The Magician

The Magician

by Troi Irons

There's a bird that sings to me every night and many mornings. Sometimes it's a tolerable song, wistful, short and melancholy. Other times it's a loud screech, a raucous scratch through the airwaves. My little hairs stand up. It's a fact of life, the bird has always been there and I take it as axiomatic that the bird will remain there. In the little tree. Singing.

The recent months have been excruciating. Ailed by this hopeless lullaby - I have been miserable, depressed, physically ill, heavy, slow and dying. This bird's song is a poison to me and I seemingly can't go on. It was not always this way.

Before the winter, the bird would come and go. I was aware of its nesting but carried on about my life. I would never open the window to invite the bird in, would never stare it dead in the face, certainly never yell at it.

Well I have taken to yelling at it and inevitably, the bird has been yelling back. See - during the winter, the bird puffed up. Perhaps it was one of those “store-until-spring” things, though I thought this behavior was exclusive to bears. I saw the size of this winter bird and I was afraid.  I feared I had done something wrong; perhaps I needed some weapon, some plan of entrapment to launch an attack.

Now nearing the end of summer, I realize this was not the best strategy. I have attacked and incited a full-on war. I am under siege. This bird's song is a poison and a small black hole begins to grow below my ribs, in the heart of my stomach. 

During the spring, I had taken to poking at the hole with my fingernail, infecting what may have someday formed fresh skin. Worse than that, I developed a violent itch - I think I've scratched the wound raw. I am now in dire need of healing.

I went to the market to buy healing but they were out. They had some marijuana, which I smoked for a couple of weeks until I grew tired of the rubber-brain. 

I joined a group of blissful white women to attain healing alongside them. But they took to poking little holes in other parts of my body while I nursed the ever-growing hole in my stomach. After 9 months, I had the distraction of a multitude of these little razor nicks up and down my skin in addition to the gaping hole in my stomach.

Finally, someone told me to go and see some magic. I scanned the papers, scoured the internet, searched the flyers at the cafe. I saw it – a giant announcement for the magic show, Tuesday at 8PM.

Tuesday came and I made my way down to the theater. I arrived early to reserve a corner to myself – me and my hole, near the exit. This way I could see what the magic was about and leave if I got uncomfortable or bored – or if the hole started bothering me too much to be in public (which was often the case - I would find myself fidgeting and fretting if I felt the heat of an eye on my already burning, gaping wound). The air was stiff but the auditorium steadily filled. Before long it was 8:30PM and the sound of meaningless conversation was ineluctable. 8:45PM, I felt a moist heat and started sweating. I rose impatiently and looked around. Every eye was glued to my stomach. How had I not noticed? Bobbing up and down around me, a sea of eyes attached to a thousand sands of also-punctured people. A trap, a cruel trick. I escaped towards a set of stairs that I thought was an exit. I burst through the doors to find no fresh air but an even warmer  nucleus of spotlights and eyes and airwaves. Centerstage, I oscillated, feeling faint and ready to succumb.

Then, in a sudden moment, with a breath as sharp as a needle, I realized that this was my show. I had gone and sat in the audience, waiting to be served, waiting for doves to fill the air. How delusional! I am the magician! Who will release the doves if not me? The thought is so clear to me now. All that time, fixated on the song of the bird, I forgot my role. A role is a role and can not be surrendered or forfeited. I know the way of magic, I have art in me. It it the job of  the artist, to reach inside the gaping hole and cup what we can. Cup, clench, and release. Pulling doves out of thin air for all to see. Only then can healing begin.

To myself and all other artists: Go now. Create. Turn inwards without the clawing tongues of outsiders. Relinquish to your island of dreams and melodies and forbidden images and let the magic come. And when it comes, give thanks – for this is your medicine. You were blind but now you see. This sight did not come from you, can not be earned - but it did come through you. This is why they call it a gift. Never forget you were born an artist.

