Thurman, Wallace. "The Blacker the Berry..." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 636-49. Print.
This reading brought up two interesting notions that hadn’t yet been addressed in this class. The first is the idea of segregation within a race. I’m continually surprised when groups or individuals that are discriminated against turn around and themselves discriminate against another group. It is, for lack of a better word, idiotic. Instead of working together as a unit to combat the racism they both face, different shades of “black” populations fight each other with racism while fighting racism from white people. It’s a kind of passing the buck idea: “well, we’re hated, so let’s find someone else to hate!” I don’t understand it at all, other than the fact that it is a base, primal feeling akin to an instinct.
The second notion I caught was the idea of a white man “passing” as black. Although the characters in this story joke about it, since the man is very white, it is still an interesting turn-around of the “passing” we’ve been reading about recently. The first thing that comes to mind is “why”. After all, black people didn’t exactly have it easy during this time period – why would a white man choose to hang out with black people in a black night club? Although at first I thought it was strange, it’s actually a kind of bittersweet poetic statement. Thurman barely hits on the notion of transcending race, as discussed by Toomer, but this little twist of the story comes close to making a statement to that effect. It is especially poignant because of the attitudes of the main character, who feels so wronged because she is a very dark shade of black. I don’t believe that she learns anything from the reversal of roles concerning the white man “passing”, which is a bit of a shame – she seemed to be, for the most part, unimportant to the story.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Plum Bun
Fauset, Jessie R. "Plum Bun." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 348-50. Print.
This short little piece brought a question to my mind. Perhaps I just don’t understand the mentality of racism, but to what purpose serves “finding out” people as black or white? If they look, act, and present themselves in a certain way, why do people like the teacher in this short story find it necessary to investigate further? The parallels to the rampant homophobia in this country are obvious, but I never thought that such a secretive nature could apply to black Americans. After all, if you’re black it should be pretty obvious.
The only conclusion I can come up with is that people like the teacher don’t hate people solely because of their skin color, but hate their family ties and style of life as well. It’s like during the holocaust where if any of your ancestors were Jewish, you were considered a Jew in spite of any sort of mixing of races. And, of course, it’s ridiculous.
The final line is somewhat funny, where Angela states that she never would have considered admitting that she was colored when asked by her teacher. The matter-of-fact way she says it makes it seem like she understands the need for disguising herself (like in Passing) as white.
This short little piece brought a question to my mind. Perhaps I just don’t understand the mentality of racism, but to what purpose serves “finding out” people as black or white? If they look, act, and present themselves in a certain way, why do people like the teacher in this short story find it necessary to investigate further? The parallels to the rampant homophobia in this country are obvious, but I never thought that such a secretive nature could apply to black Americans. After all, if you’re black it should be pretty obvious.
The only conclusion I can come up with is that people like the teacher don’t hate people solely because of their skin color, but hate their family ties and style of life as well. It’s like during the holocaust where if any of your ancestors were Jewish, you were considered a Jew in spite of any sort of mixing of races. And, of course, it’s ridiculous.
The final line is somewhat funny, where Angela states that she never would have considered admitting that she was colored when asked by her teacher. The matter-of-fact way she says it makes it seem like she understands the need for disguising herself (like in Passing) as white.
Countee Cullen
Cullen, Countee. "Countee Cullen." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 242-51. Print.
Although many of these poems were in a simpler vein than the ones by Toomer, they still held an air of sorrow that was hard to pass over. I particularly liked the one entitled “Yet Do I Marvel”, not only because it questions God and the Bible (although in a roundabout way), but because it seems to encompass much of what the rest of the poems are trying to get at: a kind of hopeless resignation to the state of things tangled in a fire of pride that won’t quite die.
“Yet Do I Marvel” is the kind of poem that can be read only a couple of different ways. One way is the literal meaning: Cullen is a religious man who, despite everything the African race has been through, keeps his faith in God. The other reading, and the one I am more partial to, is that Cullen is being extremely sarcastic and demonizing God for ignoring the African plight.
He begins the poem by saying that, if one were to ask God (or, rather, were God to take the time to explain) why such horrible things are commonplace in nature (death, blindness, doom, and so on), God would surely explain in detail why he made things so. He then turns around and says that God is not susceptible to catechism (extensive questioning) of a mind too absorbed in itself (i.e. Man), which basically means that God could explain himself to Man, but he won’t. Interestingly, Cullen drops the veil of sarcasm and outright calls God awful: “what awful brain compels His awful hand”. I maintain that the poem could be taken in either a positive or sarcastic way; remember that “awful”, in its more literal sense, simply means “full of awe”, something that can easily be attributed to God.
The final couplet is a bit more lighthearted. It adds one more of God’s “awful” deeds – the creation of a black poet. In the shadow of the other things mentioned, perhaps Cullen is trying to poke a bit of fun at those who find nothing but sorrow in their situation as black Americans. He’s saying that there are worse things than being black by putting ethnicity in contrast to the aforementioned death, blindness, etc. On the other hand, though, it can be interpreted as Cullen talking very specifically about himself (since he is a poet). The reason he finds this “curious” is a bit unclear, but I believe it has something to do with giving a voice to the black race in spite of all of the other horrible things attributed to God. It’s kind of like Cullen is saying “thanks a lot, God,” for giving blacks such a meek and subtle tool when it was well within His power to simply eradicate the problems of racism altogether.
Although many of these poems were in a simpler vein than the ones by Toomer, they still held an air of sorrow that was hard to pass over. I particularly liked the one entitled “Yet Do I Marvel”, not only because it questions God and the Bible (although in a roundabout way), but because it seems to encompass much of what the rest of the poems are trying to get at: a kind of hopeless resignation to the state of things tangled in a fire of pride that won’t quite die.
“Yet Do I Marvel” is the kind of poem that can be read only a couple of different ways. One way is the literal meaning: Cullen is a religious man who, despite everything the African race has been through, keeps his faith in God. The other reading, and the one I am more partial to, is that Cullen is being extremely sarcastic and demonizing God for ignoring the African plight.
He begins the poem by saying that, if one were to ask God (or, rather, were God to take the time to explain) why such horrible things are commonplace in nature (death, blindness, doom, and so on), God would surely explain in detail why he made things so. He then turns around and says that God is not susceptible to catechism (extensive questioning) of a mind too absorbed in itself (i.e. Man), which basically means that God could explain himself to Man, but he won’t. Interestingly, Cullen drops the veil of sarcasm and outright calls God awful: “what awful brain compels His awful hand”. I maintain that the poem could be taken in either a positive or sarcastic way; remember that “awful”, in its more literal sense, simply means “full of awe”, something that can easily be attributed to God.
The final couplet is a bit more lighthearted. It adds one more of God’s “awful” deeds – the creation of a black poet. In the shadow of the other things mentioned, perhaps Cullen is trying to poke a bit of fun at those who find nothing but sorrow in their situation as black Americans. He’s saying that there are worse things than being black by putting ethnicity in contrast to the aforementioned death, blindness, etc. On the other hand, though, it can be interpreted as Cullen talking very specifically about himself (since he is a poet). The reason he finds this “curious” is a bit unclear, but I believe it has something to do with giving a voice to the black race in spite of all of the other horrible things attributed to God. It’s kind of like Cullen is saying “thanks a lot, God,” for giving blacks such a meek and subtle tool when it was well within His power to simply eradicate the problems of racism altogether.
