Two words with different meanings but working toward the same goal.
The Literati say they are adjectives that modify nouns. I say they become active verbs when they are embodied in a person, in a people.
There have been protests, there have been marches. The one I think about most is the 1964 March on Washington, where the keynote speaker was the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther, King, Jr.
This march produced results, specifically passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964.
But then there was the one in 1965, at Selma’s Edmund Pettis Bridge, where then Southern Nonviolent Coordinating Committee Chairman John Lewis and other black residents were beaten with sticks wielded by white police officers.
Bloody Sunday, they call it.
Black bodies bloodied by white lawmen, white lawmakers, for wanting to participate in the franchise – local, state and federal elections.
These are the marches I think about, the ones that resonate with me the most.
No, I wasn’t there. I arrived in 1968, 16 days before an assassin’s bullet ended Dr. King’s life.
Nor was I there in October 1995, when Louis Farrakan invited Black American men and their non-black allies to something called the Million Man March.
I may have not been present that day, a small speck among the sea of black men, but my spirit was. Watching this event play out on TV, I prayed that the nation would look past Farrakan’s fiery rhetoric to hear his admonishment to black men.
Black men, you must do more to stand in the gap for your black women, your black children, your American nation.
These marches had goals, righteous ones.
But then January 6, 2021, happened.
The Stop the Steal Rally.
An event organized by supporters of a former United States president.
The individuals who came to Washington that day weren’t compassionate or neighborly.
If anything, these insurrectionists were livid, driven by hatred for their fellow man, their fellow compatriots, all because their candidate had lost his bid to serve a second term as the United States president.
The question that we, members of the US electorate, must ask ourselves is what hope did these insurrectionists have in reclaiming something that had not been stolen?
Why didn’t they just stay home, accept the loss like so many others have done, support the peaceful transfer of presidential power?
That’s what the citizens of democracies are expected to do when voters duly elect a new leader to office.
But that begs another question.
How are we supposed to act in times such as these?
Times when absolute truths, facts really, are ignored, disregarded.
Times when news of candidates’ criminality, indiscretions, don’t disqualify them from running for political office but instead allow them to lead by double digits in their party’s statewide primary elections.
Times when marches led by the descendants of enslaved Africans are wrongly contrasted with one that served the purpose of one person, the defeated former president.
The Christian Bible admonishes us to do unto others as we would have others do unto us.
These united states of America can be great, but they can never be great again. That’s because they have never been great.
Enshrined in the United States Constitution is the pledge to create a more perfect union.
Why?
Because our Native Americans ancestors had their land stolen from them.
Because our Black American ancestors were enslaved and oppressed.
Because our Asian American ancestors were relegated to concentration camps on US soil during World War II.
Nothing great about denying people’s rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
The fact is, I’m not better than you, and you’re not better than me.
We’re equals.
Equals that become better individuals, better unions, when we acknowledge the gifting that has been bestowed upon the other.
But we don’t stop there.
We also go out of our way to embrace and comfort others when the weight of the world weighs them down.
I am your Compassionate Neighbor, the guy who lives with his family next door.
Love me.
Work with me.
Pray with me.
March with me.
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Copyright 2024, Jeffery A. Faulkerson. All rights reserved.
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Back in April 2014, I resigned from a full-time position with First 5 San Bernardino after receiving news that my family and I would be moving to another state. That was a little less than seven months ago, and my adjustment to new surroundings and routines has been going great. But what some of you may not know about me is I’m now the stay-at-home parent to my 10-year-old son – been doing this off and on for over eight years – and I’m the husband of 21 plus years to my lovely wife. However, the purpose of this post is not to highlight my virtues as a husband and father. My hope is you will consider investing in my work as sole proprietor of Culturally Coded Content, my creative writing firm.
If you visit my Culturally Coded Content Store, you will see cover images for my books. Many, long hours were spent writing these books, with hopes that many of you would purchase, read and review them. I don’t have the backing of a traditional publisher, I do most of my marketing/promotion through social media. And I publish them as ebooks and paperbacks through Amazon’s Kindle Direct Publishing and Createspace because for every copy sold I receive a 70% royalty. Because I was instructed early on to always have copies of my books on hand to autograph, I also operate a Square Market site.
Since 2013, I have been the host of the popular online radio program SESSIONS with…, heard exclusively on Blogtalkradio.com. I created this program to provide a space where entertainers can teach their own Master classes about thriving (and surviving) in the entertainment business. So far, I’ve interviewed actors, directors and authors on air and in person. My most recent episode (November 12, 2014) featured the emerging and established authors that I met at the 2014 National Black Book Festival in Houston, Texas. I pay a monthly fee to gain fuller access to this medium.