Stop Asking for Permission to Own What We Created

The Montgomery’s bus boycott lasted for 381 days. The 14th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution guarantees all citizens―regardless of race―equal rights and equal protection under state and federal laws were passed in 1868. The boycott ended in 1956; nearly 100 years, and the city of Montgomery was still treating black people like slaves without rights. 

Enough with the history lesson, that’s not what I want to speak on. We as black people need to protect and support the black community. Let’s be real, we haven’t developed protection strategies for our communities against the oppressors. That’s why we keep being attacked by racists, systemic oppression, and inequality. 

We have to stop hurting and stealing from one another because that makes our armor vulnerable. Our unity is our armor against the enemy, but we don’t uplift each other enough, especially in business. 

The United States of America’s only language is capitalism―that’s what drives it. If we understand that concept, then we can devise strategies to defend our community moving forward. What I want to bring into question is our community’s integrity to protect one another from the enemies, especially white men.

I work in entertainment as a black man and you know what I see... I see black booking agents poaching clients from other black booking agents (when there is less than 10% of agents that are black), black artist(s) that consciously decide to let white men represent their talents over qualified black representation (we give them access to the culture we create), and black executives competing with one another for the token nigga title at these labels.

How are we supposed to be equipped to fight the enemy if we can’t build strong alliances within our black communities? 

We are intelligent, strong, educated, and brave, so why are we begging the white man for help all the time. We are creators with the ability to will the results we want to see from the universe. Our community is a force, but mentally we let them trick us into believing that we need them in order to trigger change. We invite them to support the cause, but we don't need all of them to agree just the right ones. We’ll give them access to our talent and resources while double-crossing each other just to make money. 

I believe we can forcefully get fair treatment from any oppressor if we support each other within our community.

Let’s start by having patience with one another. We need to collaborate more. We need to protect our black women more; they are our heartbeats. Show up for them as they have always done for us throughout history. 

We don’t have a cycle of integrity that is passed down from generation to generation because if we did the determination that Rosa Park had to stand her ground would be so deep in each of us that no oppressor would be able to out-think us, out power us, or make us feel small. 

Let’s start by putting down the fucking cameras from filming black people getting murdered and start pulling over our cars, and non-violently getting these police officers off of our brothers and sisters. No more killings at the hands of the police without justice getting served. We have to stand up against ANYONE that is consistently killing our brothers and sisters without any consequences. There needs to be consequences for their action because rioting is only temporary.  How do we fight back? With force? With Strategy? With unity? I don't have all the answers but I would love to be apart of the movement that help create those answers. 

Also, we can’t let our disagreements with one another be discussed publicly on social media. At some point, we have to always show restraint while resolving our issues privately. Call each other out in private and solve the issue so that we are always united in the public eye. The enemy uses the negative energy we put on social media to further divide our community. 

And we shouldn’t be stealing from each other. No black person should take another black person’s idea and not give proper credit and/or compensation. Empowering one another should have more weight versus stealing ideas to advance in any company or a white man company. It doesn’t matter if the person works in the mail-room, we need to empower black ideas and give the proper credit. 

This shit is disheartening because I watch black people cheat one another, over and over again in order to get a check from the white man or just a check in general. YOU CAN’T BUY ME, BRO! 

We can destroy systemic oppression and its structure by grace, kindness, teamwork, patience, investing, integrity, bearing arms, and supporting the black community. It will not be easy, and they will not just give it to us willingly; we have to take it. They don’t want to equally share the power and influence that we created. They want to own it and own us. 

This is my memo to the black community within Sports, Music, Film/TV, Law and Technology; the time is now to forcefully take our place in this world. We have been their victims for 400 years and it stops here, this year!!! 

If you are white and you are offended by this memo, I don’t care because if you really cared, you would understand what 36 years of anger from a black man form the south looks like on paper (or many you have no idea). For all of the white people who are fighting to give opportunities to individuals who look like me, I love you. For the older generation of black men and women who are fighting to give opportunities to individuals like myself, I Love You. To every black woman who has ever helped me in any way throughout my life, I Love You. If there are any black organizations that are fighting to keep the black community united please reach out to us, we want to join the fight.