He was serious and demanding in that way that American Idol contestants would have seen as bullying. There was a saying about his studio: “You don’t just sweat. You are sweat.” But you knew if you 1/2 stepped with the drum, with your movement, you were not giving the ancestors or the culture the respect, honor, and gratitude they deserved.
The 2020 Pulitzer Prize winners were announced May 4th. This year the committee awarded a special citation to the journalist, anti-lynching, suffrage, and civil rights activist Ida B. Wells. This is not an annual occurrence. The regular Pullitzer Prize winning work goes through an application process with a handling fee before consideration by the jury and board. The special citation is selected solely by the Pulitzer Prize board to journalists and/or artistic/cultural figures living or deceased.
The Pulitzer special citation was bestowed in recognization of Ida B. Wells’ “outstanding and courageous reporting on the horrific and vicious violence against African Americans during the era of lynching” with a bequest of at least $50,000 “in support of her mission.”
The eldest of 8 children, Ida B. Wells was born in Holly Springs, Mississippi in July 1862, just months before the Emancipation Proclamation became law. This made Ida part of the first generation of free African Americans eager to build their path to new possibilities. She was educated by her parents including her politically-active Lincoln Republican father who worked to elect African Americans in both the state house and the U.S. Congress during Reconstruction. The yellow fever epidemic in 1878 claimed the lives of both Ida’s parents and a younger sibling. With the support of relatives, Ida took charge of her surviving siblings to prevent the family from being separated. She eventually settled in Memphis, part of the “new south”, and taught school while writing part-time until she was invited to join the “Free Speech” newspaper as a full-time newspaper journalist. Eventually she would be the co-owner of the newspaper.
The same week of the Pulitzer announcement, Gregory McMichael and his son Travis McMichael (both white men) were arrested and charged for the murder of Ahmaud Arbery, an unarmed African Amercan man who was shot three times in February while jogging in a predominantly white suburban neighborhood outside Brunswick, Georgia. Father and son identified Arbery as a suspect in a rash of break-ins in the neighborhood. No break-ins were reported before Arbery was killed.
William Bryan (also white) recorded the shooting death, and a defense attorney leaked the video with the intention of helping the McMichaels prove their case but instead sparked an unintended national outcry for justice. Bryan too has been arrested and charged with felony murder and criminal attempt to commit false imprisonment.
An African American man and birder — taking a Memorial Day weekend break from COVID-19 distancing to enjoy bird watching in a section of Central Park reserved for this passion —encounters a white woman who becomes outraged by his request that she follow the park rules and place her dog on its leash. Her attempt to use whiteness as a weapon while practically strangling the dog by the collar was recorded by Christian Cooper, the “African American man” she describes as “threatening my life” on a 911 call to police. She goes podcast crime drama on the call.
An African American man in Minneapolis, George Floyd, dies a day after a police officer restrains Floyd (who’s handcuffed) by placing his knee on the man’s neck while a bystander records as Floyd says “I can’t breathe.” Floyd was accused of passing a forged $20 bill. Floyd had a security job in the same club where the police officer, Derek Chauvin, moonlighted. Protests for George Floyd in the midst of COVID-19 deaths of 100K, an economic spiral from job losses, profound uncertainty for young adults, happening in Minneapolis and nationwide. (Update: protests in Toronto, London, Berlin)
These stories popped up in my newsfeed within 24 hours of each other. Christian Cooper is lucky to be alive to hear the birds sing another day. The white woman, Amy Cooper (no relation) is fired from her investment banking job, her adopted pet repo’ed, and her credibility crushed. She issues an apology after but it rings hollow. It doesn’t acknowledge her racism when she chose to play her “white woman card” (Ida would’ve called her out) to annihilate a black man who dared to remind her that the rules apply to her too (though unevenly). Derek Chauvin was arrested for 3rd degree murder. There will be a federal civil rights probe as well.
Related to this is a story from Louisville, Kentucky that happened in March, a little over a week before Kentucky’s COVID-19 stay-at-home directive went into effect. Twenty-six-year-old Breonna Taylor, a Louisville ER technician, was killed by plain clothes police officers who broke down the door to her apartment on a drug investigation. Taylor’s home was the wrong apartment. Her boyfriend thought the intruders were armed robbers and fired his gun in self defense. They returned fire striking Taylor at least eight times according to news reports.
