Apparently, the birthplace of Marcus Garvey and a “black man time now” political party is a post-racial utopia. Who knew? Now, had I predicted that I would have been caught in the cross hairs of my own mischief I would have been better prepared. Luckily, I had a fellow professor, who knew me back in Jamaica, on hand, to testify to the longevity of my blackness. With that settled, a quite contentious debate arose about the racial identification of African immigrants, citing many examples of these immigrants’ denial of blackness to make a case for their non-blackness. For these few skeptical students, Wakandans are Wakandan: definitely not black.

My students’ discussions expose the confusion around racial identity, and blackness in particular, the depths of which, I must admit, I didn’t quite expect to encounter at an HBCU. Despite being wrong and strong in most of their assessments, these students were actually quite insightful in their appraisal of racial identity. Possibly scarred by Rachel “WhoKnowsAtAll,” they were rightfully suspicious of the “obviousness” of visual markers of race. Nevertheless, I learned that there is an impression that “blackness” is created to fill an identity gap, so in the presence of national and ethnic identities like “Jamaican” or “Igbo,” black identification becomes immaterial.

This conceptualization of blackness arises from the view that American national identity is irreconcilable with blackness, a perspective propagated through W.E.B. Dubois’ double consciousness. However, there is a curious impression that “black people” from countries where the majority of the population is of African descent, do not suffer this double consciousness because their histories have been more accepting of blackness, “allowing” them to become something else (e.g. Grenadian). It is no wonder then, that blackness for these students becomes characterized by negative space, associated mainly with exploitation and dispossession.

The fictional world of Wakanda, in all its fullness, is an opportune battleground for meditating upon black identity. Why do we identify so strongly with this mythical land, even while rejecting African identity? Why do my students embrace Wakanda, while denying that blackness is simply a function of skin color and phenotype? This is because it is impossible to divorce blackness from its African roots. Black Panther highlights that fact.

Firstly, Wakandans exists at the site of a paradox; their awareness of and inevitable interaction with the outside world forces them to construct and project a “black” identity, even while maintaining a Wakandan subjectivity. They interact with the world as black, but don’t primarily understand themselves through this identity.

Although Wakanda has never been colonized, resistance to colonialism reinforces colonial identities. The fictional country of Wakanda literally creates a barrier that reflects the construction of itself within the colonized imagination. This barrier protects its resources from colonial imposition. The shield allows Wakandans to represent themselves as ordinary and destitute. The implication here is that blackness must represent itself in terms of negative space in order to prevent exploitation and appropriation. Out of necessity, the black identity they choose to project is also a “negative space” identity, mirroring the vulnerability of blackness worldwide. As Harlem becomes known for its rich culture, its inhabitants who create that culture are displaced. Wakandans understand that they cannot share their vibranium without risking their very existence. Vibranium ends up in American museums at a great cost.

“But Ms. Haynes, if Wakandans project blackness, does this mean that what lies within is something other than black?” Not necessarily. This conflict between identity and subjectivity is an age-old problem for those subjected to the psychosis of colonialism. The colonized body must “see” herself through the lens of the colonizer in order to move through the world. She must be conscious of the perception that she is violent and hypersexual when she interacts with the police, or walks down the street, while guarding against the complete internalization of that view of herself. In this regard, demographics do matter: skin color has more significance in interacting with the police force in a majority white country. Unlike most blacks in the West, Wakandans do not live in a continuous space of double consciousness, because of their infrequent interactions with the outside world. However, as a matter of national security, they do internalize this aspect of their blackness as a constant reminder of the need for protectionism. However, blackness is not just negative space. Blackness recognizes itself as a target because of its inherent value.

“But Ms. Haynes, there are lots of ‘third-world’ countries that aren’t black!” The idea that Wakandans project a “third world” rather than specifically black identity is a half-baked analysis. In the first place, skin color and phenotypical features have always been and remain a significant component of racial designation. Furthermore, the very idea of blackness is constructed at a time when blacks are bought and sold as capital. As a counterpart to whiteness, blackness exists simultaneously as a racial and political identity. Steve Biko’s black consciousness movement encouraged those oppressed persons, regardless of race, who were ideologically opposed to apartheid to affirm their “blackness.” Political blackness is the commitment to anti- colonialism. Wakandans are both racially and politically black.

