Revisiting “The Color Curtain”

Posted on April 22, 2025 by Leslye Joy Allen (Ayọ)

The Bandung Conference was held in April of 1955. It was a meeting of representatives from 29 nations that then contained 65 percent of the world’s population, which were peoples of color that had been colonized or interfered with by European powers.

This conference was commonly known as the Asian-African Conference. Indonesia, India, Pakistan, Burma and Ceylon organized it and then invited 25 more countries to send representatives and observers. The invited countries were (in alphabetical order here): Afghanistan, Cambodia, China, Egypt, Ethiopia, Ghana (then called “The Gold Coast”), Iran, Iraq, Japan, Jordan, Laos, Lebanon, Liberia, Libya, Nepal, the Philippines, Saudi Arabia, Sudan, Syria, Thailand, Turkey, Vietnam Democratic Republic, South Vietnam, and Yemen.

After World War II ended, the only two military superpowers were the United States and the U.S.S.R. which competed with each other for influence in the Third World. The United States was initially invited to the conference but refused to send a representative. The USA denounced this conference. While these newly independent nations did not want to align with the Eastern bloc or the West, the Soviet Union (U.S.S.R.) did gain considerable influence in the region. Black Americans Richard Wright, and US Congressman Adam Clayton Powell, Jr., however, did attend.

Black novelist Richard Wright recorded what he witnessed at this conference where Africans, Asians, Black Americans, East Indians, Indigenous Peoples and other peoples of color met in Bandung, Indonesia to figure out a way forward in the new post-colonial era. No European nations were invited.

The conference allowed newly independent nations to assert their sovereignty. European colonialism’s oppression and exploitation and interference in African and Asian countries engendered a need for these nations to meet so that they could successfully deal with each other.

The outcome of this conference was the Non-Aligned Movement which discouraged countries in attendance from aligning with First World and Second World nations. It also produced an agreement called “The Ten Principles of Peaceful Coexistence” which emphasized cooperation, respect for boundaries and sovereignty, non-interference in each country’s affairs, and resistance to any aggression from the Western World.

I encourage everyone to read author Richard Wright’s observations about Bandung and recognize that not only are all of these nations of color much more geopolitically complex than they were 70 years ago, they are also more heavily populated today with much younger populations than Europe.

Referred to now as The Global Community, people of color now make up roughly 85 percent of all the people on this earth. Felon 47 and his yes-people know what these numbers mean which is why they want to stave off the inevitable by attempting to occupy and place Canada and Greenland under the US umbrella. Yet, the United States is disadvantaged in numerous ways.

Even though the USA still has perhaps the most skilled military in the world, China has the largest military. The USA is now seen as a pariah by most of the world courtesy of the person sitting in the Oval Office and his inept Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth, who may soon be replaced. Even worse, most of the US population is unilingual whereas many individuals in The Global Community are multilingual. That does not bode well for this nation that is slowly becoming isolationist to the point where we could lose allies, or worse, we lose knowledge about what the rest of the world is planning.

It would be interesting if another Asian-African conference, such as the one held in 1955, were held today or sometime in the near future. I also wonder which nations would not be invited.

©️Leslye Joy Allen

I am an Independent Historian, Oral Historian and Dramaturge. Please consider supporting my work with a few bucks for Coffee and Eggs via my CashApp.

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Dads and Public Spaces

Posted on April 21, 2025 by Leslye Joy Allen (Ayọ)

by ©️Leslye Joy Allen

When I was a little girl I went everywhere my Daddy. I often had solo trips to a store, a library, and the park with my school teacher Mama too, but I was a Daddy’s Girl. I remember when it was just the two of us and I had to use the restroom, Daddy and I would often run into a woman who was a friend of our family and she would take me into the women’s restroom so I could do my business.

On many occasions when I was small and I had to use the restroom, Daddy would place his hands over my eyes, walk into the men’s restroom and yell, “Father coming in with his daughter; zip it up or hide it!” He would find a stall with a door, line the toilet seat with paper and then sit me on it.

I bring this up because public spaces like restrooms were not designed for fathers and daughters nor fathers with infants. A mother could take her little ones of any gender and age into the women’s restroom. Dads could certainly take sons into the men’s restroom. My Daddy, like so many other Black fathers I knew defied the limitations of public spaces. He never once said that he couldn’t take me with him somewhere because he wasn’t sure if I could use the restroom.

