Spring 2014

the

Spring 2014

ANKH Wesleyan’s Student of Color Publication

The Resurrection

The Ankh

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Staff

Contributors

Savannah Turner Armani White Taylor McClain Arnelle Williams Etenish Abebe Nailah Hines Ashley Arkhurst Sira Fati Nishalia Porter Selena Gonzalez

Bulelani M Jili Maurice Hill Christian Hosam Hibiki Mizuno Jalen Alexander Rhys Langston Podell Stacy Uchendu Khalilah Lushiku Ana Castro Winnie Yung Jay Benedith

Special Thanks Professor Gina Ulysse Adam & The Argus

What is the Ankh?

The Ankh is Wesleyan’s student of color publication and online blog.

Who is the Ankh for?

The Ankh is for the Wesleyan community.

Is the Ankh exclusive?

We ask that all submission fulfill the following criteria, that it be by, for and about people of color.

What can I do?

Read the Ankh, just like you are now, and contribute! Even if you aren’t on staff, even if you aren’t confident about your writing skills, even if you’ve never done anything like this before, there are many ways you can contribute. You can submit any type of writing: fiction, non-fiction, expository essays, news articles, and poetry. Art is always welcome. And videos can be published on our blog. The Ankh is your space.

If you’ve created something and want to show it to others, do it here. Also, consider joining our staff! You can be a field reporter, topic writer, or help with layout or management of the online blog. And as always, discuss this with others!

Volume XX, Issue 3

Editorials

So, What is the Ankh?

Originally published in The Ankh, Issue II. 1986

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he Ankh, Wesleyan’s minority newspaper, has been in existence for one year, yet many students still ask, “What is the Ankh?” when it is mentioned. Unfortunately, this is indicative of the state of awareness of minorities on campus; and, ironically, is why The Ankh is so necessary.

Some of this ignorance may be attributed to poor publicity, but only a very small portion.

Wesleyan’s minority students must ask themselves, “Are we a part of Wesleyan or a useless appendage?” This year the University can boast an incoming minority class of 19% with a significant increase in the Latino class sie over the previous years. But what does this mean? What does this mean when most of the campus does not know what the acronym WAIG1 means, or what WAIG does? Are these minority percentages simply tests of “diversity” or do the people behind the numbers matter.

Are we recruited simply so that Wesleyan can boast relatively high numbers or because this University, students and administration, feels that we have different views of life and the world which may lead to different views of life and the world which may lead to mutual knowledge and understanding? Are we here as means of attracting talented white liberal students who really matter and to convince the white population that it isn’t racist, or are we here for our intrinsic value? These questions have to be seriously addressed by the minority community. If this University is not interested in having us develop ourselves and our ethnic/cultural identities, and educate others about ourselves then we are merely tokens or a collection of museum pieces to be perfunctorily looked over.

We have to examine the percentages of minority students within one group in proportion to minority faculty and courses. If Asian-American students are important to the administration and campus, why is there only one Asian-American studies course, and that a student run tutorial? The Asian-American students here- and the same applies for all minorities- cannot represent all of Asian-American history, art, writing, etc; they can only represent individual Asian-Americans in the year 1986.

We have to look broadly and examine this University’s minority concerns.

The Ankh is an exclusively minority run student publication which strives to facilitate and increase communication within and among minority groups, and between the minority and white majority campus. The Ankh is an exclusively minority run student publication which strives to facilitate and increase communication within and among minority groups, and between the minority and white majority campus. The Ankh is therefore concerned with, for example, what the Latino community can give to, not only the non-Latino white campus but also to the Afro-American and other minority groups. We are concerned with communication within minority groups because no collection of people is monolithic. Afro-Americans living in sub-urban areas are likely to have different experiences from those in an urban environment. While we are exclusively minority run, we will accept submission from anyone and distribute campus-wide.

The point behind The Ankh’s restriction to minority students is because we know that a minority paper simply has to be run by minorities.

We are interested in recording our life and thoughts – our experience – here. The fact that events are recorded and preserved makes history.

What is not preserved is forgotten and erased from existence, is not part of history. We must be the ones to write our history.

Also, white-minority interaction can be a peculiar thing. Based on our own experience, we know that a particular Asian may be a very different person in a group of Asians from when she/he is in a group of whites.

This applies to individuals in all minority groups. Relations within one group tend to be more comfortable, and this is one of the reasons for the existence of Ajua Campos, the Wesleyan Asian Interest Group [WAIG], and Ujamaa. Beyond our personal experience and observation is the fact that black colleges accept 16% of all black college students yet graduate 37%. Why is there such a high attrition rate when blacks enter predominantly white institutions? A study done by the Southern Education Foundation states, simply put, that black students tend to be more comfortable and satisfied in traditionally black colleges. The majority campus has to be aware of the need for minority students to return to the familiar, whether it be taking a break from speaking English or just talking to someone who “knows where you’re coming from.” This is all part of being in an 1 Wesleyan Asian Interest Group

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environment which allows you to develop yourself and identity, in this case cultural/ethnic identity. This is necessary but does not mean that communication must stop.

We, however, do not mean to imply that communication between people of color is necessarily easy. In these relations the old stereotypes and prejudices tend to once again surface. But we feel minority communities have much to offer each other, and problems in common which can be the foundation for coalition. The Ankh is committed to representing the minority campus and to unity among people of color; and we assign each minority community and individual the task of making certain that we keep this commitment. The purpose of the Ankh is communication of events, feelings, activities, thoughts, questions and experience. This is the means by which we plan to educate each other and become part of the campus.

Without a sustained and concerted effort minority groups and organizations, which are some of Wesleyan’s largest groups and organizations, shall be confined to obscurity and insignificance to the Wesleyan campus as a whole.

Letter from the Editors The Ankh Collective

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hank you all for taking the time out to pick up the Ankh and for being apart of the resurrection! The Ankh exists for you. This statement you have just read above is an editorial from the second Ankh ever printed, released in the fall of 1986. Although many of the statistics have changed, the message rings true - and, yes, it is pretty crazy the issues that students of color faced 28 years ago are still prevalent, if not worse, today. “What do we do now? Where do we go?” some people might ask themselves after reading this exhumed editorial from 1986. As the Ankh collective we believe that students of color must come together to sustain, maintain, and project their collective voice, presence, and desires on campus. The Ankh is one vessel and platform for this. We must begin and continue to have critical conversations among one another. As stated in the older editorial, “communication between people of color isn’t necessarily easy.

