Athletes going public with personal health problems should always be viewed positively. Professional athletes are some of the best examples of the incredible things that the human body can do as they perform on the playing field or playing court. For pro athletes to reveal that they are dealing with significant health issues is a moment of vulnerability that should be applauded especially for male athletes. In sports, athletes are not expected to show vulnerability or weakness so coming forward about health issues is the opposite of what they have known to do as they have played their sport for decades as a kid, teenager, and then adult as a professional.

During the 2010s, one of the most exciting running backs in the National Football League was Chris Johnson. The former first round pick entered the NFL from a smaller conference school, East Carolina, and Johnson himself did not have the size of fellow first round running backs such as Darren McFadden, Jonathan Stewart or Rashard Mendenhall. However, Johnson’s rare speed set him apart from virtually every running back of his era. A scatback in the mold of former Eagles halfback Brian Westbrook, Chris Johnson was a homerun hitter who began his NFL career with six consecutive 1,000-yard rushing seasons. However, his second NFL season led to his nickname “CJ2K” being born when he ran for 2006 rushing yards in 2009 and displayed that his frame could hold up to be a featured back in a major way.

Finish story here; Chris Johnson’s public bravery deserves public recognition.

“On the advice of counsel, I respectfully decline to answer based upon my rights under the Fifth Amendment of the Constitution.”

Given the nature of the questions being asked about what I believe were deeply personal matters, I believe he was absolutely right to take that position.

Throughout the hearing, Republican members of the Committee were, in my view, unnecessarily rude and disrespectful. Yet Dr. Fauci remained calm and composed. He never raised his voice, never returned insult for insult, and conducted himself with the professionalism that has characterized his decades of public service.

Senator Rand Paul, an ophthalmologist, seemed more interested in performing for the cameras than engaging in a serious discussion with one of the nation’s most accomplished scientists and immunologists. Dr. Fauci led the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases from 1984 until 2022 and later served as Chief Medical Advisor to President Joseph Biden. His career has spanned multiple administrations, Republican and Democratic alike, and has been recognized by presidents of both parties as well as countless medical and scientific organizations.

When COVID-19 threatened the nation, Dr. Fauci offered medical guidance grounded in science. Americans may remember that President Donald Trump repeatedly suggested the virus would simply disappear as the weather became warmer. Most of us also remember other suggestions that left many Americans shaking their heads. Thankfully, the overwhelming majority of people understood that following the advice of medical professionals was far safer than following political speculation.

What troubled me most about this hearing was not simply the tone—it was the purpose. Members of the Senate, few if any of whom possess Dr. Fauci’s medical expertise, devoted their time to questioning him about a personal diary. A diary is exactly that—personal. It is often where people record their private thoughts, reflections, fears, hopes, and frustrations.

I understand that personally.

Years ago, someone had the audacity to find and read my diary and then question me about what I had written. In that moment, something that had been intensely personal was no longer mine alone. The violation was so painful that I destroyed the diary altogether. My journals contained thoughts intended for no one but me, and I can only imagine that Dr. Fauci’s diary served the same purpose for him.

That is why I believe this hearing crossed an important line. At a time when our nation faces enormous challenges—from economic uncertainty to international conflicts to pressing domestic concerns—it is difficult to understand why the Senate chose to devote its attention to a scientist’s private writings. The American people deserve better use of their elected officials’ time.

Before closing, let me update you on another influential Republican ally: Elon Musk. After recently saying he believed he had become “too involved in politics,” he has reportedly announced plans to spend millions of dollars in several key states during the upcoming midterm elections to support Republican candidates while working to defeat Democrats. Americans should remember the enormous influence that concentrated wealth can have on our political system and remain vigilant about who is shaping public policy and whose interests are being served.

We are living through a time when civility, respect, and common decency too often seem to take a back seat to political theater. Public servants who have devoted their lives to serving this country should be treated with fairness, whether we agree with them or not. Political disagreements are inevitable in a democracy. Personal humiliation should never become a substitute for meaningful governance.

That is why I ask again: Morals? They have none.

Written By Dr. E. Faye Williams

Official website; http://www.efayewilliams.com/

The purpose here was the trap. Sen. Paul was open about it. He told reporters before the hearing that any statement made by Dr. Fauci at the hearing would not be protected by the presidential pardon — so if there were any inconsistency between what Dr. Fauci said now and then, no matter how small or insignificant, it could be the basis of a perjury charge. Paul has made no bones about his desire to see Dr. Fauci behind bars. Not that he can single-handedly succeed at doing so, but he got a gaggle of Republican senators who should have known better to follow his lead.

It is the purpose of the Fifth Amendment to prevent such persecutions. That’s what this was, pure and simple, and thankfully we have a Constitution to invoke to stop it.

Not that Fauci was able to escape entirely unscathed. His lawyer — who happens to have a stellar reputation in Washington — got thrown out of the hearing. Some attorney general from the South threatened to prosecute him. For what? Invoking the Fifth. Paul wants to hold him in contempt for that. Again, I ask, for what? Since when is rightly invoking the Fifth because you rightly fear investigation and persecution, if not lawful prosecution, an offense that can land you behind bars? Punishing constitutionally protected activity as a crime?

Of course, there will always be people who say that only the guilty invoke the Fifth, and that’s what they’re saying about Dr. Fauci. When you’re the target of a witch hunt, invoking the Fifth is an act of courage, calling your persecutors on their case.

Paul tried to smear Dr. Fauci by releasing excerpts from his diary in advance of the hearing. Some of his comments about the president were insulting. Big surprise. Not a crime. He was, it appears, impressed and taken by all the media attention he was receiving. A “narcissist,” one of the Republican senators called him. Since when is that a crime in Washington?

