What makes Mr. Imus different

I know that what Mr. Imus is being accused of is not something that he is the first to be guilty of in the mainstream media. Racially disparaging remarks and made and condoned everyday especially by members’ minority groups in the name of light heartedness and humor. The practice is deplorable; there is no doubt about that in my mind.

However one would be naive to push to the side the fact that the context in which this particular racist attack takes place is quite singular. Mr. Imus is not a comedian at some laugh-factory in Atlanta. He is not some rap artist pushing records on the street corner. Mr. Imus wields a kind of power only a very select few in this society have. His level of influence with the pool of people from which this country chooses its leadership is way beyond that of any of the 'usual suspects' that I have mentioned. When you call a group of girls attending Rutgers university "nappy-headed hos" and then have a prospective US presidential candidate come to your defense in the name of “believing in forgiveness”, you know you are at a level of influence that few ever reach.

With great power comes great responsibility. Mr. Imus must be held to a higher standard. Not because he is white, but because of the amount of influence that we have accorded to him. When he uses the term ‘nappy-headed’ and gets away with a slap on the wrist, it sends a message not only to the boy on the street corner, but to the men on capital hill that you can make disgusting, crass and racially offensive statements and escape the consequences as long as your sorry about it in the aftermath.

What is being advocated for is not the creation of policy; it is the enforcement of policy, Policies that were put in place to counter precisely this sort of incident.

Cellphones, Maxi-Pads and Other Life-Changing Tools

BOUGHT TO MY ATTENTION BY THE EVER AU COURANT JASON GOLDBERG

By THOMAS L. FRIEDMAN
Published: April 6, 2007

NAIROBI, Kenya


For decades, the world has asked: How do we free Africa from its yoke of poverty, disease and misgovernance? In asking Kenyans that question, I’ve been struck at the simple, common-sense solutions they offer. Four in particular stand out: transparency, telephones, Tergat and Kotex.

Naisiae Tobiko is a 28-year-old dynamo who grew up in Kenya’s Masai region. She runs a public relations firm, but when we met all she wanted to talk about was Kenya’s shortage of sanitary napkins for girls. Here’s why, she explained: Her family could afford to send her to school, where she thrived. As she got older, though, she started to notice something about the less well-off girls — they missed four days of class every month, “and I could not understand why.” When she finally asked, they confided that they did not come to school when they were menstruating — because their parents could not afford sanitary napkins.

“They would say, ‘How can I come to a place when I am bleeding?’ ” she recalled. “Some were using rags or soil or mud.” Because of those lost school days, many eventually dropped out. So Ms. Tobiko recently teamed up with the Girl Child Network and other N.G.O.s here and started a project in the countryside to distribute free sanitary napkins. They have targeted 500,000 girls, and so far have reached 189,000. More school days means more educated women and better mothers.

“We’re keeping girls in school,” said Ms. Tobiko. If women get education, “we want nothing else,” she added. “We will fight our way into every field, but we need the main key — which is education.”

Kenya first began holding multiparty elections in 1992, and its next national election is slated for December. (By the way, Kenyans love the fact that Barack Obama, whose father was Kenyan, is running for president of the U.S. since, they joke, someone from his Luo tribe could never get elected president of Kenya!) The field here is already crowded with presidential wannabes. But the most revealing conversation I had on this subject was with someone not running.

Vimal Shah owns an oil services company in Kenya, Bidco, and he was eager to tell me that with eight months until the election he had decided to make a big investment to expand his business. So what? I said. “People here never invest in the year before an election,” he explained. The fear is always that the new guy will change all the rules — often for his cronies. But Mr. Shah, like others here, believes Kenya’s evolution to democracy, with more transparent rules, has now reached a point where “even if the government changes, it won’t change the rules. The politicians can’t stop this.”

It is striking how just the little improvement in governance here can start a torrent of cash flowing in. But so could more cellphones.

