me and my jeremiah.

i admit it; i was swept up alongside millions of other part-time semi-pro politicos by the media maelstrom surrounding the loose ties between barack obama and the good reverend doctor his eminence sir jeremiah wright (note: any links to fox news, past, present and future, have been and will continue to be, intended to serve a purpose geared more towards comedic relief than fair and balanced enlightenment – for the record, fuck hannity AND colmes!).

i was quick to take a lazy-footed stance against obama’s seemingly scripted dismissal of the pastor’s heated rhetoric. for one, i spent more than 16 years in the southern baptist church – a synodal similarity to the united church of christ, where the rev. dr. wright spent some thiry-odd years pushing passion from the pulpit – and i know just how deep runs the relationship between the shepherd and his lost sheep (no uncle jesse [no full house]). for two, i know a good sermon when i hear one, and at the very least, i would have appreciated hearing the young senator say “he murked that shit, didn’t he?!?,” after all the requisite partisan pandering. and for three, the honorable, venerable, baronial dr. wright was, how should i say it, ON POINT with the commentary! why would anyone move to distance themselves from such fervent insight into the hearts and minds of america’s downtrodden – most especially after pretending to harbor even a modicum of compassion in the days after hurricane katrina?

i am not a patriot. i made this realization sometime between the second grade, when my simple-minded reverence for the united states army compelled me to dress in full fatigues for career day (seriously, though — career day for second graders?!? what type of shit is that? i don’t need that kind of pressure!) and the fourth grade, when i rooted for the soviet union over the university of kentucky in a friendly game of exhibition basketball. i tried, to no avail, to organize a reagan death-celebration a couple years ago, and i’ve been equally unsuccessful at convincing sabz to let me burn a flag on stage (he keeps citing municipal fire codes, and he insists that the massline budget has no provision for hefty fines… this year). so you know how i must have felt when i heard his holiness bring the brimstone in that now-infamous tirade of truthiness; he had me at “GOD DAMN AMERICA!”

i was surprised at myself for even catching feelings over the barack debacle, as quite frankly, i’ve been more impressed by will.i.am than anyone else in this campaign. i gave not a shit when team axelrod vehemently denied any connection with indonesian madrassas. i gave a damn about plouffe’s posse posturing over the “OMFG is that a TURBAN?!?” pic. in all honesty, it really didn’t even bother me that the whole camp seemed to be altogether ignoring the importance of race in the race – that was, of course, until “the great speech of ’08” effectively popped the clutch to jump-start this vehicle of racial dialogue we’ve left sitting idle in selma, alabama since 1969 (unfortunately, due to current gas prices, the car had a brief run and now sits idle once again just outside atlanta, georgia). but something about this sticky-wicket on an otherwise perfect pitch didn’t sit well with me — barack’s cold shoulder to dr. wright was wrong.

the epiphany made clear a revelation so spectacular that god felt the need to send with it a furious flurry of springtime snowfall to seattle as a physical representation of its magnificence; i have something in common with senator obama.

indeed, i have a jeremiah wright of my very own – he is none other than lawrence parker, better known to some of you as kris, the teacha, the god of rap, the blastmaster, KRS-ONE. similarities abound between the preacher and the teacha (check the discourse from each of them regarding september 11th) and, not surprisingly, both have established a significant following. both men speak with confidence and conviction, employing a mystical power of persuasion over the disciple-types. i know firsthand what it means to be a card-carrying member of the congregation at trinity united church of christ – i doubt it differs much from being a member of the temple of hiphop.

like tens of thousands of thirty-somethings who came up on 80’s rap, i’m a longtime fan of KRS. in theory, if not practice (shout out to geo) i was down with the self-destruction/stop the violence movement, i was down with h.uman e.ducation a.gainst l.ies, and it felt like a natural progression to be involved with the temple (“you’re not doing hiphop; you ARE hiphop” was deep philosophy in ’97). though i never bothered to send in the nominal registration fee, i did seriously consider myself to be pursuing a hiphop-centered spiritual existence (i even drew direct parallels to the baha’i faith through new york city and the number 95) . in short, that shit was real to me.

i can’t front, though – just like the overwhelming majority of my contemporaries, i felt like the blastmaster’s relevance started to wane circa sneak attack and i passed over spiritual minded without a second glance. but while a whole host of my folks were trading in kipling bags for bulletproof wallets, i was recording my first studio album; a pious, self-serving examination of music-as-movement, too sacrosanct for mass consumption. apostrophe was ‘spiritual minded’ with less impressive production and lesser distribution.