Jean Toomer
Toomer, Jean. "Jean Toomer." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 301-07. Print.
It almost seems unfair to the first two poems in this section to be paired up with the final poem, The Blue Meridian, since it overshadows them so much. I really loved Toomer’s message here, which echoed back to the other reading we had by him. That message is one of transcendence – going beyond race, color, creed, and beliefs to a state of humanistic harmony.
Toomer’s beliefs on racial inequity parallel my own beliefs on religious differences that the world is so caught up in today (although it’s not really all that new). The underlying bigotry is the same: “we hate you because you’re different than us”, and what Toomer says about transcendence is much the same as what I’ve said about religious hostilities, albeit using slightly stronger language.
I read the little biographical information before getting into the poems in this section, and for once it actually helped without ruining the ending of the story/whatever. And, as the biography notes, I am somewhat surprised that this text falls into the “Harlem Renaissance Reader”, since it doesn’t particularly line up with most Harlem Renaissance mantra. Rather than advocating removal of African Americans to Africa, like Marcus Garvey, or racial equality through intelligent discourse, like Du Bois, Toomer goes beyond recognizing race and rather says that “we are all just people”. And, further, rather than advocating a push towards transcendence of race, Toomer merely notes that we are waiting for it: “We are waiting for a new people, for the joining of men to men and man to God.” I don’t know how far to go with radical passivism like this before you’re just being silly and asking for people to walk all over you, but in essence it is a beautiful theory. It’s a shame that most people are too primitive to understand it.
It almost seems unfair to the first two poems in this section to be paired up with the final poem, The Blue Meridian, since it overshadows them so much. I really loved Toomer’s message here, which echoed back to the other reading we had by him. That message is one of transcendence – going beyond race, color, creed, and beliefs to a state of humanistic harmony.
Toomer’s beliefs on racial inequity parallel my own beliefs on religious differences that the world is so caught up in today (although it’s not really all that new). The underlying bigotry is the same: “we hate you because you’re different than us”, and what Toomer says about transcendence is much the same as what I’ve said about religious hostilities, albeit using slightly stronger language.
I read the little biographical information before getting into the poems in this section, and for once it actually helped without ruining the ending of the story/whatever. And, as the biography notes, I am somewhat surprised that this text falls into the “Harlem Renaissance Reader”, since it doesn’t particularly line up with most Harlem Renaissance mantra. Rather than advocating removal of African Americans to Africa, like Marcus Garvey, or racial equality through intelligent discourse, like Du Bois, Toomer goes beyond recognizing race and rather says that “we are all just people”. And, further, rather than advocating a push towards transcendence of race, Toomer merely notes that we are waiting for it: “We are waiting for a new people, for the joining of men to men and man to God.” I don’t know how far to go with radical passivism like this before you’re just being silly and asking for people to walk all over you, but in essence it is a beautiful theory. It’s a shame that most people are too primitive to understand it.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
The Closing Door
Grimke, Angelina W. "The Closing Door." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 486-500. Print.
Wow, this one really hit a chord with me. Good writing plus a powerful, human message; why can’t more of our readings hit on themes of humanity like this? The universal message in this story is probably what makes me like it so much; rather than rambling on about right and wrong, white and black, this story does not once bother to thrust its characters into the oh-so-common montage of political racial discourse. Instead, it tells the story of a family or group of people (I’m not sure if Lucy is related to Agnes) with no real racial motivations one way or another. It’s kind of a breath of fresh air after all of the extremely politically motivated pieces we’ve read.
Until reading this story, I hadn’t realized the extreme differences between the North and the South in terms of the societal acceptance of blacks. Although they point out that lynchings did occur in the North, the overall tone is that the North is a much safer place than the South. I almost got the feeling that the South was an entirely different country by the way that the characters discuss what happened to Joe. It brings back something said in one of the other readings about how blacks tended to live in the South due to the large black population there despite having better opportunities in the North; with this kind of horrible thing as possibility, why would anyone remain in the South? I’m interested in knowing what factors led black people to remain in the South instead of escaping to the relatively easier life of the North.
Wow, this one really hit a chord with me. Good writing plus a powerful, human message; why can’t more of our readings hit on themes of humanity like this? The universal message in this story is probably what makes me like it so much; rather than rambling on about right and wrong, white and black, this story does not once bother to thrust its characters into the oh-so-common montage of political racial discourse. Instead, it tells the story of a family or group of people (I’m not sure if Lucy is related to Agnes) with no real racial motivations one way or another. It’s kind of a breath of fresh air after all of the extremely politically motivated pieces we’ve read.
Until reading this story, I hadn’t realized the extreme differences between the North and the South in terms of the societal acceptance of blacks. Although they point out that lynchings did occur in the North, the overall tone is that the North is a much safer place than the South. I almost got the feeling that the South was an entirely different country by the way that the characters discuss what happened to Joe. It brings back something said in one of the other readings about how blacks tended to live in the South due to the large black population there despite having better opportunities in the North; with this kind of horrible thing as possibility, why would anyone remain in the South? I’m interested in knowing what factors led black people to remain in the South instead of escaping to the relatively easier life of the North.
Jazz at Home
Rogers, Joel A. "Jazz at Home." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 52-57. Print.
I’m not really sure what to say about this essay, since it isn’t exactly trying to prove anything that anyone is about to argue with. Basically, it spends its couple of pages on what could be said in a sentence: “Jazz is a good outlet for people and isn’t going away.” I don’t know why the author goes on and on trying to prove this point when I doubt anyone would disagree. The feeling, overall, is one of a young person writing about how much they love a certain band, and how sure they are that their band is the best. It’s not interesting to read on any level.
The one sentence, however, that gave me a reason to pause was the final, closing one. I think that the author wrote it without thinking about what he was saying, because it has that kind of finality of a concluding sentence that lacks real extra meaning; strangely, it brings up a point that isn’t mentioned in the rest of the essay and might have proven a better (or at least a more interesting) thesis than the actual topic. That is, he believes that jazz should be diverted to more noble uses. Now what, exactly, he means by this I have no inkling. Perhaps he had some distant thought about using jazz for a social medicine, reducing the pent up energy and frustration so many people face in a kind of pre-hippie movement.
That doesn’t really matter, since there are no answers here (in this essay). What does matter is the fact that he said it. Does he not believe that the use of jazz as an outlet for African Americans is a noble use? He’s already droned on about how African Americans created jazz and perform it better than any other race, but then he turns around and basically implies that all of that doesn’t matter against what could be done with jazz. I’d like to know what, exactly, he thinks is a noble use of jazz beyond the societal calming therapy it gives African Americans.
