Athens: New Renaissance Magazine Issue VII

NEW

RENAISSANCE

THE BLACK ISSUE:

Hollywood Opens Up For

Keith Stanfield

After The March:

Synead and Ummara Share Insight on Leadership

The Forgotten Race Finds Middle Ground

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Editor In Chief Bria Brown Co-Editor Jamie McCracken Creative Director Joey Shepherd Copy Editors Desiree Akyurek, Christyna Gordon, Meghan Ianiro.

Writers Christopher Alley, Bria Brown, Rosemarie Driscoll, James N. Elliott, Jamie McCracken, Christina Offley, Christina Santi, Ferrari Sheppard , Jan Warren.

Photographers Tiana Anderson, Taylor Castle, Rebecca Handler, Jabari Jacobs, Jimmy O’Donnell, Nicholas Nichols, Margret Seema-Takyar.

Grooming Milian Bonillo, Courtney Cox, Cristina Fabian, Amanda Holley.

Hair Stephany Garcia, Gabe Jenkins.

Illustrators Jared Blue aka King Mallard, Savannah Louise.

Makeup Bianca Brown for Tarte Cosmetics Wardrobe Annisa Davila, Germaine Hill, Yulia Noyabrskaya, Ciara Ward, Jason Williams.

Agencies APM Models New York [Sherica Maynard] Hello Models NYC [Marco] R Agency [Ambrose] RE:DIRECT Model Management [Kate Potter] Assistants Cowboy + Kevin (Ferrari Sheppard Shoot), Natalie Perez (Keith Stanfield), Peter Garritano + Evan Snowder (Synead + Umaara) Special Thanks Bali James, Herby Darius, Joanna August, Johanna Cranitch, Kigan Joseph, Made in NY Media Center, PF Flyers. Media Playground PR

CON TENTS SPRING

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STAPLE STYLE

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inside F E ATUR ES

HO US E A RTICLE S

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KEITH STANFIELD

LFE: Bria Brown speaks

He’s bringing new life into Hollywood.

on internal conflict and The Black Issue.

34 Feminism and Capitalism

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Capitalism makes bad feminists; we know why.

RON DRAPER: Harlem’s

New Renaissance Man An Interview with the optimist and artist.

13 STAND! Hip Hop: revolution propaganda since the ‘70s.

LIFE STYLE S

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82 STAPLE STYLE: Our boys

get the last wear, jackets of the season.

FA S HI ON

BEIGE LIKE ME: A firsthand look at the conflict and contradictions of being Mulatto.

38 IS FEMINISM BLACK AND WHITE: Why feminists race to

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break boundaries.

MASPETH AVE: Kate Potter, Sherica Maynard keep it cozy in intimates, vintage layers.

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THE BLACK EXPERIENCE

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Stop Being Famous writer, activist breaks it down like no one else can. AT THE BARBERSHOP: You can’t fade the new classics.

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AFTER THE MARCH: Umaara and Synead bring so much life.

110 THREE WAYS TO A THREESOME: Booze run with recipe savvy Jan Warren.

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his is the growth. This generation is going through not only a quarter life crisis, but also a revolutionary period.

What I had not realized is that after the ‘70s, we as Blacks, lost a good portion of our revolutionary activists. Millennials did not grow up with these wavemakers in front of their screens- these were our parents’ role models and influencers.

We lost out on a good portion of people who would have contributed greatly to our understanding of self- to our now taken for granted rights as human beings. We are not in any sense losers, however. This is a generation of millennials who are going against the grain, saying “fuck the old institution,” making new waves and I am so proud.

There is a great gain to be had by our people.

We are gaining an understanding of self through appreciating and demanding the acknowledgment of our roots and our biological differences. This demand is not only placed in

the face of the institution, but it is placed before the eyes of our peers. One of the largest reappearing questions I have come across within this issue is “What is Black?” and indirectly “What do we want?”

I’ve been ignoring these demands for many years, primarily because the institution I was raised by told me I didn’t have a right to decide my value for myself. My identity was often compromised by stigma. I am glad that when addressing this issue, I have heard from so many who connect to my story and experienced the same curiosities. They have inspired me to speak up and question more.

The dialogue from the many contributors who wrote, e-mailed and even just spoke on set verified that no matter how different, we share similar desires and positions. That’s where the growth comes from: making race and gender a conversation. It was an honor to sit before these people and hear their stories. I call for the conversations to continue.

Bless.

Bria Brown,Editor-in-Chief

RONALD DRAPER: HARLEM’S NEW RENAISSANCE MAN WRITER: CHRISTINA SANTI PHOTOGRAPHER:NICHOLAS NICHOLS

Keeping an air of confidence and astuteness alive is Ronald Draper, a 20-something year-old, mixedmedium artist, philanthropist, and teacher who self proclaims to be “Harlem to the Death.” Draper shares with us the messaging behind his art, what it means to be a Black creative in a culture where Blackness not only affects your day-to-day, but also may limit how people perceive your work.

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t is a breezy November night when I take the 1 train uptown to Harlem to have a chat with my longtime acquaintance, Draper, in his apartment. The apartment, upon entering someone would think, was really an art studio that was subtlety trying to disguise itself as a home, and not the other way around. It would be any creative’s dream. Other people’s works hang across his Black and white striped walls. Like with most of his commissioned clients, we sit on Black leather as he offers me samples of cheesecake, a mason jar of water, and we begin a very comfortable and inviting conversation. We do not only discuss his artwork but he also asks me about work and how things have been going for me. He tells me about his girlfriend and we laugh at how being an artist has affected their home. There are large pieces of wood lying across the floor, and unfinished pieces of artwork stationed throughout the living room and the spare bedroom in the back of the apartment, as Draper prepares for his latest show that will take place on his birthday. The giver he is, only Draper would throw an art show in place of having a birthday party.

As we sit adjacent one another, Draper runs down ideas about what his students should be doing in class that coming Thursday, as if keeping a mental litany of things to get done. He complains about the amount of emails he has to answer now that this art thing has become his main gig.

Draper embodies the American Dream.

He is a St. John’s graduate who was working in a law firm as a paralegal, until he gave up what most would consider an ideal situation of job security to pursue his dreams as an artist. He tells me, “I’m more busy now than I’ve ever been.” But for the first time in years, this is someone who looks refreshed and contented as I watch them dole through all the work they have to get done.

His happiness with his new career permeates off of his skin and reflects itself in his art.

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The decision to start placing his energy back into art came two years ago and is attached to the loss of his father. Now he is a commissioned artist whose purpose is to inspire through the words of other revolutionaries, from the likes of Gandhi to Muhammad Ali. Draper takes a deep breath and belies the idea that he’s a new artist, “I’ve

always been into art as a kid. I went to the Art and Design High School on 56th Street.

If you really knew me you’d understand that this is what I was doing before college. However, Art school ruins you because you have to learn all the basics and it takes all the fun out of it. It goes from being expressionism to being a formality - you lose your love for it.

NEW ARTIST

That way of expressing myself was gone for 8 years after I graduated high school in 2004.

The tragic loss of my father pushed me back to my old ways. All I knew when that happened was to go to something familiar and for me that was art. I had to feel something familiar to combat the unfamiliar and this is what we have now. I started with little things, small glass mirrors, small pieces of wood and now we have things that won’t fit in some people’s rooms.”

Like so many, Draper is a man with a personal history that he uses to fight the odds against what people would perceive of him because of what he looks like and where he comes from. In an atmosphere where people are arguing about the cultural erasure of Blackness in so many art forms, Draper wants you to know he is so much more than just a Black artist. He wants to let kids from urban neighborhoods know that there are other ways to change your life outside of rap, basketball and fashion. A proponent of social change, he is the organizer, partner, founder and one-fourth of the leadership team of Take Care of Harlem, a program that spends time feeding the hungry in Harlem and doing so much more to uplift the community.

So often in media, Black representation is skewed by stereotype and image even when a person of color defies societal odds to become someone great. Your past sometimes overshadows your present but Draper seems to be the voice that shouts over the perceptions of the negative.

As he says, “Harlem has all these new hot spots but there are still people starving and begging for food on the train. If I’m good, everyone around me should have the opportunity to be good as well.”

Do you think there’s a difference in being a Black creative?

We’re all the same. We all pick from different things in our lives, but from the outside looking in, Hell Yeah! Everyone thinks that Black creatives do Black art. I hate the term Black art and I hate that it’s a genre. There’s no white art, there is Asian art but that’s more for the aesthetic. I don’t like that Black art

MY ART’S PURPOSE IS TO HOUSE THE GOODNESS OF HUMANITY. EVERYTHING I DO IS TO SERVE A BIGGER PURPOSE THAN JUST PRESENTING VISUALS. or any art is put into boxes, [we] should just let art be art. Once you’re across the creative fence it’s all the same.

In that case, does being a Black man not have an affect on your art?

Yes, I can say it has an affect on my art. I’m trying to think if I was white and grew up in the same circumstances, would I be the same? Then again, I don’t think my art is geared toward [just] the Black experience.

It’s affected my art because of my influences, my story; Malcolm X is one of my biggest influences, so obviously, the Black experience has something to do with it. To the naked eye [my Blackness] has an affect on my work, but creatives are all the same and just choosing different ways to express themselves, if you take a deeper look at it.

Do you then make it a conscious effort not to include race directly in your work?

My work is art that comes from a Black man. That’s where the difference lies, people believe Black art is made for Black people. I come from a place where my experiences as a Black man have influenced my art heavily but it’s not only made for Black people. My art comes from the Black experience but it doesn’t only exist within the Black experience. You don’t have to know the Black experience to know what my art feels like.

What is the purpose of your art?

The purpose has always been the same since day one. My art’s purpose is to house the goodness of humanity. Everything I do is

to serve a bigger purpose than just presenting visuals. This is how I feel, this is what humanity can be doing, and this is what motivates me. My art is to make a person feel better, it is to motivate. My art is to wake you up when you don’t feel like getting up for work. My art is to push you through that last set of reps in the gym, to stay up for that last hour studying for your LSAT. My art is to push you to be the best person you can be.

As I was once told, my art is, “A reminder to you to be your greater self.”

Do we see who Draper is in his artwork?

If you look through the timeline of my work you’ll see different phases I’ve been through.

You’ll see me pushing; some work is conventional and true to Draper. In some work it is evident that I went somewhere different, but it’s all-dependent on the story and how a specific story affects me. I’m passionate so I tune into a client’s idea. You see my growth, my experimentation, and the message I want to get across. I tell my client’s stories through my crazy brain. You see a little bit of me because it’s someone else’s story as told by me.

Do you have a favorite piece that you’ve done?

That’s like asking who my favorite child is, even though I don’t have children. If I had to pick, the one I have that was on display during my last show is 4 x 8 feet. I never named it but if I had to describe it, it’s 4 panels, huge with color. That piece was my drop cloth, I ripped it apart when it was time to go and I turned it into something. I see that piece and I see two years of growth, I see two years of work – sweat, blood, and tears. I’ve cut myself and bled on there. That’s the one piece the most of me. It’s funny because that’s the one piece where you couldn’t tell. Everybody was like “Oh My God, You’re going to abstract work!” It’s like, “No.” My work is never abstract it may seem that way to someone but it is very purposeful. Every line is there for a reason.

Does it bother you that people can contrive their own meaning into your inten-

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NEW ARTIST

tional work?

It used to but the quotes make my work non-abstract. If it was abstract I would leave it as is, but the quote brings it. One specific quote I remember is “creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes, art is knowing which one to keep.” That’s my drop cloth. I can see mistakes I’ve made on there, I can see epiphanies I’ve had while working on the drop cloth. I can see things that have gone wrong, mistakes I’ve made and no one can see that. It’s okay, but if you read that quote and you really look at what it is, my art tells you what it is. I feel like it’s hard to misinterpret my artwork because the quotes tell you what it is.

You do a lot of pieces on revolutionaries and celebrities, is there a realm of celebrity you won’t touch? Though your work is someone else’s story through your eyes are there limits and politics to what you do?

Of course! I tell people “no” all the time.

You know how many people have cursed me out because I didn’t want to do something?

I’m shying away from the celebrity thing

because a lot people [are] celebrities because they feel it will affect someone, that people will love their work because [they have] a certain celebrity. My work was never meant to be that. My work exists more so to be their words, that celeb is only on a piece because they have said something. If that person had nothing meaningful to contribute to humanity they would not be there. There have been people trying to do random quotes or the usual, “F**k B****** Get Money,” bullshit.

I’ve turned down a lot of work because people don’t like the quotes and I say, “Well, I’m the wrong person for you sweetheart.”

