Role Models in Surprising Faces, Places

When my fiance, Johnny, was young he modeled himself after his hero, H. Rap Brown. He pierced his ear, donned a black beret and bought a denim jacket adorned with a clenched fist, in the black nationalists’ colors of red, black and green. His mother was worried, of course: all this talk of revolution. But when her son stopped ditching school and opted for college--in part, because his hero had--she decided “Power to the People” wasn’t so bad.

Thirty years later, Johnny is the father of two teenage boys. Like him, they emulate their heroes--rappers like Jay-Z and Ja Rule--sporting baggy pants and gold chains and faux diamond studs in both ears. Now he understands his mother’s concerns, and has more of his own.

Because the message his sons get from their role models is not about pride, self-reliance and preparation, but about a “thug life” that glorifies drugs and guns and degrades women--one that measures a man’s success by how much jewelry he wears, the kind of liquor he drinks and how many women he controls.

So it was a relief this weekend to hear a new message emerge in a room full of hip-hop artists, even though it came from a man so controversial that his name probably sparks as much fear in parents as the revolutionaries of an earlier generation did.

The occasion was a conference on rap music, part of a three-day convention sponsored by the Nation of Islam. There, its fiery leader, Minister Louis Farrakhan, pulled no punches in urging young musicians to use their talents to build up their community, rather than promote values that lead to destruction. “You cannot contend in this world ignorant. You cannot contend in this world full of bitterness and hate,” he told them. “You’re young, you’re fearless, you’re strong. But the power of your strength is being used against you.”

It is not just the statistics that suggest disaster, though the numbers are scary enough themselves: More than 30% of young black men are either in prison, on probation or on parole. Black teenage boys are twice as likely as whites to be the victims of violent crime, and they are murdered at 10 times the rate of white youths their age.

Then there are the anecdotes, as well, like this story sent to me by a young, black male teacher, troubled by the behavior of his Los Angeles middle-schoolers: “This year, 95% of the black boys I educate are failing my eighth-grade algebra class, despite all of them being at least as capable as those [who are passing],” he said. “These 95% waste most of their class time, do little or no homework, are preoccupied with sports and girls, deride the 5% passing my class as ‘soft’ or ‘weak,’ are consumed with wearing the latest ‘gear,’ only read when the teacher pleads, and laugh when they get Fs. While I love them as intensely as I love my own son, I loathe their academic skills, attitude and [lack of] commitment.”

Depending on whom you ask, there is no shortage of explanations: not enough jobs, inadequate schools, unprepared families. A welfare system that has made fathers irrelevant, a prison system that has made them unavailable. Anger, hopelessness. A spiritual void, a cultural malaise.... It’s no wonder we get tangled up when we try to navigate among them.

But the message I kept hearing last week, at the Nation of Islam’s annual convention, was not about causes but solutions. And it embodied what we might call radical thinking--the same kind of thinking that encouraged dispirited young men growing up a generation ago: Use your talent to lift yourselves. Give something back to your community. Respect the wisdom of your elders. Create the kind of world you’d want your children to inherit.

At its accompanying Hip-Hop Summit in Beverly Hills, young rappers rose to applaud as Farrakhan lauded them for their creativity, their brilliance, their financial success. Then gently, sternly--as a father would a child--Farrakhan took them to task for the path their art has taken: The coarse language, the debasement of women, the glorification of flash and dazzle over knowledge and self-respect.

There are more important things than riches and popularity, he told them. “Don’t sell your soul for some alligator shoes and some diamonds you can put around your neck, and somebody with a gun can take from you.... Remember, there are children who can’t read ‘Dick and Jane,’ but can recite the words to your raps. They’re not listening to the teacher in school, but they are listening to you. You are the teacher. You have to accept the responsibility now.”

The cheering died down, as the young rappers cast sidelong looks at one another. But, lining the walls in their suits and ties, the young brothers from the Nation of Islam kept on clapping. And I stood and joined them in their applause.

There’s an image that goes with the Nation of Islam and its fiery leader: race-baiters, separatists, hate-mongers. That’s not what I saw and heard when I watched and listened, and I realized that sometimes what you see is really what you choose to focus on.

What I noticed at the convention center were hundreds of young men treating each other--and the women and children around them--with respect. No loud voices or curses, no insults or cross words. There were men pushing baby strollers, carrying toddlers, holding hands with their wives, opening doors. They were neatly dressed in suits and ties, or jackets bearing slogans like “Keep the Peace” and “Self-Improvement Is the Basis for Community Development.”

As I prepared to leave, I stood outside an elevator in a crowd too large to board. The doors slid open and no one moved. Then the young men at the front of the group stepped back and extended their arms. “After you, sisters,” they said, holding open the doors.

And I felt not fear, but pride, as I stepped inside. You might not like the slogans or the packaging, but there was nothing here to make a mother afraid.

Sandy Banks’ column runs on Tuesdays and Sundays. Her e-mail address is sandy.banks@latimes.com.