? What fuels this kind of speculation?

Maybe it’s just me but let’s say an associate of former mayors Slay or Krewson died suddenly. I can’t imagine the press making wild, unsubstantiated allegations about that relationship or automatically assuming those politicians would try to coverup a connection to their associate’s death.

Apparently, it’s OK when the mayor is Black.

Defending the Republican politician’s call for an investigation, the Post-Dispatch, on March 22, published an editorial with a headline that boldly stated: “Questions abound in Walker’s death. It needs an independent investigation.”

It seems to me that the so-called abounding questions being asked are not from Walker’s family members or people who knew and loved her. They seem manufactured and are being propagated by a politician and the Post-Dispatch. These “questions” spring from the insinuation of presumed nefarious behavior involving Mayor Jones.

The Post-Dispatch also published a commentary from its Black editorial writer, the ever-opportunistic former alderman, Antonio French. To justify the newspaper’s coverage, French in his March 15 commentary, chose to target the mayor’s father and former comptroller, Virvus Jones. He’s the problem because he has a problem with how the media seems to be working tirelessly to create some sort of nefarious connection between Walker and his daughter. Jones Sr., who is brutally blunt and is no stranger to…let’s say…“colorful language” on social media, went hard at the Post-Dispatch and television reporters, also raising questions.  

To this, French wrote: “A message to Mr. Jones: Your threats and attempts to intimidate will not stop reporters from doing their jobs.”

I have a question for Mr. French: Are reporters really doing their jobs or are they engaging in age-old racist reporting?

I get it. French is a Post-Dispatch mouthpiece.  It’s difficult to go against higher-ups, like the editorial page editor, Tod Robberson, who seems to have a personal ax to grind with Jones. But, as a black voice on the P-D’s majority white editorial board, French is in the prized position to challenge stereotypical coverage.

That’s an unenviable task. I know. I remember how difficult it was to write columns that contradicted what other reporters, the editorial board or my dear friend and fellow columnist, Bill McClellan wrote.

Unfortunately, we still exist in a climate where “race” matters. The battle to provide balance and, sometimes, defend the reputations of Black people and Black politicians (living or dead) is still necessary.  It’s not a glorious job but I accept the responsibility.

I have to answer to the lady at the gas station.

Until next time,

Syl

Feb. 27, 2022

Today’s question comes from S.F. who writes:
“In addition to your long history of covering systemic issues like racism and inequality, you’ve written about vaccine hesitancy – which is at heart a yes or no question for each of us. Do you think journalists can change hearts and minds on a question like that?”

Your question is timely, S.F. Since starting with the St. Louis American, as the newspaper’s Deaconess Fellow in 2020, one of my primary concerns has been addressing vaccine hesitancy among African Americans. Exploring the roots of our mistrust and misinformation that fuels resistance is still quite challenging for me.

Why? Because as a black man, writer, and researcher, I share much of the mistrust many African Americans have toward white institutions. No, I don’t believe the virus was man-made to reduce the population, as many anti-vaxxers claim. I am pro-vaccine.

Even so, I had to tap into my own biases and preconceptions to address the topic. In 2009, after leaving the Post-Dispatch, I was hired as a researcher, consultant, and contributor to the book, Brainwashed: Challenging the Myth of Black Inferiority by Tom Burrell. Chapter Six, “Slow Suicide: Why Do We Neglect Body, Mind, and Spirit?” dove into the history of atrocities conducted on black people in the name of science. Today, many attribute black mistrust to the infamous Tuskegee syphilis study in which the the U.S. Public Health Service conducted a 40-year (1932 to 1972) experiment on 399 black men in the late stages of syphilis that deprived them of treatment and led to premature death.

But there are many more examples.

What I learned from working with Burrell was that much of our doubt is fueled by a history of race-based medical atrocities. What was not as well-known as the Tuskegee experiment were cases detailed in Harriet A. Washington’s book, Medical Apartheid: The Dark History of Medical Experimentation on Black Americans from Colonial Times to the Present.

