Black feminism

Imagining Black Womanhood: The Negotiation of Power and Identity Within the Girls Empowerment Project

beth — Sat, 20 Nov 2010 00:00:00 +0000

Imagining Black Womanhood by Stephanie D. Sears is a sociological account of the experiences of young African-American girls within the Girls Empowerment Project (GEP), an “Afri-centric, womanist, single-sex, after-school program” in Sun Valley, the largest housing development in Bay City, California. Set against the backdrop of a “nation’s collective anxieties” regarding Black women and girls, Imagining Black Womanhood is a well-researched and thoughtful interrogation of race, gender, and class and how the experiences of young Black girls struggling to resist stereotypes within and outside the GEP project speak to broader questions of power, privilege, and politics. Despite the (ironically) unimaginative title, Imagining Black Womanhood is a commendable effort by Sears to question, with equal academic rigor, discourses of empowerment, as well as oppression, in addition to showing how the biases that inform many of the stereotypes that these girls must struggle against come from across the political spectrum and across racial lines.

Sears sets the historical stage well, by tracing images of poor Black women and girls as “welfare queens” to the Reagan administration’s dismantling of the welfare state and its promotion of “trickle-down” economics, with its explicit finger-pointing at the “impoverished African-American female” as an undeserving recipient of benefits. By laying bare the racial and gender stereotypes that underlie these and other predominant images (such as “teen mothers”) of young Black women in the public imagination, Sears demonstrates how discourses from both Black and dominant communities have attempted to control the sexuality of young Black women—and have shaped the context for the growth of projects such as GEP.

Against this background, Sears describes how despite its aim to “empower” and enable Black girls to counter racial and gender stereotypes, GEP inadvertently reproduced many of these discourses in both its structure as an organization as well as its method of work. GEP’s explicit aim, when it initially conducted an assessment of problems such as teen pregnancy and poverty among Black girls, was to “challenge and change…unequal power relations and resource distribution”—that is, the structural issues underpinning Black girls’ social status in Sun Valley. However, despite this goal, GEP’s more pragmatic choice to try and effect change in areas where they could have most impact, meant that they ended up addressing the symptoms of discrimination rather than challenging the structures of power responsible for them. In doing so, GEP fell back on middle class cultural values and notions of “respectability,” attempting to erase what they viewed as the cultural markers of the “ghetto underclass”—such as the hypersexualization and objectification of young Black women—but with them, also the sense of self-hood and lived experiences of the young girls of GEP.

The above is illustrated most interestingly in the section entitled “Dance Lessons,” in which Sears shows how the struggle over sexuality, power, and identity between GEP and the young girls who attend it, is enacted through the “embodied politics” of dance. Prompted by the Afro-centric ideology of GEP, GEP staff’s attempts to encourage the girls to perform African dances (this bearing, in their eyes, the respectable currency of tradition) is countered by the girls’ desire to “express who they are” through contemporary hip-hop numbers. Sears stages the generational and class confrontation between the GEP staff and the girls through their conflicting perceptions of “appropriate” displays of sexuality, respectability, and respect, thereby asking the question that lies at the heart of Imagining Black Womanhood—what does “empowerment” mean, and to whom? How are notions of empowerment intertwined with class and cultural values? And what happens when processes of empowerment attempt to reconstitute the identity of she who is seen to be a “recipient” rather than an equal participant in this process? Sears’ book is a dense but rewarding read, not just for academics but for anyone interested in confronting these questions.

Written by: Kaavya Asoka, November 19th 2010

The Necessity of Climate Change: Women of Color Speak from the Ivory Tower

mandy — Thu, 11 Nov 2010 08:00:00 +0000

Interview with Morgane Richardson

Morgane Richardson graduated from Middlebury College in 2008 feeling that American colleges recruit women of color, but have no idea how to address the issues they face once they are enrolled. As a result, many of these women suffer depression, anxiety, and isolation in silence. Morgane decided to do something about this situation, and less than two years later, she has collected submissions from women all over the country who have had to navigate issues of race, class, and gender at elite, predominately white college campuses. With these stories, Morgane created Refuse the Silence.

Morgane is planning to publish a book and present a report to college administrators with a suggested plan of action to improve the college climate for women of color. In this interview, Morgane discusses the various misconceptions and stereotypes surrounding women of color in academic environments and the ways her website tries to support these women.

How do you determine which submissions should be part of Refuse the Silence?

All of the submissions we receive will be a part of Refuse the Silence; if not in the book, then definitely on our website or in our final report on the status of women of color in elite institutions. The decision about which entries will be reproduced in book format will be made by a handful of people, including the team that is selected to generate our final report, our editors, and the publisher.

What is the most surprising thing you have learned about the concerns of women of color at elite colleges?

To be honest, nothing. Thus far, none of the stories I have heard have been surprising. I know where these students are coming from because I either experienced it myself or know friends who did during their years living on these campuses. What I am really surprised by is the reality that little has changed. Students of color have racial epithets written on their walls every semester. College judicial boards and health centers are inadequately prepared to deal with women who are victims of sexual assault. The list goes on and on.

