RACISM IS A DEADLY POISON – LOOK WHAT IT’S DONE TO “THE LAND OF THE FREE AND THE HOME OF THE BRAVE”
I still see my father standing out on the porch of our home during the night one particular summer. He was quiet and just looking around. He normally had a cigarette smoking it. But this particular time he was just standing there sometimes with his hands on his hips, sometimes with his arms to his side, and sometime with his arms folded. The neighbors, many of them were either standing on their porches or sitting on their porches. Sleep was a luxury for many of them, as the skies were filled with smoke and one could still see the smouldering light of fire in the night. Daddy was standing guard, without a gun in his hands. He along with the other neighbors were standing on their porches trying to watch over their families, as the city burned. It was interesting that none of them spoke to each other. They just looked around filled with their own thoughts, prayers and fears.
Roy Lee Payne, Sr. aka Charlie Leroy Payne
My daddy grew up in Florida, the same place where they let the murderer of Trayvon Martin go, as if nothing happened. His family had a little land back then. He was born in 1921. His great grandmother was full blooded Cherokee. His mother, accepting her lot in life as a widow during those times, raised her family as best she could. She saw many of her children killed for no reason, other than being black; colored or negro were the terms used back then.
Though the negro was “freed” capitalism had to find a way to get cheap labor. Thus, jim crow and sharecropping belched up from the bellies of evil, sadistic men. That wasn’t enough though. It was common practice to take young preteen and teen ‘bucks’ and for whatever reason they were accused of, put them on the chain gang. My daddy was one of those teens who was on the chain gang.
He escaped somehow and just like his ancestors, made it up north to freedom only to be swallowed by another form of evil racism – economics. He never returned home except for twice, when his brother, Stephen was found hanging from a pole in front of the white man’s auto garage business. Stephen was about 16 years old. The last time he went back home, his mother had died, and he went back to bury her. That was in 1963.
PHOTO CREDIT ONLINE REFERENCE:
I have a famous family member who I am proud of: His name is Jesse James Payne.
Jesse James Payne – my Uncle
Click his name above and see what’s said about my famous uncle, my father’s brother. It’s really good ‘reading.’ October 11, 1945 Uncle Jesse was killed like so many other black men during that time. He had the nerve to think he was a real man. How dare he. It didn’t matter that he served in the military of this country and then have a wife and daughter and try to live as humans ought to. Shame on him. The same scenario as what happened earlier this week in Central Park, a white woman said that my uncle tried to rape a little girl. You know the rest.
Evil in this country has always taken the form of godless, heartless, witless, cowardly and cruel racism. It hasn’t changed. My God, please help us!
As a 14-year-old looking out of the screen door at my father quietly standing on the porch watching the night, I was afraid. I didn’t quite understand what was going on during the summer of 1967, but we were right in the thick of it. I was afraid and couldn’t sleep.