Black Folk and They Clubs

Black people like clubs.

I mean, the whole joining process, belonging, and meetings…we know we like meetings, don’t we? Good food, chance to get together, opportunity for women to talk about each others' shoes. Opportunities for the guys to run sorry game on the female members. Clubs make it happen. We like clubs that have rules, clubs that say they do things, clubs that do nothing, and clubs that give us a chance to dress up, show out, and have somewhere to go. Accomplishment is fine, yet overrated. The hardest accomplishment? Easy. Becoming a member of the club. After that? Let’s meet. That’s what a clubs do best.

Even in history we had clubs. Kingfish, Amos and Andy had The Mystic Knights of the Sea, from whose offices get rich schemes a plenty were hatched. They never worked, thus leaving Kingfish and Andy stuck thinking up more get rich quick schemes in the lodge office instead of looking for jobs. They still had their club, though. And Lightnin'. The one cat they wouldn't make a full member was the smartest one in the building. Was it planned that way?

Our churches: clubs. Whoopin’ and hollerin’ is great. I am guessing the exercise that Sunday whoopin’ and hollerin’ takes plumb tuckers one out for the rest of the week. Little things like developing your faith, being obedient, and loving others as you do yourself have to wait for say, seven days, so you can get your strength back to whoop and holla. Don’t forget, ladies: don’t wear pants. Pants probably weren’t even invested in Biblical days, but clubs have to have rules to distinguish themselves from non-clubs. We can help fight HIV in the community or we can give this luxury dealership our money. Toss up. HIV people shouldn't belong in our club, and we like our leader to look prosperous. Guess where the money goes?

Other clubs are more sinister, but supposedly wield more influence. “Join our club,” members whisper, “and you’re protected for life. We can move mountains and put you in power. Our club boasts really powerful people who always look out for one another. You can be a millionaire in 4 days…”

“How come there are never any mentions of whites who share your club hooking up Black members?”

“The media? Oh, that stuff be having a slant.”

"Where is the real Black power, then? Our businesses? Our finances? Yo ever read E. Franklin Frazier?"

"In the shadows, bruh, things aren't what they seem. We can make you an organizer!"

"Of cartels? Networks? Conglomerates?"

"We throw swell picnics. You can start there."

“Well, you can get me a good job if I join? What kinda work you do?”

“I work full time doing propaganda for our secret club.”

Oh.

Women got clubs too. They are good places to go complain about the silliness of men. The best way to understand something is to not have it and then complain in the company of others lacking the same thing. Seeking the understanding of that which you don’t have, I guess, is asinine. Sadly, as is usually the case, the women’s clubs actually do more for the community in terms of service than the male or gender integrated clubs. Since slavery, they may not get it all right but they get more of it right than the rest of us.

Speaking of slaves, they had clubs, too. They were like gang nations. HN and FN. Still trying to decode their meanings, but the word is HN had all the fun.

The best part about clubs? You can use your membership to look down on non-members. “I belong to THIS church…” “You know, my GROUP does this every year…” “Personally, an organization like ours wouldn’t let people like THEM become members…” “WE were responsible for building, well, engineering, well, talking about…”

Whatever you do? Don’t talk about the clubs. Folk ready to fight. The last person who talked poorly about a Black club is still under threat of getting handled. Well, someone tried once, but she scared them away by slamming her car door and making fish faces through the window. Someone else wandered around scared for almost five minutes before realizing, “Gee, this club can’t even collect dues from its members. How they gon’ be organized enough to deal with me?” I thought one club was going to band together and do a whirlwind pyramid, a la G Force, on me. They tried, but too much food and drink from endless meetings and picnics made that a disaster. Two ambulances were called and I went home, chuckling.

Yeah, we got our clubs. Let them tell it, they make our world go around. Watch your step, a club is coming to a theater near you and some changin’ is in the wind…

Still haven’t figured out, though: with all these clubs, why we have no Black unity. And no, we didn’t put Obama in the White House. That don’t count. That wasn’t our club. They just let it think it was. Groucho Marx was right.