I'm staring down the barrel of a .45. Ask me anything about the gun. Every scratch, every nick in the brushed metal finish is burning itself into the back of my eyes. I want to take a step back, but he's shouting at me not to move. [i]Move?[/i] I'm too afraid to [b]breathe[/b] right now. And why? Why am I afraid? I'm an unarmed, black, ten year old kid who has done nothing wrong. If we look at this situation objectively, there's no reason to be afraid. The gun is unnecessary in this situation. There's no reason for the cop to pull the trigger. [b]...who do I think I'm kidding?[/b] The cop behind the gun is trembling. He's shaking so badly that I can't keep my eyes focused on the gun any longer. It's moving too much. He's a greasy faced, red headed, whitebread patrolman who probably spent his whole life in Woodcrest. He's totally going to pull the trigger. Why? Because I'm the first black youth he's seen that hasn't been on TV. Everything he thinks he knows about me he's gleaned from re-runs of [i]Gangstalicious: Resurrection[/i] and YouTube videos of Kanye West's public spectacle at the MTV Music Video Awards. He's going to pull the trigger because the fear of not knowing what happens if he [i]doesn't[/i] pull that trigger outweighs the fear of what happens if he [b]does[/b]. 'Shooting while white' isn't a crime in or of itself. Getting shot while black? That's reasonable doubt. Why did the black kid get shot? Who needs facts to answer that question? Society has force fed people enough stories so the facts become less important. We can just fill those in. Gangs. Drugs. Gangs and drugs. Mix and match. You know you do it. You read the one paragraph news blurb in the paper about the black kid who got shot, then turn the page without batting an eye. I'm about to become that black kid you read about. You'll spare a sentence about how the cop is on paid leave pending an investigation that will never be written about. No one will report on a story when everyone can conveniently contrive their own facts from skin color alone. You'll read my one paragraph story and then flip the page so you can check out when the premiere of [i]Real Housewives of Topeka, Kansas[/i] airs. So that leaves me just one choice. [i]Do or do not.[/i] And the moment I realize what it is I'm about to do, is the moment when I realize: [b]I'm in a nigga moment.[/b] Man, how did it come to this? [center][img]http://baku-panda.org/images/pmk/boondocks.gif[/img] [b]B L A C K • P O W E R • F I S T • B E G I N S[/b] [i]part i[/i][/center] [b]The Town of Woodcrest, Maryland[/b] [i]8 hours earlier...[/i] Martin Luther King, Jr. said, [i]I have a dream.[/i] Sometimes I think I understand what he meant. Sometimes, in my dreams, I see the land of harmony and justice that he spoke about and I think, [b]wow[/b], this is amazing. Then I wake up. The rhetoric and imagery with which Dr. King so eloquently spoke touches on an [b]idea[/b]. That’s what makes it so powerful. Forty years later, we’re still awed by a speech given by someone on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial because it puts forth an idea that resonates with people of different walks of life. Who doesn’t dream? Who doesn’t want to believe in those dreams? But we live in the real world, and that’s what makes waking up so hard. I lie awake and stare at the ceiling, wondering whether that dream could ever be more than a fantasy. Forty years later, racism isn’t any less relevant to social issues, merely more readily concealed. Forty years ago, Dr. King remarked about how a great American signed an Emancipation Proclamation, and yet at that time – a hundred years later – the Negro still was not free. Today, a black man resides at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, something not even imagined in King’s time or any time before, or even after. And, yet, for all that supposed progress the nation’s prisons are overcrowded with African-American inmates. Over represented in prison populations, under represented in graduating high school and college classes, or economic classes. The ghetto remains synonymous with the black American. And the idea of the black American family is now replete with phrases like ‘baby momma’ and ‘baby daddy.’ Was this what Dr. King envisioned when he looked forward to the future and said, [i]“I have a dream”[/i]? The back of a man’s hand connected with a glancing blow against the side of my head. Bolting upright in bed, I reach a hand up to guard the ear that had just been boxed. Standing over me is the man known to me as [b]Grandad.[/b] “Boy, I know you’re not lyin’ in bed thinkin’ ‘bout no [i]I have a dream[/i] shit again.” Robert Jebediah Freeman had been a first lieutenant in the U.S. Army Air Corps during the Second World War. Coming home, he stood witness to the Civil Rights Movement and now lived out his final days in retirement in suburbia. There’s nothing I can say in this situation. He doesn’t want to hear it, and I’m tired of trying to convince him otherwise. I don’t know, but I do it anyway. “Grandad, I...” “Nigga hush,” the man commands. The sight of a raised hand is enough to compel obedience. “Come get breakfast,” Grandad barks, turning and exiting out of the room. “And wake up Riley!” Still rubbing my ear, I look over at the other bed in the room I share. My younger brother is a lump of bed sheets rising up in the center of the bed. I swing my legs off to one side and nearly slip on something on the floor. It’s a flyer from the bookstore at the mall. Noam Chomsky’s doing a book signing for his latest treatise on western imperialism and anarcho-syndicalism. ...maybe I can talk Grandad into taking us to the mall later. --- [b]Undisclosed Location[/b] [i]The National Security Agency[/i] It was an empty, unremarkable cubicle in a sea of identical cubicles. Just a desk, a phone, and a computer. The phone rang. He picked it up on the second ring. “Yes, sir?” [i]“There’s a [b]problem[/b] in Woodcrest.”[/i] “A problem, sir?” [i]“You don’t believe the problem [b]is[/b] a problem?”[/i] “I think with the right preparation, the problem could prove useful to us. Sow disinformation.” [i]“Our analysts disagree. There’s a book signing this afternoon at the Woodcrest Mall...”[/i] “What makes you think our problem will be there?” [i]“He wouldn’t miss this.”[/i] “Funny. I was just at the book store at that mall the other day. I didn’t hear anything about a book signing.” [i]“Our men inside the local political offices tell us that the Democrats and the Republicans will be showing up to protest, that should give you plenty of material to work with.”[/i] “What kind of result do you need?” [i]“In a perfect world, we take them both down.”[/i] “Understood, sir.” [i]“And the problem?”[/i] “It won’t be a problem, sir.”