I know many of you are not readers. And I know many of you have no desire to learn what it takes to thrive (and survive) in the entertainment business. However, many of you understand the plight of struggling artists like me. We wake up everyday wanting to give our readers and listeners a respite from their daily grinds. And while we create for the love of creating, we also hope that those who partake of our creations will compensate us for our efforts.
This post is my plea to you, my readers. If you believe in what I’m trying to accomplish as the sole proprietor of Culturally Coded Content, I ask that you consider making a small (or large) monetary investment to help me produce and promote my products and services. Just click here. The link will take you to my online Square Market store, where you will be able to purchase the Culturally Coded Content Gift/Investment ($1.00). If you wish to increase your gift/investment amount, just increase the quantity.
Thank you in advance for considering this request.
Sincerely,
J. A. Faulkerson
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CLICK HERE TO PURCHASE J.A. FAULKERSON’S DEBUT NOVEL, ADINKRAHENE: FEAR OF A BLACK PLANET.
Saturday mornings used to be a time of discovery and bewilderment for me. As a young child growing up in Upper East Tennessee, I would wake up most mornings to pancakes and cartoons. As I ate the pancakes that my mother prepared for me, I allowed myself to get lost in the lives of these make-believe characters. Some of my favorites were The Flintstones, Super Stretch and Mirco-Woman, Jonny Quest, The Jetsons, Scooby-Doo, Spider-Man and His Amazing Friends, Super Friends, and Clue Club, to name only a few. With the advent of Boomerang, at 46 years of age, I am discovering that I’m most creative when familiar voices and tunes can be heard in the background during my writing sessions.
Some would argue that being torn between the computer and television screens causes writers to lose their momentum when crafting stories. I wouldn’t argue with that. I undoubtedly would be even more productive if I didn’t take those quick glances to see Jonny and Hadje floating on a hovercraft with Race Bannon, their bodyguard. And Lord knows Fred and Barney’s verbal volleys turn quick glances into lingering ones. But for me, hearing their voices takes me to a place where life was much simpler, less stressful.
Most of you know, I was raised by a once-poor, single-parent mother. You would think growing up in a low-income household would be more complex and stressful. But it wasn’t, at least for me. I was a daydreamer, and the Saturday morning cartoon line-ups on NBC, CBS and ABC enriched the dreams that I would have as I peered out the window of our two-story, subsidized apartment complex.
Because I am now using my time as a stay-at-home parent to more fervently pursue my writing career, I often find myself rushing to complete my daily five-page quota. Even as I write this blog entry, I worry about not reaching my daily goal. My time has been spent with you, not with the new novel that has nothing to do with my Adinkrahene series. In a few hours, I have to pick my son up from summer day camp and then drop him off at a summer academic enrichment program. As his father, I want to put him in a position to have fun during his 10-week summer break, but then start the new school year with a head of steam.
Then there’s my wife’s honey-do list. At times, working through this list can take precedence over my writing. Yes, there are times when I balk. All I want to do is write, read, and watch old, black and white science-fiction movies on the Syfy Channel. But my primary job is to take care of things around the house so my working wife doesn’t have to. You’ll have to ask her, but I think I’m doing a pretty good job, most of the time.
But I digress.
The Saturday morning cartoon line-up made living in a low-income community bearable. Because I grew up in a small town in Upper East Tennessee, I was somewhat immune to the troubles plaguing major cities like Chicago, New York and Baltimore. But drugs like marijuana and cocaine were reportedly readily available to anyone who was willing to pay the piper. Some of the kids I grew up with were even recruited by irresponsible adults to become drug pushers. As I reflect on my life now, I realize my saving grace was my acceptance of Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior, followed by my love for Saturday morning cartoons and comic books.
While other kids were hanging out on the street on Saturday mornings, I was either watching shows like Super Stretch and Micro-Woman, or reading Richie Rich comic books. I also was getting into the habit of reading the Christian bible daily. At the time, I didn’t know these activities would lead to me wanting to become a professional writer. I was more concerned about going on an imaginary journey with the characters I saw on screen or read about in my comic books.
I even received cartoon fixes during the week. I still remember those days when I would come home from school to watch shows like Space Giants, Tom & Jerryand Woody Woodpecker. There was also the after-school specials on ABC that offered up inspiring stories about living life purposefully and responsibly.
