Everything that comes to you
comes by the power of your thought
Quote by Self
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Sunday, December 10, 2017
Saturday, December 9, 2017
![Temet Nostce by [Taylor, Self, Taylor, Lige]](https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/416Qc6F4iBL._SY346_.jpg)
Tuesday, December 5, 2017
Sunday, December 3, 2017
Chapter Two ( God Bless a Child That Can Hold His Own By Tyler Gore )
Friday, December 1, 2017
Sunday, November 26, 2017
Chapter One ( God Bless A Child That Can Hold His Own )
Pokey, watch out, “ Fatboy screamed as he saw the black beat-up car turn around at full speed, an AK-47 sticking out the back window. Tat-tat- tat-tat was the only sound heard as the car sped by, turning another corner. Fatboy looked left and right to make sure the coat was clear. Taking a cautious step he called out, “Yo Pokey -Pokey.” As he called his one true friend, he heard a low moan, looked to his right and saw his best friend lying in a pool of his own blood. Running over in a state-of-shock, he reached his friend, only to hear him say, “Dang, its over. Dropping to his knees, he grabbed Pokey’s bullet-ridden body and slowly placed his dying body in his lap. “Pokey, you hear me? You gonna be okay,” Fatboy told him as he felt the tears escaping from his eyes. “They coming dawg. The ambulance on the way. They going to fix you up, good as new. Just hold on my nigga, “whispered Fatboy. Pokey heard his friend telling him to hold on, but it was hard. “Fat, it’s burning my nigga. My body on fire,” Pokey moaned, struggling to breathe. “Just keep talking to me and hold on,” Fatboy said, “I hear them coming now.” Fatboy looked up and saw people huddled around them, trying to see what was happening. “what the fuck y’all looking at,” snapped Fatboy,” get some help. Somebody help my dawg!” “Fat…Fa… Fatboy, “Pokey stuttered.” Dawg, its okay. I’m ready to leav…leave thi…thi…this world, and go… go on, to the…next li…lif…life.” “Naw dawg, just hold on. You got to fight my nigga, “said Fatboy.” I…I can’t, “Pokey stammered, reaching up with the little strength he had left, and wiping a tear from his friend's eye. “Fat… Fatboy, it’s over. Be strong my nigga and…and never sto…stop ‘ti…’til the worl…word…world is yours, “he said as he took his last breath. “No my nigga,” cried out Fatboy, shaking Pokey to no avail.” He went young man an old lady said, shaking her head as she saw the pain in his eyes. She knew somebody was going to pay dearly for this young man’s anguish.” He gone baby. The good lord done took him on up to Heaven. “She reached a hand out to help him up, but instead she saw him just drop his head, look back up at her, then close his friend’s eyes. Standing up, he looked down at his dead friend and whispered, “My nigga, I love you and I promise to bring death to whoever took your life from at the sad old woman who looked like she had lost her own child and told her, “Thank you.” Watching him walk off slowly with his head held high, she silently said, “God protect that poor child.” Not knowing that Fatboy could and would stand on his own, receiving strength from his dead friend like he never knew. “Now I got to get myself together,” he thought while looking down at his bloody clothes. “Damn, my nigga gone.” Stopping to look over his shoulder, he saw the paramedics laying a sheet over Pokey. Memories of them together flashed before his eyes. He smiled as tears slowly slid down his cheeks. Wiping them away, he started walking home. When he entered the house, his oldest daughter, Tykia, ran up and gave him a hug. “Hey daddy,” she said, only to have him kiss her on top of her head and keep walking. As he walked into the den, he saw his youngest daughter asleep in his favorite chair. He kissed her and let her sleep. When he stood his wife was looking at him from the doorway, concern all over her face. “Baby, what happened? Are you okay,” she asked, looking at the blood covering his clothes.” I’m okay,” he responded, as he walked by her. “Talk to me, Shakia screamed. “What happened? Why you all bloody? You promised me you were done with the street life,” she yelled running up to hold him, but he closed the door in her face, locking himself in the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, he didn’t recognize himself. “How one minute you and your best friend living life to the fullest, got everything and anything you