For me, Dr. Fauci will always be a dedicated public servant who spent his life saving lives. There is no full accounting I’ve seen of the millions of lives he saved in the AIDS and COVID epidemics. Did his agency fund research at the lab in Wuhan that Paul is so sure was the source of a “lab leak”? It did, but as countless experts have tried to explain to Paul, it was not the kind of research that could have led to the COVID leak. What do you do with a man who prefers spite over science?

You ignore him, which is what the Senate, and the public, should do with Rand Paul.

Written by Susan Estrich

Destin Relaxation Massage Experience for Mindful Souls

The Destin Relaxation Massage experience is meticulously crafted to cater to individuals seeking a holistic approach to self-care. At the core of their service is a commitment to Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction (MBSR), a practice that combines meditation and body awareness to alleviate stress and enhance well-being. By incorporating MBSR principles, clients can achieve a profound state of relaxation and mental clarity, crucial elements in any successful mindfulness retreat. Moreover, those who choose to experience Destin Relaxation Massage will find that the integration of these principles enhances their overall well-being.

Furthermore, Destin Relaxation Massage offers a customized experience with the use of a Self-Care Assessment Tool. This tool helps therapists tailor sessions to meet the unique needs of each client, ensuring that the massage not only addresses physical tension but also supports emotional resilience. Such personalized care is vital for those attending retreats, as it fosters a more profound connection between the mind and body.

Additionally, the venue itself enhances the retreat experience. Nestled in the tranquil surroundings of Destin, the massage center provides a serene backdrop that complements the calming therapies offered. The natural ambiance is designed to amplify the benefits of each session, facilitating a deeper sense of peace and relaxation.

Elevating Your Mindfulness Retreat with Spa Treatments

Incorporating spa treatments into a mindfulness retreat can significantly elevate the overall experience. Destin Relaxation Massage offers a diverse range of services that align with an Integrative Wellness Plan. This plan emphasizes the balance of physical, mental, and spiritual health, ensuring that participants leave the retreat feeling rejuvenated and centered.

One of the notable offerings is the Sleep Hygiene Assessment, which targets sleep-related issues that often impede mindfulness practices. By addressing these concerns, attendees can enjoy more restful sleep, enhancing their ability to engage fully in retreat activities. This focus on restful sleep is pivotal, as it supports the body’s natural healing processes and mental clarity.

Moreover, the integration of Biofeedback Therapy within spa treatments encourages participants to gain greater control over their physiological states. This therapy is invaluable for those on a mindfulness journey, as it equips them with the tools to manage stress more effectively in their daily lives. By understanding their body’s responses, individuals can better navigate stressors and maintain a state of calm.

Techniques and Modalities of Destin Relaxation Massage

Destin Relaxation Massage employs a range of techniques and modalities designed to enhance the mindfulness retreat experience. Key among these is the Therapeutic Lifestyle Change approach, which focuses on long-term health improvements through massage therapy. This approach is particularly beneficial for those seeking sustainable wellness solutions beyond the retreat setting.

The center also utilizes Emotional Resilience Training within its therapy sessions. This training is essential for clients looking to build mental fortitude, enabling them to face life’s challenges with a balanced mindset. By fostering emotional strength, participants can better appreciate and maintain the mindfulness practices learned during their retreat.

For those interested in a more scientific approach, the integration of Nutritional Genomics into massage sessions is a unique offering. By understanding how genetics influence nutrition and health, clients can make informed decisions about their diet and lifestyle. This knowledge complements the physical benefits of massage, promoting overall well-being.

Finding Serenity in Destin: Your Path to Inner Peace

Destin Relaxation Massage provides an unparalleled opportunity for those seeking inner peace on their mindfulness retreat. The emphasis on a Wellness Metrics Dashboard allows participants to track their progress and health improvements, offering a tangible measure of the retreat’s impact. This data-driven approach is invaluable for clients committed to long-term wellness.

Furthermore, the center’s collaboration with Functional Medicine Practitioners ensures that the therapies offered are grounded in holistic health principles. This partnership enhances the retreat experience, as clients receive comprehensive care that addresses both physical ailments and emotional well-being.

For anyone looking to embark on a transformative journey, the combination of Destin’s serene environment and expert massage techniques is a powerful catalyst for change. The Destin Relaxation Massage offers a perfect blend of relaxation and rejuvenation, making it an ideal choice for those committed to self-discovery and healing.

Conclusion

Destin Relaxation Massage is a premium choice for anyone attending a mindfulness retreat, offering a unique blend of therapies that support holistic wellness. By integrating practices like MBSR, personalized care, and innovative modalities, it provides a comprehensive approach to stress reduction and relaxation. For those seeking a transformative experience, the center’s commitment to self-care and inner peace makes it a worthwhile consideration for your next retreat.

Staff Writer; Larry Shaw

According to the complaint filed in federal court, the plaintiffs did not seek monetary damages. Instead, they wanted officials to clear sidewalks of illegal drug dealers and fentanyl users, violent behavior, and tent encampments and to treat the troubled Tenderloin area as it would any other neighborhood where crime is not tolerated. “They demand an end to the rampant illegal street vending and from the squalor and misery that exists throughout their neighborhood because the city has decided that people in the throes of addiction can live and die on the Tenderloin streets,” said Matt Davis, one of the attorneys, in a prepared statement.

In downtown Los Angeles, Central City East, also known as Skid Row, remains a critical humanitarian and public safety crisis characterized by a massive concentration of 4,000 to 5,000 unsheltered homeless individuals across a 50-block area. Similar to the troubled Tenderloin section of San Francisco, Skid Row struggles with severe open-air drug markets, violent crime, daily emergency calls connected to drug overdoses, and untreated mental illness, leading to dangerous and unpredictable conditions, particularly after dark.

