Saint And Sinners (107 page)

“I’ve never made any secrets about my past. My grandfather was one of the founding
members. I know here in New York, gang violence is quite prevalent as well, but in
L.A., it had a different flavor, if you will. Let me give you some brief background.
The Bloods, just like here in New York, live blood and die blood. It is an oath. Here
in New York, you have the U.B.N’s.”

A few women in the audience nodded in understanding. “And, since I grew up in ‘the
life’, for some of you unaware of all of this, Blood stands for: Brotherly Love Overriding
Oppression and Destruction of Society. This was serious, it was my life. The East
Coast Bloods would sometimes congregate with my people, the West Coast Bloods. We
knew who they were from the dog mark burns on their arms, whether they were reppin’
red or not. The dog mark, ladies, was a burn mark on their arms,” she said, pointing
to her shoulder, “It was created from the heated barrel of a gun. They called each
other ‘dogs’…black women sometimes call men ‘dogs’ and to this day, we still hear
men saying to one another, ‘That’s my dog’, as a term of endearment.” Xenia took a
deep breath then continued.

“They also used the number five and the five-pointed star. The number five is associated
with the Illuminati. Now, I’m not here to get into all of this spiritual stuff, but
I am making some key points so that when I move on and tie this all together, you
will understand what I am trying to express to you.” She paused briefly. “The five
pointed star obviously has five points, and in this case, each point stood for something.
Those points were: Body, Unity, Love, Lust and Soul. Those are the five components
that you need in order to survive and live a good life, but notice, not one of them
was dedicated to Brain…”

Many women jumped to their feet, applauding.

“To me, if we were
really
thinking about what we were doing, then it would all unravel, fall apart. Happy people,
content people, don’t join gangs in order to cause destruction and pain to others.
People who feel loved and appreciated rarely join a gang at all, for any reason you
could imagine. The people that join gangs oftentimes feel trapped and alone. Some
are power hungry, but many fear their own streets and desire protection. Some need
a family, and this complicated network, if you will, provided that. Now, our rivals…the
Crips, they had a star, too. It was six pointed, and their number was the number six.
Most of you know that the number six, especially when tripled, is associated with
satanic references.”

She could feel Saint’s glare on her. She couldn’t help herself; she was in tune, and
it was time he knew just how joined at the damn hip they were.

“Bloods, because they are such a large gang, are made up of smaller groups called
sets. Now, imagine your life, ladies. Imagine that you were born into a gang, and
in this case, that gang is the black community. Each neighborhood that is majority
black then becomes a set. You have your
own
culture, your own words in the form of Ebonics and slang, and you greet one another
with a fist pound, high five or fancy handshake that outsiders have trouble duplicating.
Now, imagine that you had brothers and sisters clear across town, right? They were
Bloods, just like you. There is a certain code of conduct that one is supposed to
follow to be a part of this black community, and if anyone deviates or steps out of
their zone, it could anger some people. One incident I’m fully aware of is that of
the New York Bloods targeting what we called Neutrals—it is like our military men
targeting civilians.”

This time she met stares with her husband, and didn’t miss how he was leaning forward
in his seat, a grave expression on his face as he hung onto her every word.

“That is what was happening. The New York Bloods were doing what we called 150s, which
was slashing someone so badly, they needed a hundred fifty stitches. To me, ladies,
that is the fear that comes when we step out of our comfort zone; we are afraid of
receiving a hundred fifty emotional, verbal and mental stitches from the
only
people we’ve known, the ones we call family!” Her voice shook. “We
become
the outsider, the neutral, up on the chopping block and no matter the few of our
brothers and sisters that say, ‘Hey! That’s not right!’, power and the need to destroy
will propel others of the group forward and the crowd will follow!

“I was a member of that crowd! I knew something wasn’t right with my outlook, Queens.
I knew that I didn’t agree with the changes I was going through, based on my own preconceived
notions of what the black community was about, and should and shouldn’t be doing.
So when my husband showed up and challenged that, I was livid. He is a leader, not
a follower! And he looked at me like he was going to take me down.” Over half the
audience lit up in applause as Xenia elevated her voice, and it reverberated about
the theater. “I knew I had a damn problem!” Loud clapping deafened the place.