ever wanted, then the next minute, your best friends life is gone,” he said as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He punched the mirror causing it to shatter and fall all over the floor. Shakia started kicking the door, yelling, “Baby, open this damn door! Please. Are you okay?” “Listen, Shakia, please just let me mourn my loss solo. I promise I’ll be alright, “he cried as he sank to the floor holding his head in his hands.” I’ll be okay, “he kept telling himself, but he knew in his heart that he wouldn’t be himself again until whoever did this was laying six feet deep, just like his friend. As he started to wipe a falling tear from his eye a song by plies popped in his head, 1 Day. Listening to the song play out in his head he realized that he needed to let Pokey’s mother know what happened to her son. He jumped in the shower and memories of Pokey and him came flashing back. How they used to clown, the first day they met in k-mart projects, all the money they made together, and other times they had hung out together. All that was just a memory now he thought as he turned off the shower, wrapped a towel around himself, and walked into his room. As he entered the room he saw his lovely wife lying in their bed reading a book called “G.A.B.O.S- The Game Ain’t Based On Sympathy.” She looked up and saw him and the pain etched on his face. She put the book down, got out of bed, and made her way to him wrapping her arms around him. She asked, “Baby, what happen? Talk to me.” As he began to talk he lowered his head on her shoulder for a minute, then looked up and said, “Baby, just know this…no matter what happens in this life, I’ll always love you.” Removing her arms from around him, he walked into the closet and began searching for clothes.” What the fuck does that supposed to mean, Fatboy? What the fuck does that mean? What the hell did I do that you shutting me out? Talk to me please, “she began to cry. “Alright,” Fatboy said, coming out the closet dressed in all black. “And where you going, “she said. “ Listen, you want to know what happened, just be quiet. The blood you seen on me, that was Pokeys blood. We was on, on our way to the park, and some niggas just pulled up blasting. Murk my dawg in broad daylight like he wasn’t shit. That’s what’s wrong with me. My nigga gone.” “So now you bout to go do something stupid and fuck your life up,” she began to scream, “You got a family to worry about.” Yeah, you right, but Pokey was also my family, or you forgot that! Without Pokey, we wouldn’t have shit. Nothing! Not this big old house, not all these cars, not millions sitting in all our bank accounts! So, remember one thing; me and Pokey was family, too.” “Baby I know that, but we need you.” As soon as she said that Tykia and Tazzaria walked in the room, holding hands. Looking at the faces of his two beautiful daughters made him want to just chill, but he knew he couldn’t so he called his little girls over to him, “Tykia and Tazzaria, come here for a minute,” he said, with his arms out. When they walked into his arms and hugged him, he began to shed tears.” “Daddy, why you crying,” Tazzaria asked as she looked at her daddy, who she loved more than anything.” Shh Baby, I’m okay. I just want you and Ty to know something. Today Uncle Pokey when to heaven. That’s why y’all see me shedding tears.” “Are we going to move daddy, “Tazzaria asked.” Naw baby, everything gonna be the same, just Uncle Pokey won’t be around no more.” “Okay Daddy.” “So listen, y’all go have fun, and later on when I come back home, we’ll go out to eat or something,” he said, kissing both of his daughters on top of the head before they left the room. “Baby, promise me you ain’t going to do nothing stupid, ”Shakia said. “I can’t promise you nothing I don’t know.” “What about us? What about your daughters,” Shakia asked, tears rolling down her face.” Believe me, I’ve thought about that and one thing we both know is, if something happen to me, y’all will be well taken care of.” “Fatboy, do you really think we care about all this,” she said, pointing around the room. “You can take all this shit back to wherever it came from. As long as we got you, we’ll be happy.” “Damn baby, listen. I know all that, but I can’t let them get away with killing my best friend. I just can’t.” “I’ll find out, trust me. Money talk and loose lips sink ships. Whoever did it will brag about how they murked a