America's "News" Media War, and how to not be a casualty…

Our country is facing some serious problems. From high unemployment and Wall Street thievery, to divisive squabbles over social issues like gay rights, immigration reform and abortion, it’s easy to see ourselves as a country at war with itself.

But if you ask me, the biggest problem we face as a nation is our downright pitiful dialogue about these very issues, largely a result of the terrible state of news media in this country.

We are not at war; but the media really wants us to be.

Today in Post-Race History: Super Bowl, Super Conundrum

Note: Late week, Professor Cohen had a talk about the Black Youth Project, including the blog, on campus.  I just want to say thanks to the folks who complimented me on my writing here.  It means a lot, and I want to express my deepest gratitude.   I’m sorry that I was socially awkward.  I had hoped to engage with you better, but I’m a dork.  That’s why I prefer to write.

Also, a special shout out to my friend, Rosa for suggesting I write a post on the Super Bowl.

I just don’t know how Chris Matthews does it!  My experience at last year’s inauguration–a.k.a. the second biggest event in black history, just one acre and half a mule behind freedom–left me cold, irritable, hungry, and so over the large crowds only hours of attending rap concerts with my homegirl, Maegs helped me successfully navigate.  I lost Hope at the Silver Spring metro station, but, encouraged by the sight of all those black folks draped in American flag-inspired fashions, I did stash a little post-race elixir in the glove compartment of my car, only to freak out when I got pulled over by a Pennsylvania state trooper, and demand that Maegs toss it out into the darkness of the Keystone State night.  Since then, I’ve become even more obsessed with blackness.  So much so that I can’t shake this feeling that somehow I must have mistakenly taken the red, black, and green pill instead of the blue one like I had intended.  (Morpheus is such a trickster!)  As a result, I’ve spent the last year haunted by race, becoming more racially paranoid than an octaroon at a Mississippi Klan rally.