I’d also like to point out that I disagree with his stance on how black people “know” jazz more than white people. That sounds about as thought-worthy as saying that all Jewish people lack rhythm, all Mexicans are sleepy, or all Arabs are terrorists. It’s a bland, boring generalization that doesn’t mean anything, and trying to prove it (without any proof, I might add) in such an essay devalues whatever else the author might have said.
I’m not really sure what to say about this essay, since it isn’t exactly trying to prove anything that anyone is about to argue with. Basically, it spends its couple of pages on what could be said in a sentence: “Jazz is a good outlet for people and isn’t going away.” I don’t know why the author goes on and on trying to prove this point when I doubt anyone would disagree. The feeling, overall, is one of a young person writing about how much they love a certain band, and how sure they are that their band is the best. It’s not interesting to read on any level.
The one sentence, however, that gave me a reason to pause was the final, closing one. I think that the author wrote it without thinking about what he was saying, because it has that kind of finality of a concluding sentence that lacks real extra meaning; strangely, it brings up a point that isn’t mentioned in the rest of the essay and might have proven a better (or at least a more interesting) thesis than the actual topic. That is, he believes that jazz should be diverted to more noble uses. Now what, exactly, he means by this I have no inkling. Perhaps he had some distant thought about using jazz for a social medicine, reducing the pent up energy and frustration so many people face in a kind of pre-hippie movement.
That doesn’t really matter, since there are no answers here (in this essay). What does matter is the fact that he said it. Does he not believe that the use of jazz as an outlet for African Americans is a noble use? He’s already droned on about how African Americans created jazz and perform it better than any other race, but then he turns around and basically implies that all of that doesn’t matter against what could be done with jazz. I’d like to know what, exactly, he thinks is a noble use of jazz beyond the societal calming therapy it gives African Americans.
I’d also like to point out that I disagree with his stance on how black people “know” jazz more than white people. That sounds about as thought-worthy as saying that all Jewish people lack rhythm, all Mexicans are sleepy, or all Arabs are terrorists. It’s a bland, boring generalization that doesn’t mean anything, and trying to prove it (without any proof, I might add) in such an essay devalues whatever else the author might have said.
The Fire in the Flint
White, Walter. "The Fire in the Flint." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 351-62. Print.
The treatment of the main character in this story is frustrating to read about. It seems that no one, not even his fellow black men, think he is capable of being a good doctor. Even after being proven correct in his diagnoses and saving a woman’s life, other doctors do not recognize him as an equal. It’s sad to think that this was really, at one time, the way of society.
I’m not sure what to think about Kenneth’s philosophy on racial equality. On one hand, he is absolutely correct to live his life as if racism wasn’t an issue and make the best of it. Those who wallow in self-pity get no brownie points from me, anyway. On the other hand, though, he doesn’t seem to have any inclination to make the racial situation better, for himself or anyone else. It’s a tough situation, and there isn’t really a good answer. I think that, were I in the same situation, I would behave in a way similar to Kenneth. That is, transcend racial limitations as much as possible, especially in your own mind. To fall back on the race-crutch whenever something doesn’t work out for you, like the main character in Quicksand does, is weak and asking for others to treat you as such.
The treatment of the main character in this story is frustrating to read about. It seems that no one, not even his fellow black men, think he is capable of being a good doctor. Even after being proven correct in his diagnoses and saving a woman’s life, other doctors do not recognize him as an equal. It’s sad to think that this was really, at one time, the way of society.
I’m not sure what to think about Kenneth’s philosophy on racial equality. On one hand, he is absolutely correct to live his life as if racism wasn’t an issue and make the best of it. Those who wallow in self-pity get no brownie points from me, anyway. On the other hand, though, he doesn’t seem to have any inclination to make the racial situation better, for himself or anyone else. It’s a tough situation, and there isn’t really a good answer. I think that, were I in the same situation, I would behave in a way similar to Kenneth. That is, transcend racial limitations as much as possible, especially in your own mind. To fall back on the race-crutch whenever something doesn’t work out for you, like the main character in Quicksand does, is weak and asking for others to treat you as such.
There is Confusion
Fauset, Jessie R. "There Is Confusion." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 340-48. Print.
This reading has one of my favorite lines in this compilation so far, not to mention one of the most reasonable and level-headed notions. It’s towards the beginning, when the dying Phillip says: “We must learn to look out for life first, then color and limitations. … I shouldn’t have allowed [my race] to make me forget love.” What’s pretty amazing about this story is that the main character, Peter, actually decides to live by these words and transcend racism. And, really, I believe that many black men are just as racist as their white counterparts. Hate because of race, regardless of who started it, is racism, pure and simple. The black man who hates whites because they are white is just as guilty as the white man who hates blacks. That’s why I like this quote so much; it forgoes the sense of “we must fight everyone and everything!” that all of our other readings have given off and gets to a deeper root of life – to be happy. Fighting for your life at all turns is not the kind of life anyone needs or wants to live, even if it means ignoring your dignity and moving on. As a young person, I’m more than familiar with the need to assert yourself when someone questions you… but really, sometimes you need to get over it and move on. That’s the message Phillip is trying to get at here.
This reading has one of my favorite lines in this compilation so far, not to mention one of the most reasonable and level-headed notions. It’s towards the beginning, when the dying Phillip says: “We must learn to look out for life first, then color and limitations. … I shouldn’t have allowed [my race] to make me forget love.” What’s pretty amazing about this story is that the main character, Peter, actually decides to live by these words and transcend racism. And, really, I believe that many black men are just as racist as their white counterparts. Hate because of race, regardless of who started it, is racism, pure and simple. The black man who hates whites because they are white is just as guilty as the white man who hates blacks. That’s why I like this quote so much; it forgoes the sense of “we must fight everyone and everything!” that all of our other readings have given off and gets to a deeper root of life – to be happy. Fighting for your life at all turns is not the kind of life anyone needs or wants to live, even if it means ignoring your dignity and moving on. As a young person, I’m more than familiar with the need to assert yourself when someone questions you… but really, sometimes you need to get over it and move on. That’s the message Phillip is trying to get at here.
The Migration of the Talented Tenth
Woodson, Carter G. "The Migration of the Talented Tenth." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 371-88. Print.
My last few posts have focused mostly on how educated blacks have been ostracized by common black workers, but this article brings up how white men relate to educated blacks. I honestly feel bad for the educated black people during this time period; no one was willing to see them as their equals. It’s pretty obvious that this played a large part in the poor conditions of black men and women all across America, not just in the South. If the working-class black men and women had recognized educated black men as their equals in race and want, racial equality would have been a more palpable objective. However, it seems like the most any population of black people could do –in the South as well as the North – was to keep their heads down and survive. It’s depressing that the idea of “whiteness” as some kind of infectious disease was so prominent in the minds of blacks during this time; if people had opened their eyes to the hardship of their fellow black men and women, educated or not, and worked together to better the condition of the race, a lot more progress would have been made. As it was, however, blacks were pitted against other blacks simply because one was more “white” than another. How depressing.
