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Courtesy of Rob G.H. McCausland of Stop Big Media

She’s not your usual running mate to the presidential nominee. Absent from her career are the decades of big two political public service, gray hair, staunch power suits and the membership card to the good ol’boy’s club. Described as a Black Puerto Rican woman, she’s not your usual politician, but the Green Party is not your usual political party. Vice presidential running mate to Cynthia McKinney, the Green Party’s 2008 Presidential nominee, Rosa Clemente, a South Bronx native, is a Hip-hop scholar capable of speaking to the cultural influences of her generation.

            Born in the 1970’s, Clemente graduated from the State University of New York at Albany and Cornell University. Former president of her university’s Black Alliance and the director of Multicultural Affairs for her college’s student association, Rosa fought for such causes as the support for Puerto Rican political prisoners, independence for Puerto Rico, and racial intolerances in South Africa among many others.  

            Various labels precede her introduction such as hip-hop activist, scholar, journalist, entrepreneur and most recently, running mate to the Green Party’s 2008 Presidential nominee. It is her activism and the intellectualizing of Hip Hop culture that ushered her into her latest role.

            Her community organizing is partly responsible for forming and coordinating a Hip Hop convention that brought together over 3000 activists who worked to implement a national political agenda for their generation.

            Known for her cultural commentary, Clemente has written for various magazines including Clamor Magazine, The Ave magazine, and The Black World Today. Featured in such magazines as the Village Voice, and The New York Times, she’s also appeared on CNN and C-Span.

            As a wife and mother, Clemente created her own full service media consulting and public speaking production company, Know Thy Self Productions, which she developed to give young people of color a platform in which to be heard.

            Clemente’s persona as an intellectual stimulus will prepare her generation to ensure the rights of others and the betterment of this country.

A couple of of times a year I volunteer with a Phoenix, Arizona non-profit called Body Positive. The purpose of this organization is to support AIDS/HIV research and provide services to those affected by the disease.

From the outside looking in, this agency appears to have many affluent donors, manyh of whom lead alternative lifestyles. It’s been a long time since AIDS/HIV was considered a gay disease. However, many members of the gay community support the work of this agency.

Body Positive hosts many events throughout the year in the attempt to raise funds for AIDS/HIV research, clinical medicine trials and various services. Some of the events include a day of beauty at Rolk’s Salon, an upscale home tour and an annual fundraising gala with a silent auction.

For the last four years I have participated in the Body Positive Home Tour of Life. Essentially, the agency development director recruits various affluent residents who are willing to allow a parade of complete stranges to enter their home for six hours in order to view the lush landscapes and high-end interior design of their homes. Usually ten to twelve homes are arranged for the tour. Tickets are sold for $100 a piece with all proceeds going to fund Body Positive programs.

Every year the homes on the tour run the gamut from traditional to eclectic. One house had a shrine dedicated to Kachina dolls while another had a water fountain spraying from the rook into the pool off the side of a mountain.

The one home where I was stationed had belonged to one of the original American Airline stewardesses. Her route took her from Los Angeles to Japan and as a result, her house had heavy Asian influences in the decor.

I was stations at the door to greet the guests. Most of the guests were also middle to upper class business people and entrepreneurs. There were many designers and architects visiting the homes. During the day, a young African American man dressed in all black greeted me at the door. During the training we were advised to look for the proof of ticket purchase but not to actually ask for it. I didn’t see the ticket on this young man and as with other guests I did not ask him for one. In the few moments I greeted him I instantly knew something wasn’t right but at the same time I didn’t want to perpetuate the myth that only upper middle class white people would be interested in an event such as this.

I let him in but watched with uncertainty as he briskly walked through the house. A short time later, an older African American woman with a teen-aged girl and several young children greeted me at the door. It was apparent that they were probably accompanying the young man who had entered earlier. From the questions the older lady asked, it was clear that she wasn’t aware that the event was a fundraiser. In a short amount of time I determined that she believed thats she was touring an open house. All the while I was addressing this woman, the CEO/President of the agency had followed the young man to the back of the house. This associated group took a quick tour of the front of the house and left as the CEO was advising the young man he had to leave. After calling her a bitch in front of everyone present, he finally left. Shortly after, I learned that he had been in the back bedrooms of the house opening cupboards and closets.

After the group left, I realized my internal conflict. It was obvious that the group did not belong. Being African American myself, I wanted to believe this group had a legitimate reason for being there. Once they left, I wondered if the other volunteers who I had not met in the previous years of my participation would think these people were associated with me in some way. I also felt disgusted that this young person embarrassed himself and embarrassed his people when he was in fact the one trepassing. What kind of environment allows people to feel justified in attacking others who refuse to be disrespected? In that instant, that young person bowed down to every low expectation whites had about our people as a whole. In that instant there was truth in the stereotype.

