How many more statistics do we need to read about how the Black community is increasingly losing men at a high velocity ratio?
How many more young Black males must go to prison before we realize that it’s time to stop supplying our young men as market products to the lucrative and booming prison industrial complex?
How many more Black mothers have to continue to live in misery, dejection and loneliness because the men that they were raising by themselves have fallen through the slippery slope of the criminal justice system?
To what extent are we willing to preside over the gradual dismantling of the Black family as an institution, once a proud example of an effective functioning family unit in society?
If we can answer these four questions, the meaning of Black history will have had a strong resonance with us this year.
If we can find answers to these troubling questions, the essence of Black history would become real and we would be able to appreciate our own existence.
What good is it to celebrate Black history if Black men are in the fast track lane to prison?
What is there to celebrate when the future is apparently unclear, unpredictable, and sorrowfully bleak because the men may not be around for a while?
And when they get out of prison armed with felony records, the job market greets them with a huge “No Jobs Available for Felons” sign. Despite serving time behind bars for crimes whether serious or petty, these men continue to pay a price in the outside world.