Friday, February 24, 2017  
Breaking News Alerts
Email Alerts
Email Address
Text Alerts
Mobile Number
 )  - 
Mobile Provider
standard messaging rates apply
Search By Keyword
R.B. Jones
   After a 44-year absence from living in Grenada, I returned to find that the defining moments of my life are measured between two “trailers.”
    It is quite amazing how things can determine and dictate one’s perception, sometimes for years to come. These “trailers” have certainly been a determinate factor in my life.
    Trailer One: One day in 1966, at Belle Flower Church, a small group of civil rights workers (all local) met and planned a school walk-out. James (Nunny)  Seldon’s role was to distract the principal, and my role was to climb through the window and ring the bell three times signaling the walk-out.
    This super secret endeavor went off like clock work with at least 90% of the students participating. We were arrested and herded like cattle up to Doak Street to be judged and sent off to any neighboring jail (including Parchman) that had room. Three of us were to be housed in the old jail facing Pearl Street that had been  roughly closed for 12 years.
    They decided that James Seldon, Lloyd Kent and I were the primary instigators of the walk-out. Therefore, the idea was for them to keep us apart from the rest of the group. The locks were rusted and busted on the cell doors. There was also no electricity or running water. Further, there were no bathroom facilities, and we could see the big rats moving inside the cots from yesteryear.
    The most indicting site, however, proved to be the view from the second floor window. There was a borrowed truck from the Pioneer Meat Company with an 18-wheeler trailer parked in the front of the courthouse with the cow manure from hauling cattle still on board. I could witness my friends, coworkers and family being loaded on this trailer to be hauled off to Parchman. Those were mean, nasty, scary days. That view was enough to convince me that enough was just enough. From that very day, I have been involved in trying and doing the best I can to level the playing field for my people.
    James and Lloyd, like so many others, have passed on (Vietnam War), but I’m sure they would be here today still standing in the gap.
    Some 42 years later, I returned and witnessed my second encounter with a “trailer.” This time the experience was 100 times worse.
    On July 4, 2012, my daughter came to Grenada for a one-day visit before she was off to Bolivia on a medical mission trip. She is a doctor. She decided to pay her pops a visit before she went on her trip.
    I decided to take her and my wife to visit and participate in the Annual Pearl Street Festival.
    That’s when it happened.
    There was this 18-wheeler parked on Pearl Street. There were seven of the most beautiful, blackest and talented little girls parading on stage and performing a dance. I would suggest the oldest princess was maybe nine years old.
    They all had on shorts that were too short and blouses that were too revealing. The music was the most vile, vicious, filthiest and inappropriate (even for adults), that I have ever witnessed. I was so embarrassed for my wife and daughter.
    The so-called mothers and maybe fathers, along with other adults in the crowd, stood there proudly clapping and urging the young princesses to dance in ways that people pay to in slimy night clubs of Vietnam or Bombay.
    I thought instantly of folks who worked so hard to start his festival. I’m speaking about people like Louise Hubbard, who would be devastated to see all of her efforts and ambitions for our people be summarized in this fashion.
    On one “trailer” experience, I witnessed the people being hauled off to prison, because they dared to stand up against those behaviors designed to keep us from being all that we can be and against those whose intent was to dehumanize us based on our color.
    Trailer 2: We find ourselves promoting and participating in even worse behaviors aimed at destroying our young people. The rap music and filthy dancing today is shameful, undignified, cheapening and degrades our women and our culture.
    If I could make a suggestion to our local government: I would  NOT ever grant a permit to block off a street for use by the public without someone that would be willing to step up to the plate and accept responsibility for the activity and its content. That is no more than what Louise and her co-workers had to provide to start the festival.
    I would demand the same level of respect granted to others that make up the citizenry of Grenada. I would challenge anyone to go and get your back-up cultural geniuses, your self-centered producers, etc, and debate me or show me the concerned citizens of Grenada (especially black parents) how rap (filthy and vile) has ever been an integral/viable part of the African-American culture, or any other culture for that matter.
   There is nothing positive about rap and black men’s or boys’ pants hanging down below their butts, or  the filthy dancing of such young, beautiful black girls.
    My brothers and sisters, government can’t stop it, and God is not going to stop it. We are the only ones that can stop it with God’s help. This is not a matter of religion; it is a question of courage and care.
    So, let’s stop using all our energy and resources on the Trayvon Martin cases -- not that they are not important -- rather, let’s stop the execution of the seven princesses on “Trailer 2.”

Visitor Comments

Current Conditions
Grenada, MS
Radar & More >>
click ad below for details
  • View All Ads