Kilmonger isn’t a villain to Wakandans because he wants to liberate black people the world over; he is resisted because of his desire to harvest vibranium and turn Wakanda into a colonizing force. He can’t assume the position of “Black Panther” because he lacks the template for freedom. Without ingratiation into Wakandan culture, he develops a version of blackness that mirrors whiteness.

But while Wakanda comes close to providing a template for liberation, it remains trapped in a world of terrors. Its options are isolation and complicity, or intervention and vulnerability. In this way, Wakanda reveals the restrictions of a “post racial” imagination: we are forced to engage with the very thing that traps us. Through is the only way out.

So the problem of “double consciousness” is not a conflict with American national identity, it is a problem of colonization in general, which manifests through the dissemination of colonial ideas about “blackness” specifically. The internalization and institutionalization of white supremacy has been effective in formerly colonized countries with little to no white people, as evidenced by the fact that formal education, the world over, is generally conducted in some European language.

Wakanda confronts the particularly contentious relationship between American blackness and African identity. Even within class discussion, students dismissed the possibility of black African identity by pointing to examples of African immigrants’ denial of blackness. “Why should we,” they proclaim, “consider someone who rejects blackness, as black?” This rejection seems personal to those of us who have been displaced and cut off from ancestral land and identity. The familial drama in Black Panther foregrounds the diasporic tensions across the Atlantic as the rejection and neglect of the American character by his African family. This uncovers the history of the transatlantic slave trade, which is rooted in the sale of African bodies by fellow Africans, at a time when the idea of “African” identity was in its nascent stages. Killmonger’s confrontational “hey Aunty” is meant to spotlights the feeling of being left behind. This contention has recently been enacted in debates about whether black Americans can appropriate African culture.

On the other hand, first generation African students in some of my classes discussed the rejection and contempt that many African immigrants experience from African Americans. Epithets, like the immortal “African booty scratcher,” reflect a view of African inferiority in the African American imagination. Similarly, the term “Akata” denotes contempt for African Americans. None of my students acknowledged the fact that many African immigrants, who reject black identity when they travel outside America. The fact is, that Africans reject a particular brand of blackness that has unfairly become synonymous with American blackness: the blackness of negative space. This brand of blackness is dependent on amnesia, the willful forgetfulness that American blackness in particular, is a site of ingenuity and creation.

A Black Atlantic, grounded in the experience of slavery, without any gesture to towards the origin of the diaspora, or Afrocentrism, can easily become a black Atlantic grounded in aspirations towards whiteness, and characterized by negative space. The fictional world of Wakanda acknowledges blackness and African identity as inextricably linked, just as the worldwide celebration of Black Panther reconciles the two.

The hypocrisy is blinding. Amusing at first, but then completely aggravating.  We trample on the graves of heroes who literally burnt cities down for our freedom. As we celebrate our heroes, the faces on our money, I am reminded of how many of us, had we lived during the era of Sam Sharpe and Paul Bogle, would have sold them out to massa and given them a strong talking to before watching them hang. How quickly we forget the impossibility of working through systems that were designed to oppress. How quick we are to accuse our brothers and sisters in the north of irrationality and barbarism. We feign knowledge of what life is actually like for African Americans, because after all “I lived there for such and such years and never encountered any racism…so”. A thorough investigation of the circumstances under which Americans actually live would require too much effort, and most importantly, undermine our view of ourselves as exceptional (more on this later).

This is us. Burning shit down.

Perhaps you might say, this is not comparable. It is after all 2015, and most reasonable people denounce slavery as an absolute evil. There are systems that we can work through for change.

