Ethelbert Miller is a globally recognized and published poet, board chair of the Institute for Policy Studies and, until today (I suppose), was Director of the African American Resource Center at Howard University. Ethelbert and I often swapped blog content and posts. He was one of the inspirations and mentors for this blog.
I’ll never understand why they call today “Good Friday.” My God, My God!
“Belle” is a beautiful film to watch. I was thrilled that director Amma Asante made a guest appearance at the movie theater for a Q&A following a showing of “Belle” on Mother’s Day. Since my mother had been asking me for months when the film was coming to theaters, I couldn’t think of a better gift. Ms. Asante offered up some information: she is a huge fan of Jane Austen, she carries duel identities as a Brit and a woman of color (of Ghanaian parentage); she loves period drama; and “Belle” was made for $10 million. I would’ve guessed no less than $25 (on a shoe string).
“Belle” is a testament to the many stories yet to be told through the ages, in the English language, featuring women of color. Compared to American production budgets, there had to be a substantial amount of commitment to this story from actors including Miranda Richardson, Penelope Wilton, Emily Watson, Tom Wilkinson, among others. A film stacked with a cast like this confirms that “Belle” is an important film.
What we now know is the “Belle” story begins long before there was any treatment or script for a film. Dido Elizabeth Belle was born in 1763, the daughter of Maria Belle, an African slave and a white British naval officer, Sir John Lindsay. Lindsay sent his four-year-old daughter Dido to England to be raised by his uncle William Murray, Earl of Mansfield and Lord Chief Justice who would preside over two of the most important cases in the history of the abolition of slavery in Britain: the Somersett case of 1772 and the Zong case of 1782. This article in The Guardian UK distinguishes the movie story from the real life story – and still gives a thumbs up for the film. My assumption is Dido is a trigger for a story that tells us money can’t buy everything especially when its a matter of race and gender.
Misan Sagaysaw the “Portrait of Lady Elizabeth Murray, circa 1778” as it was labeled while a student at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland in the 1990s. Sagay (Anglo Nigerian) was intrigued by the painting especially because of the young biracial nameless woman on the left of Lady Elizabeth. Fast forward to 2009 when Amma Asante receives a script and a postcard of the painting from Sagay. Asante is instantly drawn to the image.
The journey to “Belle” reminds me of an assignment I had in 4th grade. Our teacher, Miss Cole, took us to the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC. We visited the paintings from the Renaissance to Impressionism. Our assignment was to write a story about a painting – not the true story, but the story the painting inspired. I chose a painting by the 19th century impressionist Pierre-Auguste Renoir: “A Girl with the Watering Can.” But I also liked his “A Girl With a Hoop.” BTW Pierre-Auguste Renoir was the father of filmmaker Jean Renoir.
I can’t remember the story I wrote, but I remember seeing myself in these “girls.” They were about my age, maybe a bit younger, though not my hue. There were no “Belles” at the National Gallery of Art. And we didn’t know the girls’ names. (Note; “A Girl with the Watering Can” is Mademoiselle Leclere; “Girl with the Hoop is “Marie Goujon”)
Around the time of the 18th century, we really were — people of color were — an accessory in a painting. We were there rather like a pet to express the status of the main person in the painting, who was always white. And for anybody who’s lucky enough to see the painting, what you see is something very, very different. You see a biracial girl, a woman of color, who’s painted slightly higher in the painting, depicted slightly higher than her white counterpart. She’s staring directly out at the painter, you know, with a very direct, confident eye. … So this painting flipped tradition and everything that the 18th century told us about portraiture.
Amma Asante, NPR
Art is essential in telling Belle’s story. As much as it’s a story about our favorite “Austenisms” of wealth, class and love, it is also about race, slavery and abolitionism. Asante says she deliberately held back the release date to avoid being boxed in with “12 Years a Slave” (winner of the Academy Award for Best Picture in 2013). She also deliberately did not show the African slaves who were sent to their watery deaths for the insurance – their story being a moment of awareness for the main character and conflict between her uncle and the man she loves. Asante assures us, the image of human slaves on screen would’ve shifted the film away from its title character and Asante’s vision. A picture speaks a thousand words.
I surrounded Belle with the funny, witty, wise women I love and write. Yet we never make light of Belle’s social isolation.
Misan Sagay, Huffington Post
Like my 4th grade assignment, screenwriter Misan Sagay saw a painting by Johann Zoffany of Dido Elizabeth Belle and her cousin Elizabeth Murray. She saw a story. Asante saw it too. Unlike my Renoirs, Zoffany’s painting is intended to be a portrait, a record, of two lives and two girls who were special to the person who commissioned the work. Had I seen this portrait in the National Gallery of Art and based on the stories I was told about black/white relations of the time, I would’ve assumed, as Asante pointed out in her post-film chat, “the black girl is the white girl’s servant.” I didn’t want to write that story. Actually, there are stories in my own family’s narrative that flip the black/white/biracial/multiracial tradition and everything we were taught in our school history classes.