top nigga in the streets. It’s just a matter of time.” Before he could say anything else, there was a knock at the door.” I got it, “Tykia yelled.” No baby, I’ll get it, “Fatboy hollered reaching under the mattress to snatch the loaded 9mm kept there. Tucking it behind his back, he started towards the door, but stopped and turned around.” Shakia, I’ll be back, I promise and I won’t do nothing stupid unless I’m forced to and once this is handled, I’m done. He told her. Watching her get back in bed and grad the book carried a very true statement. The game wasn’t based on sympathy. The sound of the doorbell ringing again brought him back to the present. I’m coming, chill,’ he yelled as he opened the door, gun hidden from view, just in case. He thought his mind was playing tricks on him.” Pop Larry! What you doing her? Fatboy asked. I heard about what happed to Pokey earlier and I know you. I thought maybe you could use a lil help. Pop Larry you came home from doing damn near all your life in prison and I can’t see you going back because of me. I appreciate you not wanting to see me back, but you know I’m my own man. I know that Pop Larry, but at the same time, I can handle it. If I need you – you know I’ll call you. Alright now. Don’t be afraid to come on out them bushes. I’m round the corner if you need me. Alright Pop Larry, said Fatboy, giving the old man some dap before he walked off. Damn, Pop Larry still a fool, Fatboy was thinking while he walked toward the all-white box Chevy sitting on dubs. When he hopped in the ride it occurred to him that he just might be able to use Pop Larry, but first he had to let Mrs. Queen know what was up.
God Bless A Child That Can Hold His Own ( By: Tyler Gore )
Everything that they touched turned to gold. Then one fateful day everything turned sour and one friend is left alone to avenge the death of his best friend. He fights to stay out the game, but the call for revenge is greater than anything. Almost losing everything including his life. He refused to quit until every single soul, that had anything to do with the death of his dog was buried 6 feet deep. After promising his wife, He was done with the streets. He breaks that promise to keep the word he made to a dying friend. As the words go against him. He realizes friends are his strongest foes and his time of need. He understood the saying,” blood is thicker than water.”
Almost giving up, he doesn’t because he knows,
“God Bless A Child That Can Hold His Own.”
Friday, November 24, 2017
TEMET NOSTCE
Self-help book coming out next month by Self ( Lige Taylor )
keep your eyes & ears open
He is an inmate who is doing life.
He would like to help you find the way.
Keep a lookout.
keep your eyes & ears open
He is an inmate who is doing life.
He would like to help you find the way.
Keep a lookout.
Friday, November 3, 2017
Thursday, November 2, 2017
JUST BECAUSE THE LION DON'T EAT YOU DON'T MEAN YOU CAN'T EAT THE LION
If you expect the world to be fair because you are fair
Get that shit out your head and eat it before it eat you
Sell it before it sell you
make it before it make you
use it before it use you
teach it before it teach you
If you expect the world to be fair with you because you are fair you're fooling yourself
You can't say they played you with the same thing 2 times
It's OK to be a fool once in life, but not for life
You keep trust them motherfuckers, don't keep going back when you know the truth
The world will only see you as a joke
So why they call you cold, you learn that shit from them 1st
you just never said it
You don't expect the lion not to eat you
It could just be full
It could be waiting on you to get bigger as you grow with information
it could be waiting for you see you dream done so it can take it
if could be waiting to learn your dance, your walk, your talk, your words
Stop acting like a lamb, that fish, that bird, because all that shit look good to eat to the Kings & Queens and that bull make good ribs when that BBQ sauce hit it
You need stop acting & looking like dinner and be the motherfucking cook and sit down and eat them before they eat you
Gabos
Recently I've taken to watching a lot of TV shows online because I have nothing to do since my exams have finished. Latest show I've watched was a documentary, Louis Theroux's Miami Mega Jail. You can watch it on youtube in parts, as it's no longer on the BBC website. It's a two series documentary.