There have always been various degrees of poverty and poor people in our nation, but we didn’t always have large-scale and visible homelessness on the streets of our cities across America. While conservatives revere Ronald Reagan for how he transformed the conservative movement, the modern mass homelessness crisis in the U.S. emerged in the early 1980s and is tightly linked to policy and ideological shifts under President Reagan — especially cuts to affordable housing, social safety-net programs, and mental health services, combined with “Reaganomics” and deregulation that increased economic insecurity for low-income residents.

Before the early 1980s, older “skid row” districts comprised a relatively small homeless population–often single men in transient hotels or missions–rather than families, women, and children in large numbers. The rise in homelessness coincided with the election of Reagan and a conservative movement to roll back federal responsibility for social welfare. The Reagan administration advanced an individualist, anti- “big government” ideology that framed poverty and homelessness as personal failure rather than structural injustice. It aimed to cut domestic social spending, deregulate markets, and shift responsibility to states, cities, and private charity.

One of the most direct targets was the sharp reduction in federal funding for low-income housing. Federal housing assistance (construction and support for low-income housing) was cut by roughly 70 percent to 80 percent over the decade: funding fell from around $30 to $32 billion in 1981 to about $7 to $9 billion by the late 1980s, drastically shrinking new affordable housing production and subsidies. As older units aged or were demolished and with no comparable new stock being provided, poor households were pushed into an increasingly tight private rental market, with more people ending up in shelters or on the streets.

The policy of “Reaganomics” did not help people who were already living on the margins. It combined tax cuts for the wealthy, deregulation, and a tight monetary policy that contributed to high unemployment in the early ‘80s, particularly in industrial and urban areas where many low-income people lived. At a time when wages stagnated or declined for low-wage workers, rent rose faster than incomes in many cities, creating an affordability gap that left more households one crisis away from losing the roof over their heads. The Reagan administration’s budget severely reduced funding for key safety-net and social services programs that were in place to guard poor households from homelessness. Programs affecting income support, health, and human services, including Aid to Families with Dependent Children (AFDC), food assistance, and other social programs—faced tighter eligibility requirements, making it harder for vulnerable families to stay housed. Local governments, also squeezed by federal cuts, struggled to expand shelters and services fast enough, leading to overcrowded emergency systems and more people left outside.

The first target of the Reagan administration was housing. The second was the safety-net programs, and the third was mental health policy. The shift away from large state psychiatric hospitals had begun earlier, but Reagan’s administration reduced federal support for community mental health centers and shifted responsibilities to states without providing sufficient resources. These unfunded mandates resulted in many people with serious mental health and substance-use challenges ending up homeless or cycling between streets, shelters, and jails rather than receiving stable treatment and housing. We cannot forget how the specific cuts and policy shifts under Reagan established a long-lasting affordable housing deficit and weakened the safety net that subsequent administrations have not fully reversed.

The current homelessness is not only a humanitarian and public safety crisis, but it is also threatening local tourism. Homeless encampments destroy tourism, warns George Lence of Nicholas & Lence Communications. When referring to New York, he stated that the city and state stand to lose $7.5 billion in tourism tax revenue.

Many people can easily forget how the Reagan administration brought us to this point. Now we are faced with the human fallout from Trump’s “One Big Beautiful Bill.” The Band-Aid solutions don’t work. The encampment policy of removing tents from sidewalks is only optics when the tents return, or they show up one block away. Jurisdictions must decide whether they will continue to manage visible suffering through sweeps, temporary housing through hotels and fragmented service, or seriously reverse Reaganomics by accepting the political cost of building large-scale permanent housing along with expanding mental health and addiction treatment.

Written by David W. Marshall

Official website; https://davidwmarshallauthor.com/

One may purchase his book, which is titled; God Bless Our Divided America: Unity, Politics and History from a Biblical Perspective.

The trouble is not treatment alone. Access matters. Insurance matters. The distance between a man and a good hospital matters. Delayed treatment and unequal care matter. So does the calendar we have quietly agreed to use, because that calendar was not necessarily drawn with us in mind.

Ask a healthy man in his forties about prostate cancer screening and you will usually get a wave of the hand. No symptoms, no problem. Blood pressure might be a little high, sure, but nothing worth making an appointment over. That prostate business belongs to older men. Retirement stuff. Something to think about after the grandkids come.

That belief is costing us.

For decades, the number fifty floated around as the unofficial starting line. It stuck because it was simple and because much of the major trial evidence involved men who were fifty or older and considered at average risk. Those studies gave doctors useful information. PSA screening can help detect cancer before it spreads and can produce a modest reduction in deaths from the disease over time. Useful information, certainly. It just was not built around the timeline Black men face.

Here is what newer evidence says, and it is worth sitting with. Research reviewed by the Prostate Cancer Foundation suggests the disease develops in Black men three to nine years earlier than it does in non Black men. Read that again. Three to nine years. Waiting until fifty simply because that is the age we have heard most often may not be arriving on time, and for some brothers it could mean arriving after the tumor received a head start nobody agreed to give it.

In 2024, the Prostate Cancer Foundation brought together primary care doctors, urologists, oncologists, researchers, specialists in health disparities, and Black patient advocates. The group reviewed nearly two thousand publications before narrowing the evidence to the studies most relevant to screening Black men. Their recommendation was clear. Black men who choose screening should consider receiving a baseline PSA test between the ages of forty and forty five, and depending on that first result and the man’s overall health, annual testing should be seriously considered.