Or some people question if all my work has to have words on them and yes it does. I have my rules. My work is my work, if you want someone else’s work feel free to go to someone else. People need to understand that if they are coming to me, it is because they trust me to do my job. At this point, it’s obvious that my work has a theme to it.

If people come to me and ask me to do something different than who I am as far as my story and my message, they get told “no” all the time. People feel like since they have the

money that I’m supposed to make what they want. My art was never about the money.

This is what I do for a living, but money is just a byproduct of what I do. I’m not doing this just for the money.

Do you see longevity in your art? Where do you see it going and where do you want it to be?

I can’t speak on that because it’s only been two years. My art has a chance to last long because it makes you feel a certain way. It’s not just a nice decoration hanging on the wall. It will take you back to a point in your life that will allow you to remember how you managed to survive a crucial moment. It will remind you why you even wanted to capture a moment with a piece of art, or it will help to uplift you from those moments when you need the motivation to hold your head high.

You’ll never forget how things make you feel.

My message will always be the same, now it’s just a matter of reaching more people. It’s private houses, commercial spaces, hotels, and bigger restaurants. Much longer, much more impact, just a little crazier.

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Stand!

WRITER: JAMES N. ELLIOTT

O

n August 9, 2014, Michael Brown succumbed to the disease that has been spreading across the nation. So effective is this scourge that it has quickly become a leading cause of death for young, unarmed black Americans. So pervasive that it is sometimes confused for natural causes. Eric Garner lost his battle to the illness, savoring his last breath on July 17, 2014. Amadou Diallo could outrun the virus no more, getting overtaken on February 4, 1999. Rekia Boyd, Aiyanna Jones, and the names continue to go on…

what is the potent killer…

A bullet from an Officer’s handgun or the long arms of the law.

The reveal was probably not as climatic or shocking to those who have followed the news this past year, especially during the summer. However, it is a fact that cannot be overlooked or overstated. There is a war outside and so far it is being waged against the black body, with taxpayers’ money.

This battle has been raging for over four hundred years; flaring up in specific localities at times only to remind us that it is present. Frederick

Douglas fought it; Marcus Garvey resisted it; Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X tried to eradicate it. Huey P. Newton and Bobby Seale, channeling Nat Turner’s spirit, fought against.

What the Black Panther Party for Self-Defense represents has been extensively discussed and felt across every facet of American life. Six young adults created one of the most influential black organizations to ever take root; changed the entire notion of political representation; and unified a people used to being bruised and battered to stand up for them-

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WHEN THE SUBJECT OF INFUSING SOCIALLY RELEVANT TOPICS INTO LYRICS GETS BROACHED, IT IS NORMALLY SHUNNED AS BORING AND ANTIQUATED. WHY SHOULDN’T IT BE? selves. Their Ten-Point Program is still one of the most radical doctrines and has had a lasting impact on the direction of civil rights since its publication. The Panther’s legacy and mystique, however, typically revolves around their uncompromising call to action.

Dressed in all black, adorning barrettes, wielding guns and declaring that they were patrolling the police or protecting their neighborhood, their movement was an awe inspiring sight. Looking at the torn apart world of the inner city ghetto and lack of opportunity available, it didn’t take long for youths to flock the recruitment centers; spreading their gospel of revolution and opening chapters in cities across the country.

They didn’t just have a good sermon, but they were able captured the disenfranchised emotions and imagination.

This magnetism attracted celebrities, athletes, artists, and musicians; bringing together everyday people and some of the biggest names, under the banner of revolutionary change. During the late 60’s and 70’s, there were a number of events that only added to the Panther’s message, which eventually found its way into the music of the times; most notably seen in Sly and the Family Stone—the creators of a number of new American standards.

Active from 1967 to 1975, through a number of up’s and downs, Sly and the Family Stone produced a number of inspirational and funky tracks that skyrocketed the group to stardom. “I Want To Take You Higher,”

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“Sing A Simple Dog”, and “Family Affair” are literally just the tip of the iceberg. Although finding abundant mainstream success and praise, going through this period of profound change couldn’t keep their music focused solely on the good times; they were driven to write about what they saw and felt.

Songs like “Stand!” forced the listener to see beyond themselves at the bigger picture—at the possibility that came from rising up and believing in something. There’s a Riot Goin’ On’s thick melancholy brought the sense of despair that many in the audience had to face, once they turned off the record and walked outside. Performing at Panther rallies and having a well documented relationship with the organization aided both movements’ progression towards their goal of motivating change. Like their ebony clad brethren, Sly and the Family Stone—and a myriad of artists at the time—struck at the emotional and worn out minds of their people or those willing to listen. In the process, they inspired a generation to go forth, crusading against racism and the complacency it engenders.

At this current juncture, when the internet, social media, films, videogames, and music have given us an incredible variety of distractions, grabbing people’s attention has become more difficult than ever. It is estimated that the average user checks their phone 110 times a day, which translates to every six or seven seconds during peak times. With the world only a Google search away, everyone

can watch the news happening across the planet in real time. The question is no longer how do you get people educated about the oppressive structures of their society, but how do you get the typical listener interested in doing something to change them?

The questions might differ, but the answer remains the same: striking an emotional fire within those greatly affected. Police brutality isn’t a secret; if it did elude many, it was out of combination of denial and ignorance.

There is actually a Wikipedia page that lists the cases of Police shootings and brutality by year. If there were one or two cases, it might be easier to dismiss; however, there are more than ten per year…a shocking, albeit predictable, number.

Law enforcement using brutal tactics is a fact of life that many minority communities are always alert for. In fact, in the Panther’s old stomping grounds—Oakland, California—the NAACP found that between 2004 and 2008 there were 45 Police involved shootings, 37 were black; none were white.

Statistics like this can be found in cities, rural and urban, all around the country. There was a growing divide between the Cops and the community they purportedly served, with pressure mounting. However, national attention never seemed to focus on the epidemic for more than a few seconds in a news clip. Until an older gentleman was choked slammed onto the ground for merely selling a few illegal cigarettes; then a few weeks later, a young college bound man was left for dead

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in the middle of street that he and a friend were walking on.

Michael Brown’s murder and the events that transpired in the subsequent weeks, displayed the truth that many minority communities have been complaining about to no avail. The police in Ferguson, Missouri were a small army, equipped with tear gas, armor, Humvees with large caliber assault rifles mounted on top, and enough ammunition to fight a war. For weeks, Americans watched peaceful protestors demonstrate in front of angry battalion of local police officers; typically feeling the wrath of tear gas and having their ears ravaged by Long Range Acoustic Devices. It was a scene out of the documentaries about the 60’s and 70’s, with better equipment. The Polices’ response was as shocking as the action of the demonstrators were inspiring. Someone is standing up.

In the wake of the Michael Brown shooting, J Cole travelled to Ferguson, Missouri.

After suffering harassment from the police for a week straight, the community was still reeling and attempting to understand what exactly happened; how it could happen. Cole surrounded himself with Brown’s friends and family, personally witnessing their world of suffering and despair. He immediately released a brand new song, “Be Free,” which he tweeted out with a simple message: “How we feel.”

Hip hop is the rock & roll of today; therefore its artists have an incredible platform from which to speak. When the subject of infusing socially relevant topics into lyrics gets broached, it is normally shunned as boring and antiquated. Why shouldn’t it be? In this technological and connected world we live in—where I can find out about anything in a second—what could you possibly tell me about society that I don’t already know?

Rappers, singers, and musicians have to find a new approach…or better yet, revisit an old one.

J. Cole’s “Be Free” attempted to engage with the listeners on an emotional level, to stir something up inside of them that were lying dormant for years: sadness and bitterness, a silent admission that things have to

Photo Credit: The Glorious Internet. Photos are not owned by Athens: New Ren

change. It was more than just rattling off statistics and spreading the same tired gospel; it was a subjective view of the objective reality many face on their daily commutes to work.

It was beautifully tragic; it acknowledged the humanity in all of us. This is the new frontier.

A few months later, Kendrick Lamar, easily the biggest young rap star on the planet, released a track simply titled “I.” With an Isley Brothers sample, live horns, and beautiful production work, it is definitely one of Lamar’s most upbeat songs, a fact that has alienated some fans. Although, what has captivated many is the self love message it puts forth. The hook is based around yelling “I Love Myself,” simple and catchy enough.

It has made it cool to value oneself, in a way that “Black is Beautiful” movements would have loved. “I” forces the listener to face their humanity dead on and appreciate the fact

that through all the craziness that surrounds their lives, they’re worth something valuable—more than even a Cop’s bullet.

Rambling off a few bars or singer lyrics stuffed with social commentary will not get people active; if it did, conscious rappers would be the most popular artist and we see how that is going. What must be done now, is tapping into the pathos of the current generation. This will at least for a few seconds, take their gaze away from the computer screen and force deeper thinking. Fans have lauded “Be Free” and “I” respectively, as well as the dozens of artists who are aware of this fact.

These artists, like Sly and The Family Stone before them, have to first awaken a passion inside of the public, before true change can become a reality.

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Keith Stanfield is quite the spirit. He’s got a pair of fresh eyes on Hollywood and a wise mind looking into the truths of the world.

WRITER: BRIA BROWN

PHOTOGRAPHER: JABARI JACOBS

WARDROBE: GERMAINE HILL

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GROOMING: CRISTINA FABIAN

ASSISTANT: NATALIE PEREZ

Shirt - J Lindeberg Tank - Tavik Jacket - Matiere Tie- vintage (stylist own) Pants-Tavik Shoes - Calibrate Belt - Perry Ellis

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FEATURED

K

eith Stanfield is on a journey where everything he does contributes to his self discovery. Through his thus far brief, yet promising acting career he has been seen in films like Selma, Straight Outta Compton and Dope, playing substantive roles that key in on the lives of young Black men in America.

With each person he becomes, Stanfield says he finds a bit more of himself. In his music group, Moors, he does the same experimenting with sound and unlocking of creative inhibitions through experimental Hip Hop. In person Keith is a curious creative being. He flows well even without direction, and in the case of having him on our set, better when we give him some FKA Twigs and freedom to dance around. Stanfield didn’t stop moving and frankly, I couldn’t be mad at it.

Keith Stanfield: That’s necessary. I’m a young dude...I still be feeling like I want to get it crrracking! You can catch me on set just dancing- when appropriate- but you’ve always gotta have that element of fun and being able to do what I feel like doing in the moment. There are other things that I enjoy but one of those things is being able to dance freely.

Do you feel like you’re able to communicate your own messages and ideals through these roles?

Keith: The crazy thing is a lot of the roles I get portray messages to me that I wasn’t even aware of prior to going into it. A lot of the roles open up aspects of myself and reveal to me things that help me grow. What I primarily concern myself with is [asking myself], “Is this character real to me? Is this something that I can see and identify with?” That’s mainly what I try to do- find the real in it, advise it if I would, and show that... and just be able to open myself up to be vulnerable to showing [that]. That’s really less me becoming the role and more of finding the role.

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A lot of the roles you have played seem to be young, Black men in a troubled circumstance- battered in a sense. Have you picked up on that?

Keith: Yea, Seriously- here’s the thing about professional acting: You are chosen to be a part of a role that is bigger than what you are, who you are, [or] anything like that. It’s basically storytelling and you are playing a facet of a story. And because we live in such a racist society and a racial world, race plays a larger significant role when your soul comes in visually...because people identify race with different theories. So to role play a young Black dude, I tend to identify more with playing a young Black dude who has a real story, which may mean that he has a story that is bad, battered [and] negative in one sense, but it also means that he has a story that shows something a little bit different than that. [It shows] something more dimensional... something thats more than just being like “Yo wassup, I’m on the streets homie! Woo, woo, woo, woo.”

While this is a facet one could argue, of a young Black American person, I do think that it’s only significant in a minuscule way.

The scope of Black males, Black females... yellow, blue white… is too large to really fit in one particular theme. There are facets of yourself that you have to identify with the whole character. By large there are characters who are very non-detailed, very linear and two dimensional. I think part of my job as an actor is to bring the other dimensions to that- bring the rest of the life through that [and] in that process, identify with it being a real transition to verses... I don’t want to play a thug who made it out of the hood, went to Harvard, got a bunch of degrees and shit and now he’s happy- where he was miserable when he was in the thug life. I don’t think that’s detailed enough to show the full scope of the story, because making it out of the hood isn’t really what makes you happy.

That’s a personal journey. That’s something that puts you in a better position to live, but not necessarily what will make you happy.

I know some dudes who are gang-banging and they’ve got their head more on their shoulders than some of these Niggas I know who are out here doing it. That’s just part of [the] emotional stability and coming from that place. You just try and find what’s most balanced. I haven’t even been acting long, so I haven’t had an opportunity to see if there are a dynamic set of roles- so I’ve been lucky to be a part of roles that I identify with message wise.

