I think I’m Big Meech/Larry Hoover, Whipping work/hallelujah, One nation/under god.  Real n*ggas getting money from the fu*king start — B.M.F (Blowin Money Fast) by Rick Ross featuring Styles P

Earlier this month, Casey Gane-McCalla, a journalist, rapper, comedian, and Facebook friend, declared on his FB status: “I am an Ivy league college educated journalist with no criminal background . . . still when I hear this song . . . I think I’m Big Meech.”

The song that Gane-McCalla refers to is B.M.F, a single from Rick Ross’s fourth album, Teflon Don which dropped last month.  The song’s considered a heater.  The summer’s hip-hop anthem.

His admission came as I started to notice more and more Black male friends and associates like Gane-McCalla embrace Rick Ross with fingers thrown in the air. These are college graduates who own all of the rapper’s albums, recite his lyrics passionately, and wear dress shirts and ties to work daily even though it’s not required.  These are corporate ladder-climbers who admit that Ross is growing on them and wonder why I don’t agree.  These are straight-laced brothers who turn up the radio and head nod hard to gangster stories attached to thumping beats.

These are Ivy-leaguers who, even just for the length of the song, feel like they’re Big Meech.

Some context: Demetrius “Big Meech” Flenory, cofounded the notorious, drug cartel BMF (Black Mafia Family).  It’s been estimated that the organization, led by he and his brother Terry “Southwest T” Flenory, pulled in more than $250 million during its reign.

Big Meech lived the lifestyle so many rappers claim and celebrate.  Cases of champagne at the club.  Host of luxury cars.  He beamed money-green and really did blow money fast.  Women swooned and brothers bowed.  His crew was air-tight; zero tolerance for disrespect.

The hypermasculine dream.  Until the inevitable fall in 2008, when Big Meech received a thirty-year prison sentence for running a criminal enterprise.

So why would Black men, who possess the legitimized American dream credentials—good education, better job, nicer salary, property in their own name—sometimes feel, as Ross has termed, “Meechy”?

“I think that many professional and educated Black men feel constrained in their day-to-day realities,” says Mark Anthony Neal, professor of African & African-American Studies at Duke University.

“Particularly,” he adds, “in relation to their performances of masculinity, where they are always conscious of how their ambition, aggression and physical presence is interpreted by White colleagues and superiors. Call it the Obama syndrome.”

Enter Rick Ross.  A dream’s vessel.  A movie director, shaping and crafting imagery using a repetitive script.

In B.M.F, the crime-laden dialogue and cues are laid with ferocity over a nastier beat: being self-made, versus being affiliated; building from the ground up, no renovating; penetrating claimed women.

The middle-finger American dream—one that multiple-degreed brothers can pump fists to at the club, groove to on the way to work, or listen to on their iPod at the gym. Unharmed.

“Unlike the many little kids in the ghetto who will fight to be the next Big Meech, I have no plans in following in his footsteps,” admits Gane-McCalla. “Still, I sing along with Rick Ross’s song. Why?  Is it my Michael Corleone Godfather-Soprano fantasy?  Probably.  A rap song can temporarily lift me from my safe, yet hardly lucrative position of a journalist to the fast exciting world of being a drug dealer.  A world I can quickly exit without fear of getting shot or incarcerated.”

Life as code-switching?  A gangsta-inspired double-consciousness?

“Big Meech allows some of these men to perform an alternative version of themselves,” says Neal, “and what is critical, is that they fully understand that it’s an alternative performance that must be managed away from their professional lives.”

The radio gets turned down as they approach the office.  And often, the next performance begins in the workplace to appease White colleagues.

“Rick Ross becomes an ideal symbol of [alternative performance],” Neal notes, “because given the questions about his back story, most folk are clear that he is all performance, but one that remains compelling and attractive.”

Ross’s credibility was marred back in ’08 when allegations emerged that he had worked as a correctional officer.  Surprisingly, his rapper card wasn’t revoked.  He bounced back through denial and a tighter hold to I’m real convictions.  A politician in the making.

However, not all Black males have the luxury to drift in and out of the Big Meech fantasy.  “Still for the millions of little Black children who see being the next Big Meech as they’re only outlet for success,” Gane-McCalla says, “that world is not as easy to exit.”

This isn’t to suggest that Ross is the first image peddler or the last.  Nor is it to suggest this is the first complicated relationship between fantasy maker and outside spectator.  There’s the overused hip-hop paradigm of the suburban white kids who consume gangster culture on demand, without investment in its sociopolitical implications.  The difference here is that even as these professional men move further away from the Black man as a thug image, that divide could be instantly closed by media, police officers, or employers who rely on stereotypes to navigate the world and retain power.

