{"id":24868,"date":"2023-01-21T12:00:49","date_gmt":"2023-01-21T20:00:49","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/occupysf.net\/?p=24868"},"modified":"2023-01-21T12:00:51","modified_gmt":"2023-01-21T20:00:51","slug":"america-made-me-a-black-man","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/occupysf.net\/index.php\/2023\/01\/21\/america-made-me-a-black-man\/","title":{"rendered":"\u201cAMERICA MADE ME A BLACK MAN\u201d"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

POSTED INTHE CHRIS HEDGES REPORT<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boyah J. Farah came to the US as a refugee from Somalia at age 15. His new memoir recounts his introduction to American racism.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

BY CHRIS HEDGES<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

JANUARY 13, 2023 Screenshot\/TRNN (therealnews.com)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"America<\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Boyah J. Farah fled the war in Somalia arriving in the United States as a refugee with his mother and siblings when he was fifteen. His romantic dreams of America quickly ran into the dark undercurrents of American racism. Living in a housing project in Bedford, Massachusetts he was forced to discover the curse of being Black in America, the daily humiliations and small, but insidious ways he was made to constantly feel an outsider by whites. He watched as other Somali families succumbed to the poison of American racism, writing that although they had survived the war in Africa, American broke them and carried them off. America is democratic, he concedes sardonically, for every Black person is, in the end, simply another disposable Black body. Boyah J. Farah<\/a> joins The Chris Hedges Report<\/em> to discuss his memoir America Made Me a Black Man<\/em><\/a>.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Studio: Dwayne Gladden, Adam Coley, Cameron Granadino<\/p>

Post-Production: Chris Arnone<\/p><\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

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TRANSCRIPT<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Chris Hedges:  <\/strong>Boyah J. Farah fled the war in Somalia, arriving in the United States as a refugee with his mother and seven siblings when he was 15. His romantic dreams of America quickly ran into the dark undercurrents of American racism. Living in a housing project in Bedford, Massachusetts, he was forced to discover the curse of being Black in America: the daily humiliations and small but insidious ways he was made to feel constantly as an outsider by whites.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He had experienced tribalism in Somalia. He saw in the divide between whites and Blacks, especially with the political ascendancy of Donald Trump and the far right, the same kind of deadly tribalism here, one that usually leads to internecine violence. He watched as other Somali families succumbed to the poison of American racism, writing that, \u201cAlthough they had survived the war in Africa, America broke them and carried them off. America is democratic,\u201d he concedes sardonically, \u201cfor every Black person is, in the end, simply another disposable Black body.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Joining me to discuss his memoir, America Made Me a Black Man<\/em>, is Boyah J. Farah. First of all, it\u2019s beautifully written. You\u2019re a really fine writer. Poetic even, I think. Let\u2019s talk about Somalia. You witnessed a lot of violence. The country broke down. But just talk about your childhood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boyah Farah:  <\/strong>I must say thank you, Chris. You\u2019re one of the finest Americans I know. I read some of your work as well. You\u2019re wonderful.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In 1991, right before we celebrated the arrival of the New Year, war broke out, and basically it was like a civil war. Families turning into each other and weapons everywhere. And at the time, my dad died a year before that, in 1989, and it was like my mom\u2026 I was the first boy, and I was very young, so I basically had to take responsibility and try to help my mom as we went away from the civil war. Civil war is the worst out of all wars, I think. And so we zigzagged in the country from refugee camp to refugee camp. One of the memorable things we carried was this transistor radio. We actually listened to BBC Somali radio. So my mom actually\u2026 The reason why she was listening to that is to know how far the militias were so we could walk in the opposite direction, because her job was for us to survive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chris Hedges:  <\/strong>Let\u2019s talk about some of the things you saw. And it\u2019s pretty brutal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boyah Farah:  <\/strong>I\u2019ve seen enormous, brutal\u2026 One case in point is I witnessed a man who was stoned to death. I\u2019ve also witnessed a woman who\u2026 Actually it was me and a guy named Omar that I write about in the book. We were at the beach, and the reason why we used to go to the beach was we were incredibly hungry, and somehow when you go inside the water, the water changed your mood. It almost makes you forget about the hunger inside your belly. And in the afternoons, that\u2019s what we used to do a lot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And one day a woman and a man were talking, and I guess something happened. I don\u2019t know. Because I happened to just\u2026 He shot her right there, and actually killed her, and no one actually got close to her body until the imam at the end of that day started telling the people that it is our responsibility to bury the dead. I\u2019ve witnessed that. I\u2019ve also witnessed a guy who was actually stoned to death in front of us. And the last thing that was alive as everyone walked away was a twitching ear. The ear didn\u2019t die. It was twitching. And that guy stays with me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chris Hedges:  <\/strong>One of your closest childhood friends was killed. A girl.