Hurston, Zora N. "Zora Neale Huston." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Penguin Viking, 1994. 695-728. Print.
The first thing I thought of when reading this little story was Scout from To Kill a Mockingbird, despite the race differences. Both are carefree, fun young girls who don’t generally think about consequences when they run off to do something. With that said, I really enjoyed reading Hurston’s writings. The way she completely ignores race issues between whites and blacks works really well to create a world where people live side by side without addressing the issue of black or white. I think that, despite not writing directly about it, though, Hurston is making a stronger comment about the racial divide than many of the other author’s we’ve studied thus far. Instead of preaching to the choir like so many of the other writers did, Huston writes about a world that doesn’t take race into account. In Color Struck, the issue of race is addressed not as a problem between whites and blacks (there are whites and blacks riding the train together as if it were nothing), but as a problem between different kinds of blacks (mulatto vs. completely black). The same issue is brought up in Jonah’s Gourd Vine, between the all-black stepfather and his half-white stepson.
I’m not sure what to make of Hurston’s focus on inter-racial problems, rather than the intra-racial issues between whites and blacks. Her own upbringing is a bit of insight into this, since many of her works seem to reflect her own life in some way or other. Her message, I believe, is that inter-racial problems are more poignant than the overall issue of white and black. By addressing and solving the problems within the different sects of blackness, Huston seems to believe that unification is possible and will lead to a better chance against the intra-racial issues that she ignores. I wonder if, had black unification occurred in her lifetime, she would have switched gears and addressed the issues of white and black.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Sterling Brown's Poetry
Brown, Sterling. "Sterling Brown Poetry." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Penguin Viking, 1994. 227-37. Print.
I had a hard time reading some of the poems; the vernacular tended to stray beyond my comprehension and I think I lost a lot of the meaning. However, the first poem in the set, Southern Road, brought back memories of the John Henry stories I listened to as a kid. I’m not sure if he was always represented as a black man, but the videos I remember watching always made him such. The connection between the narrator of the poem and John Henry are pretty obvious; they both worked on railroads and had a difficult life.
The differences between the two men involve the issue of slavery. I’m not positive, but the man in the poem seems to either be a slave or be using the imagery of slavery to enhance his perception of the treatment of blacks during this time period. I choose to read it as the latter, which (I believe) does the poem more justice. The final, closing lines of the poem makes it seem as if the narrator is still a slave, despite not legally being one. Comparing slavery to the treatment and lifestyles of blacks in the early 20th century isn’t a far stretch (at least for some, especially in the South). Working harder and longer than white people just to get by and generally working for white people, blacks didn’t seem to have it much better than before slavery was abolished. The excerpt from Hurston’s Jonah’s Gourd Vine reinforces this: an extremely poor, black family who, although they are independent, still pick cotton to survive.
The rest of the poems furthered this image of black-ness not changing despite the changes in laws and society. Odyssey of a Big Boy discusses the different jobs a black man has had, none of which he liked and all of which involved the types of manual labor he or his fathers did before as slaves. I’m sure other poems in this section do much the same thing, but like I said, the dialect is difficult to transcribe and the meaning is lost.
I had a hard time reading some of the poems; the vernacular tended to stray beyond my comprehension and I think I lost a lot of the meaning. However, the first poem in the set, Southern Road, brought back memories of the John Henry stories I listened to as a kid. I’m not sure if he was always represented as a black man, but the videos I remember watching always made him such. The connection between the narrator of the poem and John Henry are pretty obvious; they both worked on railroads and had a difficult life.
The differences between the two men involve the issue of slavery. I’m not positive, but the man in the poem seems to either be a slave or be using the imagery of slavery to enhance his perception of the treatment of blacks during this time period. I choose to read it as the latter, which (I believe) does the poem more justice. The final, closing lines of the poem makes it seem as if the narrator is still a slave, despite not legally being one. Comparing slavery to the treatment and lifestyles of blacks in the early 20th century isn’t a far stretch (at least for some, especially in the South). Working harder and longer than white people just to get by and generally working for white people, blacks didn’t seem to have it much better than before slavery was abolished. The excerpt from Hurston’s Jonah’s Gourd Vine reinforces this: an extremely poor, black family who, although they are independent, still pick cotton to survive.
