You are not voiceless but are often unheard
We can change that together
May 2019 # 1
|
|
In This Issue:
Introduction and Purpose
Growing up black in 1933- Interview with Rev. Gil Caldwell
The Program by Mychal Mills
Where did the Black People Go? By Rev. Nicole Harris
This Heart by Naomi Burgess
|
|
This is the first issue of the
Asbury Voice
. You may have received it as a “link” from a group, an organization, a church, a school, a friend, a neighbor or a family member, or found it on social media. Keep passing it along, don’t let it stop with you.
We are in our infant stages as a publication and are in process. We are working towards creating an inclusive editorial board and are looking to spotlight the stories of the young, those experiencing homelessness, long term residents of Asbury, as well as those who are struggling because of the structural injustices of sexism, transphobia, homophobia, ableism, colonialism, classism, racism and its nephew: gentrification.
We often hear stories from each other that never reach the printed page. We believe there are critical stories right here in our Asbury communities that aren’t being told. We want to courageously share these stories, not by putting people down, but by honestly correcting misrepresentations of neighborhoods and people in Asbury. Our aim is to be both responsible and non-inflammatory. We are aware that this can be a fine line and we commit to operating with integrity and accountability as we share our stories. We depend on you to tell us what you want from us.
We are looking to publish the unheard voices of Asbury and the creative artists of the community--Hip Hop artists, poets, journalists and writers. We are anticipating that you will share your gifts, as we believe it will be because of you that our community may be able to listen deeply and be motivated to learn and grow.
We hope to honor the fierce love that James Baldwin spoke of, a love that is not weak or shallow, but a love that is about truth, freedom, and true racial reconciliation in the land.
Dr. King warned us “a riot is the voice of the voiceless.” We strongly feel everyone has a voice and we want our community to have the opportunity to be heard. We are interested in your stories and hope you will share them with us.
What better time than now? What better place than here?
Send your stories to theasburyvoice@gmail.com.
|
|
GROWING UP BLACK
IN 1933
This interview was conducted by Bill Stevens
on /3/29/19 at Rev Gil's home
What was it like to grow up black in 1933?
(Rev Gil) I was born in 1933 amidst the segregation of the south. I was born not in a predominantly white hospital, because they were segregated, but in a black hospital in Greensboro, North Carolina. All the places were racially segregated at the time, whether it was the hospital, the neighborhood, the public schools, the parks for recreation, or the churches. And that rigidity obviously shaped my life.
When did you first sense you were being treated differently than others?
(Rev. Gil) One of my memories of growing up in North Carolina, when I was about 6 or 7, was in a Five and Dime store in Winston Salem, NC with my preacher father who was making a purchase at the counter. And just as he was about to pay for his purchase, a white woman came up from the side and said in a very loud voice, “what do you mean serving niggers rather than white people?” And I remember my father just stepping back and holding my hand and waiting for her to be served. And that made a very heavy impact upon me. Not only the words, but the tone of the woman as she came up, and the way my father responded simply indicated that there was something wrong. And later I recognized the significance. My father was a graduate from College and was an honor student at the seminary. Then because he could not go to graduate schools in the south, as graduate schools were not open to blacks, he went to Syracuse University and majored in history, graduating in 1918 writing his master's paper on “Racism in the Church.”
My father was born in the south and my grandfather was born in 1863 when the Emancipation Proclamation was signed. He was born on the Caldwell plantation in Guilford County, NC and that was the time Caldwell became our last name. He was born into the slave environment.
Where did you go to high school?
(Rev Gil) My father was a methodist preacher and because of that he moved a lot. So we moved from Greensboro to Winston Salem and that is where I started public schools and continued to attend segregated schools in the south as we moved from North Carolina to Texas where my father was pastor of two churches and served as a campus minister. So part of my history is attending three racially segregated high schools in Texas and graduating in 1951 from the one in Austin, Texas.
And College?
(Rev. Gil)I attended College in North Carolina while living with my grandfather who was born in 1863 and took care of him. I would walk to school past that Woolworth’s store in Greensboro, NC which made such history because in February 1 in 1960 it was where the first strong sit-in was held. But I would walk past that store as a college student and wished that I could go in for a coke or something but I knew I could not. I finished college in 1955 but was pleased later hearing that the sit-ins took place there.
As a black college student in North Carolina, I would come north to work in Atlantic City and this was in the early 50’s and I did that for two summers trying to earn money for college tuition and it was there in the 50’s in Atlantic City that I worked in hotels, where I could not sleep as a guest and in restaurants, where I could not be served. That introduced me to Northern segregation, where I thought things would be different.
As I was moving towards ministry, part of my racist church history was that I was part of a student movement called the North Carolina Methodist Student Movement, which was an interracial group back in those days - very few blacks were involved. I had a wonderful time with those students and of course certain churches would not allow us to meet because we were interracial.
What remembrances do you have of your mother growing up?
(Rev Gil) My mother was not a college graduate but was an excellent secretary and she was the person who spurred me on to challenge the segregated system. She in many ways was partially responsible for my intentionality to become one of the few blacks in a predominantly white organization in the Methodist Student Movement. I attended a Methodist Camp in NC where we who were black were separated and could not use one of the recreational swimming facilities.
