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Volume 45 • Issue 3
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Established 1970
October 2012
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Save the Black Film, or Else! The Fantastical Life of Confusion Proper Black Image:
Memoir of a Color Struck White Female
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The Vindicator
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October 2012 Tableof Content
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Shirley Graham DuBios: Citizen of the World Staff for Fall 2012/ Spring 2013
The Vindicator The Vindicator is Cleveland State University's monthly, student-run multicultural magazine. Celebrating 40 years of seeking social justice on campus, in the community and on the Earth.
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MISSION STATEMENT: Our aim is to elevate the level of social justice on campus, in the community, and in the world. We are seeking creative voices under-served by mainstream media.
Editor-in-Chief: Unity Powell Managing/Associate Editor: Jillian Holt Content Editor: Christina Sanders Copy Editor: Kim Cymbal Column Editor: Shanette Buford-Brazzel Art Director: Unity Powell Layout Designer: Steve Thomas Business Manager: Ann Werner Faculty Adviser: Adrienne Gosselin Media Specialist: Dan Lenhart
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Editor's Note A group of black student began The Vindicator over 40 years ago as a response to the injustice perceived on campus. They wanted a place for their voices to be heard. Over the decades, The Vindicator has evolved into a beautiful award winning arts and culture magazine containing the voices of many people who want to share their stories.
will force thoughts and action. I hope to provide art that will satisfy wonder and imagination and I’d like to give you fun, well, just for the hell of it.
The plan is to continue our social media presence and expand to a blog and possible website. I cant do this alone and I hope that you, yes you reading this, right now, will be an instrumental in moving this magazine onward. I As the new editor and Chief I want to preserve the am excited to be the new Editor-in-Chief of the Vindicamagazine’s history while also contributing to it’s evolu- tor and I hope that I invoke some feeling in you and you tion. I want to create and continue conversation that let me know about it.
Peace,
Unity Powell,
Editor-In-Chief
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Students Engaging in Politics:
African Americans Emerging as Future Democratic Leaders
The
newly chartered Northeast Ohio Chapter of The Ohio Young Black Democrats has gained major strides since its inception in December 2011. Cleveland State University MPA candidate, Michael J. Houser, serves as President of the chapter with Alicia Graves serving as Vice President of Organizational and Political Affairs, Vice President of Community Outreach and Engagement Billy Sharp, treasurer Stephanie Howse and Secretary Jaunita Brent. The purpose of NEOOYBD is to advance progressive ideals in the Northeast Ohio political community. The goal of the chapter is to recruit, train, and empower a new generation of young leaders. The organization introduces,
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develops and encourages active interest in governmental affairs and the electoral process among the African American community throughout Northeast Ohio. By supporting the progressive philosophies, principles and goals of its members, the group is developing leadership skills that will prove vital in a lifetime career in politics. With these goals in mind the chapter has been very active in the community participating in many projects including a phone bank with Senator Nina Turner, registering people to vote and co-sponsoring the 12th annual Ward 6 Back to School Celebration as well as a host of other events. The organization prides itself with being very active in the re-election of President
“Many young African Americans don’t vote and don’t care about the issues. If you don’t vote….you don’t matter.” —Michael J. Houser,
President of Northeast Ohio Chapter of The Ohio Young Black Democrats
Barack Obama by doing everything from making phone calls to going door to door for the campaign. According to President Michael J. Houser, “Many young Afri-
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1
2
3
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5 (1) NEOYBD Voter Registration Drive (2) NEOYBD Members, Auriona Johnson, GiGi Traore, Michael Houser, Mary Smith and Stevem McCulley (3) Cleveland City Councilwoman Phyllis Cleveland and State Senator Nina Turner (4) John Barnes Jr., Candidate for Cuyahga County Common Pleas Judge Cassandra Collier-Williams and NEO OYBD President Michael J. Houser (5) Obama For America Regional Field Director Nelson Devezin, Regional Field Director for Ohio Democratic Party Noah Dion, NEOYBD president Michael J. Houser, and Political Director for Ohio Democratic Party Liz Walters
can Americans don’t vote and don’t care about the issues. If you don’t vote….you don’t matter.” After running a successful delegate slate for Democratic National Convention, NEO OYBD members Stephanie Howse, Meredith Turner, Gigi Traore and Anthony T. Hairston were chosen as 11th Congressional District Delegates. The future for these emerging leaders looks bright and anyone interested in more information or in joining can email the chapter at neooybd@gmail. com or visit the website www.neooybd.
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org. There is a $25.00 membership cost with monthly meeting being held at the Rockefeller Pointe Building in Cleveland Heights, 2490 Lee Rd., Cleveland Heights, OH, 44118. The monthly meetings usually include an array of featured guest speakers including Cassandra Collier-Collier Williams, Michael John Ryan, State Representative John Barnes, Frankie Goldberg. Their next fundraising event will be held October 9th from 6pm9pm at the Langston Hughes Center 2390 East 79th Street, Cleveland OH 44104. The
special guest will be the former Mayor of Cincinnati and talk show host Jerry Springer. The Northeast Ohio Chapter of The Young Black Democrats seeks to provide a voice of justice, social welfare and equity for the community. This new generation is proving to be the most politically involved generation the country has seen in years and with the emergence of groups such as this one, it proves that the youth of America are starting to stand up and take charge to shape the future of this nation.
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Shirley Graham DuBois: Citizen of the World
W
hile Lorraine Hansberry’s award-winning production of Raisin in the Sun in 1959 was the first to bring national attention to black women playwrights that accomplishment belongs to Graham (1896–1977), playwright, author and international activist. Graham’s resurgence is the result of her inclusion in Black Women Playwrights Before 1950, edited by Kathy Perkins. The anthology was a primary text for a Topics in African American Literature course in Spring, 2011. The collection features two of Graham’s works, one of which was produced in Cleveland in 1939 by the Charles Gilpin Players. Because of its Cleveland connections, I Gotta Home became the subject for dramaturgical research assignment. My research introduced me to TomTom, written by Shirley Graham in 1932 when she was a student at Oberlin College. I learned that TomTom was the first full-length musical written by an African American woman, that the opera was viewed by approximately 20,000 people at Cleveland Stadium and brought Graham earned critical acclaim, and that it was never performed again. Pursuing Tom-Tom deepened my awareness of the importance of dramaturgy for the African American theater community. This project has presented an opportunity to work in collaboration with other interested student scholars to share Graham’s legacy with the university community. Colleen Wright Graduate Project Developer
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(top) May Day Parade, Moscow, USSR, May 1, 1959. (bottom) Shirley Graham Du Bois and Chinese entourage circa 1959
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(left) Shirley Graham Du Bois and Chinese entourage circa 1959. (right) Mao Tse Tung greeting W. E. B. Du Bois and Shirley Graham Du Bois circa 1959.
My contribution to the current project focused on Tom-Tom in an effort to gain a better appreciation for Graham’s lifelong interest in Africa and Africanism. It was my understanding that the opera contains valuable clues connecting the young composer Shirley Graham to her later self as a cultural ambassador for socialism. I learned that in 2001, the Arthur and Elizabeth Schlesinger Library on the History of Women in America at Harvard University acquired the collected papers of Shirley Graham Du Bois and that within the collection was the musical score to Tom-Tom, previously believed to have been lost. Part of my research would be to uncover these valuable clues in the “lost” document that might provide possible relationships between Tom-Tom and Graham’s accomplishments
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as a left-wing activist and participant in the African liberation. Bernadette Britt Undergraduate Honors The process of researching Shirley Graham’s travels to China and Ghana was an insightful and enriching experience for me. I learned more about Shirley Graham than I initially expected. The most interesting and surprising thing I learned about Graham was the fact that she was a firm believer in communism. She genuinely believed that Chinese President Mao Zedong’s political philosophy was truly the key to success. This fact was amazing to me because communism at the time in America was viewed as anti-democratic and traitorous in some sense. It was astounding to me
that Shirley Graham, a successful Black feminist in America, would be such a firm supporter of an ideology that received so much opposition and aversion. The most valuable source I found when researching about Shirley Graham was the pictures I found of her travels to China and Ghana with her husband W.E.B. DuBois in the Special Collections and University Archives at the University of Massachusetts Amherst. These pictures conveyed to me that Graham was not only an influential Black female playwright but also an active political activist. Shirley Graham was truly a well-rounded woman who left behind the footprints of her great legacy not just in America, but also around the world. Lin Liu Undergraduate Honors
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Page 8 • The Vindicator Shirley Graham DuBois: Citizen of the World • Continued
Timeline for Shirley Graham DuBios Display 1930
—Enrolls at Oberlin College
1949
—Writes biographies: Booker T Washington, Educator of Hand, Head, and Heart, The Story Of Phillis Wheatley and Your Most Humble Servant (biography of Benjamin Banneker).
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1932
—Withdraws from Oberlin College; comes to Cleveland Ohio and lives at the Phillis Wheatley Association for three months to turn her one-act play Tom-Tom, into the first Opera/ Libretto performed by an all African American cast at the Cleveland Stadium.
1961
—Shirley and Husband W.E.B.DuBois emigrate to Ghana and become citizens after W.E.B. was tried and acquitted of “un-American” activities in the U.S. Graham becomes founding general editor of Freedomways, a quarterly published journal which featured articles by African Americans from the Black Arts and intellectual movement.
1935
—Graduates from Oberlin College with a MA in musicology
Employed as a teacher of Fine Art at Tennessee Agricultural and Industrial Normal School for Negros (Tennessee State).
1964
—Meets with Malcolm X on his trip to Ghana. Opens and manages Ghana Television headquarters
1938
1946
1970
1977
—Studied playwrighting at Yale University. Awarded a Julius Rosenwald fellowship in creative writing Writes play script, “Coal Dust” performed in Cleveland by Gilpin Players; she later changed name to “Dust to Earth.”
—Denied visa to enter United States because of her political affiliations
—Writes biography, Paul Robeson, Citizen of the World
—Shirley Graham dies from breast cancer on March 27, in China.
