‘Black boys becoming men in a world they didn’t make, but which they have memorably shaped’
I borrow a quote from Michael Eric Dyson, as my title of this week’s article, author of 19 books four of which are New York Times best sellers. The focus of his work is on facing truths of Black life in the fundamentally racist society of the USA that has lessons for elsewhere. The quote is taken from his review of a memoir by Ta-Nehisi Coates, titled The Beautiful Struggle (2008), where he outlines his journey from youth to manhood in Baltimore, USA. He provides detail of his own experience of being parented as a child, having a violent father who was deeply conscious of his history as a Black man in a world that refused to acknowledge his humanity which profoundly adversely affected him, and tried in his own way to prepare his son for life on his own from the age of 18 years as that was the age his father stated Ta-Nehisi Coates would be when leaving the parental home. Not by choice but by edict.
Ta-Nehisi Coates’ father had four female partners throughout his married life, considering that he was entitled to freedom to do so, and they remained part of the enduring family of Ta Nehisi Coates along with the resulting seven offspring, although mainly living apart. His mother although constrained by the father’s violence, his seeming obsession with archival material on Black lives and his limited ability to provide materially for the growing family, felt that she was privileged in that most of the women she knew did not have male partners living with them. The children of those families were fatherless with no active contact with the fathers. As Ta-Nehisi Coates recalls, ‘we held him in this weird place, somewhere between hatred and complete reverence. All our friends were fatherless, and Dad was some sort of blessing, but he made it hard to feel that way…All of us knew he was flawed…On our life map, he drew a bright circle around twelve through eighteen. This was the abyss where, unguided, Black boys were swallowed whole, only to re-emerge on corners and prison tiers’ (p.20).
‘Dad owed me nothing, except fatherhood’ (p.202). ‘I looked around (and saw the other orphaned boys), though the birthright of every child was a manned fortress, we lived in unnatural times. All the guardians had fled their posts, and here was mine, his hand on his sword, his armour glimmering in the light of moons. (p. 206).’
Ta-Nehisi Coates was taken aback at the speed childhood and youth passes and as he describes it in commenting on the deaths of childhood peers when still children through gang murders, ‘I came into all this dazed by the lack of shade, by the quickness between child and child-man.’ In contrasting his father’s generation and his own growing up, he states the following describing the day –to-day life of Black children reaching for manhood in Baltimore:
‘In Dad’s day, we were a close-knit circle, but a circle surrounded by dire wolves. All we had to hold us up was the next man. But as time went on, we forgot ourselves and went cannibal-the next brother became a meal to feed our rep. (p.30).’ Violence, blood and death, was the name of the game. The object was to make sure it was not your bloodstain on the sidewalk with you lying lifeless beside it. This background noise of constant threat, fear and vigilance flowing inter-generationally in areas we live in because for a variety of reasons we cannot or will not leave, partly explains although does not excuse, the violence of the father towards his children in trying to steer them in ways to avoid the pitfalls the world intentionally lays in the pathways of Black Youth on their journeys to Black Manhood.
Both parents because they knew the ways of the world as they had travelled through it, wanted their children to be as prepared as they could be and have the tools to engage positively in it and that was through education as they saw it. ‘Our folks understood that there was a war upon us and that school was a weapon that outdid any Glock. (p 169)’ But as Ta-Nehisi Coates reminds us through his memoir there comes a time parents reach the limits of their ability to impose their will, which in his case ‘had always been anchored by a physical threat.’ The fire to overcome barriers to reaching who you want to become and how you are going to do it, must first emerge from within. It cannot be imposed from outside. This was a pivotal lesson learnt by Ta Nehisi Coates as a Youth.
