Our Newsletter is dedicated to "Justice".  Is there real Justice in America for African Americans or Just Us? Our Newsletter intends to have an honest discussion from the heart about this very topic; Justice, and what it means to Our Friends and Foes. Here is a way to keep this Newsletter going and Support Black Businesses too.  The great thing is you get to have some really great Merchandise.

 

 

It's my calling to be a "Drum Major for Justice".  When I was a little girl my father said, "if you don't learn from history, we as a nation are doomed to repeat it again, and with the election of Trump we saw his successful effort to destroy Democracy and to attempt to "Make America White Again".  We are propelling forward towards one Police Shooting of an unarmed Black Man or Woman away.  Our Justice System is not fractured, ITS BROKEN.  The Hope lies in it's not beyond repair. 

Yet, so many are in denial that it's broken in the first place. We are asking you to take a look around and open your eyes to the deep places you have not dared to explore. You know that place that has to admit that maybe your parents and grandparents were wrong.  My Father often told me about the many rainbows within the African American Nation and how all except one Sibling looked like me. 

The children when I was growing up asked me was, I was adopted because I was so darked skinned compared to my siblings. The final straw was when I was getting my Driver's License after all the stress and turmoil in getting my mother to let me drive in the first place.  My Birth Certificate was required and I was so elated because my mother let me have it on the condition that she travelled with it.

Well needless to say, "he asked me if I was adopted?" I asked him why he said that while on the edge of the police being required because I was about to blow a fuse. He showed me my Birth Certificate and it said, in black and white, that both of my parents were "white". It was my final decision after calming down a little and the shock wore off, I said let me go and get my mother and you ask her. 

He waited because she was right outside and when she came in, he asked her if I was adopted and not told. Well, my mother got pale and I got moving because I knew that look and it was never good.  My mother thought about it after he showed her why he was asking that question and she asked him if he knew history. She explained to him it could be that I was the first black child to be born in a segregated hospital.  The moral of this story is, sometimes it's good for history to be a "First" and sometimes it's a correction of things gone wrong in history, and being a "First" can be bad.  That Birth Certificate haunts me to this day with both my parents deceased it's difficult to get that corrected.  But my struggle continues.