If you are one of my subscribers on Substack, you have probably seen a few videos on my feed of The Library Dads, which is a non-profit organization that has scheduled weekly library visits for Dads with their children at the public library. It was founded in Atlanta by a young father named Khari Arnold who took his 4-month-old daughter to the library to familiarize her with books. That was her first of many visits.

Arnold noticed a strikingly advanced development of his daughter’s cognitive skills over the course of a year because he read to her all the time. This program is designed to help fathers become involved in the educational and literacy development of their children; and to deepen their bonds with their children. That’s Khari Arnold on the far left in the top photo.

What struck me about The Library Dads was not just their active engagement with their offspring every Saturday at the public library, but also their pushback against the limits of certain public spaces that are less accommodating for fathers and their small children.

My Mama and Daddy took me to the library regularly as did many of the Black parents I knew growing up. I know they both would be impressed with The Library Dads for a variety of reasons. Yet, I must add one more reason that helps us all…

In addition to these young men taking responsibility for their children’s education and development, they also shift the narrative that tends to center on mothers as almost solely responsible for their children’s development. They are a most welcome pushback on the confining and inaccurate gender definitions that the Western world imposes on us all. Go Library Dads!

©️Leslye Joy Allen

I am an Independent Historian, Oral Historian and Dramaturge. Please consider supporting my work with a few bucks for Coffee and Eggs via my CashApp.

You can also subscribe to my writings on Substack and stay in the loop with the best new research, history, journalism, prose, poetry, and etcetera.

Literacy Crisis, Part II

Posted on April 20, 2025 by Leslye Joy Allen (Ayọ)

by ©️Leslye Joy Allen

Back in November of 2024, I wrote a blog titled The USA Literacy Crisis & This Election where I bemoaned the fact that only 25 percent of American adults were currently reading above the 6th grade level. Don’t flatline, but that’s a fact we must face if we want to fight Felon 47.

I have also posted frequent videos of The Library Dads, founded in Atlanta, where young Black fathers take their small children to the library to read and to have a playtime session on a weekly and/or monthly basis. It is one of the most encouraging sights to see all these young Dads headed to the library for the sake of their children’s literacy and to spend time bonding with their kids and each other.

People who read always think deeper than people who rarely read. Critical thinking skills are virtually non-existent in people who do not read. Stimulating thought and critical thinking is essential to fighting Felon 47.

I looked at the percentages of voting eligible Americans, tabulated by the Cook Political Report Popular Vote Tracker in the University of Florida’s Election Lab General Election Turnout data, and saw that 36.70 percent of voters did not bother to vote at all. I don’t have any evidence, but I bet these non-voters don’t read much.

Our political system was flawed even before Felon 47 won the Whitehouse a second time. Yet, thinking people, including some racists and sexists, know that going to vote is essential to the maintenance of our democracy. When over a third of voters stayed home, it spoke to a lack of depth and a lack of civic responsibility that is not easy to fix.

So let me share this. I taught college History courses for 7 years. I would have to say that I enjoyed all of my students, except for a couple of them. One day in class a young white male student complained that he had to take History and English to fulfill the general requirements to earn a Bachelor’s degree. He was a Math Major so he felt like subjects like History and English were of no use to him. I let him talk and then reminded him that subjects like History and English inspire ideas, and would cause him to think more. “You will be a better mathematician,” I said.

The following week my class had a discussion about police brutality. This same student stated that he was unlikely to be the victim of police brutality simply because he was white. All of his classmates that represented all colors, races, and ethnicities looked at him like he was crazy. Two days later he was jaywalking. A police officer stopped him and this student decided to mouth off at the police officer who then promptly hauled him to jail.

When this student returned to class, his classmates were ready to poke fun at him. I stopped them, but I reminded this student that what he did not know could, would, and did hurt him. I reminded him that making assumptions without any proof or knowledge could cripple him. He then decided that maybe reading was essential. He turned out to be a pretty good student.