Let Ross tell it though, the connection is about a shared desire for achieving.  “It’s just about being creative, being flyer than you were yesterday,” he told AllHipHop.com about his success.  “I wake up and try to do that. You got to switch the color of the stones up sometimes, go to new heights, you got to go above and beyond the lames . . . it makes for great television.”

And according to him, B.M.F isn’t just about celebrating thirty-year prison sentences.  It’s “getting out of the recession” and “back on the grind” music.  The song is about “the struggle,” Ross explained in a recent interview with DC’s WKYS 93.9.

These days struggle is relative.  Some brothers war with injustice.  Some battle poverty.  Others fight corporate bullying as they try to secure a dream that wasn’t originally designed with them in mind.  Yet most must combat the stereotypes that media, racist institutions, their brothers, and perhaps they themselves perpetuate.

Struggle has always needed a soundtrack and, for some black men, it may just be the music—catchy rhymes and hot beats—that attracts them.  “Despite the glorification of crime, B.M.F is a dope song,” Gane-McCalla admits.

But he’s sure to add that he can’t stop thinking how much better it would be if the hook was:

“I think I’m Malcolm X/Martin Luther
, I seen the mountain/hallelujah, One nation/under god, Real brothers make change it’s the fu*king squad”

This piece was originally published at TheLoop21.com.  Felicia Pride is the founder of BackList, a media.entertainment.education company and the author of The Message. Follow her on Twitter.

“We don’t get the ‘Afro Picks!’ cover. It’s not hip, cute, or appealing.” This is one opinion shared on Twitter; another tweet said:  “It seems like a big mistake,” and another read, “what exactly is the rationale behind the Afro-picks cover?” “This is a ridiculous cover. An afro with lotso picks. Get it?” “Publishers Weekly what were you thinking?” According to Publishers Weekly, by early afternoon on Monday, Twitter was swarming with comments about the cover illustration and few of the comments were complimentary.

The cover line for the image reads Afro Picks! New Books and Trends in African-American Publishing, referring to the feature story “African-American Books in Today’s Marketplace,” a look at the current marketplace for black books written by Felicia Pride. The clever pairing of title and image is a common practice for all periodicals as is the use of controversy for the sake of generating increased attention and revenue. We are all entitled to our opinions, and the question of taste is subjective. Ultimately, it all boils down to an issue of intention, or is it trust?

In response to the disapproval, PW Editorial Director Brian Kenney said “My apologies to anyone who was offended by our cover—that certainly wasn’t our intent. At the same time, I’m delighted that Publishers Weekly was able to draw so much attention to Lauren Kelley’s powerful photograph, Deborah Willis’s wonderful book, and especially Felicia Pride’s absolutely terrific feature on African-American book publishing.”

The use of these types of images brings up a number of questions, concerns and debates. Rather than go numb – or go off half-cocked – it sounds as if some thoughtful comments were twittered putting PW in question as to its objectives. It’s a matter of cause and effect when perceivably questionable images of black people are displayed by a white owned media sources – and the war rages on….

Clutchettes & Gents, what’s your take on thangs?

Terri J. Vaughn knows the short answer to that, and for good reason. In 2007, Vaughn produced a documentary, Angels Can’t Help But Laugh that brought all of the aforementioned thespians (and more) together to deconstruct and vent over a common problem: the subjugation of black women in Hollywood. As you can tell from the names above, these aren’t tyros in the industry. These are the deacons and elders of the church; their resumes are on point.

“We need more opportunities, we need more varieties of things that show our fullness and if the powers-that-be don’t give us the opportunity, then we have to create them ourselves,” Vaughn said about her film. “I know that our community wants to see us in different roles, in different situations. They don’t want to see the same thing and the same ol’ people.”

Call her bitter, but she may have a point.

In 1990, Fox was floundering in the television sitcom sector before they launched a slew of shows that catered to the African-American demographic. “In Living Color” became steady competition to “Saturday Night Live” and was groundbreaking with its satiric focus on Black subject matter. “Martin” came along shortly thereafter and was adored in many households and is regularly in many people’s conversation as one the best black sitcoms in the 90′s. Then along came “The Simpsons” and “MADtv“. “Roc” and “Living Single” were also highly regarded shows that were apart of the rising popularity of Fox television in that period. But by 2000, there was just a dash of African-American sitcoms on Fox.

In 1995, a year after “In Living Color” was canceled, The WB Television Network was started. The WB, as it was called, crafted most of its first sitcoms (Wayans Brothers, The Parent ‘Hood and Sister, Sister) to target the black audience. Once viewership picked up, “7th Heaven” and “The Steve Harvey Show” and “The Jamie Foxx Show” were added to the network’s slate. Then “Dawson’s Creek” came along and established another identity for The WB. By 2002, Black sitcoms were nonexistent on the network.