Being prepared, equipped, guided by you, as a Black man, is what our Black Youth require. We grasp that needed knowledge to do so from our own lived experience and from our ancestors that is passed down orally and in written form. We owe it to ourselves to have at least a passing acquaintance with it. As Ta-Nehisi Coates stated from his own experience as a youth, ‘I was young and could not see the weaponry my ancestors had left for me, the shield in the tall brown grass, the axe lying right next to the tree’. As Ta-Nehisi Coates reminds us speaking from his own experience, ‘Dad owed me nothing, except fatherhood’ (p202) and in his flawed, imperfect way, he did his best and his son acknowledges that.
Moving from Baltimore in the United States of America to London and Sheffield in the United Kingdom, Tim Cruickshank gives a flavour of his passage to manhood and I am grateful to him for his faith in us as Black men to see what is familiar in his story when contrasted with our own and how we use that to influence our youth. The following is Tim’s story in his own words:
‘I am a black man born in 1963, a child of the Windrush, a child of Thatcher’s SUS laws, a child of a society of change’.
(Commonwealth citizens arriving in the UK between 1948 and 1971 from Caribbean countries are described as the Windrush generation. On 22nd June 1948 the ship MV Windrush arrived at Tilbury Docks, Essex, UK, transporting workers from Jamaica, Trinidad and Tobago and other islands, as there was a labour shortage in the UK. Margaret Thatcher was the prime minister of the UK from 1979-1990. SUS laws empowered the police to stop and search individuals they suspected of criminal intent and were generally regarded as targeting people of colour, particularly Black men of African descent)
‘I was raised in London on the Alton Estate in the 70s; it was the largest council estate in Europe at the time. My parents separated, so I was raised by my mother but had regular contact with my dad.
I was heavily involved in the National Association of Boys Clubs and The Scouting movement throughout my childhood and through my adolescence, both of which gave me a sense of freedom, as well as belonging.
I drifted into disruptive behaviour in my teens, and could have been lost to criminality for life. I was fortunate to have a Youth Worker who saw beyond the colour of my skin, saw beyond the predominant view of young black men of the time, and saw what I could possibly be. He wrote a supporting letter to court, outlining my potential. He subsequently got me working as a voluntary youth worker, and put me forward for training and education courses.
In 1983 I moved to Sheffield intending to become a Youth worker. I gained employment on the community programme; I believe that I am one of its success stories. One job involved working at an unemployed drop – in centre, with school leavers and young men on the cusp of criminality. Having been there myself, I had a good understanding of the trials and tribulations that these young men were going through. I was able to empathise with their plight and give them the benefit of my knowledge.
From originally wanting to be a Youth Worker, I altered to wanting to give people the same chance that I had been given. In 1989 I was fortunate enough to gain employment with the Probation Service, as a trainee on a positive action scheme aimed at addressing the ethnic inequalities of public services.
I qualified as a Probation Officer in 1993 and spent 18 years in various parts of the service, from Court, to Prison, to release into the community. Throughout my time, I have had an ongoing interest in portraying a positive image for young black men, outlining that anything is possible, with hard work, support and guidance, at the right time.
I had an acrimonious divorce, which nearly broke me and my life collapsed all around me. I handled it in a typical man way, badly. Men do not talk enough, we are socialised into believing that we should be able to deal with whatever life throws at us. “Man Up”. We do not seek help, we become isolated and it can be fatal. Having rebuilt my life, with help and support, both physically and mentally, I have become a mental health support worker, and run a voluntary men’s support group.
Throughout my journey I have tried to impart the knowledge that I have gained, through the pitfalls that I have faced, the struggles that I have overcome and the interactions that I have had.
I made a conscious decision some time ago, that everybody that I come into contact with will be better placed following our interaction. Whether that be some knowledge gained or just a feeling of good will.
We as elder black men, have a duty to be positive role models, mentors, torchbearers, teachers and guardians of the future, for our children, but especially our Sons! ‘
In Next week’s article, Tim will outline how you recognise that the hand reaching out to you to offer help and support is worth the chance of grasping. Tim will also describe how he approaches the youth he liaises with to enlist their interest in having a conversation about their lives and possible change.