Black Babies and the Race for Hate

I am proud that I have again done one of my main duties as an American - I voted.

But I must admit.  While I certainly did vote for a candidate who I believe in in Georgia's U.S. Senate race, my vote was just as firm a vote against someone.   It's not what I'm happy to admit to because we should concentrate on voting FOR candidates and not against them.  Make no mistake, I did vote for who I truly want to represent me in Washington.  But I felt just as strongly when I voted against David Perdue.

Why?

His flimsy, party-oriented campaign against President Obama -- especially after he initially talked, or lied, about being a different kind of candidate during his primary campaign -- already was a huge turn-off. His same ole, GOP-talking, blaming points is the same losing strategy that Republicans refuse to understand is going to keep them as losers.  So be it.

But his latest attack ad against Michelle Nunn is the last straw for me.  Not because its an attack ad, because, unfortunately, that's how campaigns are run nowadays. And to be honest, he doesn't refute anything she said.  He "refutes" her claims by casually restating her complaint.  Okay, just plain changing her charge.

It's not even that silliness.  Its the black babies.

Look at this ad, especially at the 20 second mark. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uGbu6mH2AaE

It's a subliminal message, but its one he and others have used before.  Hell, they've used the same part of this ad before.

I'm sorry, but the whole idea that some little black babies, a lot of non-white young'uns, are taking over the White House, and basically our country, is the most hateful, divisive and anti-American sentiment ever.  Oh, there are a few white kids mixed in, but the scene in this ad is mainly a bunch of negroid toddlers.  This guy Perdue and his Republican haters couldn't wait to fan the flames of race-baiting hate by finding the three things they hate most - a frame with the black President Obama, the same frame with the Democrat he's fighting against and the next frame, a whole lot of black babies that they've made their base totally believe are the product of welfare mothers and any other black people stereotype they can drum up.

It's short, but its effective.  It's the kind of tactic that Republicans can't wait to pull out in their continued Southern-race-baiting strategy that they cling to in their pursuit of dividing this country along racial lines.  Solely in the name of selfish hate.

Don't give me any crap about the Al Sharptons and Jessee Jacksons of the world being race-baiters.  They don't create racial issues.  They jump on the ones created by hateful, racist people. Their only problem is that's all they ever seem to do. But honestly, I'd take them over some hoodless racist any day.

As for David Perdue, shame on you and your anti-American, hateful tactics just to get elected.  You are the worst kind of politician and the kind of "politician" who is torpedoing the true American spirit of the melting pot.

My Grandfather and I on April 8, 1974

Sitting in my grandparents home in North Nashville in the early 1970s a lot of times felt like being in even much earlier times that I had no concept of.  I wasn't even ten, but I grew up in the projects in Nashville, just a short stroll from downtown and its tall buildings and busy traffic.

But when I went to that house on 5th Avenue North, it felt much quieter.  Simpler.  Slower.

I didn't always like it.  In contrast, the house my cousins (five teenagers with big afros and crazy personality) lived in not far away was always full of life, music and laughter.   It was 70s alive.  My grandparents' house was what your grandparents' house should be.  Easy and peaceful.

I was sitting in a chair in my grandparents house on April 8, 1974.  It was early evening in Nashville. Channel 5 News had gone off (that's where Oprah was going to get her start on television a few years afterwards) and the Evening News was done too.  It was time for baseball.

My grandfather loved baseball.  Loved watching it.  Loved talking about it.  I don't know if he ever played or anything.  If he had, he looked like he would have been that spunky second baseman who knew exactly what should happen on every play.  Very sure of himself and pretty stern, but in a good natured way.  He would have been the team's leader.

But instead of playing, he watched.  And I loved that because I too was a huge baseball fan.  I've always loved all sports, from NASCAR to bowling, to the big three of football, basketball and baseball.  And I loved television and I loved watching baseball, especially with my grandfather.

So on April 8, 1974, around 7 pm central time, it was time for NBC's Monday Night Baseball.

It wasn't just a regular baseball night.  Every African American around then knew why the night was special, even if they weren't an Atlanta Braves fan (they were terrible back then).  I had two enormous sports heroes back then -- boxer Muhammad Ali (I cried when Leon Spinks beat him) and baseball's Hank Aaron.

I read every book on Hank Aaron that any 7-year-old could find.  I knew he batted cross-handed, with the wrong hand over the other when batting.  I knew he was from Mobile. I knew he played for the Indianapolis Clowns. I knew he was fast and strong, along with being black and hated.  But he was dignified and strong.  He was a strong, proud black man.  I suspect that's why everybody was tuned in that night.

This strong black man was about to erase one of baseball's greatest records, the home run mark set by the legendary Babe Ruth.  For many white people, that was a white's man record.  Interesting, as many see baseball as a white man's game.  I think many white people still believe its a white man's game.

But maybe an hour or so into this game, the white man's record was gone.  Aaron smashed a pitch -- from another brother -- over the left center field fence.  His 715th home run.

My grandfather said very little.  In fact, I don't remember if he said anything.  I just smiled. My hero beat back those racists who threatened his life for even thinking of beating Ruth's record and proudly crossed home plate.  I was smiling.

That's all I remember about that game.

Years later, long after my grandfather had passed, I was driving a golf cart to the Century Campus at Morehouse College where I work.  It was Commencement 2009 and a young woman and a heavy set older guy wanted a ride to the middle of campus for the ceremony.  I'll give anyone a ride, truth be told, so it was no problem.

But when Hank Aaron got in, I thought i was going to completely lose it.  I smiled though.  I told him that he was my sports hero and that my grandfather and I watched 715 together in north Nashville in 1974.  I told him that my grandfather really, really was a fan of his.

Graciously, my hero said, "thank you, I really, really appreciate that."

I'm sure my grandfather did too, sir.