Are there ways you intend to address the issues of women of color who are neither members of elite academic communities nor part of the academic community?

I chose to focus on women of color in elite academic settings because that is what I know and what I can speak to. That being said, I have found that many of the stories and issues I hear from the women who are sending in submissions can be applied to women of color as a whole. White privilege, interracial dating, and the cost of an education are issues that affect all women of color. And the truth is, as a feminist, I work to give all women of color a voice.

Refuse the Silence is just one project that seeks to empower a specific group of the women of color population. Eventually, my hope is that this model can be used to help a wider demographic of women of color. I just need a lot more time and funding to make it happen.

Given the shortage of women of color as mentors, not only within the academic world but also the corporate world, what is your advice to women who are either in school or graduating looking to connect and learn from other women of color?

My main advice is to share your story! No one will understand what you are going through if you don’t make your voice heard. So many women of color feel as though they must keep their "issues" or experiences to themselves in an attempt to remain strong. Often times young women and men of color see their independent, strong, single mothers push forward without asking for help and grow up believing they must do the same. Refuse the Silence tells women they can also be strong by sharing their stories.

On a more tangible level, I recommend women of color find a mentor with whom they feel comfortable speaking. They can reach out to faculty and staff members, but also to alumni networks. As alums, we understand what they have experienced, and most of us are willing to listen and guide them in whatever direction they choose.

Do you think it is a misconception to believe that minorities in academic settings only want to seek out students within their ethnic or racial group?

Even at a young age there is a natural gravitation amongst people of color towards each other, especially in predominantly White settings. I don’t think there is anything wrong with that, especially when you are assimilating to a White culture, and when you have to be a part of that culture in order to succeed. The reality is, not everyone can survive in a predominantly White, elite, academic institution. On top of the stress of being a woman, searching for your identity, studying, and trying to make friends, people automatically separate you on the basis of your race. That added stress is overwhelming, and while some women of color can survive it, others need the support of a group of people who can understand it.

What are your thoughts on the argument that single-sex and all-Black colleges are no longer needed?

On a personal level I am as weary of an institution that is predominately Black as I am an institution that is predominately White… or an institution that is all-male or all-female. Academia is meant to be a place where you learn about theory and read from textbooks. But it is also a place where you learn about our society and how people function within it. I don’t believe you can obtain an honest and clear understanding of your global community if you are only surrounded by people who share similar experiences or come from a similar background.

That being said, as long as we continue to live in a White, male dominated society, I do believe we need these kinds of institutions. For me, it wasn’t the right setting, but for others, it might be.

What do you say to women of color who are worried that sharing their stories may backfire and hamper their success?

Actually, that is something we are dealing with right now. I recently received an email from a young woman we interviewed last year who has asked us to take down her video entry. She asked us because she is tired of dealing with people in her community who approach her and feel sorry for her after having seen her entry online. This is the first time this has happened with Refuse the Silence, but there are many women of color who decide not to share their stories because they don’t want to deal with the difficult outcome. I think this especially happens in elite institutions where your personal history and resume mean everything.

I recognize that it's a personal decision to fight, and then to fight loudly. But how do we move forward if we are afraid to speak out? How can we expect anyone to listen to us if we don’t say anything?

Based on your research so far, are there resources you recommend to women of color in college that will help them through their college years?

Find your peers and local women of color organizations! If anyone knows about what you are going through, it’s the people around you. I am not that far removed from college, and I remember how difficult it can be to reach out to those communities. So, I also recommend that women of color go online and start using social media to find people who are interested in fighting for a similar cause. There are tons of activists blogging about race and gender. There are feminists on Twitter speaking about women’s rights. And there are professors and heads of large organizations looking to see what is happening in the world. If a story on Refuse the Silence moves you, reach out to me and I will put you in contact with that person.

Many women of color do not identify as feminists. What are your thoughts on this position?

I have always said that I am a Black woman or, more recently, a Black feminist. No matter what my political and social beliefs are, people will always see my race before they see my gender, and that automatically separates me. I am not fighting solely for my freedom to be a woman. I am fighting for my freedom to live equally in this world as a Black woman.

I come from the understanding that feminism is about women and, in theory, should be race-neutral. But it is not. The feminist movement—and I’m sure everyone has heard this a thousand times—is rooted in White, middle class privilege. We live in a racist society, so it should come as no surprise that women of color can feel alienated within feminist groups.

I use this quote often, but I think there is no successful feminist revolution without an end to racism, among other -isms. Not all women can benefit from feminism if those systems are still in place. While I make a conscious decision to incorporate race as part of my identity as a feminist, others choose not to or may not see a reason to. So, to directly and simply answer the question, I understand why some women of color choose to not identify as feminists.

Can you share a personal goal you have and a goal you have for the site in the next year?

I recently made a big move out to Los Angeles, and I am terrified that I will be losing the feminist community I found in New York City. So, my personal goal is to make sure I find, and also create, a strong feminist network here that will provide me the space to continue growing and learning. As for Refuse the Silence, our team is working hard to make the project financially sustainable.