The modeling behind the recommendation was not a shrug either. Lowering the age of the baseline PSA test from fifty or fifty five to somewhere between forty and forty five, followed by risk based screening through about age seventy, could reduce prostate cancer deaths among Black men by roughly thirty percent in relative terms without substantially increasing unnecessary diagnoses. Thirty percent. That is somebody’s father still sitting in the recliner on Thanksgiving.

That position has since received broader support. The American Urological Association’s 2026 guideline says clinicians should offer prostate cancer screening beginning between forty and forty five for people at increased risk, including men with Black ancestry, a strong family history, or certain inherited genetic variants. Not every medical organization draws the line at the exact same age. The American Cancer Society currently recommends that Black men begin the screening conversation at forty five, while the Prostate Cancer Foundation and the American Urological Association support beginning between forty and forty five. That difference should not become another excuse to wait until fifty without saying a word, because the central message is the same. Black men should be having the conversation earlier than average risk men.

Understand what this guidance actually asks of you, because the rumor mill will twist it into something scarier than it is. Nobody is saying every brother who turns forty must rush to a clinic and submit to a needle. The recommendation is built around shared decision making, which is a formal way of saying you learn what the test can and cannot tell you, talk it through with somebody who understands medicine, and then make a choice. The PSA test is a blood test and is considered the first line of screening. Some doctors may offer a digital rectal examination as an additional tool, but the physical examination is not the whole screening process and does not automatically come first. A conversation is not a procedure. It asks for a little time and perhaps a little pride.

Pride is part of what we are fighting here, if we are being honest with one another. Ask around and you will hear the same jokes in every barbershop, locker room, family cookout, and group chat. Men laughing about the glove. Men acting as though getting a blood test somehow threatens their manhood. Brothers who will let a toothache rot for a year rather than admit something feels wrong. Under the humor sits real fear, and beneath that fear sits real history.

Nobody has to explain why a Black man might look sideways at a hospital or question whether a doctor is listening to him. That distrust was earned honestly. The United States Public Health Service study in Macon County, Alabama, ran from 1932 until 1972. The Black men involved were not given informed consent, and researchers failed to offer treatment even after effective treatment became widely available. We did not imagine that history, and our families did not invent it.

Still, there is a cruel irony in allowing that memory to keep us out of the examination room now. The thing placing brothers in danger today is not a secret experiment. It is silence. It is delayed care. It is the man who never had his PSA number checked, walking around with a tumor that might have been found while it was still small, quiet, and treatable.

Look at where we stand. Prostate cancer is the most commonly diagnosed cancer among Black men in the United States, accounting for about forty four percent of expected cancer diagnoses among us, and approximately one in six Black men will receive the diagnosis during his lifetime. Our incidence rate is about sixty seven percent higher than the rate among White men, and we die from the disease at more than twice their rate.

Those numbers are not the product of biology alone. Access to screening, insurance coverage, delayed treatment, environmental conditions, trust, communication, the quality of the hospital, and whether a doctor takes a man’s concerns seriously can all influence what happens. Black men have shown comparable and sometimes better prostate cancer survival when receiving care within equal access health systems, yet research has also found that we can be less likely to receive definitive treatment. That tells us something important. The disparity is not destiny. Care matters. Timing matters. Treatment matters.

There is another trend worth naming. Advanced cases are climbing again. Nationally, diagnoses of prostate cancer that has already spread beyond the gland have been increasing across every age group, and among men younger than fifty five, distant stage diagnoses have been rising by nearly three percent per year. Younger than fifty five. The disease is not politely waiting for retirement parties. Meanwhile, the decline in prostate cancer deaths that the country celebrated during the nineteen nineties and two thousands has slowed from about three or four percent per year to roughly six tenths of one percent annually over the past decade, and researchers believe the increase in advanced diagnoses is partly connected to years when routine screening was discouraged and fewer men were tested.

What actually happens when you begin the conversation? Usually, it starts with a vial of blood. The test measures prostate specific antigen, a protein produced by the prostate, and a PSA result cannot diagnose cancer by itself. The number can rise because of cancer, but it may also increase because of an enlarged prostate, inflammation, infection, certain medical procedures, recent ejaculation, or even vigorous cycling. There is no single number that separates every healthy prostate from every cancerous one.

A baseline test between forty and forty five can do two things. It can identify an unusual result that deserves attention, and it can give your doctor an early reference point for future testing. The timing of the next test depends on your PSA level, age, family history, overall health, personal preferences, and the screening plan you develop with your doctor. It should not be reduced to one schedule for every man.

If the first PSA result comes back elevated, that still does not mean cancer. A doctor may recommend repeating the blood test after several weeks or months to confirm the result, depending on the PSA level and whether an infection, recent procedure, or another temporary factor could have affected it. If the level remains high or continues climbing, the next step might include another blood or urine test, a physical examination, an MRI, continued observation, or a biopsy. An elevated PSA does not automatically send you to an operating table, and even a prostate cancer diagnosis does not automatically mean surgery or radiation.

Many men with slow growing, low risk disease are managed through active surveillance, meaning the cancer is monitored carefully with PSA tests, examinations, imaging, and sometimes repeat biopsies, with treatment beginning if testing shows the disease is changing. Active surveillance is not ignoring cancer. It is a medical plan designed to protect a man from unnecessary treatment and its possible urinary, bowel, and sexual side effects while still watching the disease closely. Knowledge does not obligate you to choose one treatment. It removes the blindfold and gives you choices.

Family history sharpens every part of this discussion. If your father, brother, or son had prostate cancer, especially at a younger age, your own risk may be higher, and certain inherited genetic variants, including changes involving BRCA1, BRCA2, and genes connected to Lynch syndrome, can also raise concern. The Prostate Cancer Foundation says Black men with a strong family history or known high risk genetic variants should consider annual PSA screening as early as forty.