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boyah Farah:  <\/strong>Yes. She died in the war, basically. As she was running away from the war, there was an ambush. And the ambush\u2026 There were young people who were told that they were on the opposite side of the war, and they just basically killed everyone that was in the vehicle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chris Hedges:  <\/strong>So you\u2019re fleeing the violence. You end up in refugee camps. Is it two years you live in refugee camps? Is that correct?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boyah Farah:  <\/strong>We zigzagged from refugee camp to the next for two years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chris Hedges:  <\/strong>Talk about life in the camps.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boyah Farah:  <\/strong>The life in the camp was actually worse than the war. In the war we were on the move. We were in motion. Basically we were running. When you\u2019re running, you don\u2019t really have time to think. You don\u2019t really have time to mourn. You don\u2019t really have time to think. In the refugee camp, you have time to think, and when someone dies you actually have time to mourn. There were more people dying of dengue and malaria than anything else. It was just burial after burial every single day. TB.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And I remember my job being\u2026 Because we have no job. Our job as young kids, young boys, was actually just to predict who\u2019s going to die tomorrow, who we\u2019re going to bury. And literally it was to predict. I remember two weeks before I left to the US, there was a dead body decaying right next to the tent that housed us as our hospital. I got malaria, so they took me to the hospital. I stayed there, and there was actually a dead body that nobody claimed for a few days without refrigeration. So actually the smell of it is something that will never leave me. Sometimes I remember when my nose picks up those kinds of smells. It was actually a lot worse. But the good thing is we were not running anymore. We were just stationary in one place, but people were dying of other diseases much more than the war.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chris Hedges:  <\/strong>And you become part of burial parties. So you\u2019re 12, 13 years old. You\u2019re digging graves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boyah Farah:  <\/strong>Yes. That was the job that we had. It was almost like in the morning you get up and you watch the sun climb up. And at nighttime when the sun goes down, you\u2019re sitting in the same place, and the mind decays. So that was our job. And somehow, when someone dies and you are participating in the burial, it\u2019s almost like a job. It\u2019s almost like activity. It\u2019s almost like something to do. I know it\u2019s weird, but we expected to die. And so death was like drinking water, literally drinking water. It was like nothing. We were numb to it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chris Hedges:  <\/strong>And to get money\u2026 Before we went on the air you told me you used to sell loose cigarettes. But talk about the\u2026 Because your family\u2019s tremendously impoverished. Talk about what you had to do to get any amount of money to survive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boyah Farah:  <\/strong>My mother used to sell. She would buy grain and rice and put a cup in it and sit right on the road. And so people who are passing by will buy the rice, or sometimes she\u2019d have nothing to bring us home. To help her, I actually used to buy a pack of cigarettes and sell single ones to fighters. And sometimes the fighters\u2026 I remember one time fighters, sometimes they just put a gun to your face and you just give it up. So that was actually my job, to sell cigarettes during the war, and also tobacco. I actually learned how to make tobacco, buy different chemicals, buy the tobacco \u2013 The cheapest one there is. Make the tobacco and wrap it up with plastic bags that I collect from the streets and sell it along with the loose cigarettes. And that\u2019s how my mother put food on the table. So me and my mother worked together, survived.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chris Hedges:  <\/strong>So you\u2019re a reader. That\u2019s a theme in the book. The other theme in the book is your father. You end the book with his death, and you write that he had, I believe, lung cancer, but he couldn\u2019t get proper medical care. Your father was also in the military. Let\u2019s begin with the influence of your father, because that\u2019s pervasive throughout the book.