What about expansion beyond these roles?

Where are you looking to go with acting?

Keith: I’m all about expansion. Like I said earlier, it’s a job. I was talking to somebody about this a little while ago. Acting to me is really just self-discovery and the more access I’m given to different things and challenges, it will make you look at it like “okay, maybe this is who I thought I was, but I’m also this, and this, and this, and this.” There are parts of me that gets me awake and that journey is really a fun thing- not just to do with an occupation but just with living. I love traveling and constantly seeing different angles and viewpoints of life. There’s a lot more than just that block, or just a city, or just that country.

I definitely appreciate these challenges to step outside of the box... So that way there will be more availability for roles and people in them to view all humans as fundamentally human. Then you’ll just start seeing Black superheroes in positions other than “The Tolken Nigga,” or “The Thug Nigga,” and I do realize over time that this is overdone. There are people of other demographic backgrounds who are even more pigeonholed in the industry. Like Asian people and Indian people... I’d like to see that change. So whenever there are roles that provide opportunity I’m excited for that.

How well do you think Hollywood communicates with this current political frustration that’s going on?

Keith: Hollywood? [laughs] I think it could

Hoodie Tunic - Dunyah Leather Pants - Dunyah Boots - stylist own

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HERE’S THE THING ABOUT PROFESSIONAL ACTING: YOU ARE CHOSEN TO BE A PART OF A ROLE THAT IS BIGGER THAN WHAT YOU ARE, WHO YOU ARE, [OR] ANYTHING LIKE THAT. IT’S BASICALLY STORYTELLING AND YOU ARE PLAYING A FACET OF A STORY.

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be a lot better. That’s the thing about Hollywood- it’s more business. [The goal is to] Get people in the sense to buy tickets. At the end of the day that seems to be in preoccupation.

It isn’t really necessarily about showcasing art in the sense of touching people - although that is part of the process it isn’t really- it’s not necessarily rooted in truth. It’s to cheer people up for a couple hours out of the day...to go into this alternate world. People can misconstrue it as being something real because it looks and it feels real. I don’t think what Hollywood is really trying to do is show things in a real way yet. But we’re getting closer to it. As time goes on you have no choice but to let the truth show itself. I’m not worried about it. I think at some point we will be able to just show things for what they are and have people have a true discussion of art.

It’s crazy- the discussions that films can lead to.. even the movements. I would say actors carry the effect more than the viewer. What’s it like carrying the weight of these roles afterward?

Keith: I think naturally you’re going to carry a little bit of something because you’re representing something that’s more than you. I don’t really look at it as carrying something really. I look at it as an opportunity to show myself to people, show myself to me. It’s all a learning process. Or it has been thus far. I don’t feel that I need to carry any extra baggage. I think my only responsibility is just to be me or how thats perceived.

What is one of the most important things that you’ve recognized about yourself since you’ve been acting?

Keith: That “I can.” If I want to, I can. I can become something that is completely not me.

I’m not limited by the things that I thought I was. I’m not limited by my mind. I can get into a space where its like all those little judgments and biases that I have towards myselfIts all gone, I can be completely comfortable in the moment.

You just finished DOPE. How was that?

Keith: We finished that. It just went to Sundance [Film Festival] …. Rick [Famuyiwa] is one of the people that I feel like is really still rooted in why he started making films. He really has a great vision to turn something from an honest viewpoint into a multidimensional viewpoint. That’s one of the things that really attracted me to that project, because I just knew that Rick was in it to move the needle forward a little bit better, but also be accessible to those who may not be open to that sort of rapid change...I think Rick did that masterfully with Dope and I was just really glad to be apart of that. I played a Blood in that movie and I grew up around some [gang bangers].. So it’s funny to be able to go into that. And I always, by and large, perceived what they were doing as an act on one level or another, of just bravado. “I’m turnt up, I’m doing this- woo, woo.” By and large that seems to be a show- which it is. We act a lot in life just to survive and to get these certain things and it’s to your benefit of an intelligent to be able know how to do that. So to be able to do that, to act- but act in a movie it’s a double act. It’s a different thing to explain but...that shit was dope.

Was there a strong similarity between the time periods, or have you seen a difference at all with the ‘90s- the pre-millennial and the millennial?

Keith: In some ways it’s gotten a lot faker and in some ways it’s gotten a lot more real.

I was born in ‘91.... growing up and seeing this big shift in intelligence, this big shift in consciousness and the Zeitgeist happening so rapidly, and the information overload.

Now I’ve got little siblings coming up and I’m like, “Damn, how do you deal with all of this information that’s coming at you at a certain point?” It’s been a trip to me to see it grow. It can easily become something that’s full of the dominant illusions because of our susceptibility to illusions and all of the different things that are out there. But it can just as well provide an avenue to tap back into

that, and not forget where we come from... just what it is to be a human. It’s a great opportunity for both and it’s contingent on the directors, people that are putting out movies, people that are a part of movies- to try to incorporate that realism wherever they can.

Whenever I see that happening I’m happy about that. I’m think that Rick is doing thator has been through his whole career- maybe not even consciously but I observe it, and I appreciate it.

Moving into consciousness, I wanted to talk to you a little about Moors. There’s a huge trend in this idea of consciousness and I think one of the first things step on when learning about this is the existence of the Moors. How much do you find yourself putting little keynotes or messages into your lyrics about consciousness?

I think it makes it’s way into the music because I’m constantly thinking about things like that and I dropped my belief in organized religion when I was 12 or something like that. All of my family is hardcore Christian. We grew up like. We were all in the choir, singing.. had the little suits and all of that and when we would pray I would always have one eye open looking at everyone else and kind of thinking, “What is this?” When I dropped that belief in an organized religion I started exploring other things in what I thought could be of interest to this phenomenon of life really is. So I studied wars, studied Berbers, ancient Egyptians, Sumeria all these different things, and of course I came across Eastern thoughts: chakras, things like that, and I started to see a lot of truths and a lot of universal correlation between these schools of thought in my own life. I realized that some of these things are simply just what it is. It’s not a law or strict religion or anything to go by, it’s just simply what it is, and we’ve got little names for it. So I think in my music the reason why we got the name “Moors,” is because of when I first started rapping. I would plug little shit like, “Oh, the moors, whoop whoop whoop, Hotep.” Shit like that.

As I’ve grown more, I incorporate all of that

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ACTING TO ME IS REALLY JUST SELFDISCOVERY AND THE MORE ACCESS I’M GIVEN TO DIFFERENT THINGS AND CHALLENGES, IT WILL MAKE YOU LOOK AT IT LIKE “OKAY, MAYBE THIS IS WHO I THOUGHT I WAS, BUT I’M ALSO THIS, AND THIS, AND THIS, AND THIS stuff that I’ve learned, but now I’ve realized it isn’t about all of the titles and all of that, it’s just about living in the truth. So I think a lot of those truths come through- but it isn’t explicit in the way that I’ve tried to make it before. It’s something that you just find- you find it there and you realize that either way it’s fine. The whole journey- you don’t really get into a certain point it’s just questioning things around you. Let’s look at how we feel and let’s try and translate that. I think that’s what Moors really is about- just translating the times and how we’re feeling.

So what’s next for you and HH? Is it “HH” or is it pronounced “Double H”?

Keith: H-H. I call him “Double H,” sometimes. We’ve got this show in San Francisco coming up with Slow Magic, which is awesome. Slow Magic is this artist which me and HH have been preparing for, for a while. We finally got the opportunity to perform with him on a platform that’s pretty large, so we’ve got that coming up in San Francisco, and then we’ve got SXSW coming up and we’ve got a couple of slots there. Right now we’re working on an LP- So we’re putting together all of the elements for that. Last night I just had this epiphany that was really beneficial to that. It was all about where I want Moors

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to go and what it’s all about and what it means. I’m feeling really good about the LP coming out. So we’re working on that and just really trying to do shows and work on the live aspect..

Whens the LP drop?

Keith: We don’t have a date for it yet, but you know I’m thinking we might just drop it out of nowhere. It would go in line with what we do which is basically just living in the moment. People expect stuff all of the time, but what if it just hits you like “Boom”? For me that would probably make it more exciting if you don’t know when it’s coming. We don’t know. We might have a date, but its just all about how it comes together.

Not to be cheeky, but Beyonce dropped her album randomly and people went crazy.

Keith: Yea, I heard about that too. I dont even really listen to Beyonce, but you know I heard about that.

Where do you want Moors to go?

Keith: I feel like I’m already at where I want Moors to go. I want it to be at a state of transition and learning and growth. I don’t think you’ll ever reach a certain point where you’re like “Yea! Now that’s what it is.” As I grow, as I come into contact with different things, I like to watch and see how the music evolves as well. And [I want] for it to be a place that you can go to when you’re feeling down, and you can identify with some of the songs that we’ve got where you’re just feeling down.

You want to want to light something up, and have a song for that? Or you want to feel good, and you want to talk about somebody you love, or you want to laugh or some shitWe’ve got all different types of music for that.

I just want it to be music. Like what music does for me, I hope Moors can do for other people and just basically be what life is.

If you had your ideal lineup for a show, who would be performing with Moors?

Keith: Oh shit. Man. Wow, I have so many

people I would want. One person I would like- I like Flying Lotus a lot. It’d be cool, if there was somewhere he would be even within the same vicinity of us playing. Also, I like Tupac a lot. There was something that

had to do with him. A lot of people man.

Who was that producer you were mentioning earlier? Lapalux.

Keith: Yea. he’s got this one song. it’s called “Time Patience everything” it’s really cool. It

feels like a - you ever heard those frequencies for when you want to meditate? You’ll play like a frequency to sort of channel into a place of no thought. This track has frequencies in it that are sort of like that. It makes you feel out of your body. Which is great.

I was talking to someone and I was like music is a combination of vibrations and it makes people go insane.

Keith: Why?

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I THINK THAT A LOT OF THOSE TRUTHS COME THROUGH. BUT IT ISN’T EXPLICIT IN THE WAY THAT I’VE TRIED TO MAKE IT BEFORE. IT’S SOMETHING THAT YOU JUST FIND- YOU FIND IT THERE AND YOU REALIZE THAT EITHER WAY IT’S FINE. Not in a bad way- but it deeply affects you.

Music is literally just vibrations, because it’s energy broken down.. Sound broken down into atoms, broken down into energy.

He seemed very honest but still very much introverted. He never made eye contact, very soft spoken..What did you pick up in him when you were acting?

Keith: Right. The whole thing is music. Thats why I have to do music. I’ve been doing it for so long, I couldn’t imagine...It’s just like saying I couldn’t imagine not acting. I love both so much. People ask me all of the time like “which one would you choose?” I’m like “I can’t really choose.” That’s like if i was in love with a girl- Like I love this girl, and then I love my mom. It’s two different kind of loves. It’s a strong love in a way.

Keith: That’s one of the things that I picked up immediately. That idea of being observed and being in the public eye. How this much of an awkward thing it could be. To me it showed a lot about his intelligence and cautiousness, which I’ve got a lot of that too. It was easy to see how that was. I feel that- shit. Snoop is skinny and tall, like me. So it’s like just getting into his body, getting into his frame, I could really feel where he was coming from. He really believed in what he was doing… and even though he was maybe sometimes afraid to do certain things he always just acted on them and did it. That’s what it took really for all of those dudes. That courageousness to go forward. That’s what I had in me. and my journey is similar to Snoops in music. Not being afraid to go out and do different things, and be yourself and see what happens from it. It was a really nice experience.

So if you had to add on one more passion what would it be?

Keith: I think I pretty much do all of the things that I’m passionate about. But honestly, I haven’t seen that much, so I’m sure there will be something else. I like painting so I do that too. I don’t do all of those things well. In fact, some may argue that I don’t do any of them particularly that well. But I just like a lot of different things so I couldn’t put it down to one passion.

Going back to acting, you played Young Snoop.

What time period did we find you at in the film?

Keith: Early ‘90s.

Right I mean, there was a point in time where he was going to be locked up on a million dollar bail for murder…

Did you get to talk to him afterward?

Keith: Unfortunately I did not. He didn’t come to set. I did get to talk to Cube and he told me that he saw some footage and that he was feeling it.

Unfortunately, Keith did not get to meet Snoop while on set. Stanfield said Snoop Lion did see the footage however, and liked what he saw.

Straight Outta Compton is set to hit theatres August 14th, 2015.

Keith: Yea, this is way before that.