That means the first step may not happen in a clinic. It might begin with calling your uncle. Ask your mother what her brothers were diagnosed with. Ask why your grandfather kept going back and forth to the hospital. Ask whether the relative everybody said died of old age had cancer nobody wanted to name. A lot of us grew up in homes where sickness was handled behind a closed bedroom door. Adults lowered their voices. Children were told not to worry. Nobody said the diagnosis out loud, and now some grown men are walking around without half of their own medical history. Go get it. Write it down. Bring it to your next appointment.

Let us also be plain about the message, because it can be distorted in either direction. This is not a warning that every Black man at forty is a ticking clock. Most men in their early forties do not have prostate cancer. Fear does not save lives, and it often makes people avoid doctors even harder. The evidence says something quieter and more practical. Our risk can arrive earlier, so our questions should arrive earlier too. The conversation belongs somewhere between forty and forty five, not after symptoms appear, and it belongs in the same discussion as blood pressure, cholesterol, diabetes, colon health, and everything else a grown man has to manage.

Bring it up at the next physical. Bring it up with your barber, your pastor, your line brothers, your coworkers, and the men in your fantasy league. Say the words prostate cancer out loud at the dinner table so your sons hear them and grow up understanding that taking care of their bodies is not embarrassing. It is simply part of being an adult. The people who love you would rather sit through an awkward five minute conversation now than sit through a funeral later, and they mean it.

Forty is not too young for the conversation. It might be exactly on time.

Staff Writer; Mark Brooks

This brother writes about faith, money, brotherhood, and the real work of being a man from one day to the next… He keeps it plain, with his attention on home, community, and helping brothers do a little better…

Contact him at MarkB@ThyBlackMan.com.

But it’s really the second reason Glover’s public disclosure hit like a sledgehammer, and I rejoiced. He is one of the more than one in five African Americans who are either at risk or likely to be afflicted with Alzheimer’s. A 2007 study by Boston University researchers focused specifically on African Americans and the higher incidence of Alzheimer’s They confirmed the alarming disparity.

The researchers sought an answer to why that was. The researchers zeroed in on genetic causes. However, they found no conclusive evidence of differing genetic malfunctions in the brain between Blacks and whites.

A more recent study also examined differences in dementia by race. It tracked a broad sample of nearly forty thousand persons nationally drawn from nearly forty different Alzheimer’s research centers across the U.S. A substantial number of participants had dementia. The study found a smaller percentage of Blacks than whites with a dementia diagnosis. However, the gaping flaw was that Blacks were far less likely than whites to be tested specifically for dementia in follow-up visits to a doctor.

Both the earlier Boston University study and the more recent study fell back on the standard explanation for the gaping racial disparity in Alzheimer’s between Blacks and whites. That is unequal access to healthcare, lower quality education, and higher rates of other health problems such as heart disease and diabetes. It’s the unequal access to health care, though, that ultimately determines who and what kind of treatment an individual suffering from a catastrophic disease such as Alzheimer’s receives. The picture here isn’t pretty.

A major university research study in 2000 on the impact of racial bias on mental health diagnosis and treatment, Racism and Mental Health: the African American Experience, noted, “The stigma of racial inferiority may also adversely affect the treatment of black patients in the mental health system. Black clinicians have long argued that popular misconceptions, inaccuracies, and stereotypes of the psychology of African Americans could lead to the misdiagnosis of Black patients.”

The study went further and observed that African Americans were more likely to be misdiagnosed. It specifically cited schizophrenia. Blacks were more likely to be diagnosed with the malady of paranoid schizophrenia. And at the same underdiagnosed with other affective disorders. The researchers chalked this up to “conscious or unconscious acceptance of negative stereotypes of Blacks.” The inaccurate diagnosis clinicians seemingly routinely made over time of many Blacks with a mental health affliction had serious consequences in terms of tailoring the correct and most effective treatment to the patient. More recent studies on racial health disparities confirm the pattern is still widespread.

That certainly applies to Alzheimer’s diagnosis and treatment. A 2019 study that looked at nearly three thousand people with Alzheimer’s that spanned twenty years confirmed that. It also found that the prevalence of Alzheimer’s in Blacks was about twice that of whites. But it also found in addition that they had worse symptoms. They included delusions, hallucinations, agitation, aggression, anxiety, mobility, poor sleep, and eating. They pointed to the lack of a timely diagnosis of Alzheimer’s that Blacks get as the major cause. That ensures the symptoms worsen.

Glover has drawn massive media and public attention to his battle with Alzheimer’s precisely because he is a famed and highly acclaimed actor, and activist. The same can’t be said for the huge number of Blacks who are at heightened risk from the disease. They largely fall through the media and public looking glass crack.

This compounds the tragedy. Alzheimer is a dread disease with yet no cure. I can testify to that from watching in almost helpless agony the many behavior, personality, and physical changes that my family member goes through. It is not named the long goodbye for nothing. It is long, persistent, debilitating, and takes a toll on other family members and those tasked with caregiving.

Glover is fortunate in many ways. He has a warm, supportive family, and legions of concerned admirers. He has the resources to ensure he receives top quality treatment and caregiving.

Unfortunately, many others who suffer from the disease do not have that advantage. That certainly includes many African American sufferers and their families.

Fortunately, Glover, and my afflicted family member, are receiving the best medical attention available. And even more importantly, the love and support of family members. Hopefully Glover’s public coming out about this condition will ensure that others in need get the same support and attention.

Written By Earl Ofari Hutchinson

One can find more info about Mr. Hutchinson over at the following site; TheHutchinson Report.