Washington provided a painful 400-year account of the medical crimes committed against blacks that include colonial-era research to understand brain and body functions, the female reproductive system, and to test surgical procedures. She writes about the mind control experiments conducted on black inmates, mental patients, and misbehaving black boys (as young as five) who were forced to undergo “blind-cut lobotomies” between 1936 and 1960. She draws comparisons to contemporary examples, such as the court-ordered sterilization of mostly black women and girls in Baltimore, and the New York City fenfluramine experiment (1992 to 1997), where up to 113 black boys were cherry-picked and given the drug (later found to cause heart problems) so researchers could gauge their predisposition toward violence.

These cases along with more recent indifferent and cruel day-to-day in clinic settings reinforces mistrust in the medical system. Yet, the reality is that the world is in the grip of a major pandemic and black people are disproportionately getting sick and dying from COVID-19. I’m with the researchers who stress that the only way out of this crisis is through mass vaccinations.

For me, walking the fine line between my biases and my beliefs relies on being as upfront and honest about the genesis of those fears while stressing the value of our families, communities, and future of our children. My goal is to respectfully educate so my readers can make informed decisions.

Sometimes this means directly addressing misinformation, especially perpetrated through social media that metastasizes mistrust and puts people at even greater risk. It means dissecting and discarding COVID-related myths .I have relied on reputable information providers, such as the Shorenstein Center, which published: “Canaries in the Coal Mine: COVID-19 Misinformation and Black Communities.”

Sharing pertinent information relieved me of the role of being the all-knowing chastiser and gave me the opportunity to help people find information that would help them make the best choices for themselves and their families.

This takes me to the second part of your question: “Do you think journalists can change hearts and minds on a question like that?”

My answer is “yes” but I believe the potential to change minds lies in the reputation of the journalist. I’m humbled by the fact that throughout my 30-plus years of writing in St. Louis, there’s a substantial number of people who trust that I won’t misguide them, underestimate their power of reason, or compromise my commitment to be upfront and honest about issues of importance.

One of the greatest compliments I’ve ever received came from a self-described “White Post-Dispatch reader” who wrote to say: “You anger me, and I rarely agree with you-if ever-but you make me think.”

Therein lies my answer S. F., I’m not as much concerned with changing “hearts and minds” as I am with just providing enough substance to help readers think.

Until next time.
Syl

Today’s question comes from T.S., who writes:

“How has COVID affected journalism as a Black man in an already disadvantaged arena? Has it been easier to get the scoop or harder? Has it made journalists more inclined to follow pure truth stories even harder?”

Thank you, T.S. Your question made me reflect on my COVID coverage in the Black community. At the very start of the pandemic, Richard Weiss, founder of Before Ferguson Beyond Ferguson (BFBF), a racial equity storytelling project, set out to illustrate health disparities in the St. Louis region. He focused on the 63106 zip code area where there’s a documented history of disproportionate economic and health disparities for residents. 

I live in the Old North portion of 63106 just a block from Crown Candy Kitchen. As one of the project’s “storytellers,” I was asked to find folks who might want to talk about their experiences during the pandemic.

Not only was I able to write about folks in a disadvantaged arena, I wrote from where I live and where I lived for a short time as a boy growing up in the Old North neighborhood. In other words, I was writing from home. 

You asked if “getting the scoop” was hard for me as a Black writer. The answer is an unequivocal “yes.” Overall, I’ve found that Black folk aren’t eager to put their business out in the streets. My first BFBF assignment was a mother of two children who lived in the Preservation Square complex. Initially, she was cooperative and gave me a surprisingly honest, no-holds-barred narrative of life as a low-income single mom trying to navigate COVID restrictions in her and her children’s lives. But then, she ghosted me, not returning my calls for follow-up questions. I figured she had second thoughts about providing blunt commentary on her childhood and current life.

Shortly after working with the BFBF project, I was offered a Deaconess Fellowship with the St. Louis American. The foundation stipulated that they wanted narrative stories on how COVID has affected the black community. Being able to write stories that put faces and feelings on the pandemic is a writer’s dream as far as I’m concerned.

