February 5, 2010, The New Parish in Oakland (previously known as Jimmie’s Nightclub) is filled with a diverse range of faces to celebrate and remember the life of Mike “Dream” Francisco. Three year old’s hit the floor rockin’ their best b-boy/b-girl moves along with veteran popper, Bionic Man. Older heads recollect their memories of chillin’ and mentoring the legendary graffiti writer, younger heads recall the pieces he created which inspired them to pick up a can, and his counterparts remembered the escapades.
This Friday had it’s elements of mourning for a legend lost way before his time, not to mention the sadness felt for Akil, Dream’s son, who recently lost his mother, Nikki Sellers, to breast cancer. Fortunately for Akil, he has a strong community of folks who want to ensure that his future shines bright.
Around midnight of this night, the host of the night made an announcement that inspired the crowd that came to support Dream and his seed: February 17 was officially declared by the city of Oakland as Dream Day.
How fresh is that? A person once considered a “vandal” becomes recognized by a city for the contributions to the community and has a day recognized for him.
Amidst stories about Apple’s iPad and how Chris Matthews forgot Barack Obama was Black for an hour came one significant piece of news that I am pretty certain will not earn coverage on any major news channels, the passing of social historian, Howard Zinn.
That moment last Thursday when I received the first text message from my homie, Dunn: RIP Michael Jackson. I was in denial, much like the denial many of us felt about Michael throughout the nineties. TMZ isn’t a credible source, I kept telling myself. When the second source was NY Post: another sensational publication. Reality set in shortly after when more renowned news sites corroborated that he had indeed left us.
Maybe it was better this way, for he had seemingly left us a while ago. The pain that I had was of the tormented individual, a post-racial individual who was also a victim of internalized racism. No pardon will be made regarding his personal decisions, and it was that struggle that fans had, the dichotomy of his artistry and his personal life.
I am not here to discuss the personal but to remember the symbol that had inspired and the music that will continue to inspire. My aim was to be original and post tracks that generally get’s less attention than the standard hits, but of course Professor O-Dub was already one step ahead. Thus, I’ll go ahead and contribute my personal list as Oliver had done:
Ninoy Brown. It’s a name that partially came from Wesley Snipe’s character in New Jack City. A nickname given to me by friends who put a twist on the nickname given to me by familia.
I was born in Manila, during a period of unrest where Filipinos were taking to the streets in opposition to the dictatorial rule of Ferdinand Marcos, who declared martial law on September 11, 1972. Under his rule, subversion was dealt with through imprisonment, disappearances, and death. A counter intelligence program that actually still occurs today. But while Marcos was in power, a man by the name of Benigno Aquino, nicknamed Ninoy, stood in opposition. Ninoy was imprisoned shortly after the declaration of martial law on false charges of murder and subversion. Eventually, Ninoy was allowed to go to the U.S., after hunger strike, gaining the hearts and minds of the Filipinos, and losing an election due to fraud on the part of Marcos’ party.
As an outspoken critic of the Marcos regime, Ninoy consistently fought against martial law and the suppression of dissident voices in the Philippines. He vowed to return to the Philippines, while in the U.S. On August 21, 1983, exactly twenty-five years ago, he set on a flight back to the Philippines only to be gunned down by an assassin’s bullet upon exiting the plane. In the days after, constant rallies took place in protest of the killing and in support of the message for which Ninoy stood.
I was born a couple days after the assassination. Several family members were in the streets along side the sea of yellow shirts and hands raised, fingers forming the shape of an “L” for “laban” or fight. Relatives wanted this kid to be named Benigno, but instead my parents possessively invested in a colonized name. Yet, even without it on my birth certificate, the name “Ninoy” stuck and family and family friends would end up calling me this for the rest of my life. Due to the nickname, growing up I had always found a connection to the People’s Power movement that took place during the few years I was raised in the Philippines.
So with today’s date, we mark the twenty-fifth year since the assassination. If Aquino had survived, many argue that much might not be all the different today. But what he stands for is a powerful symbol of opposition to a very brutal dictator. Until his death, he knew that the status quo in the Philippines had to be changed. He fought for a democratically free Philippines, free of the oppressor. Even with premonitions and warnings of possible assassination attempts, he returned because he felt strongly for what needed to be done for his country.
“If its my fate to die by an assassins bullet, so be it. But I cannot be petrified by inaction, or fear of assassination, and therefore stay in the corner.” -Benigno “Ninoy” Aquino
If you’re in San Francisco, there will be a candlelight vigil at City Hall today at 6pm.
As O-Dub would say, this is a period where we will be expecting to lose even more legendary artists, who did their part to innovate the sounds that we are able to appreciate today. While their music will continue to show immortality, their physical presence unfortunately will not.
The world suffered the tragic loss Raymund Orias at the age of 24 last weekend.
Ray is a good friend of ours here at FOBBDeep. We intended to ask him to guest blog for us one day.
I’m still growing from this loss. As with any loss, I’m reminded how important it is to honor human connectedness. Ray reminded me because he took deep care of his interactions with the people around him wether friend or stranger. He was an active listener, a teacher, an artist, and the life of the party. Sure, he had his shameless desire to sing Backstreet Boy covers at every possible Magic Mic karaoke moment, but his connectedness to humanity was a work of art.
I anticipated every opportunity I would get to be around Ray. I admired his intellect and his passion for humanity. Ninoy and I relished at the simple idea of Ray blogging. His insight and perspective on life was always refreshing. He was the go-to guy to help me identify popular songs that weren’t hip-hop or R&B (Thanks for ID’ing that Billy Joel banger at The Local the other week, bro). On an unrelated note, I was also happy to see that he was no longer rocking the emo hair-doo he had a few years ago.
Ray was working on his masters in history, further proof of his endless capability that we will always miss. It would take more than an army to replace his dedication to our world.
Thank you, Ray, for having made the world a wonderful place by simply staying connected to us. Peace to you, your family, and loved ones.