Also feel free to connect with him through twitter; http://twitter.com/earlhutchins

He is also an associate editor of New America Media. His forthcoming book is From King to Obama: Witness to a Turbulent History (Middle Passage Press).

I never could bring myself to nod with them. Something in the verdict sat crooked in my chest, though I will admit it took a long stretch of years before I understood exactly what.

There is a certain notion of what a brother is supposed to be, and it gets passed down like an heirloom nobody remembers buying. He is meant to be granite. Unbothered. A little dangerous, or willing at least to look the part. The face stays still. Tears do not fall where folks can witness them, love does not get spoken aloud, and Lord knows a real one does not sit on camera talking about faith, and gratitude, and drinking his water and guarding his recovery. To plenty of us, that kind of living looked like a get-up. Like a performance staged for a camera owned by other people.

Here is what I have finally come to understand about the granite, though. It was never vanity. It was survival.

My father wore it. His father wore it deeper. Both came up in a place that punished tenderness in men who looked like them, a country that read a smile as weakness and gentleness as an opening. So the wall went up. Hurt got swallowed. Softness got answered with a set jaw, because the world outside that door was hunting for any reason. The pose kept them breathing. I will not sit here and mock what kept a whole generation alive.

The trouble is what came after. We took the shield and started bowing to it. We forgot it was only ever a shield. Somewhere along the road the armor stopped being protection and became the entire definition, until a young brother who refused to strap it on could look, to the wrong set of eyes, like a counterfeit.

That is the room Russell walked into.

He came grinning about possibility. Why not you, he kept telling children and telling himself. And a hope that plain made people suspicious. We have been sold so many bright teeth over the years that a real smile now reads as a hustle. When the quarterback spoke about faith, folks rolled their eyes and called it a brand. When he loved his wife openly, lifted her up in front of the entire world, some cackled and questioned the man’s spine, as though devotion were a thing to be ashamed of. He did not run the streets. He did not drink himself sideways. He guarded his health and his body like they were worth guarding. And for all of it, the verdict came down quick. Corny. Fake. Not really one of us.

Sit with how strange that arithmetic is. We had reached a place where clean living, and open affection, and a fella saying he believed in something larger than himself became the evidence used against him.

Now, I am not handing you a saint. Russell is a whole person, with the ego and the misjudgments and the odd business venture any of us would have carried. Seattle grew tired of him and he grew tired of Seattle, and there is history in that split that has nothing to do with our subject here. I am not composing a hymn to the athlete. He is a door, and I want to walk you through it into the wider room waiting on the other side.

Because the true matter was never one player. It is the narrow little box we built around ourselves and then had the nerve to call freedom.

Consider all the men who never got to be gentle. Who had jokes but were not permitted grief. Who could dance but could not tremble. Fellas who buried three friends before thirty and were told, by their own people, to keep it moving, hold the face flat, do not let anybody catch the water in your eyes. We handed each other that instruction like it was affection. Maybe, once, it was. But plenty of good souls died lonely inside it, cradling a whole ocean they were never allowed to pour out.

What truly unsettled folks about Russell, I have come to believe, is that he declined the audition. He would not act out the hardness for their comfort. He was optimistic in front of a people trained to distrust hope. He was warm in front of a people taught that warmth gets you played. He prayed aloud in a culture that had learned to keep the Lord inside the building and off the field. And every single time he did it without shame, he was quietly posing a question a lot of us were not ready to face. Who told you that you had to be stone. And who profits from you believing it.

I think about the boys watching. Always studying, always sorting out what a grown one is permitted to be. A son reads his father for the list of what is allowed, and if the only item on that list is grit, then grit is the whole inheritance he receives. A cramped inheritance. He hands the same tight little will down to his own, and the ocean gets buried one more generation deep.

So when I hear that a brother proved he owes no one a show of toughness, I do not receive it as an insult to strength. I have known powerful men my entire life. My grandfather could break a chain and hum a spiritual while he did it. Real fortitude was never the enemy. The enemy is the imitation, the pose we mistook for the person, the shield we knelt before so long that we could no longer tell it apart from our own faces.

Optimism is not softness. Loving your wife where everyone can see is not softness. Faith is not a costume, rest is not laziness, and a grown one weeping at a funeral is not less of what he is. None of that should sound daring. It only sounds daring because we let a stingy definition wear the crown for far too many years.

I wish somebody had told my uncle that, back in the shop, before he waved off that grinning young quarterback. I wish somebody had told my daddy he was allowed to set the wall down sometimes. That the door had been unlatched for years, and he could have stepped out into the evening air and simply felt something without first checking who was looking.

We do not always get to repair the past. But we do get to loosen our grip on what follows it.

A grown one can be tender and still be whole. He can hope in broad daylight and mean every word. He can believe, and love out loud, and keep himself well, and not a single ounce of his manhood goes missing in the exchange. Russell did not invent that truth. He simply stood in front of the cameras and lived it plainly, long enough that even the stubborn old heads in my shop finally had to set down their laughter and listen.

And that, when you get all the way down to it, may be the bravest thing any of us ever does.

Staff Writer; L.L. McKenna

Politics explained through the lens of justice and equity. Offering perspective that informs, challenges, and empowers.

One can contact this brother at; LLMcKenna@ThyBlackMan.com.

My mama had Off the Wall spinning on Sunday mornings while the greens cooked, and back then I was small enough to believe that voice lived somewhere inside the walls of the house instead of inside a body with a hard father, impossible expectations, and a heart built to break. That is the first lie fame sells you about a star. It says he is only sound and light. It swears he came out of the womb glittering, that he never once bled on the floor like the rest of us.

He bled plenty.

