On Making The Album, Fostering Love

Just wrapping up another beautiful week in the studio with The Oneness Project, recording my first full length album, “Rites Of Passage”. It’s coming along smoothly. And its opening my eyes to a lot of new things. I’m really appreciating the journey that is taking place, and all the hard work that is being put in from every musician, and the love that is being fostered all along the way.

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PC: Yasmina Mattison

For me, this isn’t an ordinary project. In writing this music, I had to look deep inside myself, and relive a lot of experiences in my own life: pain, love, and everything in between.

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PC: Yasmina Mattison

This isn’t my first time in the studio recording music, or my first time composing original work. But it is the first time where I’m seeing the vision I fully intended taking shape in ways I never dreamed of, and where I’ve had to stop, and say to myself “we are truly onto something beautiful.”

 

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PC: Yasmina Mattison

But what’s more special is when you can find a group of musicians who can help bring that vision to life. The sound reflects a level of love and selflessness from everyone involved in the project. I’m grateful to everyone who was able to get behind on such a message that we are trying to spread with this album, and I can’t wait to share it with you all.

Stay tuned.

 

Black People Dying Ain’t New, It’s the Status Quo of American History

black-lives-matter-atl Last month, a man was shot six times while being restrained at a gas station in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. His name was Alton Sterling. He was black, and the cop who chose to kill him was white. Many people would argue that racial identity doesn’t matter in a case like this, but for black people, Alton Sterling wasn’t an exception, he was the rule. For anyone arguing that #AllLivesMatter, they only need to see the video of his killing to know that right now, the word “All” excludes black lives.

For the #BlackLivesMatter movement, the slaying of Alton Sterling was a tipping point. Watching a man be senselessly murdered, shot six times in the head while on the ground—that will wake people up. And what we saw in the days to follow was a growing understanding that this can’t continue.

This past year, we aren’t seeing anything new—the black experience in America has always been defined by violence— but now more people are starting to take it seriously. Black America’s pleas for life are being heard for once, but that isn’t relief, it is frustrating that it took this long. What is equally frustrating is that some people still will not be swayed.

A week later, five cops were killed in Dallas, and any potential momentum from the death of Sterling was met with a wall of resistance. Maybe some will never say #BlackLivesMatter because in their minds, black issues have never been view as urgent. To say #AllLivesMatter is to take the blue pill of American history and pretend that we got to where we are with no tension, no injustices, and no blood shed. To simplify the hurt and fear by black people is to either ignore how real violence has always been in black people’s lives, or to just not care.

white-lynch-mobsAt the height of lynching, around 1890, around six black men were killed every month by white mobs. This is not hearsay, or speculation, this is fact. Nor is this just “black history”. It is American history, as American as the Declaration of Independence and the Hamilton musical. More alarming is that in the heart of Dixieland, the mass murder of African-Americans at the hands of lynch mobs was not just public knowledge, it was public entertainment. Look at archival footage of the lynchings and see white children, white sheriffs, white politicians—all smiling. Members of the Ku Klux Klan, a white supremacist terrorist organization, were regarded as respected individuals in their communities. To many whites, they weren’t breaking the law or committing murder, they were preserving white dominance. Through the lens of white supremacy, those who participated in lynch mobs were viewed as heroes.

1890 was almost half a century after slaves were emancipated. The 13th, 14th, and 15th Amendments had been passed. African-Americans were free citizens, entitled to the protection of the law, and on paper, black men could vote. Yet 40 years after emancipation, blacks living in the South still were living in a state a fear. Six lynchings a month is not just a number. It is a Trayvon Martin, a Tamir Rice, a Sandra Bland, an Eric Garner, a Michael Brown, an Alton Sterling, every month. Those are the same numbers we are seeing today. 