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Du Bois, W. E. B., Shirley Graham Du Bois, meeting with Chinese officials, including Zhou En Lai and possibly Peng Zhen circa.195
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Religion of Black Folk By Takaya Williamson
"we are a resilient people who can adapt to any circumstance as long as we have faith in something greater than ourselves."
I’m
not a religious person. I haven’t been for a while. It always struck me as restrictive, oppressive and judgmental. Yet even I can’t deny that there are positive aspects to religion. Especially being a black woman, I must acknowledge what it has done for my community in particular. Often times when we hear about the atrocities that have plagued the black race over the centuries we’re reminded of the resilience of our ancestors, and how despite what was happening to them they came together in worship. Particu-
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larly the plight of the Blacks in America has sited the black church as a means of helping, healing and overall community gathering. It was Rev. T.J. Jemison and Willis Reed who initiated the first bus boycott in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. And later on another minister, Dr. Martin Luther King, led the famous Montgomery bus boycott and Civil Rights Movement. In times where the government was of no help (unless you were wealthy and white), and even black secular organizations were more interested in politics and academic argument there was one institution
that helped solidify black communities all over the broken nation. That was the black church. But was it really that doctrine specifically? Or the strong bond of spirituality and the promise of something grander than the human experience here on Earth? As a black child I grew up in a family that believes in Christianity. My grandmother is Pentecostal, my grandfather was Baptist and my mom took after the Baptist side before going nondenominational all together. My siblings and I were thus raised to believe in the doctrine of
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Christianity, God the Father, God the Son and the Holy Spirit. When times got rough we were constantly reassured that it was a “test” like in the book of Job or that the Lord would make a way. He always did. And the moment we were baptized we found that we now had an extended family despite having left ours behind in Ohio. The church added security, a network of co-parents to a single parent household of three teenagers. But again was this experience limited to Christianity exclusively? Or were other religious institutions in the black community capable of such? What I’ve found is that for blacks the coming together to sing, to praise, to socialize and to relinquish all emotional burdens is what solidifies the communal spiritual experience. It’s cathartic to be able to escape the trials of everyday life and to be among friends and family who empathize. Furthermore, to “lay down your burden” of hardship with the promise that a higher being will take care of you is quite the relief. In addition, knowing that some divine entity loves you can be restorative when living in a society that encourages us to hate ourselves, our origins and our culture. The whole experience then becomes therapeutic. It can also be empowering. Looking back toward slave times, it’s no wonder that the masters forbid slaves to practice their own tribalreligions. It gave them power, reminded them of an identity before the master’s rule. It brought the slaves together and gave them a sense of worthiness from a culture that wasn’t tied to their new and oppressive condition.In essence their religion helped them and their sense of self as a communal whole. Still, when forced to take on Christianity as a means to quell any potential rebellion, slaves managed to take their oppressor’s religion and use it to build themselves up. Harriet Jacobs, a teenage slave seamstress in the 1800s, clung to her faith when faced with intense psychological abuse on a daily basis; eventually chronicling the experience in a book titled “Incidents in the Live of a Slave Girl.” Sojourner Truth likewise used
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Christian ideals to appeal to the hearts of audiences as they explained she injustice of the institution of slavery. In Cuba and Haiti, slaves snuck their traditional beliefs into the Catholic faith, blending saints and gods to create a new religion of empowerment. Even taking on the master’s religion, Black folk managed to find a way to cope. The Nation of Islam (not to be confused with Eastern Islam) is another example of a religion that has helped build black communities. Though a bit more controversial in comparison to Christianity (thanks to racist statements by Louis Farakkhan) the Nation makes it a point to focus specifically on Black issues and repairing our sense of self as a race. With a mixture of Black-pride and remnants of the Eastern counter-part, the Nation of Islam offers Black folk a means of spiritual healing as well as respect for our ancestry and sense of self-efficacy. Before he became Malcolm X, Malcolm Little was a disadvantaged youth who’d lost his father to a brutal murder and witnessed the burning down of his own home by the hands of the Klu Klux Klan. His wayward spiral caused him to end up in prison where he was introduced to the Nation of Islam. It was through this experience that he changed his name and turned over an entirely new leaf, ushering in an era of strong civil rights protesting until his untimely death. In October of 1995 the nation also initiated the Million Man March, to encourage black men to take charge of their lives and stand up. The march stressed a responsibility rather than expecting the government to take care of our community, and many men pledged to do so. They were encouraged to enrich the black community by adopting a black child, joining community organizations and even registering to vote. Community leaders of other faiths were invited to participate as well including Rev. Jesse Jackson, Father George Clements, Imam Malick Silya among others. Since then there have been other marches for women and youth hoping to achieve the same momentum as the first march.
So what does this say about the religion of Black folk? It says to me that if nothing else we are a resilient people who can adapt to ANY circumstance as long as we have faith in something greater than ourselves. Be that something God, Jehovah, Allah or whoever, as long as a Higher Power exists in our hearts, we find a way pull through. Likewise, we as black folk always find a way to come together, to commune with one another and lift each other’s spirits in whatever form needed. And when brought together in a religious context we’re inspired to action. This action isn’t just limited to the political and social sector. Even financially whether through self-help methods such as, selling fish dinners, baked goods, newspapers and bean pies, once black folk get together and set a religious goal we stick to it! So religion for us is more than just doctrine. It’s a lifestyle, an apparatus of support simply offering the emotional encouragement needed to carry on another week or so in this harsh world. Whether through the social connections or the internal spiritual connection with a being of love that will love you eternally, black folk derive strength from the religions we practice. Perhaps this is why the most influential of our leaders tend to be ministers. Again, anyone who knows me personally knows that I’ve got my qualms with organized religion, but as I grow older and learn more about my history, I’m beginning to realize what the power of faith alone has done to help my community. Religion doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Just looking back to the strength of those before me who paved the way so that I can sit where I want on the bus, so that I can vote in 2012 for the presidency, so that I can be included as a human being in this nation, I know that a lot of that strength came from their faith in a creator who would not forsake them. It gave them the courage to fight an uphill battle that had to undoubtedly be terrifying. But then again, that’s the religion of black folk.
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Naps and All By Takaya Williamson
I’m not going to apologize For the naps in my hair The coal of my skin as the dark summer night The width of my lips and the fullness thereof I will not be sorry Sorry for what? If you like straight hair then look elsewhere It may be pretty on her But as for me I will BE ME Black Naps and All
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Life Experiences at Cleveland State University By Shanette D. Buford-Brazzell Is college for me? Will I get the full college experience attending a commuter school? Am majoring in the right subject or career field? These were the questions I asked myself. I started my college career Fall 2006 right after I graduated from high school, I was nervous and excited about the new chapter in my life that I was about to endure. I was proud of myself for graduation from high school and starting college, because I was setting an example for my three younger sisters who look up to me. I entered college as a Psychology and Business Administration major, with hopes and aspirations of one day being a Psychologist, working with victims of various types of abuse, and owning my own practice. My first semester of undergraduate at Cleveland State wasn’t my favorite or the best semester for me. I had to learn many different things about being in college, such as the different resources that were available for me as a student, my course load and of course time management. I was working two part-time jobs and attending school full-time. I use to find myself sitting in my PSY 101 Introduction to Psychology class falling asleep, and writing. I knew around November 2006 that being a Psychology and Business Administration major, wasn’t going to last very long for me. After the final grades came out for that semester I was placed on academic probation. I was embarrassed but knew that I had to change various aspects of my life. Spring 2007 semester I made changes to my life, my study habits, and let go one of my part-time jobs. I decided to take less challenging courses for my general education requirements
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to explore other subject areas. Spring 2007 semester my favorite courses were COM 101 Principles of Communication and SOC 101 Introduction to Sociology. Those two courses interested me and I became more passionate about particular topics that interested me, and COM 101 introduced me to Public Relations. When it was time to plan out my sophomore year of college, classes, and go over my academic plan with my advisor I decided then to change my major. I did my research on careers in Journalism and Public Relations and was exciting about the courses I had to take. In April 2007 I became a JPC (Journalism and Promotional Communication) student, with a specialization in Journalism and Public Relations. Fast forwarding to the 2007-2008 academic school year, this particular school year was hard for me because I had medical issues and lost five family members, all in a matter of two weeks. I was academic dismissed at the end of spring 2008 semester, because my term GPA was poor. When I received the official dismissal letter from CSU CLASS (College of Liberal Arts and Social Science) I was sad and happy all in one emotion. I had a meeting with my TRIO advisor and she gave me some great advice and helped me continue with my college education. Instead of me giving up on my goals, dreams and future I took my advisor and I transferred to Cuyahoga Community College (Tri-C Metro Campus). Once I stepped onto the TriC Metro Campus Fall 2008 semester, I took the campus by storm. Even though I didn’t have any friends attending the school with me, I made a few friends but I was more focused on getting my GPA up so I could transfer back to CSU to finish my B.A. degree. During my
year of attending Tri-C I became the Associate Editor of The Mosaic, which was the student newspaper, attended CMA (College Media Advisors) Conference in New York City, I was on the Dean’s List for the entire school year, revamped myself as a college student, and my career in Journalism and PR jumped started. At the end of spring 2009 semester I reapplied to CSU and was accepted. Once I was accepted back to CSU I had a whole new game plan, from the goals I set for myself to my college career academically and professionally. I had acquired several internships, obtained two on-campus jobs, got more involved in my student organizations, and applied for student leadership positions. As I sit down and write this article as well as look back on my college experience, I wouldn’t trade my experience for anything. I feel this way because through all my obstacles and challenges I have proven many doubters wrong. I came back to CSU after being academically dismissed, gained experience in my major as a Journalism and Public Relations major, have a great resume, will be crossing the CSU stage at the end of Spring 2013 semester, and graduating with my Bachelor of Arts in Journalism and Promotional Communication. The advice I give to all college students “Don’t give up on your dreams and goals, have faith, hold your head up high, and be determined.” I am looking forward to my future and my career in the sports and nonprofit industry, working in the areas of Public and Community Relations, Events, and Marketing Communications; while helping under privilege youth and making a difference in the community. My life experience at CSU has been a great but learning one.