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boyah Farah:  <\/strong>Yeah. My father, may he rest in peace. It\u2019s sad. A lot of people that are in the book are no longer here. So this book is to honor the dead. My father was in the war in the Somali army. He was also in the first rebellious group against the Marxist government, Siad Barre\u2019s government. And so his influence on me was that, when I was first born, I think he expected me to be a fighter. And the way my father treated me and the way he treated his daughters were completely different. He wanted to prepare me for a life of hardship and struggle and war, because his life was about that, and his father did the same thing. So my father prepared me for the war to come and the struggle to come. So a lot of the things that\u2026 How he prepared me, he took me to a valley when I was really young. And the reason why is he wanted me to man up, completely become a nomadic warrior who has absolutely no fear except God.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chris Hedges:  <\/strong>Well, there\u2019s also that scene at the end of the book where he\u2019s dying and you are hesitant, but finally you tell him you love him. And those were not words that had before passed between you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boyah Farah:  <\/strong>Yeah, because in Somali culture, you\u2019re not supposed to say, I love you. Those words shall not be uttered. You\u2019re supposed to show your love for your parents by fetching the water, by rubbing their feet, by giving them money. Something tangible is how you transfer love between Somali culture. So there was no way for me to look him in the eyes and say, I love you. That\u2019s not going to happen. But when I knew that he was dying, it was not coming back. I knew it. So I wanted the last words to be\u2026 Because I\u2019m the last person that was there in the room as he was dying. And I confessed my love to him into his ears to make sure that he understood that I loved him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chris Hedges:  <\/strong>Let\u2019s talk about reading. You write a lot about, in Somali culture, poets are revered. I spent seven years in the Middle East; that\u2019s also true in Arab culture. But talk about the power of poetry and its importance culturally and how it shaped you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boyah Farah:  <\/strong>I think the only thing I inherit from my father, may he rest in peace, he\u2019s now living in the galaxy of the dead, is words. I didn\u2019t inherit anything else from him but words. When he sat down with me and told me that, don\u2019t ever break your word. Don\u2019t ever capitulate to anyone\u2019s\u2026 You are the son. You are my son. Die with your words. Never break that. Nobody. Words are the link between him and I and his father\u2026 What he inherited from his father was also words. So the reason why Somalia is still alive and is still doing okay after close to 40 years of war is the poetry. When someone dies, you don\u2019t admit that person is killed by your enemy tribe or your enemy, whoever kills them. They say God kills, therefore the spirit is not broken. You never, ever admit the defeat. Only God kills. Only God judges us. You keep the spirit alive. So that\u2019s what I inherit from my father, is words. Keep my words together and use my words to make me feel alive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chris Hedges:  <\/strong>Let\u2019s talk about your perceptions of America, largely through television and movies. I thought it was fascinating how you viewed American Blacks, but everything you understood about America came from mass culture. And then we\u2019ll talk about your arrival in the United States. But talk about what you thought the country was when you were in Somalia and in the refugee camps.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boyah Farah:  <\/strong>Well, America was a star. And to be in the star was fantastic. Really the only access I had\u2026 America was basically the movies that we watched. And in the nighttime, in the darkness of the refugee camp, what you see as a child were the stars, because we would put mats outside of the tent and we watched the stars. And I used to think the stars to be just like humans. They fight each other. Some of the stars fall. Some of the stars remain. And to me, to reach for the stars was incredibly powerful. I wanted to be in America. I got sick in the refugee camp. Like I said, I got malaria, but I just couldn\u2019t wait. I asked God not to kill me until I get to America.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So really the possession of America was that powerful. And what I thought about African Americans and Black people in America was, the only access I have to Black people is what I saw in the movies. In the movies, the way Black people are projected as thugs, unpleasant pictures of Black people. So as I came, I didn\u2019t want to be close to them, even though I was the one that was incredibly skinny. I was the one with no clothes. I was the one looking incredibly poor. Because the picture inside my head was what was dictating me, and not the reality.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chris Hedges:  <\/strong>And I just want to talk about the concept of whiteness and Blackness. That\u2019s something, of course, James Baldwin writes about as concepts. And you didn\u2019t have that concept of Blackness when you were in Somalia, as you write in the book, because, of course, everyone was Black. The doctors were Black, the police were Black, the dentists were Black, the teachers were Black. So before we talk about that transition to a predominantly white culture, just talk about that idea of Blackness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boyah Farah:  <\/strong>That was not mine. That didn\u2019t belong to me. Blackness, whiteness really didn\u2019t belong to me, because in Somalia I am my father\u2019s son. I belonged to a set of tribe that protected me or fight for me. I\u2019ll fight for them. And that was it. So America\u2026 I really didn\u2019t imagine my life to be other than, I\u2019m going to America. I\u2019m going to heaven. I\u2019m going to the country of my dreams. I want to be part of the American dream. I wanted to be a doctor. That\u2019s what I wanted to be. So the concept of Blackness\u2026 I did not arrive in America. I really did not. It didn\u2019t belong to me. I was equal to everyone. I\u2019m a nomad. I value freedom over everything, including death. And I knew Americans were free. And so I arrived. That was what I was thinking about.