Title: Happily Natural Day
Location: Richmond, Virginia
Description: Be part of a three day event! In it’s six year, Richmond, Virginia’s Happily Natural Day, hosted by Camp Diva, UNIA-ACL, Sisterhood Agenda among many others set out to focus on cultural awareness, holistic health and social change. Experience the products of African vendors, attend the workshops and listen to the keynote speakers. For additional information see http:www.happilynaturalday.com.
Start Time: 11:00
Date: 2008-08-30
End Time: 19:00

Title: 6th Annual Kansas City Irish Fest
Location: Kansas City, Missouri
Description: Enjoy the music, dancing and the food, but don’t forget your green attire. It’s not St. Patty’s Day but you still may get pinched.
For more info: http://www.kcirishfest.com
Start Date: 2008-08-29
End Date: 2008-08-31

            It had been a long week of doing everyone else’s work but my own. I hadn’t done much writing but had managed to keep up on my reading and the marketing of my first novel. In the back of my mind I strategized how to kick start my stalled second novel and briefly contemplated my next two online writing assignments.

                 It was an unexpected flat tire that taught me two important lessons and directed the day’s path to a situation that would give rise to my writing slump.

                 Over the last two years I have encountered several flat tires. It had been five to be exact, on three different cars. It wasn’t till the recent incident that I realized what the flats meant. While a huge inconvenience, the flats always seem to be discovered in safe locations and during a time when my life was moving in the fast lane, both literally and figuratively. The flat tires required me to slow down and take stock of my surroundings and my path.

                 This time, I had to stop putting off things that required my attention and maintenance—things like replacing my two bald rear tires, getting my cracked filling fixed and taking my car through inspection.

                 Well, Friday night found me at the Sears Auto center at my local mall. As I walked the mall’s corridors in anticipation of finding a bookstore to spend my time in wait for my car, I found many stores I had never seen before, but could not find the bookstore. I strolled along the entire top floor with no success, then I descended to the ground level only to come upon the vacant shell that use to B. Dalton Bookseller. My heart sank and I immediately went in search of the mall directory hoping there was another book establishment within the mall that I had yet to come across. Alas, there was none.

                 As a newly published author, the last thing you want to see is a mall with no bookstores. This finding or lack of one ignited the desire that had been smoldering inside me for some time.

                 The next day with two new tires and a positive car inspection report, I rewarded myself with a trip to a used bookstore. Before I knew it, I had spent three hours and $150 in the store.

                 What’s most interesting isn’t the amount of money I spent or the time it took to spend it. Most interesting was the selection of the books themselves. I picked up 19 books in all. The subjects included suspense, feminist critique, black feminist critique, African American history, erotica, writing reference, and women’s studies. The specific variety of my bounty was no mistake. I was transported to my college years where the only thing more important than studying literature or women’s studies was studying African American history. I recently finished an article on bell hooks (spelled with lower case letters in respect to the scholar’s preference). The research for that article bridged the gap between my interest in women’s studies and my interest in African American history. Being a black woman, the merging of these two subjects should have been obvious, but it wasn’t.

                 These occurrences resurrected my interest in African American studies and feminism, a platform that will give my literary voice the purpose I was seeking.

Who knew a flat tire could inflate my literary destiny.

Title: Golf & Tennis Challenge
Location: Carlsbad, California
Description: Join Black Enterprise’s 15th annual African American sporting event. The Golf and Tennis Challenge, hosted by Black Enterprise and Pepsi, is in its 15th year. There are several packages which include evening activities, seminars, workshops, and fitness sessions just for starters. Time is running out.
For more info check out: http://www.blackenterprise.com/begt
Start Date: 2008-08-28
End Date: 2008-09-01