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My Story
By Denia Frances Smith-Lane
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My family has been called many names; the “United Nations” was the most popular one; sometimes jokingly nice & other time’s racist & nasty.
I grew up with a wonderfully gifted father and two stepmothers. Back in the 1970’s when my parents divorced, most men were not taking full custody of their children; but my father, a father of five (at that time) knew he would finally be the better custodial parent. Surprisingly enough my mother (a wonderfully gifted African-America women in her own right) agreed. She never lived far from us and she continued to raise us in her own way, even through we lived with dad. For many years while growing up, my father worked and went to college. He has a CSU Masters Graduate & now retired – and very successful Cleveland Municipal Schools Administer) with me running behind him to his evening classes. I remember fond memories of sitting next to him with my coloring books and puzzles while he participated in class (always sitting in the front row). After he graduated we “moved on up” (just like the sitcom the Jefferson’s), except we moved to a brand new house, built for us, in Oakwood Village. Dad remarried a beautiful European- American woman and our mixed family moved to a community that surrounded us with diversity and love. I remember on our block alone, single fathers raising their families, a funny and very civic minded lesbian couple, another mixed race couple with a black woman married to a charming Italian man and the large family from some Island in
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the Pacific. We were all involved in the community through various social-based projects that where imitated by Parents of the Village. My best memory is from our “Juke-Joint” back in an open field… we barbequed, listened to live music and danced!!!(It wasn’t until years later that I was listening to Quincy Jones famous various artists, Juke-Joint CD that I realized that was what we had too!!!) A few years later, my stepmother got promoted and decided we needed to move to a more “upward” mobile community (mov’in on up, again). We moved and sadly, that marriage ended; but not without adding more siblings to our family. Ironically, my mother (who was close by to us whenever we moved) remarried too and mom & stepmother got pregnant the same year and both had sons who where born only months apart! Once again, Dad petitioned the court for custody of his son. A few years later, He remarried (for the third and final time to my present mom, Dr. Mieko Kotake Smith (an award winning former tenure professor from CSU- now a professor with Akron University). She was borne in Japan and came to the United States as a young woman to get her education & she fell in love with my father. My family has been called many names; the “United Nations” was the most popular one; sometimes jokingly nice and other time’s racist & nasty.
From my experiences I have learned to be patient and accepting to all types of people. When I talk about my family to people I have meet over the years, most are shocked that we (my sibling of the “NATION” & I) made it to adulthood with little blemishes. I became inspired from my parents and finished my Master’s in Education from CSU. I have two sisters who are CSU graduates also and a niece who started her junior year after transferring to CSU. My other siblings, all but two are college graduates & are doing well. Today, my natural mother passed away; my first step-mother moved to California, remarried is now a millionaire widower being a good grandmother to her only son & new grandson. My Present mother has had her heart broken way to many times by me and my siblings ( a lot of joyful times too); but this everlasting woman has never stopped loving and assisting all of us. If I have any regrets is that I did not listen to their wisdom, when I should-have; but they (my father and his most wonderful wife-my mom) are still alive and I now have nothing but time to show them that their wisdom was not wasted on deaf ears. I pray that my family will build bridges and continue to be influenced by all of our wise elders we have been so blessed to have been raised by and that we pass what we have been given, to our children.
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The Fantastical Life of Confusion (The following is the short, true-rendition, of my experience with race) By Cynthia Johnston
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It was a lovely summer morning the day my racial identity died. A friend of mine and I were hanging out at her house. At the time, besides being a thirteen year-old kid, I was classifiably a white person; complete with a white family and a mediocre life; nothing out of the ordinary or special. It had never occurred to me that I could be anything else but, a white girl. It’s funny, in the Dave Chappelle Show there’s a skit where Dave portrays a blind, black man who’s convinced, without a doubt, that he is actually a white man--- which confuses the hell out of everyone else. That was the comical satire of my entire first ten years of life. The scenario would go something like this: “You’re not white, you know,” a kid would say in a snotty voice. “Yes I am! Look at my sock line!”, I would say, and proceed to roll down my socks to reveal how white my ankles were. As a kid, I had always worn shoes and socks--- so to gaze upon my ankles and feet without cover, was to go blind. Still, every time I was presented with the statement “You’re black !” (which frustrated me, because why did it matter) I would justify it with an “Oh no I’m not!” and present--the sock line. My cousins even tried to argue with me that I was black, but yet again, the infamous sock line. Besides, I knew why I was dark, and it wasn’t because I was black. My parents, who are both white, explained to me that I was part Native Cherokee, and so I “tanned better” than everyone else. Plus, they’re white, and it only made sense that I was white as well. I mean, two ducks don’t lay a goose egg, right? After hanging out with my friend for a while (who was also white) she convinced me, via a brief and somewhat enraged discussion, that I should get proof that I was really white . I thought, “Why can’t I just live my life?” I knew who I was---I was CJ, and that was enough. For once and all, to end the debate on whether I was black or white, I agreed to get proof and ask my parents for a look
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at my birth certificate. Walking down the street, I contemplated the “What If ’s”: What if I was wrong? What if my parents had lied to me, like on one of those T.V. shows where people find out they’re adopted and get reunited with their real families? What if I was black? What if it was true? Full of anxiety, I found myself standing in the kitchen, starring at my parents. Sitting at the table, they wondered what I wanted. Before I knew it, I said, “Mom, Dad, I want to see my birth certificate.” They looked at each other, then back at me. “W-what do you want to see that for?” my Dad asked. “I just do.” I stated, quite frankly. My Dad looked at my Mom, waiting for her to say something. “Just show it to her!” My Mom said in a very low, fast, and snappy voice--shaking her head, and throwing up her arms. Of course, she was not referring to the version of my birth certificate my father was about to show me. With that, he removed himself from the table and went rummaging through some things in their bedroom. I stood and watched in silence. Chocked full of anticipation, I could barely stand up and felt as if I would faint. I had never asked my parents for proof of anything before; I was only thirteen, I never questioned anything they told me. He pulled a document from a box full of envelopes and loose papers---- an organized mess if anything. He presented the document to me. I began to read: Mother: Mary Anne Yourkoski Father: Walter L. Kendrick …But… My father’s name was Tim?! My last name was Johnstone! I threw the paper down, and ran out of the house. Funny how children will so full heartily believe everything their parents tell them--- no matter how outrageous. Through a vague and brief Q & A with my Mother, I learned that my now father, Tim, had adopted me as a toddler. My real father, Walter, was a black man and had abandoned my mother and I when I was a baby. My mom was just never quite
sure how to tell me who I really was. So, she resorted to what she considered to be insignificant, small , “white” lies… Small perhaps to her, but huge and lifechanging, for me. My life began to swirl around me like a tornado, creating a whirlwind to which I was stuck in the middle. I soon learned that being black or white in America were two very different things with two very different experiences and perspectives. As a white girl, I thought I could only do my hair a certain way, dress a certain way, and talk a certain way. Of course I didn’t realize that inside I felt constricted to these particular ways of being, but nonetheless, I was. When I figured out I was black as well as white, suddenly, I could embrace an additional set of cultural norms. I could put braids in my hair, wear bandanna's around my head like Tupac, and talk slang----like dropping the word ‘nigga’. The first time I said it to another black girl (a couple years down the line) I thought I would be ridiculed or even hit. However, she didn’t even bat an eyelash or have a clue that my heart was jumping out of my chest. She just saw a black girl on the exterior---but I still felt like a white girl, constricted by all the lies . Regardless ,it was amazing to be both a black person and a white person at the same time, but it was also very conflicting. I was black on the outside, and white on the inside. These “experimentations” with my black half did not go over well with some of my family. They thought I was “acting black,” which I couldn’t understand, because I was black and, I wanted to experience what that meant. It also didn’t go over well when I was my “very proper sounding and behaving” self in front of my black peers ,because then,I was “acting white.” Up to that point ,I never really realized that race mattered that much and, that to live in America was to be racially classified, and stigmatized, as such. Being white was one thing,and it belonged in one arena, and being black was another. It was extremely confusing from then on. I couldn’t figure
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out when to be what. In the process, I forgot about CJ and who she was, the girl she was, before the question of race evenwas an issue. I became just like the rest of America---eager to place people into their separate categories and boxes. Except for the fact that I had a leg in one box and an arm in an other, and no idea what to do with the rest of me. Before I realized it, I didn’t fit anywhere: Half a black person, half a white person, half adopted, and totally lost. I was not a whole anything,anymore. I learned quickly that code switching would be a very valuable asset if I wanted to survive in my new world. In the beginning of this dilemma, I had clear cut ways of operating in each situation I was placed in. For example, in the classroom, I would talk in a very upright and proper manner, with a clear emphasis on respect for the teacher within my own behavior. Then at home, I was basically still proper because that was how my parents were, and I simply continued to mimic them. However, the language and behavior I displayed among my peers was dramatically changing every day. I made a conscious effort to quietly study my black peer’s speech patterns, interpersonal interactions, and general ways of life. It surprised me how different the two races were. For me, language was not the biggest, most significant, difference within the black community---- but instead, the interpersonal interactions within families, along with the cultural customs that accompanied them. Both the black and white communities had considerably different ways of thinking when it came to family life. Within my family, and the other white families I was aware of (although of course I do not intend to include the entirety of white society in this) ,family itself is nowhere near as important as it is within the black family paradigm. For instance, black families often cook meals for their entire local family every Sunday, and share the
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responsibility of cooking and cleaning together. And when I say local family, I don’t mean in an ideological aspect in which they invited a bunch of friends, but literally, all of their local, blood- related, relatives. These families were large--not just because of the stereotypical high birth rates in black communities, but because they did not necessarily go along with the white community belief of individualism. The kids in my neighborhood would have parents that met locally, and their parents, parents, met locally as well. Therefore, both sets of Grandparents lived locally, and so on. In essence, a few black families could dominate a neighborhood in number,depending on how many generations they had living in the area. Also, entire communities seemed to be networked in ways I hadn’t noticed before or could completely understand. Even though I lived within these communities, I still thought in white terms; that you socialized with your immediate family and neighbors, and did not venture past that--- but instead, focused on your own very busy life. When it came to the concept of community- family and networks, I was very much an outsider. I felt left out of the loop; not knowing if ,at this point, I could ever join in. It’s like you’re the last one in a long line at the ice cream truck. Everyone bought fudgesicles , and when it’s finally your turn to get one, they’re all, sold out. You’re the only one that has no idea what a fudgesicle tastes like, feels like, or smells like, and you’re stuck--- without the great feeling of knowing what it’s like to experience a fudgesicle. You’re alone and have nothing to relate to with the group. After years of trying to study my own race like an outsider, I was finally accepted by them. I moved into a new area where no one knew my struggles with identity, and I was able to embrace my black half for the first time without
scrutiny. That, in itself ,was a great relief like I had never experienced before and in that aspect, a very happy time for me. Sometime later, after I had been accepted as a black girl by my peers, I realized, I had not only forgotten who CJ was, I had forgotten that I was white too. So again, my culture crisis resurfaced. I couldn’t try and “act white” now. I had finally got everyone to think of me as a black girl, not just a girl “acting black,” but unequivocally a black girl by nature. So, to keep it simple, I acted like a black girl to everyone at school (including teachers), but at home, I remained a white girl in order to avoid the familiar, you’re “acting black” comments. It wasn’t until I started college, that I began to embrace my white side, publicly, again. I wanted to be respectful in the classroom environment. It’s interesting that I’ve come to associate my black half with improper behavior--- unworthy of professional use, and my white half as only useful in professional and family settings---but boring and useless in other aspects. It was not until a course in the study of communication between blacks and whites, that I came to a satisfactory conclusion: “ Yes, I am black”, and, “Yes, I am white”, and there’s no longer a stigma attached to either nor a distinction I need to draw between the two . I am both, and it makes me happy every day to be both. To be a professional, proper white girl one minute, and then a laid back, necksnappin’ black girl the next, is the best of everything to me. To say one sentence, half in African American Vernacular English and then finish it with Standard American English, is just my normal way of talking now. It’s my new-found, amazing freedom, and I will continue to embrace it! Now it’s the world’s turn to accept my particular patterns of speech, the cultural, duality of my behaviors, and my general way of being as I navigate being CJ, a biracial woman living in American society---happy and at home in her own skin.
