Opinion
OP-ED: Don’t Judge this Book by its Cover
I am a 56-year-old Black man who has read a total of five books in my life. I simply do not like reading books. Now before you get too excited, I have read the Holy Bible, cover to cover, have you? I believe the Bible is the soap for the heart and I encourage all to search out and apply its wisdom as soap, not man’s myths or biblical customs in an attempt to clean up one’s life.
Why has it been so easy to buy into the myths that Adam and Eve were the “First” people on earth and that Adam and Eve ate an “Apple”, but when it comes to reading, “Love one another”, too many of us act illiterate?
Recently, I walked into Marcus Books; the oldest Black owned book store in the country, located in the Fillmore district of San Francisco. Karen Johnson, who runs the SF store (There is a Marcus Books, Oakland) held up a book for me to read. Reading the title, I thought to myself, get real and then, this woman has lost her mind. I was offended by the title: “What is Wrong with Being Black?”
If there is one good quality about me, it is the fact that when I get offended, I do not run or lash out. Therefore, I took the book and thumbed a few pages. But I purchased it out of curiosity. This erudite Black London preacher and author, Matthew Ashimolowo, born in Nigeria pastors the largest church in Western Europe and he got me to read his 344 page book, by insulting me first.
After reading this thoroughly referenced work and certainly no expert on reading material, I recommend every Black person on earth read, “what is wrong with Being Black?”
Commonsense answers the question posed by the title. Nevertheless, with this book sitting in my vehicle, I still purposely hid the title from view. The author takes you on a well researched tour of truth about the Black race from Adam and Eve to Rev Jessie Jackson, Al Sharpton before ending in chapter 25 on the subject of marginalization. “Celebrating our heritage, confronting our challenges” is the sub-title but I still can’t handle the title.
Thank God I can handle the truth.
I am also a man who has always been annoyed with the stories of slavery. In fact, I don’t think I am alone. While teaching a Bible study in the early 90’s, to a room full of Black teenaged felons at the San Francisco juvenile hall, I said, “I am more concerned with Black future, than Black history.”
They all applauded my statement. My guess is that they too, were not quite buying into the stories of the past 400 years of slavery as I had not. Sure Blacks were slaves for too long. But I never felt as though the whole story was being told, after all, I only had White teachers.
This is quite a biblical and African history lesson to say the least. This London preacher pulled no punches. And though I can’t say I subscribe to everything he suggested on what struggling Black communities should do first, Blacks can’t go wrong by applying all of his advice towards changing course.
Ashimolowo, points out how and why slavery of the Black man was not the fault of the White man, while not letting the White man off the hook for their evil deeds. He also exposes two well known American preachers for who they really are and then artfully compares the totally different approaches against segregation used by Booker T. Washington and W.E.B. DuBois. Both men were 100% right. He even pointed out the good of segregation that most, including me, would not have seen, were it not for his pointing it out.
I was most impressed with how Ashimolowo pointed out the problems of trying to educate today’s young Black male and his suggested solution. Where I slightly disagree with the pastor is when he suggest Blacks should first get a hold of God.
Though God is first, in my life, I believe Blacks should get a hold of the book, “what is wrong with Being Black”, first.
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Oakland Post: Week of May 7 – 13, 2025
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Oakland Post: Week of April 30 – May 6, 2025
The printed Weekly Edition of the Oakland Post: Week of April 30 – May 6, 2025

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Arts and Culture
BOOK REVIEW: Love, Rita: An American Story of Sisterhood, Joy, Loss, and Legacy
When Bridgett M. Davis was in college, her sister Rita was diagnosed with lupus, a disease of the immune system that often left her constantly tired and sore. Davis was a bit unfazed, but sympathetic to Rita’s suffering and also annoyed that the disease sometimes came between them. By that time, they needed one another more than ever.

By Terri Schlichenmeyer
Author: Bridgett M. Davis, c.2025, Harper, $29.99, 367 Pages
Take care.
Do it because you want to stay well, upright, and away from illness. Eat right, swallow your vitamins and hydrate, keep good habits and hygiene, and cross your fingers. Take care as much as you can because, as in the new book, “Love, Rita” by Bridgett M. Davis, your well-being is sometimes out of your hands.
It was a family story told often: when Davis was born, her sister, Rita, then four years old, stormed up to her crying newborn sibling and said, ‘Shut your … mouth!’
Rita, says Davis, didn’t want a little sister then. She already had two big sisters and a neighbor who was somewhat of a “sister,” and this baby was an irritation. As Davis grew, the feeling was mutual, although she always knew that Rita loved her.
Over the years, the sisters tried many times not to fight — on their own and at the urging of their mother — and though division was ever present, it eased when Rita went to college. Davis was still in high school then, and she admired her big sister.
She eagerly devoured frequent letters sent to her in the mail, signed, “Love, Rita.”
When Davis was in college herself, Rita was diagnosed with lupus, a disease of the immune system that often left her constantly tired and sore. Davis was a bit unfazed, but sympathetic to Rita’s suffering and also annoyed that the disease sometimes came between them. By that time, they needed one another more than ever.
First, they lost their father. Drugs then invaded the family and addiction stole two siblings. A sister and a young nephew were murdered in a domestic violence incident. Their mother was devastated; Rita’s lupus was an “added weight of her sorrow.”
After their mother died of colon cancer, Rita’s lupus took a turn for the worse.
“Did she even stand a chance?” Davis wrote in her journal.
“It just didn’t seem possible that she, someone so full of life, could die.”
Let’s start here: once you get past the prologue in “Love, Rita,” you may lose interest. Maybe.
Most of the stories that author Bridgett M. Davis shares are mildly interesting, nothing rare, mostly commonplace tales of growing up in the 1960s and ’70s with a sibling. There are a lot of these kinds of stories, and they tend to generally melt together. After about fifty pages of them, you might start to think about putting the book aside.
But don’t. Not quite yet.
In between those everyday tales, Davis occasionally writes about being an ailing Black woman in America, the incorrect assumptions made by doctors, the history of medical treatment for Black people (women in particular), attitudes, and mythologies. Those passages are now and then, interspersed, but worth scanning for.
This book is perhaps best for anyone with the patience for a slow-paced memoir, or anyone who loves a Black woman who’s ill or might be ill someday. If that’s you and you can read between the lines, then “Love, Rita” is a book to take in carefully.
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