My last few posts have focused mostly on how educated blacks have been ostracized by common black workers, but this article brings up how white men relate to educated blacks. I honestly feel bad for the educated black people during this time period; no one was willing to see them as their equals. It’s pretty obvious that this played a large part in the poor conditions of black men and women all across America, not just in the South. If the working-class black men and women had recognized educated black men as their equals in race and want, racial equality would have been a more palpable objective. However, it seems like the most any population of black people could do –in the South as well as the North – was to keep their heads down and survive. It’s depressing that the idea of “whiteness” as some kind of infectious disease was so prominent in the minds of blacks during this time; if people had opened their eyes to the hardship of their fellow black men and women, educated or not, and worked together to better the condition of the race, a lot more progress would have been made. As it was, however, blacks were pitted against other blacks simply because one was more “white” than another. How depressing.
"Home to Harlem"
McKay, Claude. "Home to Harlem." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 371-88. Print.
I was impressed with this excerpt, particularly the section titled “Snowstorm in Pittsburgh”. A few things caught my attention. The first was the black renditions of famous paintings. I understand that McKay was attempting to say something about racial equality, but I actually found the descriptions to be more of a separatist nature than anything. And I’m not saying it is right or wrong, but merely that the idea of re-creating famous works of art but substituting white characters with black seems like a desperate vow of separatist thought. It’s almost as if the black people of Harlem are trying to recreate history to include themselves in a more prominent light, rather than embrace their own ancestry. Or, maybe, trying to include themselves in a history that isn’t theirs. The problem I see with this isn’t the want of inclusion, but rather the ignorance involved in editing famous paintings to suit a message. African art and history is great in its own right, but the people of Harlem didn’t want to be African; they wanted to be white without being white. It’s a kind of catch-22: can I be white while hating white culture? Obviously not. The solution, apparently, is to edit history to include themselves as if they were white. I’m not saying that anyone actually believed that the edited paintings were authentic, but rather I see it as a gesture. It’s like saying “we aren’t interesting or good enough to have our own culture and history, so we’re going to borrow it from the dominant race”.
The other interesting thing that bothered me, and which lies in contrast to the edited paintings, was the hostility towards more educated blacks. Several instances in the excerpt we read showed how educated blacks were treated poorly, such as the man that was beaten up for being “smart”. I don’t understand this mentality; on one hand you have the black population longing to be white without being white, but then you have them defacing anyone who becomes too white. The middle ground doesn’t seem to be very clear; how white can you be before you become a pariah? And, for that matter, why even bother trying to be white? The answer is ambiguous, at least in this text. The most I can gather is that the people of Harlem wanted to be respected in their own right, as their own culture, but once discovering that the white population of America wouldn’t have it decided that the only other option would be to become “white”-ish. It’s confusing to me; I can’t place myself in those shoes very easily. Hopefully some of our other texts will hit on a few answers.
I was impressed with this excerpt, particularly the section titled “Snowstorm in Pittsburgh”. A few things caught my attention. The first was the black renditions of famous paintings. I understand that McKay was attempting to say something about racial equality, but I actually found the descriptions to be more of a separatist nature than anything. And I’m not saying it is right or wrong, but merely that the idea of re-creating famous works of art but substituting white characters with black seems like a desperate vow of separatist thought. It’s almost as if the black people of Harlem are trying to recreate history to include themselves in a more prominent light, rather than embrace their own ancestry. Or, maybe, trying to include themselves in a history that isn’t theirs. The problem I see with this isn’t the want of inclusion, but rather the ignorance involved in editing famous paintings to suit a message. African art and history is great in its own right, but the people of Harlem didn’t want to be African; they wanted to be white without being white. It’s a kind of catch-22: can I be white while hating white culture? Obviously not. The solution, apparently, is to edit history to include themselves as if they were white. I’m not saying that anyone actually believed that the edited paintings were authentic, but rather I see it as a gesture. It’s like saying “we aren’t interesting or good enough to have our own culture and history, so we’re going to borrow it from the dominant race”.
The other interesting thing that bothered me, and which lies in contrast to the edited paintings, was the hostility towards more educated blacks. Several instances in the excerpt we read showed how educated blacks were treated poorly, such as the man that was beaten up for being “smart”. I don’t understand this mentality; on one hand you have the black population longing to be white without being white, but then you have them defacing anyone who becomes too white. The middle ground doesn’t seem to be very clear; how white can you be before you become a pariah? And, for that matter, why even bother trying to be white? The answer is ambiguous, at least in this text. The most I can gather is that the people of Harlem wanted to be respected in their own right, as their own culture, but once discovering that the white population of America wouldn’t have it decided that the only other option would be to become “white”-ish. It’s confusing to me; I can’t place myself in those shoes very easily. Hopefully some of our other texts will hit on a few answers.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Passing
Larsen, Nella. "Passing." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 460-85. Print.
After reading this piece of Passing and having read most of Quicksand, I gather that Nella Larsen is a very unhappy and angst-filled person. Not to mention she hates pretty much everything and everyone. The two books are so similar I’m not sure I understand the point of her writing both of them, rather than just writing one but switching viewpoints. Passing tells the story from the point of view of a black woman who hates her half-black friend that poses (passes) as white. Quicksand tells the story from the half-black woman’s point of view and how everything and everyone is unfair (although most of her troubles are due to her own selfishness and stupidity). From this section of Passing, I think I enjoyed it slightly more than Quicksand. Although the perspective is from Irene, and Irene is annoying and cares way too much about everyone else’s business, there is still more of a racial point being made than in Quicksand, where Helga screws up her life because she’s bored and then blames it on being half black.
Irene is so incredibly unlikeable because she is determined to thwart her friend’s double life by exposing her as half-black to her white racist husband. Her reasoning at first is something that Larsen can’t articulate very well (but spends quite a few boring, repetitive pages stumbling around trying). The reason she can’t articulate her reasoning behind her hatred of Clare is because she doesn’t want to admit that she can’t just mind her own business. It upsets her that Clare lives a double life – white with her husband but black when her husband is away. Although it in no way affects Irene’s life, she decides that she hates Clare. About halfway through the section, she comes up with this theory that Clare is having an affair with her (Irene’s) husband Brian. As far as I can tell, though, she has no reason for thinking so other than it is a convenient reason to hate the other woman.
The racial point I was speaking of is that Irene wouldn’t have been alone in Harlem as a black person despising other black people or half-black people that want to live “white” lives. Because they’re too proud to live and let live (or they’re bored and want something to hate and complain about), they find it necessary to rally around each other and make life for those trying to live differently Hell. It’s such a ridiculous hypocrisy, which is why I’m being so sarcastic and am so irritated with this reading. The black people of Harlem want to live in their own black society without interference from white culture, and that is fine. They can do what they want. The hypocrisy is that they can’t just shut up and let other blacks live “white” lives when they want to. It’s the same with most Republicans of today: they find it to be their responsibility to stick their nose up other peoples’ business. My guess is it’s because their own lives are pathetic and unfulfilling, and instead of making it better for themselves they have to make it miserable for others similar to them. It’s childish, and certainly doesn’t do anything in the way of racial or social equality.