Belle is portrayed by Gugu Mbatha-Raw, a relatively newcomer to the scene and I can assume to period drama as well. (Mbatha-Raw does appear in the 2008 Romantic comedy mini-series “Lost in Austen” about a present-day Jane Austen fan that swaps places with Elizabeth Bennett.) How many opportunities are available to an actor to portray a free aristocratic biracial woman in the 18th century, and the title role at that? This would pose a challenge for both Mbatha-Raw and Asante to make her and the audience believe when there is only one reference of that status and story – the portrait that inspired the filmmaker. And Dido is not Jane or Elizabeth Bennett, Elinor or Marianne Dashwood in hue or status. Even with her fortune, Dido can’t claim the social status of Mr. Darcy’s sister Georgiana or his intended sickly cousin Anne De Bourgh. Dido is under a different kind of scrutiny. She can’t be seen and heard at table by the company her family keeps. Her very appearance is unappetizing to society. But the money helps. And her uncle and aunts maneuver these social obstacles to the best of their abilities, sensibilities, and intentions – though not always with success.
In the final analysis society makes Dido fully aware that she is “not one of us.” She isn’t even “one of her own.” But she finds her way home to her mother in a very tender scene where a free black servant combs her hair in the way hair of her texture should be combed. This for me, this intimate scene was one of the most definitive moments of Dido’s story.
I was anxious to see this exhibit. For all the period drama I loved and watched over many years that included adaptions of the novels of Alexandre Dumas — whose grandmother, Marie Cesette Dumas was a slave in Haiti and of African decent — it was important to see where did someone who kinda or looked like me and persons in my family fit into the dominant Eurocentric narrative and genre. And not just the slavery and servitude narrative. Misan Sagay and Alma Asante must’ve had similar yearnings; as did Dido. And I’m happy to say yes, there is “Belle” and there are more paintings to see, and stories to tell.
When the Taliban destroy incredible pieces of architecture and art, or when American troops don’t protect museums in Iraq, you are seeing people losing their culture. And with the end of a country’s culture goes its identity.
George Clooney, W Magazine
I’m looking forward to seeing the film adaptation of THE MONUMENTS MEN, a new film produced, co-written, directed and featuring George Clooney as the leader of a platoon of art curators, preservationists, museum directors, and art historians to retrieve stolen art and masterpieces from Adolf Hitler during World War II. And yes, there were women too. Not all of them represented with the exception of one, Rose Valland, played by Cate Blanchett. The film is based on the non-fiction book The Monuments Men: Allied Heroes, Nazi Theives, and the Greatest Treaure Hunt in Historyby Robert B. Edsel and Brett Witter.
UPDATE: This serves as a mini-review. For the most part the critics have been right about “The Monuments Men.” The most compelling story does happen to be Rose Valland (Cate Blanchett). But the larger question of the movie has been one thrown up in my face on occasion — “Which is more important? Saving people or saving art?” For me the two are one and the same. But that’s part of a longer discussion.
Since the Obama administration appears to measure artistic and cultural value by the standards of Twitter and Facebook algorithms, my recommendation would be a celebrity to fill one or both of the endowment posts for the next two years. Actor Jane Alexander was a fantastic chair of the National Endowment for the Arts during the Clinton administration from 1993 – 1997. And a capable one.
Would George Clooney be up to the challenge of saving his country’s cultural treasures? The endowments need someone in place, someone who will testify before Congress on the value of the arts and humanities to the life, livelihoods and people of our country. You want someone who will grab the attention. George is smart and passionate enough around these issues to lead the charge. And I believe this Congress will gladly take a meeting with George Clooney and hear him out, if for no other reason than to ask for his autograph.
All generalizations are dangerous, even this one
Alexandre Dumas (pere)
Having achieved national and international celebrity as the author of The Three Musketeers (serial) and The Count of Monte Cristo (novel), Alexandre Dumas was invited to serve his country by visiting Algeria to write a travelogue for publication in France. The invitation came from M. de Salvandy, le minister de l’instruction publique in 1846. The real purpose of the cultural exercise was to encourage French immigration to seek opportunity in the recently invaded acquired Algiers during a time of high unemployment and economic instability in France. Most likely the effort was to prevent yet another citizen uprising against the powers-that-be on the homefront.
In this description of the infamous French bureaucracy at work in Algiers, one can assume Alexandre Dumas wrote it with some kind of “duel consciousness” as Frantz Fanon coined it. Or better yet “double consciousness” in the words of W.E.B. DuBois – a “sense of always looking at one’s self through the eyes of others.” “Justice” was also a central theme and cause in Dumas’ books and plays. I’ll just say “Alexandre Dumas gets it.” Read the segment from his Algeria travelogue copied below in its entirety. It’s written/translated in the Dumas repartee style so there is some entertainment value.
