WASHINGTON, Oct. 14
(UPI) -- Entertainer Bill Cosby Sunday said many ills in U.S. black families
can be traced to children raised without fathers, many of whom are
incarcerated.
Cosby appeared on
NBC's "Meet the Press" with Harvard Medical School psychiatry
professor Alvin Poussaint -- with whom he co-authored the new book "Come
On, People, on the Path from Victims to Victors." The Emmy-winning
comedian said children in single-parent homes often don't get the guidance they
need.
"If you
have this as generational, fatherless situation -- unwed father or whatever --
but the male is not there, then it registers on another person -- on the child
-- as abandonment," Cosby said.
One-quarter of
black American males reportedly are under the supervision of the U.S. criminal
justice system.
Poussaint said many
U.S. fathers "don't even know what to do as a father because many of
them grew up in homes that were fatherless."
"I think a
lot of these males kind of have a father hunger, and actually grieve that they
don't have a father," said Poussaint. "I think, later, a lot
of that turns into anger -- why aren't you with me?"
For sake of kids, society, dads
must step up
By ROBERT L.
JAMIESON Jr.
P-I COLUMNIST
VIOLENCE HIT HOME
this summer -- teen thugs at Third and Pine, gunshots that claimed lives on
city sidewalks, a barrage of bullets during a fracas near Pike Place Market.
What was behind
this wildness in Seattle?
Angry, rootless
young people who more than likely come from families in which their parents
either failed to instill positive values -- or weren't around at all.
But now, a group of Seattle scholars, justice officials and
church leaders are addressing issues such as violence in the community by
working to restore a fundamental unit of society -- the family.
That explains why
more than 100 people gathered this weekend at the First AME Church on Capitol
Hill. It was a wake-up call with a tough-love title -- "SOS: Dad, Where
Are You?"
Bottom line:
Fathers need to be a part of families, raise their children and provide
emotional and financial support. Otherwise, the negative cycle of wayward kids
falling to crime or becoming neglectful parents will go on.
"There are
ways you can come together and support your child, regardless of your
circumstances," King County Juvenile Court Judge LeRoy McCullough, one of
the speakers, told me during a break.
Standing at his
side was Margaret Spearmon, an associate dean at the University of Washington
School of Social Work, who echoed the importance of role models at home.
Saturday's gathering, she said, also was a way to show support for parents who
are "doing the right thing."
Their on-point
perspectives came the day before entertainer Bill Cosby took to national
airwaves. Continuing to keep the plight of young African Americans in the
spotlight, Cosby just co-wrote, "Come on People: On the Path from Victims
to Victors."
"For the last
generation or two, as our communities dissolved and our parenting skills broke
down, no one has suffered more than our young black men," the book states.
The book also
points to a statistic that captures the bleakness: "In 1950, five out of
every six black children were born into a two-parent home. Today, that number
is less than two out of six. ... There are whole blocks with scarcely a married
couple, whole blocks without responsible males to watch out for wayward boys,
whole neighborhoods in which little girls and boys come of age without seeing
up close a committed partnership."
Why is this
significant?
"Because
children need the guidance," Cosby said in an interview Sunday on NBC's
"Meet the Press." "Because the other parent needs help as
well."
His co-writer, Dr.
Alvin Poussaint, a professor of psychiatry at Harvard Medical School, said 70
percent of black babies are born to single mothers in the United States each
year, and studies show that the involvement of fathers with families is
important for healthy child development.
Which brings us
back to Seattle's First AME on Saturday, where experts offered a dose of
straight talk. Around several tables, the discussion centered on the need for
parents to stay involved in their kids' lives even if the mother and father
aren't together.
Several men
stressed the importance of an estranged couple not bad-mouthing each other
around their children.
"Boys see
this," one man said. "That's where they learn how to treat
women."
And one woman had a
reminder for other women to support the father's involvement: "My
ex-husband is not an ex-father. He's still my children's father."
At one table a
linebacker- sized man broke down and cried, describing the challenge of being a
good father and provider.
Seattle has
lifelines -- programs such as First AME's FRESH Start (Fatherhood
Responsibility Engagement and Services in Head Start) offer parenting classes,
job training referrals and counseling assistance. DADS (Divine Alternatives for
Dads Services) supports fathers so they can support families.
Cosby gets it right
when he says the glorification of gang culture and anti-intellectualism have
created a crisis, and now, dads are sliding away from personal responsibility.
But Cosby gets it
wrong by suggesting that people across the board don't care.
They do -- just ask those who sacrificed a sunny fall
Saturday to find a positive path and challenge the victim mentality.
P-I columnist Robert L. Jamieson Jr. can be reached at
206-448-8125 or robertjamieson@seattlepi.com.
Role models help rescue troubled teens
By Leonard Pitts Jr.
“I sure hope Timothy doesn't come to school today.''
It was when that
thought came to mind, says Frederica Wilson, surveying the faces at the
conference table in the Miami-Dade County Public Schools headquarters, that she
knew she had a problem. After all, she was a school principal, a black woman.
And Timothy was a student, a black boy. But Timothy was also a terror and as
she drove to school, she found herself hoping he wouldn't be there.
The thought shocked
her. If she dreaded Timothy, she says, how must her Hispanic and white teachers
have felt about him? And why was it every time she held a disciplinary
conference, it was for a black boy? Why were they the ones who always seemed to
be in trouble?
