By Malik Thompson, on January 23rd, 2015 As defined on the Positive Peace Warrior Network website, Kingian Nonviolence is “a philosophy and methodology that provides the knowledge, skills, and motivation necessary for people to pursue peaceful strategies for solving personal and community problems.” Formulated by Dr. Bernard Lafayette and David Jehnsen, Kingian Nonviolence is one of the foundational philosophies of nonviolence the Gandhi Institute utilizes to teach community members about the significance of nonviolence to the construction of a just, equitable world.
Grounded in six principles, the second principle of Kingian Nonviolence reads “The Beloved Community is the Framework for the Future”, with the beloved community essentially being “…a world where people of all races, genders, cultures and generations are living in unity with each other.”.
While I wholeheartedly agree with the radical humanists sentiments conveyed by the second principle, there is a, perhaps intentional, vaguery encircling the second principle’s proposed method for the assembling of beloved community.
Amidst this vaguery, I offer radical Black feminism, in both theory and action, as a method by which beloved communities may blossom. Unlike the feminisms deployed by various groups of white women uncritical of how white supremacy operates in their lives, also known as “white feminism”, radical Black feminism sprang from the minds of various Black women dissatisfied with the racism within the, often very white, women’s movements and the sexism within male-led organizations advocating “Black Power”.
By taking into consideration the various intersections in which systems of domination operate, radical Black feminists broke ground in liberatory struggle by offering a framework which rejected narrow-minded thinking in relation to identity, paving way for nuanced scrutinizations of the world’s social ills, especially in reference to the plight of Black women.
In her piece entitled Resting in Gardens, Battling in Deserts1, humanities and political science professor of Williams College, Joy James, gives both historical context to radical Black feminist thought and action, as well as a sampling of projects taken up by those who operate from the radical Black feminist banner. From actions taken to dismantling military and prison industrial complexes, to challenging global state governments to honor human rights law, James’ article is a non-exhaustive overview of radical Black feminist agendas.
One may argue that these agendas may be, and are often, acted out detached from a radical Black feminist framework. However, agendas which do not operate from an anti-racist, feminist framework are extremely likely to reproduce violence upon groups marginalized because of race and/or gender; those groups are most often being Black women and other women of color.
bell hooks, the widely acclaimed Black feminist scholar, coined the term imperialist white supremacist capitalist patriarchy in order to give language to the ever-present, interlocking systems of domination undergirding our society. And, as suggested by both the second principle of Kingian Nonviolence and The Combahee River Collective’s statement on radical Black feminism, when one system of domination is operating, it’s companions are never far behind.
The expansive, and ever expanding, range of ideas grappled with by radical Black feminist thought, from sexuality to art, offers us a social justice framework capable of considering the predicaments of the multiply marginalized among us, a methodology established for incorporating the needs of the most downtrodden into the blueprint for a transformed society.
So, here, I implore the reader to study the works of radical Black feminists such as Audre Lorde, Angela Davis, June Jordan, bell hooks, Patricia Hill Collins, Michele Wallace, Barbara Smith, Michelle Cliff, Anna Julia Cooper, and countless others. Support organizations that operate from a radical Black feminist framework, such as the Black Youth Project 100, the Audre Lorde Project, or Black Girl Dangerous.
The radical humanism inherent to radical Black feminism often goes misunderstood, or outright disregarded. If we are to build beloved communities of integrity, radical Black feminism cannot be ignored. “Liberation” means nothing if it doesn’t apply to everyone.
References:
- James, Joy. “Resting in Gardens, Battling in Deserts: Black Women’s Activism.” Race and Resistance: African Americans in the 21st Century. (Ed. Herb Boyd. Cambridge: Southend Press, 2002.) 67-77. Print
By Malik Thompson, on October 6th, 2014 This “controversial” art work by Mary Englebreit inspired a Facebook campaign.