I thought the documentary was interesting, the second part more than the first. It gives you the basic insight that allows you to get interested and think more about these sorts of things. I've never been one for showing any interests in shows about the American Jail System because quite frankly I dislike anything to do with jail. The main thing I learnt was that 'jail' and 'prison' are two different things. Jail is for those who are pre-trial.
I found the term "gunning" (used in the the first part) interesting, mostly quite disgusting and if I was a guy I'd be ashamed of myself. Gunning refers to men masturbating in front of the female officers. The one guy near the end McCray or something laughs at the whole situation which I can see why he does, two years with no sex so far and I'm sure he's not any closer to getting out. He blabs on about how they should be entitled to porn magazine. Entitled is the wrong word, but I do think they should just throw some in their for the men. But overall I think it's your own fault that you got sent to prison, so if you're going to wank don't openly make the female guards be your source of desire. Honestly I would feel so devalued.
The bootcamp in the second part just annoyed me, I've never been a fan of any of them that I've seen on TV. I obviously get that these kids have done horrific crimes but I do not understand how they think the techniques they use work. It's famously known that prison/jail doesn't rehabilitate, it just teaches "don't get caught" and I think the same stands for bootcamp. I'll admit it, the main thing about bootcamp that irritates me is, it's nothing like the real world and it never should be. Then again I do fully understand that maybe that is just punishment for the terrible crimes they have committed. Once again the power and control thing was evident by the trainers. It always strikes me in these situations, what kind of person do you have to be to do this job? Are your power hungry and this is on the only way you can gain that? Or do you genuinely care about the people in your bootcamp? The guys in this one didn't seem too bad.
GMASH - Get Money and Stop Hatin'
I found Robert Shaw (on the right) in the second part to be really like-able. Maybe because he writes. Maybe because I know people like him. But more because he's not about putting on an image. You always find that with some of those who've done time, some do realise that the actions of others towards you is not a personal insult or an actual reflection of yourself. Whether he should be let out or not is another debate, but he seems to be tired of the life he use to lead and genuinely sounds like he's learnt something from his time in jail.
I found Robert Shaw (on the right) in the second part to be really like-able. Maybe because he writes. Maybe because I know people like him. But more because he's not about putting on an image. You always find that with some of those who've done time, some do realise that the actions of others towards you is not a personal insult or an actual reflection of yourself. Whether he should be let out or not is another debate, but he seems to be tired of the life he use to lead and genuinely sounds like he's learnt something from his time in jail.
I found Louis Theroux's interview techniques perfect for this situation, by this I mean they were perfectly standard questions and approaches but he's quite a neutral person so I think they found it very easy to talk to him. He doesn't look intimidating and the questions he asked didn't seem bias or judgmental. I've never seen any other documentary of his so I can't do any comparisons, but I felt his attitude was able to produce insightful results.
I think one of the most powerful shots was during the first part, after the guy explains GABOS and Louis asks him how old he is and he says "27" and then there's this shot:
(screen capped myself)
I think everyone can get at what they are trying to conclude with this shot.
I'm not writing this with any sort of reflection as to human rights etc (as this would go on for a while), I'm not sure if I'm even shocked at what I've watched. I think what gets me the most is the contentment that resonates among the inmates, they are neither overly proud or ashamed of what they have done/do and I think that's really important. Even if it's a lifestyle I do not agree with I admire the stand they take in their subculture and how they have established rules and "friendships" in order to survive. Some inmates go out for an hour twice a week. Two hours out of one hundred and sixty eight. Jail must be exceptionally tough, of course these guys have mostly committed violent crimes and/are from a similar lifestyle, so for them jail probably isn't that different, but it's still an entire shift and a limitation (imitation even) of life. I feel that most of these people don't understand the ultimate sacrifice they are making, trading their life to be inside for the death of another. In one case, 40 years for what ultimately results in $20, I do not see how the human mind could comprehend that this is okay.