This response would show a lack of understanding of America and American racism. Firstly the subjugation of black people in America did not begin and end with slavery. American racism continued to be socially, legally and institutionally embedded long after slavery. African Americans have had to live through Reconstruction, Jim Crow and Ronald Reagan (whose war on drugs is directly responsible for reinforcing a racial justice system and policing and whose ‘welfare queen’ stereotype persists even in the face of the evidence).

Historically, loss of property, pain and economic consequences are the only things which have caused oppressive systems to change and adjust. Economic sanctions against the Apartheid regime in South Africa combined with organized, armed and violent resistance by Umkhonto we Sizwe, are the real reasons for that system’s demise. White people did not suddenly have a change of heart.

I am not endorsing violence as a first resort, but I am acknowledging the pain of the oppressed and the fact that violence is historically an effective means for an oppressed people to gain attention for their cause.

I am often baffled at the lack of empathy from West Indians for the plight of African Americans. For decades African Americans have been screaming under the crushing weight of American racism, which is institutional and pervasive. Yet only when it smacks us in the face, as in the case of Charleston, or when Jon Stewart, a white man, says the same thing African Americans have been saying for centuries, only then do we believe.

What is so jarring for West Indians about Charleston, is that this particular case does not leave us any room for finger wagging or advice giving. Nine black people were literally shot to death by white supremacist as they prayed in church on a Wednesday evening. Should they have worn different clothes like Trayvon? Not been ‘breaking the law’ selling loose cigarettes like Eric Garner? Perhaps their parents should have kept a closer eye on them or not let them play with toy guns like Tamir Rice.

West Indians, wherever we may be, are the ultimate purveyors of respectability politics. This is how we have built our own societies. In fact our independence movement was a creole movement, which ensured that those able to properly signify the appurtenances of white supremacy, stay on top. Just look at the way we deal with our own issues of police brutality and extra judicial killings here in Jamaica. So often the victims are looked down upon as our ‘undesirables’- wrong hair, wrong clothes, wrong address – so we can ignore that many of our own issues are also systematic and institutional and keep on moving on.

Since most of our societies are filled with a majority of black people, we often overlook the racial elements of what we consider acceptable traits, and gloss over our stratifications as being wholly class based. Jamaica is not a racist society, but it is a society built upon the foundation of white supremacy. Too often do we deny the intersection of class and racial signifiers (hair texture and skin color especially). My mother, along with many subsequent generations, was penalized for the nappiness of her hair when she attended Holy Child Hood High School in the 1970’s. She tells stories of how the white and almost white girls were paraded in front of the school as examples of neat and dainty perfection; how they were meant to emulate their flowing locks, let out and held back by only a bandu; how the same hairstyle on a black student, a badu securing and afro, meant suspension; how she felt as one of few black students from downtown. (The demographics of the school then meant that uptown= white and almost white, and this has only changed in the past two decades).

Frankly, we suffer the same cognitive dissonance that many white Americans do when confronted with American racism. We become the target audience for news outlets, movies and tv shows, which have reinforced the image of the barbaric black man and the lascivious or mammyish black woman. Out of shame, we distance ourselves from these images “no not us…those are African Americans”, while lapping them up and throwing them back in the ring for recycling. We, the good blacks!

Charleston is a very real reminder that pulling pants up and going to Bible study will not save us from racism and discrimination. These evils are systematic and embedded in our societies after years of our own versions of slavery and colonialism. The most exhausting effect of racism is its denial. Denial is also racism’s most effective weapon. When we as West Indians point fingers at African Americans and join in the chorus against them, we perform an evil so deeply hypocritical and insidious that the devil has no choice but to high five himself.

In many instances, we are victims of the information we have been fed. American media, from whose tits we all suckle, is a well oiled machine in denying racism while reinforcing racial stereotypes and tropes. We can predict the script before it is delivered. White perpetrator? Mentally ill, or quiet introverted teen who liked Starwars. Black victim shot in the back by police? He/ she was no angel. Brown or Arab suspect? We need to take a closer look at how this terrorist was radicalized….and on and on it goes. Frankly, most of us are too lazy to think for ourselves, to see the crippling effects of centuries of black bodies being dehumanized, to the extent that a grown male police officer can sit on young black girl child and we immediately make excuses for the officer.