So she started
meeting with them, ''trying to find out why they were so angry and why they
were so disruptive and why they wanted to fight all the time.'' Then she
started calling men in to help her.
Fourteen years and
more than 15,000 boys later, Wilson is a Florida state senator and the
mentoring effort she started has become the 5000 Role Models of Excellence. It
operates in 91 Miami-area schools and claims better than 95 percent success at
keeping its boys out of trouble with school officials and the law.
Full disclosure:
Years ago, I spoke at a Role Models assembly. I think it's a fine example of
What Works. As in, my series of columns profiling programs that improve the
odds for black kids. Wilson and some of the Role Model men are joined at the
conference table by graphic evidence that their program works: boys who became
men under its guidance.
One of them is
Kionne McGhee. Child of a single mother, he was suspended 47 times, labeled
emotionally handicapped and learning disabled. Today he is an assistant state
attorney. ''The problem was, I was acting out because I needed a black male or
somebody that could relate to me,'' he says, as opposed to someone who
understood him only ``through theory.''
Police sergeant
Thurman MacNeal is one of 3,000 men who have trained as Role Models. As a black
cop whose interactions with black boys too often involve handcuffs, he says, it
can be ''discouraging because so many of these young men have so much talent
it's amazing. But because of other things that are going on with them and
because those talents are not being developed . . .'' The thought trails away.
''We have to start
somewhere,'' he says, ``and this program has allowed us . . . to make a
difference.''
The program is
funded by the school system and by private and corporate sponsors. Its
components are many: workshops; scholarships; a basketball tournament; peer,
group and one-on-one mentoring; and field trips, including to those opposite
poles of black male potential: colleges and penitentiaries. There is a Role
Model pledge, a Role Model hymn, custom-made Role Model athletic shoes and even
a Role Model tie. It bears the program's logo: large hands touching small ones.
Each boy wears one.
To be surrounded by
black men who are productive members of society, says Wilson, allows those boys
to envision themselves becoming the same. ``I believe children who have a
vision of themselves in the future have hope. And without a vision of yourself
in the future, you don't value your life and consequently, you don't value the
lives of others.''
It works, says
20-year-old Joseph Dubery, because 'it's not a pamphlet saying, `Don't do
drugs.' It's different levels you have to earn. You earn your tie, you earn
your shirt, you earn the right to say that pledge, you earn the right to sing
that hymn. It's constant achievement, constant mentorship, constantly people
watching out for you.''
Dubery, a med
student, should know. He used to be a Role Model boy.
You call it a "prank," but I call it terror
Leonard Pitts Jr.,
The Miami Herald
October 14, 2007
A history of rope -- and shame
A noose is left for
a black workman at a construction site in the Chicago area. In Queens, a woman
brandishes a noose to threaten her black neighbors. A noose is left on the door
of a black professor at Columbia University. Go back a little further and you
have incidents at the University of Maryland, at a police department on Long
Island, on a Coast Guard cutter, in a bus maintenance garage in Pittsburgh.
Mark Potok, the
director of the Intelligence Project of the Southern Poverty Law Center told
USA Today, "For a dozen incidents to come to the public's attention is a
lot. I don't generally see noose incidents in a typical month. We might hear
about a handful in a year."
Jena's
superintendent of schools famously dismissed the original incident as a
"prank." It was an astonishing response, speaking volumes about the
blithe historical ignorance of people who have found it convenient not to peer
too closely at the atrocities of the past.
But watching this trend unfold, it occurs to me that maybe
what we need is the opposite of ignorance. Maybe what we need is information.
Maybe what we need is a history of rope.
A history of rope
would have to include, in 1904, Luther Holbert and his wife, who had their
fingers chopped off and handed out as souvenirs. Holbert was beaten so badly
one of his eyes came out. It hung by a thread. A large corkscrew was used to
bore into the couple's flesh. It tore out big chunks of them each time it was
withdrawn. A rope was used to tie them to the tree.
A history of rope
would have to include, in 1917, Rufus Moncrief, who was beaten senseless by a
mob. They used a saw to cut off his arms and otherwise mutilated him. The mob
hanged Moncrief. Then, for good measure, they hanged his dog. Ropes were used
for both.
A history of rope
would have to include, in 1918, Mary Turner, burned alive in Valdosta, Ga. A
man used a hog-splitting knife to slash her swollen stomach. The baby she had
carried nearly to term tumbled out and managed two cries before the man crushed
its head beneath his heel. A rope was used to tie Turner upside down in a tree.
A history of rope
would include thousands of Turners, Moncriefs and Holberts. It would range
widely across the geography of this nation and the years of the last two
centuries. A history of rope would travel from Cairo, Ill., in 1909 to Fort
Lauderdale in 1935 to Urbana, Ohio, in 1897 to Wrightsville, Ga., in 1903, to
Leitchfield, Ken., in 1913 to Newbern, Tenn. in 1902. And beyond.
You might say the
country has changed since then, and it has. The problem is, it's changing
again.
It feels as if in
recent years we the people have backwards traveled from even the pretense of
believing our loftiest ideals. It has become fashionable to decry excessive
"political correctness," deride "diversity," sneer at the
"protected classes." Code words sanding down hatred's rough edge.
"State's rights" for the new millennium. And now, out come the
nooses. Just a prank, the man says.
Mary Turner would
argue otherwise. I find it useful to remember her, useful to be reminded of
things we would rather forget. To remember her is to understand that there is
no prank here.
A history of rope
would drown your conscience in blood.