Government's Purpose

Citizens of organized groups have been trying to impose standards, processes, and rules on each other since the beginning of structured societies. Many, like David Hume and George Berkeley, theorized on the purpose of these standards, and who should be given the task of enforcing them on the populous. They discussed the role of government and the powers that they would have to assume, or be given. Of those that started this journey, John Locke was the man whose ideas on the relationship between the people and their government, as outlined in his Social Contract Theory, outlines the most convincing argument. It is an argument that proves to be the most relevant in relation to the current criminal justice system that exists.


Locke’s ideas had an enormous influence on the development of political philosophy. His writings influenced the American revolutionaries, and his ideas had the most impact in framing the precepts of the modern justice system and it’s responsibilities to the people. Labor creates property, but it also contains limitations to the accumulation of property. When the accumulation of property began to tip the equilibrium scale, Locke believed that it was government’s responsibility to re-allocate wealth equally. This idea resonates in current existing Anti-Trust Laws that prohibit companies and individuals from controlling a certain market, and maintain a certain “equal fairness” in business practices and asset accumulation.

Locke believed that the value of property is created by the application of labor to it. According to his theory of value, humans make objects into property by applying labor. In this view, the labor involved in construction and uses accounts for the large majority of the property value of an object. He believed property was more important than government, and that government cannot dispose of land owned by its citizens arbitrarily. The consistency from this concept to the very foundation of the criminal justice system in the United States, the constitution, can be found in the Fifth Amendent, which states that no person shall be held to answer for a capital, or otherwise infamous crime, unless on a presentment or indictment of a grand jury, except in cases arising in the land or naval forces, or in the militia, when in actual service in time of war or public danger; nor shall any person be subject for the same offense to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb; nor shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself, nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just compensation. Some have even referred to him as one of the earliest supporters of capitalism because of his views on ownership of private property. Locke refers to property in both a limited and expansive way. Expansively, property can cover a wide range of human interests and endeavors. In a limited sense, it specifically refers to material possessions. He believed that all men had the natural rights of life, liberty, and property.

Locke’s Social Contract Theory stated that government ruled with the consent of the people. The consistency of the above idea can be traced to the Ninth Amendment, which states that the enumeration in the Constitution, of certain rights, shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people (Legal Information Institute, 2006). It is also evident in the Tenth Amendment, which states that the powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the states, are reserved to the states respectively, or to the people (Legal Information Institute, 2006). Ultimately, to live in a free society, people must give up certain rights to the government in order to be protected by foreign invasions, their personal interests, and their property. The relationship between the people and government is maintained with the understanding that if government is not performing, or operating in the best interest of the people, the people will have the ultimate authority to change leadership collectively.

It is understandable why John Locke’s Social Contract Theory is still very relevant to today’s criminal justice system and political diaspora. He covers issues concerning the accumulation of property by a certain group, the right of citizens to own private property as well as the rights given to government by the people and the people’s ultimate reserve of that power. Human nature doesn’t change. Individual interests will always be a major goal of citizens. Government’s job is to make sure that individual and collective pursuit for wealth and resources is a fair and lawful one.

Bryan Stevenson: We need to talk about an injustice

"Hope"

There is endurance in hope, and strength in the silence of remembrance that causes me to pause in different moments throughout my life. This day, particularly, I paused and inhaled history, black and white, and gave thanks for heads bloodied but unbowed. I’m remembering faith through bullhorns, and cattle prongs. Grey scale clips potpourri my mental frames as I recall visions of struggle seen through fire hose cascades, and food that didn’t hit any lunch counters because of the will, passion, and God in our ancestors. I know I’m not talking about biblical times, but what matter of people were they?

It’s always Black History in my house. My wife and I deliberately point out inventions and advancements that black folk developed or had any input into. Our book shelves, all five, are littered with books like Nathaniel McCall’s “Makes Me Wanna Holler” to “the Souls of Black Folk” by W. E. B. Dubois. Children’s books with titles like “Brown like Me”, and Spike Lee’s “Please, Baby, Baby, Please” can be seen in toy bends and cubbies throughout the boys’ playroom. Granddad didn’t have the luxury of reading books that reflected him as a child; many died so that any of else could live in the world, literary or otherwise.