“Saint was
my
Crip! He represented everything I believed was wrong with the world. He wasn’t a
white man, but in some ways, he had ‘white man’ privilege because he had money and
hell, he wasn’t black, so he could never know
our
pain! He was an outsider, and in my mind, quite foreign to not only me, but my human
experience on this planet, my plight. How could a man like him ever understand a woman
like me?! This was gang warfare! Coincidentally, Mac, the founder of the East Coast
Bloods, was from the Bronx, just like Saint. And in East Coast Blood fashion, if I
were to ask Saint, “What’s poppin’?”, if he can’t answer me with, ‘Five poppin’, six
droppin’, crip killa, ’til my casket drop. Five alive, six must die, rest in peace,
to OGI Tye.’—If he couldn’t say that to me, he is supposed to get sprayed! And that’s
what I did, ladies. I did it because Saint, despite being in the Bronx, where the
roots of the Bloods on the East Coast originated, couldn’t say it to me—because he
wasn’t black! He was
not
a member of my set! I had given up the gangs, but still clung tight to that gang
mentality and didn’t even realize it!

“Saint had become my public enemy number one, and I didn’t know him from Adam, just
like I didn’t know the people I assaulted back when I was a teenager. Just like I
didn’t know these Crips personally, that I was supposed to hate! I didn’t know them;
we just hated one another because we were told we were supposed to. Now, Queens and
Goddesses, you must be warned. You are a gang member, too. Your damn gang is Blackistan,
and the only public enemy number one is the damn brainwashing that has eaten your
heart out with hatred under the guise of self-preservation and unity! You’ve been
fooled by your own self, assaulted, received your 150 at the hands of your own fears!”

The crowd leapt to their feet, beating the place with echoes of applause.

“It’s all a lie! Don’t believe it! I almost missed my blessing because I was still
sipping the red Kool-Aid. Without Saint, I would not have had my two wonderful sons
and brilliant, adorable daughter. Without this so called enemy, my alleged Crip,”—she
pointed at him with a shaky finger—“I wouldn’t have the happiness that I am enjoying
tonight! I can’t say I’d be unhappy, but I sure as hell would have never experienced
a love like this! Saint is my man, and he just happens to be from a different ethnic
background than me. Why does that make him my enemy?! He had never personally done
anything to harm me, so why should he suffer? He didn’t try to lynch me or my friends
and family. He never made me pick cotton! He never raped my great, great, great grandmother!
He never sold me to the highest bidder. He never told me I couldn’t eat at a certain
restaurant. He never said I have to sit on the back of the bus! He never instructed
me to go to a certain water fountain because my skin is brown. He never burned a cross
in my yard!

“He never turned a water hose on me! He never stopped me from getting an equal education!
He never gave me a lower wage for equal or even harder work than my lighter or whiter
co-worker. He never put a paper bag to my face to see if I could pass through a certain
door, or get in a special sorority! He never told me I was black ’nd ugly! He never
stole me from my native land! Saint doesn’t even own a ship…” Xenia burst out laughing,
causing the applauding to turn into jeers of laughter as well. Her heart was pounding
out of her chest; she’d become so emotional, so wrapped up, and she had to calm it
down a bit.

“It’s true, you know?” she said with a grin. “This man was not out to get me…he was
out to
get
me.”

Saint slowly rose to his feet, cast her a crooked grin and applauded, causing the
crowd to whistle and clap right along with him. They stood there looking at each other
for a short while, and then he reclaimed his seat. Xenia took a couple of seconds,
then continued.