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M Beige Like Me

BY CHRISTOPHER " FUCK G IULIANI" ALLEY

“Black cat is bad luck, bad guys wear black Musta been a white guy who started all that (Make the Gas Face!) For those little white lies My expression to the mountainous blue eyes Then form a face, and shake my skull cap Dismiss the myth ­that evil is not black” 3rd Bass, “The Gas Face” 28

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C Serch had balls. Here was this tall, husky, dorky-looking Jew from Brooklyn who, whether you saw it as being overly reverent to black culture or legitimately conscious of his place as a white man in hip-hop, was willing to invoke radical black consciousness talking points on his own group’s singles. No one asked or expected him to do this, but goddammit, he was going to try his hardest to justify rocking a Gumby while practically indicting all white people as evil incarnate.

You forgive Serch for all that corny synchronized dancing because he would go further than all the other white rappers who were just excited to get a pass and use his privilege to touch upon real, substantive issues like our own deeply ingrained racial semiotics–the way our lives are defined in terms of black and white.

You could trace how our ancestors feared the danger of night and welcomed the comfort of day to how, over thousands of years, our languages built upon that elemental contrast to associate the shades with pure and filthy, good and evil, positive and negative, life and death. You know them well: white knight, black sheep; white lie, blackmail. Those associations eventually transcended allegories and folk mythology to become the basis for color-based systems of discrimination and oppression. People were ascribed traits completely removed from their actual character–traits that were overwhelmingly negative for dark-skinned people and inversely positive for light-skinned people. American slavery capitalized off of these distinctions, introducing a new character: the half-caste. Abolitionist writers popularized the archetype of the “tragic mulatto”, mixed-race children of colonialism who were neither white nor black, charmed nor cursed. As such, you were a middle ground: a person whose existence was defined as indefinable. The classic, literary tragedy of being mulatto was to have someone– usually a woman–upended by the unceremonious discovery of their secret blackness. The tragedy later then became the psychological dissonance of an identity in flux, of a person who belonged at once to everything and nothing, languishing between extremes.

I am that in-between. If we define ourselves

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by color, then I’m beige: the racial epitome of a grey area complete with an ambiguitycreating yellow tint. A Midwestern coworker of mine called it “piss-colored”. In my family they call it “clear” or “clear-skinned”. My mother’s side is Caribbean – straight out of Belize City, Belize–and we all vary wildly in color. My great-grandmother, great-aunt, and myself were the lightest people in our immediately family, each occupying some variation of a shade between white and beige that, despite being fairly distinct from each other, was simply just labeled “clear”. I’m not sure if this is a Belizean thing, or just one of those matter-of-fact, unintentionally offensive phrases that families coin to describe each other’s looks, but one’s degree of whiteness was definitely a crucial topic in the Caribbean.

In the spring of 2008, right after my junior year at college, I finally conceded to my family’s cajoling and went to the motherland. Seeing my people and my country for the first time should have been beautiful.

I should have felt oneness and a sense of completion or closure about my identity. Instead, I was depressed by the poverty and put off at how quickly I became the “town white kid” as soon as I stepped off the plane.

I hadn’t been “town white kid” since grade school, back before they gentrified Bed-Stuy, and I was the lightest person on the block.

After that–with my wide nose, green eyes, light skin, and sparse facial hair –I was usually assumed to be Puerto Rican. I got used to having to correct people and catching them off guard with the reveal that, yes, I am a half-black and, yes, my mom is the black one, and, yes, she is “legit” brown. It was a definite improvement over grade school, where kids, with their preternatural gift of zoning in on differences, regularly called me “white boy.”

“White boy.” Actual white kids pretend to know how much that stings, but they don’t.

When a white person is called “white boy” it can be anything from lightly condescending to a term of endearment. But when everyone in your family is black, and that’s your cultural frame of reference, it completely dismisses

I DON’T REMEMBER THE FIRST TIME SOMEONE CALLED ME “WHITE BOY,” BUT I DO REMEMBER THE FIRST TIME I FELT LIKE ONE. your notion of self.

On one of out first days in Belize City, a friend of my Aunt warned me that Belizean nightlife wasn’t “safe for a white boy” like me. I was put off by how matter-of-fact she was in reducing my complexity for her– well-meaning–advice. I was either racially ambiguous or Hispanic wherever I traveled, and suddenly I was transported back to the 90s, when I was just the white boy. Back to when I could never be authentic enough or black enough in a recognizable way. I didn’t outwardly seek to belong to anything or even suggest that I was going to hit up Belize City’s apparently sketchy nightlife scene. But I was thrust out of the circle anyway and reminded that I was different. That I wasn’t blending in.

“White boy, ya nah foolin’ no-body...”

It’s not like I was delusional–I could tell that I was different. My mother liked to throw around the word “biracial.” I don’t remember the first time someone called me “white boy,” but I do remember the first time I felt like one. In either kindergarten or first grade, I played a field slave in a school play. I remember feeling uncomfortable with going shirtless as the role requested because for some reason, my male classmates were all ripped and I still had a little kid belly.

As the play’s director taught us the proper cotton-picking pantomime for our scene, I felt silly. I felt even sillier when the stage curtains opened to reveal nearly a dozen shirtless black boys and one pale, nervous kid in a white tee all picking store-bought balls of cotton together. I remember hearing laughs. I was only about seven and my raceconsciousness had just been switched on in front of an auditorium of parents and peers.

I learned a helpful truth in that moment that I still carry with me: In any bastion of authentic blackness, the mulatto will always play the clown.

The disconnect between how I viewed myself and how the world viewed me never became clearer than in my final years of grade school. Fifth grade marked the day that our substitute teacher - a frequent sub who would skirt the lesson plan to lecture us on black history and politics – decided to use my friend Malcolm and I as a visual aid in explaining discriminatory hiring practices.

The balls on this woman.

She explained that even if Malcolm, a black man, was as equally qualified for a position as I, a milky saltine, the vast majority of the time the position would go to me, because, you know, systemic racism. Now, she wasn’t and isn’t wrong, but to be shaken out of my self-perception in front of my class like that felt cruel. She seemed to understand that enough to apologize for using me as an example. I couldn’t help but think back to that school play.

In sixth grade, my hormones got the better of my judgment and I started acting foolish.

I was raised in a working class, matrilineal Caribbean household, but I tried to affect the mannerisms of the poorer, rougher kids around me. I was loud and crass, peppered “Nigga” throughout my sentences, started fights for no reason, and spent my afternoons bumming money from my best friend’s uncle so I could buy junk food and play arcade games. I don’t know why my idea of authentic blackness was badly emulating the worst behavior of my classmates or the things I had seen on TV. We had, after all, been taught about our history and achievements. I knew of black inventors, astronauts, scientists, writers, and musicians. I knew black Americans as beautiful, hard-working people whose artistry pushed the world forward and gave incontrovertible proof that we were no lesser than anyone else. My school had always strove to emphasize our resiliency and brilliance–to show us that our pinnacle had

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yet been reached. They were comprehensive and as frank with us as possible, and we were richer for it. So why was my version of “acting black,” acting ignorantly?

And why, when I acted ignorantly, did my classmates chide me to “stop acting black?” Clearly, their view of our culture was no different.

Junior high presented me with an alternative. Grade school had been predominantly Afro-Caribbean and AfricanAmerican. Junior high was more diverse, introducing me to Latino people and their culture. Running into all these Puerto Ricans and Dominicans who looked more like me than anyone else did, I suddenly started to feel more comfortable. I didn’t jump ship and pretend to be Latin, but I did feel more at ease with them. I never worried about my background being a topic of discussion, since they had been assuming that I was part of La Raza since a class photographer sweetly referred to me as “little Boricua” in fourth grade. As I moved on to high school, a lot of my friends and crushes were suddenly Latin. Still, I didn’t dare entertain the idea of crossing over. After all, my only knowledge of Latin culture was Lucha Libre, Selena, John Leguizamo, and vague memories of “Born in East LA”. Speaking Spanish was out of the question, too, despite the 7 or 8 years the NY Board of Ed spent trying to ready me for an America that was more Pitbull than Springsteen.

I was now presented with a third choice for my identity–one that better fit preconceptions than saying I was black and cooler than saying I was white. But it still wasn’t me. I was confused. I was a walking Rorschach; whites and Hispanics saw me as a Puerto Rican teen, and blacks just saw me as “some white kid.”

My social studies teacher inadvertently offered some direction in the form of Mos Def ’s Black on Both Sides. He would play select cuts from the album during morning class, and one day I asked to borrow it under the strict condition that I didn’t fuck it up.

I fell in love with the record. The cover art was a beautifully lit head shot of Mos with

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no name or title. It was so bold. The music was incredible. It was heavy with poetry and intellect in a way I wasn’t used to hearing in my mainstream diet. Each track on the album was presented as a well-articulated meditation on a theme, and out of the 17, I chose “Rock ‘N’ Roll” as my anthem. It became my blueprint for a new authentic blackness–something smart, uncompromising, irreverent. Mos had been bold enough to trace the evolution of black music from plantation spirituals and blues to its appropriation by white artists who received all of the riches and acclaim they deserved, and then told those same artists that they weren’t shit.

How could I not love a guy who was willing to not only make a song that both criticized cherished, untouchable rock icons for cultural theft and named the artists they copped their moves from, but also end it with a Bad Brains-esque punk freak-out? I was in my 9th grade art class the first time I heard the tension and energy of that telltale pick scrape and bass intro, and my brain melted. When I was really young, the idea that black people created rock music was incredibly powerful and sexy, but I didn’t have the ammo to really push it as a talking point. I loved all the oft-celebrated genres of black music, but the default association of black music being soul, jazz, funk, rap, and reggae boxed us

into a monolithic identity. Black rock as a concept–and an arguably redundant one–meant freedom of expression. I didn’t have to be some milquetoast, rigid idea of “black.” I could be, do, and like whatever I wanted and my inherent, real existence as a person of African descent would create a new and equally legitimate identity around it.

By 10th grade, I had moved past entry-level rock. Everything I liked was dissonant, fast, heavy, nervy, weird, and ugly. I had befriended a trio of black alternative girls who, at the time, affected a sort of practical goth aesthetic–all t-shirts and jeans, no lace. We didn’t quite have the same tastes in music, but we shared similar interests. Suddenly I had living examples that legitimized my new idea of blackness–girls who were willingly, selfconsciously going against the expectations of how a black girl should act and look. Other girls hated them. They seemed offended at just the very idea of them.

I fucking loved them.

Later that year, we went on a class trip together to Baltimore’s Great Blacks in Wax Museum. I was affecting goth interests due to the company I kept, so I had brought a bookbag full of rock CDs and spent the bus ride poring over “Johnny the Homicidal Maniac,” which, at the time, was a popular indie comic about a reclusive goth who murders people and paints his house with their blood to prevent an ineffable ancient evil from breaking into his dimension.

Hot Topic might as well have sponsored the trip.

The museum itself, ironically, made the comic seem all the more cartoon-ish. The first floor of Baltimore’s Great Blacks in Wax Museum was a pretty standard, though detailed, recounting of American black history. The basement, however, was the closest thing to the London Dungeon that I’ve ever experienced: a musty hall where cases held realistic wax depictions of the horrors of being black in the Americas. It was like Grand Guignol; gore, lynchings, castrations–it was intended to shock. It succeeded. I was taken

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aback by the unflinching frankness of the exhibits, but I understood that people need to be shaken from our comfort zones to reach a perception closer to reality. I also understood the damning, accusatory look a student from another class gave me as I exited the downstairs hall. He and his classmates had just been shaken from their perception after spending an afternoon gawking, horrified, at waxen lynchings and early 1900s propaganda on how Negros are inherently irredeemably criminal heroin fiends. And here I came, the closest thing to a white person around.

That time I wasn’t bothered. I actually thought it was funny. It was a brief awkward moment that was mitigated by the fact that these kids didn’t know me. The mistaken identity and low-level misplaced resentment was completely understandable. I couldn’t brush off the routine awkwardness of my social studies classes so easily. As opposed to the the kids at the museum, my teacher did know me. She knew my background and makeup, yet still frequently decried miscegenation whenever the subject came up during class. She was always so sweet to me, but in the back of my mind I wondered what she thought of my mother for laying with a white man, or what she thought of me. I didn’t let it bother me much. It never hurt, it was just very awkward. We both knew it was the shitty carrot in the room and she would smile at me, and I would smile and give her a pass for being a middle-aged Jamaican woman who’d been through a lot of shit in her life. I understood her resentment, or I at least empathized with it. I figured she legitimately liked me, but was disgusted by the co-mingling of colonizer and colonized.

Her pain and her anger were very real. My politics seemed so shallow in comparison.