Rose Lukalo Owino, a Kenyan author, told me this story: “I was recently in Ngutani, east of Nairobi. I was reporting for a book and interviewing these women who raised goats.” The women complained that for years they had been swindled by middlemen who would get them to sell their goats for a pittance, because the women didn’t know the price in the Nairobi markets. “But when I interviewed them, these women were holding so much money,” said Ms. Owino. Why? Fourteen villages got together and bought one cellphone, which they now share to check the market prices in Nairobi for goats before they sell. “They were talking to me about opening a microlending bank with their profits,” she said.

But Africa doesn’t just need more phone models. It needs more role models. I met one of the best here — Paul Tergat, the great Kenyan distance runner who’s earned five world cross country championships and two Olympic silver medals. Mr. Tergat recently won a contract from the government to promote anticorruption themes. For starters, he organized some of Kenya’s greatest distance runners to carry a torch from Mombasa to the Ugandan border. The torch represented a spotlight on corruption. Kenyans turned out to cheer them all along the route.

He used Kenya’s runners, Mr. Tergat said, because unlike politicians, when they win a medal it “is open, and genuine, and clean, and they practiced for 10 years to get it. The message is to say to young people, ‘Look here, you don’t have to be corrupt. You can do it if you are patient.’ ”

Add all this up and you have what impresses me most here: the way Kenya’s emerging democracy is unlocking Kenya’s best minds to find Kenyan solutions to Kenya’s problems.

I wrote this about a year ago for Wangari Mathai

Whispering Willows

I sit, staring out of the window
Looking past the willows,
Swaying in the mild and mellow wind,
Swaying like whispering palm trees,
Whispering soft calls for salvation,
Whispering soft sighs, longing for self preservation,
Whispering…
“I know he’s coming!
Can you hear him?
I know he’s coming,
Coming to cut me down,
To hack through my skin,
To watch me bleed and not care,
Coz it’s all right as long as no one stands and calls this unfair.

Wait! You can do it! You can be the one!
You can defend me
You can make him go away!”

I’m taken aback,
Unsure of how to respond,
Why me? Why do I have to do the defending?
I need defending!

I feel a churning in my stomach,
Feels like that ‘fear of the unknown’ kind of feeling,
That all too well known kind of feeling,
That ‘afraid to get up on stage’ kind of feeling,
Like that ‘how can I pick you up when I’m kneeling’ kinda feeling

I want to back out, back up,
Sit back, rewind, get out of the way,
Do anything but sit down, and stick this through,
Do anything but stay
I want to wait, at least until tomorrow,
Why??
Coz this isn’t easy!!
Its never easy, the walk to action is never easy.


I reminisce,
It was so easy, back in the day…
Yeah, it’s always easier back in the day
Why else would people sing song like
“Bring back those simple days of, yesterday…”
But is it really? I think not!
Coz when my eyes emerge from behind the veil,
And the smoke screen of illusion and fantasy is pushed aside
I see that yesterday is just as hard as today is just as hard as tomorrow,
Is just as beautiful as yesterday, today and tomorrow,
But the fact is, all we have is today
Not tomorrow,
Not yesterday,
Just today
I know it’s not easy
But as Nelson Mandela said
“There is no easy walk to freedom”

Scenes flash before my eyes
It’s the whispering palms again
They are speaking to me again!
This time not with words but through pictures
Pictures strung together with invisible seams
Pictures strung together to form scenes
Scenes too harsh and terrible to put back into words
Words lack the weight to express the hurt
Hurt so deep it threatens to drown me, leaving me aimlessly drifting into oblivion

I think I finally understand
Because now as I see the man approaching,
Wielding his axe high in the air, like a soldier ready for battle
I shudder at the thought of what I know I am about to see

The axe begins its ominous decent
3 NO! Don’t do it!!!

2 STOP!! You don’t understand!!!

1 STOP!!!!
BANG!!

I cringe as I see the axe sink six inches into the willow
And I hear the familiar crack of breaking bark and splitting skin
But alas!
The tree doesn’t bleed!
Instead, a steady stream of red comes coursing out of the mans side,
The blood is dark, as if tainted with sadness
I finally understand

So I turn back to the willows
Swaying in the mild and mellow wind, as the North wind bellows
Swaying like whispering palms that speak in my dreams
Whispering soft calls for salvation
Whispering soft sighs, longing for self preservation
I turn to them and say,
“I WILL defend you.”