The full interview can be read at The Daily Femme

Written by: Cherie @ The Daily Femme, November 11th 2010

African Americans Doing Feminism: Putting Theory into Everyday Practice

brittany — Thu, 16 Sep 2010 18:00:00 +0000

Edited by Aaronette M. White

SUNY Press

There are many well-meaning people in society who identify as feminists, yet do not know what they can do to put their feminist ideals into action. African Americans Doing Feminism is an excellent resource for these people. The book is collection of essays written by women and men from a broad spectrum of backgrounds, but the unifying theme among the contributors is that all of them have been impacted by feminism in some way at various stages in their lives.

In her introduction, Aaronette M. White explains that when she put out the call for contributors, she did not want to define “feminist.” As a result, “feminism,” “womanism,” and “Black feminism” are all discussed in varying degrees throughout the book. Some authors use the terms interchangeably—a fact that may not sit well with some readers—while others prefer specific terminology. What is clear, however, is that regardless of their preferred term (or lack thereof), all of the authors interpret feminism in terms of the negative effects created by patriarchy and other systems of oppression.

The book is split into five parts: Family Values; Community Building; Romantic Partnerships; Healing Practices; Career Dilemmas. Some of the most poignant essays came from people who had participated in sexist/oppressive practices in the past. Dorothy M., for example, writes about growing up at the hands of her abusive sister. Dorothy went on to become an advocate and educator on domestic abuse issues, only to find herself as the abuser in her own personal relationship.

In “‘Every Goodbye Ain’t Gone’: Why the Feminist I Loved Left Me,” William Dotson reflects on a tumultuous relationship with a woman who left an indelible effect on his life. He writes, “feminism ‘did’ more to me than I ‘did’ to or with it.” Though Dotson was considered progressive in activist circles, he could not and would not see past his sexism and patriarchal oppressiveness. He was in a relationship with a feminist woman whom he loved deeply, but his attitude cost him their relationship; it was not until years later that he began to regretfully analyze his abusive behaviors.

Other essays serve as a rallying call for change. One of my favorite essays is written by Sister Sojourner Truth, who writes that, “Being an African American feminist nun has never been a contradiction for me,” and goes on to write that she is, “comfortable with the idea that the Catholic Church might have to get rid of terms such as nun, priest, and even pope in order to be open to the creative possibility of a nonhierarchical, nonpatriarchal church.” Talk about radical! Sister Sojourner goes on to discuss the systematic abuses committed by the church; though the sexual abuse of children got worldwide coverage, she points out how other abuses are still kept silent, such as the rapes of nuns by priests. Her form of practicing feminism is to speak out at all times.

Another fascinating essay is, “Gay, Gray, and a Place to Stay: Living It Up and Out in an RV Park,” by Aaronette M. White and Vera C. Martin. The essay mostly takes place in the form of a conversation between White and Marin. It revolves around Martin’s experiences as an African American living in a predominantly white RV park for aging lesbians, and her experiences as an activist for aging lesbians.

African Americans Doing Feminism shows readers that feminist activism can be put into everyday practice through even the smallest actions. Though a lot of the contributors in this book are professional activists and educators, a lot of them are just regular people whose actions can have a large impact. They show that being a man and talking to other men about sexism and violence against women, being a mother who seeks to destigmatize breastfeeding, or simply being a person who is honest about health issues such as depression is a powerful form of feminist activism. Most importantly, the writers realize the different systems of oppression affecting women and people of color, and they have found ways to address some of these issues in their own lives.

Written by: Melissa Arjona, September 16th 2010

Beauty Shop Politics: African American Women’s Activism in the Beauty Industry

admin — Wed, 07 Jul 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Tiffany M. Gill

University of Illinois Press

In Beauty Shop Politics, Tiffany M. Gill documents the central role that Black beauticians played in the struggle against Jim Crow laws. Beauty shops were one of the few industries that offered Black women some economic stability and upward mobility in the face of segregation. The industry also offered Black women a respectable alternative to domestic labor, as well as a chance to not work for White people. As political tensions rose, civil rights organizers increasingly turned to Black beauticians for disseminating social and political information.

Initially, White English and French men dominated the hair care industry. Black men slowly worked their way in, serving as hairdressers for White women, but that period was short-lived, as the stereotype of Black men as sexual predators began to emerge. During the antebellum period, Black women began to emerge as hairdressers in greater numbers; the early twentieth century saw the emergence of Black female entrepreneurs, namely Annie Malone and Madame C.J. Walker, who played an integral role in expanding Black beauty culture.

Through hard work and sheer perseverance, the women fought for beauticians to gain the respect of the general public. The women had to fight charges that they were inhibiting racial uplift, particularly because their products appeared to straighten Black women’s hair at a time when it was culturally looked down upon. Still, the women fought to have beautician courses established at Black colleges, arguing that the industry provided Black women economic stability. They also fiercely promoted themselves to the public by contributing to various philanthropic causes.

In times of economic hardship, the beauty industry offered Black women an opportunity to enter a respectable profession that entailed a steady income and entrepreneurial opportunities. On the national level, women worked to create a national organization that would legitimize their profession. In 1912, Madame Walker argued that “hairdresser” was a derogatory term, and insisted on the use of the term “beauty culturist.” With their economic and professional status now in place, beauty culturists were quickly gaining a strong foothold and establishing their place within their communities.

