Cuba has the ball

The US doesn't need the world reminding it about the misguided, punitive nature of the Cuban embargo. That sentiment is alive and well (and has been for some time), right here in the States. Whether it's the more moderate stance being taken by conservative elements within Miami's Cuban enclaves, the dogged persistence of some members of the Congressional Black Caucus or the eagerness of the country's Business community to engage with the Cuban market, a chorus of suggestions for change is now flooding the halls of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Most agree that the embargo should be lifted, and my sense is that it's a question of when, and not if. But from a purely tactical perspective, I can understand why the President is not yet willing to do so.

President Obama has been very clear in his remarks - both prior to, and during his appearance at the Summit of the Americas, cautioning that US-Cuba relations would not change overnight. Forces of resistance continue to exist on both sides - a situation that will likely get worse before it gets better (at least in this country) in the face of vocal and sustained criticism from Latin America and the Caribbean. There are those who continue to view our leader's grace and humility only through the prism of their outdated sense of entitlement - conditioned as they are to getting their way, and certainly not being told what to do. So they will push back, and seek to frame the normalization process as one of capitulation and a sign of the country's (i.e. Obama's) weakness.

So that is a political reality that will have to be managed - with delicacy and a proper amount of time. But it should not be forgotten that it takes two parties to engage in a negotiation, and the time has come for Cuba to frankly put up, or shut up. Irrespective of what has happened (or not) with previous administrations, our current President has made a good faith effort to initiate respectful channels of communication. The fiery rhetoric of the past (some of which was on display this weekend by some Latin American leaders who just couldn't help themselves) has no place in the current dialogue - any more than the foolish assertion that an American interpretation of democracy and free market capitalism will spring up inside Cuba overnight - if at all, as posited by Robert Pastor, a former advisor who worked in the Carter Administration while making remarks that compared potential relations with Cuba to those we currently enjoy with Vietnam. But some changes will surely have to take place, and the president is justified in expecting a certain degree of reciprocation from the Castro Brothers.

And here, I think, is where the leaders of Caricom and the Union of South American Nations have a decisive role to play. As they continue to aggressively voice their support for a complete lifting of the trade embargo, it would be instructive to see them also applying pressure to Raul Castro, and the Cuban government to at least meet the United States halfway. My Mother always used to tell me, "You won't get something for nothing." Never has this been truer for the Cuban government and its people.

No longer self conscious about my accent when traveling abroad

As I watched the news coverage of Obama's recent European visit, I couldn't help but feel an incredible swell of possession and pride. By no means is the man perfect (and I think he would be the first to admit so without equivocation), but damn...what a refreshing change - and what an extraordinary representative of our nation and its people. The fact that he looks like me is advantageous, but merely a side benefit to a more significant turn of events. In my humble opinion, our President embodies the best of what America has to offer - A symbol of power and change (for good), but also one of humility and cooperation. Of course, there are some on the far, unbalanced right screaming that the President was too apologetic. Frankly, I think he struck exactly the right tone - entirely consistent with how he's carried himself throughout the course of his political ascendancy. And besides, there's really no secret about the colossal mess he was left to clean up and account for.

Now, it will be interesting to see how I'm treated when traveling abroad. It's been two years since I last visited Europe - four since I walked along Jamaica's shores, and I'm really curious about the type of reception I'll get. Even during some of the darker days of #43 and the heavy prosecution of the war, Londoners were cordial and warm, and for the most part it was all good in JA , but I was on the North coast and with the exception of one day trip up into the mountains of St. Mary, and another over to Portland to get some authentic Jerk, my time was pretty much spent around the tourist enclaves of Jamaica Grande and San Souci. Been a while since I strolled through the heart of Kingston, and from what I'm told (and read in the news), things have changed a bit - so it's hard to predict how that will turn out. I was in PR recently, but that doesn't really count :) As fate would have it, I might actually be traveling to Cuba in a few months (yeah, it's a long story, but one I'll be sure to detail in a future post), and I can't begin to imagine what that's going to be like - particularly in light of recent overtures from both sides to improve relations between the two countries.

space

We soon shall see...and I'll be sure to let you know!