In these relations the old stereotypes and prejudices tend to once again surface. But we feel minority communities have much to offer each other, and problems in common which can be the foundation for coalition”. We must begin to appreciate our differences in order to forge our own space within a larger, white context. This is no easy task, but it must be done.

We hope that the resurrection of the Ankh inspires you to begin, continue, and lead our community in the necessary steps towards a unified, vibrant, and supportive Student of color community. We strive to bridge the gap between these communities and foster awareness among them. While promoting cultural education and political awareness, we hope the Ankh is also informative, artistic, provocative, and fun. It is a celebration of multiple heritages and an expression of their respective hopes, fears, beliefs, and ambitions. Together we voice a wide range of experiences to build trust and community. The Ankh is for you. We hope you enjoy it.

Like us on Facebook! www.facebook.com/ wesankh Check out our blog: www.theankh.org

Volume XX, Issue 3

On Black History Month Maurice Hill & Christian Hosam

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lack History Month, for as long as we have been students at Wesleyan, has been the only time during the year that Ujamaa has had a significant and visible presence on campus. This is in stark contrast to the historical roots of Ujamaa, which was formed to serve as a space for the Student of Color community to build relationships and community with one another and really strengthen themselves against a campus that at the time (and more often than we’re willing to admit now) was systematically separating, tokenizing, and in no uncertain terms, oppressing them.

Black History Month, then, was a space for community development, education about critical issues going on in the African diaspora, and a reclamation and centering of topics that weren’t being taught on Wesleyan’s campus. It served as a reflection of the state of the collective and the state of the Student of Color community.

This is still true. However, the efforts of community development, education, and campus awareness have not been the premise of Ujamaa’s current mission. Before we have a Black History Month, the events that take place during this month should be reflective of the community that it represents. Last semester, however, there was one Ujamaa collective meeting. The planning of Black History Month has taken place completely within the confines of the Ujamaa board members. This does not mean that the events would necessarily be bad, but it does highlight that Black History Month is not reflective of the community as a whole.

Black History Month, as it stands on campus, is a performative activity. We believe that the lack of a sense of urgency about creating a community, rather than a sense of urgency to create events for the sake of creating events for the month of February, is troubling because it creates an artificial sense of community that isn’t there. It also assumes that the entire Black community at Wesleyan would be just fine with the programming that would be presented throughout the month. While consensus isn’t necessary for events to go on, there has been no discussion among the supporters of Ujamaa about what, for example, the theme would be, the keynote speaker, or issues that are at the forefront of the Black experience on campus. This indicates a lack of transparency within the Black History Month planning process and, more importantly, within the Student of Color community.

It’s important to pause here and make a couple of points clear.

The board doing this work is not, in and of itself, a bad thing. We have both been (and still are at times) student leaders doing very similar planning work; we acknowledge and honor the fact that this work does sometimes require unilateral decision-making. The month will probably still be great. Additionally, there is no way that anyone or any group can appropriately encompass and represent all of the individual experiences and views of an entire population of people.

However, that’s not the point of this article.

The point is that Black History Month should not be the most important thing that Ujamaa does throughout the year. That title should go to the actual creation and nurturing of a community that feels the need and desire to invest in the month, in planning, attending, and supporting in whatever way they feel equipped to do.

That’s why we feel we shouldn’t have the month. It places so much pressure on the board to plan an entire month of events where attendance is uneven at best. Simultaneously, it doesn’t do enough work to critically engage and develop a sense of buy-in from SOC into the project of both affinity group membership and the larger project of social justice on campus.

In 2013, we saw yet another Professor leave the African-American Studies Program with another set to depart at the end of this semester. With almost no fanfare, the Malcolm X House came within an eyelash of losing its name and going through a forced re-evaluation without the consent of its residents. All the while, Ujamaa (and to be completely honest, every SOC affinity group) was not engaging us in dialogue about what these things meant to us as individuals and parts of a larger community. At the end of the day, there will be a Black History Month 2014. We reached out to the Ujamaa board with similar sentiments to the ones expressed here, and they did not want to engage in this dialogue with us. We can’t say we blame them. It’s

The Ankh a hard dialogue! But it’s still one that we believe is necessary. We truly hope that this doesn’t mean that this community is at a point where the only thing that it’s not willing to give up is Black History Month.

In response to On Black History Month: The Show Must Go On Jalen Alexander

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fter reading the recently posted Wesleying article, “On Black History Month” I stopped to take some time to reflect upon a wide array of issues, not only those that were addressed in the article, but also those that surrounded when, how, and why it was posted in this fashion. I must begin by saying that I hold respect for both authors of the article, and that I have worked with both of them throughout my time as a student leader at Wesleyan. With that said, I feel that the writers have taken a misguided approach to understanding both the larger concept of Black History Month, as well as the real issues that student leaders are facing at Wesleyan.

During my first two years of Wesleyan I served on the Board of Ujamaa, the very student group that the authors chose to target in their article.

Since my time on the Ujamaa Board, I have since become a chair of the Invisible Men organization. I believe that although the writers sought to take the leaders of Ujamaa to task, they have in fact targeted the methodology of many student groups both within and outside of the student of color community. Their article suggests that student leaders of our time are no longer concerned with building community, supporting our collective membership, and fostering productive dialogue around issues that are important to our communities. This is simply untrue.

The assumption that as a student leader, the Collective, in accordance to the organization’s mission, isn’t the top priority is very presumptuous. Using Invisible Men as an example, every semester we begin with a social, community-building event called Get Fresh. These events are always by far the most attended by our collective members. Although this event is largely social, we do try to set goals for the semester and revisit the group’s mission when necessary. With such a strong collective start to the semester, we assume that the energy will continue into the first month. However, just a few weeks later when we hold our first few collective meetings to discuss the direction of the group or to talk about possible future events, no one shows up. Not only does no one show up, no one bothers to send an email offering up suggestions. As leaders, there is only so much outreach that can be done. Even when email, Facebook, and other social media sources fail, we turn to face-to-face interaction, and we see the same result.