The terrorist attack on the EAM Episcopal Church in Charleston was exceptional only in its direct violence and clear motive. African Americans suffer racial aggressions and micro aggressions everyday. Mortgage discrimination and racist housing policies have very serious implications for their ability to build generational wealth. Donald Sterling the NBA team owner who was outed by his mistress as a racist, faced several lawsuits since 2003 for housing discrimination. But we didn’t pay attention to that part of the story. For us, racism is simply spectacle, not a very real force that affects people’s lives.

Too often have I been asked “what is wrong with African Americans; why is everything always about race; why are they always whining?” usually by people who have never taken the time to think that there may genuinely be something to whine about. Generations of white American wealth has been built on the active disenfranchisement of African Americans. This not only persists, but is escalating, due in no small part to the most recent crippling economic crisis. African American have been dealing with terrorism, way before ISIS or Al Qaeda.

We are quick to complain that “the system have us a way!” here in the West Indies. Yet we live in systems that we have way more control over than our African American neighbours. Most of us can never know what it is like to live a country where we are an oppressed racial minority. Our racial minorities in the West Indies (Syrians, Indians and Chinese to name a few) often wield significant social and economic power (this is not to say that their experiences as minorities are not nuanced and often complex, but lets call a spade a spade).

The motive for West Indian denial of American racism is two fold. First it helps us see ourselves as exceptional. Many of us settle in America and due to the networks we create, do very well for ourselves collectively. If we can succeed, why can’t they? Especially considering their unlimited access to resources as citizens. We do not consider the cultural and psychological boost of coming from places where many people look like you. We negate the psychological terrorism that cripples many African American from having to navigate overtly racist spaces where the confederate flag flies high overhead daily. When I studied in the states, I was shocked that many of my white counterparts, and one white teacher in particular, were stunned that I could consistently score high grades. I often wonder what I would think of myself if low expectations were linked to the color of my skin, from the time of my birth. West Indians discount the importance of coming from countries with black national heroes – countries with Independence mandates for inclusivity, where the oppressed people are for the most part a majority.

The second reason for West Indian denial of American racism is that it reinforces our own cognitive dissonance. We would have to investigate our own societies. While West Indians talk very freely about race and our language is laced with loaded and light racial terminology, we are not comfortable really delving into our own racial issues. We deny that our classism is steeped in racial language, that our institutions are built on discrimination. That is of course, until light skinned, curly haired Jinx, wife of acclaimed international artist ‘Dutty Yeah’ tells one our most beloved athletes (and legitimate millionaire to boot) to go back to where he came from. She went on to accuse those people entertaining him on their boats of encouraging him, as if somehow the man could not afford his own boats and that “yatching” was outside of his terrain. Suddenly the dog whistle went off and everyone could hear the undertones that we so often pretend don’t exist. We have never stopped to ask ourselves why a political party was able to dominate Jamaica in the 90’s with the slogan “Black man time now”. Why did this appeal to us? Whose time was it before?

We don’t like to talk about the fact that the traditional elite in the West Indies, many of whom signify as black in America (reason numero uno they don’t migrate), do not signify as black in the West Indies. They are in fact, just a wrung up on the ladder of white supremacy, of which the ultimate manifestation in the West Indies is ‘almost white’ as opposed to white. What makes white supremacy so insidious in Latin America and the Caribbean is that it manifests in ways that are all too attainable (through gel, hair cream or bleaching cream). West Indians rarely want to look like white people. We want to look like our uptowners, the creole dispensation of ‘almost white’ that appeals to our house slave sensibilities. After all, in the West Indies, and in Jamaica in particular, many of the creole, slave master-house slave descendants, eventually owned slaves themselves (shhh…i know i talking dese tings too loud!). So the right type of mix is what we aspire to, and with the right type of mix comes the anti- blackness. We pay each other compliments by asking “what you mix wid?” which is another way of saying, how far away from black are you? This is how West Indian respectability directly aligns with white supremacy.