Because the Black beauty industry was owned and supplied by Blacks, and catered to the Black community, Black beauticians had some insulation from the economic hardships that their peers faced. Thus, they were able to participate in civil rights activism without the fear of losing their jobs or their customer base. Some, for instance, established literacy schools so that their students would be able to pass voter registration tests. Others distributed information through their beauty shops, which had become central locations for community organizing. Gill also extends her research to the present day, noting how the focus has now shifted from civil rights to women’s health initiatives.

Perhaps the best thing about this book is its accessibility to a wide audience. Gill writes in a clear and engaging style that makes the book an excellent choice for a non-academic reader who is interested in the subject. She includes noted figures in Black women’s history such as Madame Walker, Annie Malone, and Septima Clark, and uses compelling anecdotes about women such as Mahalia Jackson and Anne Moody, author of Coming of Age in Mississippi. Most importantly, Gill introduces the reader to a roster of lesser-known figures who also played important roles during this period. The book is an invaluable resource for women’s history and African American history scholars.

Written by: Melissa Arjona, July 6th 2010

Want to Start a Revolution?: Radical Women in the Black Freedom Struggle

admin — Mon, 29 Mar 2010 08:00:00 +0000

Edited by Dayo Gore, Jeanne Theoharis, Komozi Woodard

New York University Press

Can African American liberation be understood without easy binaries: nonviolent civil disobedience vs. armed self-defense, integration vs. Black nationalism, MLK vs. Malcolm X? Can the history of feminism be written without effacing the contributions of Black feminists and other people of color? As Want to Start a Revolution? shows, foregrounding the work of women in Black liberation immediately problematizes these simple classifications. The cover photo of Rosa Parks admiring a poster of Malcolm X is, as the editors write, "an essay in and of itself." Although commonly associated with the Montgomery bus boycott and Martin Luther King, Jr., Parks supported both King and Malcolm, and her activism spanned decades before and after Montgomery.

By profiling several different activists in a series of fourteen essays, Want to Start a Revolution? builds a complex and fluid picture of Black women's activism. These women stood at the intersection of racial, sexual, and class oppression, and often devoted themselves to working on all three fronts. A chapter on Johnnie Tillmon and the welfare rights movement explores this theme of poor Black women's triple exploitation, and Esther Cooper Jackson, the subject of the first chapter, directly addressed this triad in her 1940 thesis, "The Negro Woman Domestic Worker in Relation to Trade Unionism."

The editors set the goal of avoiding "dominance through mentioning," historiography that acknowledges the contributions of women and the relevance of feminism without offering serious consideration. On that goal, this book must be judged a success. We get history from the Black female point of view, and encounter famous Black men only through their associations with women of color, such as Cooper Jackson, Parks, and Yuri Kochiyama.

The editors arranged the essays to build off one another. A chapter on the Black Panthers' Oakland Community School, for instance, is followed by a chapter on Bambara's The Black Woman, an anthology that responded to the conceptualization of Black power as the re-masculation of Black men. Women within the Black power movement struggled with the sexism of fellow male activists, and the second half of the book is dominated by female activists' fraught relationship to Black nationalism.

Want to Start a Revolution? challenge gendered notions of what male and female activists do. The book demonstrates that plenty of women played roles typically occupied by men—charismatic leader, theorist, party official, politician, lawyer, revolutionary, and political prisoner—and the book questions a narrative of social change that privileges fiery speeches and flashy demonstrations over day-to-day educating, social service, and relationship nurturing done by both men and women.

Kochiyama, a Japanese American who organized for the Panthers, and Denise Oliver, an African American who rose to leadership positions among Puerto Rican militants, also complicate the supposed racial exclusivity of the movements, and further cross-pollination existed in the militancy and use of direct action tactics by Black nationalists and radical feminists. Fears of genocide and forced sterilization racialized debates around reproductive rights, and feminist ideals of self-love, self-determination, and self-sufficiency resonated with Black women.

As in any collection, the book's chapters are somewhat uneven. A few of the essays are more celebratory than analytic while others are too academic for a general audience or take on too much material for a twenty-page essay. All in all, the editors accomplish their goals to inform, inspire, and reconsider what we thought we knew about Black liberation and feminism.

Written by: Charlotte Malerich, March 29th 2010

Black Feminist Politics from Kennedy to Clinton

admin — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 17:01:00 +0000

By Duchess Harris

Palgrave MacMillan

There has to be something said for being able to succeed in concisely communicating the issue of Black feminism and politics, but I think Duchess Harris has done just that. In Black Feminist Politics from Kennedy to Clinton, Harris has touched on so many issues within the arena of Black feminism without scattering both her and the reader’s thought process.

Harris opens with a history of Black American feminism with the organizations of the National Black Feminist Organization and the Combahee River Collective She sets the scene with the social, economic, and political climate of the late 1960s. With the advent of the Civil Rights Movement, the War on Poverty, and the focus on welfare, the Democratic Party would become the welcoming committee for racial liberation. The Republican Party, however, would be seen as the home of racial conservatism.