The rest of the poems furthered this image of black-ness not changing despite the changes in laws and society. Odyssey of a Big Boy discusses the different jobs a black man has had, none of which he liked and all of which involved the types of manual labor he or his fathers did before as slaves. I’m sure other poems in this section do much the same thing, but like I said, the dialect is difficult to transcribe and the meaning is lost.
Monday, October 19, 2009
The Negro-Art Hokum
Schuyler, George S. "The Negro-Art Hokum." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 96-99. Print.
Well, this reading sure was harsh. Despite the pretentious tone and somewhat radical opinions, however, I can’t help but conclude that this Mr. Schuyler is on to something. Firstly, I do agree with him that the focus of African heritage on African Americans is misplaced and outdated. Keeping in mind that not all blacks find their roots in Africa, Schuyler is right to say that Americanization (or at least the detachment from Africa through several generations) has lead to a race that is more American and less African. He is also right to point out that African American art more closely resembles American art than it does African. And, although Schuyler is advocating blind equality for the wrong reasons, he is right to say that society needs to drop the pretense that race is a dividing issue.
Schuyler is very wrong, however, to say that the works of blacks might as well be the works of whites. Despite the disconnect with African ideology and art, the works produced by blacks in America represent a subculture that very much has its own significance. Perhaps the insistence on calling them “African American” puts the focus on the African, when a more correct term would be “black American”. Because it is so that black Americans have their own subculture, as I pointed out, from which to create art. The same can be said of any repressed minority – the fact that they were black hardly matters (in this line of argument). Ignoring the racial divide (despite its superficiality) as Schuyler has done is deliberate ignorance. Just because he doesn’t think it should exist does not mean it will simply cease to be and the problems of racial divide will sublimate immediately. It’s a shame that this isn’t the case, but it is the reality and, further, it is a defining feature of the black American minority that the perceived (rightly or not) racial differences fuel whatever it is that causes them to create art that is so very distinctly black.
Well, this reading sure was harsh. Despite the pretentious tone and somewhat radical opinions, however, I can’t help but conclude that this Mr. Schuyler is on to something. Firstly, I do agree with him that the focus of African heritage on African Americans is misplaced and outdated. Keeping in mind that not all blacks find their roots in Africa, Schuyler is right to say that Americanization (or at least the detachment from Africa through several generations) has lead to a race that is more American and less African. He is also right to point out that African American art more closely resembles American art than it does African. And, although Schuyler is advocating blind equality for the wrong reasons, he is right to say that society needs to drop the pretense that race is a dividing issue.
Schuyler is very wrong, however, to say that the works of blacks might as well be the works of whites. Despite the disconnect with African ideology and art, the works produced by blacks in America represent a subculture that very much has its own significance. Perhaps the insistence on calling them “African American” puts the focus on the African, when a more correct term would be “black American”. Because it is so that black Americans have their own subculture, as I pointed out, from which to create art. The same can be said of any repressed minority – the fact that they were black hardly matters (in this line of argument). Ignoring the racial divide (despite its superficiality) as Schuyler has done is deliberate ignorance. Just because he doesn’t think it should exist does not mean it will simply cease to be and the problems of racial divide will sublimate immediately. It’s a shame that this isn’t the case, but it is the reality and, further, it is a defining feature of the black American minority that the perceived (rightly or not) racial differences fuel whatever it is that causes them to create art that is so very distinctly black.
from The Big Sea
Hughes, Langston. "From The Big Sea." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 77-95. Print.
