Soul Soundoff: From Gods to Coons

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Soul Soundoff: From Gods to Coons

maxresdefaultAs I sat in the back of the police car I couldn’t help but to historicize the predicament that I had found myself in this night in Sandy Springs, Georgia.

Here I was at 1:30am with my mother, aunt and female cousin coming out from a bar that just moments before had been sho’nuff getting down with some of the best live SOUL music that I’ve heard since the Anthony Hamilton concert in Los Angeles a few months prior.

As I went to retrieve the car I noticed that it was missing from where I had parked it! Had it been stolen? towed? Or did that last Strong Island have me mentally amiss? After inquiring at the establishment that it was parked in front, they assured me that they didn’t know but they then suspiciously handed me a “number to call” to “check and see if they have it”.  “Ahhhh, Ok” I thought, it’s towed. Not so cool but “better than being stolen” I thought. And as fate would have it here comes the tow truck to carry away another unsuspecting party goers car. Bastards!  Side Note: What a shit job! Who could really look them-self in the mirror knowing that their occupation is to make sure that people who probably just had a fantastic time arrive to an empty parking space in the middle of the night? (Right Livelihood my ass but I digress).

Anyway, to make a long story short I confront the tow truck driver and ask him where is my car. He refuses to tell me the address of the tow truck company where they are keeping my car (for God knows what reason,) so I do the only thing a sensible Soul Rebel can do in this situation. I stage an impromptu one-man protest……. in his truck…..with his keys……in my pocket… I call the police…..What?!?!? That’s what you would of done too!

However, before I finish the story I want you to watch this classic scene from Boyz in the Hood to help provide context for my conclusion:

Did you feel that? No, not the pee or the tears that were running down Cuba Jr. Did you feel the self-hate ooozing out of every pore of the ‘black’ cop? His deafening disdain for ‘self’ reflected back to him as a young black man was so palatable you could gag and choke on the sheer bitterness of it.

And so it was with the only “black” officer that responded to my call. He was not at all interested in the in the fact that I was indeed the one who called him, nor did he bother himself with the crucial details such as- a company that legally tows you car but then refuses to disclose the location of your car is actually stealing said car! Nah! That would of made the situation one that needed to be coolly negotiated so that all parties were satisfied and received remedy (minus my trip to the pound of course). No, his only concern was that I had the gall to hop in massa’s truck with all my uppity righteous grit and for that I needed to be taught a lesson, put in my place so to speak and he was just the coon to do it! (insert Samuel L.Jackson in Django).

In fact, the officer actually let these following words drip from his mouth “you probably approached him the wrong way in asking for his companies address”. Yes he did!  In one faulty-logic swoop he sought to effectively blame me for the the tow truck drivers crime (“what’s the matter boss? WE sick?). I was actually stunned by this gross logic and right then and there I made a confession to him that even stunned me in terms of it’s brutal openness and vulnerability especially at moment like this.  I said to him “Brotha, I was a bit nervous when I called the police cause you never know how these things will play out, however, when I saw your face in the sea of pale police officers I was instantly relieved not because I thought that I would find favor in this situation but at the very least I thought I would find some understanding. Yet, low and behold, you are the very face that loathes me and see’s me as criminal more than all the others here and for that I’m truly hurt.” My own naivety struck through my SOUL like a lightening bolt and I felt foolish and confused like a bee that has realized that the beautiful yellow bosom that he’s been nursing on is quickly closing in on him assuring his ultimate demise.

Thus, verily through my own painful personal experience on a dark Georgia night in front of my mother, family and the Creator I found out the real truism of the axiom: that the worst slave-master is the ex-slave.


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