Popped Tape: Little Dragon

While I’m on my music tip, it was recently brought to my attention that some people still have not had the immense aural pleasure of listening to Swedish band Little Dragon. I would be remiss to not share one of the best things happening in music right now. Listen to one of my favorite tracks, “Forever”, here.

Constant Surprises

Twice

In love yet?

Popped Tape: Gordon Voidwell

Ivy League Circus by Gordon Voidwell.

If someone knows a way for me to embed this w/o any upgrades, holla.

The Day I Met Barack Obama

It was towards the end of spring 2007 in New York City. Despite never making a concerted effort, I was somehow always abreast of who was going to be at Barnes & Noble, which was how I came face to face with Amiri Baraka and Toni Morrison, and also, not coincidentally, Barack Obama.

Barack Obama first charmed me for attention when he walked out at the 2004 Democratic Convention to a rendition of The Impressions’ “Keep On Pushing”. I automatically thought who is this guy with great taste in music and the audacity to make it known to a crowd full of people who probably can’t make the elementary connection between Curtis Mayfield and Superfly.

It was to my excitement that three years later, I learned the then Senator of Illinois was going to be giving a talk and signing copies of his second book at the B&N in Union Square. Now of course, it happened to be my luck that this signing was scheduled for the same morning as one of the last days of my 11:00 class. And of course, that day was the day I had to hand in my final project of a documentary I haphazardly directed about communes in New York City. So without the option of skipping, I sent an e-mail to the professor, whom I happened to really like, explaining that Barack Obama was going to be at Barnes and Noble and maybe she should take the class because that’s where I was going to be. I assured her it shouldn’t run too long because it was supposed to start early, but if it did I would find a way to make an appearance in class.

Needless to say, I woke up early enough to catch the tail-end of his speech and then to be told I was standing in line to get my book signed for naught because he wasn’t going to hang out and sign all these people’s books. Time was running low so I passed the torch to my partner in crime who agreed to stand in line because we concluded that he wasn’t the type of guy to just take off after a speech and break a bunch of people’s hearts who took off work and skipped class to see him.

I beat it downtown for my class, screened a piece of the doc and vomited some nonsense about intentional communities and Thomas More. I was losing the hope of making it back in time to get a book signed but was restless enough to still be impatiently social. Once I got a minor cue we were done, I broke out and made way back to union square. Dodging cars and overzealous cyclists, I could only feel the swelling regret of the millions of people I was passing who were, unfortunately for them, not in on the secret that the next POTUS was right under their bloody noses.

Upon arriving at Barnes & Noble, I scaled the 728 flights of escalators to the top floor only to find that Barack Obama had signed everyone’s books and now he wasn’t signing any more. In fact, he was standing up to button his suit jacket because he was going to leave now. I stood in a crowd of other faces with color, people who had probably come in late off the street when they saw others exiting with their signed copies of The Audacity of Hope, still wiping the glory from their eyes. I stood there and watched him walk from behind the long table where he was sitting, offering everyone a wave in his ordinary and diplomatic way. I adjusted my black cap with its red, green, and gold stripes and also found myself wondering why I was wearing it anyway. I was buried behind folks who looked (and acted) like my aunts and uncles, calling for Mr. Obama, throwing their arms about, and employing other guerilla fan tactics to get his attention. Behind all of them, I stood still and in awe of how tall and slender (and okay, handsome) he was IRL.

Somehow — I don’t know if it was the “rasta” hat, or the fact that I was the only person under 30 in site but whatever it was — he spotted me. And this part I only remember in fragments, either because I had no idea it was happening or because I couldn’t believe it was happening, but he began to walk toward my barrier of excited adults, which now seemed much smaller than before. He said hello to everyone through their shrill and somehow — and I still don’t know how he did this without being rude but — he stuck his arm out, and the layers of curious bodies peeled away and there was his hand. Suspended in front of me. And apparently awaiting a handshake. I can’t even remember if he said anything because I was too busy tearing up and trying not to cry and thinking about what I could possibly say to change his life at that moment in some kind of relatable capacity.