Although there is a lot that could be discussed from this reading, I want to focus on the idea that the blacks that populated Harlem and became so famous were not in any way representative of African Americans as a whole. It is a kind of simple truth that is obvious once stated, but can easily be ignored until brought up to eye-level. Naturally, the black individuals that are known and remembered today are the ones who were exemplary for one reason or another – the same goes for any one of any race. And, as history buffs always proclaim, history is written by the winners. In the case of the Harlem Renaissance, we remember the “winners” of life; that is, the blacks who made themselves into something more than their majority. Does this demean the efforts of the Harlem artists? No, but it does put what we’re reading on and studying in this class into an altered light. Instead of assuming that the famous men and women are speaking for their race, it is much safer to assume that they are speaking for those who are like them in Harlem. Even this may be a stretch, for some of these writers are clearly only speaking for themselves. I once studied Frederick Douglass’ autobiography, and I wonder how a comparative lecture between the works produced by Harlem blacks would compare to Douglass’ writings. The thoughts are in the same place, yet I can’t help but feel that Douglass’ own life experience produced a more honest document than some of the flowery and supercilious works of Harlem writers.
I also was interested in the notion that the blacks who populated Harlem were (or quickly became) reflections of what their white contemporaries wished to see. As Hughes points out, many of the blacks in Harlem would do things that would never have dreamed of had whites not arrived and expected to see certain things. In a way, it seems like it is being more black than, perhaps, one is. Rather than acting in a common, day-to-day style, you put on a show. I think that this, again, alters how we should view the works of the Renaissance. There is a law in science that states that you cannot observe something without fundamentally changing it; the same applies here, especially since the blacks of Harlem knew that they were being watched by their white visitors.
I was also curious about the notion of the mountain black writers have to face concerning their blackness – that is, how they must either write as if they were black or not write at all. It saddens me to think that everything these men and women wrote had to relate in some way to racial epithets. What if, say, a talented writer in Harlem wanted to write a work of science fiction in the vein of Wells. I doubt that they would have had any success, since the topic is not one that is, as Hughes puts it, part of the fad of Negro-isms. Being a writer, I try my hardest not to be bound by my station in life, but rather to view life from different angles. The characters I produce are inherently part of myself, but people are multifaceted; if I chose to repeatedly focus on one aspect of myself and reproduce it over and over in different works, I believe that I would become bored and move on to other forms of expression. There are only so many ways to say the same thing. My sympathies go out to writers who did not have that freedom.
Although there is a lot that could be discussed from this reading, I want to focus on the idea that the blacks that populated Harlem and became so famous were not in any way representative of African Americans as a whole. It is a kind of simple truth that is obvious once stated, but can easily be ignored until brought up to eye-level. Naturally, the black individuals that are known and remembered today are the ones who were exemplary for one reason or another – the same goes for any one of any race. And, as history buffs always proclaim, history is written by the winners. In the case of the Harlem Renaissance, we remember the “winners” of life; that is, the blacks who made themselves into something more than their majority. Does this demean the efforts of the Harlem artists? No, but it does put what we’re reading on and studying in this class into an altered light. Instead of assuming that the famous men and women are speaking for their race, it is much safer to assume that they are speaking for those who are like them in Harlem. Even this may be a stretch, for some of these writers are clearly only speaking for themselves. I once studied Frederick Douglass’ autobiography, and I wonder how a comparative lecture between the works produced by Harlem blacks would compare to Douglass’ writings. The thoughts are in the same place, yet I can’t help but feel that Douglass’ own life experience produced a more honest document than some of the flowery and supercilious works of Harlem writers.
I also was interested in the notion that the blacks who populated Harlem were (or quickly became) reflections of what their white contemporaries wished to see. As Hughes points out, many of the blacks in Harlem would do things that would never have dreamed of had whites not arrived and expected to see certain things. In a way, it seems like it is being more black than, perhaps, one is. Rather than acting in a common, day-to-day style, you put on a show. I think that this, again, alters how we should view the works of the Renaissance. There is a law in science that states that you cannot observe something without fundamentally changing it; the same applies here, especially since the blacks of Harlem knew that they were being watched by their white visitors.
