Mark Anthony Neal's Blog, page 617

J. Lorand Matory's 'Stigma And Culture' Examines Ethnic + Cultural Diversity within Black America

'In Stigma and Culture: Last-Place Anxiety in Black America , J. Lorand Matory provocatively shows how ethnic identification in the United States—and around the globe—is a competitive and hierarchical process in which populations, especially of historically stigmatized races, seek status and income by dishonoring other stigmatized populations. Matory talks with Frank Stasio, host of WUNC's The State of Things , about his new book and how his theory functions within Black America.'

#TheSpin: bell on Bey--Brittney Cooper + Treva Lindsey Talk hooks' Critique of Lemonade

On this episode of #TheSpin, host Esther Armah is joined by Professor Brittney Cooper and Professor Treva Blaine Lindsey in a discussion of  bell hooks' recent critique of Beyonce's Lemonade and the NAACP's invitation to Donald Trump to address the NAACP National Convention.

 

Hollywood in the New Cold War--'Forward Ever: The Killing of a Revolution' in Grenada

'The film Forward Ever: The Killing of a Revolution , presented by The New School  explores the short lived Grenada Revolution of 1979-1983. The revolution, an armed insurrection against a pro-US dictatorship ended in bloodshed when then President Ronald Reagan ordered the invasion of Grenada and the revolution's leadership was subsequently executed. The invasion put an end to a unique experiment in Caribbean politics. The panel will explore those events as well as how the revolution is remembered in popular media. Speakers include Sean Jacobs and Nijah Cunningham.' 

Beyonce, bell and Biracial Me: A Thank-You Note by Naomi Reed

Beyonce, bell and Biracial Me: A Thank-You Noteby Naomi Reed | The OpEd Project
Dear Beyonce,
With all due respect to bell hooks, I took a different set of lessons from “Lemonade,” and I want to thank you publicly. As a pre-eminent feminist scholar, hooks thoughtful yet critical statements about the role of sexuality and patriarchy in your epic visual album ignores the fact that women can enjoy their own sexuality.
You called it during your “Life Is But a Dream” documentary when you said men earn more money than women in entertainment, which allows them to control our values, such as determining what’s sexy. Some feminist ideology suggests that to be sexualized as a woman is to give in to patriarchy. However, I think this new relationship to one’s sexuality and sexiness takes back sexuality for the individual:
Self-love can be sexy, too, even if you are a woman.
You so eloquently reveal your consciousness during a time of great upheaval as shown by the Black Lives Matter movement, the natural hair revolution and black women taking over predominantly white sports. Rather than crass commodification, as hooks suggests, why shouldn’t you seize the economic moment? Your consciousness is probably evolving with the rest of ours as we experience these things. Besides, artists have always been inspired by work that came before, so why not see that as honoring rather than coopting? If we like the celebration of ancestors, then why not celebrate of the work of ancestors who were artists?
As a biracial woman of black and Jewish ancestry, I want to thank you for the personal ways this album edifies my existence and journey through blackness. Your embrace of your blackness and Texas roots, having grown up in Houston, spoke to me in a way I did not anticipate.  I grew up in a Houston suburb in a black neighborhood, with a black father (from Third Ward) and a radical feminist white Jewish mother, and have grown into an African Diaspora scholar with black feminist politics. I attended black and white schools, and upon entering college, dabbled in an uncritical “we are the world” idea of race in developing my own identity. After struggles with dating all types of men, being a black woman in mostly white universities, I found my political and emotional home in African Diaspora studies, but there was always (and maybe continues to be) something not quite settled. I suspect many pro-black biracial women feel this way, too.
I learned from beautiful brilliant black activists and scholars of all types how to critically expand my love and political commitment for black people and my love for my own blackness. Many of these voices were male or of Caribbean descent or East Coast or some other manifestation of blackness I embraced and loved, but still were just a little bit different from me. Often people in these spaces who were maybe more “like” me superficially—biracial or multiethnic—did not always have the same pro-black politics I have so aligning with them was very uncomfortable, dangerous — and impossible.
All of this created a tension in my participation in black political (and social—are they different?) spaces where I would rather be self-deprecating and anti-light-skin or anti certain facial features and hair texture) than risk being pro-colorism or pro- anything that would celebrate the privilege white supremacy causes me to embody. For me the bottom line is and always has been the global emancipation of black people from white supremacy. I openly admit I have not always known how to embody and express that and also love my own manifestation of blackness.
Black Feminist Thought teaches us all black women see oppression in ways black men and white women cannot because we are never ever entirely “off the hook.” I, of course, know as an able-bodied cis-gendered heterosexual female, there are many other ways I am privileged, but “Lemonade’ specifically demonstrates to me that all black women can and should struggle together and celebrate all forms of black woman-ness at the same time. The black girl magic you displayed in this visual album made the preciousness of black female subjectivity even more apparent to me. Thank you for that.
What I am really trying to say is because you are the black woman you are, from Houston, your growth and evolution touched my heart. To see you embrace black politics in your work while still loving your light-skinned, native-born Texas black self and doing it in a way that does not promote colorism but instead celebrates the many different ways black women are beautiful made my political and personal love of blackness collide and explode through my face, my clothes, my writing, my work ethic, an so on. So thank you.
I want to be sure to emphasize I am only talking about your work because I do not know you personally and would never venture to speculate anyone’s personal political positioning without knowing them. I would however guess the love of black women you displayed was always with you.
Thank you for showing us there is not one path to black feminist self love.
Thank you for showing the convergence of your struggles with Serena, Michaela, Amandla, Zendaya, Winnie and with the people, especially the women of New Orleans. Thank you for taking back what it means to be a black woman, taking it back from the patriarchal forces that tell us to stand by our men at all costs; taking it back from misogynist forces that say black men are hot and black women are not; taking it back from the white supremacy that divisively tries to make the tragic/privileged mulatta something more relevant than black sisterhood and black female struggle regardless of skin gradations, for taking it back from racist Southern notions that the South could ever be the South without Black women.   
Thank you for being so honest about what all of these forces can do to a black woman and how much stronger and perhaps magical she is when she survives and lives to teach her black daughter about her struggle. Thank you for showing me how to struggle and still love myself as the black woman that I am.
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Naomi Reed, a Public Voices Fellow, is a post-doctoral fellow at The University of Texas at Austin, Institute for Urban Policy Research and Analysis.