Those two networks realized the profitability limits of catering too much to a niche market in the long-run. There’s a popular notion that black sitcoms are unable to appeal to a general audience, which explains why many are canceled inexplicably. It starts as a niche focus, and once the capacity for profits (marginal utility) is at its peak, then a general audience is needed. Shows such as “The Simpsons“, “7th Heaven“, and “Dawson’s Creek” receive top billing and sitcoms that cater directly to Black audiences are suddenly pushed to the side. It’s an implicit message that states: You are good enough to launch or revitalize our networks, but not enough to stick around on the come-up.

*****

“Tadow, how you like me now?” became the ubiquitous catchphrase of Lovita Alizay Jenkins-Robinson, the ghetto-fabulous, kindhearted, loyal “administrative assistant” in “The Steve Harvey Show“. Though the show ended eight years ago, it is still in heavy syndication; so Vaughn is no less removed – or weary – from the constant reminders of her lovable character.

“There are definitely differences [between Vaughn and her character Lovita]. I don’t really talk like that and she’s probably more outspoken than I am,” reflects Vaughn. “But there are many similarities between me and her…I had to get it from somewhere. Her sass. Her passion. The fact that she was a good person…all of that is me.”

No stranger to successful shows, Vaughn has shown her face in many of America’s favorites: “Married With Children“, “Family Matters”, “Living Single“, “ER“, “Soul Food“, “Girlfriends“, and “All of Us“. The latter, “All of Us“, was Vaughn’s latest deep foray into the world of television sitcoms. She has been cast in an array of movies, from “Friday” to ”Don’t Be A Menace To South Central While Drinking Your Juice In The Hood” to “Daddy’s Little Girls“. Vaughn, who also has used her platform to raise awareness to children growing up in perilous environments, is a mother to two boys and a wife to Karon Riley. But beyond that, she is a woman who feels that her talents remain underutilized. So like many who feel their proverbial backs are against the wall, Vaughn is taking matters into her own hands.

“The Real TV“, Vaughn’s signature Facebook weekly video blog, is her way of honing her skills to prepare her for another step. “Really, I just want my own talk show,” she intimates, laughing. “I want my own talk show and sitcom.” Some of the topics on her weekly blog thus far:

1) Is it OK for a spouse or significant other to have a friendship with his ex?
2) Is it OK to date the ex of a friend?
3) Is it OK for a wife to say no to sex to her husband?
4) Pursuing your passions and living in faith.
5) Divorce and child custody.
6) Women making more money than men in relationships.

Vaughn’s modus operandi is on giving viewers the “real deal” on topics. Her inaugural blog, I’m Sick of This Sh**&*T!, is a vociferous expression of her views toward the Hollywood industry. All pretentiousness aside, Vaughn shows that she is a working woman who is striving to give her voice in all its splendor. This is where Michelle Obama’s presence could help. The spotlight on The First Lady will do wonders to shed the limiting stereotypes of Black women, Vaughn says.

“Absolutely!” Vaughn exclaims. “Here is a normal Black woman. It’s not like she’s out of the ordinary for us. We’re just happy that we get to see this woman on television and that’s just who she is naturally. We need to see a variety of visions of ourselves and not just one vision and Michelle Obama is a vision that we don’t get to see enough.”

Vaughn’s philanthropic organization, the Take Wings Foundation, aims to show young girls another vision of life by exposing them to opportunities beyond the crime and despair of San Francisco projects. Not too long ago, Vaughn was a resident of these same projects herself. The path she’s traveled – from thwarting neighborhood bullies and working two jobs to pay for a car and college education – has only bolstered her belief that there is more to her career than Lovita or Jonelle. She has come too far.

“I just think that there’s so much more than the public hasn’t seen,” she says, “ and that time is coming. This just challenges me to dig deeper and work harder and figure out how I can create opportunities for myself.”

*****

“TV ought to reflect the reality of America’s diversity and should do so with pride and dignity, not with stereotypes. – Barack Obama to the Academy of Television Arts and Sciences in 2004.

*****

The glass-half-full mentality that Vaughn exudes may seem highfalutin in these times, but for her and many of her ilk, it is a necessity. The skewed amount of paleness in broadcast networks is, for many Blacks actors, downright lamentable. In 1997, broadcast networks (non-cable channels) provided 15 black situational comedies. Today? Two. And those two, “Everybody Hates Chris” and “The Game”, have been relegated to Friday nights. Tyler Perry’s “House of Payne” and “Meet The Browns” (which are highly popular but critically panned) are basic cable offerings. This drought isn’t just restricted to sitcoms; if you look at television drama, the scene gets more sordid (unless your name is Lawrence Fishburne and Dennis Haysbert). The recession has hit black television actors long before it hit the rest of the nation.