I was also curious about the notion of the mountain black writers have to face concerning their blackness – that is, how they must either write as if they were black or not write at all. It saddens me to think that everything these men and women wrote had to relate in some way to racial epithets. What if, say, a talented writer in Harlem wanted to write a work of science fiction in the vein of Wells. I doubt that they would have had any success, since the topic is not one that is, as Hughes puts it, part of the fad of Negro-isms. Being a writer, I try my hardest not to be bound by my station in life, but rather to view life from different angles. The characters I produce are inherently part of myself, but people are multifaceted; if I chose to repeatedly focus on one aspect of myself and reproduce it over and over in different works, I believe that I would become bored and move on to other forms of expression. There are only so many ways to say the same thing. My sympathies go out to writers who did not have that freedom.
Cordelia the Crude
Thurman, Wallace. "Cordelia the Crude." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 628-33. Print.
Two things stuck out to me in this reading. The first is the fact that Cordelia, as an in-the-know prostitute, would be picky about who she serviced. She didn’t seem concerned with danger, but was picky about the race of the person. She tried to avoid or turn down Jewish men and middle-aged black men, and entice half blacks and whites. I don’t think this has to do with a fear of certain men (big black man stereotype, for example) but rather a rational business practice. The fact that she avoids Jewish men as well as black men says to me that she is just avoiding stingy clients, or clients that would potentially skimp out on her. Another consideration is the power she would hold over any white or half-white men; sleeping with a black prostitute would surely have been grounds for excommunication and becoming a social pariah. If one of these men had tried to get away with not paying her, she would be able to hold this over their heads. What this says about racial stereotypes and the attitudes towards blacks is pretty clear, but it still stood out to me – especially because someone who has chosen to be a prostitute is so in-tune with the nuances of racial haves and have-nots.
The second thing that I picked up on was fact that Harlem wasn’t a nirvana for every black person that lived there. Although Cordelia was driven by her rebellious defiance of her parents’ wants, she is still a young black girl who does not enjoy Harlem. It is habitual to assume that Harlem is the end-all to black peoples’ suffering, but of course this is not the case – Harlem would, as with anything, only appeal to certain people, and Cordelia was not one of them.
Two things stuck out to me in this reading. The first is the fact that Cordelia, as an in-the-know prostitute, would be picky about who she serviced. She didn’t seem concerned with danger, but was picky about the race of the person. She tried to avoid or turn down Jewish men and middle-aged black men, and entice half blacks and whites. I don’t think this has to do with a fear of certain men (big black man stereotype, for example) but rather a rational business practice. The fact that she avoids Jewish men as well as black men says to me that she is just avoiding stingy clients, or clients that would potentially skimp out on her. Another consideration is the power she would hold over any white or half-white men; sleeping with a black prostitute would surely have been grounds for excommunication and becoming a social pariah. If one of these men had tried to get away with not paying her, she would be able to hold this over their heads. What this says about racial stereotypes and the attitudes towards blacks is pretty clear, but it still stood out to me – especially because someone who has chosen to be a prostitute is so in-tune with the nuances of racial haves and have-nots.
The second thing that I picked up on was fact that Harlem wasn’t a nirvana for every black person that lived there. Although Cordelia was driven by her rebellious defiance of her parents’ wants, she is still a young black girl who does not enjoy Harlem. It is habitual to assume that Harlem is the end-all to black peoples’ suffering, but of course this is not the case – Harlem would, as with anything, only appeal to certain people, and Cordelia was not one of them.
Bennett Poetry
Bennett, Gwendolyn. "Bennett Poetry." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 221-23. Print.
I wanted to discuss my views on Bennett’s poem Hatred, since it was brought up in a presentation last week. I like the poem – it does a great job of describing the feelings of Bennett as she wrote it. What confuses me, though, is who exactly she hates. Is she talking to racists, or fellow blacks who allow their own subjugation? Is she talking to an ex-lover, or taking on the voice of white supremacists and speaking in character to blacks? I don’t know, but since this poem appears in the Harlem Renaissance anthology, I’m going to have to assume that she is addressing whites. I would argue that she is taking on the voice of white people and addressing blacks, but the articulation and word choice lead me to believe that her hatred is more focused and specific than the hatred of bigoted minds.
