Posts tagged with "james baldwin"

Sankofa Café Owner: You’re Not a Special N-Word In The Room

Haile Gerima called me a “nigger” in front of a crowd of Black elders, Howard University students and professors. They clapped for him after the disinformation he spewed in anger about the history and story of Maroons. This happened at his establishment, Sankofa Café on Georgia Ave in DC during a talk on the book, I Am Maroon.

After sharing my views on the use of the term Maroon and that my tribal community does not use the term because of what it means, (run away slave) Haile Gerima made his way to the front of the room to speak on the issue and after a brief back and forth with me spewed angrily, “Don’t say you’re a special nigger in the middle of Negros. That’s brag language. You’re not special, you’re not special, you’re not special. What I’m trying to tell you is all Black people made history out of their circumstances.”

Haile Gerima during the Q&A: https://youtu.be/s5sHg_UQvmU

In spite of what I know, including the books I’ve read, as well as my lived experience, I was told to crawl back into my cave, slandered, dismissed and insulted when I spoke about the history, meaning and impact of the word Maroon on my Pamaka culture. I was speaking as a so-called Maroon from Suriname. During the Q&A session I applauded the two speakers, children of the late author, Russell Shoatz, a gang member who turned political activist after hearing Malcolm X speak. He was sentenced to life in prison “following a coordinated attack in Fairmont Park that left one park guard dead.” He was affectionately called Maroon for his attempts to break out of the prison walls that kept him away from his community, activism and the life he deserved to live if justice knew its way to him and all those marred in the ongoing freedom struggle for a just America.

My comment during the Q&A: https://youtu.be/WvQ4-bxQRpQ

Simply expressing my disgust, shock and dismay at being called “nigger” by the owner of Sankofa will not suffice this storytelling. Because something deeper, more meaningful, even eye-opening took place that Saturday evening at Sankofa, a place I had come to enjoy for its unique African celebrations and elevation of Black voices.

Haile Gerima, a stranger to me, was angry and hostile when he addressed me while speaking to the crowd that had gathered to listen to the book talk. He took issue with my earlier comment by covertly insulting me, followed by dismissing all I had shared,  even disregarding my lived experience and cultural knowledge and understanding of history and basic facts of Maroons. At one point he even unfurled a long list of supposed names used to describe Maroons. One of the words was Ifu Gadu Wani. I was shocked to see my tribal language on the list that seem to have been put together rather flimsily. I said “Ifu Gadu Wani” is my tribal language, Pamaka. I speak it, write it and know that it does not mean Maroon, nor has it ever been used as another word for Maroon. The phrase actually means God willing and literally, “If God wants.” I grew up in Suriname with my mother and elders saying this phrase all the time. Haile Gerima pumped with ego and adrenaline refused to listen. I even held up the book I brought along to offer as reference for this knowledge, The Maroons of Jamaica 1655-1796, A History of Resistance, Collaboration & Betrayal, by Mavis C. Cambell but it fell on deaf ears with a dismissive retort, “why do you think I don’t have that book!” Haile Gerima got so riled up he crouched like a wild beast readying to pounce its prey, leaned forward with hate-filled eyes and fire in his breath and said, “Don’t say you’re a special nigger in the middle of negros. That’s brag language. You’re not special, you’re not special, you’re not special!”

I never said I was a special “nigger” in the room. I simply said many of those who are called Maroons,  a name the British first called escaped enslaved Africans in Jamaica, do not refer to themselves as Maroons. Many of us come from different tribes and even speak different dialects and practice different tribal customs. We are Tribal African people, not Maroons.

I was shocked hearing “nigger” thrown at me so maliciously and flippantly. The word traveled in slow motion across this so-called sacred Black space called Sankofa.

Haile Gerima’s anger and toxic ego was on full display.  I don’t know Haile Gerima. Had never met or even heard of him before Saturday night at Sankofa. When I go to the Café it is usually for a topic I find interesting and meaningful to my own life and pursuit of storytelling and documenting.

During previous visits I spoke to several of the staff there who handled speaking events about having a talk on the word Maroon. I also wrote to them requesting the opportunity to speak about my I Am Not Your Maroon campaign to educate about the word that, similar to the word “nigger” also carries its own trauma and inhumanity for Tribal African people. They never took me up on the offer. However, when I saw that I Am Maroon was going to be a book talk, I didn’t hesitate to attend. I wanted to know more about the book and why the author called himself Maroon. I also wanted to engage them as an actual so-called Maroon.