I resorted to the conclusion that I should just look at him in his eyes. You have tears in your eyes, I thought. And that will be enough.

And so I did. With my mouth shut, not only because I had no words but also because if I had found them, they’d probably be tucked away somewhere under tear ducts, I shook Barack Obama’s hand. I don’t remember but two shakes probably because that’s what they teach you at conferences about careers in business. And with a firm grip because that’s what my mother taught me growing up. “Nobody likes a limp handshake,” she’d say, scrunching her nose at the topic of women whose droopy hands were always available for the shaking to whoever fancied a squeeze.

I still have the hope that those few moments, scarce amongst the multiple involving handshakes and tears, branded an image, even if ephemeral, in the freedom of the president’s consciousness. I hope when he sits down to talk about poverty and the world and children and education and living for a long time that he will maybe not remember me but perhaps remember forgetting a time when there was a moment inside of which he was changed.

Seriously, I’m Sick of This.

it’s everything that bothers me about contemporary pop/r&B squeezed into a prepubescent white boy reppin atl when he’s really from ontario (and what’s not wrong with that?). who would have thought R. Kelly would come to represent the most consistently good R&B from the last couple of decades or so? i’ll admit though, the pose at the end of the music video made me say “aw”. still don’t feel bad about this post though.

i kind of tolerated this, a little bit:

despite the fact that it was trey songz and the other 4 artists just like him compacted into a pretty boy with a country singer’s name. at least the camera work is interesting. i think the only reason it’s not unbearable is because of the dream’s co-production. that’s one pop r&b dude i like.

Gates Affair About More Than Just Race

It is with happy feet and a grinning heart that I introduce my first guest blogger, Anthony Kelley. Kelley is a scholar, brilliant in mind and spirit, whose interests span philosophy, black political thought, and critical pedagogy. He was a regular contributor to his alma mater’s newspaper, and since he doesn’t write nearly enough on his own blog, he’s come over to the black scientist to share his perspective on the protracted Gates incident.

It is no secret that mainstream media often mask the complexity of an issue in order to reach a wider audience and, in turn, increase profits. Harvard professor Henry Louis Gates, Jr.’s arrest and the subsequent media frenzy is no exception. It seems unnecessary to delve deep into the debate at this point. A week later, the main arguments are well known. For a couple of particularly insightful, opposing viewpoints, look here and here. But despite the wide-spread commentary, there seems to be several gaping holes in the mainstream analysis. Here I’ll point out a couple:

First, any commentary that does not include a class analysis is incomplete. The facts that Gates is a wealthy, well-educated individual and that the arresting officer represents a lower-economic strata are undeniable. Given these facts, I am not completely convinced, as is often the case with the black elite, that when Gates was faced with perceived racial injustice, his response wasn’t “Oh, how dare he perpetrate racism against me” but instead “Oh, how dare he (i.e. a white man of a lower economic status) perpetuate racism against me (i.e. a wealthy black man). The former of which indicates a righteous indignation in the face of injustice, whereas the latter merely reveals the deep class divides that make some of us feel entitled to preferential treatment while the rest of our people suffer.

Second, the black community’s response to Gates’s arrest tells us something about the state of black political solidarity. People were justifiably upset at the apparent racial injustice while acknowledging that Gates may have exacerbated the situation by antagonizing the cop. When one of our own is attacked, we will speak out and defend our community. Now, this is not to suggest that there is (or that there should be) an uncritical, wholesale acceptance of Gates and his behavior; I do not know many black people who are not at least willing to entertain the idea that Gates might have over-reacted. What most black people share, though, is a nearly preternatural willingness to speak out on behalf of other black people, whether they be culpable and arrogant teenage boys in Jena, Louisiana or class elitist Harvard professors on a first-name basis with the president of the United States. This point is even more important when we consider the critical scrutiny under which notions of solidarity have been under recently. Given the purported “post-racial” society, the task of strengthening black political alliances in the face of anti-black racism is increasingly obligatory. Gates’s arrest represents a unique moment to think about race and the way it works in our everyday lives as well as think critically and creatively about ways to strengthen black political solidarity.

