Few things mean as much to me as a trip to a National Urban League (NUL) Conference. But what is about the NUL that attracts some and detracts others? It may not be what you’re thinking. Read on, and you might find out that you may be missing out on one of the best experiences of your life.
I officially joined the National Urban League’s Philly chapter as a 22-year-old goof. Not even fresh out of college, I was riper than a green plantain; sharper than onion but passionate enough to garner respect. I was a part-time temporary call center rep; hardly a professional. But even then, I felt enough courage to jump into the deep waters of the beautifully black; to somehow carry the cross work of men like Marcus Garvey and Vernon Jordan. I also recall splashing into that water like a fat man in a shallow pool.
There were growing pains that left marks I may never erase. But somehow, I developed into something. Four years later, I own a house and sit in an office with glass doors. I’ve been promoted three times. I have a business card. I’ve upgraded like one of those cable packages. Thanks to the Urban League and its indomitable influence, I can think of myself as a professional man.
Not everyone wants to take this dive. I’ve solicited countless contacts that silently shutter by the prestigious brand and superior reputation. “I’ve got to get myself together first!” That’s always the statement. You’ve got to get promoted first, change jobs, purchase a fancy suit, drive a BMW, get your Master’s Degree, buy a house, own four businesses, meet the President, climb the corporate ladder and purchase a lifetime supply of Duke Hair Relaxer.
Sometimes, you get it done. Most times you don’t. I believe this is why so many successful black people sometimes end up avoiding The League altogether. But it’s also a powerful statement. How many organizations actually make black people want to get themselves together before they even step through the door? The message, the brand, the representation, they all consciously communicate. NUL demands excellence. I just wish more people heard their other message. You are welcome to reach your full potential, even if you haven’t made it yet. I wished more of us listened to DuBois.
Now is the accepted time, not tomorrow…
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I came alone, but I would leave accomplished. My impulse in attending the Centennial Conference for the National Urban League in Washington D.C. was not coincidence, but a cacophony of the urban black experience. I knew I needed to go.
For all the sensational statistics that predict our demise; for all the stories of shooting and looting you’d wonder how we manage to maintain our empowered mentality. Sometimes, we need to recharge our inner Blackberry. The Urban League always offers the perfect outlet.
What subliminally attracts us to The Urban League is their desire to give us what we really want. There is nowhere better than the Conference (or what I like to call the W.E.B. Dubois Bowl) to see them in action. They won’t tell you, but they find particular joy in shattering the stereotype. No broken language, ignorant rap lyrics and fried chicken. You’re more likely to find corporate workshops, Maya Angelou and Common. Trust me; this is much to everyone’s delight.
I soaked up my one-day visit with happy black experiences with my Bounty towel memory. I remember the sea of African-Americans in their finest suits and dresses to see a live President Barack Obama. I could literally inhale the scent of Shea butter, perfume and freshly hot combed hair on sexy sisters with perfect make-up. I couldn’t grasp all the shades of educated brown women in one place.
When I made finally made it to my seat, I found myself engaging in a conversation with two brothers pondering the process of professionalism after college. I found myself twittering like I wanted a Shorty Award. I found myself buzzing, pleased with myself and my surroundings.
Obama came out, and everyone roared with approval. His jokes got “Chris-Rock-on-an-HBO Special-type” laughter. Even Obama knew he could relax. He was an overachiever in a room full of overachievers. We get him, which is why he’s got us.
I floated through my Thursday finding my old friends from past conferences and making new ones. I explored the possibilities of our race through workshops and plenary sessions saturated with celebrity and power. From Al Sharpton to Marc Morial, Judy Malveaux to Michael Nutter, Fantasia to Tom Joyner, John Legend to Soledad O’Brien, there were endless arrays of spectacular success walking around.
You meet with friends and make friends that make it seem like you’ve been friends forever. (Read that again) The conversation is everything you hope it could be. Google stocks, Shirley Sherrod, education reform and political corruption. Economic predictions and slave mentalities. Hot women in short skirts. (I can’t leave that out.)
Company stocks and community service. Smart phones and international investing. Luxurious travel and war stories of success. For once, you don’t have to pretend to be interested in BET shows and basketball.
By evening, candle lit tables moderate great discussion in the finest hotels you can think of. You can sit back in your pinstripe dress pants and rant your reviews of the world with men of like mindset. You can flirt with the finest quality sisters. (Not me, I am engaged. For my own safety, I should say that.) You can network with the selected.
Throughout my experience I learned that we are all born in the same bowl of black cereal. Our decisions determine whether or not we succeed or suffer. There is a thin, crackling line between upwardly middle class and being buried under the poverty line. So much of our end result lies upon the decisions we make and the knowledge we collect. For once, within the safe confines of a convention center and a luxury hotel, we discuss and celebrate our current and our currency. The National Urban League remains the floating vehicle driving us across the waters of the unknown. I love this organization, and that’s what I know within myself.
I came by myself, I always leave fulfilled. I am empowered.
Thanks to my Facebook friends Daniella Johnson, Brandi Richards and Will Platt for supplying some photos.
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