Toward the end of high school, I was taking cues from “Bamboozled” and “Chappelle’s Show.” I started affecting a militant persona with friends. I would chant “Kill whitey!” with my friends without a trace of irony. But it was empty posturing. I had authentic, deep-seated resentments about oppression and inequity, but at the same time, I had only actually interacted with one white

person in my age group. I started to wonder, “They couldn’t all be bad, right?” My favorite teacher was white, and we shared a love of punk and hard rock. I had two white teachers in elementary school, two white teachers in high school, and a friend I met through the coven. I didn’t really know what real-life white people thought. All I had to guide me was the media and my own thoughts, and I was still wrestling with whether those thoughts were intrinsically white, black, or some mix of the two. I even started writing “we/they” when I covered black subjects in school. This was my third Afrocentric school, yet my radicalism was hollow. I was more about expressing righteous indignation than actually doing something about the cause.

After all, what did I have to lose? No one

I SPENT MY WHOLE LIFE TRYING TO RECONCILE: WHAT IS “BLACK”? WHAT IS “BLACK ENOUGH” OR “SEEMING BLACK”? had ever mistaken me for black long enough to mistreat me for it. My sole personal experience with racism was getting chewed out by a stranger at eight or so because my mom let me piss on a subway girder. Considering our night out had just begun, she probably had a moment of maternal bargaining and thought it was wiser to let me publicly embarrass her for just a minute rather than draw attention to both of us as she chaperoned my pissy, syrup and vinegar-smelling, OshKosh B’Goshwearing self back home. A thin, bespectacled white man in a suit saw this and decided to anoint himself the grand imperial wizard of subway hygiene, berating my mother and diming us out to the conductor as we boarded the train. He was far more intense and animated than a reasonable New Yorker should have been about it. Our conductor was black, and, despite me visibly fidgeting

with my belt, he accepted our denials. Maybe it was a moment of racial solidarity, or maybe it was just good old fashioned MTA apathy.

Either way, we were relieved. When I asked her how a stranger could be so angry at a mother and her child for something so small, she simply told me that he was a racist. It was the last time I have seen overt racism in my life. I talked a big game, but I was privileged.

And it cut me in two.

I graduated from high school in 2005.

That fall, I started college and I was suddenly completely awash in white kids. It was high tide in paste town, and I didn’t know how to feel. My politics were still transgressively, self-consciously anti-white, but I never felt the need to express them. I slowly realized I had only seen white people as villains and artists, so I decided to embrace the spirit of higher learning and enter my interactions with an open heart and mind.

SUNY Purchase was a predominantly white liberal arts college with a minority population primarily composed of black and Hispanic kids from the city. It’s proximity to the Bronx made it a logical alternative for kids who didn’t want to go matriculate at a nearby CUNY. However, social groups still felt very segregated. The kids who came to Purchase as part of the “Educational Opportunity Program” tended to cluster together socially, while most of the white students had a few token brown friends sprinkled about.

In the absence of a more authentically brown person, I often became, or elected myself, the spokesman for black things. With the group of upstate NY white kids I ran with my first semester, this usually meant scoffing at their taste in rap–always some combination of West Coast backpack rap, gangsta rap, and the Beastie Boys–and having to be apologized to when they used terms around me that were clearly racist but which they had never really thought about before, like when I was told not to “NL” a blunt we were smoking in the woods.

“NL?” I asked. “...Nigga lip,” one of the kids defined cautiously before explaining to me, with a knowing look, why I shouldn’t get upset about it.

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I had a lot of uncomfortable moments that year: being constantly asked about my ethnic mix, hearing white kids say “Nigga,” and hearing one of my friends joke to a girl that he had taught me about my culture by playing me 50 Cent’s The Massacre. Corny shit. But it seemed so innocuous compared to the capital “R” racism I had always learned about, that I just let it slide. Most black kids who run in mixed circles experience a kind of political compromise where people you think are “liberal,” or your friends, or intelligent, open their mouths and punish you for having faith in them. We use awkward smiles, sideways glances, and general avoidance so as to not make them feel uncomfortable or “make a scene.” But god, how I always wanted to make a scene.

The majority of those kids flunked out of school or transferred, and my circle of friends gradually became smaller and more Hispanic. I was still self-consciously pro-black, but mostly on the Internet where I could anoint myself the great debater of music message boards behind the safety of a Pimp C avatar. I argued with white racists on heavy metal forums and black nationalists on rap ones, trying to coax them toward more middle-of-the-road, conciliatory opinions.

It was as lame as it sounds. Luckily, the 2008 presidential campaign gave me something substantive to be indignant about.

I was hype–partially because I was a year too young to vote in 2004 and would finally be breaking my cherry (or chad, rather) but mostly because the star candidate was a mulatto. Yeah, that’s right: Mulatto. I’m planting a beige flag in that motherfucker. One of mine was about to get his hands on the nuclear codes and I couldn’t be more ecstatic.

I couldn’t give a fuck about all the empty political platitudes about “hope” and “change,” and the delusion that this slick-talking politician was somehow less indebted to corporate interests and more radical than all the other slick-talking politicians. What I cared about was that a man of mixed race actually had a solid shot of becoming our first non-snowbunny president. I couldn’t wait to watch the shit hit the fan–to hear the coded racism,

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to see the manufactured controversies, to taste the tears of American conservatives as they try to make an elderly, craven political opportunist seem more appealing than the nation’s first President of Color.

The networks did not disappoint. One of the early conversations about Obama was whether he was actually, you know black black. Despite his grayish-brown tint and second generation Kenyan lineage, this was somehow up for serious discussion because being an articulate nerd from Harvard completely negates genetics. In an awe-inspiring bit of American doublethink, people asked if we were ready for a black president while asking if he was actually that black in the first place. The implications were disgusting, but spoke to the issue I had spent my whole life trying to reconcile: what is “black?”

What is “black enough” or “seeming black?”

Is it cultural? Visual? Political? Is there a real metric? Is it knowing the theme from “Good Times?” Scratching lotto tickets on your grandma’s plastic couch? Is it St. Ides?

Courvoisier? Hennessey? Alize? Spending half your paycheck on a pack of Dutches and some Jordan’s? Being on Judge Mathis? Being loud? Dancing well? Being good at sports?

Being able to rap? Sing gospel? Is it going to an HBCU? Owning some Kente cloth? Is it marching against police brutality? Is it being shot? Is it simply having some racist shit happen to you? Is there, an invisible black Bar Mitzvah that happens when someone calls you “nigger”?

If you were raised on TV, you’d think it was any combination of that: blackness as a confluence of poverty and pain; funny dances and jive-talk; indignation and complaining. There’s a binary of civil-rights-era dignity and rap-era fuckery that everyone is expected to buy into and it frames the discussion of blackness from our birth. From our earliest days we are simultaneously told what our forefathers have achieved and how we’re supposed to present ourselves. At some point, particularly when I was in high school, “keeping it real” mutated to “not acting white,” which was frustrating because people seemed desperate to label anything healthy,

fun, or interesting as “white.” The selfconsciousness about “whiteness” that young black kids go through is understandable when you consider the fact that they come into this world ignorant of their history only to come to learn that they’re products of a rapacious colonial past. This is how authentic blackness becomes so narrowly defined; to exorcise “white” speech and behaviors is to symbolically exorcise whiteness from your blood. When people ask if Obama is “black enough,” they’re essentially saying “niggers aren’t supposed to be articulate or attend the Ivy League.” The insanity of it all was that this was a black cultural issue being pushed by white media and supported by opportunistic black pundits, who ironically had the audacity to invoke historical resentments and distrust about mixed blacks to discredit Obama.

Resentments that linger in the community like a miasma plantation holdovers built around the concept of the haughty, privileged house nigger. Mulattoes get dismissed within

LIFESTYLE

I WONDER IF PEOPLE REALIZE THAT IT’S CONTRADICTORY TO RESENT PEOPLE OF MIXED RACE FOR LIVING A CHARMED EXISTENCE AND IN THE SAME BREATH DEEM THEM “TRAGIC”. the community for being able to “pass” and reap cultural fringe benefits without having to actually put in the same work, you know, for when the revolution comes. Being seen as the white people’s favorites, allegedly granted special treatment and spared the full brutality of slavery and the systems that replaced it, make us inherently inauthentic. Apparently we just want to be able to fence-sit and say “Nigga” a bunch. We could never be trusted to pick a side because the ease in which we integrate undermines our integrity. When we do participate, it’s played for laughs–think Rainbow on “Black-ish.” It’s an affectation, an overcompensation. I wonder if people realize that it’s contradictory to resent people of mixed race for living a charmed existence and in the same breath deem them “tragic.”

There’s a strange notion that material benefits outweigh the peace of an actualized identity. No one would deny that having lighter skin is a major advantage no matter where you go; we’re all still fucked up from colonialism and color is used to establish social and political hierarchies in communities worldwide. But, if being mixed carried the exact same ease of whiteness, then why don’t white people have these conflicts?

With the exception of nationalistic, lineageobsessed European-style racism, you’d be hard-pressed to find a white person agonizing in front of their mirror, wondering, “Am I white enough? Like...authentically white?”

Black people who knew me always liked to glibly remind me that I’m simply black. They meant it as a sort of term of endearment, like they were gifting me a formal induction into the halls of full negritude as a reward for my personal qualities as a human being.

I would’ve found it endearing if it didn’t ring

so hollow, if it didn’t just feel like the flipside of reducing my identity to “white dude.”

After college I was burnt out on politics and estranged from the black mainstream.

Outside of rap, I didn’t see anything that inspired or stirred me. I also wasn’t looking. I became skeptical of race-based explanations.

I remember being angry about the murder of Amadou Diallo. When Oscar Grant was murdered 10 years later, I thought it was horrible, but I didn’t dwell on it. I didn’t participate in any marches; I didn’t spread information about civilian rights and regulating our country’s police. I just moved on. I was becoming as apathetic and apolitical as some of my peers. The difference was that their indifference didn’t impact their sense of self. For me, to not care - to not act - to explain away systemic racism - to blame the victim - to shrug when another human being becomes a statistic - would all be to confirm the political detachment and privilege predicted of me. To not care is to be disconnected from humanity as a very real continuum of energies and experiences, and when you’re the kind of black that doesn’t even count as “light-skinned,” to not be plugged into your identity in some way is a very lonely existence.

So what is my purpose? To use my dualcitizenship to advocate and inform? Blackness is innately viewed as a threat–an ever present menace lurking in the minds of whites and people of color alike. I have never been confused for that threat. No one would ever dismiss my legitimate grievances as the whining of someone shirking responsibility by playing victim. I’ve been in rooms with people whose main interactions with black people and whose narrative on the American other was informed mainly by propaganda.

Despite frequently anointing themselves experts, blacks are strange entities to them– caricatures that they feel obligated and entitled to explain but not truly understand.

As a mulatto, my privilege is that I can move throughout the world without conflict or barrier. It would be wasteful to not use that ability for political subterfuge. By diminishing my own voice–by refusing to be radical–I was alienating myself more than anyone else could.

So I woke up. Sometime between Trayvon Martin and Michael Brown, I woke up. It might have been Eric Garner that did it. I had already been watching gross abuses of police power on “WorldStar” all year–usually misconduct and excessive force. But to watch a human being dog-piled by cops and choked to death despite how illegal and inhuman a choke-hold is, and how audible Garner’s cries were that he couldn’t breathe–to know a family was widowed and that no apology or conviction would come of it–to know that video evidence carries just as little weight as it did 22 years ago when the cops who nearly killed Rodney King were acquitted–it was too much. I don’t define “blackness” strictly in political terms, however, being black makes your existence inexorably political.

So I gradually stopped being disengaged. I opened myself up to actually caring and following through with my outrage. I wanted to get back the connection I felt the year before at Afro-Punk. I grew up being taught that black people were only two things, respectable or ghetto, neither of which I desired. But stepping onto Commodore Barry Field, I felt at home. I felt nourished. I saw thousands of funky, colorful, free-spirited, black kids. I saw the glimmers of freedom promised in the none-more-black aesthetic of my high school coven made real. I saw the intelligent, eclectic, artsy minority from my college become the majority. I saw a diverse, mass gathering of black people negotiating the culmination of years of frustration with the narrow, conservative idea of blackness we had been presented with. It was positively electric.

The world is reticent to admit that we have a worth deeper than entertainment, and that we could be as diverse and expressive as the crowd I saw that day. But we are. We always have been.

Suddenly I didn’t feel so tragic.