I understand where Bennett is coming from if she is, in fact, addressing white racists. The indignant, loathing hatred of people that belittle and demean your way of life is very close to my heart, especially in recent times with certain social movements and the abundant horrible, disgusting bigotry. It rolls around in your mind, infuriating you until you find that it is within your reason to slaughter every last bigoted degenerate without any qualms. Bennett knows what I’m talking about, or, rather, I know what she was talking about. But once reason takes over, I can’t agree with Bennett’s sentiments. Yes, hatred is powerful and extremely satisfying, but in the end it only fuels the bigots and hatred that started your own. I’m not advocating pacifism, per se, but rather self-control and logical reasoning. Throwing fuel onto the flames only makes the fire burn that much harder. Still, I can see why this poem was so widely reproduced and quoted.
I wanted to discuss my views on Bennett’s poem Hatred, since it was brought up in a presentation last week. I like the poem – it does a great job of describing the feelings of Bennett as she wrote it. What confuses me, though, is who exactly she hates. Is she talking to racists, or fellow blacks who allow their own subjugation? Is she talking to an ex-lover, or taking on the voice of white supremacists and speaking in character to blacks? I don’t know, but since this poem appears in the Harlem Renaissance anthology, I’m going to have to assume that she is addressing whites. I would argue that she is taking on the voice of white people and addressing blacks, but the articulation and word choice lead me to believe that her hatred is more focused and specific than the hatred of bigoted minds.
I understand where Bennett is coming from if she is, in fact, addressing white racists. The indignant, loathing hatred of people that belittle and demean your way of life is very close to my heart, especially in recent times with certain social movements and the abundant horrible, disgusting bigotry. It rolls around in your mind, infuriating you until you find that it is within your reason to slaughter every last bigoted degenerate without any qualms. Bennett knows what I’m talking about, or, rather, I know what she was talking about. But once reason takes over, I can’t agree with Bennett’s sentiments. Yes, hatred is powerful and extremely satisfying, but in the end it only fuels the bigots and hatred that started your own. I’m not advocating pacifism, per se, but rather self-control and logical reasoning. Throwing fuel onto the flames only makes the fire burn that much harder. Still, I can see why this poem was so widely reproduced and quoted.
Smoke, Lilies, and Jade
Nugent, Richard B. "Smoke, Lilies and Jade." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 569-83. Print.
This prose was extremely difficult to understand. What I did manage to grasp from it, though, is a sense of worldly unification. The main character, Alex, finds love in two places – one a black woman and the other a white man. The interwoven dream sequences with the distorted reality paint a hazy picture of a kind of love that spans sex and race, bringing into it all of the famous names from the Harlem Renaissance. The message, if I’m reading this correctly, is that the writers and artists of the Renaissance are, in a way, working together to form this unification of love.
In order to understand this piece better, I did a bit of research on the internet. I’m a bit disappointed that the name “Melva” has no deeper meaning – I would have expected it to, since the character is the second half of the fulfillment opposite Beauty to Alex. However, I did find that the author, Nugent, was an open homosexual during the Renaissance and is considered to be the first African American to openly write about homosexuality. I have the same problem with this single-minded focus on the fact that the author was homosexual as I did while studying works such as Death in Venice. The critics seem to miss the point entirely – that love is sexless, ageless, and genderless, and instead choose to focus on the breech in the taboo surrounding homoeroticism. It is, for lack of a better word, a bit pathetic – like a bunch of school children enamored with the first mention of sex in their grade school classroom. Rather than focus on the fact that one of the relationships in this story is homosexual, I think that to understand what Nugent is trying to say one must be able to disregard orientation and work out the deep, foundational meaning, which I’ve already stated.