Wiley Price, the St. Louis American’s photographer, told me how difficult it is to shoot photos of Black people for stories. When he’s taking shots in public, like at a parade or rally, he said people often demand to know why he’s shooting their pictures or insisting that he not publish them in the newspaper.

In my COVID coverage experience, I’ve found that getting Black people to voluntarily agree to an interview is like pulling teeth. Most in high profile positions are down with it but ordinary folks are always resistant or skeptical of my intentions. I find that a healthy amount of cajoling or talking them out of their fears of going public is necessary. 

On the other hand, once I get them talking, I’ve found that somehow, I make them comfortable enough to share some interesting personal information. I think it’s just a matter of building repartee and trust, which truly humbles me and makes me appreciate of my role as a down-to-earth Black writer. 

Your question about a Black journalist’s challenges to “follow pure truths” also resonated with me. As you probably know there is a lot of skepticism based on how the country’s health care system has mistreated blacks. I’ve had to learn to balance my feelings between vaccine misinformation prominent in our communities with my belief that everyone should be vaccinated in this time of crisis.

I do my best to present the truth about the pandemic and dispel all the rumors and social media misinformation that validate the fears of Black people who are disproportionately impacted by the virus. I’ve come to understand that the mistrust sewn by the medical system is a real thing that needs to be addressed if we are to survive this epidemic and get a handle on health disparities in poor neighborhoods.

Your question, T.S., reminds me how lucky I am to be a Black writer at this time of boundless catastrophes. I can go into neighborhoods where people look like me and have shared some of my life experiences and tell their stories. 

My hope is that years from now when I’m long gone, another generation will be able to review my body of work on this pandemic and understand how we, Black St. Louisans, grappled with, succumbed to or rose to the challenges of battling the worst health crisis in more than a century.

Until next time,

Syl

Today’s question comes from B.F. who writes:

“How do you consider Black capitalism versus Black socialism?”

I love questions like yours, R. F., that force me to think. Honestly, other than assuming black capitalism and black socialism were cultural versions of white capitalism and socialism, I didn’t know they were actual movements. But, thanks to online sources, I educated myself to a point where I can answer your question…sort of.

First, a brief explanation of what I learned:

Black capitalism, the effort to build wealth through ownership and businesses, existed mostly among “Free Negroes” during slavery. The movement grew exponentially when slavery ended and gained a political arm as blacks entered politics.

“African-American socialism,” which emerged in the nineteenth century, was more political in nature. The economic and political theory revolved around the ideas that production, distribution, and exchange should be owned or regulated by black people. Socialist teachings, though challenged by black scholars such as W.E.B. Du Bois, also represented the potential for equal class status, humane treatment as laborers and something opposite and more equal than American capitalism.

Armed with limited research, I’m puzzled by your question: “Black capitalism vs Black socialism?” Why “versus?” Why not a hybrid of both philosophies with laser-like focus on fostering political, social, and economic power among black people nationwide?

Your question, B.F., took me back to a finite philosophy I’ve been preaching for the past 20 years: The only way for black people to rise above racism, poverty, and reach some semblance of “progress,” is through economic independence. In short, until we control our own educational, economic, and social systems, we will always be victims to the whims of white people and white power.

Thanks to you, I can add “Black capitalism” and “Black socialism” as needed ingredients to this 21st Century movement. In all honesty, there’s nothing new about this philosophy. Booker T. Washington, Marcus Garvey, Elijah Muhammad, Malcolm X and even Martin Luther King Jr. — to an extent — all preached some form of self-sufficiency and “do-for-self” actions as remedies for black social, economic, and political stagnation. Unfortunately, none were able to find common ground for their varying philosophies.

Their lessons, however, motivated me to start the Sweet Potato Project in 2012, a nonprofit aimed at teaching urban youth entrepreneurial skills through agriculture. Because everybody eats, I thought producing and distributing fresh food and food-based products was a viable means to generate community-based revenue and power.

Economic power, I reasoned, could translate into social, educational, and political power in other realms. Still, the cohesion absent in the days of Garvey and Dubois, Malcolm and Martin, is still missing today. There needs to be a clear, concise and do-able rallying cry and method with a means to action.

