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I was taping a television interview for a local TV station, and while off air, I made the comment that Blacks of my generation and education generally understand that to get jobs historically occupied by whites, we must excel in intelligence and in every way. A young, Black co-producer of the program was interested in that comment and others I had made on air. He shared with me his young, Black Californian perspective. Whereas, I have not thought of myself as aged, I certainly saw a world of difference in our views of how a Black person moves from point A to point B in this American society, whether in spheres of employment, education, housing, or others. As we talked, I also realized that the young man had a clear loss of historical memory, and I gained an appreciation of the consequences of that loss.

He was of the twenty-something generation and did recognize certain truths that every Black person is eventually compelled to see--Blacks have been or will be discriminated against solely because they are Black. But he saw no nexus between his having the job of co-producer and African Americans’ historical struggles for equality. His job, as he perceived it, was the result of having prepared himself and having acquired it on his own merit; therefore, there was no obligation that he felt to the race. I did not demean his qualifications for the position, but I tried to disabuse him of his notion that the sole sufficiency of his qualifications got him into his position of employment. I also tried to impart light on the historical dynamics of his having acquired his qualifications. And, finally, I tried to impart my view of the obligation he owes to others who paid unwarranted sums for him to have the rights he now takes for granted. I may have caused this young man to reconsider his reasoning on a subject or two, but he caused me to reconsider the need to look at this non-obligatory feeling that many Blacks have because they assume they have made it on their own.

My chance encounter with this young man made me realize that there is a loss of memory among many African Americans, young and old. For the young, this loss may be a result of an ignorance of their precarious social position, as they are moved further away from the painful history of African Americans in the United States. For older Blacks, this loss can only be a willing disavowal of a history they want to distance themselves from, often because of its pain or their shame and embarrassment about that history. This latter aspect is an odd twist of logic. The painful history of Africans in America certainly is not something they should be ashamed of. The pain was not self-inflicted then, as, seemingly, it is today. And in spite of the rigid afflictions and the systems of aggression that were set up against us, we rose.

If slavery is the focus of their shame, history will show that all people, at some point in their histories, have been enslaved in one form or another. Furthermore, the moral turpitude of this institution attached to those who engaged in it, not those who fought against it or were recipients of its harsh acts. But there is a national fervor coming from Black and white conservatives, encouraging African Americans to disassociate themselves from this part of their history and just move on. As if to just move on assures us that historical obstacles we have had to overcome will not encumber us again. It is the painful part of our history, which many are exhorting us to disassociate ourselves from, which has given us the impetus to move on.

A few years ago, a flap occurred in Oakland when a number of Castlemont High School students were viewing the movie Schindler's List and laughed at the depiction of Nazis killing Jews. To those Jewish citizens in the audience, the high school students' laughter was very painful. While it is true that most students of that age are often insensitive to the pains of others, these citizens were, nevertheless, offended by their behavior. The consequences of these children’s inappropriate laughter were taken to a crescendo—Steven Spielberg came into town to teach on the Holocaust, apologies were requested, numerous other activities took place, and I was asked by a colleague to talk about the matter with her college class. I discussed a number of issues related to that incident, but the issues related to this article are these.

There were two anomalous activities at work in that incident. First, the Jewish citizens in the theater were in too much pain to realize that children laugh at most things they do not understand and that their laughter was of ignorance and quite age-appropriate behavior for them. It had no profound meaning that betokened anti-Semitism, and it was of no lasting import for them. It was what silly children, and some silly adults, do when they do not understand a matter and are with friends. Certainly, it never should have been a flap in the first place, and it never should have reached the level of a request for an apology.

Second, and most important for this discussion, the sad truth is this, these young Black people were so far removed from their African American history, they did not realize the afflictions depicted in that film were also a depiction of many of the afflictions they should have identified and empathized with, since their fore-parents suffered similar fates. Because they had a loss of memory, they laughed.

We generally know that the farther one gets from his/her pain, the less empathetic he/she is toward others who are similarly situated; the closer one is to his/her own history of pain, the more one is appreciative of another's pain. In this instance, the loss of memory of those young Black students brought about a needlessly painful incident in a city that has relative racial comity. But the problem has more profound and harmful consequences to the black community directly than that incident, and that problem is not simply a high school level problem. It has moved up to an influential level in our community.

Today, African Americans spend one half trillion dollars a year, primarily outside of Black businesses; we are approximately 37 million in numbers; we have over a million businesses; we are judges, politicians, teachers, publishers, writers, doctors, engineers, chemists, millionaires, and all that America is. We are in all spheres of influence in this society. But in spite of the broad overlay we have in this society, there in an anomaly that is a part of slavery's legacy, and it must be corrected.

Any people having experienced slavery or oppression normally will cling to each other as a result of their comradeship generated by affliction, especially while still haunted by adverse societal behavior. This behavior is a safety mechanism. They hug each other, they love each other, they congregate with each other, and they support each other because they know that they are a threatened people and their strength comes from their closeness and support. But for many African Americans, the exhortation of those who encourage them to willfully forget their historical afflictions, or simply take no time to learn about them, is tragic.

Certainly, while the field remains unequal, and excessive obstacles are still in our way, there should be a coming together to ensure survival and prosperity. The hugging, the loving, the helping, the vigilance, all of these are still in order. Indeed, the cost of our freedom and opportunity is more than mere vigilance. But the anomaly that exists among a number of Blacks who have moved to positions of influence is this: too often they think that they have arrived at their positions solely by their own strength, without the help of other Blacks. Therefore, since nothing has been given to them, nothing is owed to anyone, but to themselves. This thinking is shortsighted, illogical, and selfish.