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Proper Black Image:
The Censorship of Black Creativity By Takaya Williamson
Image courtesy of CSU Black studies
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T
yler Perry. Just say his name one time and watch black intellectuals cringe. “Sophisticated black folk” as comedian Wanda Sykes refers to them, hate to see a six foot tall man in a dress and wig parading around a stage with a sharp tongue and church music in the background. It takes us back to the old mammy stereotype, they say. It emasculates black men, they say. And maybe it does…in their eyes. But what about the people who attend his plays and see something else? What about the people who see their grandmother, their aunt, their sister or their mother? What about the people who see themselves? I have to admit, when my ex-boyfriend first introduced me to the world of the Madea franchise, I was reluctant to give it a chance. I’d already seen Eddie Murphy and Martin Lawrence make their films expressing how “funny” a heavyset black woman is. Big Mama’s House and especially Norbit hadn’t left such a good taste in my mouth. Ha, ha, the joke is that she’s fat. Oh and she farts. Comical genius! So when my then boyfriend pulled out the film Diary of a Mad Black Woman and subsequently Madea’s Family Reunion I didn’t want any part in it. After watching both movies however, I found that the comedy wasn’t in Madea’s size so to speak but in her feisty, ghetto personality. She was quick to insult, slap or pull a gun on anyone who disrespected her and her family. Not the kind of humor everyone is into but humorous to some nonetheless. In either case, I can’t say that I was completely impressed by the films but I wasn’t offended either. In fact, there were some old sayings in the film that I’d remembered from my own childhood such as the hot grits method to fixing your man when he misbehaves. But I won’t go into the details of that one. Of course the character Madea’s behavior can arguably be considered the “sapphire” stereotype as well. An angry and difficult black woman with violent behavior can easily be read in Madea. The matriarch is known to threaten anyone who sends so much as a sideways glance
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her way. Again the black elite and critics alike turn up their noses at the character. But when asked about Madea, Tyler Perry has time and again explained that the character is a direct reflection of his mother and aunts. The women in his life behave in such a manner. I bring these points up because it occurred to me when hearing Tyler Perry criticized, that no one takes into account what his motivations were to make the movies and plays. No one seems concerned with what inspired him to create the characters that he does. If, as he says, the characters are based off of people in his personal life then doesn’t he have the right as a writer to express that? Or are a certain segment of the black community forbidden to be heard?
"Where do we draw the line between uplifting black images and stifling black artists’ creative license?" In our community there’s a large variety of personalities. Like every other race or group of people, blacks are not limited to just ONE type. Physically some of us are darker, lighter, shorter, taller, skinnier, and fatter. Class-wise some are wealthier; some are poorer. Even politically some of us are conservative, liberal, Republican, Democrat…there are even blacks who are members of the infamous Tea Party. My point is that we don’t all come with the same program. We’re people, not products. With that said, why is it that only a portion of us are allowed to speak? And why does that portion have to represent us all? Before people get huffy, let me just say that I’ve taken sociology classes; I’ve listened to lectures from older and more informed people and I’m well aware of our status as the minority in this country. I know that the mainstream media
networks are controlled by a small group of people who happen to NOT be black. I also know that these people tend to have a narrow-minded view of anyone who is not like them hence the caricatures of all other peoples including women. I understand that as the underdog in this society we as blacks want to be wary of the images presented as they may influence the controlling group’s thoughts and consequently behavior toward us. So I’m not speaking from a naïve perspective here. But what I am asking is where do we draw the line between uplifting black images and stifling black artists’ creative license? Is Tyler Perry not allowed to talk about his family? Should those of us who are not considered “proper,” “classy,” academic, or bourgeois be silenced? When “The Help” was released in 2011 there was much ado about a movie about black maids. Again “sophisticated black folk” disapproved of such a “demeaning” film. It paints an illusion of blacks blissfully working under the subjugation of whites they said, it reinforces the “mammy” image, they said. Why can’t people get past the black woman as mammy they said. After watching the movie, however I found none of these implications, in fact the women took power with the social agency they had. (Especially Minnie with the chocolate pie incident). When member of the “sophisticated squad” Tavis Smiley mentioned his distaste with her being nominated for an Oscar for the role, Viola Davis expressed what I’m sure many black artists feel; “That very mind-set that you have and that of a lot of African Americans have is absolutely destroying the black artist. The black artist cannot live in revisionist place. The black artist can only tell the truth about humanity, and humanity is messy. People are messy. Caucasian actors know that.” This is a point that I feel wholeheartedly when people criticize Tyler Perry for the “melodramatics” in his work, which were quite the truth in his life’s experience. The villains in his plays are often sexual predators, a situation that happens more often than spoken about in Continued on Page ??
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this country. Too many times in the black community this is swept under the rug, no counseling is even considered, leaving the victim to fend for him/herself with the scars of the trauma. On Oprah Winfrey Mr. Perry admitted as much for his own situation. For these people, just simply having it covered in one of his plays may be therapeutic for them. And as for Madea, she too is the truth to someone. Who is to say that there aren’t women like her out there and that people who recognize her don’t deserve to see that? If she rings true to a segment of the population then who are we to shush them? As a writer this ideology troubles me for obvious reasons. My area is fiction, and at this current time I’m working on a series that I hope to one day publish. I won’t go into detail about it other than to say that if you were ever a fan of The Vampire Huntress series by L.A. Banks, Buffy the Vampire Slayer by Joss Whedon, or Twilight by Stephanie Meyer then you might find it interesting. Yet as an author I find myself reading over my work and concerned about the reactions or misinterpretations of members of my community. This especially happens when applying feminist ideals to my black female main characters—ideals which on a white female character may be seen as empowering but on a black woman may be misconstrued as domineering, emasculating, or perpetuating stereotypes of promiscuity. In essence I find myself limited as to how I can write a black female character due to these perceptions. But the limitations aren’t only placed on the black character written. They are also placed upon the relationships that the character has and who the character has the relationship with. This was too evident when Disney released their first ever black princess in the movie Princess and the Frog. Though only one of the three screenplay writ-
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ers was black, the story is led by a black character, Tiana, who was incredibly hard-working, beautiful and talented. The character received praise for being proper, but the prince she married in the end did not fare so well with members of the black audience. It seemed that Prince Naveen’s race was a problem. Though the movie doesn’t cover race for the most part (with the exception of an inference from a banker who’s turned down Tiana’s business loan) we the audience know that Prince Naveen is from a country called Maldonia and is not black. Immediately people were in an uproar because the black princess hadn’t married a black prince but a “white” prince in their eyes. (I’m pretty sure that those critics didn’t know that a black man helped write the movie). I didn’t have the heart to tell them that in actuality Prince Naveen more closely resembles the British actor Naveen Andrews who’s Indian in race and not white because to me it was beside the point. What mattered was that once again it seemed that writers had taken a gamble by making a movie about a black character and were being punished for it. Had Disney not bothered and made the princess white there would have been no controversy. I could go further into detail about the gender politics of that issue but that’s not what this article is about. So apparently there are rules when writing black characters, and if you can’t follow those rules then you run the risk of being admonished by all manner of black conservatives, intellectuals and even the general population. To me that sounds like censorship. To this some might respond by pointing out the barrage of negative images already out there. What about the criminal, thug image put out about black men and perpetuated by rap artists? The promiscuity and objectification of black women in hip hop? Shouldn’t they be
censored if they’re hurting our community? Undoubtedly these images do hurt the community; I’m not pretentious enough to believe that their continual reiteration in the mainstream media doesn’t affect our position in society. We especially saw this with the rise of gangster rap in the early 1990s. But if we were to ask NWA or any other contributors at the time why they spoke about such things they would admit that it was real life for them. They would admit that they were speaking to a segment of the people who experienced those lyrics every day. Should those people be silenced? Are their experiences less worthy of being spoken of? I don’t believe that they are. Granted, I may not be a fan of their work but that doesn’t mean that their experiences are less important than mine. So instead of focusing on silencing those that we don’t agree with, why don’t we as blacks concentrate on putting out more diverse images? If the networks won’t do it then we can start our own. TVOne, BET, Black STARZ are all supposed to do that for us. Independent filmmakers such as Spike Lee, John Singleton, Keenan Ivory Wayans, Robert Hardy, Haile Gerima etc. have proven that we can take our images into our own hands and provide a multitude of images capturing the diversity of our people. Oscar Micheaux did it in the 1920s. William D. Foster did it in 1910. George Perry Johnson and Noble Johnson did so in 1916. If we don’t like what we see then we can counter it with another work of art. This way nobody’s voice is being muted, nobody’s experience is being demeaned, nobody’s opinion of what is and isn’t “proper” is impedes another’s creative mind. As a writer the most important thing about my work is that it speaks for me, whether I’m writing fiction or an opinion piece. My work tells a story like only I can tell it. But to have that story pushed aside,
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"As a writer the most important thing about my work is that it speaks for me, whether I’m writing fiction or an opinion piece."
