Wednesday, 4/16/97 Realizing impact of African Student Union
After years of hatred, member finds himself fully supporting campus
organization
By Martin Swisher Harris At 1:30 a.m., beginning the most
important essay that I have ever written doesn’t make much sense.
It seems like from the moment I got up this morning, my day has
just been hectic. This has been one of those days where you wish
you had more time to do stuff. I want to just take off my clothes
and just go to bed. But this is the most important essay that I
have ever written. Basically, right about now I am straight
bullshitting – something that I rarely do. I want to just go right
into what this is all about, but when you are writing the most
important essay that you have ever written, it is hard to do. I’m
actually scared – or extremely hesitant – to write this essay,
because it involves self-criticism – something that I hate to do
personally, let alone in the Daily Bruin. Unfortunately for me,
though, the goal that quite possibly can be reached is far more
important and valuable than Martin Swisher Harris. So I am going to
go ahead and write this essay the only way I know how: shit in my
pants and just dive in. Ever since I have been a student at UCLA, I
have had a bit of a hatred for the African Student Union. I hated
the name! I was like, "Why must they insist upon calling themselves
the African Student Union, when they know that we ain’t nuthin’ but
a bunch of niggas frontin’ like we African?" When I first went to a
general meeting as a butt-naked freshman, I saw all of these black
girls walking around with bones in they noses and afros, tryin’ to
tell me how to be black. I’m thinkin’: Man! This girl probably went
to the whitest private school all of her life, then one day some
drunk white boy called her a nigger, and the next thing you know,
she Jane Africa! Please, don’t tell me shit! I remember when I was
a freshman they had a meeting in 51 Kinsey Hall, and Sistah Solja
was speaking on THE REVOLUTION! Then they had this little rap group
(Gotta Come Up) bust they little freestyles for the crowd.
Personally, I thought the rhymes was wack, and Sista Solja wasn’t
talkin’ about shit but gettin’ paid. Then they had they little hip
hop explosion in the Coop. I remember that shit. Apparently they
had went to the GOODLIFE cafe and recruited everybody and they
momma to just come out and rhyme. All these niggas was rappin’
hella fast and cheerin’ for each other. I was like, "Man, these
niggas is wack. They all sound the same." My hatred blossomed more
in my second year. Basically, the ASU could do no right, and Nommo
was right behind them. I never knew what the fuck Nommo meant. I
always thought they was sayin’, "Oh, we ain’t takin’ NOMMO from
white folks." I was like, "That’s a stupid-ass name for a
newspaper. Why do niggas got to be so damn ignorant?" And why is
every muthafuckin’ issue of Nommo "The Sistah Issue?" Can a nigga
get tired of readin’ about the stupid-ass irrelevant struggle of
the black woman? And whenever they would hear some words of wisdom
from the black man, them niggas would be incarcerated! I was like,
"Of course niggas in jail gon’ be talkin’ about how much they love
you, and how much you the queen, cause them niggas is in jail! If I
was in jail I’d be talkin’ the same shit!" And then you had the
poetry. "I am a black woman." "I am the earth, sun, moon and
muthafuckin’ stars." I got so sick of that, I can’t even describe
it in words. I read every issue of Nommo for the last five years,
and hated every one with a passion. I must say though, shit hit the
fan in my fourth year when the ASU had a meeting in 147 Dodd Hall.
I swear to God it was about three people in there, including me.
And these muthafuckas is in here actually havin’ a meeting, talking
about what they been doing in their jobs. I was like, "Man, these
muthafuckas is pathetic!" I sincerely believed that the ASU should
be eliminated from the political spectrum on this campus. I thought
that they had failed to do what they were supposed to do: raise the
consciousness of niggas on campus. So here I am now, a fifth-year
at UCLA with this last little quarter to go before I graduate. Here
I am trying to start a summer school program at UCLA for seventh-
and eighth-grade students that are getting bad grades in the
dilapidated public school systems that they are in. Here I am
trying to get student support so this program can get off of its
feet. Here I am posting up on Bruin Walk to get signatures of
students so I can let them know when we are having some type of
fund-raising event for the program. Here I am throwing house
parties so that students can come out and have a good time for a
worthy cause. Here I am sending out invitations along with
background information about the program so that the student body
knows what is going on. Here I am out here trying to fight for
something that I believe in. Here I am distancing myself from the
negative nigga-isms that plague the minds and bodies of my people,
and straight being industrious. Here I am acting like a straight
African, full of pride in my ability to change the future through
knowledge of my past and action in the present. Here I am, acting
like an African King, staying up all night if have to, writing the
most important essay of my life, so I can move on and handle the
rest of my weekly business tomorrow. Here I am, a mild epileptic
that needs sleep, doin’ what I gotta do ’cause I know I gotta do
it. Here I am trying to distance myself from the one organization
on this dehumanizing campus that actually gave a damn about what I
had to say. Here I am trying to fight the irresistible feeling that
the African Student Union at UCLA played a major part in molding me
into the African Man that I am today. Here I am throwing a house
party, wishing more Africans were there having a good time. Here I
am actually wanting to go to Africa just to see what it is like.
Here I am breeding bad vibes against the African Student Union into
the minds of any Africans that come around me. Here I am trying to
fight against an organization that wants to empower me as an
African Man. Here I am representing the African Student Union to
the fullest in my everyday dealings, yet talking about its lack of
effectiveness. Here I am emphasizing the bad, instead of rejoicing
over the good. If it were not for the African Student Union, I
would not be who I am today. Its political presence has uplifted my
consciousness and given me direction. Although I am graduating, I
feel like I am just beginning to get involved. I am not nervous
about the future. In fact, I anxiously await its inevitable
obstacles and challenges. I love the African Student Union. And if
you are an African, you should too. It’s like this: Revolution is
nothing more than taking responsibility for YOUR political, social
and economic position in this society. The question, though, is:
Are YOU an individual, or are YOU a representative of YOUR
dysfunctional family, friends and community? Being a nigga is easy.
Being an African is liberating. Harris is a fifth-year political
science student.