I left Sankofa with a heavy heart and disappointed spirit. This so-called safe space for Black people and Black stories was not safe at all. That evening I experienced a café and book store that defended sharing misinformation and disinformation. And one led by a man who labelled me a bragger who sees herself as a “special nigger among negros” for not wanting to be called a Maroon… a run away slave.

After the event was over, I stayed seated for a few minutes gathering myself, my thoughts and my exit plan. As people made their way to the stage for signatures, an older gentleman came over to me and apologized for Haile Gerima’s behavior. He said it was uncalled for and told me briefly about his character and hot temper. It was the old excuse line, “this is who he is, he’s always like this and I’m sorry that happened to you.” As I made my way to the exit one of the HU professors came over to shake my hand and greet me because she had never met someone from Suriname before. In the small talks, I saw an opening. There, the moderator and a few other elders had circled around Haile Gerima. They were gleefully speaking and engaging, as if this man didn’t just call me a nigger in front of them. It was like the standing ovation Will Smith received at the Oscars after slapping Chris Rock for no good reason. During his tirade the old man threw an insincere and hallow apology my way, called me “sister” a few times and said we could speak further after the event because after all, he was happy to see a “sister” from Suriname at the event.

I quietly took my exit.

Sankofa on Georgia Ave in Washington, DC claims to hold sacred the stories and history of Black folks and their experience. Enter at your own risk though and never forget, “Don’t say you’re a special nigger in the middle of Negros. You’re not special.”

Campaigns to eliminate to use of the word Maroon to describe a People are not new. And neither is the hostility and push back against this long standing movement. And the pushback is not from white people, but from Black folks who are not called Maroons and burdened with the stigma it carries. This fight is no different than the one Malcolm X poignantly spoke of when he described the difference between the house Negro and the field Negro. And like Malcolm, I too am a field Negro. Just don’t call me Maroon. And if the great orator and writer James Baldwin can say to his American oppressors, I Am Not Your Negro, so too can Tribal Africans in the Americas say, I Am Not Your Maroon.

 

Jeanette Lenoir, Founder, ePluribusAmerica

Celebrating the Legacy of James Baldwin

 

James Baldwin, a prominent figure in American literature, was a novelist, essayist, playwright, and poet. Born in Harlem, New York — August 2, 1924 —Baldwin’s works delved into complex themes of race, sexuality, and identity, making him a leading voice of the Civil Rights Movement.

Baldwin’s early life was marked by poverty and hardship, yet he found solace in literature and writing during his high school years. After working as a waiter and janitor, he published his first novel, “Go Tell It on the Mountain,” in 1953, which garnered critical acclaim.

His literary contributions extended beyond novels to essays, plays, and poetry. Among his most celebrated works are the novels “Another Country” (1962) and “The Fire Next Time” (1963), and the essay collection “Notes of a Native Son” (1955).

Baldwin fearlessly confronted societal injustices, using his platform to speak out against racism, the Vietnam War, and the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr. His writings also explored his experiences as a gay man, adding another layer of depth to his exploration of identity.

Renowned for his honesty, passion, and intellectual prowess, Baldwin’s work continues to resonate with readers today. His unflinching examination of social issues and his ability to capture the complexities of the human experience have solidified his place as one of the most significant writers of the 20th century.

As we commemorate the centennial of his birth, it is essential to recognize James Baldwin’s invaluable contributions to American literature and social discourse. His legacy serves as a reminder of the power of words to inspire change and promote understanding.

I Am Not Your Negro Challenges White Americans To Confront An Ugly Truth: Racism

BY JEANETTE LENOIR

 

James Baldwin spoke from the grave in this searing and poignant piece of storytelling of our American culture and shameful racist history.

This film is not merely an entertainment piece to add to our collection of artful imagery to fill our heads and occupy empty and bored pockets of the mind. No, this piece is to wake our collective conscience that is rooted in a basic understanding of humanity. The difference this time is that the “our” Baldwin and the creators of this powerful piece of historical and cultural storytelling is directly aimed at is white people; American white people to be exact.

I Am Not Your Negro is a soul shaking and profound message. It forces viewers, especially American whites, to face the ugly truth of race relations in our country. It forces them to address the largest elephant in the middle of the cultural room we call our United States. Keep in mind, there are other elephants to content with, like immigration, women’s rights, disability rights, LGBTQ rights and indigenous people’s rights; however, the biggest one—institutionalized racism—is threatening to release a level of aggression like musth across the country. The film’s aim seems to push white Americans, yet again, through more modern and powerful means, to face the truth of life in America for black people, or “Negros” as this film appoints as another searing and thought-provoking label of brown-skinned Americans.