And it is this deep meaning of uninhibited love that, at least for some, fueled the works of the Harlem Renaissance (it’s a shame that not all famous artists of this time can be considered in this category, with a nod towards abominations like Marcus Garvey and the late works of Langston Hughes (with apologizes to Hughes’ otherwise brilliant mind)). I’m sure that the format of this work is troublesome to many, but I feel that it speaks on a deeper level than what normal literature can. Rather than appealing to reason and attempting to convince its reader that racial issues need to be overcome, it simply shows how love can be and lets the rest speak for itself. Truly, and without a shard of doubt, I believe that this piece is the best we have read in this class. Time in class needs to be spent discussing it, if I may be so bold.
This prose was extremely difficult to understand. What I did manage to grasp from it, though, is a sense of worldly unification. The main character, Alex, finds love in two places – one a black woman and the other a white man. The interwoven dream sequences with the distorted reality paint a hazy picture of a kind of love that spans sex and race, bringing into it all of the famous names from the Harlem Renaissance. The message, if I’m reading this correctly, is that the writers and artists of the Renaissance are, in a way, working together to form this unification of love.
In order to understand this piece better, I did a bit of research on the internet. I’m a bit disappointed that the name “Melva” has no deeper meaning – I would have expected it to, since the character is the second half of the fulfillment opposite Beauty to Alex. However, I did find that the author, Nugent, was an open homosexual during the Renaissance and is considered to be the first African American to openly write about homosexuality. I have the same problem with this single-minded focus on the fact that the author was homosexual as I did while studying works such as Death in Venice. The critics seem to miss the point entirely – that love is sexless, ageless, and genderless, and instead choose to focus on the breech in the taboo surrounding homoeroticism. It is, for lack of a better word, a bit pathetic – like a bunch of school children enamored with the first mention of sex in their grade school classroom. Rather than focus on the fact that one of the relationships in this story is homosexual, I think that to understand what Nugent is trying to say one must be able to disregard orientation and work out the deep, foundational meaning, which I’ve already stated.
And it is this deep meaning of uninhibited love that, at least for some, fueled the works of the Harlem Renaissance (it’s a shame that not all famous artists of this time can be considered in this category, with a nod towards abominations like Marcus Garvey and the late works of Langston Hughes (with apologizes to Hughes’ otherwise brilliant mind)). I’m sure that the format of this work is troublesome to many, but I feel that it speaks on a deeper level than what normal literature can. Rather than appealing to reason and attempting to convince its reader that racial issues need to be overcome, it simply shows how love can be and lets the rest speak for itself. Truly, and without a shard of doubt, I believe that this piece is the best we have read in this class. Time in class needs to be spent discussing it, if I may be so bold.
The Typewriter
West, Dorothy. "The Typewriter." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 501-09. Print.
Despite this short story being writing in the early years of the Harlem Renaissance, I’m not sure I understand why it is included in this anthology. The family is presumably black, but the experience in this story could have been had by any low-income family. However, I guess that the point being made is that life for black families, even in the North, was extremely difficult. So difficult, in fact, that the main character in this story ends up losing his mind from the stress.
I’m fond of the ambiguous ending, where it is unclear whether the actual character of the unnamed protagonist or his fictional alter ego “dies” in the end. I prefer to think that the alter ego dies, symbolically killing off any hope the poor man has of bettering his life and being a successful businessman. Although it is dark, it isn’t as sad as the notion of his death and the subsequent hardship his family would encounter because of it. Like I said, though, I don’t know what this story is trying to say about racial inequality or the themes common in the other works from the Harlem Renaissance. I did enjoy it, though.
Despite this short story being writing in the early years of the Harlem Renaissance, I’m not sure I understand why it is included in this anthology. The family is presumably black, but the experience in this story could have been had by any low-income family. However, I guess that the point being made is that life for black families, even in the North, was extremely difficult. So difficult, in fact, that the main character in this story ends up losing his mind from the stress.