Now this is not to say that the collective is completely inactive. There are often a handful of students who consistently support events and show up to meetings. To those people we are always grateful. What those in leadership positions try to do is maximize the time and effort of those that DO show up. There are many students within our community RIGHT NOW who are ready to be proactive, efficient, and effective. However, it appears as though the writers of the previous article would like for us to literally stop progressing until everyone is in the room. Realistically, we will never have everyone in the room; and for most groups, that isn’t the goal.

The authors make the claim that Black History Month is no longer reflective of the entire student of color community. The question that they seem to avoid is how exactly they expect for a month that doesn’t receive support from the entire community to be reflective of the entire community. When groups hold collective meetings with atten-

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Volume XX, Issue 3 dance rates of less than 10 people at any given meeting (more commonly closer to 2-4 collective members), how can the leaders hope to garner an understanding of what the “collective” would like to see in events? This issue extends further when we think about the lack of responsiveness of said collective members to outreach.

I believe that the authors are speaking to issues faced by most, if not all, affinity groups of our time. We are currently suffering from community wide problems regarding how people self-identify. We are also encountering a growing group of students with an aversion to leadership.

We see this both in the reluctance from students across class years to take new leadership positions, but also in current leaders receiving much more pushback for their community-driven efforts. Now, while I fully support movements that attempt to be non-hierarchal and promote activity throughout a group, we must remember the system that we are working within. As student groups, we work within a system that requires at least moderate group structure (you can’t even register a student group without identifying two representatives), advanced planning, and outcome-oriented event structure.

I do not defend Ujamaa for not consulting the Collective on what the theme for the month should be or for what events should be sponsored.

I do, though, think that we must identify all the stakeholders in this issue and hold everyone accountable. If the authors of this article felt so strongly about what they wanted Black History Month to encompass, why didn’t they approach the Board last semester? Why didn’t they email the board (or the Collective) with theme or event ideas, or simply put pressure on the Board to organize a Collective meeting? I think that we must all recognize our agency in these issues. Student groups are board-centric because we allow them to be board-centric; because quite simply, there are only a handful of people who actually want to put in the work to make an event, or an affinity month, come into fruition. However, when it’s time to critique and say what went wrong, everyone wants to join the party.

I also feel that the argument brought forth in the previous article makes its largest assumption in suggesting that if SOC groups were to suddenly stop holding events, that people would care! The idea that people who have never been personally invested in Black History Month, its legacy, or the events that are held during February would suddenly be in an uproar if things came to a halt, falls fairly flat to me.

In the grand scheme of things, Black History Month represents something larger than Wesleyan and the many communities within it.

Using a lens that focuses only on student activism on our campus, or the lack thereof, we miss the bigger issues. Should we work to make sure groups that primarily consist of students of color are represented throughout the year? Yes. Should we work to build some sense of camaraderie within a student of color community that is becoming increasingly diverse (although not necessarily increasing in SIZE or becoming more EQUITABLE)? Yes. Should we question the tradition of jam-packing our affinity months with events without consideration from members of the communities we want to represent? Yes. Should we stop the show because we don’t have 100% participation from all members within the loosely defined student of color community? Not at all. Despite whatever problems may exist within this university, we cannot possibly believe that stopping the show will be the ultimate solution. We have a complex problem that we must acknowledge. I believe that when we finally do, we will realize that we must also offer a complex set of solutions, and we must all be willing to hold ourselves accountable to see them through.

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Volume XX, Issue 3

Then and Now: The Ankh Collective Arnelle Williams

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ave you ever read what someone wrote, wonder what he/ she is like, and then get the chance to meet him/her in person? What are the odds?

In anticipation of the resurrection of the Ankh publication this year, the Collective reached out to alumni in hopes of gaining a perspective of what the Ankh meant to them during their time at Wesleyan.

I particularly wanted to know how the publication was being circulated within the Wesleyan community. Did it effectively represent the students of color ideas? What kind of social justice and national issues were printed and relevant at the time? In keeping those questions in mind, the odds were in my favor as I got the privilege to meet with Tavia (goes

by Tav) Nyong’o Class of 95 during winter break.

Mr. Nyong’o came to Wesleyan as a freshman in 1991. He was born in Kenya by a white African mother who is from Canadian and Russian descent and a Black African father. Then lived in Michigan, where he attended a predominantly white prep school. In my talk with him he felt that Wesleyan offered him a diverse experience. He said the Wesleyan community was very accepting, especially since he came out during his freshman year.

Since 1992, Mr. Nyong’o was an active member of the Ankh. He joined because he was involved in a literary magazine in high school and wanted to continue in college. The Ankh was his first college publication and he was proud to be an Editor. He also believed the Ankh was a creative outlet to voice the concerns of many SOC issues.

However, one cannot ignore what an active time the 1990s was at Wes. Nyong’o described the student of color community as tense. Tav had heard of several incidents that occurred such as firebombing of the President’s Office in 1990-91, racist graffiti on the Malcolm X house, and the death of a SOC Wesleyan student.

There was a lot of activism and organizing among students who wanted Wesleyan to expand beyond its Eurocentric, traditional departments and who were hungry for critical issues in contemporary society that were not

available in the social sciences. For example, in the November 1992 print, volume VII, Issue I, Tav wrote an article titled “Native American Studies at Wes?”, highlighting students’ desire to have such a study course offered at Wes. There was a speak-out, a petition drawn up, and a student group (the Native American Activist Group) sparked by the Columbus Day Rally -- all to push the Administration to take action. Tav wrote that Native American Studies at Wesleyan was “definitely not beyond our grasp.” Now that it’s 2014, what definition did they mean by grasp? There is currently not a program offered. To reiterate the words of Tav, “how seriously can we take this school’s ‘commitment to diversity’ when the original cultures of this country are not being taught?”