Not only does this detract from actors’ livelihood, this affects Black writers and directors as well. Network executives argue that ethnic writers write material that is too trendy and focused, which tends to bring in a trendy and niched audience. The best television shows of all time, they argue, is wide-ranging in its subject matter. While “Moesha” and “Girlfriends” may have brought in the young, cosmopolitan black female demographic, “Seinfeld” and “Friends” brought in everybody.

“I hate to say it’s our own fault,” creator of “Soul Food“ Felicia D. Henderson told the Los Angeles Times last December. ”As black producers and writers got their own shows, the visions and premises became hipper and cooler. It became more specific. There was nothing left for general audiences.”

That makes a world of difference when it comes to profitability, network execs assert. But one would be hardpressed to say that black sitcoms isn’t a remedy to low viewership. If networks want to improve their floundering sitcom ratings (see TBS and House of Payne), it would serve well to heed the examples of recent history. “The Cosby Show” rejuvenated NBC in the 80’s. “In Living Color” and “Martin” led the wave of sitcoms that elevated Fox in the 90’s. The aforementioned TBS has received second life in sitcom land because of a formerly derelict African-American playwright. Black actors and writers and directors getting an opportunity in television isn’t the issue per se; it’s the sustaining of opportunities that is the cause for concern. You are good enough to launch or revitalize our networks, but not enough to stick around on the come-up.

In the meantime, however, Terri Vaughn will continue to dote on her two boys and husband. She’ll kick it with the Malinda Williams’ and Regina Kings of the world, and hit the town together with their accessories in full tow. They’ll laugh and thank God for their prior blessings and those to come. Sometime during that outing, Vaughn will even reach into her clutch and pull out that ever-constant lip-gloss resting next to her American Express Card, ID and $40 cash. Then she’ll come home to a computer and blast Mary J. Blige before addressing her Facebook faithful, who tune in to see an actress who is funny, intelligent, frustrated and buoyant, all at once.

“I’m always hopeful,” she said. “Why? God. That’s just the way it works. I always believe that I’m a part of a plan, my destiny is a part of something bigger and better. This is just a part of my journey.”

Sometimes a good book really is all you need. They have the power to transform, take your mind off of troubles, whisk you to fantasy lands, and even if for a mere hour, allow you peek into the intimate details of someone else’s life. So we’re saluting the authors who keep us on the edge of our seats and leave us wanting more–sharing with you our favorite scribes who put pen to paper and uplift voices for the unheard.

Name: Felicia Pride
Website: www.feliciapride.com

Clutch: Who or what inspired you to become a writer?
FP: There were a lot of inspirations from the lyricists of hip-hop to my mother to my college English professor who told me to pursue writing as a career. But it’s funny because even with all of those inspirations, it took me a long time to embrace the title “writer.” Fear is a mofo.

Clutch: If you weren’t a writer, what do you think you would be doing?
FP: Well I went to school for business and worked in marketing for some time. I also worked in book publishing. I think I would probably still be working in book publishing, maybe as an editor. Although I do have these closet fantasies of being a professional dancer (think backup for Missy Elliot versus Alvin Ailey) or an interior designer.

Clutch: In your opinion, what’s the one thing one must possess if they want to become a professional writer?
FP: The ability to overcome the emotional agony of the act and business of writing. Okay that sounds a little cynical, but it’s pretty true. It’s real in the field and you have to be able to put rejection, critics, writer’s block and self-doubt to the side and still embrace your inner creativity.

Clutch: How has the internet and Social Media helped you as a writer?
FP: Both have been tremendous in my career in more ways than I can name. One, they have been instrumental in the promotion of my work. Second, they’ve been great for research and networking. They’ve also allowed a space to “practice” writing through blogs, updates, online rants, etc.. They’ve also been great distractions when I’m procrastinating.

Clutch: Tell us about your current book.
FP: My current book is THE MESSAGE: 100 Life Lessons From Hip-Hop’s Greatest Songs is a collection of essays that explores what we can learn from the multitude of stories that drip from good hip-hop songs–from ideas on politics, love, relationships, careers, ambition, and more. Think of it as a literary mixtape.

Clutch: What advice would you give to up and coming writers?
FP: Yeah it is supposed to feel like “that” when you’re creating. If you feel “that” (which many times is a mixture of fear, uncertainty, agony, anxiety, happiness, freedom, euphoria) then you’re on the right track. Write like your life depends on it. Silence naysayers with your pen or keystroke.