I cannot fathom a life in which I am forced into a combined space
Monday, October 30, 2017
Thanks
Just came to say Thanks for the cards and all the love, Didn't know so many people care for someone like me.
Tyler Gore
Aka Fatboy
Tyler Gore
Aka Fatboy
Thursday, October 26, 2017
Chapter 23 ( Gabos ) Ruthless
After two hours of waiting, Trirena was finally able to go see her
father. As she entered the room that held her father’s life in its hands, she
mentally prepared herself for the worst. As she listened to the sounds of all
the machines, she saw her father hooked up too. She almost shed a tear at the
sight of her father lying helpless in the hospital bed. Making her way closer
to his side, inch by inch, she looked around the room, hoping that all this was
a dream. But the image of her dead mother is what made her realize this is all
reality. As she held her father’s hand, she listened to his labored breathing,
looking at her father like this made her question God. And she whispered, “Why,
God? Why my mother had to get killed? Now you got my daddy fighting for his
life.” As she rose up above her father and kissed him on his forehead, she
said, “Daddy, I need you just like you need me. I lost my mother. Please don’t
make me lose you too. Fight, Daddy, please. I know it’s more peaceful in the
world you’re in now, but we got revenge to pay to what those niggaz did to
Momma and you. I know you’re not going to let it go down this way,” she said,
hoping to hear an answer from her daddy. But receiving none in return, the only
answer she received was the sound of the machines and the heart monitor going beep,
beep, and beep. As of right now, that was all the hope she had and needed.
As she prepared herself for the fight that’s about to go down,
taking her seat beside her father and grabbing his hand again, she wanted to
let him know it was time, time for her to step up. She will always be his
little girl, but things were about to change in Ocala, all because they killed
her mother, who was innocent in her eyes. “Fuck the rules of the game,” she
said aloud. “As of now, I make my own rules,” she said, shaking her head at the
sight of her father. “Daddy, you always told me to be prepared to take care of
myself, if something every happen to you or Momma. Well, Momma’s gone, and them
same niggaz got you on life support fighting for your life. So as I speak, it’s
me against the world. I’m sorry this had to happen, I know you never wanted me
to get involved in the game, but when you’re forced to do something, it’s
nothing you can do about it but go with the flow,” she said, rising from her
chair. Looking down at her father, who looked so helpless, she kissed him on
the cheek.
As she made her exit, a major change took over. The once-sweet
girl was now ready to get back. As she calculated her next move, she stopped at
the nurse’s station. “Please don’t let nobody in his room, ’cause I don’t know
who did this, or if they’ll come back to finish him off,” she told the nurse.
The nurse replied, “I can do that, but what about the man who was
here three hours ago, Mr. Sico?”
“Listen, ma’am,” Trirena said in a nice voice. “If it’s not me or
the doctors, I don’t want nobody in his room,” she said, walking off, but
stopped and turned around to add emphasis. “Listen, if anything happens to my
father, I’m coming for you. I promise you that,” she said, smiling politely,
like they were the best of friends. And she made her exit, promising not to
return until her father was doing better or she had to prepare for his
arrangement to go to heaven. Either way, it was the only time she would step
foot back in this hospital, ’cause she couldn’t stand the sight of how fragile
her father looked. And she hopped in her ride with one thing on her mind, “Time
to play the game.” As she heard the words play over in her mind that her daddy
used to tell her: “Baby, life is not always a matter of holding good cards but
sometimes playing a poor hand well.” As she prepared herself to face the ones
who killed her mother, she knew she had to play this off to a T. She was
thinking as she jumped on Highway 200, heading back home, ’cause tomorrow she
would head to the projects to see her brother. Thirty minutes later, she was
home, and as soon as she walked into the house, all the memories of her and her
mother and father came back all at once, making her break down to her knees,
but she stilled herself to get up and not shed a single tear. As she looked
around the house, she noticed it was clean. Just like nothing happened. Looking
at her uncle, who was asleep on the sofa, she wondered, “How could he sleep at
a time like this?” Walking over to the sofa and tapping his foot, she
whispered, “Uncle Sico, Uncle Sico, I’m back.”