But this faith that they had, where did it come from? Who gave it to them? No lights were coming at the end of bats held by those blinded with tunnel vision supplied by hate. No end was in site for Sara, Johnny, or Buela to hold onto a little while. How could a race of people be so raped, and yet remain dignified? How could their heads be held in an upright position to sustain manhood when their sons were being bullied by day, and lynched by night? How could their homes be warm with love when their daughters were being stripped of all innocence, and beaten like defiant men in the streets? How could they have mustard up enough bravery to believe in something called equality, justice, liberty, and Civil Rights?

Even as I write this and try to capture the essence and spirit of a people, our people, black and white, as clever as I know how, I’m frustrated. Its depth is simply too potent, and its importance to enormous for me to pontificate on a meaning. Some people don’t understand why I get so angry at ignorance. They don’t understand why I consider it insulting when someone says that they don’t vote. I recognize that I’m but four generations removed from slavery, and two generations removed from “slavery by [other] names”. Though I contemplate what my thoughts, actions, and reactions would have been in those times, I thank God that I never had to meet a tyrant like “Jim Crow”. I thank God that my children will hear, and learn about his reach, but never see grandparents stained with his accusations, or bloodied by his ignorant rage. Hope.

"A History Lesson"

Ever since I can remember, I’ve loved History. It did help that my teachers in middle and high school were awesome; however, I’ve always been drawn to knowing the background, the foundation, or the origin of a thing. It’s a love and an appreciation that I hope my sons acquire.  I think I’ve done a pretty good job with their exposure to culture and all things musical; I should say I thought I exposed them to all things musical. Early one evening, I would learn that not only was the above not true, but that I had forgotten to expose them to one of the most significant contributors to music, hip hop, and pop culture.

I had just arrived from work when I encounter my “daddy” scream greetings by the boys. I thought to myself about how much I loved the love they showed me. There is nothing like a “daddy” scream greeting.  I was especially excited to hear my oldest scream.  A few months back, he got “cool”on me. You know the cool. It’s the one that doesn’t like his clothes. The cool that needs “Jordans” to wear, not just any Nikes will do. (Jordan’s were purchased only because he’s a great student and gives us no problems; otherwise, he would be wearing whatever Nikes were on sale.) I make it to the kitchen table and dropped my briefcase right before I was tackled by these jackals.  With one of each leg, I managed to make it to the stairs; from there, my room to change into my old sweats and a t-shirt. Once downstairs, I started talking to the boys about their day. It's something we do routinely so I wasn’t ready from what happened next.

We had finished talking about their days, and because they are such thoughtful boys, they both ask me about my day, kinds sort of. My oldest actually asked, and my youngest just echoes, or copies him. It’s the funniest dynamic sometimes, but I do feel bad for my oldest son because it’s “hella” annoying. I started telling them about my day, and about how busy I was all afternoon. Then I said that the best part of my day was getting in the car and listening to some good old 90’s rap music. Then it happened. The thing that would make my world stop. It's the thing that caused my heart to palpitate, my limbs to shake, and question the validity of me calling myself, a brutha, a homeboy, a black man. My sons, my poor sheltered uncultured sons, because of their slack father, asked, “What’s rap music?” What do you mean what’s rap music? Then my convulsions started. I screamed and kicked, and howled in disbelief. My wife looked at me and smiled that devilish smile that could mean something else in a different situation after 8PM, but I knew how to apply it here. Oh hell no; have I been talking about jazz, instruments, and showing photos to much that I forgot to talk about rap music? How in the hell does this happen?