Tav also wrote in “The Exodus Continues” about Marshall Hyatt’s resignation from Wesleyan due to job insecurity and lack of commitment from the school. Hyatt was the Director of the Center for Afro-American Studies and offered many courses that were central to the strength of the program. He was an expert in Civil Rights and the only 20th century historian of the study. Offering classes was not in his job description, but he did it anyways because he wanted to. Tav stated that his case shined light with Wesleyan’s “dogged problem with retaining high quality faculty.” I believe Wesleyan still struggles to keep high quality faculty who teach about issues relating to minorities. For example, most students have heard that visiting Professor Sarah Mahurin is not coming back next year. Why? Mahurin’s AFAM courses are very popular among students and very competitive to get into. Mahurin will certainly be missed among the stu-

dents and her departure is a reminder of the Hyatt case in the 1990s.

Mr. Nyong’o also noted that many wellknown educators of color came to speak such as Henry Lewis Gates, Gloria Anzaldúa, Audre Lorde, Derrick Bell, Angela Davis and Bill Cosby about reoccurring issues: race, gender, ethnicity, education, political rights. These critical discussions about what it means to be living in a racial unjust America were not only limited to Wesleyan campus, but society at large.

My talk with Tav was like moving through a time machine. There was no internet or cell phones, John Singleton’s Boyz in the Hood had just come out, and hip-hop was just beginning to define attributes of Black culture. I asked Tav about the Ankh symbol and what it meant to him. He said he never really thought of its true meaning but realized that it symbolized Afro-centrism.

Mr. Nyong’o is currently an Associate Professor of Performance Studies at New York University where he teaches courses on black diaspora performance, cultural studies, social and critical theory.

Certainly one can see that the Wesleyan community was not all about peace and love, the response from students were crucial in outlining activist issues like race, gender, education that are indeed still relevant today.

The Ankh Collective still takes its mission seriously: creating art and retelling issues that are by and about students of color. A brief pause from print to an online blog helped us reach another audience. But now bringing back the print, we hope to reach all.

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Volume XX, Issue 3

Miley Cyrus’ Inconsiderate Use of Black Culture Taylor McClain M

iley Cyrus’ recent rebranding of her image includes a behavior and style that many people uproariously declare an appropriation of black culture in an attempt by her to stay relevant and cool. Miley Cyrus’ current image is an example of how utilization of other cultures can be abusive. Aspects of Miley’s new image perpetuate stereotypes and consequentially her message is inconsiderate of black men’s search for respect and black women’s sexual autonomy. Though Miley’s new image is a real problem, the more important issue is Miley’s nonchalance about the effects of her actions.

Miley Cyrus’ lack of concern for the repercussions of her actions perpetuates the conditions that oppress many blacks whose everyday lives are structured by the important issues that are behind activities often associated with black people, such as gang activity and twerking. Her borrowing from black culture translates into exploitation of it. Black culture has many facets that can include nationality, ethnicity, race, and attitude. Miley implies that being black is about a choice of attitude rather than a culture. Miley is profits from the use of black females as sex objects and a sassy and defiant attitude, stereotypical of blacks.

Miley can experiment with her image by dressing in black styles and working with black artists, but at the end of the day she will not identify as black. If she stops thinking that image is cool, then she can decide to end her participation in the black activities in light of trying something different that is more eye catching, interesting, or beneficial for her image.

In 1979, sociologist Herbert Grans coined the term optional ethnicity to refer to an ethnicity that does not have real social cost for the individual. Miley Cyrus is currently exercising a Black optional ethnicity in her new image.

By doing this, Miley gets all of the benefits of black culture without having to face any of the drawbacks of actually belonging to that social group. Miley’s white privilege allows her to express this ethnic identity for this album and then choose a new one next year if she pleases.

Miley never has to exist within the culture of the people she characterizes. In Mi-

ley’s “We Can’t Stop” music video she wears all black, scowls at the camera, and holds up her hands in two backwards peace signs. A golden grill shines on her teeth. Miley’s image here is inspired by the portrayal of rappers in music videos. Her hand gestures allude to gang signs. Her gold grill is representative of the jewelry she has the money to buy and show off. These two actions do not have the same effect as they would if a typical black rapper did something similar.

Miley certainly has never been in the position of a poor inner-city black male whose low position in society has led him to violence or gangs. Miley’s use of these characteris-

stream.

The popular rapper exemplifies the American dream. He exemplifies how one can move from one of the most oppressed positions in our society, to one where he has luxury at the fingertips of his autonomous hands. Rappers

Miley implies that being black is about a choice of attitude rather than a culture. tics shows how she plays with the idea that she can “do” black too. Miley has perpetuated stereotypes that she will never have to feel the effects of and she has popularized them with her seal of approval. Her attempts to imitate their actions, belittle the serious cycles of oppression that cause this low status.

In his book, The Code of the Streets, Elijah Anderson describes the yearning for respect, autonomy, and manhood in the culture of inner city black males. The violence that is so often talked about concerning inner city black males developed from the distrust in response to the racism that blacks historically have encountered from the police. They developed their own vigilante system of justice. This vigilante system is a part of what Anderson calls oppositional culture. This counterculture functions to create a community where value and respect can be found through forms that are not main-

boast about expensive cars, enormous sums of money, and boss-like status because finally they have attained successes that are also deemed successes in white, mainstream culture. Although there are still limits to the power a man in this role has access to, it is a celebrated achievement because these are possessions (objects and women) that are acknowledged and coveted by both mainstream culture and oppositional cultures. The black men in Anderson’s piece claim their identity within a culture that is removed from the mainstream. Their identity is defined through an essential otherness. In the same way, women have been defined by being something other than man.

Miley, as a young white woman who has a social status that is higher than blacks, contributes to the controlling of black women’s sexuality by using her black background dancers as sexual objects. This is a conscious decision she made that must be scrutinized. Her choice to have black women twerking in her music videos and on stage during her performances must be looked at considering its historic past and implications. Black women are “other-ed” through race and gender and our history is wrought with oppression and objectification.

Black women’s sexuality threatens the power of other groups in society who have a higher status. Black women have been casted with several labels. The black woman with authority threatens the manhood of a black male by holding too much of the little authoritative power allocated to blacks. An image of black women that contributes to our oppression is the image of the Jezebel, a sexually crazed, overactive, and aggressive woman. On the other hand, a black female who is in control of her sexuality threatens the white man’s ownership of her and lessens his ability to exploit her. In order for the black woman to have an accepted position in society, her existence must be one that allows for all others to have more power than her.