Despite these observations above, the fact that black men and women (and all those in between) continue to suffer at the hands of police violence remains unchanged. Though Gates’s arrest does offer a “teachable moment,” we should never lose sight of those who suffer the brunt of police aggression. Our efforts should not be limited to speaking out on behalf of “the least of these,” but the core of our efforts should nonetheless be directed towards building a long-term sustainable movement to end police aggression, not simply at providing individual blacks with immediate relief. So whether or not Gates is arrested and whether or not he and a white police officer is invited to the White House for beers by a black president, we must still fight. And, I trust, we will.

[Thanks to the Scientist for giving me a space to voice off on this issue. Good looks sis.]

“I didn’t vote for him”

Professor and director of Harvard’s W.E.B. Du Bois Institute for African and African American Research, Henry Louis Gates, Jr. was arrested at his home in Cambridge, Massachusetts last Thursday, July 16, and charged with disorderly conduct. (Charges were dropped on Tuesday). Despite having presented the police with two forms of identification to prove that the house he was allegedly breaking into was actually his, Gates was handcuffed on his own front steps and taken to prison where he was fingerprinted and held in police custody for several hours.

The Obama snippet that’s getting folks’ undies in a twist:
The Cambridge Police acted stupidly in arresting somebody when there was proof that they were already in their own home.

Why is this a problematic statement for people? The fact of the matter is Gates was in his own house, and he provided proof of that. What more was he supposed to do? Shame on the white lady who, contrary to most articles, didn’t even live in the neighborhood but works there, for equating black man + house with attempted burglary. (via tapped via coates). (I’m not sure I’m ready to excuse her quite yet–her choice of action still seems comfortably overzealous at least.) And shame on the Cambridge Police for not realizing upon arrival that the crime they had initially been called upon to investigate did not in fact exist. Had they acknowledged this and apologized for the mix-up off the bat, they could have prevented themselves from making the egregious mistake of arresting a black man for no reason. which is essentially what they ended up doing. (Sure, Gates may have been running his mouth, but after all that is not means for arrest).

President Obama responded to pouts at his use of the word “stupidly” with his usual tact and common sense: “I am suprised by the controversy,” he said. “I think it was [a] pretty straightforward comment that you probably don’t need to handcuff a guy, a middle-aged man who uses a cane, who’s in his own home.”

When asked his feelings about Barack Obama’s comments on the matter, arresting officer James Crowley says, “I didn’t vote for him” (video on the right). Hmm, not helping your case, sir. If we weren’t sure that you made stupid decisions before, you just swayed us.

Fear of Black… People.

As you may have heard, a private predominantly white club canceled its agreement to share its pool once a week with a summer camp when the campers showed up and happened to be mostly black and latino. The families of the campers of Philadelphia-based Creative Steps summer day camp had paid The Huntington, PA Valley Club $1,950 to swim in the pool on Mondays, but two days after their first visit they received a phone call from the board president telling them they could not return. The first excuse of club owner, John Duesler, was that the children would “change the complexion” and the atmosphere of the club. Then he said he “underestimated the capacity” of the facilities (what he means is he overestimated). There wasn’t space, he said (despite the fact that the club has two pools), and now his wife, Bernice Duesler, is saying absurd things such as: “As long as we can work out safety issues, we’d like to have them back.”

According to role taken that day by camp executive director Alethea Wright, there were 46 children at the pool, not 65 as has been reported and exaggerated. And what is more, Wright’s son, Marcus, attends a predominantly white elementary school, from which 56 students went swimming without controversy at the same pool the week before. (More with camper Marcus Allen, because he is adorable (and he breaks your heart).

To me, it seems rather obvious that race played a role in the reactions of the club members who were at the pool, as well as the decision reached by the board to break the signed contract with Creative Steps. Judging by the comments some of the children heard, such as concerns that they would steal from or harm the white people, i think it is fair to assume that the members of the club were uncomfortable.

They were uncomfortable because they are not used to black people, and especially not in a group larger than that one family at the supermarket or (maybe) in the neighborhood. Most of what they know of black people, they’ve learned from movies, music videos, the news, racist jokes, and stereotypes that cycle like rumors. They are afraid of black people because they imagine them manifesting the various qualities they’ve heard or seen about. According to white media and black people themselves, negroes are loud, crazy, and lack a certain “refinement”.