The truth is, we build and travel on our history, and our history encompasses more than ourselves. James Baldwin said, "History is not about the past. It’s about the present. We take it with us; we cannot escape our history." It is through the prism of our history that we see the world. What was done in the past and the present affects us now, whether directly or indirectly.

For six years, I was the administrative head of a Juvenile Court, under the late Presiding Juvenile Court Judge Wilmont Sweeney. At that time, the number of young Black males coming into the Criminal/Juvenile Justice system far exceeded their numbers in society and bespoke to a most serious problem, unless something was done. After returning from a conference, at which a Black sociologist explicated the statistics of the crisis among our young Black males, I was alarmed and propelled into action. I did not personally feel threatened. I was secure; I had a good job, I was well educated and could always get another job, or make my own job. But our young Black men were running off a cliff and something had to be done. Our scholars had sounded the alarm, and I was in a position to make a difference with the facts they gave me. Judge Sweeney and I had a long discussion, and I remember saying to him, "Judge, it’s not enough for us to just adjudicate; we are in a position to make a change; we have to do something."

The judge was not above or beyond his community and its afflictions. He knew that he owed an obligation to help, to use his position as legitimately as he could to help a people with whom he identified and knew he was a part of, regardless of how far he had come. He called 50 prominent Black citizens together, and we met for six weeks discussing the issues and ways to approach them. From that beginning, we started actions that are ongoing today. And from some of those actions was born the Gibbs Community Foundation, as an offshoot.

At that time, I had taken several degrees from three universities. While studying, there was no one but me. By my long hours of painful study, and by my intellectual power, I forced the halls of academia to allow me into their scholarly club. The Black community was not there with me; I did it myself! Or, did I? The answer is unambiguously, NO! I did not do it all myself.

My very entrance into those large, prestigious institutions was the result of help I received—of course, once in the institution, I had to go it alone. But had it not been for the struggles of Black people whom I never knew personally, the doors of those institutions would be closed to me even today. Martin Luther King, Jr., noted that the privileged do not give up their privileged position easily, it must be demanded. And all those who have struggled for freedom and dignity know the statements of Malcolm X, Huey Newton, and others: "Power concedes to power, only upon demand."

When Blacks were completely shut out of the systems of this society, for which their dollars were being taken to support, the demand was made on privileged power by educated and uneducated Black people I didn't know. And that demand resulted in many of them spending years in prison, their families being killed, and many of their lives were taken.

They did not personally know me, but they knew that I was shut out of the system. They knew that little Black children in Louisiana, in Mississippi, in California and New York, and across this nation were being harmed; they knew that those children had minds that would shine, were they given the same chance, not a greater one, that little white children were being given. Those Black people paid a dear and personal price for me and for all other Blacks now enjoying positions of education, power, influence, and wealth. That is a history I am proud of, not ashamed of! And that is also a history that obligates me and every African American alive to return and build a legacy of returning to a community that has a long history of giving back and giving itself for others who are without strength.

During my education and on all jobs I have held, I have always tried to be cognizant that my opportunity was the result of others. I stand on the backs and bodies of Black people who have paid dearly for my entrance; and I am on the shoulders of my parents, who worked harder than normal for my opportunities; and I am also on the shoulders of all of those who have had to bow their heads to heads not worthy of them.

I had to master the challenges that the fought-for opportunities brought me--each person has to individually master the responsibilities set before him/her. But doing it all myself—no, I didn't do it all by myself. No African American or anyone else does. The chain of causation between those Blacks who paid so dearly for the opportunities and rights I presently exercise still remains intact.

This generation, with its vast wealth and prominence, can terminate the chain that binds us to that obligatory history only if it develops new initiatives that supplant the old ones. For African Americans to sever the links of obligations, actions must be taken that satisfy and supplant those obligations. Just as the Civil Rights movement supplanted the Freedom Movement, each generation must make its mark, supplanting the past.

There can be no simple disavowal of one's past without an acquitting of oneself. To simply adopt the destructive notion that we should separate ourselves from our history is a mistake concocted to render harm to a people already harmed. It is this anomalous acceptance of a flawed philosophy that has taken root in a number of Black Americans who have risen to their positions without a regard for the pioneering work of many Black people gone before them.

Too many in positions to return back to the community, without endangering or violating their positions, seemingly prefer to disavow any obligation the African Americans’ Civil Rights struggle claims on them. The actions they will not take to assist Blacks, they gleefully take to assist others. This behavior is not, however, new; our fore-parents who struggled for our freedom knew about it, but being in the throes of the battle, they were powerless to address it during their time. Yet it is an issue that must be seen and corrected today.

The story of Esther is an appropriate analogy to bring this discussion to a close. Esther was the wife of King Ahasuerus, who ruled a kingdom that spanned from India to Ethiopia. Unaware of the plotting of Haman, the King had unwittingly signed a decree that would kill all Jews, confiscate their property, and also touch the very King’s household. Insulated in the King’s house, Esther felt no personal harm and did not considered any obligation she had to the Jews because of her Jewish heritage. But her uncle, Mordecai, petitioned her to help save her people. And in that petition, he issued a warning: if she did not help, help would, nevertheless, come from another source, but she would be without help.

If those who have risen to positions of influence now disavow their obligation to return back to the community, or have not recognized any obligation to share with their community, that community will find help from other sources. It could be, however, that some day, those now in positions to return and assist their community, and do not, may need the help of that community they have not now regarded.[]

Frank A. Jones
7.25.05