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Volume XX, Issue 3

Who We Are: Black Indies that Deserve Your Attention Savannah Turner I am not who they say I am. I am an infinite creation- evolving and re-evolving in my experiences, struggles, and triumphs.

They are afraid of seeing me. For if they see who I am, who will they be?

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he beauty of independent cinema lies in its devotion to capture the truth, or at least parts of it. There are times when the viewing experience can almost be uncomfortable, and as an audience member, you can’t help but feel like you’re intruding on someone else’s experience. Independent films are a celebration of the little details that create a life. It’s the culmination of these moments that give a film its realness. Black indie films allow audiences to see the complex layers of black life that are too often ignored in mainstream media.

I say this not to belittle the films coming from large Hollywood studios, but simply to stress the importance of indie films in the discussion of black representation. While it is impossible to fully understand what it means to be black after watching a couple of independent films, I think it creates a space that allows us to understand the dimensions of blackness or at least their existence.

Of course, disenfranchisement does not happen overnight. The media’s representation of people of color, blackness in particular, has forever marginalized the black community. They are relentless in their efforts to “diversify” our living rooms and eventually, our perception of society. However, mainstream media typically comes from a primarily white perspective. Black indie films give black writers, directors, and producers a chance to create a medium from a black perspective.

Black filmmakers are crucial to the world of cinema. The success of black independent films relies on our support. In order for these films to be made, there must be a demand, an audience. Let’s give them one.

Here are some recent titles to check out: An Oversimplification of Her Beauty (2013) Mother of George (2013) Newlyweeds (2013) Middle of Nowhere (2012) Pariah (2011) Night Catches Us (2010)

con’t from previous page Personally, I do not want to think that Miley Cyrus has a racist possessive view of black women and our bodies, but her optional ethnicity could not be expressed without the existence of a hierarchy where white bodies are worth more than black and brown ones. Though Miley and the black women who are her dancers claim each other as friends, the visual message shown is one that brings the Jezebel to mind. This is an example of how, no matter the relationships that lie within, the surface value perceptions of some relationships are vital to their impact on others.

Miley exists in a world that has social and cultural differences that need work to be hurdled, and she is making the wrong choices with an opportunity to learn, grow, and make positive change. As one of the most powerful members of the dominant class, she has influence over the perceptions of minorities with less social power. Her first step must be to acknowledge the effects of her actions. Her second step should be to foster supportive images of oppressed groups in society, rather than perpetuating stereotypes about them.

Of course, Miley Cyrus is allowed to step out of the mainstream culture if she pleases. There should be no rule saying that people cannot step out of their given strata. In fact, strict separation of social groups sustains the inequalities that exist among them. However, if Miley is going to make the voluntary choice to (for however much time) step down from an extremely high position in society to portray cultural quirks from a lower level of society, she should be conscientious and respectful by grappling with the effects of her actions.

The Ankh

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Volume XX, Issue 3

The History of Slavery in Middletown

Armani White

The enslavement of Africans in Middletown was fundamental to the life, growth, and freedom of not only the United States but of colonial forces occupying the Caribbean Islands as well. Contrary to the common misconception, New England and much of the North, including Middletown, was complicit in the Trans-Atlantic slave trade. The Connecticut River was one of the first sites of slavery in the North. After the Pequot Wars of 1638, in which European colonial forces massacred indigenous Pequot natives, the surviving Pequot’s were enslaved and shipped to Bermuda in exchange for African slaves. These bartered African slaves were the first of their kind in New England. White indentured servitude, parallel to slavery in some conditions, predated slavery in much of the colonies as wealthier colonist required cheap labor immediately upon invading the New World; the construct of racial hierarchy had not yet taken form as white, immigrant servants were treated in the same regards as their later African counterparts and were not seen as naturally superior in any form1.

Middletown was founded in 1650, and by 1660 the trade of Africans in Middletown had already commenced. Middletown, being the deepest and first port along the Connecticut River, was home to many travelling sea captains, merchants, and traders. Merchants from Middletown in specific amassed large amounts of capital by provisioning the Ca1 Eric Williams. 1994. Chapter 1 & 2. Capitalism and Slavery. Durham: University of North Carolina Press.

ribbean with the much-needed cattle, beef, wheat, onions, potatoes, salted shad and codfish. Almost all of the farmable land in the Caribbean islands was used for large plantations. The colonists in the Caribbean relied on imported goods from New England to survive.

Middletown also played a role in the exchange of human slaves. By 1770 there were documented slave dealers on Main Street. Most of the slaves sold were born in West Africa. To this day, we are still learning more and more about New England’s colonists’ involvement in the West African acquisition of human slaves.

Unlike the South, where African captives were overwhelmingly agricultural workers laboring in groups, the North had a different style of slavery; Captives had to adapt to the diverse requirements of their owner’s household, farm, or other businesses. Slaves in the North worked in agriculture and in the maritime trades, but they also had tasks as varied as operating printing presses, shoeing horses, and constructing houses and barns.

Newspaper advertisements offering decent sums of money for runaway slaves are a testament to the variety and skill level of their work, and they further indicate how valuable the slaves were to their owners2. Enslaved black women in the North were maids, household servants, and concubines. They were spinners, weavers, cooks, and cleaners. They grew food, hauled wood and water, watched

the children, tended the sick, made medicines, and helped with the family business.

They were seamstresses, soap makers, dyers, and laundresses3.

The Trans-Atlantic slave trade was the foundation for all of the wealth of New England, as well as for much of the European world’s capital. Capitalism and slavery are inextricably linked. New England could not have existed without stolen Africans. From the provisioning of Caribbean islands and the insuring of slave vessels, to the bartering of human lives in West Africa, New England, including Connecticut and the Middlesex County, was as complicit in slavery as any slave trader in the South or Caribbean was. Wealthy families from Connecticut like the Van Durzens, Gleasons, Alsaps, Mathers, Mansfields, the Russels, and many more founded their wealth in this lucrative trade, maintaining it until today.