dismissed or denounced by my own community because my characters aren’t “proper” or “respectable” enough for the image that they wish to blanket over the entire race is quite appalling. We saw this happen to the late Academy award winning actress Hattie McDaniel back in her day. As the times were rather racially contentious, many blacks were angered by her portrayals of maids in Hollywood films. They felt that her willingness to play these roles were hurtful to black images in America. They instead wanted to see young, beautiful and graceful images such as Dorothy
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Dandridge and Lena Horne types. Consequently she was admonished by different organizations including the NAACP and eventually led to the failure of her career. But what these critics failed to realize was that what Hattie did as an actress was to portray a role that many black women at the time were fulfilling. Weren’t there black maids in the 1930s? Weren’t there heavy-set black women? Or did all black women look like Dorothy and Lena? Why wasn’t there room enough to cover both? I could ramble about this subject, I could even touch on the criticism that Halle Berry received for her role in
Monster’s Ball or the limitations that actor Morris Chestnut admits are placed on him as a black male in Hollywood but instead I just leave you with one last note. Within black culture we find different experiences, different nuances and ideals. To say that one group’s story is greater than another group’s story is to say that the second group’s story doesn’t matter. And isn’t that what we’ve been complaining about in the first place? So please, let’s not censor our black artists. Let’s cultivate them so that they can be as great at their craft as anyone else. There are enough limitations placed upon us. Let’s not create more.
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Image courtesy of CSU Black studies
It’s 3:16am and thanks to the movie Red Tails, Facebook and the blog “What About Our Daughters”, I am lying awake wondering whether guilt is a fair and viable marketing strategy. Before we get started this is not an anti- or pro-Red Tails essay. I originally wrote this piece before the reviews for Red Tails came in. I think it best to keep the critics’ opinions out of this piece since it really doesn’t affect the thesis one way or the other. This piece is more concerned with a question Blogmother Gina McCauley raised over at “What About Our Daughters?”. Recently she asked “Why else should I see this movie?”. An innocuous enough question I thought, but it led to a mini online tiff with black people that saw it as a call for a boycott. Admittedly WAOD is an “unflinching and unapologetic” blog dedicated to the support of black women. “ Unflinching and unapologetic” are her words not mine, and they highly accurate. If by reading her blog the image of a Valkyrie with a flaming sword defending all that is black and female came to your mind, I don’t think that image would be far off from who she actually is. Gina took issue to the fact that this historically based film has no black
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Save the Black Film, or Else! women. No black female love interest, no depictions of black women in service and, so far as she could tell, not even a black woman to walk past the screen as an extra. (Reportedly Jazmine Sullivan’s already small part was later cut out.) So at her blog she stated that she saw the trailer, wasn’t that impressed and was left wondering why, outside of her blackness, should she go see it. Like I said this led to an online tiff. I’m not going to go into it all here because you can do that yourself and frankly a recap blow wouldn’t be that interesting to read. No, instead I’m going to throw one more element in: Facebook. As I am sure you know, Facebook has a feature that will group all the postings of a particular subject together. This is a pretty helpful tool to see what is trending at the moment. When Red Tails came out I noticed a great number of my friends had posted how they saw Red Tails over the weekend and loved it. Several of those posts had a note tacked on about everyone should go see it so Hollywood would pay attention to a movie starring black actors. This theory has merit. People, even the creators of films, tend to forget what the phrase “Hollywood is a business”
really means. Like any business, staying out of the red is what matters at the end of the day. But unlike CVS or McDonalds, a filmmaking business on that large of a scale has an unpleasing way of showing us who we are. Part of who we are, as Americans, is a group of people that don’t shell out money to theaters to see a movie starring black people. Let me make that even clearer: Movies about black people do not sell. The business that is Hollywood does not recoup their losses and so they are weary to shell out Avatar to black films. Tyler Perry is coming awfully close to being a complete exception to that rule. My artistic issues with the man aside (that is another essay for another day), Perry is a marketing genius and a fantastic producer. The budget of his films is just enough so that the gross can be nearly guaranteed to be pretty large no matter what (http://boxofficemojo.com/people/ chart/?id=tylerperry.htm). Precious, which is not a Tyler Perry production, made money once the film was finished, he and Oprah saw it, slapped their names on it and got it into more theaters. Like a good producer should. Which brings me to Mr. Lucas. I should mention my minor bias against
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the man as I have always wondered what outside of Star Wars and Indiana Jones has he ever done. Apparently a black woman is the answer. Sorry that was a low blow. But the joke was funny and I had to go for it. Excuse my digression. Anyway during the promotion of the film George revealed on The Daily Show that he put something around $90 million of his own money into this film, solely because he believed in the story. I don’t question his beliefs. My thesis is whether or not guilt marketing is a viable. Because he basically said “go see this movie because if you don’t, another black film will never get made again. Cause the Great White Hope doesn’t come down to bless you black folks often.” Okay, my bad, that last sentence was totally me, but I did hear him say that. With my minority-status ear that is. I guess I would be less snarky if he had put that kind of money behind a black director or small indie black production company. Something that would inspire real change in the film world. But it is his money and he has the right to spend it anyway he sees fit. And like I said, I’m not questioning his beliefs. He could have very well read the script, loved it and have that megalomaniac moment all directors have where they feel they are the only person on the planet who can direct this film (it’s part of our charm). And to that end, maybe it really is just a film about black men. There’s no harm in that. And there is no harm in the people at WAOD not wanting to rush out and see it. But Gina brings up an excellent point: outside of the trailer itself, the viral marketing campaign has basically been “Black people: see because it’s black, white people: see it because you aren’t a racist”. And frankly that’s because the trailer couldn’t have been a black screen that says “IT’S GOT BLACK PEOPLE IN IT!”, though if it was that honest I would shell over $10 in a heartbeat. And my question remains, is that viable? Is that fair?
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Two final points before I finally give my answer to that. One: Aaron McGrudger, the creator of The Boondocks, wrote the script. So there is your black legitimacy card if you were looking for it. Though I suppose it should be also said for those wondering that he isn’t known for his plethora of black female characters. I always chalked that up to writing what you know, since there are only two female characters on The Boondocks in general. And they are minor characters. But there you go. Second and perhaps the real reason I am up before the sun writing this: for those that don’t know, I’m a filmmaker, specifically an indie writer/director. (All the word “indie” means is that when I see a $90 million budget, I see that I could make 10 fantastic films out of that. Or 90 really solid films.) Among a few funny shorts and contest entries, I have two scripted films I’ve written in production. Both of these films concern white, middle class suburban families. Shock, awe and amazement I know. It just sort of happened that way. One couldn’t have been “black”, if you will, because it wouldn’t have been a short film anymore (I would need more than 15 minutes to tell the story) and the other is about the least suspecting person in America (which is in my artistic opinion is a middle class white mom). Now if I have my way, by the time they put me in the ground these won’t be the only films to my name and you’ll be able to see all the black lady films I dream of making. But if I am trying to say anything deep or profound with these white characters at all, it is simply that my blackness and femininity will not be the only things to define me. I’m also a damn fine story teller (you have read this far already, yes?) Which brings me back to my issue. I don’t think I could tell people “Hey support Maternal Pride1 because if you don’t, black female writer/directors will never work again!” Now part of that is simply the beast of the indie world; it’s not the same business Hollywood
is. But another part of that is that it just wouldn’t fly. So why is it viable with Red Tails? Why is no one offended by being pandered to though race? Is it because that’s just big business, aka Hollywood? Because you can see the black people that worked on it right in front of you? Because Red Tails had a marketing team that sat around and thought this up? Yeah, I’m leaning towards that last one. I lean toward that one because we’ve gone through quite a few “black periods” already. Remember the mid-nineties anyone? The seventies? (Bonus points if you know of the silent era “black period”). Things really haven’t changed and I can’t find a black woman out there that doesn’t love the movie “Love and Basketball”. There’s got to be more to changing an hundred year old business than “IT’S GOT BLACK FOLKS IN IT! SEE IT NOW!” Yeah money talks, but is a short term answer. It takes a lot of money over a long period of time to construct any real change. My fear is that what will ride in on the “It’s got black folks in it” wave are a ton of crappy, hastily made films that won’t make its budget but that got made because (say it with me now class) it’s got black people in it. That’s where merit and quality come in. I truly hope that Red Tails is a good film. Period. Not a good film because it’s black. Or even a good film and it’s black. No, just a good film. And I hope that the conversation becomes about that instead. Let the studio executives lean back in their expensive plush chairs and say “It was a good film and it was black. And it got us into the black”. They are the only ones that need to worry about that anyway. Then again Facebook has shown me that in the end, for whatever reason there may be, guilt and fear have worked. At least for some. And at least for opening weekend. Which I suppose means that it is a completely viable marketing campaign. That doesn’t mean it’s fair though. But then what is in love, war and business?