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LIFESTYLE

YOU ARE A

FEMINIST

I’m sorry to be the one [to have] to break it to you, but in some way, shape, or form you are [considered] a feminist. Some of you may cringe at the word, understandably because of the tampon hurtling, high-pitched screaming stereotype we have come to recognize and fear. But if your eyes have been open you can see the transformation of feminism in the headlines. Women who say “I can tell you how we can fix the problems in this world,” and wear a suit jacket doing it are the new power houses.

WRITER: CHRISTINA OFFLEY

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I

am sorry to be the one [to have] to break it to you, but in some way, shape, or form you just might be a feminist. Some of you may cringe at the word, understandably, because of the tampon hurtling, high-pitchedscreaming stereotype we have come to recognize and fear. But if your eyes have been open at all, you can see the transformation of feminism in the headlines.

Women who say “I can tell you how to fix the problems in this world,” and wear a suit jacket doing it, are the new power houses.

Watch Emma Watson’s 2014 address at the United Nations on behalf of the #Heforshe campaign and tell me being a feminist can’t be beautiful, sharp and brilliant. Or take a glance in the direction of Malala Yousafzai, the Pakistan Nobel peace prize winner who was shot 3 times in the head for standing up against the Taliban for her right to education. If you’ve never put up with a woman being called a bitch for having an opinion, or have ever denied a request to be the hostess for the evening after someone assumed “she can cook it,” or protected a friend from being scouted by strange men on the street, you just might be a feminist...Congratulations!

Did you suddenly wake up one morning sure that being a feminist meant being unpopular? You would have had to have been sold that idea, wouldn’t you? Like everything in this material world, someone threw an image in your face and we all materialized into trend following drones.

Grab the tin foil hats before the aliens start invading your brain, but if that doesn’t work out for you we have choices to make about ourselves. If you don’t, there will always be someone else who can easily make them for you.

Current global conflict between women and the people showcase how much of a difference there is between feminism as a privilege, and feminism as a human right. While American feminists are making noise about the right to slip a nipple, young girls in Africa are receiving forced genital circumcision. If we somehow get

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SOMETIMES IT CAN FEEL LIKE YOU HAVE TO CHOOSE BETWEEN LIPSTICK AND A PAIR OF FISHNETS OR PRAYING IT UP WITH NUNS. THE SAME CAN BE SAID FOR MEN AND THEIR FOOTBALL PLAYING, SHIT TALKING, WOMANIZING IDEAL OF MASCULINITY DUG UP FROM 1940. past who the perpetrators and the victims are we can see inequality of the sexes in any form is just plain wrong.

Concerning femininity and feminism– you might question whether a feminist is to be feminine or if femininity is the foe. I know, I know. In the 1940’s it was all about that pin curl and now it’s all about that bass. Untouched in this though, is “if thin will always be in, how long does the other half of the population have before they’re out?” Women are all secretly in a circle dog-fighting each other with our whispers to our girlfriend Becky at the club about some girl’s butt. I don’t remember Becky asking for your opinion. How women view other women is the invis-

ible deciding factor of how we define our gender. What is class and how do we live up to it? Don’t forget, sexual freedom is reserved for men because they’re not the ones who can get pregnant. God forbid a woman takes control of her sexuality by making her own choices of what she does with her body instead of enslaving herself, coquettishly bending to the needs of men.

No matter–you’re insecure if ya do, and you’re insecure if ya don’t. If saying “no” makes you a feminist and saying yes makes you easy which would you choose? There’s a million names someone can call you for making either decision, you harlot! If you have ever made any decision, as a woman or about a woman, based on what society

LIFESTYLE

Tricia O. Brooklyn, NY Writer

Tricia O.

Shante D.

deems they should be, you may in fact be a feminist.

Propagandic advertising has a way of telling women that not only do you have the opportunity to change but you have to.

It is the definition of trendy. Sprinkle in some weight loss and a convincing phrase about how to get your man back, and were hooked. There is nothing wrong with being on trend. We have a right to pursue our happiness if we so choose, but no one likes to be told who they are before they have had the chance to decide for themselves.

Sometimes it can feel like you have to choose between lipstick and a pair of fishnets, or praying it up with nuns. The same can be said for men and their football playing, shit talking, womanizing ideal of masculinity dug up from 1940. But it is getting better. Not better as in completely cured, but better as in finally being heard (bras off to the writers of Fox’s Golden Globe winning Television series Glee for making some headway). The hilarity of the gender defining debacle is while women are putting labels on themselves, subsequently they slap them on one another, thus, allowing men to do the same. Instead, as Emma puts it, “Both men and women should feel free to be sensitive. Both men and women should feel free to be strong.”

Feminism could be a cover for our lack

Becky M.

of “balls” to stand alone and request our own demands: equal pay in the workplace, freedom of speech, sexual freedom via ownership. If all women wanted to get their feelings about society heard without offending society, we’d each have to write a Jane Austen novel. As amazing as that would be, it’s pretty unlikely, considering that in 1813 the most exciting thing to happen in town was not dying from disease by 30. Women have become opinionated, efficient creatures who watch and read the news, and who are immensely knowledgeable about the world and its angle, but we are deemed unpleasant for talking about it. If you know something, be quiet about it or else you’ll sound like a–– back to this again––feminist...or, aware?

If you aren’t in on the solution you might have this underlying fear that you could be the problem. And If being part of the solution is being a feminist, is it so uncivilized to be one?

I’ve asked myself, what do men that aren’t gay, transgender or locked up, fight for on their own behalf? Is there an existing word, that is equivalent to feminism, that permeates the male population? It’s probably called equality...

--Christina Andrea Offley

“I’ve developed a nonsense filter that enables me to take overrated hype with a grain of salt or passing glance. A menstrual cycle should last 3-7 days, not whenever they catch Miley Cyrus with her tongue out. People aren’t allowed to write my story. While every action is really a reaction- I have a pre-written role to stick to my guns. “

Shante D. Los Angeles, CA Actress/Director/ Producer

“Feminism is the action of pur-

suing equality for women in all areas of life in which it has been eradicated due to socialization.

I think that we’re all swayed by propaganda, even if its just a bit. I do feel; however, that at this point in my life I am much more aware of what I take in. “

Becky M. Los Angeles, CA Actress

“Things I would describe as be-

ing feminist; [being] intersectional and trans-inclusive in feminism, abandoning internalized misogyny that causes girl-on-girl hate, and staying informed on world events that pertain to feminist views. I consider myself a feminist 100%. It took me a while to get to this point but I’m never going back.”

LIFESTYLE

IS FEMINIS

BLACK & WHIT

NO MATTER HOW QUICKLY YOU GLANCE AT THE BATTLEFIELD

CULTURE, YOU’LL SEE CASUALTIES CAUGHT IN THE CROSSFIRE

RACISTS AND SEXISTS. EXAMPLES INCLUDE THE VIRAL HOLLAB

WHICH FEATURED ONLY CATCALLERS OF COLOR; FACEBOOK C

SANDBERG’S SUGGESTION THAT THE ONLY WAY TO GET AHEA

TO HIRE A NANNY; ASAP ROCKY’S PUBLIC INSISTENCE THAT B SHOULD NOT WEAR RED LIPSTICK. WRITER: ROSE DRISCOLL

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I L L U S T R AT O R : S A V A N N A H L O U I S E

SM

TE?

D OF AMERICAN

E BETWEEN

BACK VIDEO

CEO CHERYL

AD AT WORK IS

BLACK WOMEN

C

ultural Cultural gatekeepers police our society’s minorities. For the famous, that’s the media; for the rest of us, that’s our own peers, Twitter followers, or Tumblr bloggers. They’re waiting to catch you dressed too slutty or too modestly.

They’re ready to mock you for being too much in love with a man, or for declaring yourself gay or bisexual, or even for swearing off dating forever.

Intersectional feminism, a growing

movement within our culture’s mainstream feminism, seeks to target all these cultural gatekeepers, whether they’re picking on women, racial minorities, or the LGTBQ community. The actions of “the other”(anyone who isn’t a white, cishet male) are fair game for media scrutiny at any time. Everything from what you wear to who you spend time with can earn you a label, whether that’s slut, cunt, or thug.

Nassima Ouazz, an Algerian American

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CULTURAL GATEKEEPERS ARE WAITING TO STOP WOMEN OF ALL COLORS AT THE BARRIERS TO SUCCESS, BUT THEY’RE PARTICULARLY VICIOUS AT THE POINTS WHERE RACE AND GENDER INTERSECT. MANY RACIAL DISPARITIES STILL LINGER AND WOMEN OF COLOR, WHETHER THEY’RE BLACK, LATINA, ASIAN, OR ANY OTHER RACIAL MINORITY, student activist, has heard many of these racially and gender-based slurs from family members and other cultural gatekeepers as she was growing up. “The boys could do whatever they wanted, but they put me at the very bottom,” she recalled. “When I fought for my rights, they’d call me thug, wild child, slut, or bitch.”

The cultural perception of Black people as thugs and criminals affects Black women too.

INCITE!, a national organization of women of color against police brutality, also reported that in Chicago, 52 percent of prostitution arrests are made against women of color, while only 16 percent of those arrested are white, showing how police profile women based on race. (2001) Social changes come slowly when our feminism is focused on advancing the interests of educated, middle, (or upper class, mostly white, “WASP”y) women. White feminism is mainstream feminism here in the US, just as white culture is the dominant one, but feminists are increasingly waking up to fight for the rights not only of women, but for members of all oppressed groups.

Yvanna Saint-Fort covers racial issues in her column, “Three Layers Deep,” for the Rutgers Daily Targum.

“I’ve typically identified as Black as opposed to a woman, because people usually pick one identifier to define themselves,” Saint-Fort said. “I still felt apprehensive about identifying as a feminist, because the majority of the movement has traditionally

and in some senses still does relate solely to white women.”

Black women are an important force in making mainstream feminism more intersectional. The growing voices and support from Shonda Rhimes, Laverne Cox, and Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie are making American feminism more concerned with the needs and struggles of diverse groups.

Black women as a whole have more ground to make up than white women do, and white feminists too often fail to educate themselves on the oppressions that face women of color. When the first wave of American feminism hit Seneca Falls in 1848, most Black women were still enslaved, and no one was there to represent their interests or publicize their achievements. Free Black women living in New Orleans in the early 18th century were legally obligated to cover their hair, so that they couldn’t be seen as economic or romantic rivals to the white women.

Hannah Kennedy, an arts student at the University of Connecticut, is working to change the narrow perception of white feminism by making efforts to reach beyond racial lines.

“It frustrates me that a lot of people don’t get that about feminism lately,” Kennedy said. “They see it as women looking out for women. I think it’s important to understand that feminists are looking out for underrepresented members in general based on gender, race, class, and sexuality.”

Kennedy uses an allyship process consisting of everyone from bell hooks to today’s top Tumblrs: Use your privilege to amplify the voices of those who might not otherwise be heard. Don’t talk over people of color --listen to them.

“Right now I am researching Indian feminist artists such as Chitra Ganesh, Mithu Sen, and Tejal Shah,” Kennedy said. “I am writing my thesis on Indian artists who are engaging the issue of sexual violence.”

Saint-Fort is reconciling her issues with the feminist movement and its nomenclature by prioritizing unity without sacrificing her identity as a Black woman.

“Now I call myself a womanist and a feminist. Using the two terms isn’t redundant; rather it paints a complete picture of who I am and how I identify as Black and as a woman,” Saint-Fort said.

Ouazz says that as a forerunner of feminism, she would urge introspection and introduce diversity. “We need to make feminism relevant to those who are unaware of the inequalities,” she said. “Start bringing in diversity, mix people up.”

Cultural gatekeepers are waiting to stop women of all colors at the barriers to success, but they’re particularly vicious at the points where race and gender intersect. Many racial disparities still linger over women of color; whether they’re Black, Latina, Asian, or any other racial minority. They typically earn less, acquire graduate degrees at lower rates and often have less health care coverage than their white counterparts.

As feminism continues to revive in American culture, the movement follows more diverse leaders, from different ethnic and class backgrounds, sexual orientations and gender identities. Feminists need to be ready to collaborate with those they may not have considered before, in order to bring much needed attention to marginalized groups. As always, be ready to defend the less fortunate and fight tirelessly not only for women’s rights, but for the equality of all people.