As her uncle opened one eye, then the next, slowly sitting up, he
asked, “How you doing, baby girl?”
“What kinda stupid-ass question is that to ask?” she was thinking,
but she answered anyways. “I’m holding up.”
“So how’s my brother?” Sico said.
“Really, he’s still on life support, but he’ll bounce back,” she
said. “He’s a fighter, it’s just a matter of time,” she said, sitting on the
sofa beside her uncle.
“So you took care of my mother’s body.”
“Yes, I did, but why you didn’t wanna have her a funeral or
something?”
“’Cause that’s a giveaway. I want whoever did this to feel like we
just gonna let the shit blow over. That way they won’t be asking questions
about my father,” she said.
“I understand,” Sico said, thinking, “Smart move.” And he looked
at his niece again. “Baby, you sure you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, reaching for the picture on the table
that was of her and her mother smiling together at the zoo. “Life is crazy. One
minute shit is going good, next it’s falling apart,” she was thinking.
“Trirena, if you need me, I’m here,” he said, giving his niece a
hug. “I got all the tires fixed on the rides, so you can get around.”
“Okay, thanks,” she said, as Sico got up to leave. When he reached
the door, she called out, “Uncle Sico!”
“Yeah, sweetheart, what’s up?”
“And why you gonna do that?” Sico said, looking at his niece like
she done lost her mind, ’cause her daddy ain’t dead.
“’Cause I want everybody to believe he is,” she said.
“And what if he asks about the funeral?”
“I’ll tell him you got rid off the bodies, till we find out who
did this,” she said, slamming the picture down, watching glass fly everywhere
as the pain flowed through her heart.
Sico asked, “Baby, you sure you gonna be okay?”
“I’m straight, Uncle Sico. Please go ’head and do what you gonna
do. I’mma be all right. I’m just trying to put this broken puzzle in my head
together, about who could have done this and why?” she lied to her uncle,
knowing the whole time who did this. She just felt she had to throw her uncle
off beat, ’cause she knew if he knew who did this, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill
whoever did this. But her plan was to make whoever did this suffer a slow and
painful death, like her mother did. She was in deep thought, when she heard the
door slowly being closed, and that’s when she got up, plugged the phone back
in, and made a few phone calls to a few trusted friends. Picking up the phone
and calling her cousins, she knew they would be down with the plan. After three
rings, a female voice said, “Hello, what’s up?”
Trirena asked, “Bre, where Blessing and Tahshama at?”
“They right here, why?” Bre asked.
“Look, I need y’all help. Something just went down, but I’ll
explain it to y’all, when I come scoop y’all up, just be ready,” Trirena said.
“All right, Cuz, you know we with cha, no matter what it is. Do we
need to bring our girlie-girlie stuff?” Bre asked.
“Yeah, do that,” Trirena said. “Look, be ready in about one and a
half hour and dress to kill, and be ready to play a little cat and mouse game.”
“Word,” Bre said, hanging up the phone.
She almost felt bad about bringing her cousins in on this, but she
remembered GABOS.
As
she took a shower and relaxed for a moment, she was thinking of a master plan!
One, they would sidetrack her brother and his friends to make them believe she
didn’t know it was them.
Tuesday, October 24, 2017
1.5 Million Missing Black Men
In New York, almost 120,000 black men between the ages of 25 and 54 are missing from everyday life. In Chicago, 45,000 are, and more than 30,000 are missing in Philadelphia. Across the South — from North Charleston, S.C., through Georgia, Alabama and Mississippi and up into Ferguson, Mo. — hundreds of thousands more are missing.
They are missing, largely because of early deaths or because they are behind bars. Remarkably, black women who are 25 to 54 and not in jail outnumber black men in that category by 1.5 million, according to an Upshot analysis. For every 100 black women in this age group living outside of jail, there are only 83 black men. Among whites, the equivalent number is 99, nearly parity.