After reading this piece of Passing and having read most of Quicksand, I gather that Nella Larsen is a very unhappy and angst-filled person. Not to mention she hates pretty much everything and everyone. The two books are so similar I’m not sure I understand the point of her writing both of them, rather than just writing one but switching viewpoints. Passing tells the story from the point of view of a black woman who hates her half-black friend that poses (passes) as white. Quicksand tells the story from the half-black woman’s point of view and how everything and everyone is unfair (although most of her troubles are due to her own selfishness and stupidity). From this section of Passing, I think I enjoyed it slightly more than Quicksand. Although the perspective is from Irene, and Irene is annoying and cares way too much about everyone else’s business, there is still more of a racial point being made than in Quicksand, where Helga screws up her life because she’s bored and then blames it on being half black.
Irene is so incredibly unlikeable because she is determined to thwart her friend’s double life by exposing her as half-black to her white racist husband. Her reasoning at first is something that Larsen can’t articulate very well (but spends quite a few boring, repetitive pages stumbling around trying). The reason she can’t articulate her reasoning behind her hatred of Clare is because she doesn’t want to admit that she can’t just mind her own business. It upsets her that Clare lives a double life – white with her husband but black when her husband is away. Although it in no way affects Irene’s life, she decides that she hates Clare. About halfway through the section, she comes up with this theory that Clare is having an affair with her (Irene’s) husband Brian. As far as I can tell, though, she has no reason for thinking so other than it is a convenient reason to hate the other woman.
The racial point I was speaking of is that Irene wouldn’t have been alone in Harlem as a black person despising other black people or half-black people that want to live “white” lives. Because they’re too proud to live and let live (or they’re bored and want something to hate and complain about), they find it necessary to rally around each other and make life for those trying to live differently Hell. It’s such a ridiculous hypocrisy, which is why I’m being so sarcastic and am so irritated with this reading. The black people of Harlem want to live in their own black society without interference from white culture, and that is fine. They can do what they want. The hypocrisy is that they can’t just shut up and let other blacks live “white” lives when they want to. It’s the same with most Republicans of today: they find it to be their responsibility to stick their nose up other peoples’ business. My guess is it’s because their own lives are pathetic and unfulfilling, and instead of making it better for themselves they have to make it miserable for others similar to them. It’s childish, and certainly doesn’t do anything in the way of racial or social equality.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Reflections on O'Neill's Plays
Robeson, Paul. "Reflections on O'Neill's Plays." Ed. David L. Lewis. The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 58-60. Print.
I must say, I wish I had read this little segment before reading the excerpts from the play itself. Robeson puts O’Neill into perspective, as well as explains parts of the play that came off in an entirely different way when I originally read them. Firstly, it is good to hear that O’Neill wasn’t a racist, but rather a liberal man who befriended blacks for who they were. The second thing I was wrong about is the meaning behind the primitive, “unintellectual” portrayal of Jones during the final scenes of the play. What I took to be a caricature of an uneducated black man was actually the final stages of a mind defeating itself. I’m not sure what that says about me, and it seems worth investigating. That I immediately assumed the man to be a caricature may, in part, be due to the fact that his portrayal paralleled that of an uneducated black person (complete with the “slave” dialect and beliefs), at least to my reasoning. Perhaps O’Neill did this on purpose in an attempt to show what was, at the time, an obvious illustration of “primitiveness” in an attempt to make people open their eyes to racist stereotypes. However, I’m not so sure this is the case.
And what if the play had centered on a white man with a similar dilemma (i.e. his conscience destroying his mind)? Would the depiction have been that of a stereotypical uneducated white man? What would that have been to O’Neill – a redneck? I really don’t know, and I kind of wish O’Neill had provided some answers. Perhaps, if he was smart enough, O’Neill turned Jones into a stereotype at the end of his play to elicit the same questions I have now. If that is the case, then my hat goes off to him. It certainly gives reason for the controversy surrounding its performance (as noted by Robeson). Another possibility is one far removed from the racial meanderings; perhaps the point was that all men are, once defeated, primitive and afraid. A sort of transcendence of racial profiling, if you will, meaning that the character of Jones was black only by chance. Given the hype surrounding the play and the fact that it appears in a compilation of literature taken from the Harlem Renaissance, my gut instinct tells me I’m thinking too hard about this. It is still an interesting line of thought, however, and one I may read the play to gain answers to.
I must say, I wish I had read this little segment before reading the excerpts from the play itself. Robeson puts O’Neill into perspective, as well as explains parts of the play that came off in an entirely different way when I originally read them. Firstly, it is good to hear that O’Neill wasn’t a racist, but rather a liberal man who befriended blacks for who they were. The second thing I was wrong about is the meaning behind the primitive, “unintellectual” portrayal of Jones during the final scenes of the play. What I took to be a caricature of an uneducated black man was actually the final stages of a mind defeating itself. I’m not sure what that says about me, and it seems worth investigating. That I immediately assumed the man to be a caricature may, in part, be due to the fact that his portrayal paralleled that of an uneducated black person (complete with the “slave” dialect and beliefs), at least to my reasoning. Perhaps O’Neill did this on purpose in an attempt to show what was, at the time, an obvious illustration of “primitiveness” in an attempt to make people open their eyes to racist stereotypes. However, I’m not so sure this is the case.
And what if the play had centered on a white man with a similar dilemma (i.e. his conscience destroying his mind)? Would the depiction have been that of a stereotypical uneducated white man? What would that have been to O’Neill – a redneck? I really don’t know, and I kind of wish O’Neill had provided some answers. Perhaps, if he was smart enough, O’Neill turned Jones into a stereotype at the end of his play to elicit the same questions I have now. If that is the case, then my hat goes off to him. It certainly gives reason for the controversy surrounding its performance (as noted by Robeson). Another possibility is one far removed from the racial meanderings; perhaps the point was that all men are, once defeated, primitive and afraid. A sort of transcendence of racial profiling, if you will, meaning that the character of Jones was black only by chance. Given the hype surrounding the play and the fact that it appears in a compilation of literature taken from the Harlem Renaissance, my gut instinct tells me I’m thinking too hard about this. It is still an interesting line of thought, however, and one I may read the play to gain answers to.
Cane
Toomer, Jean. "Cane." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 318-32. Print.
First, I want to say that I found the stream-of-thought writing style very difficult to follow, so I’m sure I missed a lot.
The ending of the little narrative spoke to me the most clearly in terms of symbolism. Obviously, Toomer is trying to say that, black or white, any feelings you have for members of the other race are founded on absolutely nothing. The different races, at the time, didn’t bother to get to know each other, and therefore the contempt felt (in this case, anyway) by the black man for the white woman was unfounded. The message at the very end, where Paul attempts to explain to another black man that, although he and his white date are different, they are still human (“white faces are petals of roses … dark faces are petals of dusk”, meaning that everyone is a “petal”, just of a different sort) is kind of beautiful in a sad way. After Paul spends the night trying to come to terms with the differences between black and white, he finds his answer but, in the time needed to explain this to another man, he loses his date. Symbolically, Toomer is trying to warn people that we need to accept each other for the humans we are, accept our differences and love anyway before it’s too late and one of us walks away.
Like I said, I’m not sure if I interpreted this correctly because the narration style is so confusion, but it seems to make sense.
