I did not attend the historic event on October 16, 1995. What did I end up doing instead? Read on.

A Solitary Man’s March

Rather than atone in the spotlight a year ago today, one black professional chose to mentor his teen nephew

By Kevin Ross
LA Daily News | Wed Oct 16, 1996

Commemorating the one-year anniversary of the historic Million Man March has proved bittersweet.

I was among the black men who chose not to get on the bus to atone for mistreatment of my fellow brothers and black women. Rather than answer the call to come to terms with my failure to put God first and deal with the issues of family abandonment, I simply made other plans. By day’s end, while I found myself wishing I had gone, I was glad that I hadn’t.

Oct. 16, 1995, proved an interesting day. It started with my appearance on a local morning news show. Because I had written an article about why I wasn’t going to the march, several news and radio stations contacted me requesting an interview. I sensed they felt I was an acceptable candidate to dis the former NAACP President Benjamin Chavis and Nation of Islam leader Louis Farrakhan. To their disappointment, I didn’t.

Instead, I reasserted my position that there are millions of black men, like me, who were not compelled to go because they do love their brothers, respect black women, support their families and worship God.

After exhausting the media circuit, I went to work, accompanied by my 17-year-old nephew, Travon, a relative by marriage in search of a father figure. Travon and I had not previously spent that much time together. He had communicated to me, however, that none of his peers were going to school that day. And not because they planned to do research about themselves as descendants of Africa or watch on television the activities stemming from the march. For many, the day simply provided an excuse not to learn.

I decided that if I wasn’t going to be in Washington, my nephew and I would be in solidarity here in Los Angeles.

Once we dispensed pleasantries with colleagues and staff, Travon and I went to court. There, a black boy was standing trial for plugging six bullets into a Latino man. Nicknamed Pee Wee, the kid was so small his legs couldn’t even reach the floor.

Everyone knew he was a terror, but all the villagers were afraid of him. Fascinated with throwing rocks and breaking neighbor’s windows, Pee Wee finally stumbled upon a worthy opponent. Exasperated over the child’s nonstop harassment, the victim picked up a brick and connected it with the side of the boy’s head. Dismayed, Pee Wee and his buddies vowed to even the score. Now here he was before a judge, sitting next to a public defender arguing why a 14-year-old murderer should not be tried as an adult.

By noon, Travon and I were both starving. In keeping with the theme of the day, we went to a black-owned restaurant. While waiting for our order, we talked about Pee Wee and whether his case was simply another example of “the white man” keeping black people down. Travon wasn’t buying it. He understood that Pee Wee made some bad choices and he would now have to pay the price. He also understood that he would be facing challenges in his own life, that in 1995, being a black man in this country still wasn’t easy.

I shared with him how police officers oftentimes would assume that I was the law clerk and the white person sitting next to me was the prosecutor. How only 20 years ago, few blacks were even allowed to have the position. I told him that with graduation only months away, it was now up to him to decide if he was really serious about college and accomplishing his goals.

As I listened to Travon, it became clearer to me that my reason for not attending the Million Man March was actually a difference in philosophy. Instead of descending on our nation’s capital to, as one person put it, “reconcile with our Creator and unite for the betterment of all African Americans”, I wanted more. I didn’t want to travel across country just to say, “I’m sorry”. I wanted black men to be raised up like little Kunta Kinte in “Roots”.

I wanted to experience the feeling I had when I graduated with over 200 brothers from Morehouse, the only predominantly black, all-male college in the country. I wanted to know that one million black men would be added to the voter registration rolls and Big Brother, that inner cities would have an explosion of black entrepreneurs creating jobs. I sought assurance that boys in Pee Wee’s predicament would, from this moment on, be a thing of the past.

As the day came to an end and I took Travon home, we listened to various radio stations do their spin on what effect, if any, this event would have on black men in America in years to come. Would these brothers march back to their communities and assume their rightful place? Or was all the hype simply manufactured to scare whites and legitimize Farrakhan’s undeniable appeal?

One year later, I can only speak for myself. As I look forward to seeing my nephew this weekend (now in his first year at a local community college and beating the pavement for a job) October 16 has a special place in my heart. You see that was the day I bonded with a young black man who needed me. And that, I would not trade for a million.

Kevin Ross is a writer, radio talk show host and prosecutor with the Los Angeles County District Attorney’s Office. 

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Update – Twenty years later, Travon is now 37-years-old, works and resides in Louisiana, and has recently wed. He and his new bride are doing just fine. As for me, I now have two sons (17 and 14) that are the main focus of my mentoring activities.