So, if you have a friend, a kid, a relative, or a neighbor that never reads, take them to the library yourself. Encourage them to read. Give them book suggestions because whatever fight we put up against Felon 47 will require the most erudite fighters among us. We won’t win if we cannot outthink the enemies of democracy and fairplay.

©️Leslye Joy Allen

I am an Independent Historian, Oral Historian and Dramaturge. Please consider supporting my work with a few bucks for Coffee and Eggs via my CashApp.

The 13th Amendment and El Salvador

Posted on April 17, 2025 by Leslye Joy Allen (Ayọ)

by ©️Leslye Joy Allen

The first time I taught a US History class, I had my students study the wording of the 13th Amendment of the US Constitution and debate whether or not slavery had actually been abolished or had it simply been reconstructed:

“Section 1. Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction.

Section 2. Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.”

By the time master filmmaker Ava DuVernay finished her documentary 13th, I was salivating with anticipation. She did not and never does disappoint. She traced the origins of that loophole in the 13th Amendment that allowed for servitude to be imposed for crimes well into the 21st century.

Slavery had/has gone away in some form. Yet, one of my favorite Black judges, the late New York Supreme Court Judge Bruce M. Wright noted the awful way Black and Brown defendants were treated. Wright earned the nickname “Turn ‘Em Loose Bruce” because he had witnessed one too many Black men and women end up in court because they stole something trying to feed their families only to be sentenced to anywhere from 10 to 20 years in prison. So, Wright gave them some minimal punishment, but he often turned them loose.

I remember his description of a case where a Black man had an extremely sick wife. Neither he nor his wife could afford her medicine. So, in desperation, the man stole a television set from the hotel where he worked. He pawned the television to purchase his wife’s medications. This man had never committed a crime before in his life, but he was sentenced to 10 years in prison.

Now here’s the next rub. For people old enough to remember, the only thing we knew for sure about prisoners when we were growing up was that prisoners pressed license plates. Well, folks that isn’t true anymore. Now American prisoners make…Clothing, Computers, Electronics, Furniture, and all that discounted stuff you find at Walmart and Target. US prisons generate anywhere from 2 to 5 billion a year in profit while prisoners who do the work never earn the standard minimum wage.

So, as you rightly fight for and ponder the fate of Kilmar Abrego Garcia, an American citizen who sits unlawfully in a jail in El Salvador, think about Felon 47 and El Salvador’s Nayib Bukele giving each other a high-five and talking about not returning individuals who are wrongfully detained while they also discuss building more prisons in El Salvador. I’m going to leave it right there.

I am an Independent Historian, Oral Historian and Dramaturge. Please consider supporting my work with a few bucks for Coffee and Eggs via my CashApp.

You can also subscribe to my writings on Substack and stay in the loop with the best new research, history, journalism, prose, poetry, and etcetera.

Black Women and Police: One Day on My Way to Agnes Scott College

Posted on April 13, 2025 by Leslye Joy Allen (Ayọ)

This essay is a revisit and an edit to a memory I wrote about 10 years ago, but a memory I hope might help someone else, particularly a Black or Brown woman.

Most of my encounters with police have been rare and routine. Most of the police officers I have dealt with have been courteous and helpful. I have made the occasional phone call about the neighbor whose dog has been running around the neighborhood terrorizing a few people. The police come out, speak with the offender, and the matter is resolved. Yet, I remember this incident…

A police officer discovered I had a “First Insurance Cancellation Suspension” on my driver’s license. For those of you born late in the 20th century, let me explain. An insurance cancellation suspension was common if you changed cars or changed insurance companies. You used to get a form in the mail from the Department of Motor Vehicles instructing you to record your new insurance or your new car. Occasionally, however, you might not receive the form by mail, and you could easily forget about it.

If your new car/new insurance data had not arrived at the Department of Motor Vehicles when you bought a new car or changed your car insurance, you could end up with this particular type of suspension. You typically had to go to the Department of Motor Vehicles, show them your new purchase, along with your new insurance card.

In what appeared to be a routine road check for driver’s license and insurance, the Decatur, Georgia Police held me for three hours only a few months after I purchased a car from my elderly uncle. This happened in the spring of 1998 when I was back in college to complete my Bachelor’s degree at Agnes Scott College.