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chris Hedges:  <\/strong>Okay. Let\u2019s talk about that confrontation with American culture. Is it the first place you live in the housing project in Bedford, Massachusetts? Is that correct?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boyah Farah:  <\/strong>No. The first housing project that we lived in was outside of that in Woburn. But in Bedford, we\u2019re living with my sister in a two-bedroom apartment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chris Hedges:  <\/strong>So you run smack into the reality of America, which you write about quite powerfully. Talk about that. And in the beginning, even though things happen to you, for instance, you go to buy, I think you\u2019re about 16. You go to buy a piece of pizza. You save money to buy the pizza. And when you walk into the store, the owner lifts up a knife and tells you the police station\u2019s right around the corner. You don\u2019t confront it. You, in fact, walk outside quite sheepishly and eat your pizza outside. But talk about running into that reality. Also you write, when you\u2019re in the housing project in Bedford, about being near a white community, but you are segregated and, in many ways, isolated because of the fact that you live in the projects.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boyah Farah:  <\/strong>Yes. In many ways I was young and naive, and I didn\u2019t understand America. The danger of it didn\u2019t belong to me. The danger of being Black in America didn\u2019t belong to me. And I had so much love and so much gratitude. I came from death. I was happy to be alive, let alone confronting that guy. There\u2019s no way I could have confronted him. He was the America that invited me into the country. He was the America that I wanted to be. So when I went into that\u2026 And he knew me. That\u2019s the sad thing about it, because I biked into that shop so many times and I know exactly what it is. I actually visited it recently. It\u2019s not there anymore. But there was no way for me to confront what he did, because my imagination of America was completely, totally different. I was also young.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And also living in a project\u2026 Once again, we were grateful that we actually have hot water and cold water and food and a fridge. So newcomers\u2026 When you came from a place that I came from, you have enormous love for America. There\u2019s no way that you can\u2026 You realize what\u2019s happening to you is wrong, but where you came from is quite harsher. You have no place to go. This is home. You have to capitulate and learn to be part of the society. But my inner culture resisted for many, many years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chris Hedges:  <\/strong>You write about going to college. You worked for 10 years for a company where you ran into insidious racism in small and big ways from white coworkers. You open the book by talking about being stopped by police in a white neighborhood. It\u2019s quite a powerful chapter. Talk about that process of discovering\u2026 Let\u2019s call it the dark heart of America.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boyah Farah:  <\/strong>Yeah. I think an immigrant life like mine is not an American until you get to drive, and when you get to drive, you get stopped more frequently. And sometimes you already know that you\u2019re going to get stopped. I remember me and my brother driving in the opposite direction, a cop going the opposite direction than us. And I told him, hey, put your seat belts up. Buckle up your seat belts because that cop is going to make a U-turn and stop us. And we\u2019re actually watching in the rear view mirror and actually he made a U-turn, followed us, stopped us, and let us go. He didn\u2019t even give us a ticket for one, because he knows we\u2019re immigrants. We\u2019re happy to be in the country. We apologized too many times.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And I think the reason why I probably didn\u2019t get shot is because I was always apologetic. I\u2019m sorry. I\u2019m sorry. I\u2019m sorry. Because that\u2019s what I have learned over the years, because survival was part of my culture in the last many, many years in the war or during the war, in America. Everywhere. So little by little, America didn\u2019t really tell me that I\u2019m a Black man in its belly, metaphorically. It started to show me that I\u2019m a Black man living in its belly by frequent stops. But also when you get a job and for sure you overly qualify sometimes, but you never move up. You stay in the same place. Your salary stays flat. And actually, even though your salary stays flat, there\u2019s no way you can even keep that job. You\u2019re going to get fired. You know that for sure. You\u2019re going to get fired. And I denied that for many, many years because I was so grateful.