Every few days there’s a new video, a real-time unedited digital extended edition of Ida B. Wells’ Red Record. She produced and published the pamphlet in 1895 from Chicago documenting in detail lynchings of men and women in the United States with an analysis. In chapter one she writes:
“In slave times the Negro was kept subservient and submissive by the frequency and severity of the scourging, but, with freedom, a new system of intimidation came into vogue; the Negro was not only whipped and scourged; he was killed.”
I wrote a full-length play “Iola’s Letter,” named for Ida B. Wells’s syndicated column, and based on her story of the anti-lynching crusade she launched in 1892 from her Free Speech newspaper in Memphis, Tennessee. At that time Ida B. Wells was a single 29-year-old former school teacher and journalist. The lynching of Ida’s close friend Thomas Moss, the city’s first black civil service worker (USPS) and his business partners (all three black men) who co-owned the People’s Grocery, a cooperative in a mixed-race neighborhood outside Memphis is the catalyst for Ida’s activism and the launch of a national movement. Ida B. Wells calls for a boycott of Memphis’s downtown businesses and streetcar patronage (built by African Americans), and a mass exodus of black Memphians to the west including the Oklahoma territory. The protest strategy cripples the city’s economy.
As I was preparing “Iola’s Letter” for its first staged reading at Howard University (HBCU) in Washington, DC news of the 1998 beating and dragging death of James Byrd, Jr. in Jasper, Texas by white supremicists was playing in the background. “I never intended for “Iola’s Letter” to be a biography of Ida B. Wells, but to use her life to explore the ideas and issues of her times, finding strong parallels between then and today.” Those were the words I wrote that were printed in the program for the staged reading. I took some creative liberties by populating “Iola’s Letter” with timelines and additional characters who were composites of Ida’s encounters, experiences, perspectives, and writings. These characters fleshed out the conflicts within the Memphis community around race, class, religion, economics, [especially] power and how Ida’s moral and political resolve evolved from the lynching in Memphis that struck at the heart of the matter about the false accusations and mob violence…in her own words:
…an excuse to get rid of Negroes acquiring wealth and property — to keep the race terrorized and keep the “n*gger” down.
The adage “the pen is mightier than the sword” would be a polite refrain to describe Ida’s impact on civil rights using the press. In those times the pen could be the sword that caused the deaths in the first place.
When Ida began her investigations into lynching, she committed to truth-telling and debunking the stories published in Southern white newspapers. She sought and published interviews with actual witnesses, families and friends of the victims, even getting the real story from the accusers. In Memphis Edward W. Carmack, a lawyer, and editor at the Memphis Commercial [now the Commercial Appeal] was one of Ida’s chief nemesis in the profession. He is also a character in “Iola’s Letter” based on the real-life person. Carmack was not the Southern tobacco-spitting “red neck” caricature. He attended an elite boarding school whose mission was to turn out “accurate scholars who know the finer points of morals and practice them in their daily living.”
Carmack took pride in being a provocateur and never hesitated to use his editorial prowess to attack his enemies. His newspaper characterized the People’s Grocery and its owners as a gathering place of criminals and undesirables. This was standard practice to set the stage for a lynching or “justifiable murder” by creating a mythological black male menace. The narrative would support the white owner of the grocery across from its new competitor to incite an incident or provocation that would remove People’s Grocery owners and the business. Carmack would go on to represent Tennessee in the U.S. Senate. He continued to attack Ida, the “adventuress” (a derogatory term for a woman in those times) while she was abroad, and his political enemies. His pen would eventually sign his own fate.
Many newspapers, like the Commercial Appeal, have made efforts to turn a corner in their reporting on matters of race. In 2018,when the Equal Justice Institute (EJI) opened the National Memorial for Peace and Justice in Alabama, the Montgomery Advertiserpublished the names of 300 victims of lynching with an editorial starting with the sentence “We were wrong” laying bare the newspaper’s role in being complicit and “careless in how it covered mob violence and the terror foisted upon African-Americans from Reconstruction through the 1950s.”
Today social media provides fast and raw evidence, leaving it open for public consumption and interpretation followed by outrage. The unfiltered reactions are delivered at the same fast pace. The rawness is now coming from the very top of the country’s chain of command, doubling down on the racialized system that has been stacked against African Americans for centuries. The current commander-in-chief (lower-case intentional) uses the tools of new media to discredit and attack political enemies and critics. Donald Trump’s tweets and verbal attacks on journalists especially black women and other women of color should be of grave concern beyond their provocative sound bytes. Newsfeeds are showing journalists being arrested and attacked by police, press credentials fully visible. This week one can say an American journalist is just as likely to be attacked doing their jobs at home as they would in a war zone or authoritarian nation abroad.