First, I want to say that I found the stream-of-thought writing style very difficult to follow, so I’m sure I missed a lot.
The ending of the little narrative spoke to me the most clearly in terms of symbolism. Obviously, Toomer is trying to say that, black or white, any feelings you have for members of the other race are founded on absolutely nothing. The different races, at the time, didn’t bother to get to know each other, and therefore the contempt felt (in this case, anyway) by the black man for the white woman was unfounded. The message at the very end, where Paul attempts to explain to another black man that, although he and his white date are different, they are still human (“white faces are petals of roses … dark faces are petals of dusk”, meaning that everyone is a “petal”, just of a different sort) is kind of beautiful in a sad way. After Paul spends the night trying to come to terms with the differences between black and white, he finds his answer but, in the time needed to explain this to another man, he loses his date. Symbolically, Toomer is trying to warn people that we need to accept each other for the humans we are, accept our differences and love anyway before it’s too late and one of us walks away.
Like I said, I’m not sure if I interpreted this correctly because the narration style is so confusion, but it seems to make sense.
Birthright
Stribling, T. S. "Birthright." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. By David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 333-38. Print.
This excerpt really surprised me, particularly when I read the opening information about how popular it became. That isn’t to say it isn’t worthy - it was well written and interesting. I just have a hard time believing that white people cared for it or that black people agreed with it. It’s too sympathetic to blacks to appeal to most whites, and it’s too focused on how “black” black people are in the face of a “white” black man. The only point I can guess at would be that white people would read it because the main character acts “white”.
The concept of a black man turned “white” through education and then returning to his childhood home is interesting, particularly because the reader gets to view how the narrator’s concept of being black changes as he goes from the white, educated north to the uneducated south, not far removed from slavery. The way the excerpt reads, it almost feels as if the black narrator is a bit disgusted by his fellow black men in the “Jim Crowe” car of the train. He points out how loud they are, how they smell differently, and how the car seems to be a bit unkempt. When his (drunken) childhood friend begins talking to him, you get the feeling that the narrator is uneasy with the other man’s overly-friendly and loud attitude.
I was also surprised at the passivity the narrator had towards being removed from the white potion of the train to the Jim Crowe car. Being an educated and (apparently) successful man, it seems to me that he should have done more than just get up and move. I believe this is saying something towards how he feels about the nature of racism, particularly because the train is bound for the southern states. He seems to feel that it isn’t worth fighting for; that it’s better or easier to just nod your head and do what you’re told, even after you’ve been educated alongside white men for four years. I’m not sure who to relate this attitude to: certainly not Garvey or Washington, but equally unlikely is Du Bois (who I first thought of when I began reading the excerpt). Although Du Bois might have done the same passive action, he would have had something to say in his narrative about the injustice of being removed from the white cars. In any case, I doubt Du Bois or any of the other black rights leaders we’ve discussed would have agreed with the narrator’s actions and attitudes, and once again I’m surprised at the success of this novel.
This excerpt really surprised me, particularly when I read the opening information about how popular it became. That isn’t to say it isn’t worthy - it was well written and interesting. I just have a hard time believing that white people cared for it or that black people agreed with it. It’s too sympathetic to blacks to appeal to most whites, and it’s too focused on how “black” black people are in the face of a “white” black man. The only point I can guess at would be that white people would read it because the main character acts “white”.
The concept of a black man turned “white” through education and then returning to his childhood home is interesting, particularly because the reader gets to view how the narrator’s concept of being black changes as he goes from the white, educated north to the uneducated south, not far removed from slavery. The way the excerpt reads, it almost feels as if the black narrator is a bit disgusted by his fellow black men in the “Jim Crowe” car of the train. He points out how loud they are, how they smell differently, and how the car seems to be a bit unkempt. When his (drunken) childhood friend begins talking to him, you get the feeling that the narrator is uneasy with the other man’s overly-friendly and loud attitude.
I was also surprised at the passivity the narrator had towards being removed from the white potion of the train to the Jim Crowe car. Being an educated and (apparently) successful man, it seems to me that he should have done more than just get up and move. I believe this is saying something towards how he feels about the nature of racism, particularly because the train is bound for the southern states. He seems to feel that it isn’t worth fighting for; that it’s better or easier to just nod your head and do what you’re told, even after you’ve been educated alongside white men for four years. I’m not sure who to relate this attitude to: certainly not Garvey or Washington, but equally unlikely is Du Bois (who I first thought of when I began reading the excerpt). Although Du Bois might have done the same passive action, he would have had something to say in his narrative about the injustice of being removed from the white cars. In any case, I doubt Du Bois or any of the other black rights leaders we’ve discussed would have agreed with the narrator’s actions and attitudes, and once again I’m surprised at the success of this novel.
The Emperor Jones
O'Neill, Eugene. "The Emperor Jones." Ed. David L. Lewis. The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 311-17. Print.
I’m not really sure what to say about these little snippets from O’Neill’s play, other than the obvious. Without reading the entire thing, a lot of the sections were out of reference and therefore I couldn’t get much in the way of symbolism or metaphor. The one point I was able to pick up on, however, was the black men chasing down another black man. Based on what I know about Eugene O’Neill (I’ve read The Iceman Cometh), my guess is that most of the characters in this play are exaggerated caricatures, intended to portray an absurdity. Given this, I’m going to assume that Jones is portrayed to be what typical black Americans view as the intellectual black (although Jones doesn’t really come off intelligent). I say this because of the implied meaning behind having a group of black natives chasing down a black man from America (or thereabouts); O’Neill is trying to say that black Americans and black Africans are not of the same culture and therefore not, by default, compatible. This is, of course, a statement against the likes of Marcus Garvey and B.T. Washington, who (as far as I can tell) never questioned the native African’s acceptance of western blacks back into their culture.
On the flip side, the native blacks chasing down Jones are aided and followed by two (presumably) white men. This could imply exactly the opposite of what I said initially; perhaps Jones represents the “greedy” black man out to take over Africa while the tribe aiding the two white hunters (or whatever they were) represents more complacent blacks who are willing to succumb to what white men tell them to do. I’m unfamiliar with O’Neill’s stance on racism, or if he was racist himself, but I can assume from these short little pieces of his play that he thought the Africa for the Africans movement (as well as Garvey and Washington) was unfair or absurd.
I’m not really sure what to say about these little snippets from O’Neill’s play, other than the obvious. Without reading the entire thing, a lot of the sections were out of reference and therefore I couldn’t get much in the way of symbolism or metaphor. The one point I was able to pick up on, however, was the black men chasing down another black man. Based on what I know about Eugene O’Neill (I’ve read The Iceman Cometh), my guess is that most of the characters in this play are exaggerated caricatures, intended to portray an absurdity. Given this, I’m going to assume that Jones is portrayed to be what typical black Americans view as the intellectual black (although Jones doesn’t really come off intelligent). I say this because of the implied meaning behind having a group of black natives chasing down a black man from America (or thereabouts); O’Neill is trying to say that black Americans and black Africans are not of the same culture and therefore not, by default, compatible. This is, of course, a statement against the likes of Marcus Garvey and B.T. Washington, who (as far as I can tell) never questioned the native African’s acceptance of western blacks back into their culture.