One can’t deny the uncomfortable truth staring, screaming, whaling, hanging, running, begging, pleading, fighting, marching and confronting them…right in front of their eyes. Closing your eyelids, seeking refuge in indifference, won’t change this stark truth. Black people, since the beginning of our country, have suffered tremendously at the hands of white people. Thankfully, not all white people. There are examples in this film of whites entrenched in the struggle for racial justice and equality too. This truth can’t be separated from the black American struggle. Even so, time has yet to heal these wounds as this film so justly brings to the forefront of a national dialogue. The images on the big screen aren’t new. Most of us have seen them before; either in a class room, a movie theater, books, pictures and essentially through all forms of media and communication. Bob Dylan singing of the callous murder of Medgar Evers stings, and moves a compassionate soul to tears. It seems that each new generation requires a different and more impactful way of forcing much needed societal change. That’s what this film represents in many ways too.

I Am Not Your Negro is the incomplete work of the most dynamic, clear, passionate and unapologetic orator of our young culture and democracy; James Baldwin. Baldwin expresses himself in ways that are still stirring in our current society. If America is to sustain its good fortune—if one can call it that—of not having to experience what has been laid out in Baldwin’s other writings in The Fire Next Time, a populous movement coming to a bloody and tragic head, underway even before the days of Medgar Evers, Malcolm X and Martin Luther King, Jr., which this powerful film draws upon, than the time for real change is upon us. Baldwin lays it at our feet. His words, and those of Samuel L. Jackson further tattoos it on our conscience, reminding us all of our responsibility and role in creating a new nation that honors its people, regardless of creed, color, or sex. What we do with this forewarning depends on each and every American that yearns for all that this country pretends to be. But first, we must face the ugly truth that despite the “perfect” images of American lives that has shaped our thinking and understanding of ourselves and fellow countrymen, the reality on the ground is completely detached from the true lives and experiences of black Americans.

Baldwin expresses this as clearly as any man can or could, especially when he states that the image of America we grown up with looks ideal in movies and pictures…for white people. Unfortunately, the portrayal of black Americans is not only false, but morally damaging and despicably demeaning to the people that helped built this country through the brutal practice of slave labor. He makes it expressively clear that black people are not the big lipped, lazy sub-human buffoons as consistently portrayed in the old footage shown as a historical reference in I Am Not Your Negro.

This film diverts our attention back to the reality on the ground. And just when you think that the racial narrative of our country placed in front of us in this powerful film is unrepresentative of our current state of being, you’re hit with images of Trayvon Martin, Tamir Rice, Eric Garner, Walter Scott, Alton Sterling, Sandra Bland, Philando Castille, Terence Crutcher… the list goes on and on, just like the struggle for equality and basic human rights for all Americans… not just for those who have benefited from oppression, slavery and brutality, to maintain a grasp on the heavy crown called power. Undoubtedly, as it comes across in this film, power equates to might but real power embraces the responsibility of humanity.

America, throughout its short history, has failed to reconcile its racist past adequately enough to settle these burning issues that keep us bound in a discombobulated ball of spaghetti. It’s not a coincidence that the opening of the National Museum of African American History and Culture only came to fruition in September of 2016. That was 6-months ago… after years of black civil rights leaders and other activists working to persuade mostly white politicians that it’s the right thing to do. There are numerous examples of unjust treatment of blacks, and stark examples of our evolving police state in this film that has primarily impacted black people in America. For this to change, America must change. Specifically white Americans, according to Baldwin and many others like him who have paid the ultimate price pushing for this change to occur.

Throughout the film, this sentiment is expressed eloquently by Baldwin in this uncomfortable but crucial piece of cultural and racial perspective. Baldwin, from the grave, is targeting our collective conscience as Americans. “We’re in this together,” he seems to shout from an impenetrable divide. America is not a white country. America is a multicultural phenomenon brought about by all who built, fought for and shaped her. Black Americans have an equal stake and root in this land and its identity. If white Americans—especially those in powerful positions to shape and govern us as one nation—accept this unyielding truth, we will come together as one people. In our relatively short history, this has yet to happen, making I Am Not Your Negro a reflective piece of art that imitates our real lives. This film is a must see. But, prepare to be confronted with an uncomfortable truth.