Carolina Roots

I grew up in the North, and identify comfortably with changing seasons accompanied by the occasional harsh winter and a progressive mindset rooted firmly in the Industrial centers that at one time thrived this side of the Mason Dixon Line. Yet my actual roots – the essence of the ancestral thread that defines me, lie in the Up Country dirt roads and Woodland Forests of Chesterfield County S.C. where my parents were born, and where I spent my childhood summers when my Grandmothers were still alive. Never knew my Grandfathers – Jacob died eleven days after I was born, and Huey Jr. passed when I was only One. But I knew everything there was to know about them – as conveyed by my parents and the quiet recitations of Grandmas Lula and Rebecca, respectively. Way down South…where Tobacco and Cotton Fields stretched for an eternity of Miles on either side of the road that led out of town, and where Cicadas trilled on the warm breeze of evening and the smell of Pine and Cedar filled our nostrils as we sat on Ma Beck's porch, watching darkness close a seal-tight lid on the remote, rural fields that surrounded our family’s land…terrified and transfixed, as she told only slightly embellished tales of our Elder's encounters with the Haints that inhabited those woods. During the day it was always hot – to the point that the sand would burn your feet if you dared to step out of your sandals. My cousins did it all the time, but it typically didn’t take long for me to give up my feeble attempts at conformity, as my tender feet had never quite conditioned themselves to that degree of abuse. &&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
During the week, we ate Box Lunches at Vacation Bible School; flirted with the pretty girls, and took care to avoid the retribution of the ugly ones - mad because their amorous advances were never reciprocated. On the way back to Grandma Lula’s house, we avoided the patch of ground beneath the tree where the freshly slaughtered Hog bled out before being disassembled for the parts used to make Ham, Chitterlings and Sage Sausage. Later in the afternoon, Grandma’s sing-song voice would call for us to come home, and the pack of us would arrive at her back porch, just as she was about to slice up a giant Watermelon with the shiny, Silver Machete she kept inside her back door. We would relieve ourselves in the woods while ‘on the run’, but were forced to make other arrangements when a more deliberate elimination was required. Visited only when absolutely necessary, the Out-House was just down right scary. It had been placed inside the pen where the Hogs and Chicken Coops were maintained, and once you entered the gate, you had to take care not to step on the aluminum pie pans covering the traps that were set out for coyotes and stray dogs. Securing the latch behind me, I was always afraid I’d fall down into the damn thing – horrified as I imagined what inhabited the squishy darkness below, a mere four to six feet down, beneath the rough, wooden seat on which I was perched, gasping from my playful exertions...then predictably gagging on the smell and stifling July-in-South-Carolina heat that hung heavy inside the confines of that narrow, wooden box.

&

Sunday services were not optional, and my Father and Uncle would sit in the front row with the other Deacons – My Mother, both Grandmothers and my Aunts in the row just behind them…and our imaginations would invariably wander to the Iced Tea and Coconut Cake we knew would be served up after a dinner of Fried Chicken, Collards, Fried Corn with Buttermilk Biscuits and Pinto Beans - all while the assembled, saved souls sang passionately of Solid Rock and Sinking Sand. After the service, we would make the obligatory walk through the adjacent cemetery to pay homage to the relatives and loved ones who’d passed on before us, and I was always struck with an immediate and powerful awareness of the rows upon rows of Black/White/Grey stones that bore chiseled evidence of the surname that was my own. And it was at that precise moment of comprehension when I began to fully appreciate the fact that this was the place from whence I had come; the foundation upon which my value system and cultural identity would be defined.  These simple folk...descendans of Share Croppers and Slaves - blended from a miture of West
African, Scottish and Native American blood...that lived peacefully out in that quiet country, miles from the convenience of running water and paved roads.
&
These were my people...and I was their son.

Baseball in Puerto Rico

This week finds me blogging from San Juan, where I've escaped for a quick getaway to de-stress and counter the effects of too much sun deprivation. It's early in the morning, but still a very comfortable 75 degrees; that, compared to a mere 50 in New York, and a ridiculous high of 20 in Minneapolis; relative heat waves for both locales, but clearly no match for the splash of Royal Blue Sky and swaying Palm fronds framed inside the sliding glass doors of my room's balcony. I flew down with some friends on Friday to catch the Pool D Bracket of the World Baseball Classic, and to catch up on some very much needed R&R. The Fresh Seafood, strong Mojitos and some interesting baseball have made it all very much worth my while. Led by Delgado, Beltran and Pudge Rodriguez, Puerto Rico made quick work out of the boys from Panama, and with the likes of big leaguers like Pedro, Big Papi and Miguel Tejada, the DR was the consensus favorite; but all that talent, nor the throngs of Dominican supporters, shouting and waving their Island's colors like Jamaicans at a Track and Field event was enough to hold off the improbable upset orchestrated by the team from the Netherlands. Relative unknowns outmatched at nearly every position, those Brothers had something else in mind. Yeah...I did say Brothers - surprised me too when the first five batters walked out to the plate, and even more so when the entire team came up out of the dugout to whoop and applaud themselves on a successful first inning. They had names like Jansen and Schoop, but after doing a little research, I later discovered that these Dutchmen were apparently of the 'ABC' and '3S' Island variety :)