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Memoir of a Color Struck White Female
By Kerrie Bercher
Published in 1925, Color Struck by Zora Neale Hurston illustrates the sorrowful paradox that although color is literally skin-deep, its socially constructed implications penetrate much deeper to leave lasting scars on the concept of self-worth for a young woman of dark complexion. I have had my own experiences of being struck by my color. Raised on a “Ain’t no race but the human race,” mentality by a mother who grew up in the ghetto and a father who has travelled extensively, race and color were not exactly at the forefront of how I perceived people (but still a secondary consideration, naturally). Such a mentality was further solidified by growing up with a best friend who happened to be Black. Our families are they type of friends who consider each other family. Thus, throughout childhood I became somewhat privy to the Afrocentric lifestyle. I learned that hair and beauty salons are mini-meccas of Black female culture, learned to love food like collard greens with hot sauce, and knew that if I slept over on a Saturday night I would be roused bright and early Sunday morning to actively praise the Lord Jesus, gospel-style. I naively thought I understood Blackness. I was not color-stricken until my pursuit of higher education brought me to Cleveland, Ohio, which I was unaware is one of the top segregated cities in the U.S. (number eight according to a 2008 article in the Huffington Post). “I never felt Black until I came to Cleveland,” was once nonchalantly uttered by a friend of mine in casual conversation, but these words attached themselves to
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the fringes of my mind and became a motif for a much larger body of thought that would be constantly examined in my college experience—pondered introspectively as well as thoroughly dissected in course curriculum: the prevalence of racial divisiveness in our society. Transitioning to college at Cleveland State University, what I began absorbing in my anthropology, sociology, diversity, and urban studies courses coupled with dwelling in the city itself quickly transformed my vision to black and white. My friend was born in Angola, raised in Sweden, and came to the United States to attend college. I share her sentiment of feeling ‘Black,’ because in a way I have never felt so White; however, my perceived Whiteness and her perceived Blackness obviously do not quite intertwine to form a similar experience. Rather, we become divided by an ‘us’ and ‘them’ mentality. Economic and social data, segregation by neighborhood boundaries, and the deconstruction of the concept of race create a complex framework of diversity that has yet to be embraced. There is an integral piece of this framework that has been underrepresented and excluded: the voice of the African-American woman. And it is certainly not because she does not have anything to say. Dually-oppressed by racial and sexual forces, she forms a symbiotic relationship with appreciative inquiry, which allows her to transcend the constraints as well as to illuminate her unique experience for others to understand. In strictly dealing with race, I learned that real estate agents steer Blacks toward less desirable neighborhoods in the
housing market (inner cities), and that segregation has returned in schools— one can guess which ones typically experience insufficient funding, thus resulting in a lower quality of education. There is also a drastic disparity between White and Black educational attainment, unemployment rates, and income levels— even for those with the same occupation. I would undermine the entire idea of the Black female critical perspective if I did not assert that a gender gap applies here as well, hence the term ‘feminization of poverty,’ with Black females earning the least of all four catergories). Would Alexis DeVeaux’s Jet have worked as tirelessly and given up her family, friends, and her man in order to attain academic achievement in The Tapestry to settle for such unjust conditions? Constance M. Carroll accurately surmises, “In a power ladder, the white woman is seen to be two steps removed from the power, but the Black woman is three steps removed,” (All the Women Are White, All the Blacks Are Men, but Some of Us Are Brave, 1982). She notes that high achieving Black women in the realm of higher education are often isolated and not recognized for their full potential, nor do they achieve the same upward mobility through promotional opportunities as Black men. Proceeding down the list of atrocities, 90% of all residents in poverty-stricken neighborhoods are of racial minority status (qtd. in Kellog 2006), and such low-income minority neighborhoods are more likely to be subjected to inequitable environmental conditions and pollution (environmental injustice). This is simply the tip of the
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iceberg; chiseling deeper reveals the inevitable psychological ramifications of it all, such as defeatist attitudes, lower aspirations, and internalized self-doubt. The realization I find most difficult to grapple with was that while racism may not run rampant as it did in the time of the early Black female playwrights, it has managed to thrive in a more private dwelling: embedded in the minds of individuals, whether conscious to them or not. My explorations of the city itself have only solidified what I have learned in class. For instance, strolling along the well-manicured lawns of University Circle, which boasts the city’s most prestigious art and cultural amenities, one would never guess that the adjacent neighborhood plays host to poverty and blight: dilapidated houses, neglected streets, vacant buildings boarded up, burned, condemned, and covered in graffiti, and not a white person or cop car in sight. This is Cleveland’s GlenvilleWade Park neighborhood, and census data indicates the Black population comprises 98% (though the description paints a bleak picture, I must note that it was clear a strong sense of community prevailed despite the distressed conditions. Neighbors conversed on their lawns and on their porches, children were playing outside, and many people walked from place to place together). A separate experience that has stuck with me occurred at the carryout near Cedar Road and East 30th. A group of kids, none of whom appeared older than six years old, were playing across the street; I hear one of them yell, “What are YOU doing here, White b-tch?” Unfortunately the ‘us’ and ‘them’ mindset can be cultivated at a frighteningly young age. African-American men and women alike have made many noteworthy achievements and contributions to this country, yet it is apparent that they
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are still entrapped by racial injustices. The fact that some Americans use the statistics that indicate the persisting disenfranchisement of AfricanAmericans to justify their racist agendas, attributing the results to Blacks lacking intelligence and motivation to work is a prime example of ignorance at its finest. One of the most enraging statistics I have ever read is, “According to a September Times-Mirror poll, 51 percent of whites now agree that “equal rights” have been pushed too far in this country” (Guinier 1995). I feel nothing but sheer disgust. Anyone with a shred of common sense would realize that the problem is not race; it is a vicious cycle of inequality and institutionalized discrimination resulting from a historically unjust system whose imprint this country has not yet managed to erase. It will not go away by sweeping it under a rug of affirmative action; it must start at the root of the problem, which will require some extensive digging, all the way back to the 54th Federalist Paper, in fact. Upon shedding my naïveté and having my eyes truly opened to the world’s ugly truths, the ‘one human race’ state of mind I had always subscribed to seemed overly simple. It is a lot easier for I, of Caucasian descent to feel at one with a diverse and colorful universe because no one has ever targeted me, my family, or my people for the color of our skin. I now wonder what African-American females think when I walk around on the arm of an African-American man. Who knew a difference in what is on the surface would be so fundamentally divergent; I will never fully understand what it is like to be in their skin, which sets me apart from them. I would like to believe that I am where I am in my life because of my drive and my work ethic, but if someone with the same merits worked just as hard as I have but was of a different racial
background, would as many doors have opened for them as they did for me? I am slightly discouraged. To think that even in present-day America, race is an indicator of the likelihood members will be disadvantaged by limited access to resources and opportunities leads me to question the principals of freedom on which this country is founded. Being White, although female, grants me an unearned privileged status in a system that simultaneously oppresses others. One confounding fact I learned in a course on human diversity is that ‘race’ itself is not an inherently biological concept, but an outdated nineteenth century method used by Europeans to place themselves above the groups of people they colonized. In deconstructing the idea of race, it is simply a cultural and social idea based off of one’s skin complexion, which does not allude to his or her particular ethnic background per se. Dark skin tones indicate that one’s ancestors hailed from a place that was sunny and hot, and thus their skin produces more melanin as a form of protection to the extreme climate. Culture should be substituted for race, and from there, a cross-cultural approach is a solid first step in attempting to comprehend diversity. In considering culture, one must employ the concept of ‘cultural relativism,’ which combats ethnocentrism by attempting to view a culture’s practices and traditions through the eyes of that culture rather than one’s own, which promotes a greater understanding. For example, we have learned about the societal perceptions of African-American women, which generate negative misperceptions and bias. Though whites and Black men will never fully understand the Black female experience in America firsthand, cultural relativism can be applied as a deeper way to engage our comprehension and imagine facing
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the challenges they did. However, Patricia Bell Scott addresses the frustrating fact that there is an overwhelming intellectual void in social science studies and data that draw from the life experiences of Black women (All the Women Are White, All the Blacks Are Men, but Some of Us Are Brave, 1982). Dramatic literature by AfricanAmerican female playwrights absolutely can and should facilitate appreciative inquiry. No one can quite encapsulate the historical struggles of Black women that may lead us to a greater understanding of their present condition quite like those who actually know what it is like to be a Black woman. Surely no history textbook can yield an in-depth analysis on the matter, nor can the studies of what White male scholars may infer. The plays and writings by these women give us a unique lens to look through, thus widening our scope of awareness as human beings and allowing us to gain enriching new perspectives. These women have proved they are a force, more than deserving of an audience. Their works may provide a link that will allow Black and White, male and female to interact and communicate in the face of barriers and differences, a critical and mandatory step in solving the greater issues still facing this country. It has been a milestone 75 years since Zora Neale Hurston attained literary recognition with Their Eyes Were Watching God, 58 years since Brown vs. Board of Education, 47 since the Civil Rights Act, and a whopping 224 since the abominable 54th Federalist Paper. And yet, the injustices inherently borne of this country have not completely dissipated over the decades. I believed perceiving people differently on the basis of their skin color was antiquated, but to my horror I have learned that many are ostracized in their daily experience of American life because of it, both overtly and more subtly. My studies in the
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various ways racial divisions still afflict this country have given me a broader understanding of the dynamics of how people interact, but rarely in these studies was the concept of gender added to illuminate the plight of the Black woman. The Black female experience in America is intricately complex, and cannot be adequately understood by outsiders unless given serious thought and consideration. This is exactly why, if true equality can ever be achieved, applications of tools like appreciative inquiry are absolutely necessary in the realm of education. Understanding is the first step, because a change in attitude can enable a change in actions. Action is key, however. Robert Jenson, author and professor, outlines its important in his article, “The Reality of Race.” “If I do know these things but am not willing to take meaningful action to undermine that unjust system, then my knowledge doesn’t much matter,” (2007, p. 2). Though race and gender are inextricably connected for Black females, I am writing from the perspective of a white female seeking to cultivate a sense of sisterhood amongst all women in an effort to fully understand being human and being female. “White male chauvinism” is a familiar concept, but the fact that “white female chauvinism” exists much in the same way is destructive to all of us. In order to heal a 200+ yearold wound, we must launch a second women’s movement, not only to assert the equality of our gender, but to assert the equality of our race to each other and reclaim the human dignity our prejudices have stripped us of. Ellen Pence articulates the issue with beautiful clarity in her article “Racism—A White Issue,” one work of a larger volume contained in All the Women Are White, All the Blacks Are Men, but Some of Us Are Brave. She describes her struggle to come to terms
with her own white privilege and its subsequent effect on driving a wedge between her and women of color. “The same anger and frustration that we have as women in dealing with men whose sexism is subtle, not blatant, are the frustration and anger women of color must feel toward us,” she explains (qtd. in Hull, Scott, & Smith, 1982, p. 46-47). Appreciative inquiry will not only help us understand more thoroughly how the structure of our present society inflicts inferiority on Black women, but will expose the subtle, unconscious prejudices all of us carry within ourselves. Barbara Smith makes an excellent and enlightening point about the current nature of present-day racism in her article “Racism and Women’s Studies” contained in the same volume: “I am sure that many women here are telling themselves they aren’t racists because they are capable of being civil to Black women,” (p. 49). Both Pence and Smith highlight the lack of mutual understanding; Pence mentions the failure to come to the business table as equals (p. 46) while Smith notes how white women have been raised without the knowledge of how to sit across from a Black woman and try to relate to her (p. 49). We are no better than those who established the system of patriarchy and white privilege is we are aware of its existence but do nothing to combat it. Humans have fought each other for power since the beginning of time, and for white men, Black men, and white women, the thought of relinquishing some of that power to be shared may be alarming. Rather than perceiving the situation as what we might lose, we can acknowledge everything we will gain by understanding our shortcomings and eliminating inequality. If women ever march again for the sanctity of Feminism (the inclusion of all women), no woman will be told she must march in the back.
