Asante Sana, New Ancestor Judy Dothard Simmons

My friend and mentor Judy Dothard Simmons died over the weekend. She was a good person who happened to be a great writer. A poet, she was a pioneer of Black news-talk radio (New York’s WLIB-AM) and national magazine journalism (Essence, Ms. ).

I thought I’d share a couple of her (group) emails from last year. They say a lot about her.

—————-

From: “Judy Simmons” <dexta@cableone.net>
To: “Judy Simmons” <dexta@cableone.net>
Subject:
Date: Sat, 12 Aug 2006 09:40:42 -0500

Dear Elisha,

It’s Saturday again. The week has flown by since you stopped here and graciously brought the Noni juice. I’m so glad you did that. It not only restored my basic support to me, but it also warms my heart that you are generous and understanding in your wonderful way.

I have decided not to have a laparoscopy. The second thing Dr. Huh said after introducing himself was that he didn’t want to do surgery on me because I would probably die on the table. Only one person, a doctor in Anniston who had never examined me before, raised the specter of ovarian cancer. That set everything rocketing off like crazy.

Then I arrive at UAB and nobody can see through the calcified fibroid tissue all over the place to discern where the womb is, what shape it’s in, or what kind of tissue the “mass” is. This takes us through cat scan, cat scan with liquid (not the dye, something else for contrast); vaginal echo, and ultimately MRI, which was supposed to give the one true answer for where to insert for a needle biopsy.

No dice.

Meanwhile, when they finally take of a couple of liters of fluid, within thirty minutes I have a fully formed stool, which hadn’t happened for a month.

The fluid that was removed does not seem to be coming back, and my bowel (with colace) is working two or three times a day. I have no pain, and my breathing is not labored. I do not have cancer.

Why go looking for a disease I show little sign of instead of looking at the disease I clearly have—congestive heart failure—which is known to produce fluid and symptoms of the sort I’m displaying? So, since surgery is surgery, laparoscopic or otherwise, and the doctor said in my hearing that maybe he could get in and out in 15 minutes and that wouldn’t be so bad, cutting me (invading the envelope) seems more of a risk than the possible diagnosis is worth.

Bear in mind that any mass, cancerous or not-cancerous, would sooner or later require surgery to remove, and it was made clear to me that no responsible practitioners are going to put me under general anesthetic and do the two- to four-hour (or more) operation to remove mass.

Who’s to say that where he goes in for the laparoscopy is going to be any more productive of non-fibroid tissue than all the other tests that showed him he can’t see what’s there anyway?

He talked about needing to find an anesthesiologist who was willing to take a chance on a heart in the shape mine is in, even for a spinal and sedation.

He said that even if it were cancer and he treated it with chemo first, it would eventually boil down to needing surgery and that isn’t an option.

So, basically, I would be submitting to a life-threatening procedure so the doctors can be certain about something that can only degrade the quality of my life by causing me risk, discomfort, and a healing procedure that, right now, my body is telling me in no uncertain terms that it is not up to. And since this good body has always risen to the occasion, no matter how I’ve jeopardized and neglected it, I’m listening now that it says, “Judy, I just can’t make this one. It’s asking too much.”

My Anniston cardiologist had a full-fledged two-year-old temper tantrum yesterday because I told him I would not get a pacemaker (for the ninth or tenth time; by the way, the UAB teaching hospital flower-of-the-south medical-center cardiology gods said a pacemaker would do me no earthly good, as I suspected). Then my cardiology said he didn’t think I had cancer—which is why I was sent to UAB oncology on the say so of a gynecology who had never examined before he stuck is finger into me in the hospital bed and opined with deep seriousness that I really, really, probably had ovarian cancer.

The cardiology told me yesterday he thought the fluid in my abdomen was consequent to right-side heart failure, but he refused to treat me for that unless I had a laparoscopy (which would never have occurred to him if this other guy hadn’t raised the cancer issue).

So, my cardiologist turned me back over to my primary care physician and refused to give me the benefit of his cardiology expertise on how to manage the excess fluid
collecting in the abdomen from diuretics and heart failure. There are medical manipulations he can do—he told me that—but unless I consent to a tissue diagnosis (which, again, we have no guarantee they will get, all other tests having shown no markers for cancer, he won’t help me any further.

There was more stuff he vented which showed he thinks he has made me live, and that I have had no part in making decisions that resulted in his being able to help me, and preventing him from injuring me.

