Few had the insight into that peculiar experience that is the Black American experience that Gil Scott Heron had. He died recently and the social networks were abuzz with people who likely heard little of his music, and if they did, understood none of it. Mr. Scott knew the Blues and understood Jazz, which means he knew what it meant to be Black. His music and life was almost a perfect analogy of post 1960’s Black America.

While Mr. Scott’s and my political differences make it unlikely we were looking at this from different perspectives. It is clear he also saw an intractable decline on the horizon in America especially in Black America. This “Winter” the brother speaks about features us gunning each other down without pause , I won’t ignore the improvement over the last twenty years, but our rates are still dizzying relative to other ethnicities and our 1950’s selves. We have assimilated into materialistic mainstream culture at a dizzying rates. Our “intellectuals” have certainly failed to live up to Harold Cruse’s idea that

“The special function of the Negro intellectual is a cultural one. He should take to the rostrum and assail the stultifying blight of the commercially depraved white middle-class who has poisoned the structural roots of the American people into a nation of intellectual dolts… He should tell black America how and why Negroes are trapped in this cultural degeneracy, and how it has dehumanized their essential identity, squeezed the lifeblood of their inherited cultural ingredients out of them, and then relegated them to the cultural slums.”

Instead our intellectuals have done nothing more than use the suffering of our poorest as a guilt trip to get accepted in white institutions. With few exceptions they merely repeat and slightly refashion the liberal jargon handed down to them by old tired Marxist and other white liberals. They rarely offer anything in the way culture rebirth or self determination.

As a tribe we have forgot all the traditions that sustained us during that long walk from chattel to “freedom”. Our sense of community is long gone in most places, our dedication to the institution founded by our ancestors nil. We tend not to even get married, we have almost all of our kids out-of-wedlock, our dedication to our own families is even circumspect. Since “official” integration( where the middle class blacks chased white people where ever they went) it seems the only thing we have gained was a marginal amount of wealth, even then our wealth in relation to whites remains stagnant. Yet we are happy that we are integrated. I suppose living next to white folk and being allowed into their institutions made all these declines and the impending death to our culture and institutions worthwhile to most. Hey, at least we can feel self-important for embracing diversity.

Undoubtedly those of us who actually care about Black communities, which are way different from “the Black Community”, see these issues for what they are, dismal signs of a dying people and decaying culture. Can we be saved? I have no idea. But as Gil said in Winter in America ” sister (and brother) save your soul” if you can’t save anything else.

Fittingly the great Gil Scott Heron died, May 27, 2011 (62), in the dying former capital of Negro culture and self-determination Harlem, NY. I think the griot was telling us something.

From the Indians who welcomed the pilgrims

And to the buffalo who once ruled the plains

Like the vultures circling beneath the dark clouds

Looking for the rain

Looking for the rain Just like the cities staggered on the coastline

Living in a nation that just can’t stand much more

Like the forest buried beneath the highway

Never had a chance to grow

Never had a chance to grow And now it’s winter

Winter in America

Yes and all of the healers have been killed

Or sent away, yeah

But the people know, the people know

It’s winter

Winter in America

And ain’t nobody fighting

‘Cause nobody knows what to save

Save your soul, Lord knows

From Winter in America The Constitution

A noble piece of paper

With free society

Struggled but it died in vain

And now Democracy is ragtime on the corner

Hoping for some rain

Looks like it’s hoping

Hoping for some rain And I see the robins

Perched in barren treetops

Watching last-ditch racists marching across the floor

But just like the peace sign that vanished in our dreams

Never had a chance to grow

Never had a chance to grow And now it’s winter

It’s winter in America

And all of the healers have been killed

Or betrayed

Yeah, but the people know, people know

It’s winter, Lord knows

It’s winter in America

And ain’t nobody fighting

Cause nobody knows what to save

Save your souls

From Winter in America And now it’s winter

Winter in America

And all of the healers done been killed or sent away

Yeah, and the people know, people know

It’s winter

Winter in America

And ain’t nobody fighting

Cause nobody knows what to save

And ain’t nobody fighting

Cause nobody knows, nobody knows

And ain’t nobody fighting

Cause nobody knows what to save