"Don't be DIVAPROBE"

I’ve always said “God has a serious sense of humor.” In January of 2015, my father made me relocate home due to finances. My mother had just recovered from a life threatening illness. Literally, she was on a ventilator. Yet, she was home and healed at this point in time. 

Nashville Pre-Screening of “Wear the Crown” featuring Cillea Houghton (Producer) & Alan R.H. Nettles (Writer & Director)

Photo Credit: Pasla Photography

I attended Howard University. It was while at Howard that I learned as a black man in America, I had the power to invoke change. I could be an award winning film director, actor, or singer. I didn’t need White America’s permission. I never knew that until Howard. When I had to return home in 2015, I was devastated because I knew I would no longer be surrounded by those spirits who poured into me.

I found myself surrounded by toxic, spirits with a knack for disdain and disgust in regards to the creative arts. I found myself stuck in a community that wouldn’t know the meaning of the word “support” when it came to the black community. I found myself trapped in an environment that strongly upheld conservative, archaic values that only served the nostalgic representation of tradition, but lacked substance to better our society or advance the people who live within it. 

I learned what the term “fake” truly means or as Keisha Nickole calls it “phony.” A phony spirit is a spirit that smiles in one’s face speaking joy, love, & peace while simultaneously plotting the demise of said individual. Deep, right? Well, I attend a church that is full of those spirits. I attended a local college that secretly prided itself on upholding the nature of such a spirit. I found myself nurturing relationships with phony spirits. The thing about spirits is you have to be careful. You cannot introduce your spirit to another without making sure they are compatible. 

I recently wrapped a short film entitled “Wear the Crown.” It is the largest production and most costly film I’ve yet to make. However, it has been the most challenging and my least favorite project to date. Crazy! The reason is that I didn’t feel connected to the project with a sense of true compassion. I wrote the project out of anger and disgust. My anger for the community I live in here in Nashville only fueled my distaste for the project as a whole. The love I shared for it was infused by the people who participated in it. But now I wonder, what was my purpose? 

Aunt Tracey & I, Circa 2013

Photo Credit: Alan R.H. Nettles

I had to let many artists go throughout the course of this production due to their lack of professionalism or consistent excuses as to why they couldn’t be 100% committed. I will tell you it “fucked” with my head because these same artists in turn went across town to support other directors in their work and did not behave in the same manner. 

The doubt began to over-flood my mind. The resentment began to fuel my soul. The anger began to harden my knuckles, but then I realized that it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. I am a poor, college educated African-American man from Buffalo, New York. My mother works 3 jobs just to pay the bills, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t a talent to be reckoned with. I’ve been without a job for eight months now. Though I search and search, a black man getting a livable, paying job in Trump’s America is next to impossible. But I refuse to allow that obstacle keep me from pursuing my dreams. I refuse to take on a nonchalant or apathetic attitude towards my life or anything I set out to do just because I’m financially broke. The reason being is while I may be financially broke, I am spiritually rich. I am mentally wealthy. I am physically enriched. My excellence within self will permeate into my finances. If I lose excellence of self, I inevitably lose self.

Taraji P. Henson, Academy Award Nominated Actress

Photo Credit: Today Show

James Baldwin, Author (1927-1987)

Photo Credit: Los Angeles Times

I never want to be an artist who doesn’t demand excellence. Would we expect any less of Aretha Franklin or James Baldwin or Oscar Micheaux or Taraji P. Henson? No! So why should I expect less from myself? Why is it in our society that we dehumanize excellence as a source that’s only attainable to the rich and wealthy? Don’t we realize that the rich and wealthy haven’t always been rich & wealthy. Don’t we realize that the Tarajis, Arethas, & Oscars of the world had to struggle. Don’t we realize that the Oprahs of the world were told “no” at least a thousand times before getting one “yes.” Do we realize that when we tell one another not to demand excellence, when we dum down our ability, when we mistreat one another, when we allow our insecurities to take hold and ripe our diva-probe ways that we’re only killing the dreams of ourselves, but most importantly our children. Yes, when you tell me “you are not Tyler Perry, so I don’t know why you’re trying to run a show as such.” You’re telling me I can never reach the same level of success as Tyler. When you tell a little girl “you are not Whitney Houston.” You’re telling her she’s not good enough. 

In 2018, I worked with two young girls. I call them girls because while they’re adults in age, they are children in maturity. Delilah is a lost soul from Detroit. Amber is a cunning fox from Memphis. Both women share a common characteristic they are “diva probed.” To be diva probed means to think only like a diva at all hours of the day and night. Delilah moved to Music City to be a singer. When I met her, we instantly connected. I invited her to a church I sung for (BIG MISTAKE) and introduced her to my circle of colleagues within the community. It was a great joy to see her blossom, but by spring she’d turned into an uncharismatic, creature. It stung because she possesses much potential. Her voice is gorgeous. Her black beauty is like a clear night sky. Her curves enhance the voluptuous model known as the black woman. Yet, her past pain keeps her trapped, locked in chains unable to share her gifts with the world.

Meanwhile across town in a little place called Murfreesboro, Amber slithers and maneuvers her way through artist after artist. Her nature is to please, but her downfall is to weed. She weeds out the roots keeping the fallen branches and leaves in her garden. Amber owns the stage. She captivates the screen. She most importantly cultivates your heart through her artistry as an actress taking you on a journey of self discovery. But the ground in which she stands under is broken, corrupted, and full of useless leaves & branches carelessly lying about. Amber is so stuck in this existential paradigm that she doesn’t realize the roots are non existent which means the tree has yet to grow. 

It’s harrowing that two black beauties have lost 

their creative spirits due to their undying need to be accepted among a town of small minded, parasites not realizing that if you remove yourself from the infested area, you will succeed. But the need for popularity, the need to be liked, the need to be desired, the need to keep oneself trapped in fear fuels the plague that’s wiping out black artistry as a whole. 

It’s high time in this community that we stop downgrading our artists and their abilities. It’s high time we save our “divaprobe” ways for the stage or screen and eat trays of humble pie. It’s high time we work together instead of against one another to bring content to the world. It’s high time we stop competing against one another, but uplift each other. It’s high time we start funding our own artists treating them with the same level of respect, class, and dignity we often show our vanilla oppressors. It’s high time we stop killing each other over jealousy, malice, & envy and in turn refute those names with compassion, grace, and mercy. 

The amount of hate and venom that fuels so many creative artists stifles them from truly progressing to the next level. When you hate yourself, the only way to make yourself feel better is to make them feel the way you do.