During the course of researching this book it became clear that street basketball was a way of life for many young black men in Boston. These men carried their most precious concerns to the asphalt, where they attempted to rework and reimagine the problems of inner-city life. While they sometimes invoked normative theological categories and symbols to communicate these experiences, they generally sidestepped doctrine in favor of truths experienced in blood and flesh. Their urban “lived religion,” was expressed through rhythms, sounds, styles, symbols, transcendent experiences, and rituals.
At the same time, there were limitations regarding their attempts to reclaim a sense of humanity beyond the constraints of their historical situation. In particular, their grieving practices, while palliative, rarely led to a sense of wholeness or healing. The primary reason for this failure was the absence of a critical mass of elders to bestow a sense of blessing and recognition before, during, and after these games. With this in mind and in the interest of promoting a paradigm shift in how young black men relate to one another and to their larger environment, I ask our elders a common street-basketball refrain: who’s got next? Who’s got next to transform our urban basketball courts into conscious ritual space by which to change the generational trauma of embodied oppression, thereby reclaiming memory and opening our path toward wholeness? Who’s got next?
past the chain link fence
deep in the center
there is juju
juju enough to
change
your mind
who’s got next?
blankets the court
and
hope rests embodied in
the question the
crucible
of the asphalt begs
who’s got next?
beyond the mundane chains
there is magic
magic enough to
change
your heart
there we are ushered
through
the pains by Spirits
Known and
Unknown their dark
matter bending space
infused into
the blacktops
are our
mothers’ wombs
blending time
laboring
invoked by the libation of
our tears
and
the altar of our bodies
wanting love
we sweat profusely
praying this time
the dance
of our black bodies
on the asphalt
brings
the relief
so needed
and
past the
crossover can
we
cross over
to embrace one
and others and
know
we are still
men in need of love?
who’s got next?
on the other side of the fence
there is Nommo
Nommo enough to change
your spirit there
to Know
our manhood cannot
be earned shedding one
and others’ blood,
inside the soft
and
powerful
gifts of
forgiveness
and
respect
who’s got next?
an ancestral refrain
with presumed inclusion
to dis play your
Self on the altar
of the blacktop
naked and unashamed
this sacred space
refines your mettle
is safe harbor with
waters of the wombs
to wash us anew
and
in the night
long after we
are absent from
the court
it gestates and
waits to embrace
who’s got next
Robert J. Woodbine
My father and friend, Dr. Robert J. Woodbine, earned his doctorate in naturopathic medicine and his masters in acupuncture and oriental medicine. He is the executive director of Urban Qi Foundation, Inc. He wrote this poem after many conversations with me regarding the intergenerational impact of institutional racism on black men and their children.