I grasped his hand in a shake and told him I was grateful to him for his help. Badtemperedly, he shook off my hand and snapped, “Don’t be grateful to me.” I took hold of his hand again, said again that I am grateful to him, and he basically threw me out of his office.

I’m listening to the fine classical jazz collection I’ve amassed over the years, putting my affairs in order, loving my dog and my friends, and generally having a good time for the first time in fifteen or twenty years. I am walking through the valley of the shadow of death and feeling damn good about it. I fear no evil, for I AM always and ever living.

So, for more info, call.

Judy

From: “Judy Simmons” <dexta@cableone.net>
To: “Judy Simmons” <dexta@cableone.net>
Subject:
Date: Mon, 4 Sep 2006 17:53:33 -0500

Sixty-two doesn’t feel the same as thirty-three, and I think folks who say it does are lying. These great Indian seers who don’t breathe earthly air and put on and take off bodies like togas—I guess I’m ain’t one uh them. Also I just figured out that some of the unaccustomed sensations I have been thinking are ill health are signs of a body used for six decades.

I’m sittin’ up here in the house following the U.S. Tennis Open on tv. I listen to these people rattle on—the anchors, pundits, and hosts—and I’m torn between shooting them all with my high-vibration consciousness death ray or plunging back down to the depths where they don’t swim, sharks though they are. The death ray hasn’t worked so far, and being under water has its own drawbacks.

So, here I am, missing my radio show after twenty years, and without any media outlet for my spleen. I really liked being on WLIB AM, NY when it started the news-talk format in the 1980s. Then Philippe Wamba, the chief editor who made Africana.com an engaging web stop, put up with me from 2000-2002. He hired me as staff writer, editor, columnist, and insecure egotist. We both found out I was too old a dog (mid-40s) to do any corporation’s stupid pet tricks. He was kind, and kept me going for two years until he left and died some months later in an automobile accident in an African country. (If it were Europe, I would know it matters which country things happen in, but since it’s the Dark Continent, it’s all the same.)

Okay, so clearly I don’t have enough social life here, so when I want to party or converse, I’m just realizing, I send off one of these mass mailings. I figure the delete key is handy enough, so you shouldn’t get too annoyed, and a few people tell me they like getting what I write. For me, I’m realizing, it’s doing my radio show, which was very extemporaneous. It’s whatever it is that makes me need to be a public communicator (writer, broadcaster, contributor of information and sometimes knowledge).

Why don’t I do a blog? Because I don’t expect people to come to me. I have to be where they can catch my drift, as it were. And besides, this is personal in an immediate way. Feedback comes quickly as people are moved to give some—it’s not required—and I imagine how some of you look while reading this. It keeps me off the streets, and it’s about all the effort I’m up to giving.

And, I’m developing my communications skills. Language keeps changing. Plus, as I enlarge my understanding of how we people operate, I keep an ear out for the rhythm, cadence, and tones of the times. It’s about the gestalt. The way images move nowadays has so much to do with what people see and hear. When I was in psych school back in the day—(I could have said “school a million years ago”) but I think the “back” phrase has a more satisfying crunch; what do you think?)—anyway, when I took psych we talked about gestalt. As I understood it, it meant getting a whole picture that’s more than the separate pixels, stimuli, responses, actions, and so forth put together like a jigsaw puzzle. The individual pieces say “sky,” “grass,” “cloak,” or whatever, but the whole picture calls out emotional, aesthetic, and intellectual responses that are more than cardboard interlocking on a table.

Another question people ask me is why didn’t I stay in media and become an internationally famous personality. Well, seldom is one allowed to do such things on one’s own terms, and refuse to or can’t do them on any other.

So, those are some of my reflections this day. I didn’t rave on about how I can’t stand the most of what’s going on in our culture, given that the sole raison d’etre for much of it is the mindless and soulless pursuit of material wealth. There’s a difference between being the master of money and the servant of it. Guess which most us are.

Love, Judy

May 10 UPDATE: Here’s the official death announcement.

Judy Dothard Simmons

Judy Dothard Simmons, a noted poet, journalist, author and broadcaster, died on Sunday, May 6 in Anniston, Alabama from heart complications.

Since the 1970s, Judy’s thought-provoking writings and broadcasts had won her national acclaim. She had been a senior editor at Essence and Ms. magazines. Also, she had been managing editor for the NAACP’s Crisis magazine, a columnist for Harvard University/Time Warner’s Africana.com, and an editor at Black Enterprise. During the early 1980s Judy had a popular radio talk show on New York’s first Black commercial talk station WLIB and also on Pacifica’s WBAI. Her articles had appeared in The Village Voice, American Legacy Woman, and others. Also, she had been a guest on Donahue.