Ida and her Free Speech newspaper were also targets. The newspaper was burned to the ground by a white mob. Lynching Ida was part of their plan but she escaped that fate. As a result no copies of her newspaper exist today. Because Ida wrote for other newspapers and was invited to speak before allies black and white in the U.S. and the U.K. she was not silenced though she could never return to the south.
125 years later the digital Red Record prompts the same questions, demands for investigations, and a cry for justice. No arrests were made for the Memphis or other lynchings Ida B. Wells brought to light. Most remain unsolved to this day leaving generational wounds on the victims’ descendants, and an unspeakable blighted legacy inherited by the descendants of the men and women who carried out the heinous deeds.
Ida B. Wells and the Ida in “Iola’s Letter” believed in American democracy. Justice was her birthright. Before losing her newspaper she armed herself for protection exercising her 2nd amendment rights when it was against the law for African Americans in Memphis to own guns. She sued the Chesapeake, Ohio, and Southwestern Railroad Company for forcing her to ride in the “smoking car” when she held a ticket for a seat in the “ladies” train car. There was no law on the books about segregated transportation for that railroad. When the conductor grabbed and tried to forcibly remove Ida from the ladies car, the 21 year-old bit his hand. Ida won her case in court, but later had to return her cash reward when the railroad companies appealed. She still believed our systems would work if not for the racism baked into it.
How the Pulitzer’s $50,000 will be spent or what aspect of Ida’s mission will benefit yet to be revealed. It couldn’t re-open local newspapers silenced by economic factors including advertisement-dependent business models and acquisition/liquidation by private equity firms. Perhaps the money can be applied to kick starting journalists to do a deeper dive and investigate the larger global factors at play around white nationalism and the rise of neo-Nazi factions with the intent to drive divisions in multi-racial alliances. The FBI identified their presence in U.S. law enforcement over 10 years ago according to a 2016 PBS NewsHour report. Over the past several days of the protests, residents of Minneapolis have noticed and texted about it.
Ida saw the patterns and kept her sights on the bigger picture and the prize. After a historic long pause I’m glad to see Ida B. Wells finally getting her due, however symbolically simplistic the recognition may be. Even in the case of the women’s suffrage centennial and the passage of the 19th amendment, Ida’s appearance is acknowledgement of the racism within that movement through the erasure of black women’s presence in its history, voice in their gatherings, and acceptance by white women leaders to deny the vote to black women for its own political expediency. Ida and other African American women refused to be silent on that too.
The era of lynching has evolved and found new life in the digital age. The evidence makes clear Ida B. Wells’ mission is not finished.
Imagine what peace would look like with 3 or more women at the table. Actually numbers and sex can’t be the sole qualifiers. There are patriarchal women whose framing is no different from the patriarchal men at the table. Official peace processes in use were never designed, built by, for and with women and any marginalized group in mind. Through custom or tradition, the men, the patriarchy, the persons in power have at best put women on the table as transactional bargaining chips along with any disputed natural and financial resources for what becomes a negotiated power grab.
For a panel the Second Sex Conference in New York in 1979, self-described “black, lesbian, mother, warrior, poet” Audre Lorde (1934-1992) remarked,
“For the master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house. They may allow us temporarily to beat him at his own game, but they will never enable us to bring about
genuine change. And this fact is only threatening to those women who still define the master’s house as their only source of support.”
Nevertheless, women need and want a voice at this table. Too often the gun is the loudest voice while the women, children, elders, the vulnerable (those without military might) are mortally silenced.
The women who rise up, organize and demand a seat at the peace table don’t want to be treated like dinner guests. Presence isn’t power. For many women participation becomes a delicate balancing act of negotiating on two fronts: at the seats of power with governments, politicians, military officers, warlords; and on the home front in families where patriarchy can have its strongest roots and impact.
March 25 and 26 (9 pm ET – check local listings) PBS will broadcast Women, War & Peace II, a series of films by women filmmakers documenting the stories of women actively and nonviolently involved in peace making, risking life (and family life) with the hope of changing the course of history. The series is executive produced by Abigail Disney and Gini Reticker for Fork Films.
The series includes four stories many told for the first time on U.S. national television. We finally see the women of Northern Ireland’s Women’s Coalition (Wave Goodbye to Dinosaurs) at the negotiating table. The women elected to the task are steadfast to the goals of peace despite the dismissive and rude reactions from the men in the room. These women could be looking at the conflict reemerging with the UK’s Brexit separation from the European Union and the possibility of the return of a hard border (via trade) separating Northern Ireland from the Republic of Ireland.