After checking my Driver’s License number the officer stated that I had a “First Insurance Cancellation Suspension” on the car I previously owned. I showed him my new insurance card on the car I was driving. I knew I would have to straighten out the suspension before I drove any car again. Since I was about a mile from the campus, I asked him if he could radio the Agnes Scott College Police and have someone from that police department drive down the street, and pick me (and the car) up.

I explained that I would have my Mama come pick me up at Agnes Scott and we would go to the Department of Motor Vehicles and get the suspension problem cleared up.

“I’m not calling anybody,” he yelled. I pulled out my student ID. He said, “I don’t need that. Girl, get out of the car.” I was a grown woman then in my thirties; and while I might not have looked as old as my birth certificate said I was, I was nobody’s “girl.” I kept my mouth closed, but I am sure he sensed my displeasure.

I got out of the car and he instructed me to lie down in the street. When I asked why are you doing this? He told me to shut up. While I lay down in the street for over 30 minutes, he and another two officers pulled the back seat out of my car. They searched the trunk. If it had not been for the little old man that came out of his house to watch, I do not know what else might have happened. I was terrified, but I suffer from something my Mama used to call, “Your Daddy’s Disease.”

She said my father never showed fear when under pressure. I don’t show it either. Daddy always looked fearless, even menacing, when some horrible event was going on. Then later when everything was all over, he would fall apart, shaking and reaching for a good stiff drink. “That kind of thing can get you killed, Joy,” Mama said, “When someone expects you to be afraid, sometimes the worst thing you can do is look like you have no fear.”

This event was before everyone had a cellphone. A female police officer appeared and asked me if I wanted to call my Mama using her phone. The first police officer decided to write me a simple ticket for driving with a suspended license and he left me standing there in the street. He drove off.

That sweet little old man stood there and talked with me until Mama arrived. He told me he thought the Decatur police were doing some kind of sweep. “They’re looking for somebody that’s up to no good, and they’re tryin’ to find ‘em in these road blocks,” he said. Mama arrived in about 30 minutes and picked me up. My new best friend—that sweet observant little old Black man told me to leave my car where it was until the suspension problem was straightened out.

“Them SOBs are probably waiting somewhere watching and waiting for you to drive off so they can give you another ticket or take you to jail. I’ll watch your car until you get back,” he said.

Mama asked me how my clothes got so dirty. I lied and told her I slipped and fell. She would have had a heart attack if I told her what really happened to her only child. We headed to the Department of Motor Vehicles. The clerk handed me a simple form that I filled out citing that I no longer owned the previous vehicle and therefore had no insurance on that vehicle.

I had to write down the serial number and model of my current car and provide my proof of insurance. The clerk recorded my data and lifted my “First Insurance Cancellation Suspension.” All of this took about 20 minutes.

I did argue my case in traffic court. The police officer rolled his eyes at me as I explained in detail his refusal to call the Agnes Scott College police even after I showed him my student ID. I told the judge every detail and showed him my insurance card, the purchase of my car, and the statement from the Department of Motor Vehicles that lifted my insurance cancellation suspension.

To add as much injury as I could, I said, “I missed my Latin Class because of this!” The judge dismissed my case. I paid no fine. I was lucky. Yet, I sensed that what happened to me was not rare. This kind of treatment happens to women, and particularly Black women and women of color, with a frequency that many people do not want to admit.

Black women encounter more than our share of rudeness and physical intimidation from male police. This offending officer was Black. It’s easy to talk about racist cops, but it is not so easy to talk about SEXIST ones. And for the record, I don’t like Black men who are cops anymore than I like White men who are cops. Here’s the rub…

I consider myself to be an average size woman. By the time I was 50 years old, I managed to gain enough weight to make it to a whopping 135 pounds at 5 feet, 5 inches tall. At the time of this incident, I weighed only about 115 pounds. That police officer was at least 6’ 2” tall and weighed well over 200 pounds. He called me a girl. He told me to shut up. He did not throw me to the ground, Thank God. Yet, just imagine how easy it would have been for him to do so.

I am an Independent Historian, Oral Historian and Dramaturge. Please consider supporting my work with a few bucks for Coffee and Eggs via my CashApp.

Leslye Joy Allen

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