During the 1990s, Judy returned to Alabama and was a columnist for The Anniston Star. A celebrated poet, she was a Revson Fellow at Columbia University and did graduate work in poetry. Judy was the author of several books of poetry and essays including Decent Intentions, Judith’s Blues, and A Light in the Dark. She was also a contributor to the book Wild Women Don’t Wear No Blues. Her vibrant voice will be sorely missed.

Arrangements are being handled by Ervine Funeral Home in Anniston, Ala.: (256) 237-1717.

Imus Epilogue

 

Was that an actual flash of anger I saw in Gwen Ifill’s eyes last night? Did I hear a momentary change in tone as she delivered her commentary at the end of PBS’ “Washington Week”?

Well, it’s ABOUT. DAMN. TIME, GWEN.

My great peeve about Black MSM pundits is a simple one. When they criticize whites who diss them every day in one form or another, it’s gotta be “objective” criticism. When they criticize Blacks—especially the now-aging Dashiki Class after the latter calls them Uncle Toms and Aunt Jemimas—they actually return fire like honest-to-gosh opinion writers, not worried at all about offending the targets or those they claim to represent. Guess it’s because the former actually represent REAL power, including the power to get their Black asses canned and rushing to Kinko’s to photocopy their HBCU News Writing syllabi. 🙂

Which is what made Ifill’s slight inflection so interesting. The Mask slipped off a little. Instead of doing what she’s made into an art form—showing the White Boys She Can Play Their Game As Well Or Better, etc.—she actually stepped outside of her smiling Washington insider posture and showed her audience that she was not happy. Not with Imus, and not with her enabling colleagues. She even quoted from her New York Times Op-Ed, which defended the honor of her sisters. Wow…….  🙂

Yeah, Gwen, put ’em on notice: There is no Stork Club anymore! LOL!  And just one more thing: Show that tone again sometime, PLEASE???

(JULY 15 ADDENDUM: Man, she’s called even more people out today on “Meet The Press”, including host Russert! I really hope to see more of this Gwen Ifill in the future.)

Meanwhile, on “Inside Washington,” Newsweek‘s Evan Thomas—who I KNOW got at least one email this past week asking not to appear on Imus’ show—just told the truth: he was on there to sell books, so he ignored all of Imus’ antics. He sounded sad—the way white liberals always do when they are (a)shamed and have to acknowledge white privledge of any amount. Since he defended Imus in the email response he sent back, this remorse just makes him, in this instance, just another Powerful White Boy who’s full of……..

Finally, speaking of white boys, Howard Kurtz is supposed to devote the whole hour of tomorrow’s “Reliable Sources” to the I-Mess. A media critic friend pointed out to me that Kurtz ignored the topic last Sunday. So There Ya Go. 🙂

CODA: As usual, “On The Media” is strong. But I’m not surprised; as a regular listener, I know Brooke and Bob never seem to care who they offend. I guess that shows that either they’re deep in The Club that Mike Wallace talked about with Brooke, or they really don’t care about being celebrity authors or television pundits.

Imus, Part XI: Invisible Women? A Black Woman's Response To Don Imus' Most Recent Sexist-Racist Remarks

 

From April Silver, by April Silver.

Invisible Women?

A Black Woman’s Response to Don Imus Most Recent Sexist-Racist Remarks

By April R. Silver

(April 9, 2007)  The recent media frenzy around national radio and talk show host Don Imus’ sexist-racist comments about the women’s basketball team at Rutgers University (New Brunswick) is one more item in the evidence column of how women are regarded by men. With a natural fluidity, Imus casually referred to the Rutgers players as nappy-headed hos.

Two days later (Friday, April 5), he read a statement that was supposed to be an apology. Today, he extended his apology by saying “I’m a good person. I said a bad thing.” 

When I first read the news, “What the hell…?” was all I could muster. Blood rushed. My heart ached and I lamented for Black women. Then I went back to doing what I was doing. It was surreal to not be surprised or outraged by his comments, but I wasn’t. From what I know about Imus, which is not much, he’s a veteran offender of everybody (except White men, I suppose). That men, be they Black or White, see women through idealized or dehumanized lenses, is not new. That Imus, in particular, would make ignorant comments, is status quo. So “shock jocks” are not shocking any longer. 

