Beloved. Today I squirm every time I hear amongst us one of Hip Hops detractors. And, if you will notice this would appear to be a monologue coming so often as it does from those of the elder generations. And I am sure that our youth hear this all the time. But one must realize that this new Black cultural phenomenon of a Generation Gap (White people have had generation gaps for centuries), this the single greatest distraction towards our progress today, that now threatens to haunt a total of four generations, as the Hip Hop nation is now giving birth itself. This colossus that threatens a wholesome Black dialogue did not have an immaculate conception. But where lie its origins and how did it come to entrap us? Let us reason for a moment. Let us sojourn into the mirror of our own history. Today we witness all around us a White national collective seemingly regressing back into its xenophobic core. And, along with this we can see the symbols of the old Negro guard, the splintered Black utterance of the sixties integrationalist Civil Rights elite are quickly being ‘sat down’. It is an Amerikan tale twice told of Black Reconstruction and Affirmative Action betrayed. Sealed once again in a lock box marked “access denied”. Today we can see the detritus that threatens the full gentrification of all the HBCU’s within the next three years. How could this happen? Were these really truly Black institutions in the first place? Let us come to realize that the media in Amerika has an enormous capacity to manufacture reality, and they do. The word “ghetto” which simply denotes a community of people of common origin, today equates a Black slum. The word “Apartheid” looses its original pronunciation ‘Apart-Hate’ and thereby it true meaning is softened just a little bit. We are so often led to believe that our Ancestors came here as slaves already, when we hear the oft-repeated refrain “the slaves that came to Amerika”. Perception is indeed reality. And, so too many are mis-educated to believe that the mid-last century Black freedom struggle (implying that there have been several in our glorious history), was simply an intergrationalist Civil Rights Struggle. But nothing could be further from the truth. At that time in the life of our nation, there where volatile many streams of Black historical political consciousness, and they would all come to gel with two equally distinct, equally vibrant postures of identity each vying for the hearts and minds of Black people. The one, the integrationalist Civil Rights largely Negro ideology, would postulate a belief in the blind universal conscience of all ‘man-kind’ that would actually mortgage the care and safety of the Black nation into the whim of a White national collective that had just the day previous stood in teeming multitudes roasting and mutilating Black men, women, and children. To this Negro elite, racism in education could simply be solved by sending Black children to White schools. Segregation was wrong to them not because it was never equal, but because it was simply separate. Here we live today down in Atlantis, this the great Civil Rights stronghold. A city twice-built on rolling hills of ash. And these cremated remains speak volumes to us. These beloved Ancestors seek to curry a dialogue with us that can cull the Maafa’s attempt to forever steal our conscious memory. In honoring them, their bodies broken, burnt, and mutilated, very much like the body of Jesus, we restore a part of ourselves. But here we live also at the very scene of the crime. This is the historic bastion of the Negro elite struggle for integration. Yet strangely enough, even at this perilous time in the War on Terrorism, as Arabs throughout the empire are being profiled as terrorist, how is it that I can walk through what was once a solid Black community and come to a gas station now owned by Arabs (the BP at the corner of Joseph E. Lowery and MLK), and watch as these strangers to our lives keep up a circus like banter with the brothas and sistas that do shop there. Who with such a level of disrespect for only God knows why they still patronize this store? A beverage that cost you one dollar one moment is charged to you at $1.50 an hour latter. Many of these clerks begin fingering the cash register long before you have even arrived at the counter. And one young pervert there, forever insists that all the young high school age girls give him a hug before they leave. These are Arab Muslims who sell pork and alcohol in our communities and have little respect for us. Because they understand that just like The War on Drugs, and The War on Crime before it, The War on Terrorism is surly to metamorphosis into a war on Black people. As our community is forever considered the political dumping grounds for this nation’s ills. The Patriot Act has dealt the final deathblow to the Second Reconstruction in Amerika, and as White folk catch a cold we are sure to catch pneumonia. Like a scene straight out of Shindler’s List, today the signs are all around us. And we now see a community festering in decay after a Negro elite pro-offered a political strategy that helped them to further enrich themselves at the expense of the rest of us. But they moved away to live in mansions long ago. They kept up the prohibitive beguiling banter of Black Leadership. But they no longer live in the ghetto. As stated above, this was but one half of what was for a time an altogether wholesome Black dialogue. The other group, who professed what can now be called a New Afrikan Nationalist Human Rights perspective, during the mid sixties, when this sentiment began to capture the hearts and minds of the Children of the Maafa, this voice was immediately and viciously set upon by a ruthless and criminally insane racist government of the United States. Many of its proponents were savagely murdered or simply locked down after kangaroo trails, for life, in hell-holes all across this nation. This was accomplished largely by J Edgar Hoover’s unlawful Co-intelpro program along with a wealth of Negro complicity. It was to become a form of tribalism on the Amerikan stage that for nearly forty years has stifled the full true utterance of the yearning Black masses under the restrictive tyranny of a political dialogue not seen since Booker T Washington held the reins to patronage positions all over this land one century ago. This was a wholesome Black dialogue that was brutally splintered, and today our children look towards their elders with a strange detached indifference. We have always been a people diligent enough to view our struggle a relay race, which each generation carrying out the burden of passing the baton unto the next. But this is why we have a Generation Gap today. It is in the mirror of generations past.