I was eleven years old. The riots were still fresh. The “Poor People’s March” had failed to ignite the revolutionary redistribution of wealth. “Soul Brother” graffiti was still plastered on burnt out buildings in DC. The faint smell of tear gas could be conjured by its mere mention.
On the radio, I heard the song below. Young as I was, I was terribly moved by it. Back then, in spite of the assassinations, gassings and general repression, there was hope, not merely rhetorical, but real hope. Idealism was not just a word in the dictionary, but a core value, shared by many.
I miss those times.
afrospear.wordpress.com 
There STILL is hope and idealism, even in these times, if we would look for it.
But for most of us, fatalism is so much easier plus it’s so sexy! All we got to do is turn on CNN or Al Jazeera and get a leering daily dose. Unfortunately it plays right into the oppressor’s hands….
I remember seeing, as a child growing up in Baltimore, a giant green flag with a panther on it on the main street (in the black section) of our town. The flag was so big, it looked as though someone painted it on a bed sheet. It was in front of the porch of a house. I was told it meant that a change would come soon. I kept waiting for the “revolution” when all the black people that were “in training” would revolt. As a show of our support, all black folks were told to put something black on our property so that it would not be destroyed. When I walked to school, I saw all the cars and houses that had a black ribbon, shoestring or piece of cloth tied to them. One girl in my fifth grade class said she was a panther and would explain to the rest of us what was going on. I felt afraid and excited at the same time. I would lay in my bed at night wondering if that night was the night when all the evil white people would feel our power. The days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into months and nothing happened. I saw that people began to take down their markers. The revolution we were promised never came! Now that I’m older, I look back on those times with a fondness mixed with sadness I can’t even begin to explain to the young people I know. I see how the majority of our young people show no respect for their elders and think that not getting any kind of education makes them cool. I see how some children think it is funny make jokes about other children for being dark complexioned. When I was a child, the dark skinned kids with giant Afros were the coolest kids in school! The pain I feel pierces me to my soul!
Before that, I remember the riots, also. I saw, just down the street from where I lived, a real army tank parked in the middle of the road. I saw how every car trunk was being searched by soldiers that had rifles ready. Growing up in the sixties was a real time of change, even though so many of the dreams we had still haven’t materialized. I think about the generation that is coming up now and wonder what they will have to say when they are the elders. I’m very glad I won’t be here to see it!
I hear you, Ronndolyn!!