How do we negotiate justice from our cultural and historical identities?
ADVENTURES IN ALGERIA (trans)
The French interpretation of justice is at the root of many bitter misunderstandings between the Arabs and ourselves. Here is an example of what can happen. There may be two adjacent plots of land, one belonging to an Arab, the other sold to a Frenchman. The Arab is not worried, for the boundary between them is clearly established, a matter of common knowledge, but soon the European begins to build a house, not on his own plot but on his neighbor’s land. The Arab would be only too glad to take the matter into his own hands, but the law forbids him, so he goes to find the chef-du-bureau of his village or neighborhood and presents his case. This official goes to see the truth of the matter with his own eyes, then opens proceedings with a polite letter to the Frenchman, pointing out that he has made a mistake. The intruder receives the letter, but has no need to be polite and does not reply.
The Arab, seeing that all this has had no effect and that his neighbor is still laying more bricks, goes back to the chef-du-bureau, who tells him there is nothing more he can do. The Arab must apply to the juge de paix. In due course, the juge summons the plaintiff and the defendant to appear before him, but the Frenchman does not attend, so after hearing the facts the juge sends him an order to quit, and the Arab goes home to tell the assembled villagers that the French authorities have dealt justly with him. Never dreaming that anyone would dare to disobey an order made by a judge, he waits for his neighbor to go away, but the Frenchman stays, and the house rises higher and higher. The Arab waits a little longer, believing in his simplicity that some severe penalty must shortly fall on the trespasser, but at last he goes back to the chef-du-bureau, who explains that he must now take his case to the magistrate’s court, and tells him that, above all, he must have a good solicitor.
The Arab, who is learning several new words, finds out what a solicitor is, goes to see one, and tells him his story. The man of law comments that it is an excellent case and sure to succeed, but first the Arab must pay him 25 francs. The Arab replies that he will call again, and goes back to ask the chef-du-bureau why he must pay 25 francs to a man he does not know, in order to stop another stranger stealing his field. “It is the custom,” replies the chef, so the Arab goes sadly to dig up the stone under which he has buried his little store of money, takes out 5 duros, and counts them out to the solicitor one by one, with a heavy sigh for each. When the case against the European comes to court, let us suppose the interpreter is a good one, the chief magistrate is able to grasp the situation, and a verdict is given for the plaintiff.
Again he goes home and waits, watching the roof being put on the new house, and sixteen days later a paper is put in his hand, which he takes to the chef-du-bureau. It is written from left to right, not from right to left in the Arab manner, and the letters are small, not large, but at last it is deciphered and found to be a notice that the Frenchman has appealed against the verdict. Now the case must be heard in Algiers, at great expense; later, perhaps, in Paris, where costs will be still higher. But our poor Arab has spent all his money; he has not been able to plant a crop on his field and has lost his harvest, so he calls his friends together, declares bitterly that all the Christians, and in particular the French government, have conspired to swindle him out of everything he had. He flees to the desert, and soon the Frenchman can claim that he has been in possession of the house for three years and is therefore the legal owner of the property, including the land.
In the old days, the Arab would have made his complaint before the Cadi on a market day, the Cadi would have consulted the old men of the village, they would have confirmed where the true boundary lay, the field would have been restored to its rightful owner, and the swindler would have received fifty blows on the soles of his feet.
From Adventures in Algeria
by Alexandre Dumas (pere)
Translated by Alma Elizabeth Murch
I recently read Stephen L. Carter‘s novelThe Impeachment of Abraham Lincoln. I boldface novel so not to confuse the book with other Lincoln titles, usually non-fiction. In Carter’s novel, Lincoln lives after the play, and is still President. But he’s on the hot seat with Congress for going “too far” with the South, “too hard” on the rich folks, and “not far enough” for the radicals. At the center of this argument is a young aspiring Oberlin College graduate named Abigail Canner. Abigail was born a free black woman, she’s smart, determined, and through her Oberlin connections has a job with the law firm for the President’s defense team. Everyone seems to want to know Abigail.
Saturday, June 29 at 2:30 PM I moderate the discussion around the 1867 world of Abigail Canner at the Historical Society of Washington, DC (801 K Street, NW, Washington, DC 20001). [Download the flyer or RSVP for the free event on Eventbrite.] Our speakers and Carter are blurring the lines between fact and fiction. The thematic discussion of the book will go deep around Abigail, her world, her dreams even what she and her colleagues and neighbors would eat. Carter doesn’t give too many details, but we’ll fill the plate. One of my favorite culinary historians, Michael W. Twitty will join me to talk about foodways before, during and after the Civil War. You can read Michael’s open letter to Paula Deen on his Afroculinaria website — check out all the other good stuff in his web library too including a recipe for blueberry barbeque sauce. Michael and I take our southern food seriously.