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FASHION

BARBER SHOP Photographer Tiana Anderson Grooming & Makeup Amanda Holley Hair Calypso the Wilde Wardrobe Yulia Noyabrskaya

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Ambrose Shirt color siete Sweater Color Siete Pants Rose Pistol Shoes Red Wing Blazer Rose Pistol

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Valerie Dress Vinestreets Coat Miita collection Shoes Franco Sarto

Quan Shirt Rose Pistol Jumpsuit Levi's vintage Jacket Tregene Boots ATHENS: NEW Red REN -Wing SPRING 2015

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Marco Shirt b well Pants rose pistol Jacket vintage

THE BLACK EXPERIENCE

F E R R A R I

S H E P P A R D

Writter By James Elliot Photographer Taylor Castle Grooming Artist Milian Bonillo Wardrobe Annisa Davila

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FEATURED

T

he interview began like many before it: there was a slight delay due to technical issues, there was a short exchange of pleasantries, and there was just enough light-hearted banter to smoothly ease into a full-fledged conversation. However, once the topic of Chicago weather was completely exhausted, Ferrari Sheppard and his words moved into deeper realms of understanding, helping to illuminate Blackness itself.

Stop Being Famous’ founder and chief contributor has been in the game for nearly a decade. During his career, Sheppard has interviewed numerous famous artists and thinkers, including Mos Def, Erykah Badu, M.I.A., Saul Williams, and more. He has traveled all around the world and documented his thoughts, most famously his trip to Israel-Palestine that led to his controver-

sial article, “I Traveled To Palestine-Israel and Discovered There Is No PalestinianIsraeli Conflict” which was published on The Huffington Post. It should come as no surprise that Sheppard has a plethora of insightful thoughts and is enthusiastic about sharing them.

Even though he spoke through a phone receiver hundreds of miles away, Sheppard’s passion for justice, the people, and current events made it impossible for anyone within earshot to become fully engrossed in his ideas. Once asked a question, he would briefly pause; then, he would let an exasperated sigh slip; finally, right when you thought you might have touched a sensitive area and should turn back, he would let loose a torrent of words. After a few short minutes, Sheppard--the social critic, painter, writer, and entrepreneur--had transformed the interview into an address, with an eager crowd of one intently listening.

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FEATURED

BLACK IS AN EXPERIENCE If you follow @Stopbeingfamous, you already know about Sheppard’s often aggressive style of address. As the old adage goes, “truth is confrontational,” and his many discussions are a testament to the phrase’s accuracy. He welcomes open and honest conversation on social media and on his site; oftentimes leaving a few egos bruised and preconceived notions torn. All things considered, this makes his voice one of the loudest and most interesting in the current landscape, especially in today’s social climate.

If you happen to have any friends who felt personally betrayed and hurt after the Michael Brown and Eric Garner decisions, chances are you have read at least one of his 140-character indictments of our country.

His words and his rants, no matter how short, have become lightning rods attracting attention far and wide – some being retweeted hundreds of times.

Since national attention has refocused on racial identity and inequality, these topics dominated a lion’s share of the conversation.

Spurred on by a simple question: “What does Black even mean?,” Sheppard started off with a small anecdote about one of his famous friends recanting the “Black” ethnological classification, much to his surprise.

“That’s where we disagree. I would say, yes, he is Black. Black is an experience,” said Sheppard. “There is a way Black people say ‘God Damn’. It’s like ‘Cotdamn!’ It’s deep, it comes from the stomach. ‘Cotdamn!’ That’s unique; I’ve only heard it said in the Black community. It sounds like James Brown.

What is it—I’ve been to South Africa, Ethiopia, Ghana, I have been to many countries— I’ve seen a lot of Black people, but there is something about the Black experience in the United States and Caribbean that the world identifies with. It produced Hip Hop, Jazz, Reggae, Blues, and Rock & Roll. ” Recognizing that his answer might only tell one side of the story, he was quick to expound on it.

“People around the world contributed

to humanity, but not all people are valued equally. People from different ethnic and cultural backgrounds live in the same country, but experience life through parallel realities — Blacks, whites, Latinos, etc. A key portion of the Black experience, particularly, is trying to educate others about what it’s like to be Black; it’s as though we’re prosecutors trying to convince white America, or the world, that the burden of racism lies heavily on the backs of those who are darker, and that racial problems are beyond the control of people of color. It’s not a reality many people want to acknowledge, and that’s where the problem stems from. It’s frustrating, and that frustration is a large part of the Black experience.”

I CAN’T BREATHE “A metaphor would be if you are standing on someone’s neck, in essence you are trapped just like the person who is under your foot. In your mind you may say, ‘I want to let up on this person’s neck. I’m tired of standing. I want to get a drink, but if I let up on his neck, what will he do to me?’ I assume oppressors feel they’ve come too far in their oppression to stop now; it’s been five hundred years.”

This past summer, Americans watched Eric Garner’s life slowly fade away as he begged Daniel Pantaleo and the other officers detaining Garner to stop harassing him and then to stop choking him. His last words, “I can’t breathe,” have become the rallying call for many who find themselves underneath the thumb of an ever-increasingly oppressive society.

“It’s not an innate hatred oppressed people feel, it’s that victimization has brewed into hatred. A reflex has been triggered; when you talk about Nat Turner, he killed his slave master, that was a reflex. When someone punches you, you may strike back. I wouldn’t even say most Black people hate white America. I’d say there is an impenetrable love amongst Black people for whites that stems back to slavery. A type of love that is irrational considering centuries of mistreatment.

Since the Abolitionist Movement, Black people have been open to change or moving on, but it is impossible to move on when the offence is still occurring. That’s something that should be understood by everyone.

Some folks say, ‘Man, just move on.’ People don’t usually tell Holocaust survivors or the children of Holocaust survivors to move on, they tell them to never forget. You can’t move on if it is still happening.”

Often when the topics of race or inequality are broached in America, it immediately becomes divisive, typically with minorities and their allies on one side, and those benefiting from or protecting the system on the other. This can be seen in the “Us vs.

Them” dichotomy that has embedded itself into the speeches of police officers angered by the current wave of protests. Sheppard has come into contact with this phenomena and acknowledges its importance, but sees it as symptomatic of a much larger problem.

“I’m into gun culture, I go to the gunrange, and sometimes I’ll find myself around a bunch of cops around my age. It’s ironic, because they are scared. They’re scared—not of me—but afraid in general, worried about Zombie Apocalypses. They’re like, ‘Yo, you got to be ready for the bad guys.’ I say to myself, ‘why the fuck are they so scared,’ police are preparing for war constantly.

That kind of paranoid, aggressive attitude is the result of police distributing terror and injustice to people of color and expecting retribution. I imagine what goes through some whites’ minds, ‘the Blacks, the Latinos, and the Arabs are going to gang up on us.’ All of this goes back to the metaphor of standing on someone’s neck and being afraid of what they’ll do when they’re let up.”

WE ARE BROKEN GLADIATORS Prior to the Brown decision being released, Ferguson, Missouri was home to a national media frenzy. Major News Channels like CNN, ABC, MSNBC, and Fox News set up camp to watch what residents would do when justice was either served or evaded

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once again. In Staten Island, news camera’s lined Stuyvesant Avenue and Bay Street anticipating a reaction from the locals when Pantaleo was able to walk away a free man.

It was a circus - a mad dash to get the best pictures - to boost ratings.

“The torment of Black people has always been a spectacle. In fact, tell your readers to google “Without Sanctuary.” Without Sanctuary is a website that has a collection of old postcards from the mid to late 19th century and early 20th century, showing Blacks lynched, tarred, feathered, and burnt - some of them castrated. These postcards were circulated among white people as entertainment. If you were white in 19th century Europe, you could look at one of the postcards from America and say, ‘Oh, look at the nigger hanging from the tree.’ It was entertainment then, as it is entertainment now.

It’s compelling to see a Black boy laying in the street for hours bleeding, dying. It’s fascinating to see the Black community’s reaction to state-sanctioned terror because all we do is march and sing, and get beaten down by the police. It’s a sick form of entertainment, but it goes back to ancient Rome, when emperors provided “bread and circuses” to the masses.

We are broken gladiators.”

The news broke that there were rioters and looters, and those who were always leery of the protestors and their movement felt vindicated.

“The Ferguson rebellion wasn’t so much dangerous in a literal sense, as it was in the sense of being dangerous to the construct of white supremacy. Believe it or not, Black people love white people; I say that because feelings of love for ones abuser were ingrained in captured Africans during slavery.

Even when we get angry -- and you’ll see this in Ferguson, we take it out on ourselves.

We go into the respectability politics, we say, ‘Maybe if we pull our pants up, maybe society will respect us. Maybe if we straighten our hair. Maybe if we slim our noses, if we walk differently.’”

“We do all these things and then we go and

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A KEY PORTION OF THE BLACK EXPERIENCE, PARTICULARLY, IS TRYING TO EDUCATE OTHERS ABOUT WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BE BLACK… destroy the property that we have been given to live in—cause it’s not our property, it’s the United States/city property, which was stolen from indigenous people. So we destroy where we live, instead of destroying where those benefiting from our suffering live -- those who benefit from white supremacy, the war on drugs, redlining, and the prison industrial complex.”

BEING FED UP MANIFESTS IN WEIRD WAYS The release of the film “Selma” is spectacularly timely. In a year that has seen people far and wide take to the streets to fight for justice, often under the banner of youth led groups, a movie about the power of the people tired of being taken advantaged of happens to land in theaters. Sheppard has seen this agitation brewing and coming for sometime.

“I’ve talked to a lot of young people, and many of them are fed up. Our generation was pegged as being apathetic by the baby boomers and generation X. In reality we are not apathetic, we are fed up. And sometimes, being fed up manifests in weird ways.”

“Odd Future emerged as a group of Black kids from the suburbs, who were on some punk rock, skater shit. Their sentiments were, ‘Fuck my parents, fuck everything.’ You have to realize, these kids grew up in a post 9/11

world, with color-coded terror alert systems and mass hysteria. If a child is fed a steady diet of fear, violence and hatred, what the fuck do you expect?”

TURNS OUT THIS NEWS WAS FALSE Sheppard’s Black experience interacts with more than just white America- it has international implications. It is subject to the same external and internal factors governing everyone in the new globalized world.

“The Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (ISIS) was allegedly on Twitter calling Black people to join them. It’s ridiculous for many reasons: one being anti-Black racism in the Arab world is rampant; the second being, ISIS cuts people’s heads off. When perceived foreign threats become coupled with domestic struggles, the Black experience adjusts to a new wave of hysteria or falls victim to scapegoat status.”

“It’s interesting to see, because news reports recently surfaced purporting that The New Black Panthers, who have no association with the liberation group of the 1960’s, were trying to buy bombs—the reports turned out to be false, they were trying to buy handguns in Missouri, not bombs. I look at these things, knowing the history of the FBI’s COINTELPRO and its war against Black militarism and the Black Panthers, and I’m concerned that federal agencies are again trying to connect Black groups in United States to global terror. This happened in the past to the Black Liberation Army (BLA), the Panthers, and many other groups. It was the worst thing that could have happened because the truth of the matter is, Black people don’t want to go to war with the government.

Black people want to be left alone, for the most part. The calender says the year is 2015, but the social climate says it’s 1785.”

A TRUE DEMOCRACY IS UNSTABLE “We the people” are three words that signify a number of things to Americans:

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freedom, equality, history, degradation, and imprisonment. A phrase has never held so much promise and hope, but perhaps, it contains some falsities as well.

“I don’t believe in, I guess I have to be very careful when I say this,” Sheppard stops then starts up again, “Democracy and capitalism cannot co-exist. The system that we’re told is a democracy is actually a dictatorial corporatocracy with plutocratic undertones.

In simple terms, a wealthy minority heading banks and corporations, run the government.

A true democracy is unstable. If democracy existed, every 4 years, we would have the majority—poor and the middle class—taking wealth away from the rich. Can you imagine that?”

He begins laughing, “ Rich people would go crazy, ’No, this is my goddamn money,’ but majority rules, we are the people.”

“All these forms of government—whether

“WE THE PEOPLE” ARE THREE WORDS THAT SIGNIFY A NUMBER OF THINGS TO AMERICANS… BUT PERHAPS IT CONTAINS SOME FALSITIES AS WELL. they be socialism, communism, democracy whatever—they look good on paper, they work well on paper as a matter of fact. But, once man touches them, shit changes. Once man touches anything, it is corrupted.”

At this juncture there is a struggle going on So given all of these varying factors, what does the Black experience give those living it? Where does it lead? What does it make of it them?

“That’s the question. Today, many Black people deny their Blackness, like Raven Symone says, ‘I’m not a Black person, I’m a human being, I’m an American.’ That’s great, that is the goal that we would all like to reach; one day we can all just be human beings, but at this juncture there is a struggle going on. We are treated as subhuman.”

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The Black experience is most notable, in the plethora of art it has provided, for changing the world; whether the canvas is mounted on gallery walls, eardrums, or sheets of parchment, Black America’s presence is etched into pop-culture forever.