I immediately grabbed them both by the hands and marched them to the office where the holy grail of all things musical rest. I was giddy as I loaded my iTunes account and my catalog of 7800 songs popped up. They were amazed, and danced as I went through the history of rap via song. We break-danced, cabbage patched, reeboked, and roger rabbit through the Sugar Hill Gang, Kool Moe D, Whodini, Big Daddy Kane, Chubb Rock, Run DMC, and Special Ed,to name a few. We then Prepped, Tootsie rolled, Mike Tysoned, and whopped to LLCool J, Queen Latifah, MC Lyte, Rakim, Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince, and Nice and Smooth. With sweat dripping from my brow and an ache setting in on thirty something knees, I looked down at the screen and it was 30 minutes passed their bedtime, but it didn’t matter. This history lesson was too important to cut short; they were learning and having fun.

We finally managed to move our “soul train line” in the direction of their beds. And they were still dancing and wiggling as I tucked them in. They both told me that they enjoyed the songs and were happy to know how to rap. I was feeling good about myself; I just gave my boys the foundation of their “street credit”, I thought. “Daddy”, Reynolds said. “Yes?”I replied. “Those were the best songs ever; but the best one was…”, and he began to sing Ice Ice Baby! What? Ice Ice Baby? “Lord, what are you doing to me?” I screamed inside. I had to fight my inner man, and he was mad too.  I had spent an hour playing and dancing to some of the best rap music ever made with this boy, and he tells me out of all of that he loved “ice ice baby”? I prayed that my brother and none of my friends ever finds out because I wouldn’t be able to hold my head up, or even enter the barbershop. The boys don’t know yet, but “Young’s Rap Summer Camp”starts in three weeks. It’s indoctrination time!

"The Barbershop"

I don’t have too many Saturday mornings to myself these days. Of the four per month, two of them are spent working, and the other two are spent dressing the boys and heading out to the barbershop. I must confess that I do love the Saturday morning barbershop trips with the boys.
It’s the one place where black men let their hair down and talk about everything from their wives to Bank of America stock dropping to $6 per share. It’s the one place where you’re treated like a visiting King from a foreign land, regardless of your portfolio. Granddads, fathers, uncles, cousins, brothers, and sons line the graffiti walls like confetti, and mirrors dance with flat panel televisions on corners supported by history and braced for the future’s expectations of what those who line the walls will become.

Kut Kreator is the name of the place. Twin brothers, Javon and Clevon are the owner/operators. The boys love them. Javon, aka “J” is my barber. He takes care of me and the boys. Coop becomes “Smiley”, and RJ becomes “Lil Drile” in this aristocracy.
We have to rise early on Saturdays to beat the crowd to our Mecca. Typically, we arrive at 7am or 8am; we’re often disappointed that 10 or so others have beaten us to claim their place on the “throne” (the barber’s chair). As we approach the door, I always ask the boys whether they have enough books from the car, enough snacks, and lastly, do they need to use the restroom.
Believe it or not, a trip to the restroom, at the wrong time, will leave you standing for hours. It’s often quiet on the street as we approach and open the door. We can always see the chairs filled with our brothers, and some sisters, of different backgrounds through the plate glass windows. Once the doors open, noise, laughter, and trash talking overtakes you. You have to choose which conversation to jump in. “Man, you talkin’ crazy,” can always be heard as there is always a conversation between guys about whose team is the best, or why their particular team lost the game. That’s just the beginning.

The bells on the door constantly jingle as the crowd dances through the place. Between Javon and Clevon is the gallery of skilled barbers they employ. “What up Drile?,” or simply a loud “Drile!” can always be heard as I walk in with the boys. “There he is,” followed by “I need to talk to you” from someone across the shop, echoes as we make our way to our seats.
And there’s music, too. I love the music that plays there. Sometimes, when the shop isn’t too crowded, Javon lets me plug my iPod into the stereo and play my own personal blend of songs, while we wait for our “cutz.” They know I love my music, so I am always pulled into a conversation about new music that’s just dropped from “new release Tuesday.” The boys love the music too. They dance and sway to whatever jam is playing. Someone always says, “Man, look at them jam!” as they look at my boys or some other kids dancing in the middle of the shop. It’s a beautiful sight to see, and even better when our good time is met by a new day rising in grace and luminous reflection.