But my mother was quite active in the life of the Methodist Church and pushed quite hard. That was the time the Methodist Church was racially segregated and she was active in the racially segregated component of the Church. Clearly challenging racial segregation was one of her priorities. She would attend integrated meetings of the Methodist Church somewhere in the North, but even in the North there were restaurants that were segregated where she could not eat and hotels where she could not sleep. She would come back to our house to the dining room table at supper and talk about her experiences.
One of the things that help balance me was that she talked about how often she was refused service at the segregated restaurants in the north, that southern white woman would walk out with her. She talked about how there were white
persons who were clear advocate allies who stood up with her and that made a pretty important difference in my thinking as I heard her talk about not only racist whites but she also talked about the whites who were advocates of racial justice.
|
|
The Program
I am the program
I systematically download my instructions
into your belief.
You are a patriot of America,
the land of opportunity,
You have faith in anything I speak- let's call this
religion to make it easy.
You join our military to be all you can be,
You shed the blood of masses overseas,
to keep your country "free",
You are trained to terminate on sight
instead of to see,
You are the result of blind conspiracy,
Bullets mysteriously find their way to those who
go off shore to seek,
You served me well, my veteran,
Now go to the local soup kitchen to eat,
And don't forget to share your favorite war story.
I am the program,
I create your life in a playground box
to keep you in sync,
No need for you to think, just follow my instructions,
download complete
You are a G up in these streets,
You rap nursery rhymes over my beats,
Your women twerk half naked over my beats,
You rather buy swag than food for your kids to eat,
You allow my welfare system to feed,
More than just feed, I become their need,
To learn complacency and never bite the hand
that feeds,
Broken hoop dreams turned to dope fiends,
You sold your soul for the American slave dream,
You are limited by two, the blood and crips,
the red and blue,
But the only blue is when the police come through,
and gun shots stain red on you fools,
So blind, you claim to be against the man,
But you're become a mirror reflection of the man,
Wait, we went off command,
just take the welfare from my hand,
You served me well, my G,
now go to your local soup kitchen to eat,
And don't forget to throw Tyrone
a coming home party,
Rather than celebrate your niece's college degree.
I am the program,
Your life is predetermined from birth to the hearse,
My entertainment controls your total sense of worth,
You have inherited my gift as your curse,
You are the program...
From the Journey Inn
A place of Infinite possibility
Poetry and Passion
Mychal Mills
Co-founder of KYDS
|
|
Where Did The Black People Go?
by Rev Nicolle Harris
I ask this question in the literal sense not rhetorically or facetiously. I want to know where the black people have gone from Asbury Park. When I grew up in Asbury Park during the 80s and 90s the demographics of the city were completely different; not better or worse just different. Nearly 80% of the residents in Asbury Park were Black. Whether they were Black Americans or Black Immigrants, they were Black. Asbury Park was its own diminutive Chocolate City.
Chocolate City was the term affectionately given to areas with large African-American populations during the 1970s. These cities stretched the length of the United States and it can be argued that they were largely the result of White Flight during the 50s & 60s. A term that commenced the great migration of white people from racially mixed cities to more racially homogeneous suburban settings. Some of your well-known Chocolate cities were Detroit, Baltimore, Philadelphia, Chicago, Newark, NJ and of course Washington DC where the term was coined. But right here in the middle of Monmouth County there was Asbury Park.
I can describe growing up in Asbury Park like former First Lady, Michelle Obama described growing up on the South Side of Chicago in her Best-Selling Book
“Becoming.”
She described how the makeup of her classmates changed from primary school to middle school. When I attended Preschool at the YMCA on Main Start in Asbury Park in the early 1980s my pint-size classmates were white, black, yellow and everything in between but that quickly changed. By the time I entered 3
rd
grade only black and brown faces could be found in my class photos.
The eccentric thing about growing up in what was most likely the smallest chocolate city during that era was that we didn’t lack exposure to white and/or affluent communities. Clearly, we were nestled between Deal and Ocean Grove. We were a small tight-knit community of mostly working class families. Our city wasn’t perfect, but it was home. It was what we had made it, after the exodus of white residents.
It seemed evident to me that at some point in Asbury Park History the city had been more radically diverse. Photos of Asbury Park High School graduating classes from the 1950’s, 60’s, and 70’s showed a more blended populace. But by the 1980s Asbury Park had done what many cities did in the aftermath of White Flight and riots. We made the best of it. We created community. We owned homes. We opened businesses. There were dry cleaners, candy stores, restaurants, salons, barber shops and auto shops owned and operated by black people, because those were the people who stayed.
Now I always imagined that there would be a time when all the people would return to Asbury Park. That they would see the potential and beauty of the city as I did growing up here. But I never thought that it would come at such a high cost. I never imagined that some people would be pushed out, so that others could be moved in. And the people that were being pushed out were my neighbors, my friends, folks I had known all my life. Asbury Park now has a Black population of 42%, so I ask again “Where did the Black People Go?”