I’m fond of the ambiguous ending, where it is unclear whether the actual character of the unnamed protagonist or his fictional alter ego “dies” in the end. I prefer to think that the alter ego dies, symbolically killing off any hope the poor man has of bettering his life and being a successful businessman. Although it is dark, it isn’t as sad as the notion of his death and the subsequent hardship his family would encounter because of it. Like I said, though, I don’t know what this story is trying to say about racial inequality or the themes common in the other works from the Harlem Renaissance. I did enjoy it, though.
Wedding Day
Bennett, Qwendolyn. "Wedding Day." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 363-69. Print.
There is a lot that can be discussed concerning this short story, but I want to focus on the way Bennett reverses the dominant and subservient roles of whites and blacks during the scene where Paul and Mary first meet. In France, as a free black man, Paul lives the life of any other French citizen regardless of color. However, because he was originally from America, he holds onto deep-rooted prejudices against white people. Hypocritically, perhaps, he (at first) treats Mary as a white people in the South would have likely treated him. I particularly like the irony of Mary calling out, “please don’t hate me ‘cause I was born white and an American.” (367) The reversal of traditional roles (where the black man/woman would be begging the white man/woman not to judge them by their skin color) is somewhat insightful to the hypocrisy (or, at least, the vindictiveness) of black hatred towards white people. Especially when taken in conference with some of the other author’s we’ve read that do nothing but advocate racial equality, this racism against whites is just as damaging as racism against blacks. The attitude of reciprocity only furthers racial divide, not settles it.
I’m curious to know more about Bennett’s personal views on black racism towards whites. The somewhat caricature-leaning character of Paul leads me to believe that she feels as I do, that racism against whites is foolhardy. However, the fact that she brings the story-arc to the point where succumbing to a white person (through love/marriage) creates Paul’s downfall makes me wonder if Bennett wasn’t herself a bit racist. If not an outright racist against whites, I feel that it is fairly likely that she wouldn’t admonish those who were. A white temptress or she-devil is just as derogatory and offensive as had the races in this short story been reversed, and, since they are reversed, sends a bit stronger of a message to the reader (simply by its uniqueness). I’ve said it before, but equality is a two way road. Vengeance and vindication, or even contemporary ludicrous appeals to past wrongs such as the disgusting affirmative action laws, do nothing but further the race divide. Making whites into pariahs to humanity because of the past is just as bigoted as what white peoples’ ancestors did to black peoples’ ancestors.
There is a lot that can be discussed concerning this short story, but I want to focus on the way Bennett reverses the dominant and subservient roles of whites and blacks during the scene where Paul and Mary first meet. In France, as a free black man, Paul lives the life of any other French citizen regardless of color. However, because he was originally from America, he holds onto deep-rooted prejudices against white people. Hypocritically, perhaps, he (at first) treats Mary as a white people in the South would have likely treated him. I particularly like the irony of Mary calling out, “please don’t hate me ‘cause I was born white and an American.” (367) The reversal of traditional roles (where the black man/woman would be begging the white man/woman not to judge them by their skin color) is somewhat insightful to the hypocrisy (or, at least, the vindictiveness) of black hatred towards white people. Especially when taken in conference with some of the other author’s we’ve read that do nothing but advocate racial equality, this racism against whites is just as damaging as racism against blacks. The attitude of reciprocity only furthers racial divide, not settles it.
I’m curious to know more about Bennett’s personal views on black racism towards whites. The somewhat caricature-leaning character of Paul leads me to believe that she feels as I do, that racism against whites is foolhardy. However, the fact that she brings the story-arc to the point where succumbing to a white person (through love/marriage) creates Paul’s downfall makes me wonder if Bennett wasn’t herself a bit racist. If not an outright racist against whites, I feel that it is fairly likely that she wouldn’t admonish those who were. A white temptress or she-devil is just as derogatory and offensive as had the races in this short story been reversed, and, since they are reversed, sends a bit stronger of a message to the reader (simply by its uniqueness). I’ve said it before, but equality is a two way road. Vengeance and vindication, or even contemporary ludicrous appeals to past wrongs such as the disgusting affirmative action laws, do nothing but further the race divide. Making whites into pariahs to humanity because of the past is just as bigoted as what white peoples’ ancestors did to black peoples’ ancestors.