I’m from a small city/town rural suburb esque thing in Washington. (It’s unbelievably ambiguous). I was usually the only black girl in my classes throughout elementary school, and I attended a relatively diverse high school, with different numbers of white, black, latino, american indian, asian and pacific islander students. While my high school was not dramatically one hue, black students were probably 3rd lowest in number (before american indian and latino). I had black friends and so did my parents, so I wasn’t totally isolated, but I did invest heavily in some “identity” work in high school (and throughout college).

To put it simply, I was not used to being around large numbers of black people. My concept of blackness came from .. well, music videos, whatever else was on TV growing up, and my parents’ extensive music and book library on black people, things, history, and ideas. Sure, I knew some black people, but they weren’t black. They didn’t act like the black people in Ride, or B*A*P*S, or the multiple music videos I digested as a young person. They didn’t even act like my cousins in Virginia. So they couldn’t have been really black.

And as I would find out, I wasn’t really black either because I had neither a country nor a New York accent. I spoke “proper” and was from Washington where black people apparently “don’t live”. So no I wasn’t black then. Not at all. I was auctioned out of the fate of it, somehow.

But had you put lil ol me, anytime from the age I started watching skewed representations of black people (say… 13) to probably freshman year in college, in a crowded place with black people, chances are I might have been a little uncomfortable. Not because I was right but because I didn’t know, and I believed everything around me that told me black people were always hostile and prone to violence.

So what I’m suggesting is that yes, these white, probably upper middle class, suburban folks were afraid of black people. But I don’t think it can be considered independently as a class issue, or a location issue (suburbs vs “innercity”), or even a clear-cut white vs black race issue, per se.

I think this instance is emblematic of a larger cultural (mis)conception that a lot of Americans hold, which is that: black people are threatening. This is a notion that has been ingrained into media and the way dominant narratives tell American history so long that it has become an actual part of our collective imagination and consciousness. Many Americans, unless their upbringings have shown them otherwise, have ideas about groups of people they’ve never known because they have seen, read or heard something that attests to it. Needless to say, generally what we see, hear and read about people is at least limited, if not just plain wrong. I think that had the members of the Huntington Valley Club been Indian or Jamaican or Jewish or dare I say it – black, that a similar reaction would be possible.

Now don’t get me wrong. I am not making the “black people can be racist too” argument because I think that’s a crock of cow dung. I am however saying that while white people are capable of racism because they are the ones with power in a white-supremacist system, it is still possible for people of all colors, ages, etc to hold prejudiced feelings towards other people. (This is where, in racism 101, we differentiate between the system of racism and the beliefs of individuals.) And I am going on to say that people of all colors, ages, etc do have a subconscious fear of what they’ve come to understand and label in their heads as “black people”.

It’s not only white yuppies that are scared of black people. People are scared of black people. They see a young black man dressed a certain way, they cross the street or lock their car doors. They see a young black woman, they assume she’s hotheaded and liable to curse them out at any given moment. Many people live in the box they watch, expecting real people to be characters and individuals to behave as representatives. This is an expectation and attitude most of us living in the US are susceptible to, and many of us in fact do carry around with us.

That being said, it was white people at the Valley Club. Because of the history of this country, it was them who were in the position to ban any large number of black children from sharing a pool. I do not wish to imply that whiteness doesn’t play a huge role in this matter — notably the privilege and the power — but to suggest that the underlying fear and uncertainty (and maybe to an extent, dislike) that moved the white people at the Valley Club to take their children from the pools, make racially charged remarks, and complain to the owner is an underlying anxiety that people of other races share as well. And while all races may not be in the position to make decisions that work to black folks’ disadvantage, we can share in this unfounded idea about ‘black people’ that is informed largely by media portrayals of ‘urban life’ (and sometimes, the real life people who fulfill those portrayals). It is ultimately this idea, along with the cultural, political, social, economic (etc etc etc) repercussions that accompany it, that needs to change.