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.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
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.
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