i stayed loosely connected to the temple through a dull, unimaginative website (caddy, if you’re reading this you owe me more than a dozen replies, sucka). M was more active than me, and somehow managed to maintain relationships with members despite a series of site revisions. still, neither of us was expecting a phone call from KRS’s tour manager when they passed through the town in march of ’05. the entourage was looking to kill time the night before the show, so i met ‘em at the hotel and led a procession to the only spot crackin’ that night: lo-fi. it took about an hour’s worth of coaxing to get hideki off the turntables, but once he conceded to dj cocheze the shit was on and most definitely poppin’. when we parted ways at the end of the night, they invited me to “the teacha’s” speaking engagement at aki kurose the following morning.

KRS is an imposing figure. physically, he stands around six-and-a-half feet tall, weighing no less than 250 pounds. when he shakes your hand, he makes eye contact with your soul. i sincerely believe i forgot my name when he asked for it – i distinctly remember shoving maddi in front of me saying “i just wanted me to meet your daughter.” his presence is never overlooked. he commands attention. such is the nature, and the responsibility of the shepherd.

the theme of the talk at aki was “puuurrrrrrpose.” i think i would have found the monologue equally poignant had it been about 17th century trends in pox prevention – the dude is just that good at selling it. i attended a brief press conference afterward, broke bread with a few fellow temple members, then capped off the evening by standing on stage as KRS performed “criminal minded.” for me, it was the equivalent of a revival-night baptism; i was filled with the holy ghost.

in the months that followed i became more active in the temple, organizing workshops around town, trying to convince others to pay their dues (literally, the annual fee is $12), “spreading the word,” as minister server put it. i believed, more than ever, that hiphop would be the driving force in the spiritual unification of the planet – maybe even the multiverse if it pleased the goddess – this was my overstanding.

there was a temple gathering in LA that summer, and i sent M to represent our family/community. she took with her an un-mastered version of common market, seeking his blessing and endorsement. he obliged, and agreed to rock a short string of shows with us to promote the release. before he headed back to cali, he stopped in at the monroe cabin for dinner and dialog, where we snapped the photo posted at the header.

he spoke of many things that night, some rudimentary and some radical. he retold accounts of doctors’ explanations for his distinguishing facial features. he spun stories of kool herc and busy bee, then and now. he insisted if he were jesus christ, that i would never know for certain, i would just have to believe. he told me i would question my own faith. and he ate fish.

if barack obama has ever been to the mountain top then i say jeremiah wright showed him the way. it is imperative, therefore, as he makes his descent to live among the common folk, to lead this commonwealth, that he not forsake the guidance of his spiritual counsel nor reject the character of its personage. we are NOT our teachers, our mentors or our preachers, rather we are the refinement of them all, now in our maturity capable of discerning good from bad, confirmation from conjecture, the whole truth from the half-truth. aint no half-steppin’, senator — either we live and we learn or we do neither.

i’m thankful for all of my influences – zealots, cranks, diehards, try-hards, freaks, fanatics and followers alike – i wouldn’t be me if it weren’t for you. if you ever catch me offending your position or insulting your integrity out of embarrassment about our association, do me a favor – don’t vote for me.

peace to you and yours…

RA

5 Comments

  1. doap story — i was dying when you and mariangela were tellin me some of the stories about the tour when i was at your place. lovin the blog.

    illegal conduct construct asinine

  2. seriously… i’m reading this in the morning. fuckin epic blogin’ ass MF!

  3. i can’t get enough of your dialogue ra, just write a fuckin book already! i hope sometime in the future our paths cross and we can get some healthy conversation on.

  4. i don’t normally read blogs, it’s not my thing. but i like this one. my question is, did you ever meet his daughter? or was Maddi confused about who her father was at the moment? Did KRS say, “she’s not mine!” STARSTRUCK…

    “i sincerely believe i forgot my name when he asked for it – i distinctly remember shoving maddi in front of me saying “i just wanted me to meet your daughter.”

  5. I think losing your patriotism must be like losing your virginity on some intellectual level.
    I lost mine in the 6th grade somewhere between catching a quick piece of news about Clinton dropping bombs on some city (I think it was actually Baghdad, but I’m not sure) and my big brother Jesse explaining to me why being militarily the strongest country in the world, and beating the shit out of other countries wasn’t something to be proud of. since then I haven’t once gone through the motions of the “pledge of allegiance” (obligatory congregational prayer to cloth idol of North American capitalist regime) except for standing up a couple of times, due to peer pressure.


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