The Trials of Spring, (directed by Gini Reticker) confirms the “Arab Spring” branding of the youth-led movement towards a more democratic Egypt was pre-mature. The removal of Hosni Mubarak from office followed by elections that brought the Muslim Brotherhood to power, then the military takeover lead to social regression and a precarious situation for nonviolent women activists and religious minorities.
Naila and the Uprising uses animation to recreate student organizer and activist Naila Ayesh’s story of her imprisonment for being part of a secret network of women in a movement protesting Israeli occupaton of Gaza. Naila’s infant son is brought to live with her in prison. The film tells her story to audiences and also servies as a family document for Naila’s now adult son about his early life through his parents’ experiences with the intifada.
One can’t avoid noticing A Journey of a Thousand Miles is the only story in the series where women are required to carry a gun to maintain the peace. The film follows the all-women Bangladeshi UN peacekeeping unit and their mission to Haiti following the 2011 earthquake that devastated the country. It is also a story of the impact of their service causing conflict in relationships back home.
The films in Women War & Peace II show how nonviolent peace making takes tremendous patience, courage, resilience, and a passion for justice. In these four stories women are forced to use the master’s tools to achieve peace goals. Sisterhood is their additional source of support.
She’s more important than her music—if they must be separated—
and they should be separated when she has to pass out before
anyone recognizes she needs
a rest and I say I need
Aretha’s music
Aretha is now at her eternal rest. The death of Aretha Franklin in Detroit August 16, 2018 at 76, merits, in this opinion, a peach cobbler variation on Don McLean’s “American Pie” and “The day the music died.”
As long as I live in the mortal world I need Aretha’s music.
Nikki Giovanni recorded “Poem for Aretha” on a 1971 breakthrough record, “Truth Is On Its Way” featuring the New York Community Choir. (Aretha Franklin would release her live “Amazing Grace” gospel album with the Los Angeles Community Choir in 1972). The track under “Poem for Aretha” is “Nobody Knows the Troubles I’ve Seen.” Gospel records were hot in the 1970s.
In many ways “Poem for Aretha” is a poem for all giants who endure the road shows, the okey doke contracts, the hangers on with nefarious intentions, the fear of losing fans, family, and friends by putting self-care above caretaking. “Poem for Aretha” was written before the age of social media. Today she would unplug before she has to pass out. But somehow Aretha survived the blow backs and managed to make a way even demanding a 50% cash payment upfront before she would perform. Now we know why Aretha plopped her purse on the piano before performing in the “Kennedy Center Honors.” Only she could. The moment was pure magic.
Carole King needed Aretha Franklin’s music.
My first favorite single was by Aretha Franklin. How many times did I ask an able bodied sibling or adult to play, replay the 45 of “Chain of Fools” to the point that like a child’s favorite toy, the audible crackles and pops from the multiple needle drops on the vinyl fused with the soulfulness of the vocals and the rhythm & blues guitar. I needed Aretha’s music.
Aretha Franklin was more important than her music because there would be no music without Aretha, but at the same time there was no Aretha without music. It’s a magic moment when music can make you FEEL and sparks a surprise emotion. Words matter and they had a life of their own with Aretha. Nothing like the monotony and repetition in the bump and grind beat tracks of today. Even as the music changed, Aretha knew she could find her way through it and on her terms. You can’t be separated from your music and be Aretha Franklin. Aretha needed Aretha’s music.
Since the millennium I’ve grown so very weary of being told to recognize the “greatness” of “singers” (quotes intended) who prize volume over interpretation. Spectacle over enunciation. Predictability and sale-ability over –dare I say– R-E-S-P-E-C-T-ability. Growing up with Aretha set a high standard and expectation that very few and perhaps only she could reach. Aretha was also an accomplished instrumentalist, and arranger. That’s all the spectacle she needed.
Listening to Aretha’s playlist over the week has been like having my life flash before my eyes. She was my grounding and groundbreaker. There was no conflict or battle between secular and sacred music and spaces. In her music and musicality they were one and the same. And like church with a majority Black membership and culture, Aretha made you place your troubles and the BS at the foot of the altar she built.
We need Aretha’s music now more than ever.