In the years before the signing of the Declaration of Independence, there were tens of thousands of Africans in bondage in the Northern United States. Although precise figures are impossible to obtain, in 1760 there were at least 41,000 Africans enslaved in the North. This includes New England and the Mid-Atlantic States of New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Delaware. After the American Revolution, the numbers of slaves in the North dropped. George Washington had freed many Africans who fought for America

2 Anne Farrow, Joel Lang and Jenifer

3 Anne Farrow, Joel Lang and Jenifer

Frank. 2006. Complicity: How the North Promoted, Prolonged and Profited From Slavery. New York: Ballantine Books (page 72)

Frank. 2006. Complicity: How the North Promoted, Prolonged and Profited From Slavery. New York: Ballantine Books (page 71)

The Ankh because the British had promised freedom to Africans who joined the Loyalist cause. He did not free these people out of kindness or sympathy; he had no. Without African soldiers, Washington and his forces would have fallen to the British. Despite Washington granting some Africans their freedom, in the 1790s, Connecticut and Rhode Island together still had more than 6,000 Africans in bondage4. It is not uncommon for slavery in the North to be romanticized as a mutually agreed-upon indenture. Two centuries of human bondage was purposefully recast as a paternalistic; a “family style” arrangement, as beneficial to the slave as to the owner. This could not be further from the truth, for missing from this whitewashed view of history was the fact that owners had the power of life and death over their ‘property’. In 1758, Jonathan Trumbull, the future governor of Connecticut, sentenced three slaves, Cato, Newport, and Adam, to be publically whipped on the naked body for ‘nightwalking’ after nine in the evening without an order from their masters. Slaves in the North, like those in the South, served at the whim of their owners and could be sold or traded at moments notice. They were housed in unheated attics and basements, in outbuildings and barns. They often slept on the floor, wrapped in coarse blankets. They lived under a harsh system of ‘black codes’ that controlled their movements, prohibited their education, and limited their social contacts. The two defining assumptions of all the codes were that blacks were dangerous in groups and that they were, at a basic human level, inferior5.

Although there are only mere traces of slave resistance in historical texts, possibly the attempt by early historians and archivists at pacifying the brutal relationship between slave and master, it is understood that resistance to slavery was nonstop. Resisting slavery did not always mean killing one’s master; 4 Anne Farrow, Joel Lang and Jenifer Frank. 2006. Complicity: How the North Promoted, Prolonged and Profited From Slavery. New York: Ballantine Books (page 62) 5 Anne Farrow, Joel Lang and Jenifer Frank. 2006. Complicity: How the North Promoted, Prolonged and Profited From Slavery. New York: Ballantine Books (page 63)

9 slave resistance came in many shapes; from Negro spirituals and the Underground Railroad, to the attempt by African mistresses to get their children into positions of power within their plantation. The struggle for African liberation in America was no homogenous storyline.

Most descriptions we have are written down second hand, by close friends and relatives of freed men.

Many stories have gone untold; many more stories have been lost. As mentioned before, what glimpses we do have of free life in New England can be noted in the common ad in local newspapers for ‘Runaway Slaves’. Slave resistance was one of the fundamental factors, along with industrialization and the declining need for a slave-based economy, to growing abolitionist sentiments, more so than the notion of ‘American Independence and Freedom’ that was present at that time. In 1784, the first emancipation-like law was passed allowing any “Negro or Mulatto” to be freed from slavery after reaching the age of 25. In 1797 another manumission adjustment was made to require the freedom of African slaves after the age of 21. Finally in 1848 all African slaves were legally emancipated in CT6.

It is very difficult to accurately retell the life of the early African/African American 6 Dates provided by Debbie Schapiro. Middlesex County Historical Society. October 2013

Volume XX, Issue 3 in Middletown or anywhere in America before

the Civil War because of the lack of primary documents. What little remnants of first hand stories we have are continuing to gain popularity amongst preservationists, archivists, archaeologists, and scholars, but there is still so much missing from the story. One can look at the life of Venture Smith, a West-African prince who was captured at the age of 8 from present day Ghana and sold into slavery throughout the Americas who, through great determination and industry, bought his freedom in Connecticut, for a glimpse into the harsh life of the African in America and the constant struggle for freedom. One can also look at the ‘community project’ of Leverett Beiman, native of Middletown, for another example of African American self-determination7.

Beginning in 1840 Beiman helped found one the first free, Black owned community in Connecticut. The grandson of a slave and the son of a prominent abolitionist preacher, the vision Leverett Beiman had of an African community within a white, colonial space was no easy task, and took many years to come to fruition.

Existing as a triangular plot of land between Vine St, Knowles, and Cross St; about 5 acres in total, Beiman was able to facilitate the construction of 11 houses, as well as a church, the A.M.E. Zion Church. Currently there is much dispute about the process of preserving the ‘Beiman Triangle’. Recently the A.M.E. Zion church was sold to Wesleyan and reverted into a dance studio. Many of the Beiman triangle buildings are owned by Wesleyan University and are currently being used as senior housing. If you are a senior, or have senior friends, you may have played a casual game of beer-pong in one of these historical houses. Do they deserve much more respect and a place in public history? That is a question I hope to address in another issue.

7 Nasta, Jesse. 2007. “Introduction” of thesis on Middletown Beaman Triangle. History.

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Volume XX, Issue 3

Poetry and Prose Womanism

Woman is my religion I worship Her She gives me life She nurtures me She tears me down She builds me up

By Her grace alone I do live Her sweetness fills me lifts me molds me sustains me I pray for Her mercy I beg for Her forgiveness I bow down to Her authority I possess Her in my heart I feel Her presence when I do not see Her I believe in what is not proven Her heaven

and Her hell I desire both My devotion to Her is everlasting My love for Her is undying To Her I offer my body as sacrifice so She may use me to further Her deeds To use me as Her instrument from which She derives pleasure Woman I love thee I am worthy Please hear me Woman I sincerely feel free beneath thee Woman.

Jay Benedith

Men of Chocolate Men of chocolate in this world make young women wait like endangered goldfish stuck in a bowl and unfed.

Wait for them to grow a pair of thick pants in the harshest reality of winter.

Wait like time grows backward and gray lines are the new brown and black.

Wait for hearts to be impaired, bodies to be injured.

Wait for her eyes to no longer secrete salt, a chemical imbalance now composes black ash to her fire.