I could go into this whole spiel about gentrification and how it is basically reverse White Flight plaguing almost every Chocolate City in the country, but I would only waste the last few words in this article stating the obvious. I would rather use the final sentences of this piece to promote unity. A concept that communities such as ours continue to fail at. Asbury Park has become more racially diverse in the last 15 to 20 years, this is true, however at the same time, it has also become more segregated and divided.
Asking the question “Where Did the Black People Go” is not rhetorical or facetious, it is imperative! It is the opening question to a larger discussion. A discussion that would hopefully help us to discover answers that will assist us in being more unified and less gentrified. Are we so uncomfortable living amongst each other that one population has to be made to feel uncomfortable, for another population to feel comfortable? Does one group have to move out, so another group can be comfortable moving in? These are just a few questions from a concerned girl from Asbury Park. Concerned because it seems we still have not learned to live together.
|
|
THIS HEART
By Naomi Burgess
|
I’m feeling a little heavy from the overflow of life.
My energy can sometimes feel drained, feel low.
I’m dry.
Soul is cracked, from the outside cold wind.
Spirit not intact, from the negativity I let within.
Only one side of my brain functioning so there’s clearly an imbalance.
The other side shut down and numb.
My heart is banging, kicking, screaming to be released.
Naomi, why did you trap her inside?
Why did you starve your heart and leave her to die?
This heart, was operating on E, no gas in her tank.
This heart, was me, I was playing with fate.
Used to view This Heart like mixed up dried paint
As if there was no way to shine, there was no way to create.
But who’s to say that I was meant to
be
only one color?
My goodness, the
beauty
of mixed colors.
Experiences and circumstances dealt to her, like trophies and awards.
People
scraping
her insides, and then searching for more.
Use to use my teardrops for water to bathe in
Because I couldn’t grasp the concept of forgiveness,
I let it stop me from my greatness.
Recycling old habits, old thoughts and destroying my body
Using it as a canvas for every other man to paint upon,
But no room for me to create my art, to paint my own heart
Lost in translation.
Young Queen losing herself through the satisfaction of being loved
Needing the validation from external sources embracing her like hugs.
Innocence stolen at the age of 8 by a grown man
Mother moving in silence, claiming to do all that she can.
Being homeless like animals looking for shelter
Mommy scraping up the last of her change to feed her own daughter.
Dealing with the noise of Daddy’s alcohol in his system
Hearing his body talk back, crying that he missed him.
But poor daddy too caught up to come home to himself
Young daughter receiving the bad end of his terrible health.
Feeling unwanted, unloved, and worth nothing more than dirt
Young Little queen so conditioned to the hurt.
I took those experiences and put them in the dirt.
I dug my hands deep down and molded the hurt.
Turned it into clay, creating my artwork.
Found my voice through the silent wind,
Felt the temperature of my skin
Started to look within.
This Queen absorbing all the elements of life
Understanding the unity, capturing everything in her eyes
Storing it in her memories like a camera saves photos
Remembering the truth of who she is, letting it overflow.
This Queen.
This Heart.
Naomi performed this poem at the Open Mic for KYDS in Asbury Park at the Kula Cafe in March, 2019
KYDS has been such a major impact in my life and has brought me home to myself and help me overcome generational , ancestral and traumatic experiences. I will forever support the work they do and their contribution to our Community! Naomi
|
|
|
|
Did You Know...
That the
AMERICAN DREAMING, the new play from The American Poetry Theater,
will be at NJ Rep's West End Arts Center, 132 West End Ave. in Long Branch on
Saturday, May 18th
, for two performances--
2PM and 8PM.
The show deals with poverty in America. Tickets: General Admission $15 Reservations: Uly46@aol.com or 732-822-4338. Tickets can also be purchased at the door.
CLICK HERE FOR MORE INFORMATION
Georgetown Students Agree to Create Reparations Fund
Students at Georgetown University voted on Thursday to increase their tuition to benefit descendants of the 272 enslaved Africans that the Jesuits who ran the school sold nearly two centuries ago to secure its financial future.
Read More
Second Baptist Church
of Asbury Park will be holding our
Annual Community Day on June 15
th
from noon to 4 at the Springwood Ave Park.
We are inviting all business, community groups, non profits, singing groups and churches to participate.
If you just want to hand out flyers and spread good will that is fine. This is an opportunity to distribute information to everyone in the community. We will be giving away free food to everyone while providing bounce houses, face painting and games for all youth.
CLICK HERE FOR MORE INFORMATION
|
|
Stand By Me
Playing for Change
|
|
All articles we print are the experiences and opinions of the authors. An editorial board reserves the right to make any changes they deem necessary to submitted articles that will keep The Asbury Voice from any liability. Authors will be informed of these changes to give them the opportunity to change or withdraw the writing.
|
|
TAV Staff:
Derek Minno-Bloom, Rev Gil Caldwell, Dan Harris, Pam Lamberton, Jennifer Lewinski, Tracy Rogers, Felicia Simmons, Bill Stevens, and Charles Trott
|
|
Let us hear from you.
All comments and submissions are welcome.
theasburyvoice@gmail.com
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
