High Price (40 page)

In contrast, so many of the black boys with whom I grew up don’t have any stake in our society. They didn’t acquire the necessary skills and didn’t get the needed support during that critical period. Instead they were under the supervision of a system that doesn’t seem to understand or care about the importance of black men being invested in this society. Supporters of this system have an irrational focus on eliminating certain drugs and are preoccupied with those who violate drug laws, especially if they are black. Selective enforcement of drug laws seems to serve as a tool to marginalize black men and keep them in the vicious cycle of incarceration and isolation from mainstream society. I am not arguing that people shouldn’t be sanctioned for legal infractions. There are many cases in which sanctions are appropriate. However, the penalty should not be so severe that the penalized young person is unable to recover and stake a claim in society. In such cases, we all lose. The young person’s loss is obvious. The general public is deprived of the contribution that would have been made if the person were a stakeholder. With no real stake in the larger society, many of my friends and relatives feel they have nothing to lose. And as James Baldwin observed, “The most dangerous creation of any society is the man who has nothing to lose.”
¹

After speaking with my sisters, I could see that we were beginning to lose some of my nephews. They had already started to repeat the incarceration-isolation cycle. What could I tell them? Hell, I don’t even know what to tell my own son Tobias. He has spent time behind bars for a drug violation and doesn’t have a high school diploma; nor does he have an employment track record or any prospects for a legitimate job. I’d recently spoken with him on a previous visit and he caught me up on the current events in his life. I learned more about baby-mama drama than I cared to know. “Man, they always want some shit,” he complained about the difficulties of dealing with the three different mothers of his children. At the same time, he was extremely proud to be a father five times. It was his badge of honor, something that “real” men do, even though he was unemployed. And unless there is some radical change in this society, his chances of getting a legitimate job are extremely bleak because these irrefutable facts remain: he is a black male who has a drug conviction and limited marketable skills. Like Louie, he too is trapped.

Don Habibi, my old mentor from the University of North Carolina Wilmington, was fond of saying, “Once you know, you cannot not know.” There was a period in my life when I was unaware of the forces preventing Tobias and people like him from legitimately competing in mainstream society. That time has passed; I have come to understand that the game is fixed against them. That’s why I am frequently disheartened and stressed when asked what to tell someone in Tobias’s position. I recognize that I can’t give up on him or our society. So when we met last, I again encouraged him to get his GED and a legitimate job. I told him about my brother Gary, who had also dropped out of high school and dabbled in cocaine sales, but would eventually graduate college and own a multimillion-dollar company. I didn’t tell him that Gary had never been convicted of a crime, nor did I tell him that Gary had only one child when he started to turn his life around. That contextualization might have been too daunting. After all, I was trying to convince Tobias, as well as myself, that he too could do it.

Along Gary’s journey, I had given him a copy of Nathan McCall’s
Makes Me Wanna Holler
. It was the first book that he had ever read cover to cover. He found it inspirational. So I bought Tobias a copy, too, and asked him to read it so we could discuss it. I also got him Bob Marley’s
Survival
CD, printed out the lyrics, and asked him to listen to it with a particular focus on the track “Ambush in the Night.” I explained that the song poignantly describes how the system is stacked against people like him and how sometimes it’s nice to know that someone else gets it. Still, this felt insufficient for what he faced. It felt like giving a Band-Aid to a gunshot wound victim who is profusely bleeding when everyone knows that a surgeon is needed to remove the bullet so the healing can begin.

A redeeming aspect of writing this book was that it afforded me an opportunity to mend family relationships that had been damaged by years of unspoken words and distance. On several occasions I met separately with MH and Carl and got to know them as people and not just parents. From MH, I’m sure I got my twisted sense of humor. She’d frequently poke fun at her grandchildren: “Malik wants to be thug and don’t know how to be one. He ain’t even man enough to pee straight. He better sit his light-in-the-behind-ass down.” She made me laugh constantly when we got together. Another thing that she did was to help keep me connected to people from my past. “You remember Lil’ Mama?” she’d ask. Invariably, I’d say no. MH would continue: “She told me to tell you hello and to remind you that she saved you from getting many ass-whippings.” “Oh yeah, now I remember her, Lil’ Mama,” I’d reply.

My interactions with Carl were equally rewarding but centered primarily on sports. He wanted to make sure that I continued to support the Miami-based professional teams. “What do you think of those Heat?” I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I’ve never been a Heat supporter. The Miami Heat joined the NBA for the 1988–1989 season, four years after I had left the area. So I never developed an emotional bond with that team as I had with the Dolphins. Nonetheless, it’s clear to me that Carl spurred my interests in athletics, and were it not for athletics, this book probably would have never been written. My participation in high school athletics required that I maintain a minimum GPA, which ensured that I would graduate. Carl and I reminisced about the time when we went to see the Muhammad Ali–George Foreman fight, 1974’s “Rumble in the Jungle,” on closed-circuit television at the convention center. It was a special night; it was our birthday. I also learned that he speaks with Tobias on a regular basis, offering guidance and support, and that he hasn’t had a drink in nearly twenty years.

