Dear Gill Scott,

I’m very sad to hear you passed yesterday.  You were one of my very favorite artists.

I discovered your music as a teenager, going through my father’s records. In many ways you were the link between my father and I; and the bridge between two African American generations. You remind me of my dad and uncles–a mix of Chicago’s Englewood, Ivy league books, the grit of the streets, consciousness, and unrighteousness–all smoothly tucked into a black American male body.

You made being black and revolutionary, cool and deep, so I took your music along my journey to adulthood– from LP’s to tapes to CD’s to MP3s–your voice has never been far.

I learned of your writing in the dusty stacks of the Huston-Tillotson College library in Austin, TX.  At 19, I remember reading “Nigger Factory” in the bathtub of my shared one-bedroom apartment with CeCe and that crazy Andre. You made me want to write poetry and tell stories about the black experience.

In graduate school, you helped me figure out how  to be black around a lot of white critics.  During those years, I also learned that your music went well with cognac.

When I bought my first home in the hood, your music fit well.  I’d play “Home Is Where the Hatred Is” for the drug addict couple I’d hired as cheap labor to help fix and clean my house.  From you, I learned that the best artists actually live the stories they tell.

You were a cultural icon, and the voice of a world-changing cultural movement.

And, you successfully, authentically, and beautifully, channeled the emotion and thoughts of an important group of the world’s people.

Thank you for your art and life.

-Ayana Atsu Haaruun

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cOUMvjw9RlA&feature=related