The Aid to Families with Dependent Children program shifted the social consciousness, thus shifting perceptions of the single Black woman as the typical welfare recipient. With the 1968 presidential election involving Richard Nixon, the opportunity to further capitalize on the concept of the welfare queen took prominence in order to further divide both political parties. In further dividing Democratic and Republican Parties, the continuance of that division spread to the White ethnic and working class groups, whose courtship was heavily sought by Nixon for political coalitions. Adding insult to injury came with the use of the 1965 Moynihan Report in which, Senator Moynihan correlated welfare dependency with the behavior of the “poor” (i.e., Black women).

The Combahee River Collective can be said to have been a direct result of this dominant political theme and its exclusion of Black women in their assertions. Having broken away from the National Black Feminist Organization on issues of sexuality and economic development, the group provided the legitimacy of the need to address the social, economic, and political oppression of Black women. Prominent members of the Collective included, Barbara Smith, Cheryl Clarke, Margo Okizawa Rey, Demita Frazier, Gloria Akasha Hull, and Sharon Paige Ritchie.

Harris takes us into the artistic address of Black feminism through Alice Walker’s The Color Purple and The Third Life of Grange Copeland and Ntozake Shange’s For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow is Enuf, all of which address Black relationships through a patriarchal lens. She also presents Black feminist perspectives from other notable people, such as Lorraine Hansberry, Shirley Chisholm, Anita Hill, and Paula Giddings.

Harris includes appendices that contain questions she asked various women throughout the text, the President’s Commission on the Status of Women (Executive Order 1098), and members of this Commission, along with its committees and consultations. Harris does an exceptional task of providing a foundation with which to address the Black feminist perspective in this era, the events which led to this movement, and a critical analysis of a diverse group of scholars and scholarly thought. And, she does this in a competently succinct and unpretentious way.

Written by: Olupero R. Aiyenimelo, November 5th 2009

I Am Your Sister: Collected and Unpublished Writings of Audre Lorde

admin — Sun, 14 Jun 2009 22:28:00 +0000

By Rudolph P. Byrd, Johnnetta Betsch Cole, Beverly Guy-Sheftall

Oxford University Press

I Am Your Sister is a collection for those who want and need to be introduced to Audre Lorde’s thinking, and it is a great anthology for those who have read and been inspired by Lorde’s writing all of their lives. How is this possible? Because I Am Your Sister is not just a collection of Lorde’s seminal work, but a celebration, an honoring, and a thoughtful presentation of who Lorde was—a black lesbian feminist activist and writer. The celebration consists of essays that changed the landscape of feminist thinking (such as the selections from Sister Outsider, as well as the full text of A Burst of Light), pieces of nonfiction that have been scarcely published or never before been published, speeches that have never before been seen in print, and a final section consisting of contemporary writers reflecting on the importance and meaning of Lorde’s work in today’s society.

I Am Your Sister is all of the things, and it is so much more. I see it as a revelation of sorts—an eye opener to how the struggles of past times continue to be what we grapple with today. Rudolph Byrd’s informative and phenomenal introduction to the anthology shows us how, “Whether addressing racism, sexism, or homophobia, Lorde was concerned always with complexity and the sense of possibility that the discourse of difference invokes.” This idea of difference, of this challenge to choose, as Lorde says, “to define my difference as you must choose to define yours, to claim it and use it as creative before it is defined for you and used to eradicate any future, any change” is an idea and challenge that is still present in today’s political and activist communities. I Am Your Sister, therefore, is also a tool for survival—a teacher to help us realize our possibilities for change.

Those familiar with Lorde’s work will also appreciate the never before published essays and speeches. While they touch on the themes that permeate all of her texts—difference, survival, sexuality, feminist communities, racism, fighting ignorance—they can be read as wonderful supplements to Lorde’s previously published work, as well as sparks of ideas that continue to inform new readings of texts such as Sister Outsider. In Lorde’s previously unpublished speech delivered at the first retreat of black feminists and activists in 1977, for instance, she states, “our unique position within this system is to constantly question its most cherished assumption and to radically change it, not merely to co-opt it and make it work for us.” These words enrich Lorde’s belief in the essay “The Transformation of Silence Into Language and Action” that “what is most important...must be spoken, made verbal and shared, even at the rise of having it bruised or misunderstood.” When these words are read together, we fully understand how embracing and creating different types of language and action are part of who we are as activists, and that this recognition will fuel our ability to challenge, not co-opt, the systems of oppression.

The last section of I Am Your Sister adds even more insight into who Lorde was as a person, who she was as a writer and activist, how these things are not separate from each other, and what Lorde means to us today. Part remembrance, part celebration, and part further interrogation in Lorde’s art, humanity, voice, and passion, the reflective essays from Alice Walker, bell hooks, Johnnetta Besch Cole, Gloria Joseph, as well as the insightful epilogue by Beverly Guy-Sheftall brings the anthology to a satisfying close. But, as is usual with Lorde’s profound prose and ideas, we are always left wanting more.