“You look at a Jewish writer from the 1940’s or even the 50’s, what they are writing about is the Holocaust and the Jewish experience in Germany. It is part of the history and it defined the Ashkenazi Jews as a people.”

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“Our struggle is global, it’s tattooed into who we are, which is why it’s impossible to exclude our identity from our art.”

WELCOME TO A COUNTRY CALLED EARTH Throughout the interview, Sheppard would stop talking for a second and quickly apologize. “This is heavy man, I’m sorry,” he would say. His observation was valid, in less than a

two hour span the conversation moved from Police violence, to slavery’s lingering effects on society, and Middle Eastern politics.

Chicago’s weather lost its significance under the weight of the discourse; small talk and pleasantries were no longer needed, veracity had overtaken the mood.

Thankfully, he had more to offer than candor and wisdom. Sheppard mentioned a brand new company he formed with Yasiin Bey (formerly known as “Mos Def ”) called

“THE BLACK EXPERIENCE IS MOST NOTABLE, IN THE PLETHORA OF ART IT HAS PROVIDED, FOR CHANGING THE WORLD; WHETHER THE CANVAS IS MOUNTED ON GALLERY WALLS, EARDRUMS, OR SHEETS OF PARCHMENT, BLACK AMERICA’S PRESENCE IS ETCHED INTO POP-CULTURE FOREVER.”

“A Country Called Earth.”

“There’s going to be a traveling show incorporated. We want to show our perspective of the world. Fans don’t get to see Young Jeezy, for example, go to a place in Africa and Asia, unless it is for work, but to actually visit those places to interact with the communities, is amazing. ACCE is also a multimedia and design company.”

His website, Stop Being Famous, continues to do well, but the title’s irony level increases

on the daily as Sheppard’s celebrity reluctantly rises. His fearless dialogues about race and politics may be the cause for his current social standing, but he isn’t satisfied just talking about the issues; instead he has chosen to join in the fray and help where he can.

While he was speaking in his Windy City apartment, his mindset was global. Clearly, Sheppard is keenly aware of the problems Black America faces, but he is quick to remind listeners of the issues plaguing peoples

around the world and how these conditions are intimately connected to our politics.

Sheppard isn’t attempting to become a savior, but rather to spread as much awareness to his brothers and sisters around the world as he can. He wants to remind everyone to look deeper and to realize that we are here together - that there is really only one country: A Country Called Earth.

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A STA RT A SHORT STORY BY FERRARI SHEPPARD

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ART

I never was very good at suicide. I’d have a go at it every now and then, but something always seemed to go wrong.

One night, I was in my bedroom with the lights out, high on NyQuil, watching news footage of the World Trade Center accident, and I decided to have another go at it.

My suicide note was short and to the point. It read, “Why not?” At the bottom, I drew a picture of the devil fucking a man up the ass while feeding him a map of the world. I was an artist. A suicide artist. The problem with suicide is that it requires a lot of forethought. You have to think about where you might end up after you’ve killed yourself. I didn’t care.

Every place had rules, and I didn’t like rules. I liked to think for myself. I was a thinker. Shit, I even thought about those I’d leave behind: my mother, the first human to beat me an inch away from my life; my father, the definition of nothingness; my sister, a small, chubby girl with low self-esteem. I thought about my ex-girlfriend and her face turning old and wrinkled with time, and mine, buried beneath the ground, decomposing. I was a sick boy. I tore the suicide letter from the note pad, stuck it up to the television screen and waited to see if the static would hold it up there. It did. I walked to the kitchen, opened the cabinet under the sink, grabbed the bottle of bleach, poured a quarter inch into a dirty wineglass and took a swallow. A big swallow.

According to the statistics, more people kill themselves on Monday than on any other day of the week. I was a Sunday boy. The bleach tasted exactly like I thought it would, like rotten lemon peels covered in shampoo lather. My eyes rolled into the back of my skull. I clutched my stomach, farted, moved from the kitchen to the living room, tripping over furniture and grabbing

walls like a drunk. I made it to the washroom, collapsed and hit my head on the toilet. Death marched in like an army. Hypnotized by rats, objects blurred and swayed through my squinted eyes. I thought of church and all those people in there swaying from side to side, singing the gospel. I thought of summer nights and flowers and women – how their eyes shined in the moonlight. I thought of Ezra Pound, the writer – how he drove himself nuts and died in a mental hospital, hanging from a gas pipe. I didn’t want to go out like that; I wanted a peaceful death.

I thought about people – everyone – waiting, wanting to love one another, but not knowing how. A hippie did an interpretive dance on my eyelashes, and for the first time ever, I saw god for what he was: a comedian. A psychopath. A giver of sugar mixed with dog shit, and the sugar was only there to keep us interested. I was on the floor dying, and memories were all I had – memories and a stomach full of bleach. Ezra Pound was a spoiled baby. No one likes a quitter, not even a sincere one.

I would make it. I rose to my feet, fell again, crawled around, fumbled for the phone and found the number – 911.

I was dying and my voice croaked.

“Hello, 37th precinct,” said the copper.

“I drank bleach.”

“What did you say?”

“I drank bleach,” I said.

“Oh, you have to call poison control. We don’t handle that.”

Dear Ezra, It’s me again.

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Photographer + Creative Director, Margret Seema Takyar Creative Director Jamie McCracken Stylist Jason Williams Hair Stylist Stephany Garcia Make-Up Artist Bianca Brcha Kate Potter, Model Sherica Maynard, Model Bianca Brown for Tarte Cosmetics ATHENS: NEW REN - SPRING 2015

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I WANT TO TAKE A SECOND TO TALK ABOUT OUR MODELS. I want to take a second to talk about our models.

The work that Sherica and Kate put into this shoot alone is enough to prove the importance of imagery like this. These women (not girls) are, like the rest of us, building their brands and their careers one day at a time. On top of that, they are working in a field that requires them to make constant choices about things that most of us get to keep private: their bodies - their insecurities - their sexuality.

We could have probably asked them to recreate any number of different characters on set and we still would have seen their strength as women, just because of the nature of their job. I was glad, though, that Maggie and I asked them to portray strong women. At times, it was especially apparent how difficult it was for Sherica and Kate to draw from a role that is so real to their lives and their jobs.

Looking at these photos now, I see all of their hard work reflected in ours.

Emotions that I never saw on set turned up in Maggie’s images – little moments that truly show the strength and character that Sherica and Kate possess beyond their roles and limitations. I am so grateful to have witnessed a small part of their journey as independent women.

Sherica and Kate wear top lingerie from the winter season and layer it up with special vintage finds from Mary Meyer and Friends in Bushwick.

- Jamie M., Co-Editor

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Kate Bra and Panty, Andree Ciccarelli Jewelry, H&M

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Kate Sweater, H&M High-waist brief, Urban Outfitters Rings, PiecesNY Sherica Longline Bra, BKLYN Noir Mens Briefs, stylist’s own Kimono, Urban Outfitters Jewelry, PiecesNY

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Kate Vintage Kenzo Top, Friends Vintage Jewelry, PiecesNY Sherica Bodysuit, Soka

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Sherica Lace Bra and Stole, Urban Outfitters Scarf and Pant, Friends Vintage Belt, Mary Meyer

Sherica Short, Eddie Ramos Sunglasses, Quay

Photographer Jimmy O'Donnell

Grooming Courtney Cox

Wardrobe Ciara Ward

Only two things last forever with New Yorkers: Winter and fashion. We brought out 6 fire coats for you to heat up the streets with. Bari, Chuk & Jeff held the poses down for us.

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Chuk Le Garcon (Producer) Jacket Alpha Industries Denim button up WeSC Button up I Love Ugly Denims I Love Ugly Kicks PF Flyers ATHENS: NEW REN - SPRING 2015 83

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Jeff Donna (World's Fair) Jacket Alpha Industries Tee WeSC Pleated Pants Thrifted Kicks Converse Shades & Earrings Jeff's Own

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Bari Bass (Phony Ppl) Jacket 10 Deep Crewneck WeSC Button Up I Love Ugly Overalls Diesel Kicks Converse ATHENS: NEW REN - SPRING 2015

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Chuk Jacket Alpha Industries Button up I Love Ugly Pants I Love Ugly Kicks PF Flyers Bag ATHENS: NEW REN - SPRING 2015 91

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Bari Jacket Connor Dana Button up 10 Deep Denims Socks Bari's own Kicks Converse ATHENS: NEW REN - SPRING 2015 93

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Jeff 95 All 10 Deep Kicks Converse

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SYNEAD + BEYOND T

Photographer: Rebecca Handler Makeup Artist: Bianca Brown Hair: Gabe

Anveglosa, And B Her

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UMAARA:

HE MARCH

e Jenkins Clothing Courtesy of: The Hive Showroom & TWNZ Showroom

rion, Heartloom, Love Sadie

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Synead and Umaara are your average young adults.

You know, making art with their friends, dating and garnering over 60K people in NYC to fight for Black lives. If you’re already familiar with who they are, then we need not say more- if you’re not, these ladies are the new bestie power duo we should all be dubbing as “goals.” They’re working on some amazing things come this summer but Athens wanted to hear more about their journeys. What’s beyond the March and who are these girls really?

Editor’s Note: It was such an honor having the chance to sit down with these girls and get them in front of the camera. As a special release honoring our newest website, we will be releasing the interview online as a web exclusive. Thank you for reading.

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Threesome A o T s y a W Three

e f i L h g i H o T e f i r From T

By Jan Warren

First ingredient: Two babes. That is ALWAYS the first ingredient.

TRIFE:

Two babes you met at Orchard Beach last summer

3 40oz bottles of Olde Eng-

lish 800 (I wish they still made the 64oz)

2 15oz cans of Coco Lopez

(trust me, bitches love coconut. All of them.)

Drink 8 ounces from each 40 (you should do this alone, you’re going to need to be a little drunker than the ladies to deal with the rejection) Carefully pour 8oz of Coco Lopez into each 40oz (any that is spilled down the side of the bottle can be seductively licked off the bottle by one or both of the babes in imitation of the dome you will never receive from them) Replace cap, and very gently rock the bottle back and forth, allowing ingredients to combine Remove cap, drink, and hope for the best (which at this point, really, is just that you haven’t been set up for a robbery) We made this very thing in the BX in the late eighties/ early nineties. It, as were many other mixtures of it’s ilk, was called “The Formula”.

Sugar+malt liquor+teenage hormones=babies. Be very careful.

First ingredient: Two babes.

That is ALWAYS the first ingredient.

RAGE:

Two yoga babes you met at Whole Foods (You were feeling a little under the weather and NEEDED a ginger kombucha)

1 bottle (750ml) of Appleton VX

2 33oz containers of coconut water (trust me, bitches love coconut. All of them.)

3 limes cut into six wedges each

1 bucket pour about two ounces of Appleton in a 12oz glass filled with ice (You are a touch nervous around these ladies. Sneak a shot) pour about 4oz of coconut water (trust me, bitches love coconut.

All of them.) on top squeeze a lime wedge into glass and stir to combine ingredients (just like you wish you could combine the three of you in bed, but you’re still nervous. You should sneak another shot) This is a simple, tropical, healthy, and delicious drink. Easy to make, easy to find ingredients, easy to drink too much of. Which with those extra shots, you definitely did, you lame. Now grab that bucket and go hide in a corner and toss cookies. Those bi-curious and bendy yoga babes have each other. They don’t need you.

Image by King

Mallard

First ingredient: Two babes. That is ALWAYS the first ingredient.

HIGH LIFE:

Two dancers from Beyonce’s 711 video (they look really fun, don’t they?) that you met backstage at the Sharon Jones show at the Apollo

1 limousine (you need to impress these girls) 1 VIP room (you know you desperately need to impress these girls) 1 bottle coconut Ciroc (trust me, bitches love coconut. All of them.)

2 bottles Ace of Spades (see above re impressing these girls) 1 stolen credit card (you know you can’t afford VIP room bottles, let alone that limo) 1 criminal lawyer Don your finest attire. Depart from your domicile. Embark in your limousine en route to the pick up the charming figurants. Alight from your chariot at the ballroom, and whisk the young ladies into the VIP. Demand the bottles be brought posthaste, with the finest crystal stemware! The outlook is quite positive. You are receiving the flirtiest of glances, and the conversation is turning towards the prurient and salacious. You suggest departure for some rooms you have secured at the nearest fine hotel. The nymphs, to your surprise and great joy, quickly accede! Oh my! You ask for the bill, and put it on the card, but, alas, it is the gendarmerie that brings you the accounting and some silver bracelets. You are swept up and away from the laughing ladies, and the next thing you know you are in a dank and filthy cell, with two ruffians who might be extras on SOA. One of them blows you a kiss…….