The barbershop is our social neighborhood of sorts. It’s diverse, unlike my actual neighborhood. It bothers me sometimes that out of 135 families within my neighborhood, there are only eight African American families and that number includes my family. Of the eight families, only two of us have children around the same age. Of the two, our children go to different schools because of the perks and choices that we are afforded based on our professions. Because of that, our children rarely play together.

Going to the barbershop helps reconcile this issue. The boys are able to talk, play, interact, and socialize with other children from different cultural and economic backgrounds. They are able to learn and pick up cultural cues important to their socialization and at the core of their own culture. The barbershop provides a median for me to introduce them to Dentists, MDs, Bankers, Entrepreneurs, Officers and Detectives, and College Professors that look like them. They meet other black children of success and of solid Christian families, with different skin hues from their own. That’s important because for a time, my oldest son thought he was “white” and referred to himself as white because of his fair skin. He didn’t understand that African Americans are made in very dark and very light shades of brown. That was a tough conversation to have with a five-year-old, but he eventually got it. He loves who he is as a “black boy” and sings and dances his heart out with the best of them at the barbershop to prove that point.

I miss my Saturdays sometimes. It would be nice, just once, to be able to sleep in. But, I love my boys. The times we spend together now are priceless to me. Sometimes, I sit and reflect on my days growing up without a father, and I just can’t, for the life of me, think of anything that would cause me to leave them. Time is flying passed us daily, and I tear up when I think of a day, soon, when Coop will not let me squeeze him and kiss him any longer. Soon, it will not be cool to jump on Dad’s lap and grab hold to Dad’s leg. In those thoughts, I know that regardless of how they grow and change, I’ll always have Saturday mornings at the barbershop and the lessons it’s taught us about people, life, love, family, community, and pure innocent fun.

“Drile, you’re up!” said Javon. “Boys, it’s time to get smooth,” I replied.

"High School: A fitting place for Halloween"

It's been awhile since I've graced the halls of Wade Hampton High; yes, I said graced. I was a model student. I was very active in student government, a senior class officer, a tennis player, a band member (Marching and Concert), and I took a couple of AP and Honors classes as well. Beyond the classroom, I worked at Bi-Lo, and J. Crew to earn enough income to buy my clothes and school supplies. I also worked at my uncle and aunt's "nickel and dime" store washing cars and running the cash register with my three cousins in tow. As you can see, I was a pretty responsible kid. I even managed to graduate with a pretty good ranking although my home life was CRAZY! But I did it and managed to emerge with my sanity in place.

For the past four years, I have been substituting in my towns high schools and middle schools, and let me just say, I am scared. I have seen some great students, and I also have seen some horrible students. Though the great students reassure me and create positive thoughts about their generation's handling of the future, the bad students scare me. I'm not running for my life, but I have serious concerns for my children.

Some of them have already picked their lot in life. They are happy to do nothing, and leave everything for others to do. They try their best to do as little as possible to simply "get by", and that's unacceptable. I have heard the most disrespectful things come from them, and I have seen horrible behaviors. I just can't imagined that I ever acted in this manner. I remember much of my high school years with very clear detail, and I can honestly say I was never "out of line". But these students, these adolescent prodigies are simply beyond taming in some cases, and yes, many of them will see the inside of a jail cell several times, if they have not already.

As I was reading my plans from the period, I overheard a black female student tell other black female students that she is not into dating black boys. She stated this as she called over the brightest student in the class, a black boy, for assistance. She then went on to state that she doesn't want her house to be "shot up". "What an indictment", I thought to myself as I stared at her in disbelief for several minutes to digest what I witnessed. I know that their brains are still developing, and trying to stabilize. I know that they are emotionally insane; however, I just can not get past their "over the top" behavior, and reactions to things.

Whether they follow Lady Gaga or not, these little monsters will be home soon. As I passed them in the halls, and passed them in the parking lot, I could attest to the effectiveness of their masks and costumes. They have done their jobs because I am scared out of my mind. I think to myself then, "these crazy emotional unstable beings are driving 2 ton vehicles down the highway right past me, and sometimes in multiples?" It's just the 27th of October, and Halloween came early this year. Unfortunately, this Halloween will never lose it's fright, or ghoully appeal.