Written by: Chelsey Clammer, June 14th 2009

Private Lives, Proper Relations: Regulating Black Intimacy

admin — Fri, 07 Sep 2007 11:51:00 +0000

By Candace M. Jenkins

University Of Minnesota Press

Why is contemporary African American literature — particularly that produced by black women — continually concerned with issues of respectability and propriety? Her first book, Private Lives, Proper Relations, Candace M. Jenkins looks at how African American writers express the political consequences of intimacy for the susceptible black subject. Jenkins argues that this fascination grew from recurrent beliefs about African American sexuality, and that it expresses a basic aspect of the racial self: an often unexpressed link between the intimate and the political in black culture.

Jenkins’s analysis of black women’s narratives — including Ann Petry’s The Street, Toni Morrison’s Sula and Paradise, Alice Walker’s The Color Purple and Gayl Jones’s Eva’s Man — offers a theory of black subjectivity. Here Jenkins describes how the middle-class tries to save the black community from accusations of sexual and domestic oddity by embracing traditionally “normal” values and behavior. Unfortunately behind those efforts there is the implied “doubled vulnerability” of the black intimate subject: racial scrutiny and the proximity of human intimacy.

This book was not an easy read for me. I had a very hard time getting into it. I must say, however, that the content is illuminating and definitely worth the time invested if you stick with it. For anyone interested in Women’s Studies and studies of gender, sexuality and class in African American literature, particularly that of the 20th century, this book is for you. _Private Lives, Proper Relations _is a powerful contribution to the crucial effort to end the distortion still surrounding black intimacy in the United States.

Written by: Gina Hobbs, September 7th 2007

The Revolution Will Not Be Funded: Beyond the Non-Profit Industrial Complex

admin — Tue, 19 Jun 2007 14:15:00 +0000

Edited by INCITE! Women of Color Against Violence

South End Press

The Color of Violence: The INCITE! Anthology was the first publication that documented some of the concerns and challenges addressed at the Color of Violence Conference, which began at University of California-Santa Cruz in 2000. Since then, there have been two more conferences, organizing campaigns and the SISTERFIRE tour of radical women artists. Now, this collective of women activists and their allies has released The Revolution Will Not Be Funded as their second anthology. This second collection of critical analysis and reflections offers a probing focus on the Non-Profit Industrial Complex (NPIC) and the foundations that determine the agendas of many organizations and movements today.

The book begins by talking about the history of foundations, how foundations often act as tax shelters for wealthy founders and do not necessarily spend a significant amount of their budgets on funding organizations and how the money offered always comes with constraints. These constraints include adhering to a corporate model that starts not only to shift the political agenda of organizations away from research, education and self-empowerment, but these same constraints displace people who are working within these movements because they have not specialized in getting credentials or getting to know people in dominant power structures.

Non-profit organizations—also referred to as non-government organizations (NGOs) here—rely on more and more people who act as liaisons and trained organizers whose motives can be questionable. In spite of all the problems that foundation funding entails, there is a variety of perspectives here that explain what it means to limit accepted funding, to find alternatives to foundation funding and break away from the increasingly professionalized model of activism that relies more heavily on public relations, jargon and social services than addressing the roots of dilemmas rising out of a specific community.

The contributors are thorough in documenting their own experiences with non-profits. Some of them depart from the NPIC structure entirely. Some notable essays include the return to a volunteer staff by Sista ii Sista and how the young women in the organization determined the needs of the group, Madonna Thunder Hawk’s essay on organizing with AIM (American Indian Movement) during the Red Movement and Paul Kivel’s thought-provoking questions in “Social Service or Social Change?” Far from being anti-academic, The Revolution Will Not Be Funded is a well-thought out approach to finding alternatives to a funding system that, in many ways, reinforces the dominant paradigms of class, race, sexism, homophobia and international exploitation. Community activists should read this and ask themselves hard questions and rethink strategic planning.

Written by: Tara Betts, June 19th 2007

Black Women’s Intellectual Traditions: Speaking their Minds

admin — Fri, 15 Jun 2007 23:58:00 +0000

Edited by Kristin Waters, Carol B. Conaway

University of Vermont Press

While reading this collection, I recalled when I was in a debate with a male writer about where were the intellectuals and poets from the Black Arts Movement. I named Mari Evans and was dismissed. Never mind that Cheryl Clarke, June Jordan and Audre Lorde could have also been a part of that list. Conversations like those compel me to search for the narratives, the histories and the primary sources that preserve, document and celebrate the creative and intellectual legacies of women of color. Black Women’s Intellectual Traditions is one of many books working to fill an earlier gap than the Black Arts Movement to reveal a continuum of Black literary, critical and analytical thought. In nineteen essays and excerpts from larger texts, the book offers background and delves into the lives and work nineteenth and early twentieth century activists and speakers - like radical essayist Maria W. Stewart, Sojourner Truth, slave narrative author Harriet Jacob/Linda Brent, novelist and poet Frances E.W. Harper, scholar and educator Anna Julia Cooper and journalist Ida B. Wells.

