How come this shit just goes on and on?

Posted in Uncategorized on May 13, 2008 by blackrep

Helder TomarIt is really frightening that during the run of “The Etymology of Bird” there has been so much violence as there has been in Rhode Island’s urban centers, not to mention the verdict in the Sean Bell trial. Just this last week another young Black man was laid to rest in Pawtucket. Thanks to the Projo for their coverage:

It set off a cycle of violence that threatens to sweep up teenagers in Pawtucket and Central Falls.

So, as hundreds of Tomar’s friends and family members gathered at his funeral yesterday, lay preacher Marco De Barros used the occasion to call for an end to the bloodshed.

“Death is part of life, but it’s supposed to be natural, not by violence, not by strife,” said De Barros, a 1996 graduate of Shea High School, where Tomar had been a student.

“My question, young people, is ‘What now? What are you going to do with this experience? I believe we are at a crossroads. We have a choice to make.”

“If we keep living this way –– an eye for an eye –– all of us will be blind,” De Barros told the crowd that packed the funeral home.

Junot Díaz wins the Pulitzer

Posted in Artists on April 14, 2008 by blackrep

Junot Diaz
Dominican author Junot Díaz had this wonderful comment, related to our work right now on The Etmology of Bird running through May 18, 2008.

“I’m just this Dominican kid from New Jersey,” Díaz said. “If anybody deserves this, it’s all those people who dragged my giving-up, depressed [expletive] over the finish line” — among them his fiance, Elizabeth de León, and his agent, Nicole Aragi, “who spent 11 years telling me, ‘You can do this.’ ”

The real importance of his prize, he said, lies in its potential effect on others: “For any young person who’s attempting to make art against all the odds, I hope this can be inspiration and motivation.”

Satchmo in the curriculum? Sign me up!

Posted in Artists, Education on April 14, 2008 by blackrep

Satchmo
Jon Faddis, one of the country’s most reknowned Jazz trumpeters, has been fostering new interest in Louis
Armstrong through music ed programs on Chicago’s South Side. I love the way he articulates the need for Jazz education:

“I think knowing about Louis Armstrong gives these kids hope. And it’s not the type of hope one may glean from looking at rappers with all of their bling. I think it’s a more human type of hope. It’s about spirituality, it’s about energy, it’s about the universality of our humanity, our pain and our suffering, but also our joy in life.”

For more on the program, check the full article in the Chicago Tribune

Under The Tongue Festival

Posted in Artists, Education, Events, Theater on April 14, 2008 by blackrep

Charles Mulekwa
It’s a great week for Black artists at Brown as the Literary Arts Department along with a couple of other notable co-sponsors (Africana Studies, the International Writers Project and the office of the President) is bringing a full slate of writers, play writes and intellectuals to campus to discuss issues such as freedom of speech and new trends in African literature. Our very own affiliate artist, Charles Mulekwa, will be participating in a staged reading at 3pm on Wednesday the 16th of April at 155 Angel St. (Churchill House/McCormack Family Theater)

40 Million Dollar Slaves

Posted in Education, Events, Slavery & Justice on April 14, 2008 by blackrep

Craig Robinson
I’m probably going to miss this tonight, but it sounds great:

The Brown University Department of Athletics and the Third World Center will host a panel discussion to discuss, “Reflections on Race and Sport In America,” on Monday, April 14, 2008 at Andrews Dining Hall, located on the Brown campus, beginning at 7:00 p.m.  Headlining the panel is New York Times columnist William Rhoden, author of “Forty Million Dollar Slaves.” The panel discussion on “Race and Sport In America” is free and open to the Brown community and general public.

Jim Campbell, Brown professor of Africana Studies and American Studies, will moderate a panel discussion that will attempt to navigate the ever-changing role race plays in professional and amateur sports in America.  Joining Rhoden on the panel will be Craig Robinson, the head men’s basketball coach at Brown and brother-in-law of Presidential hopeful Barak Obama, and Nicole Burns, a junior track & field standout at Brown.

A Letter from Alice Walker

Posted in Artists on April 14, 2008 by blackrep

Alice Walker
I HAVE COME home from a long stay in Mexico to find – because of the presidential campaign, and especially because of the Obama/Clinton race for the Democratic nomination – a new country existing alongside the old.  On any given day we, collectively, become the Goddess of the Three Directions and can look back into the past, look at ourselves just where we are, and take a glance, as well, into the future.  It is a space with which I am familiar.

When I was born in 1944 my parents lived on a middle Georgia plantation that was owned by a white distant relative,  Miss May Montgomery. (During my childhood it was necessary to address all white girls as ‘Miss’ when they reached the age of twelve.)  She would never admit to this relationship, of course, except to mock it.  Told by my parents that several of their children would not eat chicken skin she responded that of course they would not.  No Montgomerys would.