Beyonce, bell and Biracial Me: A Thank-you Note by Naomi Reed

Beyonce, bell and Biracial Me: A Thank-you Noteby Naomi Reed | The OpEd Project
Dear Beyonce,
With all due respect to bell hooks, I took a different set of lessons from “Lemonade,” and I want to thank you publicly. As a pre-eminent feminist scholar, hooks thoughtful yet critical statements about the role of sexuality and patriarchy in your epic visual album ignores the fact that women can enjoy their own sexuality.
You called it during your “Life Is But a Dream” documentary when you said men earn more money than women in entertainment, which allows them to control our values, such as determining what’s sexy. Some feminist ideology suggests that to be sexualized as a woman is to give in to patriarchy. However, I think this new relationship to one’s sexuality and sexiness takes back sexuality for the individual:
Self-love can be sexy, too, even if you are a woman.
You so eloquently reveal your consciousness during a time of great upheaval as shown by the Black Lives Matter movement, the natural hair revolution and black women taking over predominantly white sports. Rather than crass commodification, as hooks suggests, why shouldn’t you seize the economic moment? Your consciousness is probably evolving with the rest of ours as we experience these things. Besides, artists have always been inspired by work that came before, so why not see that as honoring rather than coopting? If we like the celebration of ancestors, then why not celebrate of the work of ancestors who were artists?
As a biracial woman of black and Jewish ancestry, I want to thank you for the personal ways this album edifies my existence and journey through blackness. Your embrace of your blackness and Texas roots, having grown up in Houston, spoke to me in a way I did not anticipate.  I grew up in a Houston suburb in a black neighborhood, with a black father (from Third Ward) and a radical feminist White Jewish mother, and have grown into an African Diaspora scholar with black feminist politics. I attended black and White schools, and upon entering college, dabbled in an uncritical “we are the world” idea of race in developing my own identity. After struggles with dating all types of men, being a black woman in mostly white universities, I found my political and emotional home in African Diaspora studies, but there was always (and maybe continues to be) something not quite settled. I suspect many pro-black biracial women feel this way, too.
I learned from beautiful brilliant black activists and scholars of all types how to critically expand my love and political commitment for black people and my love for my own blackness. Many of these voices were male or of Caribbean descent or East Coast or some other manifestation of blackness I embraced and loved, but still were just a little bit different from me. Often people in these spaces who were maybe more “like” me superficially—biracial or multiethnic—did not always have the same pro-black politics I have so aligning with them was very uncomfortable, dangerous — and impossible.
All of this created a tension in my participation in black political (and social—are they different?) spaces where I would rather be self-deprecating and anti-light-skin or anti certain facial features and hair texture) than risk being pro-colorism or pro- anything that would celebrate the privilege white supremacy causes me to embody. For me the bottom line is and always has been the global emancipation of black people from white supremacy. I openly admit I have not always known how to embody and express that and also love my own manifestation of blackness.
