While waiting for a light to change one day I looked to my left and noticed a relatively large group of African-American male youths.  They all appeared to be of high school age and, after looking further west, I noticed the high school that they probably attended.  There didn’t appear to be a bus stop where they were standing,  orI didn’t notice one.  So, it struck me as kind of odd that a group of that size would be idly standing in that area.

The traffic was heavy and the light was very long,  so I assumed school must have ended.   To occupy my time I began to look more closely at the young men and noticed that they were all dressed in the typical oversized clothing that appears to be the fashion these days among inner-city youth.  Pants so big that they could fit Shaquille O’Neal.  Pants sagging so low that their waists appeared to be slightly above their ankles.  Shirts as long as Yao Ming.  The only thing that appeared to fit properly were their shoes and I’m sure that as soon as they learned to balance themselves in a pair of 20 EEE’s, those will be super-sized as well.

However, what struck me the most was what they were doing.  Some of them smoked cigarettes and looked pensive.  Some talked to each other or stared into nothingness.  Then, I noticed that there were about seven or eight who were walking through the crowd pretending they were on stage.  They were rapping and gesturing to themselves and, more strangely, to the many passing motorists.  In some cases, the gestures appeared to resemble gang-signing.  It looked to me as if they were really trying to draw attention to themselves as a group and as individuals.

As an African-American male, my first instinct was to mentally comment on how ridiculous and unkempt some of them looked.  How mob-like and intimidating they must have appeared to the passing motorists. How embarrassed I was for them and because of them.  I asked myself , “Is hip-hop and pop culture so desirable that these individuals cannot see what they really look like?  Do they really think that they are looking cool and desirable?

Invisible Men

As if the changing of the traffic signal triggered the answer in my spirit, I remembered the title of a 1952 novel by an African-American author by the name of Ralph Ellison.  The name of the book was “Invisible Man.”  It was about a southern African-American man who, through his education, travels, and experiences in the south and north, came to realize that he was “an invisible man.”   That since he was denied so many of his most basic rights that his individuality, his very essence and being, really didn’t matter in this society.     

Applying this concept to the restless group of young, African-American men, I realized that drawing attention to themselves was precisely what they were trying to do.  Screaming out for some type of physical, emotional, or spiritual attention was what they hungered for the most.  Much more than that burger at McDonald’s or that Sony Playstation that everyone thinks occupies so much of our time.  In fact, isn’t this what hip-hop and rap music represented for African-American youths?  A chance to conquer that invisibility?  An opportunity for them to verbally and physically express themselves according to how they feel?   A shot, without a gun, to tell the world that we have pain, laughter, dreams, fears, insecurities, and desires for a more comfortable and respectable existence—like everyone else?

“No days off”

As a young African-American child living in Newark, N.J., I remember seeing pictures of myself wearing cardigan sweaters and sport coats.  I remember how important I felt whenever I was formally dressed.  I remember the compliments from my teachers when I would have to give a speech or read something to a class or group– how I had to “look the part” in order to “be the part.”  The pride that swelled inside of me whenever I would see those pictures or experience those opportunities had a significant impact on how I would later view myself as an African-American man visible to myself.

Unfortunately, perception, not reality, still dominates thought and judgment in this society.  That old maxim, “You only get one time to make a first impression” still wields a major influence on whether or not you get to pass “GO” and collect $200. Being African-American in this country means that every impression you make, every time you make it, is always going to be viewed as a first impression.  There are no days off.  Irrespective of the fact that you were introduced to someone yesterday, tomorrow they will have to be reminded of why they talked to you in the first place.

Eugene Mosley, Jr., a graduate of the University of Southern California, is a volunteer with Concerned Black Men of Los Angeles, a nonprofit group that works with youth and schools in South Los Angeles. He lives in Inglewood.