"Discovering Your Wealth"

I apologize for the time lapse between this article and my last. It's been a whirlwind for me so far this summer. Between a trip to Disney for the kids, working, and supporting my wife's efforts at a local park helping low achieving children, I've had no time to think about anything I deem creative or enjoyable. Even though I enjoyed doing the above, there is something to be said about feeding your own passions in life.

Sunday morning, July 3, 2011 found me jogging in downtown Charleston, South Carolina. It was an awesome morning. The sun was shining bright, and forced me to confront moss tree shadows as I caravaned by harnessed ringed time. The cool air felt great as I passed row house after row house littered with rocking chairs, and second story balconies covered with tables adorned with beer bottles, and spent ashes telling Saturday night stories. I felt like a young boy growing up in Varnville, South Carolina again as I railed by elders making their way to the churches that sured up Rutledge Avenue on every other block. Some were active still, and others were already abandoned by concrete. Yet, somehow, I got a rise as I past; I was stirred by the history and the spirit of this place. I jogged on but thought to myself, what faith could have held a people through slavery to freedom? What hope and assurances encouraged them to build homes and businesses in a place that for so long didn't even acknowledge their existence?

When the House of Prayer was long sensed in my rear view, I had settled into my first mile at the park in front of The Citadel, and I smiled. I was having the best time of my life doing something I loved, running. I felt confident, free, and loved. I was apparently late for the party; the dance of the runner had began without me. I passed families, couples, girlfriends, old friends, and lovers running together. I enjoyed the hesitation in my stride as I said hello to everyone I encountered on the track. I felt connected to these strangers, if only through our communal smiles and salutations. My passions were awaken, and for those 3 1/2 miles, for that moment in the middle of Charleston's breath, I didn't want to be anywhere else. Life's burdens, obligations, and stumbling blocks were removed, and I was one with the universe. I was indeed free.

As I made my way back to Cousin Joy's house on Rutledge, I realized that I wanted that type of freedom professionally; I needed that type of empowerment and freedom professionally. Then something whispered, you have it already. And it was right, I did have it, but it couldn't be recognized under my expectations. I realized that I may not make as much money as other people in my circle, but I always seem to be happier, and it's because I actually love what I do for a living. I've heard so many people say do what you love and the money will come. And I believe them; I, like some of you, have to exercise more faith on the matter.

Loving, or being passionate, about what you do is the key to discovering your true wealth. I spent a long time following other people's dreams and plans for my life. I spent a good portion of time trying to live up to their expectations before I learned to set my own. Life has taught me that you've got to carve out your own dreams to follow. Individually, we've got to set our own life's pace. Ultimately, our legacy, and our wealth will be established while we're striving and toiling to pursue our passions in life.

So if you're interviewing or applying for a job, or maybe deciding whether to pursue a professional opportunity, ask yourself this question, "If I could do anything in the world at this moment, what would it be?" Maybe it's a dream, or maybe it's a dream that is currently a hobby. If your answer is not related to the job you are applying for, or the opportunity you're pursuing, don't do it. Pursue that idea, or career that makes you feel alive. Go after what you are passionate about with all of your soul and spirit. You will be better for it in the end.

I'm speaking from experience because I was a job board, job site junkie. I always needed to find the next thing, or I needed to make more money. Money, money, money was constantly on my mind because I wanted to provide a nice comfortable living for my family, I needed a bigger house, and a newer car. Thank goodness passion, and faith reformed me. They helped me realize that I am comfortable and genuinely happy and excited about my future. My pursuit of the non-factors was making my life uncomfortable. I had to realize that the non-factors were imposed by others and adopted by me, not created by me. I didn't have any expectations about building my wealth when I started my Sunday morning run, and yet, when I was finished I was a wealthy man. Who knew so much would be revealed and confirmed in my life in such a short distance. My cool down began, and I was thankful for my revelation, thankful that God had caught me listening.