Waters addresses each of the women chronologically and then concludes with a survey of issues addressed and organizing and rhetorical strategies used by women then and today to articulate their feminism/womanism on their own terms - rather than according to the irrelevant social constructs of the True Womanhood movement, which pertained more to notions of pure white femininity than the dual struggles of being black and woman. There is also some talk of the “Lift As We Climb” movement based in the Colored Women’s Club Movement and the tenets of hard work, upright living and service to one’s community. My suggestion for two books with excellent timelines to support this book’s claims and analysis would include When and Where I Enter by Paula Giddings and Too Heavy A Load by Dorothy Gray White. These books and many other scholars as well are cited in this thorough analysis.

Many of the essays hinge upon the critical work by Patricia Hill Collins, particularly her text Black Feminist Thought. Since there is a range of contributors (work by a number of other scholars such as Beverly Guy-Sheftall, Angela Y. Davis, bell hooks, Gerda Lerner, Akasha Hull and Barbara Smith are cited), I found myself wondering how using ideas by these women might have changed the overall direction of the book. Readers may want to start with Hill Collins’ chapter to get a better grasp of the book’s overall intent.

Written by: Tara Betts, June 15th 2007

Mommy's Angel

admin — Thu, 07 Jun 2007 13:30:00 +0000

By Miasha

Touchstone Books

Most savvy feminists can argue their way through complex social problems such as sexual violence, poverty and drug use. Most savvy feminists, though, could not articulate those issues though a fast-paced, sharply written story like Mommy’s Angel. Dubbed as “a writer to watch” by Publishers Weekly,” Miasha tells the heartbreaking story of one fifteen year old girl’s steel gut and courage in her battle for survival with a heroin-addicted mother and a web of deceit and manipulation.

Miasha depicts some of the most pressing issues of feminism by mixing city street vernacular into the cycle of modern day oppression that fuels the most heated debates in western feminism. Can forms of sex work and stripping be considered modes of empowerment for young women? What forms of intervention can adeptly disrupt the cycle of addiction, rape and teen pregnancy? This work of fictional brilliance is a succinct glimpse into the heart of young girls who seek family redemption, reliable and safe options, and relief from domestic hell.

This jarring novel is loaded with emotion as it takes the reader through the struggle of one woman who is, chronologically, a teen, but takes on adult responsibilities and choices as she hopes, torments and fights through the vicious hands of urban poverty and rape. With a smart-mouthed younger sister, a loving boyfriend, an abusive employer, and a handful of irresistible page-turning characters, Miasha has constructed a feminist rollercoaster that serves as an important catalyst to explore the painful intersection of social issues facing young women today.

This novel, like everyday life, reminds us that our discourse and intentions must be inclusive, updated and knowledgeable of the realities plaguing our inner-city communities. It serves as a wake-up call that concerned readers must be able to adequately recognize the strategic anti-poverty agendas from the blithe political plans that are often addressed in binary jargon that do little to alleviate the suffering of the oppressed.

After completing the novel in one sitting combined with a stunning ending that left me staring, non-blinking at the ceiling, Mommy’s Angel will haunt your conversations and linger in your personal thoughts for days after the last page is turned.

Written by: Lisa Factora-Borchers, June 7th 2007

Aqua Beats and Moon Verses: Volume I

admin — Thu, 03 May 2007 19:25:00 +0000

By AquaMoon

UnSilenced Woman Press

Chicago based performance artists camil.williams and veronica precious bohanan (a.k.a. AquaMoon) explore womyn-centered issues, such as rape, molestation, incest, and women in hip hop from an African American perspective. These themes are interpreted through the use of choreopoems (poems intended to be acted out on stage), and there is also a CD that comes with the book. The message is about speaking out, standing up and becoming empowered (hence the subtitle: Dismantling The Culture of Silence!)

The voice is strong and brave, often swirling and soaring with the zeal of true spiritual questing. The writing style is hip, colorful and there is a wonderful buzz of energy in the writing (and the music) that makes you want to bust through every wall of bs and suppression. It’s like a new age Allen Ginsberg rant at America, spelled with a k. These poets are all about encouraging African-American woman to free themselves in order to self-define their roles in the Black community, hip hop culture and overall society.

A few weeks ago when the entire country was having a conversation about the nasty “nappy headed hos” comment, hip hop moguls and male artists were called on the carpet for adding to a culture growing increasingly tolerant of demeaning women in lyrics and videos. While listening to the CD, I thought it would be great to see an in-depth discussion about the world of hip hop inhabited by men and women, say, between Russell Simmons and these fierce artists!

I also really loved a scene called "Lullaby: Girl-Childs." At one point in the scene, Aqua Beats says “Everybody talks about the fatherless black boy.” And Moon Verses responds, “But what about the fatherless & the motherless black girl?”

What about her, indeed. She deserves support and a voice. Through AquaMoon, she’s got it to the beat of Sista-Soul-Friends!