During dire times, humans seem to have a natural inclination toward the arts as a mechanism to relieve the pressure of feelings otherwise incommutable. Whether we’re referring to the practices of the ancients to perform dance and song for their gods in exchange for blessings, or the sorrow songs passionately sung by enslaved Black people to convey their shackled inner lives and yearnings for freedom, art has been the medium people have turned to time and time again to give substance to that which can’t be said.
However, the so-called ‘cultural elite’, those who live under the impression that legitimate art is only that which is hung in the galleries of lavish neighborhoods, where hundred dollar wines flow like water. The art of this privileged few tries its best to erase the lives of the majority, giving special apathy to those who live on the margins. This is art produced under the delusion of plush fantasy, built upon others’ backs.
Despite the efforts of the upper classes to discourage the production of art that speaks to radically different experiences, where various societal structures are unabashedly named as the forces that cause suffering and notions of taboo are simply done away with. These works of art, where various societal structures are unabashedly identified as forces that cause suffering, have been essential components to movements for social justice; from Harlem Renaissance artists boldly proclaiming that “We younger Negro artists who create now intend to express our individual dark-skinned selves without fear or shame.” , to writers living during the Civil Rights/Black Power era, such as Lorraine Hansberry, who actively chose to depict Black people’s lives without relying upon misinformed notions of Black humanity to give their works zest. Arts, in all of its manifestations, have pulled movements for change in directions that would have otherwise been inaccessible, because works of art constructed with an abundance of integrity and technical skill can activate people’s imaginations in ways that speeches and lectures can’t.
To not give those artists committed to liberatory struggle as well as the production of quality works of art credit is detriment to cultivating a world where people are able to creatively live as their entire selves. Artists dedicated to these missions are extremely reliable for capturing experiences that would otherwise decay into vague recollections and dust. To deny the contributions of these artists is to erase skillful encapsulations of human reaction to social phenomena.
This said, when eighteen year-old Michael Brown was slain in Ferguson, Missouri by Ferguson Police Department officer Darren Wilson on August 9th, the outcry of the artists was imbued with a wave of indignant pain only the most tragic social phenomena are capable of triggering. This tragedy, within the context of post-Zimmerman America and continued further violence directed toward Black youth, such as Renisha McBride, was met with a global outpouring of art.
Artists of all disciplines released wave after wave of material in the weeks following Brown’s killing and the community led protests against the FPD’s refusal to penalize Officer Wilson for his actions as well as general lack of respect for Brown and his family. A statement of solidarity, published on Red Wedge Magazine’s website, signed by artists across the country and abroad, serves as a microcosm of the energy artists have channeled into producing art which grapples with the reality that the state deems Black lives disposable.
Beginning with the writers, a poem entitled not an elegy for Michael Brown, by award winning poet Danez Smith, begins with the line, “I am sick of writing this poem”, and goes on to question the masses commitment to justice for Brown and other slain Black youth. In this same literary vein, various DC-area poets contributed to the development of Dear Ferguson – A DC Community Poem, searingly read by internationally renowned DC based spoken word artist Pages Matam. Both poems add compelling perspectives and fresh language to the discourse surrounding the events continuing to erupt in Ferguson.
Wallace lying face down in front of the ‘LOVE’ sculpture, wearing a ripped, bloody T-shirt. A young person holding a sign reading ‘Call Us By Our Names’ stands next to his body.
In Philadelphia’s iconic LOVE park, two actors, Lee Edward Colston and Keith Wallace recreated Brown’s last moments right in front of the park’s eponymous ‘LOVE’ sculpture. By having Wallace wear a white T-shirt with holes resembling bloodied gunshot wounds torn into the back while lying face down and motionless for an hour, the two artists received mixed messages from spectators; from those in respectful awe of the artists’ creativity to those who degraded the pieces message to pure spectacle by having their portraits taken in front of Wallace’s still body.