       Over the last week or so, hair has been a running theme. Like many African American women, hair is a recurring issue in my life. I go through spells of trying to grow it out and episodes of impatience where I cut it all off. Tired of being in between hairstyles and trying to hold out long enough for it to grow past my shoulders, I found myself contemplating how to change it again. During this time of hair indecisiveness, I shared a meal with two bald men who expressed the reluctance to accept the loss of theirs.
       Each man, one African American and nearly thirty, the other Caucasian and a few years away from 40, shared how they came to embrace being bald. The younger one had vowed years earlier that he would shave his head the moment his hairline began to fade. The other gentleman shared his experience in the military and how the ritual of having his head shaved affected how the hair grow back from that point on.
       I listened as the men exchanged their scalp maintenance rituals in much the same way women share how they keep their hair shiny or what techniques they use to achieve the desired style. As I sat there with my hair clipped up off my shoulders, a sort of mock-baldness, it wasn’t long before the men offered to change the subject for my benefit, assuming I had nothing to contribute.
      At that moment, I took a chance in sharing the contemplation of having hair extensions added to my hair styling arsenal. Being a purist, anything fake, whether it is nails, boobs or hair never really appealed to me. My hair grows long, only if I am patience enough. Much to my surprise, these men urged me to abandon my pure hair bias.
         In prep for the transformation I visited a wig/extension accessory shop. Afraid to fully commit to sewn-in extensions, I resolved to get temporary real hair tracks that clip in among rows of my own hair strands. Waling into that store felt natural. It was a black owned and operated business. Being very successful, it was one of two locations the family owned. As my friend helped me pick out the hair, the other works asked why a black girl would buy clip on hair extensions. My friend reassured them that clips-ons were best for a hair extension virgin like me. They were struck by the idea that a black woman over thirty had never worn hair extensions before. My friend laughed, “Hell, she only started wearing fake ponytails over the last year.” Needless to say, I am not the usual customer at an establishment like that.
          That weekend with those wavy hair clips in place, I felt like a different person. I was more confident than before. I felt more feminine than before. Certainly, women with short hair are no less confident or feminine than those with long hair, but after having shoulder-length hair for so long, having hair that swung against the middle of my back affected how I reacted to others and now they reacted to me.
       While not real important, I noticed that the glances of men lasted longer and women of other ethnicities recognized the equality of my beauty in relation to theirs. In the workplace my knowledge lends to a feeling of power, but even that power was given a surge with my long wavy locks. No longer did I feel like a teenager with my hair pinned to the back of my head in search of an identity. Now I felt like a woman with purpose and a solid grasp of my existence.
     The last time I encountered these feelings was when I returned to work after having my hair cut into a layered bob. That cut conjured such feelings because I was no longer hiding behind my hair but I was willing to put myself in the forefront and compete. With long hair, I am still competing but embracing what a softness that long hair represents. This experience as well as the conversation with those bald gentlemen taught me that confidence and self-assurance have nothing to do with the length of hair or the presence of hair. It has everything to do with how we feel about ourselves and our hair.
      So whether I wear my hair short, long or enhanced with extensions, my power rests in how I feel about myself and how I project that feeling toward others.

       Being a writer and a lover of words, I was presented with another example of the importance of word choice. If you have ever used a thesaurus, you know that there are many different ways to communicate the same message. I am a little embarrassed to say that I did not pick up on poor word choice used in a story a fellow co-worker was relaying to me.
           Still being a part of corporate world, I was invited to attend a spring training event between the Angels and the Colorado Rockies. Although baseball is not really that interesting to me, I took advantage of the opportunity to socialize with my co-workers and play hooky from work for the afternoon. My co-worker who is a 28 year old Caucasian (his mother is a quarter Hispanic), homosexual was sharing with me how my recent accomplishment of getting a book published had inspired him to consider starting a memoir of his own. He’s certified to teach three languages, plus he has lived and travelled overseas.
             He was sharing with me some of his traveling experiences, including the absurd sense of entitlement many American exhibit when traveling abroad. We arrived at the topic regarding cultural diversity and he explained how he was in Utah during the month of February. He was well aware that February is Black History Month, however, he was appalled to witness it being referenced as Black Awareness month by a local Utah news station. I didn’t catch what he meant at first, until he explained, that we acknowledge Breast Cancer Awareness Month or AIDS Awareness month but not Black Awareness Month. I instantly saw the light. Those other awareness months focus on disease. Their purpose is to shed light on and education society about the affliction in the hope to save lives and spark preventative action.
      Being Black is not a disease, although it may sometimes cause dis-ease to others. The month of February isn’t about being aware of Black people. It is about recognizing and appreciating our numerous contributions to society as a collective people. This gentleman was so insulted, he went as far as sending an email to the station to make them aware of their error. He did receive a reply, but the respondent did not comprehend the point my co-worker was trying to make. When he sent a follow-up email to more explicitly address the issue, no further acknowledgement was given.
       Let’s look at the word “aware” more carefully. Aware is defined by thefreedictionary.com as follows:
              1. Having knowledge or cognizance 2. Archaic Vigilant; watchful

       It is defined at Merriam-Webster.com as:
                 1: archaic : watchful, wary 2: having or showing realization, perception, or knowledge

        To be aware of Blacks during the month of February is definitely not the connotation we wish to have associated with accomplishments and contributions we’ve made to society. Black History exists to honor those shining examples within our culture and community as well as to appreciate the strides our ancestors have made in laying the foundation for our current freedoms. History encompasses the good and the bad since we can learn from both. In that news stations choice of words when discussing Black History Month, they were encouraging the dark period of our history to repeat itself.