Aretha was the riot was the leader if she had said “come
let’s do it” it would have been done
temptations say why don’t we think about it
why don’t we think about it
why don’t we think about it
Hear “Poem for Aretha” read by Nikki Giovanni on “Truth Is On Its Way”
Before the Monday broadcast the next Marvel blockbuster movie, Black Panther, will have its nationwide release staring Howard University graduate Chadwick Boseman — the #HBCU alumni of the hour who’s been gracing the covers of Vanity Fair and Time magazine. – for starters
FULL DISCLOSURE: I’ve been involved with both entities past and present: organizing a 10 HBCU campus tour for Tell Them We Are Rising (and preview screenings for ITVS, producers of “Independent Lens”); being the playwright for Iola’s Letter — based on the life of journalist, anti-lynching advocate Ida B. Wells — presented as a staged reading at Howard University exactly at this time in 1999 with then-student Chadwick Boseman (or Chad as he was known then) in the cast. The play was directed by Howard drama professor Vera J. Katz.
“I thank God and the ancestors for this opportunity.”
Chadwick Boseman in “Iola’s Letter” program 1999
It’s no surprise to me that Chadwick Boseman’s star is rising. He impressed me as Thomas Moss in the reading of Iola’s Letter. Thomas Moss was one of Ida B. Wells’ dearest friends in Memphis in 1892. Boseman became the voice of Thomas Moss in my head for a long while after the sold-out 8 performances (a 9th was added).
Much of my cultural enrichment from age 9 up came from Howard Universityand its College of Fine Arts. The students and professors (my sister’s classmates and instructors) trained my eyes, ears, and appreciation especially in theater of the mosaic of what some may classify as “the black experience.” I would argue for the plural in “experience”.
Without Howard I would have no idea what the Black Arts Movement is, would not have read the poems of Langston Hughes, or folklore and laughter of Zora Neale Hurston, known of the African presence in antiquity (Frank Snowden), been in the presense of a great artist like Lois Mailou Jones, or to put it bluntly have exposure to the best in arts and culture of the African diaspora. Howard spoiled me for the experience I would have at the small PWI college I attended. Note: PWI (Predominantly White Institution) is something I learned on the road with Tell Them We Are Rising.
That PWI was Oberlin College in Ohio. It was my first PWI in my entire academic life. I chose Oberlin because it was the first to admit students of color before HBCUs were established; was in the same Ohio town with an underground railroad stop in the time of Civil War; the alma mater of the first African American woman to earn a Bachelor of Arts degree; and was [at the time] located in a pre-dominantly African American town of the same name with a sizeable Latino population in nearby Lorain the birthplace of Howard alumna Toni Morrison. During my first weeks on campus I distinctly remember the “plague of robins” as Morrision describes in her novel Sula.
I also noticed the cultural footprint of African Americans at Oberlin was not very big or not what I was accustomed to despite the college’s glorious histories. The conservatory of music at the time was committed to a European Classical music training. There were jazz classes and a class on African American music history taught by the late Wendell Logan, but these were electives. The jazz ensemble didn’t have rehearsal or performance space inside the conservatory. Fortunately Logan was a “can do” and “will do” personality. Just book the hall.
The jazz ensemble was one of the few places where I felt grounded in the way I was grounded on HBCU turf. And even with great theatrical talents like Julie Taymor among Oberlin’s illustrious alumni, theater and dance wasn’t on the level of what I saw at Howard. Those expectations were to be had in Cleveland and Karamu founded by Oberlin alumni Russell and Rowena Jelliffe where Howard professors and alumni could be seen in residence.
What Oberlin did offer me was exposure to different art forms including performance art and artists like Ping Chong and Meredith Monk. My dorm mates brought their grounding assets – El Gran Combo, Hector Lavoe, Ruben Blades, Willie Colon, Celia Cruz and other classic salsa recordings. And I got some reinforcements from visiting artists like Gil Scott-Heron, Ossie Davis and Ruby Dee, poet Sonya Sanchez, choreographer/performer Geoffrey Holder. My HBCU arts experience planted seeds of appreciation and found complimentary companions in new expressions including the old European Classical ones.
My college also gave students resources and space for experimentation. I’ve always been a hands-on learner. If I wanted to put up a play at my PWI college, no problem. “Here’s a space. What else do you need?” Despite some of the quips I mentioned earlier, this made Oberlin the best choice for someone like myself.
“I’d like to thank God and the ancestors for this experience.”
Chadwick Boseman in the program for “A Rhyme Deferred,” written and directed by Kamilah Forbes
In the fantasy world of Wakanda, I still see the Howard alum’s feet firmly planted in the opportunities and experiences he draws from the ancestors. I see the bridges between past, present, and future. I knew as much seeing a video of the red carpet preview of Black Panther in Los Angeles and drummer Jabari Exum grounding the moment before Boseman emerges from the limo. In some ways I was more excited about seeing Exum, an awesome surprise appearance from DC.