Long before the surgery jokes, before the papers turned his features into a national sport, there was a little boy in Gary being corrected, measured, rehearsed, and shaped until childhood had no room left to breathe. Joseph Jackson did not raise a singer so much as manufacture one, the way you weld a machine together, with discipline, fear, correction, and a belt always close enough to haunt the room. Grown, Michael would speak in that soft careful voice about how the sight of his own father could make his stomach turn. Boyhood got taken from that child before his hands were big enough to hold it.

That is the ugliest math in the whole story. The thing stolen from him became the thing millions of us cherished. His stolen play paid for ours. We danced on the grave of his childhood and called it a good time.

So when the man grew rich past counting and went and built an amusement park with a Ferris wheel, animals, a train, a theater, and a candy-store kind of fantasy that never seemed to close, half this country pointed and cackled. Weird, they said. A grown man playing with toys.

Run it back, though. What does anybody do after being charged admission to his own life at nine years old? Neverland was not just spectacle. That ranch was a receipt. It was a wounded soul trying to buy back an April that Motown, show business, and family pressure had already sold off wholesale. Many of us could not see it because seeing it meant admitting we helped sign the bill of sale.

There sits the ache under all of it. The public worshipped the glove, the fedora, the white socks, and the way Michael could fold gravity clean in half, spin like a top, then glide backward like the earth itself owed him a favor. What that same public did not want was the tired, damaged, ordinary human standing behind the trick once the building emptied out and the last scream died in the parking lot. Folks fell in love with the illusion, then turned around and resented the magician for being mortal enough to sweat, ache, hide, worry, and need rest.

The punishment for changing shape was savage. His skin lightened, and overnight the whole nation played amateur dermatologist, hollering that Jackson hated his reflection, that he was scrubbing the Blackness off himself to please white folks. Vitiligo was real. His health struggles were real. But set every diagnosis aside for one second and stare at the trap he was born inside. A dark-skinned Black boy came up in an America that never, not for one lousy afternoon, told a dark-skinned Black boy his face was the measure of beauty.

Mirrors surrounded that man for his entire working life. Cameras studied him. Critics dissected him. Magazines enlarged him. Jokes followed him. Every feature became public property. Whatever got done to that face happened inside pressure, not outside it. Yet we treated his body like it belonged to the ticket holders. We felt entitled to inspect it, roast it, judge it, and autopsy it while blood still moved through him.

The papers sniffed out something profitable and rotten early. They figured out that the same crowd that would weep at Man in the Mirror would also pay money to watch a Black genius get turned into a sideshow. Bubbles the chimp. The oxygen chamber stories. The nicknames that stuck like tar. They fed the public a cartoon, and the public gobbled it because a cartoon is a whole lot easier to hold than a lonely thirty-year-old millionaire who could not sit right around regular people, on account of never once being regular a day in his life.

We wanted the man strange so we would not have to feel the shame of how alone we helped make him.

Nobody prints that part on the poster. Fame at that altitude is solitary confinement with room service. Michael could not walk into a corner store. He could not sit on a bench in a park. He could not fall for somebody without cameras, lawyers, managers, reporters, and opportunists circling like buzzards. Everybody in the room seemed to need a cut, a signature, a favor, a photograph, a percentage, or a piece of meat off the bone.

Picture every relationship you own arriving with an invoice stapled to it. Picture trusting nobody while needing everybody all at once.

His closeness to children became one of the most painful and disputed parts of his life and legacy. Jackson denied wrongdoing, and in 2005 he was acquitted in a criminal trial. Later allegations kept the argument alive, and people will continue fighting over what they believe happened. I will not sit here and try the whole matter in one paragraph. I know only this much. Whatever answer a person reaches about those accusations, the loneliness underneath the man was flat real, and this country mocked that loneliness right up to the second it stopped being a punchline.

June of 2009 arrived, and Michael Jackson was found unresponsive in a Los Angeles bedroom after his doctor administered propofol, a surgical anesthetic, in an attempt to buy him a few hours of sleep. Chew on that. One of the most famous entertainers breathing could not purchase the one thing a broke teenager gets for nothing, which is rest.

And the instant that heart quit, the entire planet pulled a shameful stunt. It grieved.

The same outlets that had barbecued Jackson for twenty years ran wall-to-wall tributes. Folks who had cracked wise about his nose stood in candlelight singing his catalog. Records flew. Vigils bloomed. Radio stations went deep into the albums. Strangers cried like they had lost kin. All that love, that ocean of devotion, showed up on the exact afternoon the man could no longer feel a single drop.

There is the tragedy stripped naked. Not that Michael was misunderstood, since plenty of people go misunderstood and survive it. The wound is that the affection was real and gigantic and aimed dead wrong the whole time. We dumped it all on the performer, the product, the phenomenon, the moonwalking ghost we could summon off a screen anytime we craved a hit of wonder. We never poured enough of it on the person, the shy, generous, terrified soul who wanted, to the last breath, to be held by somebody who did not want one thing back.

He gave us joy that outlived him and will outlast us too. I still play the records. I still catch my breath when that bassline drops. I still know what it means when a room full of Black folks hears the right Michael Jackson song and everybody’s age falls away at once. The music still works because genius does not expire.

But the innocent way I heard those songs on that kitchen floor is gone for good. Now I hear the price tag. I hear a child who never got permission to be a child, singing his lungs to shreds so the rest of us could shake something loose and feel alive.

We got the miracle we hollered for.

Michael got the bill.

Staff Writer; Jamar Jackson

This brother loves poetry, music, and the culture that raised him… His words come from somewhere honest, and they speak to everyday Black folks just living their lives… Reach him at JJackson@ThyBlackMan.com.

