nan · cy · ful. [nan-see-fuhl]
- adjective
1. indulging in or influenced by Nancy; "a nancyful mind"
2. characterized or suggested by Nancy
3. having a curiously intricate and delicate quality
4. based on fact, reason, and experience; in other words, keepin' it real.

Monday, June 19, 2006

Hope Walks

Yo, We at war
We at war with terrorism, racism, and most of all we at war with ourselves
(Jesus Walks)
God show me the way because the Devil trying to break me down
(Jesus Walks with me) with me with me with me

You know what the Midwest is?
Young & Restless
Where restless Niggaz might snatch your necklace
And next these Niggaz might jack your Lexus
Somebody tell these Niggaz who Kanye West is
I walk through the valley of Chi where death is
Top floor the view alone will leave you breathless Uhhhh!
Try to catch it Uhhhh! It's kinda hard hard
Getting choked by the detectives yeah yeah now check the method
They be asking us questions, harass and arrest us
Saying "we eat pieces of shit like you for breakfast"
Huh? Yall eat pieces of shit? What's the basis?
We ain't going nowhere but got suits and cases
A trunk full of coke rental car from Avis
My momma used to say only Jesus can save us
Well momma I know I act a fool
But I'll be gone til November I got packs to move I Hope

(Jesus Walks)
God show me the way because the Devil trying to break me down
(Jesus Walks with me)
The only thing that I pray is that me feet don't fail me now
(Jesus Walks)
And I don't think there is nothing I can do now to right my wrongs
(Jesus Walks with me)
I want to talk to God but I'm afraid because we ain't spoke in so long

To the hustlas, killers, murderers, drug dealers even the strippers
To the victims of Welfare for we living in hell here hell yeah
Now hear ye hear ye want to see Thee more clearly
I know he hear me when my feet get weary
Cuz we're the almost nearly extinct
We rappers are role models we rap we don't think
I ain't here to argue about his facial features
Or here to convert atheists into believers
I'm just trying to say the way school need teachers
The way Kathie Lee needed Regis that's the way yall need Jesus
So here go my single dog radio needs this
They say you can rap about anything except for Jesus
That means guns, sex, lies, video tapes
But if I talk about God my record won't get played Huh?
Well let this take away from my spins
Which will probably take away from my ends
Then I hope this take away from my sins
And bring the day that I'm dreaming about
Next time I'm in the club everybody screaming out

(Jesus Walks)
God show me the way because the devil trying to break me down
(Jesus Walks)
The only thing that I pray is that me feet don't fail me now...

- Jesus Walks, Kanye West


I watched "Dave Chappelle's Block Party" last night.  I watched it because I felt like God wanted me to.  I kid you not.  I mean, I know in a distant, cliche
kind of way that "God can use anything" to speak and/or minister to us.  I thought God wanted to give me a break because I was sick, had a stressful work week and just needed a good laugh.  I couldn't wait to hear me some Lil' Jon "WHAT?!" imitations and  dirty, racially-charged jokes. 

So, I'm laughing my arse off, silently praising God for giving Dave Chappelle such a freakin' crazy sense of humor, when Kanye begins to perform "Jesus Walks."  And all of a sudden, I started to cry.  Like, really cry.  Oh dear Lord, what the bloody is wrong with me?!?  I'm watching Dave Chappelle, there's a freakin' party on the television screen, people are goin' nuts waving their hands in the air and dancin', Kanye West is performing a rap song - and I start to cry?!?  Is it that time of the month? Am I PMS-ing?  Do I miss clubbing that much?!  Did I forget to take my happy pills?  (Kidding!  No "happy pills" in Nancy's medicine cabinet.   I just pop a lot of vitamins.)  I wish I could describe what I was feeling, the jumbled crowd of thoughts that were criss-crossing and intersecting and connecting and racing and running through my head.  As I watched the television screen, looking at the crowd of mostly Black people (honestly, I don't know how to describe the audience because "African-American" isn't necessarily the proper or best description - so, please forgive me), I suddenly realized how much we need, how desperately we need, HOPE.  

I've been reading the book Freakonomics; one of the authors, Steven D. Levitt, is particularly obsessed with studying crime.  By pure luck, he managed to hook-up with a psychology student who had lived in a Chicago crack- and gang-infested ghetto for a couple years when crack was at its peak in the '80s.  There are numerous studies and reports and analyses done on the urban poor; on the wealth gap between different minority groups and White people; on drug use in certain cities, certain age groups, certain ethnic groups, between different genders; on the education gap between certain minority groups and White people; on the vernacular, the habits, the lifestyle, the marriage rate, the birth rate, the abortion rate, the rape rate, the eating disorder rate, the single parenthood rate, blah blah blah blah blah....Any and every possible study you can think of to answer the question of inequality and "differences" between certain ethnic groups, between men and women, between certain socio-economic groups.  All these numbers, all these hypotheses, all these reports and studies, all these fellowships and scholarships and research grants awarded - I wanted to throw something at the book or throw the book at something; I wanted to scream.  F%#$ YOU!!!! Reducing somebody's life, their hopes and dreams, their nightmares and fears, their pains and their struggles, their insecurities and their realities, to a bunch of statistics and numbers. 
Mr. Levitt, it's a great book; interesting theories, well-written; and I will continue to read through your book.  I know that research is often done so that we can "figure out" the plight of "x" - the plight of the Black-American, the plight of the Asian-American, the plight of the youth, the plight of the poor, the plight of the Native-American, the plight of the Latino-American/Hispanic-American, the plight of women in America, the plight of "fill-in-the-blank" women in America; the plight of individuals with disabilities, the plight of the marginalized and the labeled.  But in the end, do any of these studies and reports, does any amount of number crunching, offer even a sliver of HOPE to them, to us, to you, to me?!?  A tangible, bleeding, pounding, fighting hope?

Towards the end of the movie, Wycleff Jean asked several members of the Ohio Central State University drum line, "What would you do if you were president?"  A young Black girl immediately declared that she would end the war and use the billions of dollars to give all the students in the drum line scholarships.  At that moment, I wished with all of my heart and all of my being that I had billions and billions of dollars in cold, hard cash - but billions and billions also in warm, heartfelt love - to give to all those students, to give to every person in the world who wants to see hope at the end of the tunnel and to see themselves victorious over the struggles, the pain, the insecurities and fears, the lies and the counterfeits.  I wished that I could tell every person who was afraid to talk to God because they haven't spoken to Him in so long, "I know He hears you when your feet get weary....He walks with you."

I know our money goes to the battles that we pick and choose.  Who's to say that one cause is greater or more worthy than the other?  The problem is, there are too many battles.  God, thank you so much for what Dave Chappelle did on September 18, 2004.  That block party was so much more than a party.  It was a sense of release, a sense of community, a sense of pride, and a ray of hope.  I needed a good laugh but, I needed some of that other good stuff, too.