My parents and older siblings did everything imaginable for Miss May.  They planted and raised her cotton and corn, fed and killed and processed her cattle and hogs, painted her house, patched her roof, ran her dairy, and, among countless other duties and responsibilities my father was her chauffeur, taking her anywhere she wanted to go at any hour of the day or night.  She lived in a large white house with green shutters and a green, luxuriant lawn:  not quite as large as Tara of Gone With the Wind fame, but in the same style.

We lived in a shack without electricity or running water, under a rusty tin roof that let in wind and rain.  Miss May went to school as a girl. The school my parents and their neighbors built for us was burned to the ground by local racists who wanted to keep ignorant their competitors in tenant farming.  During the Depression, desperate to feed his hardworking family, my father asked for a raise from ten dollars a month to twelve.  Miss May responded that she would not pay that amount to a white man and she certainly wouldn’t pay it to a nigger.  That before she’d pay a nigger that much money she’d milk the dairy cows herself.

When I look back, this is part of what I see.  I see the school bus carrying white children, boys and girls, right past me, and my brothers, as we trudge on foot five miles to school.  Later, I see my parents struggling to build a school out of discarded army barracks while white students, girls and boys, enjoy a building made of brick.  We had no books; we inherited the cast off books that ‘Jane’ and ‘Dick’ had previously used in the all-white school that we were not, as black children, permitted to enter.

The year I turned fifty, one of my relatives told me she had started reading my books for children in the library in my home town.  I had had no idea – so kept from black people it had been – that such a place existed.  To this day knowing my presence was not wanted in the public library when I was a child I am highly uncomfortable in libraries and will rarely, unless I am there to help build, repair, refurbish or raise money to keep them open, enter their doors.

When I joined the freedom movement in Mississippi in my early twenties it was to come to the aid of sharecroppers, like my parents, who had been thrown off the land they’d always known, the plantations, because they attempted to exercise their ‘democratic’ right to vote.  I wish I could say white women treated me and other black people a lot better than the men did, but I cannot.  It seemed to me then and it seems to me now that white women have copied, all too often, the behavior of their fathers and their brothers, and in the South, especially in Mississippi, and before that, when I worked to register voters in Georgia, the broken bottles thrown at my head were gender free.

I made my first white women friends in college; they were women who loved me and were loyal to our friendship, but I understood, as they did, that they were white women and that whiteness mattered.  That, for instance, at Sarah Lawrence, where I was speedily inducted into the Board of Trustees practically as soon as I graduated, I made my way to the campus for meetings by train, subway and foot, while the other trustees, women and men, all white, made their way by limo.  Because, in our country, with its painful history of unspeakable inequality, this is part of what whiteness means.  I loved my school for trying to make me feel I mattered to it, but because of my relative poverty I knew I could not.

I am a supporter of Obama because I believe he is the right person to lead the country at this time. He offers a rare opportunity for the country and the world to start over, and to do better.   It is a deep sadness to me that many of my feminist white women friends cannot see him.  Cannot see what he carries in his being.  Cannot hear the fresh choices toward Movement he offers. That they can believe that millions of Americans –black,  white, yellow, red and brown – choose Obama over Clinton only because he is a man, and black, feels tragic to me.

When I have supported white people, men and women, it was because I thought them the best possible people to do whatever the job required.  Nothing else would have occurred to me. If Obama were in any sense mediocre, he would be forgotten by now. He is, in fact, a remarkable human being, not perfect but humanly stunning, like King was and like Mandela is. We look at him, as we looked at them, and are glad to be of our species. He is the change America has been trying desperately and for centuries to hide, ignore, kill. The change America must have if we are to convince the rest of the world that we care about people other than our (white) selves.

True to my inner Goddess of the Three Directions however, this does not mean I agree with everything Obama stands for. We differ on important points probably because I am older than he is, I am a woman and person of three colors, (African, Native American, European), I was born and raised in the American South, and when I look at the earth’s people, after sixty-four years of life, there is not one person I wish to see suffer, no matter what they have done to me or to anyone else; though I understand quite well the place of suffering, often, in human growth.

I want a grown-up attitude toward Cuba, for instance, a country and a people I love; I want an end to the embargo that has harmed my friends and their children, children who, when I visit Cuba, trustingly turn their faces up for me to kiss. I agree with a teacher of mine, Howard Zinn, that war is as objectionable as cannibalism and slavery; it is beyond obsolete as a means of improving life.   I want an end to the on-going war immediately and I want the soldiers to be encouraged to destroy their weapons and to drive themselves out of Iraq.