In my book, “When We Listen: Recognizing the Potential of Urban Youth,” I write about a national empowerment movement instigated by hip-hop artists, sports figures and black celebrities who are already promoting ownership and collective entrepreneurism through their lyrics, music and individual efforts to buy property and build businesses in African American neighborhoods.

Take away the competitive Black capitalism versus Black socialism, and we may have the historical pillars to create a modern-day movement with great collective uplift. A Black capitalist, Black socialist, Black empowerment, Black Do-For-Self movement could serve as a template for a national reparations program as it makes its molasses-like journey to fruition.

Thanks for your question, B.F. and for making me think and helping me dream.

Until next time.

Syl

R.N.S. writes:

I’m curious about your thoughts on how the Post-Dispatch has covered Mayor Tishaura Jones.

Your question is timely concerning the recent news that Alden Capital is making a bid to acquire Lee Enterprises, owner of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. Though I may be critical of some of the newspaper’s coverage, I value the P-D’s role in delivering much needed news in our region. From what I have read, Alden has a reputation for slashing newsroom staff and diminishing coverage of local news. 

As for the Post-Dispatch and its coverage, that’s a tough question for me. For those who don’t know, the newspaper tried to fire me before I resigned in 2009. The St. Louis Journalism Review did a pretty good account of the circumstances and event (click this link to read it), so I won’t go into it here. I mention this only because I’m concerned that anything negative I say about the publication may be dismissed as sour grapes.

That said, here we go:

When it comes to the newspaper’s mayoral coverage, I find myself vacillating between the black me and the black journalist me.  I don’t have any problems with the St. Louis Post-Dispatch’s reporters, but I do find the way the newspaper’s editorial board has covered Tishaura Jones suspect.  When she announced her candidacy for mayor in 2017, I felt the newspaper’s response was petty and spiteful. For example, the Jan. 21, 2017 editorial, “Bring the high-flying St. Louis treasurer to down to earth” reeked of sexism. In Mayor Francis Slay’s 16 years in office, I didn’t recall the Post ever going to the extremes for his use of “taxpayer money” to travel abroad, lobby, or his ability to profit off rich developers with downtown interests. There were certainly no calls to punish him or bring him “down to earth.”

As a black man, I accept that old mantra that black folk must be five times better than their white counterparts on the job. My black experience leads me to expect the white press to shift priorities, enhance scrutiny and go after high-profile black elected officials differently than they do whites with political power. My rule of thumb when seeing such articles or commentaries is to ask if the previous white politician received equal scrutiny. Most times, the answer is “no.”

As a black journalist, however, I’m obligated to go beyond suspicion and be factual. For example, in 2001, I wrote an exhaustive investigative piece for my publication, Take Five Magazine. In it, I compared the way the Post covered the term of former Mayor Vincent C. Schoemehl, Jr. (1981 to 1993) to the city’s first black Mayor, Freeman Bosley, Jr. (1993 to 1997). The piece broke down the number of positive articles vs negative articles, personal stories vs professional stories and positive and negative photos of both mayors. The results underscored how the Post’s coverage of Bosley was exponentially more negative, more critical and more scrutinizing than that of Schoemehl. The story was so persuasive that the late Cole Campbell (editor at the time) reprinted it in the Post. 

The point I’m trying to make is that I can’t definitively say the newspaper’s coverage of Mayor Jones is slanted or prejudicial because I haven’t done the necessary in-depth analysis to back up such a claim. It does seem that the paper’s editorial page editor, Tod Robberson, has an ax to grind with Jones. As comptroller and mayor, Jones has written commentaries accusing Robberson of racism, misogyny and even called him out for what she described as “toxic masculinity syndrome.” But this can just a tit-for-ta thing: she attacked Roberson because she felt he was attacking her.

Still, the editor sets the tone for the editorial board. As of August, the board consists of Ian Caso, 49, president and publisher of the Post, Kevin McDermott, 56, columnist and staff editorial writer and Gilbert Bailon, 62, the newspaper’s editor who oversees all print and digital news coverage.  Other adjunct columnists and board members include, former St. Louis alderman, Antonio French, 43, Lynn Schmidt, 52, a conservative/libertarian writer from St. Charles and Janet Y. Jackson, 71, a University City resident and former government worker. I haven’t seen anything from the editorial contributors that differentiates from Robberson’s slanted take on the mayor.