Perhaps the hardening began as I was growing up in Los Angeles in the 1980’s. LAPD’s death grip of choice for Black people was the choke-hold. That was one of my first understandings that some white people with authority had it in for Black people. And some non-authorative white people too! In 1998, James Byrd of Jasper, Texas was murdered by three racist white men. They hitched him to the back of their truck and dragged him for 3 miles. It’s believed that Byrd was alive for some of the time he was being dragged. A fast forward to recent times would bypass countless other racist murders and hate crimes, but it would bring one up to speed with Michael Richards’ rant about niggas at the Laugh Factory, as well as the NYPD murder of Sean Bell in New York, among other maddening things in this so-called civilized society. 

No doubt my hardening is also cemented by the current all-time high sexist state of affairs of today’s hip hop. Grown Black men, aided by white affluent male financiers, over-saturate our multi-media landscapes with sex, sex, and more mega sex fantasies – which do an excellent job of animalizing women or only presenting them, as Dr. Beverly Guy-Sheftall so eloquently states in Byron Hurt’s groundbreaking documentary “Hip Hop: Beyond Beats and Rhymes,”  as “objects to be fucked.” 

  

But Black sexist men, whether they care to admit it or not, take their cues from White sexist men. They reinforce each other and form unspoken alliances – all at our expense. But oppressed anybodies take their cues from dominating forces. It’s universal, scientific, and is part of the reason why women accommodate injustices from men.

Some Good Men

“If men had to go through what ya’ll go through today, the movement would have been started a long time ago. We couldn’t endure all that you put up with.” A male friend’s comments one afternoon as we discussed a few sacrifices that women make in order to please men. Our rituals around hair, make up, and body, mostly, not exclusively, have their origins in our desire to indulge men. Another friend, who is also regarded as an anti-sexist male, told me that his activist work is largely inspired by a woman in his life who was killed at the hands of an abusive husband. “When I first started challenging men about our sexist behavior, I was very nervous.” He confided. “I never knew what I was going to say, let alone how it was going to be received. But I would conjure up Tara (not the woman’s real name) and she would “talk” to me. She would guide me in taking up her cause. I felt like I was defending her and other abused women. I was glad to do it and I became less and less nervous over time.” I know plenty men who understand that the discussions about gender must involve men. I’m baffled that I know many men wise enough to stand this ground. They are a rare breed and I don’t exactly how they arrived at this place in their lives so securely…there’s nothing in our society that nurtures such thinking.

   

The thinking that gets upheld in this country is the normal Imus, he and his bashing kind—Black and White (Howard Stern, Star, formerly of Hot 97 and Power 105 in New York and others). More often than not, these men get rewarded by default. Their sexist-racist views are not eradicated, but are suspended, as if in mid-air, for the world to behold and publicly criticize…for a time. They have jobs to come back to…somewhere in the entertainment field, no matter how irresponsible and violating the comments. So cozy is the old-boy network, Imus doesn’t have to pause from his job right away…even his suspension is held in suspension. There have been meetings, marches, and mea culpas for a few days now. Imus’ firing has been called for by Jesse Jackson, Rev. Al Sharpton, Brian Monroe, president of the National Association of Black Journalists, and many others. Despite my hardening to these sex-race fests that pop up on the national scene every few months, I am still jolted by a glaring factor. 

The Mule of the World

The exclusion of Black women weighing in on this controversy is thunderous. In the immediate aftermath of the comment, I never got the impression that “the media” was even remotely interested in feedback from the young Black women hit, or from any other Black woman for that matter. The respondent faces of this controversy have been predominately male. In fact, the one woman who was given a national platform this night on CNN’s Paula Zahn was a white woman — an enlightened, well-spoken, and progressive one — but a white woman nonetheless.

The by-passing of Black women is the kind of obnoxious, oppressive exclusion that “the media,” and the white affluent men who own it, have embraced for decades. Black women don’t immediately come to mind in the search for analysts or independent thinkers, even when the subject is them. Black woman organizations are not who Imus sat down with when he offered a so-called apology. He bowed toward men first. Rev. Sharpton is the logical go-to person in a national controversy such as this, for he has consistently stood up for the disenfranchised. It is not logical or acceptable, however, that Imus by-passed the women of the Rutgers basketball team and Black women leaders in making his first, second, and subsequent statements about the matter. Another item in the evidence column that Black women can be the ‘ho, the bitch, or even the reason for the gathering, but we are not to be engaged intelligently. It is not even assumed, by the so-called powers that be, that we can think, speak, or defend ourselves. If we take a stance at all, it must be after the men do their bidding.