At the time my Iola’s Letter play went up, a Hip Hop Theatre movement was emerging among Howard’s students as well as a collaborative of young artists creating new works based on a Hip Hop aesthetic. That circle included Boseman and fellow classmates Hi-ARTS aka Hip Hop Theatre Festival co-founder Kamilah Forbes (currently executive producer for the Apollo in Harlem), and Helen Hayes award winning choreographer/director Gregory Morrison aka Psalmayene 24. On the back of my A Rhyme Deferred program, I notice a shout out to fellow Howard student Ta-Nehisi Coates among many others. Some are now among the ancestors.
I’m no Hip Hop head but I supported these creators and their movements towards a new aesthetic before “In the Heights” and “Hamilton”. I knew my love for historical drama would not qualify me to be part of this inner circle. Yet, my introduction was again through my Howard (HBCU) connection.
What Stanley Nelson gives us in Tell Them We Are Rising is a story that inspires pride and a new look at the value of HBCUs for alumni, prospective students, and persons like myself (who didn’t attend a HBCU) without leaning on the sepia-tinted, cross-fade doo-wop of Black girls in White Edwardian dresses, Black boys in bowlers, and a backup band of rich and famous alumni.
Stanley Nelson is also the filmmaker for the documentary The Black Panthers: Vanguard of the Revolution (currently on Netflix). Even that documentary kicks off with myth busting. As Nelson described during his classroom visits at Claflin in SC, he wanted the audience to see what they wouldn’t expect from a documentary about the Black Panther Party. Every one and anyone connected to the Black Panther Party had a different perspective, experience, or opportunity. And of course, you can’t capture them all in 90 minutes.
HBCU administrations have struggled with students who want to move their programs forward from the mythical past. The sepia-tinted world and American dream promises are often held up to qualify the value of the institution for preparing students to assimilate respectfully into what can be called the “social order”. Sadly the cultural and artistic assets of these institutions are simultaneously neglected, undervalued, and/or rejected and lost. This parochial house cannot stand when it is divided between limiting traditional values and new ideas.
Alain Locke learned as much when he was fired from Howard University’s philosophy department in 1925 for siding with students who were being encountered and embracing the ideas of the “New Negro”. BTW Locke also had PWI experiences at Harvard and Oxford Universities. This and other stories are included in a ground-breaking biography The New Negro: The Life of Alain Lock” by Jeffrey C. Stewart. I see a tinge of “New Negroness” in the conceptualization of Wakanda in Black Panther – a fusion of modernism (tech today), continental African aesthetics, and the ability to transform and reversion oneself in times of crisis and awareness (African American).
I’ll see Black Panther on the same #HBCURisingDay before the 9 PM broadcast of Tell Them We Are Rising. I’m in that throng of ticket buyers who took advantage of advance sales. I’ll see it for Chadwick Boseman though I wish there was this much excitement around his previous films — ’42, Get On Up, Marshall. Maybe people will catch up on the stream. I’d like to think my Ida B. Wells play helped pave that trajectory. I also enjoy the comic book hero films for pure entertainment value. They’re becoming America’s 21st century mythology.
If there are any shoulders the Black Panther filmmaker, cast and crew stand on it is stories, cultural treasures, and experiences, fortunately documented by Stanley Nelson and many others. The power of the myth is strong, but making connections between myth and fundamental truths is essential.
I too would like to thank these creators, the ancestors, and the source of all creation for the gift of opportunities and experiences I’ll treasure for my lifetime. Much of it is possible thanks to my HBCU encounters. On the day I graduated from Oberlin I wore a cap and gown. Cap and gown was optional at Oberlin. Students chose not to wear them in protest of the 1970 Kent State student shootings by the National Guard. A similar incident would happen in 1972 at Southern, a HBCU in Louisiana. Their story is revealed in Tell Them We Are Rising.
I draped a long strip of woven kente (a gift from my sister) around my shoulders. I believe I was the first non-Ghanaian at Oberlin to add kente to the graduation robe. That choice was inspired by Jeff Donaldson, an art professor at Howard and a member of the Africobra artist collective in Chicago during the Black Arts Movement. On graduation day at HU Donaldson walked with the professors in his grand robe and regalia of beautiful hand-woven kente. You couldn’t miss him. I never forgot it.