Steve Mellon, Post-Gazette Jamil Brookins, foreground, of Highland Park, holds his grandson, Taqwan Brookins, 2, while sitting at the County Office Building on Ross Street during a rally for the first Black Male Solidarity Day yesterday. In background is Reese Emerson of Point Breeze holding his son, Hassan, 8. The rally called for a halt to community violence.

By Ervin Dyer, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

Longtime community activist Rashad Byrdsong has been to more marches than he remembers.

But standing on Ross Street in the back of a red pick-up truck yesterday, he looked out at something he said he had never seen in Pittsburgh.

	The Post-Gazette's ongoing Invisible Men project explores the challenges facing young black men.

Looking back at Mr. Byrdsong were the faces of at least 400 other black men. Standing in the shadows of the City-County Building, the men had gathered for the first Black Male Solidarity Day.

Mr. Byrdsong, executive director of the Community Empowerment Association in Homewood, was one of the conveners of the day's event, meant to halt community violence, unite black men to bring positive change and use unity as a force for economic and social development.

By marching uphill and away from the City-County Building, organizers hoped to send a strong message that while public policy initiatives are important, the ultimate responsibility for changing the fate of the black community rests on the shoulders of black men.

It began with prayers from a Presbyterian minister and an Islamic leader.

"Let us solidify against the enemy," said the Rev. Eugene Blackwell, of Bethesda Presbyterian in Homewood, calling for the men to unite against the forces that demean the culture and hurt black families.

There were cries of "man up" -- a call for spiritual fortitude and personal responsibility -- a chant quickly becoming the slogan for the movement.

The pleas, though, were like preaching to the choir.

Many of those gathered were men -- and women -- who for years have been dedicated to positive community change.

Listening to the speakers were black preachers, attorneys, elected officials, fraternity men in their Greek-letter T-shirts and fathers hoisting sons on their shoulders. They were Muslims and Christians and young and old. It was Homewood and the Hill District and the North Side.

There were men whose fathers had marched on Washington in 1963 and others who faced beatings as Freedom Riders during the 1960s.

Ruth Smith, a community advocate from East Liberty, arrived early. She stood in the shade on crutches, determined to finish the uphill march and support the cause. Fathers sat cradled with sons on the stone ledges of the county building.

Mr. Byrdsong said a mix of explosive pathologies afflict the black community. It's now going to take a diverse group of individuals working together, he said, to extinguish "the flames of black men killing black men; of self-hate and abuse; of fragmented leadership; of feeding our addictions and not our babies; the flames of calling each other niggers, bitches and ho's."

"You have to pledge to be a fireman," he told the group, "we have to douse the flames today. It's time for all black men to man up."

Police Chief Nate Harper, in his crisp blue-and-white uniform, received applause for his comments, asking the men to work together to remove the plague of drugs and weapons from the neighborhoods. They constitute an "invisible curtain of terrorism," he said, that can block economic development.

The roots of Solidarity Day were planted six months ago when the Community Empowerment Association launched Brother 2 Brother, a fellowship that meets every second Saturday in Homewood and brings youth into connection with caring black men.

It started with 40 men and now there are 100, said Mr. Byrdsong.

"Today is a beginning," he said. "This is not anti-anyone, but a call for self-improvement and chance to see who is willing to support a movement such as this."

From Downtown, the group marched to Freedom Corner, Hill District, for a rally that focused on voter registration, the need to confront negative media, and pushing for equity in construction contracts.

At the top of the Hill, there were balloons and hot dogs and ice cream.

And more than a dozen speakers. They "went on for a long time and it all seemed so preachy and political," said Moses Marks, 23, of East Liberty.

"But I guess it's all right. Today is a vision thing and they were talking about where we're going and how to mobilize," he said.