Zora Neale Hurston’s Nanny (of Their Eyes Are Watching God) said that the Black woman is the mule of the world. That would be an ascent in some eyes.Amongst Black women, perhaps even we assume that White men just have too much power for our own good. Perhaps we also assume that if our transgressors are Black men, then well…maybe there’s no dignity or progress to be made if we dare challenge them. That’s just too disloyal. I disagree.

There is a time, a place, and the power of reason to stand up for ourselves, even amongst family. Part of my work, ironically, is in the media field (and, up until two months ago, I co-hosted an African American talk show on a prominent national cable TV show). In my work, I have come across narrow-minded decision-makers whose job it is to book commentators in the media. They often whine that in situations like this, they don’t have enough Black women resources to pull from. A lazy person’s out.

There is a solid body of work (be it literary, media, programming, or activist works) by highly intelligent African American women who have been doing anti-sexist work on the ground level for decades: Sister Souljah, Monfia Bandele-Akinwole, Erica Ford, Yvonne Bynoe, Joan Morgan, Farai Chideya, Toni Blackman, Rha Goddess, and countless others across the country – some known, some not. Either way, there is a deep-rooted knowing of injustices that only Black women, regardless of their station in life, can properly articulate.    

To Black Women 

When she reached adulthood, an enslaved African named Isabella Baumfree changed her name and identity to the one we know today: Sojourner Truth.

When Harriet Tubman fully grasped an understanding of the world she lived in, she mapped out her own survival, that for her family, and for her larger community. Both women, and others like them, were keenly aware of their unique skills, talents, and missions in life. They were self-permitted to think, organize, speak, and lead. The weight of racism and sexism was ever present, but not immobilizing. When they weren’t invited to help solve or speak about the problems of the day, they crashed the party. More importantly, they were not only pro-active in standing for their right to be free and live well, but for that of their communities too. Tubman, for example, was one of the first social entrepreneurs in our ancestral line. She owned 27 acres of land in upstate New York that she acquired for the hospital and other properties that she built for her family and her community.

Truth and Tubman are sacred models of woman leadership, a legacy of power that is our ancestral golden inheritance. Though from over a hundred years ago, their examples are eerily relevant today. 

Fast forward: modern models of leadership range from Camille Yarbrough to Sonia Sanchez to Fannie Lou Hamer to Shirley Chisholm to Afeni Shakur and countless others. Our models also include the millions of unrecognized Black women in this country alone who have made a hard decision to combat hate—from within and without. So we need not dig so deeply into our bloodline to be encouraged and empowered, but we need to pull from something…and now! If you are a writer, write on our behalf. Let some of your stories be about helping us heal from this often loveless world. Or heal…with us in mind. Dance with us, sing about us…more. If you are a mother, nurture and discipline the children with our longevity at heart. And if you are without a means to support yourself at this time, or without a loving partner to ease the burdens of the day, keep pushing anyway. Never mind about finding fault, find another way, as my mother says. In every single aspect of our lives, we must be self-permitted to tell the truth about our lives and stories that shape them.

Somebody, quite naturally, is going to be offended in the process. Invariably, someone is going to tell us how wrong we are, but that’s not anyone’s call to make but ours. And I strongly believe that we should partner with Black men, especially, but with anyone else who stands in principle support. But the battle for the respect of Black women, however, is ours to lead.

© 2007, April R. Silver

 

Here’s a simple but powerful reaction in the midst of this Imus whirlwind. Write and call… 

General Manager

WFAN-AM

34-12 36th Street

Astoria, NY 11106

718.706.7690

“Central to the success of the station is legendary morning man Don Imus. The Imus in the Morning program is now syndicated to over 90 stations across the United States with an audience in excess of 10 million. It has become a regular stop on the circuit for Washington insiders, the liberal media elite, best-selling authors and the occasional presidential candidate. In September of 1996, MSNBC, the cable/Internet venture of Microsoft and NBC, began a simulcast of the Imus in the Morning show for their own morning programming.”

 –Excerpt from wfan.com 

CBS Radio (owns WFAN)

1515 Broadway

New York, NY
10036

212.846.3939 

MSNBC TV (airs Imus’ show)

One MSNBC Plaza

Secaucus, N.J. 07094

More importantly, a first step toward enlightenment on issues of sex and race— related to and from the minds and souls of Black women—is reading up on Black women writers:  

Angela Davis

Audre Lorde

bell hooks

Beverly Guy-Sheftall

Joan Morgan

Johnnetta Betsch Cole

Lori S. Robinson

Sister Souljah

Sonia Sanchez 

Imus, Part II: Ifill On Imus: "The Sincerity Feels Forced And Suspect"

From today’s The New York Times. 