African-American men have long been more likely to be locked up and more likely to die young, but the scale of the combined toll is nonetheless jarring. It is a measure of the deep disparities that continue to afflict black men — disparities being debated after a recent spate of killings by the police — and the gender gap is itself a further cause of social ills, leaving many communities without enough men to be fathers and husbands.
Perhaps the starkest description of the situation is this: More than one out of every six black men who today should be between 25 and 54 years old have disappeared from daily life.
“The numbers are staggering,” said Becky Pettit, a professor of sociology at the University of Texas.
And what is the city with at least 10,000 black residents that has the single largest proportion of missing black men? Ferguson, Mo., where a fatal police shooting last year led to nationwide protests and a Justice Department investigation that found widespread discrimination against black residents. Ferguson has 60 men for every 100 black women in the age group, Stephen Bronars, an economist, has noted.
The gap in North Charleston, site of a police shooting this month, is also considerably more severe than the nationwide average, as is the gap in neighboring Charleston. Nationwide, the largest proportions of missing men generally can be found in the South, although there are also many similar areas across the Midwest and in many big Northeastern cities. The gaps tend to be smallest in the West.
Incarceration and early deaths are the overwhelming drivers of the gap. Of the 1.5 million missing black men from 25 to 54 — which demographers call the prime-age years — higher imprisonment rates account for almost 600,000. Almost 1 in 12 black men in this age group are behind bars, compared with 1 in 60 nonblack men in the age group, 1 in 200 black women and 1 in 500 nonblack women.
Higher mortality is the other main cause. About 900,000 fewer prime-age black men than women live in the United States, according to the census. It’s impossible to know precisely how much of the difference is the result of mortality, but it appears to account for a big part. Homicide, the leading cause of death for young African-American men, plays a large role, and they also die from heart disease, respiratory disease and accidents more often than other demographic groups, including black women.
Several other factors — including military deployment overseas and the gender breakdown of black immigrants — each play only a minor role, census data indicates. The Census Bureau’s undercounting of both African-Americans and men also appears to play a role.
The gender gap does not exist in childhood: There are roughly as many African-American boys as girls. But an imbalance begins to appear among teenagers, continues to widen through the 20s and peaks in the 30s. It persists through adulthood.
The disappearance of these men has far-reaching implications. Their absence disrupts family formation, leading both to lower marriage rates and higher rates of childbirth outside marriage, as research by Kerwin Charles, an economist at the University of Chicago, with Ming-Ching Luoh, has shown.
The black women left behind find that potential partners of the same race are scarce, while men, who face an abundant supply of potential mates, don’t need to compete as hard to find one. As a result, Mr. Charles said, “men seem less likely to commit to romantic relationships, or to work hard to maintain them.”
The imbalance has also forced women to rely on themselves — often alone — to support a household. In those states hit hardest by the high incarceration rates, African-American women have become more likely to work and more likely to pursue their education further than they are elsewhere.
The missing-men phenomenon began growing in the middle decades of the 20th century, and each government census over the past 50 years has recorded at least 120 prime-age black women outside of jail for every 100 black men. But the nature of the gap has changed in recent years.
Since the 1990s, death rates for young black men have dropped more than rates for other groups, notes Robert N. Anderson, the chief of mortality statistics at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Both homicides and H.I.V.-related deaths, which disproportionately afflict black men, have dropped. Yet the prison population has soared since 1980. In many communities, rising numbers of black men spared an early death have been offset by rising numbers behind bars.
It does appear as if the number of missing black men is on the cusp of declining, albeit slowly. Death rates are continuing to fall, while the number of people in prisons — although still vastly higher than in other countries — has also fallen slightly over the last five years.
But the missing-men phenomenon will not disappear anytime soon. There are more missing African-American men nationwide than there are African-American men residing in all of New York City — or more than in Los Angeles, Philadelphia, Detroit, Houston, Washington and Boston, combined.
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