But my principal assignment is to explore Abigail’s alma mater, Oberlin College, founded in 1833 in the western wilderness of Ohio. Oberlin was estblished by northern missionaries and grew when the “father of Revivalism” Charles Grandison Finney came on the scene. Finney was also a staunch abolitionist (radical?). With Finney established, students and financial support soon followed. In the novel, Finney provides the important letter of reference and recommendation for Abigail to clerk at the Dennard and McShane law firm in downtown Washington.
Before HBCUs and Seven Sisters, the Oberlin Collegiate Institute that became Oberlin College, was the go-to college for all women and persons regardless of color for a complete Bachelor’s degree course, a “Literary Course” (for women minus Greek, Latin, and advanced mathematics), Theological studies, and eventually the Convervatory of Music (founded in 1865).
Abigail was recruited to attend Oberlin by the first African American college graduate and fellow Obie George B. Vashon who makes an appearance in flashback in The Impeachment of Abraham Lincoln. Vashon was among the first graduates of the college in 1838. He would return to earn a MA in 1849. Vashion was a first in law as well — the first African American to practice law in New York state.
Once enrolled, Abigail the freshman would be on campus with some prominent upper class women. Abigail Canner may not mention these women, but they certainly would’ve crossed paths on Tappan Square:
Mary Jane Patterson who graduated with a B.A. in 1862 was also the first black woman in the world to earn a Bachelor’s degree from a collegiate institute. Patterson would go to Washington to teach at the Preparatory High School for Negroes (later M Street High School, and then Dunbar High School). She would become its first woman principal.
Mary Edmonia Lewis enrolled in 1859 at the recommendation of her brother. She didn’t complete her studies for the Literary course. Things got a little out of hand when she was accused of poisoning two white students/friends. This was known as the “Spiced Wine Scandal.” Part Chippewa Indian and African American, Edmonia was somewhat exotic in the Ohio town, never hiding her heritages. But just before her friends were leaving to enjoy a sleigh ride with their fellas, Edmonia invited the girls up for spiced wine. It’s been said that the wine was spiked with Spanish Fly which made the girls violently ill. The incident nearly split the abolitionist town in half. Edmonia was dragged out from Mr. Keep’s house and beaten.
John Mercer Langston, a prominent Oberlin resident and graduate from the Oberlin College and School of Theology, came to Edmonia’s rescue in court and won for her. John Mercer Langston, also of Native American/Black heritages, would later become the first dean of the Howard University’s law school and elected to Congress in 1888, the first U.S. Representative of color from the state of Virginia.
Even with her court victory, Edmonia couldn’t stay in Oberlin and left the campus in 1862 for Boston. Edmonia was also an artist. She started sculpting and sold small plaster souvenir busts of abolitionist William Lloyd Garrison, Colonel Robert Gould Shaw, and created busts of Abraham Lincoln and John Brown. With these earnings and the help of patrons, Edmonia booked a passage to Rome, Italy to continue sculpting and was part of a group of expatriot women sculptures known as the Marmorean Flock. Whether Abigail Canner heard gossip around Edmonia’s story, warnings or passed the future sculptor as she was leaving town, is left to our imaginations.
Fanny Jackson Coppin would’ve been Abigail’s classmate; both graduating around or at the same time in 1865. Fanny was born a slave in Washington, DC. Her aunt purchased her 12-year-old niece’s freedom for $125. Fanny worked as a domestic, hired a tutor, attended public school. She enrolled in Oberlin’s Literary course followed by the collegiate course and earned her BA in 1865. There’s no mention of Fanny in the novel. But maybe Fanny had no time for Abigail. While a student, she started an evening school for freed persons.
After graduation, Fanny Jackson became principal of the girls’ high school at the Institute for Colored Youth in Philadelphia. She opened the only trade school for African Americans in that city. Abigail would meet her fiance at Oberlin. Fanny was 44 when she married AME minister Reverend Levi Jenkins Coppin. Fanny also established homes for working and poor women and was a fighter in defending the rights of women and African Americans (source: Oberlin College). Coppin State University, in Baltimore, is named for Fanny Jackson Coppin.
Abigail had loads of oppportunities to connect with fellow Obies when she returned to Washington, DC. But she had more pressing matters in the post-Civil War city known for corruption, intrigue, danger, and mud.
The discussion at the Historial Society of Washington, DC is a program of DC By the Book, the DC Public Library’s website for mapping Washington, DC in fiction…or its gray areas, the color of Abigail Canner’s eyes.