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Summer Walk
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President Obama & 'Post-Racial' America By Tim Collingwood
Photo courtesy of flckr.com/whitehouse
In November of 2008, America elected its first President of color to lead the nation. No one thought that an African American man named Barack Hussein Obama would ever be elected president, and that there would be a person of color elected to be President in their lifetime.
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Once the celebration of social progress wore off, the word “post-racial” floated around, and as circumstances happened, criticism took place. These criticisms were followed by people always saying “it has nothing to do with his race, I don’t agree with his policy that’s it.” While it
is American to disagree with policy and politicians and not get arrested or killed for it, America went back to normal with life amidst this change. However, that change did lead down to interesting and scary developments. As a college student at the time, I
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was eager for change to take place. I spent a couple of semesters in what I thought was proofing my potential racism in African American and sexism in Womanism/ Feminism classes. What happened during those classes surprised even me. In those classes, I learned about history I didn’t know and perspectives I never considered. I took it a step further and joined socially progressive groups that I talked about these things in my spare time. I expect no cookies or pats on the back for what I am about to say, but learning about those perspectives and history made me confront my social privileges. As a white male, I have plenty. I can walk in any neighborhood and not be considered suspicious. I can speak up and be taken seriously. But, I digress. I knew what the country was like when I voted for Barack Obama. We were hit with the worst economic downturn since the Great Depression. We were hated all over the world. There were 48 million people without sufficient health care coverage. He said he was going to change things for the better. In 2010, I graduated college to an economy still suffering from that downturn, and to this day, I am still looking for sustainable income. But, I don’t blame the President. Due to an understanding of my social privileges and continually learning about what it is like to be an American of color, and learning about experiences and suppressed histories, I was skeptical of people criticizing the President. It is not that the President doesn’t deserve criticism or he doesn’t make mistakes, he’s human after all, but what lens do we view him? He’s still a black man, a successful one at that. How does society view black men? Society views black men unfavorably, regardless of their status if they can even achieve that. In the span of four years, how has the President been perceived, regardless of the facts about his person? Let’s see, to the birthers, he’s an illegitimate Kenyan who is a secret Muslim, whatever the hell that is. To the conspirators, he’s either a shape shifter or the antiChrist. To Tea Partiers, he is the birther’s
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defintion who is a big government liberal who is wasting taxpayer money on bailouts and drones and preserving social spending. Then of course, there are the “racists,” who spend their precious time making derogatory images of him and Michelle as monkeys and show him hanging on nooses as if lynched. Why would he considered illegitmate? He was born in Hawaii to a single mother who was involved in the Peace Corps, and spent some time in Indonesia. There were thousands of single mothers in the sixties, as there were thousands of people in the Peace Corps. Kenyan? I know his father was Kenyan and that the President has family there that he did meet and relate to as aptly described in his book Dreams From My Father. I know he is proud of his heritage. Secret Muslim? I don’t recall the last time Muslims secretly worshipped, and America hasn’t been a Christian police state for that to happen yet. I know he respects all religions and has shown that in his life. He did go to school in a mostly Muslim community in Indonesia for a bit, but he says he is Christian and has shown what his religious views inspire him to do in his life. Huh, I wonder why he is considered illegitimate? Now, the shape shifter thing, that’s a tough one. Last time that was used was in relation to President Clinton, whom, regardless of great policies that benefitted this country in eight years of economic prosperity, was only found out regarding his extra-curricular activities with women that were not the now Secretary Of State, Hillary Clinton, his wife. Clinton and President Obama are a lot a likethey are pragmatic, charismatic, know how to talk to people and relate easy. Maybe its because they are, for lack of offending those who don’t like the term, “liberal?” The AntiChrist? That stumps me. He is Christian and goes to church every Sunday. He speaks eloquently about how his faith inspires his public service. From what is known about the myth of the antiChrist, one being born with idenities reaching across the world, and his family being from all across the world, but the same could be said for anybody. As for the big government lib-
eral who is spending precious taxpayer money on bailouts, drones, and social spending, who wanted the banks to be bailed out in the first place? Since 2010, Congress has shown their support for their benefactors more than their support for their constituency, and the Supreme Court through Citizens United vs. Federal Elections Commission validated that that’s okay. Congress has mostly Tea Party Republicans in there. As for drones, well, yes, they are apart of national defense strategies that make it easier to track down the enemy and get rid of them. But, one has to ask of the same people complaining about them (and TSA patdowns), why do drones upset you but a woman’s sexual organs and right to agency okay to pat down and deny? Social spending- Medicare, Medicaid, Social Security, education, energy, etc. According to the charts, social spending doesn’t contribute much to the debt nor the deficit. Defense spending and corporate welfare seem to contributing the most amount, but Congress doesn’t want to do anything about that seeing how they are sacred cows and all. What is the source of all this? Insecurity. A black man is in the Oval Office. A black man has never been in the Oval Office before. Guess what America? It is about race after all and has since the beginning. President Obama is considered illegitimate not because of how he got elected, there was no rerun of the year 2000 happening in 2008. He is considered illegitimate because of the color of his skin. People only pay attention to his failures because society only pays attention to the failures of black men and not their successes, real and imagined. The expectations were high but were thrown too short in the air. But, race will be unmentionable so long as no one discusses it proactively. No one wants to admit that we view the President through a racist lens. If our country’s problems are going to be solved, we have to acknowledge what manifests in our reality honestly. Electing a black man to be president won’t end racism as much as electing a woman president one day won’t end sexism. There is a lot of work to do in the meantime.
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30 Questions Alone with
Sean Thomas Dougherty
By K.Cymbal Sean Thomas Dougherty is a preeminent performance poet, poolhall impresario, and visiting writer-inresidence at Cleveland State University. Author of nine, critically-acclaimed, books of poetry---Sean metes out,his first-hand and intimately personal reallived brand of street wisdoms and social injustices; all steeped in a language that’s one part hauntingly lyrical, mixed three parts straight in pure, street-corner hustle. I recently sat down with Sean for a cyber Q & A to find out more about this most popular, professor of Creative Writing who shuns conformity of all kinds yet accepts hats from many countries of origin. Given Name: Sean Thomas Dougherty Neighborhood nickname your friends still call you: Lemonhead, given to me by Marc Jacksina and Mateo Cranford of Utica NY while touring when they realized I looked like the guy on the Lemonhead box. Home town: This question is tough as I’ve lived everywhere and a few regional allegiances. I lived in Brooklyn, NY as a really little kid, then Toledo OH till 7th grade, then Manchester NH for high school and college. After that I lived briefly in Cambridge, Massachusetts where I got involved in the Boston Poetry Scene. Then I spent 9 years in Syracuse, NY. I’ve lived in Erie, PA for the last 12 years, on and off with stints in the Republic of Macedonia and
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Cleveland Heights. Describe your childhood in 4 sentences, 12 syllables long: We kicked cans, balls, sticks, we were stones That rolled like the cars our fathers drove, tired As our mothers labored hands. Back then we were Scars, bruised knees, fast fists, we were split lips. We never ran.