As I spent time with my parents, I couldn’t help thinking about my own young children and the time that I wasn’t spending with them. Damon was now eighteen and preparing to go off to college and Malakai was six years younger, attending a middle school that charges tuition rates comparable to a college. The environment in which Robin and I are raising them is utterly different from the one in which I was raised. This is a source of anxiety and relief. I sometimes worry that we have pampered them too much. Would they be able to fend for themselves should something happen to Robin and me? My siblings and I joke about how MH made it clear to us that we were on our own very early in life, especially if we got into trouble with the law. One of her favorite lines was “If you go to jail, don’t call me.” MH firmly believes that her child-rearing philosophy is the reason for her children’s success in life. Her children, however, have a different perspective.

Robin and I have been fortunate to shield our children from the traps that face so many other black boys, including Tobias and my nephews. Damon and Malakai don’t seem to have the emotional scars that I carried from my childhood. They are thoughtful and verbally expressive, even when emotional. Both have participated in athletics and the arts since they were very young. Each has already read more books than I had upon completion of my undergraduate studies; for them, an undergraduate education is the minimum expectation. They have traveled throughout the United States and have been to foreign countries. Importantly, they are staking their claim in this society. The thing that pleases me most, however, is that they are happy and cheerful. Much of their free time is spent together playing games, laughing and joking. When watching Damon and Malakai interact, I am often reminded of the time when Louie and I were kids climbing the huge sapodilla tree in Big Mama’s yard. “Don’t go too high,” Louie would say. Because he was older, he felt compelled to look after me and make sure I didn’t step on a weak branch and fall.

Billboard.

After saying good-bye to Louie, I sat in the car and cried, because I felt as though I had failed to look after him as he had done for me when we were kids. Prior to writing this book, I hadn’t cried since I was a child. Now, in the car, a flood of tears poured from my eyes. I thought about all of the other Louies we’ve failed to look after. I thought about all the years that I spent away from my Florida family in order to obtain an education that seems inadequate to help solve the problems they face. The tears continued streaming down as I thought about the tremendous promise that Louie once showed; I felt crushed that we both couldn’t have been scientists. After several minutes, I gathered myself and started the car. Johnny Cash was on the radio singing, “There will be peace in the valley for me, dear Lord I pray. . . .” And I slowly drove away.

CHAPTER 17

Drug Policy Based on Fact, Not Fiction

It’s time for America to get right.

—
FANNIE LOU HAMER

S
o, are you saying that we should legalize hard drugs like cocaine, heroin, and methamphetamine?” The question was in response to the presentation that I had just given to a group of white, aging New York City hipsters. They were fairly well educated; you know, the NPR type. Some were even professionals such as neurologists, psychologists, and social workers. All had come to a basement bar in Brooklyn to hear me speak at their monthly “secret science club” meeting.

The room was dimly lit, smelled of alcohol, and filled to capacity—several would-be attendees were turned away. Bodies rubbed up against bodies like we were in a popular dance club. Some even reeked of marijuana smoke. And as I stood on the brightly lit stage—so bright that I had to wear sunglasses—I couldn’t help thinking back to my childhood when I was a DJ spinning records in similar settings, except then, the audiences were all black. “I mean I totally agree that war on drugs has been a huge failure. And I even support legalizing marijuana, but I’m
not
in favor of legalizing the hard drugs,” the attractive thirtysomething woman wearing a Public Enemy T-shirt continued.

I wasn’t surprised by her question and comments. It wasn’t the first time that one of my presentations had been met with skepticism or incredulity. And to be fair, I had just told this audience, many of whom took great pride in their critical thinking skills, that they had been hoodwinked and miseducated for much of their lives about what drugs do and don’t do. I used a mountain of scientific data to call into question some of the purported damaging effects of the “hard drugs” on brain functioning. I explained that there has been an ongoing concerted effort to overstate the dangers of drugs like cocaine, heroin, and methamphetamine. The primary players in this effort are scientists, law enforcement officials, politicians, and the media.

While I acknowledged the potential for abuse and harm caused by these drugs, I emphasized that there had been extensive misinterpretation of the scientific evidence and considerable hyping of anecdotal reports. This situation, I explained, has not only wrongly stigmatized drug users and abusers; it has also led to misguided policy making. Does this mean that drug legalization is the only option available to us when we reconsider what drug policies should be in place? Of course not. Drug prohibition, the most prevalent current form of drug policy, and drug legalization are on opposite ends of the drug policy continuum. There are multiple options in between.

One such option is drug decriminalization. Decriminalization is often confused with legalization. They are not the same thing. Here’s the major difference: Under legalization, the sale, acquisition, use, and possession of drugs are legal. Our current policies regulating alcohol and tobacco, for those of legal age, are examples of drug legalization. Under decriminalization, on the other hand, the acquisition, use, and possession of drugs can be punished by a citation much like traffic violations are. Mind you, drugs still are
not
legal, but infractions do not lead to criminal convictions—the one thing that has prevented so many from obtaining employment, housing, governmental benefits, treatment, and so on. This is crucial when you consider this fact: each year, more than 80 percent of arrests in the United States for drug offenses involves only simple possession.
¹
Sales of all illicit drugs, however, remain criminal offenses under decriminalization laws.

Drug decriminalization isn’t a new concept. In fact, a handful of states, including California and Massachusetts, have decriminalized marijuana. Although the specifics vary from state to state, in general the laws read something like this: any person caught with less than an ounce of marijuana or smoking in public is punishable by a civil fine of one hundred dollars. No state has decriminalized other illegal drugs. You might ask, why not? Well, before answering, it might be informative for us to look at the Portugal experiment.