Written by: Cheryl Reeves, May 3rd 2007

Dark Designs and Visual Culture

admin — Wed, 21 Mar 2007 13:06:00 +0000

By Michele Wallace

Duke University Press

Michele Wallace is best known for her controversial, groundbreaking book, Black Macho and the Myth of the Superwoman. Published in 1979 when Wallace was twenty-six years old, it defined her as an outspoken feminist who was unafraid to examine the misogynistic elements of the Black Power and Civil Rights movements of the sixties, and explored how sexism as well as racism damaged the psyches of Black women. Not surprisingly, Wallace’s fearlessness came with a painful price. Although the book garnered her immediate fame and recognition in feminist and intellectual circles (so hot was the buzz about Macho that her face made the cover of Ms. shortly before the book was published), Wallace received an intense level of criticism from all sides that she was not prepared to face.

In her latest book, Dark Designs and Visual Culture, Wallace talks openly about how this criticism affected her personal life and health (she suffered a nervous breakdown a few years after Macho’s publication). A collection of articles, essays and interviews spanning over a decade, Dark Designs is also part autobiography. Alongside an extensive selection of personal photographs, Wallace candidly revisits the alienation she experienced as a misunderstood, young Black feminist and recounts the growth of her feminist sensibility.

As the daughter of accomplished artist Faith Ringgold, she was influenced at an early age by what she describes as her mother’s fierce militancy and ambition, which undoubtedly birthed her ability to unflinchingly critique Black representations in popular culture and “high art.” In “Questions on Feminism,” she defends her focus on the visual in her work by citing the lack of critical dialogue on this topic by other Black feminists. Those of us who have closely followed the career of bell hooks know better. Yet Wallace made it clear in her 1995 article, “For Whom the Bell Tolls,” that she was not impressed with hooks and attacked her with full-blown gusto, which she now deeply regrets. In the book’s lengthy introduction she confesses it’s the one piece she wishes she could “un-write,” but felt that omitting it from the book would’ve been “akin to Judy Garland trying to do a concert without singing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”’

Although some of the essays attempt to say too much (I found “Angels in America, Paris is Burning, and Queer Theory” dull and endless, but wanted more of Wallace’s take on the imagery in films like Cheryl Dunye’s The Watermelon Woman), Dark Designs is an overall revealing, exciting gathering of Michele Wallace’s work over the years as one of this nation’s most daring cultural critics.

Written by: Natalie Maxwell, March 21st 2007

The Mammy Project

admin — Sun, 18 Mar 2007 23:04:00 +0000

The Roundtable Ensemble

Michelle Nicole Matlock’s one-woman show, The Mammy Project, is a provocative piece of theater that entertains and educates through a series of vignettes that deconstructs the controversial history of the Mammy stereotype.

Matlock builds her show around two stories - the life of Nancy Green, a former slave who was hired as the first-ever Aunt Jemima for the World’s Fair in 1893, and Matlock’s own experiences as a full-figured African-American actress who thought she’d never have to play the part of the mammy-maid in today’s entertainment business, but found herself getting cast in those roles anyway (Matlock actually auditioned for an Aunt Jemima commercial, but didn’t get the part because they wanted someone “more motherly”). From there, Matlock takes the audience on a journey through the life of the Mammy stereotype via a series of scenes - some shocking, some outright hysterical and some devilishly both.

One particularly powerful segment has Matlock portraying an auctioneer selling a “slave of dreams,” “a mild mannered maid (who) only knows how to smile…with prize-chocolate milk on tap for the young’uns.” This scene alone is disturbing enough, but then Matlock steps up on the auction block and replays the scene acting as the slave that was just sold. Grinning but clearly terrified, she displays her shackled hands to the prospective buyers. The theater is in complete silence. There are no sound effects. There is no speaking. The audience is completely uncomfortable, and that is absolutely how it should be.

There are plenty of serious scenes that make you want to squirm in your seat, but Matlock also uses laughter throughout much of the show to educate and enlighten by surprise. She mocks the Mammy stereotypes portrayed in the media – Hattie McDaniels scolds Scarlett for “sucking dick,” Imitation of Life’s Louise Beavers becomes a red bustier-clad stripping lesbian, even Oprah, the “corporate mammy” doesn’t escape unscathed:

You’ll constantly be looking for me wherever you go…You might even start lookin’ for me in one of them TV talk shows. Oh yes, I’ll tell you stories and sing you songs…I’ll tell ya what to buy and what not to buy. What books to read. You will cry and cry.

You do laugh, but you gasp too, because Matlock has made you see something you never saw before, and that’s always a little scary-wonderful.

Matlock’s show makes you realize how embedded the Mammy stereotype is in our culture and how it has, like so many stereotypes, simultaneously been a source of subjugation and empowerment. Nancy Green drew criticism from the African-American intelligentsia for her portrayal of Aunt Jemima because it perpetuated the Mammy myth, but it provided her with the financial independence a former slave might never have experienced otherwise. I’m not an African-American woman, but based on what I heard in the talk-back session after the show, many young African-American women still feel the pull of this contradiction in their own lives. Matlock’s show confronts the audience with this predicament, provides no easy answers, but invites the audience step out of the box and “pave a new road. Cuz fantasies,” Aunt Jemima says, “only live as long as you let them.”

Written by: Margaux Laskey, March 18th 2007