I want the Israeli government to be made accountable for its behavior towards the Palestinians, and I want the people of the United States to cease acting like they don’t understand what is going on.  All colonization, all occupation, all repression basically looks the same, whoever is doing it.  Here our heads cannot remain stuck in the sand; our future depends of our ability to study, to learn, to understand what is in the records and what is before our eyes.  But most of all I want someone with the self-confidence to talk to anyone, ‘enemy’ or ‘friend,’  and this Obama has shown he can do.  It is difficult to understand how one could vote for a person who is afraid to sit and talk to another human being.  When you vote you are making someone a proxy for yourself; they are to speak when, and in places, you cannot.  But if they find talking to someone else, who looks just like them, human, impossible, then what good is your vote?

It is hard to relate what it feels like to see Mrs. Clinton (I wish she felt self-assured enough to use her own name) referred to as ‘a woman’ while Barack Obama is always referred to as ‘a black man.’  One would think she is just any woman, colorless, race-less, past-less, but she is not. She carries all the history of white womanhood in America in her person; it would be a miracle if we, and the world, did not react to this fact.  How dishonest it is, to attempt to make her innocent of her racial inheritance.

I can easily imagine Obama sitting down and talking, person to person, with any leader, woman, man, child or common person, in the world, with no baggage of past servitude or race supremacy to mar their talks.  I cannot see the same scenario with Mrs. Clinton who would drag into Twenty-First Century American leadership the same image of white privilege and distance from the reality of others’ lives that has so marred our country’s contacts with the rest of the world.

And yes, I would adore having a woman president of the United States.  My choice would be Representative Barbara Lee, who alone voted in Congress five years ago not to make war on Iraq. That to me is leadership, morality, and courage; if she had been white I would have cheered just as hard.

But she is not running for the highest office in the land, Mrs. Clinton is. And because Mrs. Clinton is a woman and because she may be very good at what she does, many people, including some younger women in my own family, originally favored her over Obama. I understand this, almost. It is because, in my own nieces’ case, there is little memory, apparently, of the foundational inequities that still plague people of color and poor whites in this country.. Why, even though our family has been here longer than most North American families – and only partly due to the fact that we have Native American genes – we very recently, in my lifetime, secured the right to vote, and only after numbers of people suffered and died for it.

When I offered the word ‘Womanism’ many years ago, it was to give us a tool to use, as feminist women of color, in times like these.  These are the moments we can see clearly, and must honor devotedly, our singular path as women of color in the United States.  We are not white women and this truth has been ground into us for centuries, often in brutal ways.  But neither are we inclined to follow a black person, man or woman, unless they demonstrate considerable courage, intelligence, compassion and substance.  I am delighted that so many women of color support Barack Obama -and genuinely proud of the many young and old white women and men who do.

Imagine, if he wins the presidency we will have not one but three black women in the White House;  one tall, two somewhat shorter;   none of them carrying the washing in and out of the back door.  The bottom line for most of us is:  With whom do we have a better chance of surviving the madness and fear we are presently enduring, and with whom do we wish to set off on a journey of new possibility?  In other words, as the Hopi elders would say: Who do we want in the boat with us as we head for the rapids?  Who is likely to know how best to share the meager garden produce and water?  We are advised by the Hopi elders to celebrate this time, whatever its adversities.

We have come a long way, Sisters, and we are up to the challenges of our time.  One of which is to build alliances based not on race, ethnicity, color, nationality, sexual preference or gender, but on Truth.  Celebrate our journey.  Enjoy the miracle we are witnessing.  Do not stress over its outcome.  Even if  Obama becomes president, our country is in such ruin it may well be beyond his power to lead us toward rehabilitation.  If he is elected however, we must, individually and collectively, as citizens of the planet, insist on helping him do the best job that can be done; more, we must insist that he demand this of us.
It is a blessing that our mothers taught us not to fear hard work. Know, as the Hopi elders declare: The river has its destination.  And remember, as poet June Jordan and Sweet Honey in the Rock never tired of telling us: We are the ones we have been waiting for.

Namaste;

And with all my love,

Alice Walker
Cazul

Northern California
First Day of Spring
March 21, 2008

The Covenant with Black American

Posted in Education, Events, Slavery & Justice on April 14, 2008 by blackrep

Covenant with Black America
Anne Edmonds Clanton and RICH have been cooking up a series of humanist-led forums. Check the accompanying graphic for info on humanists, locations and subject matter:

The Covenant is a collection of essays that plot a course for African Americans, explaining how individuals and households can make changes that will immediately improve their circumstances in areas ranging from health and education to crime reduction and financial well-being.  Each essay outlines one key issue and provides a list of resources and suggestions for action.  Though the African American community faces devastating social disparities, this celebration of possibility, hope and strength will help leaders and citizens keep Black America moving forward.

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