I know I should stop here. The tea is getting way too hot.

But I do wonder, in light of Charleston and the ethnic cleansing and expulsion of Haitians legally living in the Dominican Republic, how will Jamaica respond? How will the country, which was the first in the western world to sanction the South African apartheid government, react to evil in 2015? How far removed from conscience have we become?

]]> https://yamfuja.wordpress.com/2015/06/19/west-indian-hypocrisy-and-american-shame/feed/ 2 81 yamfuja This is us. Burning shit down. Screen Shot 2015-06-19 at 4.36.53 PM Racial disparity Kid-Fury-Sips-Tea https://yamfuja.wordpress.com/2014/07/30/book-review-the-lowland/ https://yamfuja.wordpress.com/2014/07/30/book-review-the-lowland/#respond Wed, 30 Jul 2014 05:06:38 +0000 https://yamfuja.wordpress.com/?p=71 I’ve been gone for a minute, now back with… a book review. (Not quite as hip as being back with the Jumpoff, but I’m here). I’ve read many great books in the past year and a half and I thought it would be productive to do a short book review.

I was recently impressed by Jhumpa Lahiri’s The Lowland. In The Lowland, Lahiri exercises remarkable restraint. She does not overwrite, allowing the reader to easily fall into her world.

The Lowland begins with the relationship between two brothers, Subhash and Udayan, and chronicles Udayan’s eventual entanglement with the Naxalite movement in India, in the 1960s. Udayan is portrayed as exuberant and spirited from the very beginning, wheras his brother Subhash is more timid and reserved. In his teenage years, Udayan is impassioned by India’s social and economic inequalities and becomes a disciple of the increasingly violent Naxalite movement. Udayan is killed for his involvement in the movement and the book chronicles the long-term effects of Udayan’s death over four generations.

The tension between the political and personal is sustained for most of the book. Lahiri shows how the family is splintered by Udayan’s public assassination. Udayan dies leaving a young pregnant wife, Gauri, who forms an alliance with his brother, Subhash. Bound by tragedy, Subhash and Gauri attempt to make a life together in the United States. The reader is forced to question whether Udayan’s sacrifice of his life was a selfless or truly selfish act.

Where the tension withers, I get the sense of a conscious choice on Lahiri’s part to prioritize the characters’ personal turmoil, which unfolds outside of the publicly (P)olitical realm. There is little mention of America’s political landscape. (P)olitics in America is, for the most part, kept at bay, and does not seep into the personal lives of the family. The casual mention of an “Obama” bumper sticker helps orient the reader’s timeline, but is otherwise, inconsequential.

Yet it is not ambivalence that Lahiri tries to convey. The daughter chooses a lifestyle, which reflects, in almost every sense, her political beliefs, but unlike her father’s her conviction is quiet, contained and in many ways and excuse for isolation- a reaction to her disconnect from her mother. The reader is forced to question the extent to which political performance becomes the catharsis of personal pain or over indulgence.

One thing is certain; each of Lahiri’s characters is afflicted with a deeply personal and inescapable sadness. Most reviewers describe as a shortcoming of the novel, the characters’ inability to truly connect to each other (which for some readers prevents them from connecting with the characters). On the contrary, I believe Jhumpa Lahiri set out to tell a story of brokenness and quiet dissonance. The disconnect the reader feels is part of experiencing the story.

Another notable element of Lahiri’s style in The Lowland, is her development of the physical landscape. Lahiri’s landscapes become fully realized characters whose changes and idiosyncrasies echo and propel the plot.

Having read ‘Unaccustomed Earth’ and ‘Interpreter of Maladies’, I was already a fan of her work, and considered her a master of the short story. I am equally impressed with her ability to craft a solid novel.

Interesting how these house slaves still teach children that Sub Saharan Africa had no written language. When will we learn.