I have seen a grown man shut down in real time over that. Watched him pull the mask back up and say “nah I’m good, just talking” when he wasn’t done. You could feel he had more to say. He just learned in about four seconds that this wasn’t the place.

I’m middle-aged now. Buried friends. Sat in more hospital waiting rooms and funeral homes and divorce attorney offices than I care to count. And the older I get, the more I’m convinced that one of the quietest crises among us is loneliness wearing a strong face. There are plenty of people around most of us. What we don’t always have is a place to set the load down.

Most of us were raised to be solid. To provide, to protect, to never let them see you sweat. That training kept a lot of us alive and kept a lot of families fed. I’m not here to spit on it. But somewhere along the way, being strong got tangled up with being silent, and silence has a cost that shows up later in the body and the marriage and the mind. You can be the most dependable man in your whole family and still feel like nobody actually knows you.

Here’s what I keep coming back to. A lot of us are starving for a space where we can talk without being mocked, corrected, or turned into a debate.

Think about how rare that actually is. You say you’re struggling at work and somebody immediately tells you what you should’ve done differently. You admit you cried watching your kid graduate and somebody calls you soft. You float a half-formed thought about therapy or faith or fatherhood and three voices come at you ready to argue the point like it’s a panel discussion. None of that is malice. Most of the time it’s just how we learned to relate to each other. Competition. Roasting. Topping the last guy’s story. It’s fun until you actually need somebody to hear you, and then it leaves you out in the cold.

I had a friend, I’ll call him Mike, who carried a thing for almost a year before he told anybody. His business was failing. He was pulling money from one account to cover another, smiling at church, posting wins online, dying on the inside. When he finally said something to me, the first thing out of my mouth almost was advice. I almost reached for the spreadsheet voice, the let me solve this voice. But I caught it. I just said, man, that sounds heavy, how long you been carrying that alone. And he broke. Right there in my truck. Because he didn’t need a consultant. He needed a witness.

That moment changed how I move. I stopped treating every hard conversation like a problem to be closed out and started treating it like a person to be sat with. Big difference.

Now somebody reading this might think I’m saying we should all go soft and just agree with everything and never challenge each other. That’s not it at all. If anything it’s the opposite. The space I’m talking about isn’t a space with no accountability. It’s a space where accountability finally has room to land, because it’s coming from love instead of judgment.

There’s a difference between a man who calls you out because he wants to look right, and a man who pulls you aside because he wants you to be right. One is showing off. The other is showing up. When you trust that somebody is in your corner, you can hear hard things from him. He can tell you that you’re wrong about your wife, that you’re being a coward about your money, that you need to apologize to your son, and you’ll actually receive it. Not because he was harsh, but because you know he loves you and isn’t trying to win.

That’s the thing the judgment crowd never figures out. You cannot correct a man into trusting you. Pressure makes people perform, it doesn’t make them honest. A man does not change much under a spotlight. He changes in the presence of somebody who saw the worst of him and stayed.

So what does building this actually look like, day to day, for regular guys who aren’t trying to start some formal group with a name and a logo?

It starts small. It starts with one of us deciding to be the safe one. The guy who, when a friend says something tender, doesn’t reach for the joke. The guy who asks one more question instead of giving one more opinion. You’d be amazed what opens up when you simply ask “how are you really doing” and then shut your mouth long enough to let him answer past the first polite lie.

It looks like being the kind of presence where confessions don’t get repeated. What he tells you in the truck stays in the truck. Loose lips have killed more friendships among us than disagreement ever did. If a man can’t trust you to hold his business, he will never trust you with his heart, and you’ll get nothing but the surface version of him for the rest of your lives.

It looks like normalizing the check-in. A text on a random Tuesday that just says thinking about you, you good. Not because something’s wrong. Just because. Truth is, a lot of us are great at showing up for the funeral and terrible at showing up for the slow grind before it. A man going under usually doesn’t send up a flare. He just gets a little quieter, a little more distant, laughs a little less. You have to be paying attention.

And it looks like letting yourself be the one who needs help sometimes too. This is the hard part for a lot of us, myself included. We’ll happily be the rock for everybody else and never let anybody be the rock for us. But a friendship that only flows one direction isn’t real closeness, it’s charity, and eventually the man on the receiving end feels like a burden. You give your friends a gift when you let them carry something of yours. You’re telling them they matter enough to be trusted.

I think about the young ones coming up watching us. My nephews, the kids in my neighborhood, my own son. They are learning what manhood sounds like from how we talk to each other. If all they ever hear is roasting and one-upping and never a moment of real tenderness between grown men who respect each other, that’s the only language they’ll have when their own load gets heavy. There’s something better we can hand them. We can show them that you can be tough as nails and still tell another man you love him and mean it.

None of this requires money or a building or a perfect plan. It requires a decision. A decision to stop performing for each other and start being honest with each other. To trade the constant low-grade competition for something that actually sustains a life.

There are already enough people ready to judge us. The world keeps a running tally on us from the day we’re born. Last thing we need is to do that same thing to each other in the few spaces that are supposed to be ours.

What we need is to be each other’s soft place to land and each other’s straight line back to the truth, at the same time, from the same person, because that person loves us. That’s the whole thing. Hold each other accountable, yes. But do it with arms open, not arms crossed.

Pour into the men around you. Let them pour into you. Watch what happens.

Staff Writer; Lee Walker

This brother is a fitness trainer with 12 years of experience, focused on building strength, clarity, and real health within the Black community. Through his writing, Mr. Walker hopes to uplift younger Black men and men in general through honest conversations about fitness, financial pressure, fatherhood, discipline, mental wellness, and the importance of brotherhood.

Have questions? Reach me at LeeW@ThyBlackMan.com.