Take for example, the Oct. 21, 2021 editorial: “Cities are rethinking defund-the-police as solution as violent crime grows” The commentary goes out of its way to indict Jones as a proponent of the “defund the police” movement. I’ve always had a problem with whoever came up with the “de-fund” part of this movement. The effort is far more complex and layered than the buzzword implies. And Jones has specifically addressed those complexities. On her campaign website she wrote: “Defunding the police does not mean abolishing the police.” Jones went on to outline her desire to restructure the department and reallocate funds to programs aimed at preventing crime, like investments in substance abuse and mental health services and job training programs. 

Based on what it defined as Jones’ “progressive activist” base, the Post-Dispatch editorial concluded that she may be pressured to buckle under pressure and do something here in St. Louis that’s receiving pushback in other cities due to rising crime rates. For me, the editorial came off as patronizing, condescending and purposely orchestrated to foster a Jones vs the police agenda. 

To be clear, no political figure is above criticism or scrutiny. However, in St. Louis where the old, white establishment guard is still threatened by powerful politicians of color, I believe the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, especially its editorial board, is equally deserving of public criticism and scrutiny. 

Perhaps the possibility of new owners will lead to a shift in editorial priorities. With the looming threat of slashed staff and fewer resources, the daily should be focusing on its value to the consumer. Maybe, just maybe, the editorial board will put aside its petty differences with the mayor and focus on being a valued source of unbiased and fair news that all readers will support in challenging times. 

Until next time,

Syl

J.L. asks:

“How can a well-intentioned white ally help other white people who might be friends or colleagues to think more about racism if they are resistant?”

Good question, J. L. First, I think your actions should be determined by two variables:

First, ask yourself: “Why are they “resistant?”

Is it because they have been conditioned to accept or tolerate racism? If this is the case, you may not want to waste your time or energy on a racially toxic person. Their perceptions, most likely, have already been validated through friends, family, or alternative media. Engaging in this type of no-win scenario with such a person may rob you of your own peace of mind.

Secondly, ask yourself: “How good a friend is this?”

If it’s like you say, “A well-intentioned ally,” then, yeah, it may be worth your and his or her time to invest in a bit of strategic cultural enlightenment.

Take your time. Don’t be heavy-handed. Consider inviting your friend over to watch an informative movie or documentary like James Ballwin’s “I am Not Your Negro,” Spike Lee’s “Do the Right Thing” or screenwriter, Lena Waithe’s “Queen & Slim.” Of course, there are literally hundreds of books out there that delve into the topic of race. Ta-Nehisi Coates “Between the World & Me” is an excellent suggestion. 

Your goal is to engage your friend through thought-provoking vehicles that gets them thinking about the deep, engrained, historical layers of race and racism. At first though, keep the discussion light.

Start by trying to get your friend to place him or herself in the position of the other. Ask how they would feel or react if they were placed in a position of racial inferiority.

Use “values” as your talking point. Try breaking down the hypocrisy or myths of our supposed “shared values.” Does everybody truly have a “fair chance” in this society? This approach gives you the advantage of not directly or blatantly diving into the “race” discussion and can move your friend into a more solution-oriented position where he/she truly becomes and ally in the ongoing fight to dismantle discrimination.

Arm yourself and be prepared with counter narratives. This is not an attempt to be the better “arguer.” It’s your effort to show that you understand, and maybe even empathize with what your friend may or may not believe. 

Be prepared to counter myths that “racism” has died out and “classism” is front and center; that people of color are obsessed with the topic and blacks are “racist” for even raising the issue in these times.

Having answers to these beliefs at-the-ready will help you better navigate the stubborn terrain of misbelief.

Above all else, keep your ally in the solution-based arena as a “problem-solver.” Don’t focus on attacking their views. Try inviting them to join those who want a more fair, balanced, and equitable society-things that many of us profess we support.