Wait for insecurity to wash the cells of her brain.

Wait for the color Blame to be the sole cause of her Existence.

Wait for her undeniable beauty to fall off the radars of this Earth.

Wait for her walls of resistance to crumble.

Wait until her firearms are small, to finally charge with thoughtless swords.

Chocolate, you wait until my pieces are bitter and half melted, until I’m no longer a ravishing delicacy to you.

Pity.

Men of chocolate you see your worth with the wrong pair of eyes. Money first, family second.

You place your aggressive back towards me, leaving me with a seductive view of the imagined place I want to be in.

You’ve got it wrong: my back is suppose to face you, then your arms hold to secure. Be my blockade. But the view is a face I cannot kiss, intimacy is barred.

You call me drama, opinions you make facts.

You call me loud, voices you mute and not hear.

Male creatures of water, of land are made the bright, attractive ones, so women could mate with them.

Are you living by science?

Flaw.

Women are the attractive ones too, so mate with us.

Arnelle Williams

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11 live from the plantation

The white people don’t seem to know they have their own culture, that they make spaces bend & contract to their needs please, just be like me The white people like comfort you have to break the truth about their privilege gently with a smile a joke sometimes I throw in a shoulder squeeze The white people like to help brown people who are far away but don’t like the ones they share the campus with or the ones down the street The white people are afraid of brown skinned people when they are in groups larger than 4 then it becomes over capacity & self segregation The white people will never go to black parties because they are scared I know this because they tell me so Or I see their muscles tense when I ask if they went to go inside and they never do My white friends might have been afraid of me if they didn’t know me and that makes me sad actually it makes me feel like a monster The white people think my culture is funny but don’t think its funny when I have something to say then they are distrustful There are some white people that aren’t this way they are my friends they are usually queer and feel alone a lot just like me the white boys don’t like to touch me but sometimes they like to touch my hair a little inspection and tell me it’s “so cool” is this what they think diversity is?

I always feel shitty after because they never tell me I’m beautiful How do they not see this as objectification ? but use the word in class ?

I wonder if the white people know I am a chameleon meaning I change in order to fit my surroundings and I am damn good at it meaning: they don’t fucking know me The white people get to lead campus movements The white people are pretty much polite The white people are everywhere The white people need help The white people The white people The white people They don’t know I’m writing this.

------Anonymous

Volume XX, Issue 3 Mind Vomit Synapses snapping like bones Entrails of thoughts scattered around my room Mind vomit excreted upon scraps of paper Snarled script, Black ink Smeared and seeping into my Black skin.

Ebony toxin coursing through my Crimson.

Enveloping blood cells, sickle cells.

Giving character to me, to my race.

Imparting character, no compromise.

All or nothing, but always all.

Slave to will, slave to men, animals, men, animals, mammals, Slave to color, slave to all, slave for nothing.

Slab of meat upon a carving board Cut me open, take nothing, give everything.

I am a hybrid, Black, no compromise, White.

Incomplete unless I’m sliced in half Replaced, sewn back together, Presented as whole, But I’m nothing of myself, wholly other.

I am only a shadow of Black Projected upon the back wall of the cave.

Strength turned over, inverted inward, Returned as shackles.

Black beauty bleached and blanched Teased out tangles, knots of naps, Rouge upon raw lips.

Ebony skin confined in Red velvet choked by Ivory pearls.

Set me up upon a stand Chattel for creation I am for sale.

Set sail from the land of Ebony and Ivory With Black Gold upon their ship Overburdened with suffering.

Sunken generations, degeneration, Broken nation Upon broken backs Stripes of Red upon a White background No, Stripes of Crimson upon Black backs Bruised Blue, branded with stars.

This life is as free as freedom.

Stacey Uchendu

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Volume XX, Issue 3

REMINDER This is for you, for when you start to think you’re as docile as the world says you are, when you start to doubt your agency, or when you see yourself as another yellow carbon copy.

This is a reminder that you are much stronger than you let yourself believe.

When you speak to strangers, you seem sweet and shy as you smile and your words stumble. But if only they could comprehend even a fraction of the intensity of your being…

You are a child of refugees and seekers.

The same blood which pulsed fiercely through your father’s veins and arteries as he paddled across the bay, away from Mao’s China and towards free Hong Kong, throbs in you. Do you remember that that was his second attempt? Do you remember that he was jailed the first time? From him, you have learned resistance and determination.

Your grandmother, as a young girl, watched her parents starve to death, their daily deterioration until they became nothing but dusty bones. Likewise, you witnessed your own father wither away from disease, and the lowering of his body under the earth as your mother screamed. You have inherited a great capacity for trauma.

The many tribulations that have faced your mother, who deserves so much more than the broken love her parents and your father gave her, cultivated within her a sense of infinite adaptability. This, in turn , has shown you how to self-persevere and lick your own wounds.

Resilience does not trickle inside you; it floods. Let it erode and swallow the doubts that have pushed their way inside.

There is no room for weakness because it does not suit you.

Love yourself, because by doing so, you are embracing the ones who came before you and nurturing the life they have travelled so far to give you.

Winnie Young

post-negro sketches for future gradients

the revolution will not be on world star ------------True/False: black is a verb ------------i have a Black consciousness. it is next to my right kneecap.

------------the trayvon martin incident was not about race, fish are mammals, i am not a human being ------------i am a museum of passe-blanc faux paus, a mantle of bronze caste trophies to unsolicited skin tone competitions ------------[house negro problem #43] (the earl grey did not steep long enough) pale brown reflections of water shaped by a porcelain mouth ---------

Rhys Langston Podell

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Volume XX, Issue 3

Searching.

It was hard, at first, being without you. Not that it’s easy now. But after your body was first discovered, and after the flowers, and the songs, and the hugs and gifted food were gone, it was so hard. As the denial drained out of me, I felt all hope, for you, for better days, for the future, for myself, flush away as well. I was hollow. The feeling that is now familiar was just making itself at home, and it messed with my reality.