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chris Hedges:  <\/strong>Well, you talk in the book about you having a college degree, you get a job in a corporation, and at one point they hire a woman who has just a high school degree and promote her. And even at one point she goes AWOL. She\u2019s not even at work for a long period of time. But just the difference between\u2026 And you have a close friend. It\u2019s quite poignant. One other Black person who\u2019s working with you, who I think you went to high school with, who you have a long history with.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boyah Farah:  <\/strong>Yes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chris Hedges:  <\/strong>But it begins to affect his health and your health, this constant stress which you slowly become aware of. Can you talk about that?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boyah Farah:  <\/strong>Yeah. Initially I was watching Derek, who I write about in the book. I watch his life, and he\u2019s the warner of America. He\u2019s the knower of America. He\u2019s an African-American. I\u2019m an African-American in the making. America is showing me this. So I\u2019m learning through him that he tells me that his destiny is in the hands of America. Part of me knows that stuff, but I have to deny it because in the culture of freedom that I have, that nomadic culture that says, you\u2019re free. You go to everyone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So I kept denying it. But in so many instances, people who were less qualified on the job came, got the job, became my bosses. They still do not know how to do their job. I have to do their job. And I know for sure they don\u2019t qualify. And then somehow pieces of you chip away. Your spirit dies without knowing. And you\u2019re struggling to keep the same job you\u2019ve had while this person becomes your boss within six months, sometimes very quick. And so little by little you die. Your soul begins to decay. Your spirit quarrels and [inaudible] refuse to come, because if you lose this job, it means you lose your livelihood. You lose your insurance. You lose your car. You lose your apartment. You cannot maintain a relationship. It really destroys you. Literally destroys you. You die. You are like a dead man walking and a small little disease comes\u2026 Because your immune system is already weak. You\u2019ll belong to the galaxy of the dead before you even know it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chris Hedges:  <\/strong>Well, Derek loses his job, but because he grew up in America, he knows that he\u2019s a target.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boyah Farah:  <\/strong>Yes. He knew exactly that he was a target, and I was a denier of that. Part of me wanted to teach him my culture, a culture of resistance, a culture of freedom, a culture that says I\u2019m equal to everyone. But this racism in America is not individual. It\u2019s systematic. When you are going against a system, you do not know where the enemy is. In Somalia, you know your enemy and you know your friends. There\u2019s nothing in between. But here, you can\u2019t point a finger at an individual and say, you please be kind to\u2026 There\u2019s nothing like that. It\u2019s system. So Derek was the truth teller. I was in denial. And it really affects our health.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chris Hedges:  <\/strong>Well, I remember in high school, I think you have a high school counselor, a Black woman, who keeps telling you, boy, you are an African American now. You\u2019re not African.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boyah Farah:  <\/strong>Yes. Mrs. Parker, may she rest in peace. She told me numerous times that I\u2019m an African American, that I\u2019m no longer African. But once again, America was in the way. My love for America is in the way. My own mother tells me, don\u2019t write this book. She still carries that love for America that says, don\u2019t say anything bad about America. Just say the good things. So I resisted her for many years, but everything she said to me became true. Mrs. Parker, may she rest in peace.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chris Hedges:  <\/strong>And you talk about other families from Somalia who are broken by America. Can you describe that?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boyah Farah:  <\/strong>Yeah. We used to live right across from each other in a white tent. There were about 10,000 white tents next to each other in the Utanga refugee camp outside of Mombasa, Kenya. And I remember the day that our names were put out in front of the tent that we were going. We visited our names and touched our names an enormous number of times to make sure they didn\u2019t make a mistake, that we were going to America. So for us to come to America was\u2026 I mean, it is like entering heaven. But they did not make it. One succumbed to drugs, and the other one went mad. One killed himself, and the other one went mad. And the one that killed himself actually, the mother was\u2026 The cops asked the mother if she killed her son.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chris Hedges:  <\/strong>But I just want to interrupt because this is after they come to America. It\u2019s not in the refugee camp.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boyah Farah:  <\/strong>Yeah. No, no, no. We all came in the same plane.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chris Hedges:  <\/strong>Right, but their family disintegrates once they\u2019re here.