Who first told you that you could write well? I suspect my mother. My parents were very supportive of my writing when I started after high school. Best childhood Christmas gift: No idea. I don’t have memories like this. I don’t remember things. I have no idea why. Biggest childhood trauma: When I was six I was sitting on my neighbor’s lawn. This was in Toledo, Ohio in the tough integrated Collinwood neighborhood. We had just moved there. This neighbor was a retired white doctor who I’m sure had seen his neighborhood suddenly transformed by the young people and black people who had moved in. I was sitting beside my beagle Greta who I named after my friends older sister in Brooklyn who was my first crush. My dog was a foot beside me. Suddenly there is a frightening crash and I see her dead rolling dead down the grassy hill. The white man had shot my dog a foot from
me. The police didn’t do anything. My parents were a young interracial couple in 1973. He was a white doctor. I don’t talk about this much. It is still someone unresolved in me. In many ways it remains a metaphor I carry for growing up in a racist economic apartied nation. I haven’t forgiven that doctor. Forgiveness is overrated. Look what “forgiveness” did for South Africa. Sometimes you have to wear your wounds like stigmata. That was one of my first. I do not forget. Why did you drop out of high school for a time & where were the people that might have talked you out of it? When I was 17, I watched my friend Garry Victorin drown in an accident at a quarry. It destroyed me. He was a Haitian immigrant and my best friend. We lived on the same block. This was in Manchester, New Hampshire. It happened in the summer of 1983. I started school that fall but couldn’t handle it so I dropped out in December and took a job washing dishes. I returned to finish the next year. People who could talk me out of it? Who talks a tough 17 year old out of anything? My parents were probably honestly a bit frightened of me back then. I was a mess, a walking razor. They sent me to see social worker but there wasn’t much that good be done. I had to find my own reasons to keep going. What relationship do you foster with your biological father? None, he is dead. I didn’t know him at all when he was alive. He was a
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street artist in New York City. He sold drawings on the street for decades. How old were you when your mother remarried? Did you feel embraced or abandoned? I think my parents got married when I was five. I am very close to both my parents. I am not sure what the second half of this question means so the answer must be no. What perspective/insight did you gain in your eclectic, multicultural, formative years? Did you carry over unique life-lessons that helped propel your writing career and personal relationships? Of course, when you grow up a white kid with a black step-father and a white mother you experience many of the same racist small moments that any black person does. Some are even worse. You witness how your parents are treated. But as my mother says when you love someone it isn’t tough. Back when I was growing up there were very few interracial couples. It was so different than today. I learned to deal directly with the racism of this county, and the prejudice of both white and black people. Since I lived in a mostly black neighborhood in Toledo I had to deal with the attacks by black kids who weren’t my friends. But it was as much a block thing as anything. City territory. Over time I became one of the toughest kids and respected in my neighborhood. I never backed down. I learned never to judge someone by how they look but by their actions. I also felt the ideology of the time, the belief that we were moving to someplace better. In the 1970s our parents had just helped to end the war in Vietnam, had marched in Civil Rights demonstrations. They thought we had won and as kids there were many young teachers who felt that too. Ironically, later in Manchester, NH where we moved, a state with a very small black population, I experienced very few racist incidents because the
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color of my skin enabled me to pass and my friends were not overtly racist. But I did experience institutional racism. I remember my freshman high school English teacher going on a weird rant about interracial marriage. Boy was he surprised when my parents showed up to speak to the principal. It’s hard to quantify what I learned from growing up in my family culturally. There is just so much: the diversity of music: Frank Zappa to Miles Davis, the living room floor covered with Eric Dolphy albums. The simply diversity of faces at large family gatherings. Afros, Dashikis, long hair, short hair, black and white, light skinned and dark. Southern and Northern. Jazz and old school soul on the record players. White hippies and black accountants. All the kids running through the house like one glorious gathering of the tribes. As an artist, I am sure this had a direct influence on my suspicion of genres and borders. Professional moment you’re most proud of; poetic accomplishments and/or accolades: My writing fellowship from the US State Department when I was awarded my Fulbright Lectureship to teach and perform poetry in Macedonia and Albania. What was the moment like when you realized “hey, they like me—they REALLY like me!””, professionally (critical-acclaim) speaking? Honestly, that happened early when I started hanging out in the Boston Performance Poetry Scene in the early 90s. Almost from my first reading at open mics I was being offered featured readings. Talk to me about your pool-hall gig— why a pool-hall as your day job? (I suspect it’s more than keeping you tethered to street authenticity…I think it speaks to your inner hustle.) I fell in love with the game about five
years. Where I work is a place full of stories. It keeps me grounded and reminds me that much of the poetry written by “university” poets is hopelessly disconnected to the real lives of working people. I’m a pretty experimental writer in a lot of ways but that is style or form to get at deeper meanings of relevant content. Where has your poetry taken you— geographically speaking? I’ve read coast to coast, in Canada in Vancouver and Toronto. In Portland, Los Angeles, Colorado, New Orleans, South Carolina, Chicago, Detroit, every state east of the Mississippi maybe except Delaware. In London UK, Budapest, Albania, and Macedonia. In the last 20 years I have honestly no idea how many readings I’ve given, how many miles I’ve traveled because of poetry. If your house was a raging inferno, and you could only save one book of poetry (that you’ve written) which book would it be? Why? None. The only book that matters is the one you are writing next. The book that is to be borne inside you. Current city: Erie, PA How long have you taught at Cleveland State University? This is my second year. Michael Dumanis called me up last year and asked if I wanted to teach a couple of classes. At the time I was just playing pool, taking care of my sick wife, and out-publishing all my contemporaries Why Cleveland State? You’ve taught at other fine universities—why an inner-urban university located, smack-dab, in the middle of your greatest football rivalry? I had a fancy job at Case Western for a year but it was mostly administration and I didn’t like the school. I mean the students were fine,. But most
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were very rich and I drove through East Cleveland to get to campus. I felt as if I was part of some bizarre apartied situation. My friends thought I was insane for leaving that job but I’m an artist, I do things for reasons that don’t make sense to bourgeoisie people sometimes. I honestly wasn’t sure I wanted to teach again after I left there. I was pretty disillusioned with a system that leaves young people hopelessly in debt. But CSU revived me. The students are for the most part diverse, fierce and committed. Culturally I indentify with them, It is a very working class campus. It is a good fit. The only thing is teaching part time is a pretty slave wage position. They’d have to give me more classes to keep me here. Is there a Dean reading this? Hook a brother up. What do you collect? Cool hats, cool cues, wounds. What need does teaching meet for you? Art saves lives. I don’t teach what other people teach in terms of a career. I’m trying to get the students to see that the right story, told in the right way, can save them and save anyone who might need that story. That is worth anything. That is the goal. Nothing is more honorable than that. In a culture that hates art, now more than ever we need art. We need artists, great artists. As the stakes are so high. What/whom do you worship/revere? Efren Reyes (great Phillipino pool player.) I worship a God most people who attend Churches never meet. The one who is shaking his head at our own stupidity. Cruelty and ignorance. The one who sees these right wing Christian churches and says, there go the money changers. My God is many gods, the god that rises from inside us to tell us our better selves. The small gods around us that help us see each other with compassion and dignity.
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Sadly that god is absent from most institutionalized religions. That god though can be found there. Have you ever witnessed the black women walking and chattering home with their big hats from the AME ZION Church? Like my grandmother Margie? Many of those women know that God I am talking about. They have him over all the time. They cook him biscuits. They live their lives by that God fighting for justice and equality. Amen. What do you do to relax, decompress, or just have plain, stupid, fun? I listen to music. I am obsessed with music. My mother was an alternative rock DJ growing up and I was in an informal hip hop group called 32B. Today in the 21st century our access to music of all kinds is unlimited. I’m always searching out new sounds and new bands and this sometimes influences the shape of my writing. Favorite addiction? Hats. What are you afraid of? You’ve got to be kidding. Personally nothing. Do I look like someone who is ever scared of anything? But as a parent, I have lots of fears. That is the hardest part of having children, you always worry for them. What advice would you give to student writers or aspiring writers in general, regarding the process, writer’s block, and the realities of making a real living at the business of writing? The reality of making a living as a writer? If you can do something else, do it. In the 21st century people want their cultural products for free. Even in the last 10 years making a living is ever more difficult. Writers block just means the writer is thinking about the product too much.
Writers write. That is what defines a writer. If someone wants to write but is having trouble, ask yourself questions, then answer them. Most recent book you’ve written places you’re reading at, the hours and price per game at your pool-hall? My most recent book is Sasha Sings the Laundry on the Line, published in 2010 by BOA Editions. This month I’m performing in Niagara Falls NY, and I’m head-lining the Old Dominion Literary Festival in Norfolk, VA. There is also a show of photos from Occupy Wall Street at the festival whose title is based on a quote from me. Locally, my next reading is at the Big Mess Reading Series in Akron, OHIO on Friday ,November 9 , Annabell’s Bar & Lounge - 782 West Market, Akron, Ohio 44303 How many books have you written? How many hats do you own? I have written 9 books, edited two more, and have three more on the way including My New and Selected poems to be published in 2014 by BOA Editions of Rochester, NY. I probably am down to about 9 good hats right now. But in the last years I’ve lost twice that amount easy. Favorite dish that your grandmother made and the recipe: This isn’t the kind of information shared with strangers. Is there a recent poem you’ve penned that I can share with our readers and can you expound on your inspiration for it? This is a poem from my next book Scything Grace coming out from Youngstown State’s Etruscan Press next year. I just wrote this poem for my partner Lisa. I think I got 5 kisses for this poem. Most of what I write is for real people I know.
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Page 34 • The Vindicator
The President Visits Cleveland By Unity Powell
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The Vindicator • Page 35
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The Vindicator • Page 36
Fantasy Love By Tristan Hobson
I'd relish the days when poetic clichés were the image portrayed in my life When it wasn’t such a privilege to love the one you're with and eternal happiness would be my right My bright white laced fantasy wife, motivation when strife arises Smile like reflecting rays peaking over the lake with light skin my Sunkist horizon Loyal not situational she rides for her man, so if I jump and she leaps it's no surprise And she defends when other ladies lurk from the distance she cuffs without even realizing Pride is a lie that distracts true love lugging the stress of the chests inflation The blind drive in the ride that cause you to miss turns, the extra mile in unforeseen navigation In relation that’s enough to stop rolling lose control and spiral into a pole and Suffer damages so grave that graves are a fate that was hoped and Pillows are sanctuary for the tears of the hopeless No more affection from her, so you scream to the air because at least someone's ear is always open Holding pictures of past laughs as a symbolic token No laughs when joking And potential apologies are seldom to soft spoken tonight I’d relish the days when poetic clichés was the image portrayed in my life I’d relish the days when poetic clichés was the image portrayed in my life When it wasn’t JUST a privilege to love the one you're with and eternal happiness would be my right
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