Hughes' Poetry
Hughes, Langston. "Langston Hughes." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 256-70. Print.
I’m not sure if these poems are presented in the order in which they were written, but if I had to guess I would think it so. They start off in a kind of faraway voice that is longing for equality and acceptance but without any fiery passion. By the final two poems, however, Hughes is so sarcastic and violent that he seems to be seriously advising people to riot outside of a hotel. Unfortunately for Hughes, I don’t feel that the in-your-face extremism of his final two essays match the careful hopefulness of the first several.
Of the poems presented here, the one that speaks the loudest is “I, Too”. Although it is short, the meaning is very deep. It says that, although the voice of the poem is black and sent to the kitchen to eat (a coy way of saying “brushed to the side”), he is still eating and growing strong. One day he plans on remaining in the dining room with the rest of the company and refuse to be sent to the kitchen. Of course, Hughes isn’t talking literally about being sent to the kitchen to eat, but rather the attitudes of whites towards black in general. Rather than allow them to join society as equals, whites push blacks to the side (a side which is, generally, less glorious (the kitchen versus the dining room)). This is evident in Jim Crowe segregation laws of the time. Hughes, however, believes that so long as the blacks in America continue to work “in the kitchen” to become a strong, unified force, they will (someday) be able to turn around on the whites and refuse to be bullied into submission.
I’m particularly fond of the last bit of this poem, where Hughes, almost as an afterthought, says “Besides, they’ll see how beautiful I am and be ashamed”. (258) It catches the reader off guard; the poem, until this point, is about strength and steadfastness, not perception. However, Hughes turns it into a poem about societal perception and, perhaps, is making a statement about the beauty of strength. When the whites are forced to see that their black fellows are strong enough to be their equals, they will suddenly realize that the blacks are beautiful. Because the perception is that blacks are inferior and, therefore, sent to the wayside, whites have never had a chance to view blacks with anything other than pompous superiority. As I said, it’s a cautiously hopeful little poem, and speaks highly of Hughes’ (probably early) self-control.
I’m not sure if these poems are presented in the order in which they were written, but if I had to guess I would think it so. They start off in a kind of faraway voice that is longing for equality and acceptance but without any fiery passion. By the final two poems, however, Hughes is so sarcastic and violent that he seems to be seriously advising people to riot outside of a hotel. Unfortunately for Hughes, I don’t feel that the in-your-face extremism of his final two essays match the careful hopefulness of the first several.
Of the poems presented here, the one that speaks the loudest is “I, Too”. Although it is short, the meaning is very deep. It says that, although the voice of the poem is black and sent to the kitchen to eat (a coy way of saying “brushed to the side”), he is still eating and growing strong. One day he plans on remaining in the dining room with the rest of the company and refuse to be sent to the kitchen. Of course, Hughes isn’t talking literally about being sent to the kitchen to eat, but rather the attitudes of whites towards black in general. Rather than allow them to join society as equals, whites push blacks to the side (a side which is, generally, less glorious (the kitchen versus the dining room)). This is evident in Jim Crowe segregation laws of the time. Hughes, however, believes that so long as the blacks in America continue to work “in the kitchen” to become a strong, unified force, they will (someday) be able to turn around on the whites and refuse to be bullied into submission.
I’m particularly fond of the last bit of this poem, where Hughes, almost as an afterthought, says “Besides, they’ll see how beautiful I am and be ashamed”. (258) It catches the reader off guard; the poem, until this point, is about strength and steadfastness, not perception. However, Hughes turns it into a poem about societal perception and, perhaps, is making a statement about the beauty of strength. When the whites are forced to see that their black fellows are strong enough to be their equals, they will suddenly realize that the blacks are beautiful. Because the perception is that blacks are inferior and, therefore, sent to the wayside, whites have never had a chance to view blacks with anything other than pompous superiority. As I said, it’s a cautiously hopeful little poem, and speaks highly of Hughes’ (probably early) self-control.
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