Of course, the Internet has a plethora of go-to-places dealing with discussing and understanding race relations in this country. Last year, after George Floyd’s murder, the Harvard Gazette published “A Reading List on the Issues of Race.” It’s a great place to start in terms of books that can ignite great conversations.

A Google search on “documentaries about race and education” provided a long list of material ranging from the James Ballwin’s documentary to “The Birth of A Nation.” This can also guide you and your friend into engaging discussions.

In summary: Be you. Be kind. Be empathetic. Be a participant in the discovery process-not the antagonist.  I believe these are a few ways to melt your friend or colleague’s resistance and help them become a true ally in the fight for freedom and equality for all.

Until next time.

Syl

A.D. asks: “What can/should be the role of educators in facilitating and advancing conversations about racial equity in schools? What are the best resources for teachers and what good ideas and examples are out there?

Good question, A.D. I’ve heard it often from good, conscientious white people who sincerely want to make a difference when it comes to matters of race.

The easy answer is to go with your instincts and curiosity. I discovered invaluable communication methods when I ran the Sweet Potato Project, a nonprofit I founded in 2012 to teach urban youth entrepreneurial skills through urban gardening. Part of my goal was to get them to see, reflect and act on their surroundings, which, sadly, included how they are perceived in the larger society and how race information or misinformation impacts their lives.

The number one lesson I learned and want to share is this: “Let them teach you.” Get kids to open up — which admittedly can be difficult — and let their comments or concerns direct your actions or responses. Here’s how that played out in real life:

We started each day with discussions about things happening in the news. For example, in 2014, I had the tough task of hearing how they honestly felt about the killing of Mike Brown by a Ferguson cop. The feelings of anger, helplessness and hopelessness were overwhelming that day. First and foremost, I listened.  I didn’t try to teach. But, once I got them to open up: not only was it was quite revealing, their comments directed me in finding answers for them.

I brought in people who could address and offer solutions to their feelings about police brutality, being stereotyped and being treated as if they were “less than.” I was able to introduce rappers or celebrities who talked or sang about police brutality and race, and we had long conversations on the topic.

The key for me, was letting them feel like they had control over the topics. I was just a nonjudgmental facilitator of the conversation. That way, “race” or “racial equity” and solutions and remedies became topics of their choosing and not an assignment or directive from me, their teacher. My job was to provide resources based on their questions, answers and observations.

For example, I invited a well-known policeman, I believe he was a lieutenant with the St. Louis P.D, to come to my class and have an honest, no-holds-barred conversation with the students about what they can do to either avoid or report the behavior of bad-acting police. 

Now, it’s important to note that my students were between the ages of 16-to-21. For advice on reaching younger kids, I provide here a list of resources:

• Raising Race Conscious Children – a resource for talking about race with children
• Teaching While White – podcast and blog
• Teaching Tolerance – resources for educators
• Racial Equity Tools – a list of resources and websites
• Facing History and Ourselves – resources for educators
• Culturally Responsive Leadership – a list of resources
• EmbraceRace.org: – supports parents in raising children to be “thoughtful, informed and brave about race”
• Anti-Racism Resources for Educators – resources for educators
• We Stories – challenges white families “to re-think race and their role” in segregated communities

In summary, my advice is this: If you want to teach racial equity or race consciousness, allow yourself to be the student.  Let age-appropriate students (black or white) lead you to the valuable information and resources you can share with them. If you don’t know, find someone who does and has honed the gift of communicating this difficult topic with kids. It may be an educator, activist or even a well-intentioned cop.  

More about Sylvester: A native St. Louisan, Sylvester has been a journalist and social justice advocate since 1987 when he started Take Five Magazine, a pro-active, community-based, investigative publication. In 2001, the St. Louis Post-Dispatch hired him as a metro columnist where he worked for eight years on columns that were provocative, controversial and well read. In 2012, Sylvester began “The Sweet Potato Project,” a summer program aimed at teaching “at-risk” youth entrepreneurial skills. He is currently serving as the Deaconess Fellow at the St. Louis American.