Within the musical realm, a deluge of tracks have been released by artists in various genres and all levels of fame. Releasing an intensely emotional track alongside a very vulnerable statement on the nature of living as a Black man in America, rapper J. Cole’s track Be Free is a somber conveyance of a simple desire for a liberty most African-American’s will never experience in today’s world. Getting to the root of the Ferguson community’s, and by extension all Black people engaged in struggle against the state, frustration, Lauryn Hill unveiled the melancholy Black Rage. Tenderly singing lines such as, “Black rage is founded on two-thirds a person”, a reference to the Dred Scott Case of 1857, Hill centers the history of Black people being dehumanized, abused, and exploited, revealing the historical context of the Ferguson community’s rage.
And, although met with some backlash by local police departments, visual artists, such as University of Missouri – St. Louis student Howard Barry, have not stood idly by as their counterparts have been feverishly creating. From photographs depicting uncensored police brutality against Ferguson protesters to an upcoming exhibition of the works of two-hundred and fifty St. Louis area artists, the visual arts have been essential in tugging at people’s consciences, using the universal language of imagery.
Are We Really Free? Are We Really Equal?, 2014. Via Tumblr, drawsandcries.tumblr.com
In the city of Ferguson itself, a Before I Die wall was constructed by a group of teachers in hopes that the community would use the artpiece to support their efforts in imagining a future without the realities that led to Michael Brown’s death. And, in their calls for acts of solidarity, the people of Ferguson requested those capable of organizing street theatre performances join them on the ground, hinting at an abundance of artwork created, and in production, by Ferguson community members themselves.
Painter Cbabi Bayoc told Art in America, “…a lot of art will come of this”, in reference to the aforementioned events of this summer, and we have all the reason to believe him.
By Brenda Hayes, on September 26th, 2014
To promote social change through the use of art and media.
The above audio is an interview of New Lens, recorded for This Light Sounds for Social Change, a Washington, D.C. based radio series featuring activist artists from across the globe.
New Lens is a youth driven social justice organization working to assist youth in making art and media about often-underrepresented perspectives. The work is used to address systemic problems, facilitate dialogue, shift perspectives and stimulate action. New Lens believes that a youth perspective can inspire change. U should love us because… WE SEE THINGS DIFFERENTLY
This interview features Executive Director Rebecca Yenawine and youth leader Chelsea. For more information go to http://www.newlens.info/
By Brenda Hayes, on September 17th, 2014 The Baltimore Art + Justice Project works to improve the lives of Baltimore residents by strengthening art and design-based advocacy and intervention.
The Baltimore Art + Justice Project is working to facilitate dialogue and data collection that enables the city of Baltimore to identify and better understand its art and design based social justice assets. The project will create a web-based mapping resource for use by artists, designers, arts organizations, community-based organizations, advocates, and funders who are interested in advancing social justice in Baltimore.
By Malik Thompson, on September 8th, 2014
Kara Walker is a Black woman artist famous for grotesque silhouette cutouts depicting the experiences of Black woman in the South before the dismantling of formal chattel slavery. In the late spring of 2014, Walker constructed a mammy sphinx out of sugar, along with multiple Black male children made from molasses, exhibiting both in the soon to be demolished, old Domino Sugar Factory in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Exploring issues of race, gender, sex, objectification, and the terrible history of the sugar trade, Walker’s piece was met with a flurry of attendees sharing their experiences with her work to the wider world. Below are my own.
One of the worst things about my experience with the Kara Walker exhibit in Brooklyn was the lack of space available for me to mourn the devastation of Blackness, nor appreciate its power. There were white bodies everywhere I turned; white bodies laughing, white bodies posing for pictures, white bodies giving me strange looks as I solemnly shuffled around the warehouse, white bodies overflowing the space, white bodies spilling into my physical and mental space.