“My mother was the most influential person in my life.” She swallowed. “You see, my
mother, in some ways, raised herself. My grandmother, who I adored, was a woman with
issues that had their own issues, too. She was a product of abuse, and thus, my grandmother
didn’t always see things as they truly were. She was a physically beautiful woman,
and that was all she had in order to survive. She had a sixth grade education.” Xenia
briefly closed her eyes as memories flooded her. “Even with all my grandmother’s problems,
she saw my mother was in need. She tried to tell her not to do join the gangs, but
my mother and her sister, as well as their two brothers, were suffering. They’d grown
up watching the Black Panthers and wanted to be just like them. There was a lot of
racial injustice going on in the world, there still is, but this was definitely a
time frame when it was less hidden, more in your face.

“My mother joined the Bloods at the age of sixteen. She met my father two years later.
Through it all, with all of the things she’d done and seen, she still kept her wits
about her. You see, my mother demanded that my father marry her after a while. They
had broken up several times, and would get back together, but she was tired of that.
She loved my father very much.” Xenia smiled. “So, she said, the last time they broke
up, that he could never come back to her unless he had a ring. And, that’s what he
did.” Xenia nodded while she reflected. “Then, sooner rather than later, my mother
became pregnant with twin girls. This was life changing for her. She completely changed
her state of mind. She decided to get an honest job instead of doing what she was
doing before, which were illegal activities to make money. She never sold her body,
but she did just about everything else. My mother wasn’t proud about it and never
pretended to be, but she said my sister and I gave her hope. You see, she’d finally
have a family of her own.

“My mother didn’t know her father well; he was always in the streets and she was the
eldest, stuck taking care of her brothers and sisters. She had half sisters and brothers,
too. She never had a childhood, never knew what it felt like to not worry about money
and having a roof over your head. So, she distanced herself from the gang, because
she found a replacement—she found what she was
really
looking for all along, in her children. Not everyone is like that.” Xenia pointed
out into the audience. “Some of you are in the gang by birthright. Because others
told you that you were or your parents had a certain mentality. That’s my story, as
well. Some of you are in this gang, this warped mindset, because you need to feel
loved, and to belong—and you are afraid to leave it, because it’s all you’ve known.

“My mother attended every single one of her siblings’ funerals due to a gang related
murder, except one sister. My aunt died of cancer, but we even speculate that she
was so stressed out, it aided in her declining health. When my mother saw me and my
brother doing the same things she’d done, she grew afraid. I didn’t listen to her
warnings, just as she didn’t listen to her mother’s. You see, my father was gone…he’d
abandoned us. So now, I, too, felt like I was shattered. I felt unloved, rejected.
I was in a bad neighborhood, not even sure if I was going to live to see another day.
There were bullet holes in our house. Not because anyone was necessarily aiming at
us, but because that was commonplace violence. So, this is what I came from, ladies.
At the last moment, and I can only thank God for this, I found my way out.” She looked
up at the ceiling and raised her hands in praise, waving them in the air, as she heard
applause. Her eyes filled with thankful tears.

“I praise God for releasing me from that, because when I tell you I was in deep, I
was in
deep
. You are never normal after you see the sort of things I’ve witnessed.” She paused,
a slight smile on her face as she glanced at the ground, then back up at her attentive
audience. “…Whatever normal is. But, a part of you, the innocent little child within,
can sometimes save you, remind you of how it felt to be blameless and free. Because
of my mother, I never had to worry about getting a home-cooked meal. She made sure
my sister, brother and I were clean and clothed, too. We didn’t always have the name
brand clothing, but we looked nice…and she’d do our hair. She did our hair so well,
matter of fact, people at school asked where we were going to get it done. You see,
my mother went to cosmetology school and even had her own beauty salon at one point.
She was making it happen, with or without my father. He left, but she stepped up to
the plate. A woman can’t be a father, but when that man leaves, she can pick up the
slack to the best of her ability.

“That’s what my mother did, and she encouraged me to be the best Xenia I could be.
She asked me, ‘Xenia, what the hell are you going to do with your life? Are you gonna
keep running around in these streets until you’re dead?’ I’d just look at her and
roll my eyes and one day, she snatched me clear off the ground. My mother was strong
back then…” She giggled, causing a light rumble of laughter in the audience.