Would’ve liked it if she went after her colleagues a little bit, but that’s not her insider’s style.

————

Trash Talk Radio 

By GWEN IFILL
Published: April 10, 2007

Washington

LET’S say a word about the girls. The young women with the musical names. Kia and Epiphanny and Matee and Essence. Katie and Dee Dee and Rashidat and Myia and Brittany and Heather.

The Scarlet Knights of Rutgers University had an improbable season, dropping four of their first seven games, yet ending up in the N.C.A.A. women’s basketball championship game. None of them were seniors. Five were freshmen.

In the end, they were stopped only by Tennessee’s Lady Vols, who clinched their seventh national championship by ending Rutgers’ Cinderella run last week, 59-46. That’s the kind of story we love, right? A bunch of teenagers from Newark, Cincinnati, Brooklyn and, yes, Ogden, Utah, defying expectations. It’s what explodes so many March Madness office pools.

But not, apparently, for the girls. For all their grit, hard work and courage, the Rutgers girls got branded “nappy-headed ho’s” — a shockingly concise sexual and racial insult, tossed out in a volley of male camaraderie by a group of amused, middle-aged white men. The “joke” — as delivered and later recanted — by the radio and television personality Don Imus failed one big test: it was not funny.

The serial apologies of Mr. Imus, who was suspended yesterday by both NBC News and CBS Radio for his remarks, have failed another test. The sincerity seems forced and suspect because he’s done some version of this several times before.

I know, because he apparently did it to me.

I was covering the White House for this newspaper in 1993, when Mr. Imus’s producer began calling to invite me on his radio program. I didn’t return his calls. I had my hands plenty full covering Bill Clinton.

Soon enough, the phone calls stopped. Then quizzical colleagues began asking me why Don Imus seemed to have a problem with me. I had no idea what they were talking about because I never listened to the program.

 

It was not until five years later, when Mr. Imus and I were both working under the NBC News umbrella — his show was being simulcast on MSNBC; I was a Capitol Hill correspondent for the network — that I discovered why people were asking those questions. It took Lars-Erik Nelson, a columnist for The New York Daily News, to finally explain what no one else had wanted to repeat.

“Isn’t The Times wonderful,” Mr. Nelson quoted Mr. Imus as saying on the radio. “It lets the cleaning lady cover the White House.”

I was taken aback but not outraged. I’d certainly been called worse and indeed jumped at the chance to use the old insult to explain to my NBC bosses why I did not want to appear on the Imus show.

I haven’t talked about this much. I’m a big girl. I have a platform. I have a voice. I’ve been working in journalism long enough that there is little danger that a radio D.J.’s juvenile slap will define or scar me. Yesterday, he began telling people he never actually called me a cleaning lady. Whatever. This is not about me.

It is about the Rutgers Scarlet Knights. That game had to be the biggest moment of their lives, and the outcome the biggest disappointment. They are not old enough, or established enough, to have built up the sort of carapace many women I know — black women in particular — develop to guard themselves against casual insult.

Why do my journalistic colleagues appear on Mr. Imus’s program? That’s for them to defend, and others to argue about. I certainly don’t know any black journalists who will. To his credit, Mr. Imus told the Rev. Al Sharpton yesterday he realizes that, this time, he went way too far.

Yes, he did. Every time a young black girl shyly approaches me for an autograph or writes or calls or stops me on the street to ask how she can become a journalist, I feel an enormous responsibility. It’s more than simply being a role model. I know I have to be a voice for them as well.

So here’s what this voice has to say for people who cannot grasp the notion of picking on people their own size: This country will only flourish once we consistently learn to applaud and encourage the young people who have to work harder just to achieve balance on the unequal playing field.

Let’s see if we can manage to build them up and reward them, rather than opting for the cheapest, easiest, most despicable shots.

Gwen Ifill is a senior correspondent for “The NewsHour With Jim Lehrer” and the moderator of “Washington Week.”

Who's New? (The Latest "Doctor Who" Companion)

Freema Agyeman

If you’re in the U.K., you’ll be watching the new season that starts Saturday. A little history of sorts will be made.

Here are some trailers. And here’s some video interviews.

Added on April 2: Saw the season premiere online today. She was GREAT. Here’s a clip. Enjoy it while it lasts on “you”-know-where.  🙂