This happened most profoundly as I stood in front of one of the little Black molasses boys. This particular one had toppled over on it’s side, the molasses comprising the sculpture horrendously warped, conjuring images in my head of some beast mauling the sculpture before I arrived. Bolstering the intensity, as with every other sugar boy, was a puddle of mostly dried molasses beneath the sculpture, reminiscent of blood seeping from the child’s body.
I could only stare at it. Stare at it and think about all that it symbolizes, all the pain embodied in that moment, that moment when Black children are prematurely ripped away from their childhoods. I stood there for what felt like a very long time, which may have only been three or four minutes. While I stood there, there were various individual and groups of white people who would pass by, observe the sculpture, and move on although they weren’t actually very disruptive. After a few seconds of sitting with the piece, I figured out a way to block them out.
A group of two or three young white woman decided to stand next to me after I’d been standing in front of the sculpture for a while. I know I was emitting my emotions as I sat and contemplated the fate of the fallen molasses boy in front of me; I know that it must have been very uncomfortable for the white people who flocked around the sculpture to be near me as I mourned because most of them gave me a furtive glance before fleeing elsewhere within the factory. But this one very blue-eyed and blonde haired young white woman began not so sneakily searching my face for… something.
In the muted light of the sugar factory, her very blue-eyes glowed as they searched my very pained face; they glowed with a mixture of pity, guilt, and confusion- perhaps these are the components of the ever toxic sentimentality? Then, at that moment, I became uncomfortable, realized that even though this was obviously a cemetery, a place of remembrance and mourning for how Blackness has been distorted and destroyed throughout history, the pain I felt would always take a backseat to the comfort white people seek in lies. In that moment, I began remembering what violation felt like.
I have no way of knowing what that young white woman’s intentions were; was she wanting me to move because my mourning made her uncomfortable? Was she trying to figure out how to best console me as she navigated the treacherous terrain of gauging another being’s emotional state? I doubt I will ever have an answer to these questions.
I do, however, know that I would’ve preferred her not invading my space and keeping her distance while I sat with the heavy things rising to the surface of my conscious. I know I would have preferred her somehow quietly keeping other white people out of my space if her intention was to bring me comfort. I know good intentions mean very little in practice.
The realization that there was no space to engage with the art in the way in which I preferred became more apparent as I moved closer to the mammy sphinx; where no one seemed to understand the meaning of the mammy. They didn’t seem to understand the significance of her breasts, arms, and ass being out of proportion to the rest of her body as smiles plastered their faces as they had their pictures taken in the space between the mammy sphinx’s outstretched arms. The white women with their children in strollers must have been comforted by the headscarf overpowering the mammy sphinx‘s head as they posed with their toddlers between her arms.
Photo cred @ Tyler Grisby
At one point, all I could do was hug the rusting wall on the side of the mammy sphinx in an attempt to find mental space for myself away from the waves of white people desecrating the physical space. My need for space came to a head as I stood in front of the mammy sphinx with my friends Gina and Khadijah, watching in barely audible rage as more and more people posed between her breasts for a portrait. And it became too much, so I suggested to my friends that we pose in front of the mammy sphinx holding up the Black Power fist, with a picture of us doing so to be taken by our white chaperone from our youth organization.
As we stood there, with our fists defiantly raised to the ceiling, the mostly white people in front of us became much quieter, they seemed offended even. Khadijah says she heard people whispering, “It’s not about that…”. One white man gave us a look of bemused indignation, rushing to the space we had just claimed as our own after our picture had been taken, only to pose for yet another smiling portrait in front of the mammy sphinx. Perhaps he did that to prove a point, a point sprung from the murky waters of privilege and ignorance.
And my spirit sank lower into my gut; I could feel it dragging me down towards the molasses-resembling-blood splattered ground.
Originally published at Groundwork for Praxis
Malik Thompson is a nineteen year-old cis Black queer from Washington, DC. He recently finished his high school career and will be moving to Rochester, NY for a paid internship in September. His interest are writing, photography, solitude, and building an equitable, just society.
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