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boyah Farah:  <\/strong>Yes. The family disintegrates. The son died, one went mad, the girls ran away, and the father died. And so it\u2019s gone. The family is no more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chris Hedges:  <\/strong>You use strong words. You talk about America breaking spirits. You say, \u201cAmerica\u2019s on the path of those two broken souls who are responsible for maiming and killing without any justification. Once you do that, you\u2019re looking in the face of your own demise, sitting on the edge of your own destruction.\u201d These are, essentially, homicidal forces.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boyah Farah:  <\/strong>Because I\u2019m a knower of a lot. I\u2019ve survived war. If you don\u2019t confront the brutal reality of Black people in this country\u2026 And I know it\u2019s hard to admit, but it is something that we must do, to confront the brutality so we can move forward. When you\u2019re destroying other people\u2019s lives, it comes back. It really does come back. And when it does come back, it comes back massively. So I wrote this book for America. I really want to warn America. It\u2019s almost like I have enormous love for America, but also if I don\u2019t tell the truth to America, then I feel like if death comes tomorrow, I didn\u2019t really do the right thing. I think we have to confront the brutality of Black people\u2019s lives and amend what has been broken so this country can move forward. And that\u2019s the very reason why I wrote this book about that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chris Hedges:  <\/strong>I just want to read this passage. You\u2019re writing about white people: \u201cThey are afraid. I know that. The white people and their police force are afraid. What frightens them is not the 13% of the population, the Black people that they fixate on. What frightens them, in the end, is the memory of their own ruthless brutality, the judgment of their own conscience. The past always comes alive in the present, and with the passage of time, the history of race takes its shape in each individual\u2019s soul, Black and white.\u201d And I think you argue in the book that with the rise of Trump and the far right, essentially that poison is now eating away at the body politic of the country itself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boyah Farah:  <\/strong>Yes. In a way, our own path comes back. Your footprint is important. Individually, we say, when you do harm to the living, karma comes back. Those two individuals that I talked about, one is chained to\u2026 In Somalia, he\u2019s in a mad house in Somalia. When you see him, it\u2019s just\u2026 It\u2019s better for him to die.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chris Hedges:  <\/strong>You\u2019re talking about these two fighters?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boyah Farah:  <\/strong>The two fighters.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chris Hedges:  <\/strong>Were very intimidating in, I guess, your neighborhood and then you go back and visit them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boyah Farah:  <\/strong>Yes. They killed a lot of people. They harmed the living. And ultimately that came back to them. Well, I use that example for America in the larger sense. The rise of Trump, the rise of all these things. It\u2019s nothing but what we have done, in a way, that it\u2019s time for us to admit it and just say, hey, this is part of our history. Let\u2019s move forward. This country needs to move forward in terms of fixing what\u2019s broken.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chris Hedges:  <\/strong>Well, you can\u2019t move forward if you don\u2019t know who you are.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boyah Farah:  <\/strong>That is true.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chris Hedges:  <\/strong>We\u2019re going to stop there. That was Boyah J. Farah on his memoir, America Made Me a Black Man<\/em>. I want to thank The Real News Network and its production team: Cameron Granadino, Adam Coley, Dwayne Gladden, and Kayla Rivara. You can find me at chrishedges.substack.com.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

POSTED INTHE CHRIS HEDGES REPORT Boyah J. Farah came to the US as a refugee from Somalia at age 15. His new memoir recounts his introduction to American racism. BY CHRIS HEDGES JANUARY 13, 2023 Screenshot\/TRNN (therealnews.com) Boyah J. Farah fled the war in Somalia arriving in the United States as… Continue reading → <\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/occupysf.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/24868"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/occupysf.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/occupysf.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/occupysf.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/occupysf.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=24868"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/occupysf.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/24868\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":24869,"href":"https:\/\/occupysf.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/24868\/revisions\/24869"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/occupysf.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=24868"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/occupysf.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=24868"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/occupysf.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=24868"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}