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Jesse Jackson’s Relevant Moment

Been a long time since Jesse Jackson had relevance. Yesterday, he hit the nail on the head.

The Chumph, once again – showed his true colors. The idea the a Jefferson Davis Sessions led FBI “investigating” racists is a joke.

The Chumph and Sessions are the people who have diverted the FBI from going after white supremacist terrorist groups in the US. White supremacists and neo-Nazi groups have been ecstatic.

KKK Jeff’s reopening of the white right’s search for the non-existent unicorn of discrimination against whites, and renewal of the racist attack on Affirmative Action further fuels the fire of white racists.

Renewal of the “Drug War” and mass Minority incarceration of Minorities as a method of social control.

It ain’t really about what these racist POSs say, it is what they do.

 

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Bill Cosby and Ben’s Chili Bowl

Most major cities have a business or meeting place that becomes an “institution”. In Washington, DC that institution is Ben’s Chili Bowl. Philly and Cheese Steak. Boston and Clam Chowder…You are not a Washingtonian until you have consumed at least one of Ben’s famous chili half-smokes. Ben’s clientele crosses all color and ethnic lines, political lines, and economic status. Used to be two places in DC where the rich and powerful rubbed shoulders with the common folks – the old RFK Stadium during a Redskins game and Ben’s. The Redskins have moved to new, more egalitarian digs…But Ben’s continues…

Ben’s turned 55 year old this week, and some big names, including President Obama, Rev Jesse Jackson, and Bill Cosby turned out to grab a bite and celebrate.

 
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Posted by on August 25, 2013 in The Post-Racial Life

 

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Jesse Jackson Brings the Old Fire in Wisconsin

Jesse Jackson recalls Martin Luther King’s last days in support of Memphis Workers, and the March on Selma –

Jesse Jackson invokes Martin Luther King Jr. in a blockbuster speech to Wisconsin protesters

Jackson: 'I'd like to congratulate you for having the staying power to hang on.'On Friday afternoon, Jesse Jackson returned to Madison for the third time in two weeks to hurl thunderbolts at Gov. Scott Walker’s union-busting budget bill. Jackson gave a hastily arranged speech to city employees on the steps of the City County Building, invoking Martin Luther King Jr.’s crusade for Memphis workers just before his 1968 assassination.

“His last act on Earth was marching for workers’ rights,” said Jackson, who accompanied King during his final march in Memphis.

If Wisconsin workers were looking for moral authority to bolster their fight against Walker and the Republican legislators, they couldn’t have done much better than this.

Jackson was in town to meet with Mayor Dave Cieslewicz, who introduced him to the throng of people spilling out onto Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd. (What better street for this speech?) Wearing a trench coat and a determined expression, Jackson spoke forcefully for about 20 minutes, without notes, in his patented preacher’s cadences. He engaged the crowd in call-and-response, hoping to keep them motivated in this weeks-long battle with no end in sight.

“I’d like to congratulate you for having the staying power to hang on,” he said.

Jackson has clearly been keeping up on breaking news from the Capitol, judging from his intimate knowledge of the issues. He referenced the governor’s cuts to education and public transportation, his voter ID bill, and his proposal for selling off the state’s public utilities in no-bid contracts.

Most powerfully, he noted this week’s anniversary of Dr. King’s civil-rights march in Selma, Alabama, when another governor – George Wallace — stood in opposition.

“This is the weekend we marched across the Edmund Pettus Bridge for the right to vote in 1965!” he said.

And then, devastatingly:

“We’ve gone from Wallace to Walker!”

 

 

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Soledad O’Brien and Jesse Jackson’s Color Senselessness

Soledad talks about the war within the black community on color…

The Next Big Story’ from Soledad O’Brien

On this American Morning, I have an exclusive look at a man at least half the world admires. I feel like what he is saying speaks to me. I am energized, a new member of the quarter million people who joined him on the mall, and a new recipient of the grace he handed out in Selma.

Then, out of nowhere, The Reverend Jesse Jackson calls with an invitation to meet and talk and it brings my reverie to a halt. We greet warmly and sit. A young, clean-cut security guy hovers near by. He stays close enough to be summoned for a quick question but not close enough to overhear. I notice the china is clinking, like real good china. I have four small kids so I never hear that particular sound. The restaurant is on the first floor of a famous hotel and the place is nice. The Reverend Jackson begins talking in his strong Southern accent. His voice is very low. He says “call me Jesse,” but that’s something I feel like I cannot do. I am confident he doesn’t remember the first time we met. It was my job in 1989 to escort him through his live shots at WBZ TV around Boston Nelson Mandela’s historic visit to the U.S. I was his “babysitter,” the one making sure no other media plucked him away. He was our contributor. He whispers something. He is speaking so low I can barely hear him. I strain to get closer.

Even though I am not sure what he is saying, I can tell he is angry. Today he is angry because CNN doesn’t have enough black anchors. It is political season. There are billboards up sporting Paula Zahn and Anderson Cooper. He asks after the black reporters. Why are they not up there? I share his concern and make a mental note to take it back to my bosses. But then he begins to rage that there are no black anchors on the network at all. Does he mean covering the campaign, I wonder to myself? The man has been a guest on my show. He knows me, even if he doesn’t recall how we met. I brought him on at MSNBC, then again at Weekend Today. I interrupt to remind him I’m the anchor of American Morning. He knows that. He looks me in the eye and reaches his fingers over to tap a spot of skin on my right had. He shakes his head. “You don’t count,” he says. I wasn’t sure what that meant. I don’t count — what? I’m not black? I’m not black enough? Or my show doesn’t count?

I was both angry and embarrassed, which rarely happens at the same time for me. Jesse Jackson managed to make me ashamed of my skin color which even white people had never been able to do. Not the kids in the hallways at Smithtown or the guys who wouldn’t date me in high school. I remember the marchers behind me at the trial about the black youth/kid who beat the Latino baby. The folks that chanted “biracial whore for the white man’s media,” even they didn’t even make feel this way. I would just laugh. Biracial, sure, whore, not exactly, white man’s media, totally! Whatever. But Reverend Jesse Jackson says, “I don’t count?”

I am immediately upset and annoyed and the even more annoyed that I am upset and pissed off. If Reverend Jesse Jackson didn’t think I was black enough, then what was I? My parents had so banged racial identity into my head that the thoughts of racial doubt never crossed my mind. I’d suffered an Afro through the heat of elementary school. I’d certainly never felt white. I thought my version of black was as valid as anybody else’s. I was a product of my parents (black woman, white man) my town (mostly white), multiracial to be sure, but not black? I felt like the foundation I’d built my life on was being denied, as if someone was telling me my parents aren’t my parents. “You know those people you’ve been calling mom and dad — they aren’t really your parents. What?” The arbiter of blackness had weighed in. I had been measured and found wanting…

(more)

Sad…

 
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Posted by on November 4, 2010 in Black History, The Post-Racial Life

 

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The Reverend… Uhhhhh… And Freudian Slips

Not a good way to start an interview –

Tell us what you really feel!

 
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Posted by on October 22, 2009 in The Post-Racial Life

 

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