Lynching wasn’t what solely defined black existence in the South. There were the Jim Crow laws, which told you if you were black that your skin color, not your merit, will determine life prospects, which school you can go to, what restaurants to avoid, and the occupation you would be allowed to pursue. There was sharecropping, where even if slavery had ended, other systems of servitude could be used  to lawfully maintain a caste system based on race. Laws were enacted that placed black men in prison at disproportionately higher rates than whites, who were then leased to companies for cheap labor. Black men could vote, but poll taxes, literacy tests and other clauses would keep them from the polls. If all these tactics failed to keep black Americans as second class citizens—if blacks still aspired for something more—violence would be used without the least bit of hesitation.

This is what it meant to be black in a Jim-Crow South. Post-slavery, but not even close to post-racist. Violence may not have always been the first resort, but it was never absent as a possibility. If you didn’t step out of the way on a sidewalk for a white person to pass, if you didn’t address a white as “sir” or “ma’am” no matter the age, if you spoke your mind at the wrong time, you might as well have had a death wish.  As soon as black people’s bodies were no longer seen as valuable under slavery, they would be easily disposed of if need be. If you were black and chose not to prescribe to the racial hierarchy, you could be killed.

This barbarism was known throughout the country, including on Capitol Hill, where just as many legislators came from the North as from the South. Any idea that the terror in African-Americans’ lives was unknown to whites in the North needs to be dismissed. People in the North were well aware, and their silence was an acceptance of a way of life in the South, an acceptance that black lives did not matter, that blackness meant a deserved onslaught of oppressive forces, approved by, even if not directly administered, the state.

Only in 2005 did Congress apologize for their inaction during this dark period in American history.

Chicago-1919-preriot_webThat culture of white supremacy fueled the mass exodus of blacks from the South to northern cities. From 1910 to 1970, 6 million African-Americans came north in hopes of better prospects, but found no escape from white supremacy. Black folk leaving Jim-Crow South would arrive only to find new legal systems in place to limit their prospects. Around the same time that northern cities were seeing an increase in African-American migrants, the Federal Housing Administration  began granting home loans at better rates than ever before. The suburbs were being formed and the middle class was expanding, but blacks would have a harder time grabbing hold of these incentives. Many mortgages had racially discriminatory clauses in the contracts, denying any chance of a suburban, middle-class life to anyone who wasn’t white.

As whites moved to the suburbs, blacks remained in the cities, where they continued to be subject to racist policies like redlining. Redlining restricted and decided how funds would be allocated throughout a city and where city would invest its funds. City officials would color code a map. An area colored in green would get the most amount of resources, whereas an area with red would get little-to-none. This is where the term redlining comes from. Most areas colored in red were areas with a high demographic of Blacks.

To make bad situations worse, the construction of Highways in the 1960s would segregate and impoverish black communities even more. City officials would often decide to construct these highways in communities where people of color resided. The construction of these highways would displace the people living in these neighborhoods that would soon be torn up, but they didn’t have much options on where to go from there. The end result was more concentrated and segregated communities based around race and class than before.

This is how the northern ghettos were formed, and the rest of the tragedies and injustices that define the modern black American experience—poor schools, the crack epidemic, mass incarceration, drug trade—became natural consequences of racist policies towards black and brown people. White supremacy existed even with legislation. It is too strong to be held down by law. At the core, it is not American policing that black people want reformed, but the state to finally commit to upholding the dignity of what it never has before: black lives. Just like the days of lynching, the police has terrorized these communities in order to preserve white supremacy. The names we see behind hashtags aren’t a new trend, they are the status quo since Jim Crow south, and they define what it ultimately means to be black in America.

It is easy to condemn the anger of the #BlackLivesMatter movement. But that anger comes from how history has always treated black lives, spat at them and told them “your issues will take second seat”. When the state has perpetually given little regard to not just your humanity, but your fathers, and your father’s father, and a whole line of black men you have descended from, who look like you, and have continually lived life with hopeless outlooks, it is hard to not be jaded and to remain calm and collective at every new death we hear.