On the flip side, the native blacks chasing down Jones are aided and followed by two (presumably) white men. This could imply exactly the opposite of what I said initially; perhaps Jones represents the “greedy” black man out to take over Africa while the tribe aiding the two white hunters (or whatever they were) represents more complacent blacks who are willing to succumb to what white men tell them to do. I’m unfamiliar with O’Neill’s stance on racism, or if he was racist himself, but I can assume from these short little pieces of his play that he thought the Africa for the Africans movement (as well as Garvey and Washington) was unfair or absurd.
Friday, September 4, 2009
More on Marcus Garvey
Ovington, Mary W. "On Marcus Garvey." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 29-33. Print.
After reading Ovington’s article about Marcus Garvey, my views on the man have changed somewhat. I had originally pictured him as an intelligent man who was simply misguided towards what I feel is a disastrous and hypocritical route. After reading Ovington’s article, I now feel that Marcus Garvey was something far worse: a stupid egomaniac. I don’t use the word “stupid” here for emphasis, as a child might, but for its literal meaning – I believe that the man was an idiot who had no idea what he was doing.
In Ovington’s own words, “business training had not been a part of Marcus Garvey’s education”. (31) Why, then, in all the ways of the world, did Garvey decide to create a corporation around his plan to form an African empire? And, given that he did, why did he not seek guidance in business and finances? Or, at the very least, why didn’t he pick up an Accounting 101 textbook and at least know that liquidating debts accrued prior to incorporation with profit made after incorporation is a serious crime? How is it that so many self-made ignorant people are in such high positions in this country? It drives me crazy. What’s more, Ovington points out that Garvey had no real knowledge of Africa, and never specified a location in which to house his imaginary new empire. How can you conceive of a new country without even knowing the location in which it will be housed?
Not only was he ignorant and chose to remain so, he was racist – perhaps as racist against whites as many whites were against him. What kind of man, black, white, or whatever color, administers a policy that refuses to accept help from willing people of a different race? According to Ovington, Garvey would not accept donations or support from white people, nor would he let whites into meetings of his organization. The obvious message here is a sort of “you pushed me so now I’m gonna push you”. It’s childish, and, furthermore, it’s destructive. If Garvey really wanted to make an African empire, he had to have known something about global economics, or that when you have your own country you are going to need to have good relations with other countries – particularly countries that are far more wealthy and powerful than you, even if you don’t like their color. But no, Garvey didn’t do anything to help his position in the eyes of white people, instead choosing to alienate himself and his organization.
I also called Garvey an egomaniac, and again I did not use the word merely as an insult. The description of him riding into Liberty Hall clad in gold and brass on the back of a horse while flanked by his “knights” and “nobility” is disgusting. Garvey was not a proponent of racial equality – he was a proponent of himself, and nothing more. I can honestly say that, after reading this article, I am glad his promises were hollow; an African empire led by Garvey would have become a huge, horrible problem that the rest of the world would have had to have cleaned up.
After reading Ovington’s article about Marcus Garvey, my views on the man have changed somewhat. I had originally pictured him as an intelligent man who was simply misguided towards what I feel is a disastrous and hypocritical route. After reading Ovington’s article, I now feel that Marcus Garvey was something far worse: a stupid egomaniac. I don’t use the word “stupid” here for emphasis, as a child might, but for its literal meaning – I believe that the man was an idiot who had no idea what he was doing.
In Ovington’s own words, “business training had not been a part of Marcus Garvey’s education”. (31) Why, then, in all the ways of the world, did Garvey decide to create a corporation around his plan to form an African empire? And, given that he did, why did he not seek guidance in business and finances? Or, at the very least, why didn’t he pick up an Accounting 101 textbook and at least know that liquidating debts accrued prior to incorporation with profit made after incorporation is a serious crime? How is it that so many self-made ignorant people are in such high positions in this country? It drives me crazy. What’s more, Ovington points out that Garvey had no real knowledge of Africa, and never specified a location in which to house his imaginary new empire. How can you conceive of a new country without even knowing the location in which it will be housed?
Not only was he ignorant and chose to remain so, he was racist – perhaps as racist against whites as many whites were against him. What kind of man, black, white, or whatever color, administers a policy that refuses to accept help from willing people of a different race? According to Ovington, Garvey would not accept donations or support from white people, nor would he let whites into meetings of his organization. The obvious message here is a sort of “you pushed me so now I’m gonna push you”. It’s childish, and, furthermore, it’s destructive. If Garvey really wanted to make an African empire, he had to have known something about global economics, or that when you have your own country you are going to need to have good relations with other countries – particularly countries that are far more wealthy and powerful than you, even if you don’t like their color. But no, Garvey didn’t do anything to help his position in the eyes of white people, instead choosing to alienate himself and his organization.
I also called Garvey an egomaniac, and again I did not use the word merely as an insult. The description of him riding into Liberty Hall clad in gold and brass on the back of a horse while flanked by his “knights” and “nobility” is disgusting. Garvey was not a proponent of racial equality – he was a proponent of himself, and nothing more. I can honestly say that, after reading this article, I am glad his promises were hollow; an African empire led by Garvey would have become a huge, horrible problem that the rest of the world would have had to have cleaned up.
Marcus Garvey
Garvey, Marcus. "Africa for the Africans and Liberty Hall Emancipation Day Speech." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 17-28. Print.
These two pieces – an essay and a speech – are the first two in this sequence of readings that I found myself disagreeing with. Although Marcus Garvey obviously cares very much for his fellow black men and women, I do not think that his solutions to the problem of racism in America are solutions at all, but rather a way to bypass the problem. In essence, he is advocating running away instead of staying and fighting for equality. I understand where he is coming from, and that many people shared his views, but it still seems like the cowardly way out of a bad situation.
The concept of an African Empire is not one I disagree with, however. As I read Garvey’s essay I kept wondering what ever happened to this proposal; Africa today is so poor and desperate, yet Garvey speaks of it as if it were the next up-and-coming world power. I honestly wish that Africa was a wealthy, great country; watching videos of starving children during commercial breaks on TV is heartbreaking, and I wish there was more I could do than send a couple of dollars every month. What I do not wish for, and what I am happy did not happen, is all of the African Americans abandoning America in favor of building up an African empire. Not only would this have injured present-day America’s diversity and culture, it would have left the movements for racial equality in stasis – without people of color present, of what use is a fight for equality? Other than an academic interest, it would have been abandoned, and racist inclinations would be far more prevalent than they are today. Yesterday in class, during the lecture on women’s rights, I kept thinking about how far we’ve come in such a relatively short amount of time; the class about racial and gender inequality is being taught by an African American woman, and not a single person in the classroom thought twice about it. Had Garvey’s ideas about retreating the black race to Africa come to fruition, there is no chance that Professor Winand would be teaching this class, or that the class would exist at all.