The Saturday morning cartoon line-up introduced me to quirky characters. Some of the most quirky ones were George Jetson and Fred Flintstone, as well as Scooby-Doo and Shaggy. These characters are now considered icons because they were introduced during a time when life was, well, much simpler and less stressful. We didn’t have computers connected to the World Wide Web then. Our color television sets, with metal clothes hanger antennae, were our only conduits to the outside world.
The Saturday morning line-up fueled my imagination, my love for writing novels and screenplays. When I went on these journeys with these imaginary characters, I felt like I was right there with them. It was great being there with Jonny Quest on a mission in a South American rain forest. It was also great being there with the mouse Jerry as he outsmarted the cat Tom for the umpteenth time, or hearing the dog Droopy say, “You know what? I’m sad.” These characters, and others, gave me an appreciation for showing not telling, as well as how to take your characters through a series of complications before reaching the climax. That’s not to say, I’ve mastered these skills. The road ahead is long, steep and winding. I just want to be as creative as I can be so you can use your five senses to fully embrace the literary meals I have prepared, and continue to prepare, for you.
CLICK HERE TO PURCHASE J.A. FAULKERSON’S DEBUT NOVEL, ADINKRAHENE: FEAR OF A BLACK PLANET.
“We were through two years into our marriage,” Selina exclaimed. “Found out he had been cheating on me when the Bulls were on the road. One of his tricks gave him herpes.”
We were seated at a table in Sweet Georgia Brown’s Soul Food Restaurant. Smooth jazz emanated through the room as patrons either claimed or relinquished their tables. I was pleased to see that Selina had changed from her pant suit to a yellow and white summer dress with a low-hanging front. Selina smiled when she spotted me staring at her rack.
“That had to hurt,” I replied. My tongue took another swipe at the rib meat lodged in my back teeth.
“You haven’t changed one bit.” Selina tugged at the top of her dress. “Those eyes of yours are still as shifty as ever.”
I chuckled as I rested my arms on the table.
She continued, “I always liked you, J. I know I used to give you a hard time about being so quiet, but you were always good to me. I think of you often, you know?”
“Really?”
“Yes. Really. I even subscribed to the Post when the Bureau relocated me to Los Angeles. You’re an excellent writer. Loving your new book. It is opening my eyes to how unchecked power corrupts.”
“Glad to hear that,” I said, leaning in. “But I know you didn’t invite me here just to talk about my book. What’s up?”
Selina breathed in deeply. “I’m living in D.C. now, J,” she whispered. “Been here two weeks. Working a new assignment. Cold case division.” She took another deep breath. “That’s why I’m here, J. We just reopened one of those cases, the one I told you about at UT.”
“The one involving your grandmother?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, you’re going to be fighting an uphill battle, girl. I profiled Shuler for the Post, remember? When his father Watson retired from the Senate. The man is squeaky clean.”
“But no one has ever been able to explain how my grandmother’s body was pulled from the river in Montgomery when she had just gotten off work in Jackson. Remember, she never got on that two o’clock bus, J. Two and half months passed before they found her body.”
I noticed tears welling up in Selina’s eyes. “I was invited to the press conference as one of their special guests. But I’m tired of maintaining this façade, like everything is alright between us. It’s not. I’m just trying to keep my enemies closer than my friends. Did his announcement surprise me? Hell, yeah, it did. But I should have seen it coming.” Selina breathed in deeply as she used her napkin to wipe at her eyes. “This new assignment gives me the resources and authority to take him down, J. I’m also aligned with a group that believes better days are ahead for people like you and me. We just need a little help from a political insider. You game?”
Selina placed her napkin back on the table.
She continued, “The American Dream – the pursuit of life, liberty and happiness – is nothing but a façade, J. A façade that has been created to keep us in check, line the pockets of rich white men. Taking the Shulers’ down gets us one step closer to exposing what my benefactor calls the Corporate Cabal.”
Selina then reached into her purse to pull out a metallic business card with aluminum wording and graphics. She placed it on the table in front of me.
“What’s this?” I asked, studying the card. On one side of the card was the image of one, smaller, red circle inside two larger ones. A telephone number was centered in black on the other side.
“Call that number,” Selina exhorted as she stood. “With your help, Kyle Shuler will finally pay for what he did to my grandmother.” Then, as she turned to leave, “We know it as the Adinkrahene symbol. Google it when you get home. Once you take this first step, our hope is you will be more open to what we have to say.”
Copyright 2014 by Jeffery A. Faulkerson. All rights reserved.
Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, An American Slave
Unpublished Excerpt
April 19, 1843
I write this letter under the cloak of darkness. I am a free man, an abolitionist, residing in the northern American states. But now that I have gazed into the eyes of the enemy, I am once again bound, by fear.
The enemy I speak of is not of this world. I can make this claim because I traveled to their world through something my green-skinned friend Daygon calls the Intergalactic Connector. The Intergalactic Connector allows Satarians – that’s what they call themselves – to travel to and from other planets, teleport away from detection or danger.
As I watched them from an underground Satarian overlook – with Daygon by my side – I concluded that the Satarians are vile creatures. Besides having green skins and forked tongues, they also stand at least ten feet tall, both male and female. Physiologically, their bodies resemble our own.
Daygon told me that his people were created by Lucifer, or Satan, as full grown adults days after Adam and Eve were expelled from the Garden of Eden. The Satarian race was created for the sole purpose of taking possession of the Earth to rule over us, its inhabitants. I asked Daygon why his people did not invade our planet immediately after our foreparents’ expulsion from Eden, and he said it was because of people who look like me, the descendants of Africa.
It was then that Daygon recounted mankind’s origins. According to Daygon, Adam was created in God’s image, from the dark African sands of Eden. Adam was a black man. Because there was no suitable helpmate for Adam, God created Eve from one of Adam’s ribs. Because Eve came directly from Adam, she was black as well.
Supernatural forces were at work during Adam and Eve’s residency in the Garden of Eden. Their first act of sexual intimacy in Eden caused a tidal wave of creative, electro-magnetic energy to cascade beyond Eden’s borders and across the nation of Pangea. Adam’s sperm and Eve’s eggs mingled with Eden’s embryonic sands to spread through the Pangean nation, producing multi-colored humans that spoke a common language. They would continue to speak this common language until God confounded them. They had disobeyed God by constructing a tower to get closer to Him. This construct came to be known as the Tower of Babel.
The Satarians’ infiltration into human culture became more purposeful and strategic fifty years before the Babylonians built their tower to God. This was a time when everyone in Babel was united in thought and purpose. Its citizens also believed in the one, true God. But it was a time when embedded Satarians laid the groundwork for dividing and conquering the united Pangean nation. Lucifer reminded the most loyal members of his sect that a kingdom divided cannot stand.
Masquerading as lighter-skinned Babylonians, they convinced other lighter-skinned Babylonians that they were better than the darker-skinned ones. Thus began a race to the top, with the victorious racial group being allowed to offer up its own version of world history and humanity’s relationship with the one, true God.
After God confounded their language and scattered them across the Earth, members of the lighter-skinned group committed themselves to ruling over their darker-skinned siblings. The Satarians in their midst provided them with the advanced weaponry they needed to subvert the darker-skinned groups. They were also able to create tools and devices that revolutionized the way humanity lived, worked and played. And if and when they saw something interesting that was created by members of the darker-skinned groups, they claimed it as their own.
Daygon said there are other residents on Sataria who do not want to invade Earth. They would much rather use the Intergalactic Connector to explore other planets in the universe. Taking such a position is considered blasphemy to the leaders of the Satarian Empire, for it is a demonstration of affection for the one, true God. Lucifer wants to prove to all creation that he is God’s better. However, achieving this lofty goal was made even more difficult when many of the early blasphemers deserted his camp. They used their Intergalactic Connectors to escape Sataria and build peace-loving colonies on other habitable worlds.
My African brothers and sisters, I received confirmation from Daygon that we are God’s chosen people, the instruments that God is using to thwart Lucifer’s schemes. Daygon told me that Lucifer directed his minions to remove many of us from Africa so our minds would be fixated on our victimization and not on discovering the source of our strength.
That source is Eden, Daygon says. And it is located somewhere in Africa. Find it, and you will know power like you have never known before.
Our beautiful, black bodies are supernaturally linked to Eden. Therefore, I tend to believe our best days are ahead of us, not behind. The natural sons and daughters of Eden will rise up again to provide the charismatic leadership that this world needs to rebuild the Pangean nation. To rebuild the Beloved Community of equals.
Adinkrahene!
Copyright 2014 by Jeffery A. Faulkerson. All rights reserved.
The Saturday morning line-up fueled my imagination, my love for writing novels and screenplays. When I went on these journeys with these imaginary characters, I felt like I was right there with them. It was great being there with Jonny Quest on a mission in a South American rain forest. It was also great being there with the mouse Jerry as he outsmarted the cat Tom for the umpteenth time, or hearing the dog 