Yes, Black people are angry, but Black rage can’t exist without a history of white hate. This history has always been known to black people, only now are white people perhaps beginning to realize they never had to know this history, and that makes them uneasy. The case for #AllLivesMatter is only validated by people who either choose to minimize the history of violence in black people’s lives or completely ignore it. The slogan is for people who want to continue to be comfortable in a bubble that lets them ignore the issues pertaining to black people, but the movement won’t stop for whites’ uneasiness over addressing racism. If it wasn’t for the brave souls who stood up, made white people uncomfortable, blacks would still be in chains. You don’t get progress without a little bit of tension, of making the status quo be questioned, and the power group feel uncomfortable. This idea that the only way we can achieve true unity is through never fully acknowledging all the horrible things that have been done is nonsense. Black people are dying, have died, and will continue to die regardless if we chose to confront reality head on or wipe it under the rug. Some people can choose whether or not they want to acknowledge this history, but their choices will continue the extermination of black people.

Throughout history, what the state has never done is value black lives. We need to accept this as fact before anything else. Progress is only predicated on honesty.

 

The Silence of Injustices: The Baha’is of Iran

965_00_rezvaniLast month, Mr. Ataollah Rezvani was murdered. His body was found in his car on the outskirts of Bandar Abass, the Iranian city to which he resided in. Leading up to this moment, Rezvani had been expelled from his University, he had been let go from his job, and the weeks prior to his murder, he had received menacing phone calls.

All of these events–being denied an education, fired from his job, the threatening phone calls–were all because of one reason: Mr. Ataollah Rezvani was a member of the Baha’i Faith.

Members of the Baha’i Faith make up the largest religious minority in Iran. They believe in the equality of men and women, the eradication of all forms of prejudices, the realization of a universal education, and the elimination of extreme disparities between the rich and poor. But because of their religion, the Baha’is in Iran have endured persecution that has extended to torture, imprisonment, the denial of higher education, and for some, even death.

In 2008, The Yaran (“The Friends”), 7 individuals who make up the Baha’i governing body of Iran, were imprisoned for no other reason than the religion they practice. They are each serving up to 20 years of imprisonment. But they are not alone. Currently, 116 Baha’is are imprisoned in Iran for their beliefs, while another 448 are out on bail.

We live in a country that prides itself on two principles: democracy and freedom, and we see it as our duty to protect these principles domestically, as well as abroad. Yet, despite this lofty rhetoric, the Baha’is in Iran still face overt persecution and discrimination because of their beliefs, and the world remains silent while their basic human rights and dignity are being stripped away. Even when then US Secretary of State, Hilary Clinton, spoke out against the persecution in front of congress, and when it was brought in front of the United Nations by the Secretary General, silent, the world still remained.

This silence is a legacy of inconvenient realities. Realities where we, the privileged, decide which injustices deserve to be noticed, and which ones deserve to be ignored. We see it now more than ever, when after two years of Civil War and brutal dictatorship, the U.S. now sees their obligation to intervene in Syria, without any sense of irony on how they remained silent during Rwanda, Dar Fur, South African Apartheid and so many other injustices  that continue to arise around the globe.

So today, the Bahai’s of Iran continue to endure hardships, but I pray for a day when not just the Persecution of Baha’is, but where all injustices are notably acknowledged and given the sense of urgency they deserve. I pray for a day when justice and human dignity are equally shared throughout humanity, and when the realization of the oneness of humankind becomes universally embraced.

Below are a collection of narratives that tell the plight of Baha’is in Iran.

The story of Roxana Saberi’s time in prison with Mahvash Sabet and Fariba Kamalabadi, two of The Yaran (“the Friends”), sentenced to 20 years in prison simply for helping administer the needs of the Baha’i community in Iran.

A profile of Iranian-Kurdish human rights activist and researcher, Soraya Fallah, with her daughter Cklara Moradian. Soraya was imprisoned four times, and tortured so severely that she miscarried in solitary confinement

A heartbreaking account of Mahmoud Madjzoob, told by his widow Shokooh Madjzoob, and their son Soroush.

Political activist Jafar Yaghoobi’s first-person account of his four and a half years in prison.

The story of Soheilia Afnani and her father Nusratullah Subhani, a local Baha’i leader who was executed March 5th, 1985.

A story of love, courage, and belief in freedom with Reza Fani Yazdi and his wife Soheila Vahdati.