Further, Garvey’s statements about not allowing elitist black people into the African empire struck me as wrong. Although, again, I can understand his sentiments – he didn’t want his proposed African empire to be ruled by a product of white society and, once again, pushed down to second class status – it almost felt like he was arguing for ignorance. Without some African intellectuals, where would an African empire be today, had it arisen? My guess is the Africa of today is a close representation of what it would be today had it become Garvey’s African empire. I actually was confused during lecture yesterday when the discussion of B.T. Washington noted that he was against education African people in academia; I thought that Garvey and Washington were the same person, until I looked up Garvey’s name again. Their philosophies are so similar, and so oppositional in my mind, that I inadvertently lumped the two men together.
As for Garvey’s short speech, I felt it didn’t say anything new or interesting, but was rather an attempt to get black people mad and ready for a fight. In no way can I see the productive side of a speech that demonizes white people and divides the races even further. Garvey is hypocritical – he’s advocating black superiority over the ignorant white men in a way that, were one to replace “white man” with “black man” and vice versa, would sound much the same as the mantra of leagues such as the KKK. I understand that he was mad and wanted a fight for his equality, but such a method is simply not the way to peace. Becoming your enemy only makes you worse off. Men like Garvey are the reason racism is still around to this day; instead of pointing out our differences and using them to generalize the “other”, we need to focus on our similarities and how we can better help each other understand life.
These two pieces – an essay and a speech – are the first two in this sequence of readings that I found myself disagreeing with. Although Marcus Garvey obviously cares very much for his fellow black men and women, I do not think that his solutions to the problem of racism in America are solutions at all, but rather a way to bypass the problem. In essence, he is advocating running away instead of staying and fighting for equality. I understand where he is coming from, and that many people shared his views, but it still seems like the cowardly way out of a bad situation.
The concept of an African Empire is not one I disagree with, however. As I read Garvey’s essay I kept wondering what ever happened to this proposal; Africa today is so poor and desperate, yet Garvey speaks of it as if it were the next up-and-coming world power. I honestly wish that Africa was a wealthy, great country; watching videos of starving children during commercial breaks on TV is heartbreaking, and I wish there was more I could do than send a couple of dollars every month. What I do not wish for, and what I am happy did not happen, is all of the African Americans abandoning America in favor of building up an African empire. Not only would this have injured present-day America’s diversity and culture, it would have left the movements for racial equality in stasis – without people of color present, of what use is a fight for equality? Other than an academic interest, it would have been abandoned, and racist inclinations would be far more prevalent than they are today. Yesterday in class, during the lecture on women’s rights, I kept thinking about how far we’ve come in such a relatively short amount of time; the class about racial and gender inequality is being taught by an African American woman, and not a single person in the classroom thought twice about it. Had Garvey’s ideas about retreating the black race to Africa come to fruition, there is no chance that Professor Winand would be teaching this class, or that the class would exist at all.
Further, Garvey’s statements about not allowing elitist black people into the African empire struck me as wrong. Although, again, I can understand his sentiments – he didn’t want his proposed African empire to be ruled by a product of white society and, once again, pushed down to second class status – it almost felt like he was arguing for ignorance. Without some African intellectuals, where would an African empire be today, had it arisen? My guess is the Africa of today is a close representation of what it would be today had it become Garvey’s African empire. I actually was confused during lecture yesterday when the discussion of B.T. Washington noted that he was against education African people in academia; I thought that Garvey and Washington were the same person, until I looked up Garvey’s name again. Their philosophies are so similar, and so oppositional in my mind, that I inadvertently lumped the two men together.
As for Garvey’s short speech, I felt it didn’t say anything new or interesting, but was rather an attempt to get black people mad and ready for a fight. In no way can I see the productive side of a speech that demonizes white people and divides the races even further. Garvey is hypocritical – he’s advocating black superiority over the ignorant white men in a way that, were one to replace “white man” with “black man” and vice versa, would sound much the same as the mantra of leagues such as the KKK. I understand that he was mad and wanted a fight for his equality, but such a method is simply not the way to peace. Becoming your enemy only makes you worse off. Men like Garvey are the reason racism is still around to this day; instead of pointing out our differences and using them to generalize the “other”, we need to focus on our similarities and how we can better help each other understand life.
"Returning Soldiers"
Du Bois, W.E. B. "Returning Soldiers." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 3-5. Print.
Everything I said about “If We Must Die” applies to this essay as well. However, I was startled by how Du Bois expressed himself. I read the article before we watched the movie on him in class and thought it was well written, but asking for trouble. Then, the biography of him painted this picture of a quietly active, thoughtful man who didn’t want to push too many buttons, but rather to attain equality through peaceful protests and discussions. The tone of this essay is exactly the opposite; although it is obviously addressed to his fellow black Americans as a rally to join him in the fight for change, he had to have known that more whites than blacks would have ended up reading it. While it would surely inspire the want to join Du Bois in much of the black population, it would just as surely have inspired hate and fury in many of the whites who did the same. He outright calls the hate crimes against blacks the actions of a “shameful land” of “ignorance” (4), and them’s fightin’ words, especially to a group of people who are looking for a reason to throw a punch.
I have to say, though – I like Du Bois a lot more after reading his essay in the context of his biography rather than just by his biography alone. A man of great intellect is nothing if he isn’t a man of great motivation – and, further, a man who does what he says he’s going to do. He obviously meant what he said, and I have no doubt that he lived his feelings on black equality. Sometimes to get things done, you have to run the risk of stirring up some hot blood, especially if it means boiling up equally hot blood for your own cause. Although I’m sure Du Bois was intellectual enough to know the useless stupidity of physical confrontations, I can’t help but feel that he wouldn’t have passed up the opportunity to sucker-punch some of the more radical white supremacists, given the right circumstances. And for that, I respect him; he wasn’t just a guy that wrote about equality in some offhand, academic way; he wrote from his own anger, and it translates to paper in all of his intended meaning.
"Black America"
Johnson, James W., and David L. Lewis. "Black Manhattan." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 34-35. Print.
Those thoughts aside, the first few paragraphs of the essay speak highly of the white population of Manhattan prior to the influx of black families. The fact that black families were able to purchase so much property, live together in harmony, and escape prejudice and racism is fantastic, and surely held a large role in the following years of the Harlem Renaissance. Had the black men and women that became the voices of black Americans not been able to settle into their own lives independent of their white neighbors, the Renaissance would not have happened. For such an outpouring of literature and arts of such a black-specific culture to occur, those men and women needed a community in which they felt safe enough to write and do some of the things they did. Without the safety offered by the well-off Harlem area to black Americans, which of the now-famous writers would have dared publishing protests of white treatment against blacks? Very few, and those that did would have met similar fates as the physician family.
I suppose that, as sick as it is, any kind of movement for radical societal change is going to come up against the thickheaded conservative roadblock, and mob outbreaks are always a factor. The same type of situation has happened plenty of times during other major changes: the women’s right movement, the movement for Irish equality, and today we’re facing horrible crimes as the gay rights movement picks up speed. It’s pathetic that the people who advocate violence in the name of their selfish beliefs don’t learn from their parents’ generation of mistakes… maybe the world would be a better place if they did.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