I sat in class staring blankly at my chemistry teacher. No one was paying attention. People were talking; classmates were playing around, laughing and tossing papers at each other. Everyone around me was animated and alive, while I felt very dead. Dead enough to press myself into my desk, to feel as if I was pressing myself through my desk, through the floor and into the ground. I was in the ground, sinking. I looked up to see the sky shrink away as earth closed in around me, and then everything was dark.

I started to swim through the earth. Above me, I heard trains whistling, and then I was too deep to hear anything. My moves were fast, yet calculated. I was looking for you. But where were you? And why had you left me at all? Why had you lied, and told me that you were going to be okay, when all along you had been planning to leave me? Where were you? How could you? Where were you? The more I thought, the more frantic my strokes became. I needed to find you, to hold you, to have you back again. But the world is huge, even huger when you’ve lost someone, and this was starting to seem like a lost cause. There was too much ground to cover, and I was losing control.

I couldn’t wait any longer.

“Edward!” I screamed, opening my mouth for the first time. Maybe if you heard me, heard my anguish and fear, you would come back. “Ed – ” But you shouldn’t open your mouth underground. All the dirt came rushing into my body. It filled my mouth and my throat. It got into my lungs, and my eyes and my ears. It was everywhere, and still coming. This wasn’t how I’d wanted to fill my hollowness, and you still weren’t there.

I started throwing up. Every last bit of dirt, every reminder of loss, of abandonment, of grit and the baseness that I felt, I needed it out of my system and away from me. I retched and writhed and sobbed, and then I wasn’t underground anymore. I was back at my desk, still retching and writhing and crying, but silently, dryly. No one noticed.

Khalilah Lushiku

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Volume XX, Issue 3

Don’t say hi to me. Don’t ignore me either.

I’m not sure what I want to happen when we run into each other. Are you ashamed of what you did? You should be.

But how will you deal with your shame? Will you keep your head down, pretending that I’m not there and that it never happened? Will you sheepishly make eye contact, knowing that you should apologize, but too afraid to do so? Give me the awkward nod and hand raise?

And what will I do? Will I ignore you? Pretend that you’re a ghost after what you’ve done, and that you no longer exist?

I want to slap you in the face. I want to call you an asshole, a jerk, and make you understand the piece of shit that you are, but that wouldn’t be polite. So what will I do? We’re getting closer now, about to pass…

“Hey! How are you?” you greet me cheerfully, midstride. Before I’m even aware of what’s going on, my reflexes are kicking in and I’m smiling into your face, waving as I walk away from you. What just happened?

That’s when I realize that you must not remember. Or if you do, you’re remembering incorrectly. You were drunk, and I was sober. While my back can still feel the wall that you pressed me into, and my body can still feel the grab of your unwanted ghost hands; while my arms remember the strain of trying to keep you away from me and off of me, my throat is hoarse with the memory of telling you “No,” and my cheeks can still feel the slobber from your forced kisses, what are you feeling? Maybe all you remember is annoyance, because I could tell you were annoyed when a friend finally forced you off of me. I was grateful; I was relieved. My arms had been about to give out. What a contrast that is, between annoyance and relief, and the beauty of escape into the outside air. You ruined that party for me, and scared me away from a few others.

And now you don’t even remember it? That’s bullshit. To you, everything is the same as it always was. If I suddenly stopped greeting you, I would be a bitch. If I complained about it, I would be overreacting. It happened too long ago.

To bring it up now would seem foolish to everyone else who would have forgotten that night. I can’t help remembering every time I see you, and every time I automatically wave back my contempt for you grows almost to match the contempt I feel for myself. You have so much power over me, and you aren’t even aware of it.

The truly messed up thing is that I know if I got you in trouble, I would feel guilty. As if it was my fault, and not the consequence of your own actions. When did I turn into the girl who blames herself? Have I always been her?

I know that I’ll never get an apology, and that I’ll never feel safe around you. I know that you’ll always be ignorant of this. I just hope you haven’t done it to anyone else.

Jerk.

Khalilah Lushiku

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Volume XX, Issue 3

Home Sweet Africa

In silence, in loneliness, darkness is at its peak; all trace of light is but a myth. The tears that stream off my face crash to the floor and bring muteness to halt. The emptiness of dorm walls mirrors the asylums of my heart. My remembrance of Africa lulls me to sleep mollifying the sorrow that lied embedded in my consciousness. I dream about the dune valleys of the Kalahari, where the sun paralyses movement. I dream about the mounts of the Berg where the wind ebbs.

I dream about bloody rivers that have emptied arteries. I dream about my Africa.

The sun rises in the Cape to give birth to day. And brings light to great and small. I smell freedom. I enjoy the singing of the birds as they escape morning’s anxiousness. As they sing a tune without words. They remind me of hope for hope is like the birds - born to fly away but destined to return back to its nest - the soul. I know what it means when race; ethnicity, and creed are used to determine who is human and who is sub- human. The bruises on my body and the derision of my soul and self-worth tell the atrocities of man, and his cruel thinking. Yet – I shall not fear to say,”I am an African” from the Mt. Kilimanjaro or from the depths of Lake Assal. For in my veins courses the blood of an Igbo slave who broke the manacles of oppression and captivity to seek refuge and prosperity in the South of Africa. But unfortunately he met another belligerent tyrant who did not only steal the clothes on his back but also the pride; dignity in saying- I am an African. The brood viper, spate incredulous untruths in his ear made him believe he is inferior and his way of life is mediocre and barbaric. Thus began the self- loathing, and once a great man became a shell of his former self. But the victories of Isandlwana to Cairo, the triumphant conquests over the colonel powers in Egypt, Ghana, and Nigeria ignited hope and intensified the thrust for freedom- a thrust that could not be thwarted or suffocated by truculent attempts. The beauty of the land, flowers, mountains, and the majesty of curvature of the continent reminded him of his being. He was there in 1964; Riviona trails, when Nelson gave his own apologia, “…

I have fought against white domination, and I have fought against black domination …” He was there when the youth of 1976 had the audacity to face machine guns with stones in their hands and pockets. He saw churches burning in the South. And in 1959 marched through Havana and the winds of change dried his tearful face. He was there to lament the death of Steve Biko and Chris Hani. It is because of him that I am able to stand today. He and I where born from the sands that witnessed the steps of the very first man, and today. I am proud to call Africa my home.

Bulelani M Jili

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