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Contents:
  1. ISBN 13: 9781556527807
  2. Word story
  3. Conversate Is Not a Word : Jam Donaldson :

Those were the two forces driving our ability to overcome the racism and discrimination we faced as a community. We had communal dreams and communal rules. But now anything goes, and shame has been all but forgotten. And this attitude is destroying so many of the gains we made in the last years. Can anyone really look at the community and be satisfied with where our education, family, and community values are?


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Are we satisfied with how we are spending our money or using our ample resources? Are we pleased with our physical health as a community? What about our attitudes, our sense of entitlement? So why not talk about it? Why do we have to pretend for the world that everything is OK? Why do we have to pretend that many communities are not rotting away from the inside?

We must get back to what made us strong, what made us survivors, what made us thrive as a community.


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  • Conversate Is Not a Word : Getting Away from Ghetto.
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We are so busy trying to be ghetto fabulous, we forgot how to be great. We can actually have these hard, uncomfortable conversations with each other without anyone being the bad guy.

How else do we solve our problems except through frank conversations with each other? There is a time and place for everything. Of course, there is racism and inequality of opportunity, but how can we fight the big fights without a strong community foundation? There are so many things that we CAN control in our lives and in our communities that it is insanity not to try to work these things out together. Sometimes someone needs to shake you real good and real hard to get you out of your own self-delusions of grandeur. So just relax. His little girl, his bouncing bundle of joy for whom he set out a table of fruit at his office to celebrate her birth, is now the queen of all that is hot, ghetto, and messy.

Believe me, this is just as unexpected an appointment to me as it is to anyone else. But alas, we all have our callings, and my path, although a twisted, sordid one, is my own. Telling it like I see it may be dirty work, but somebody other than Bill Cosby has to do it.

Let me start by straightening some things out and giving you a formal introduction.

ISBN 13: 9781556527807

By the way, should chickenhead be hyphenated? Not sure. I just say what many think and could care less what people say about me. For better or worse, the death of my dad in gave me the gift of fearlessness. I have been accused of being a right-wing race traitor, a misguided exploiter, child pornographer huh? Though hot babe is debatable, the rest is way off base. Is it that hard to believe that, at my core, I am an Average Joe? That I am a standard, middle-class black chick who one day stopped, looked around her, and thought, What the hell is going on in my community?

Or is it just easier to believe that I have complex, multi-layered, nefarious motives?

Word story

Why are my heartfelt concern and disgust at how my community sometimes behaves more difficult to accept than my being the tool of some right-wing conspiracy? Is that why so many attempt to write me off as some self-hating wack job? We have no answers. Well, the truth hurts. But running away from the truth is killing us. It just so happened, like it or not, that it became my life. So just how did I go from innocent law student, weighing the merits of corporate practice versus public interest law, putting on a Kwanzaa show for the student body, and interning as a law clerk in the U.

Two words: not sure. It was sort of like that moment in Falling Down when Michael Douglas goes berserk or that mythical time when Marvin Gaye finally hollered and threw up both his hands. Well, I had a moment like that my second year of law school at Georgetown. That moment changed my life.

Like most students, my laptop computer had become an appendage—my constant companion, my best friend. A distraction in boring law classes and a way to escape my very painful home life. My dad was dying. He had prostate cancer that had metastasized, and being his only adult child, I was his sole caregiver. I moved in with my father to take care of him. It was a very stressful time in my life, and I coped by drinking too much, experimenting with drugs, and getting lost in my computer screen.

On that screen I started to notice a disturbing trend. It was funny as hell. Many of my friends, and everyone else within six degrees of separation except Kevin Bacon , began to send around ghetto pictures for fun. And like the rest of my friends, I typically would laugh my ass off. The hair weave done in the shape of a helicopter, color-coordinated pimps and hos, prom students in pasties, bedazzled pimp cups, cars with chandeliers and Burberry-pattern paint jobs. Although they are now Internet classics, back then they were novel and great material for folly. Everyone would try to one-up everyone else with the funniest ghetto picture.

And we just had a ball with it. A bunch of professionals and students sitting at computers all day passing these pics around like a virtual blunt and laughing just as hysterically as if the weed were real.

Why can't black people pronounce the word "ask"?

I think it was somewhere between the woman in the T-shirt that proudly read Pregnant Pussy Is the Best Pussy and the eight-year-old boy simulating sex with a grown woman that I suddenly stopped laughing. I stopped everything, shut down the laptop, and asked myself, What in the hell is going on in our communities? And because I was in law school, I made it a two-part question: And why are we laughing at it? I may not have known exactly what a tort was, but I did know one thing for sure—those pictures were no longer funny.

And so began the intense renewal of my relationship with my people—with our images, our culture, our behavior, and what role we play in how the world views us and how we view one another. I was suddenly seeing everything in a new, though admittedly dim, light. I was confused. It seemed that all my ideals and assumptions about my people and our struggles were being challenged. There was an uncomfortable paradigm shift taking place in my mind. Cue dramatic music here. It was ours. And only we could fix it. I mean, did Whitey send your daughter to the prom with her tittays hanging out?

No, you did. And the rest of us just stood around and laughed. View original item. Sell one like this. We found something similar. About this product. Stock photo. New other : lowest price The lowest-priced item in unused and unworn condition with absolutely no signs of wear. Will include dust jacket if it originally came with one. Text will be unmarked and pages crisp. Satisfaction is guaranteed with every order. See details. Buy It Now. Add to cart. Be the first to write a review About this product. New other : lowest price.

About this product Product Information Funny, sad, and refreshingly honest, this provocative commentary based on the author's award-winning blog explores what is wrong with black culture and what needs to be done to fix neighbourhoods and improve lives.

Conversate Is Not a Word : Jam Donaldson :

The fresh, female voice presents a new perspective -- differing from so many other treatises on the subject written primarily by older men -- and takes into account hip-hop and the internet without assuming a condescending tone. Continually reviewing the ongoing struggle between her own conflicting identities, she asks such questions as How can African Americans speak out about the aspects of their culture that need improvement without risking mockery and the reinforcement of negative stereotypes?

By weaving her own warring viewpoints into the discussion, the author provides a window into the complex, contradictory perspectives that exist within every member of the black community while also offering comic anecdotes, making this call to action accessible as well as poignant. Additional Product Features Dewey Edition. It's Imperative! And for those who don't know or don't understand, this book will serve as a proper introduction to a great voice in the Black American Culture Wars.

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