Title: Girlz Nite Out: Back To School Pamper Parties
Location: Chesapeake, Virginia
Description: Join the Design Essentials Salon System as they host a night of pampering for girls and their mothers. The purpose is to provide hair care education and support bonding between women and girls. There will be prizes, makeovers, food, music, giveaways and contests.
Date: 2008-08-26

      The interpretation of images is as varied as the people exposed to them. Perception of an image’s intent is often based on the individual’s experience and the analysis of that experience. I came face to face with this notion this week while watching the morning news. The newscaster’s teaser implored me to “stay tuned” to find out why many in the media and African American society were upset with the basketball star, LeBron James.
      Certainly I was intrigued as I could not imagine where this scenario was headed. After the newsbreak, the April 2008 cover of Vogue magazine was splashed on the screen. LeBron James and supermodel Gisele Bundchen were front and center. Gisele was long and shapely in a green evening gown, while LeBron was wearing a blue sleeve-less athletic shirt and matching warm-up shorts. The supermodel had a look of sheer glee while LeBron, who was dribbling a basketball and palming Gisele’s waist, displayed a powerful snarl. Opponents of the cover argued that the image perpetuated the stereotype of aggressive and dangerous black manhood. Many likened it’s symbolism to the 1930’s King Kong, where a huge black ape grips a fair maiden in one hand while growling and swatting at her would-be rescuers.
       Admittedly an ape, or more specifically King Kong, was one of the first thoughts that crossed my mind when I saw this cover. However, I was not offended. I marveled at how striking LeBron looked. In addition, there was something sexy about that image. After years of all the oppressive images of black people in general, I never want to see a black man in a position of subordination. Being a long-time spectator of basketball, I am well aware of the raw facial expressions these athletes make while driving to the hoop. To me, LeBron’s expression was nothing more than that. I was far more impressed by the image of power and aggression he displayed. When looking at this cover, it is LeBron who grabs your attention. Gisele is a mere after thought; a beautiful after thought, but an after thought nonetheless.
      Opponents argue that there were many other shots Vogue could have used for its cover, many fine shots which are displayed inside the magazine. However, if one of those shots would have been used, would we all be discussing this issue? The cover’s image also took away from another surprising fact. LeBron James is the first African American man to grace Vogue’s cover after over 90 years in circulation. While Sean “Puffy” Combs and Naomi Campbell appeared on UK’s Vogue in October of 2001, I could not find an instance of an African American man appearing on the cover of the U.S. version. Over the decades the covers ranged from abstract art often with only objects depicted to tarot card-like images to silly carefree snapshots and finally to glam-goddesses in every branch of the media/entertainment arena.
       There is an underlying objection to April’s cover that has less to do with the pose LeBron chose and more to do with what Gisele and LeBron represent together. Many on both sides of the racial coin are still uncomfortable with seeing a white woman and a black man together. Unlike the damsel in King Kong, Gisele looks elated with her partner, not terrified despite LeBron’s exaggerated snarl. Some feel it plays to the myths about the dangerous criminal minded black man and his desire to possess the white man’s woman. Interestingly enough the contrast between Gisele’s fair skin and LeBron’s ebony beauty was evident throughout many of the other pictures as well. Pictures of Gisele’s curvy five foot eleven frame dressed in white and LeBron’s towering six foot nine inch body dressed in black on the inside pages of the magazine played up their biggest differences. The contrast would have been more interesting if LeBron had been wearing white and Gisele the dark garb. Maybe the images would have then played upon the integration and perceived intimacy instead of drawing stark differences.
       Once I was able to look past the controversy of the ape stance and the interracial coupling, I became more intrigued as to why LeBron was the first African American male to be immortalized on Vogue’s cover in the first place. Nothing against LeBron, but certainly there were more debonair African American men that would have kept with Vogue’s fabulous fashion image. Names like Denzel Washington, Muhammad Ali, and Michael Jordan come to mind.
       This issue not only demonstrated our continuing struggle with cultural image and interracial intimacy, it also speaks to the conflict of gender identity. Gisele and LeBron are no doubt excellent representatives of their gender but does a woman always want to be depicted as a possession and the man as predator?
Vogue has brought to light many conflicting ideals with a simple picture. Isn’t that what we expect from art?