Black Feminist Thought teaches us all black women see oppression in ways black men and White women cannot because we are never ever entirely “off the hook.” I, of course, know as an able-bodied cis-gendered heterosexual female, there are many other ways I am privileged, but “Lemonade’ specifically demonstrates to me that all black women can and should struggle together and celebrate all forms of black woman-ness at the same time. The black girl magic you displayed in this visual album made the preciousness of black female subjectivity even more apparent to me. Thank you for that.
What I am really trying to say is because you are the black woman you are, from Houston, your growth and evolution touched my heart. To see you embrace black politics in your work while still loving your light-skinned, native-born Texas black self and doing it in a way that does not promote colorism but instead celebrates the many different ways black women are beautiful made my political and personal love of blackness collide and explode through my face, my clothes, my writing, my work ethic, an so on. So thank you.
I want to be sure to emphasize I am only talking about your work because I do not know you personally and would never venture to speculate anyone’s personal political positioning without knowing them. I would however guess the love of black women you displayed was always with you.
Thank you for showing us there is not one path to black feminist self love.
Thank you for showing the convergence of your struggles with Serena, Michaela, Amandla, Zendaya, Winnie and with the people, especially the women of New Orleans. Thank you for taking back what it means to be a black woman, taking it back from the patriarchal forces that tell us to stand by our men at all costs; taking it back from misogynist forces that say black men are hot and black women are not; taking it back from the white supremacy that divisively tries to make the tragic/privileged mulatta something more relevant than black sisterhood and black female struggle regardless of skin gradations, for taking it back from racist Southern notions that the South could ever be the South without Black women.  
Thank you for being so honest about what all of these forces can do to a black woman and how much stronger and perhaps magical she is when she survives and lives to teach her black daughter about her struggle. Thank you for showing me how to struggle and still love myself as the black woman that I am.
+++
Naomi Reed, a Public Voices Fellow, is a post-doctoral fellow at The University of Texas at Austin, Institute for Urban Policy Research and Analysis.

Mixtape Love by Mark Anthony Neal

Mixtape Loveby Mark Anthony Neal | @NewBlackMan | NewBlackMan (in Exile)
I guess even back then, I knew that couldn’t nobody fuck with my mixtape game. Perhaps a minor fact clearly borne out of the reality that a nigga knew it was the only game he had; too nerdy, too square, too safe, too mama’s boy, and perhaps too shy.  Confessions from a boy who was always more archivist than playa-pimp; the joy of my adulthood is that I get play in the archive(s), will talk some major shit to some data, have spent some quiet, intimate, sensual times, up in them stacks.
And it was procuring those sonic archives that was a young teen’s passion. As a Bronx kid in the late 1970s, of course many of my peers were digging in crates, looking for obscure breakbeats, yet the the first cassette tapes I owned were mostly used to capture snippets of music on New York City’s pop radio stations like WABC, WXLO (which later became the legendary KISS-FM) and WCBS-FM with its oldies format.  To this day I can break out  into a stirring rendition of Ambrosia’s “How Much I Feel” upon request.
While so many of my peers were bumping GrandMaster Flash and the Furious Five, The Sugarhill Gang, Kurtis Blow and The Crash Crew on first generation boom boxes I was cultivating a world of romantic sonic interiority via my closely guarded, highly curated mixtapes.
The day I got outed for my taste on top-Pop-40 love pablum, was the day I had to switch shit up; sitting in class listening on a first generation Walkman knock-off to Ronnie Dyson’s “(If You Let Me Make Love to You Than) Why Can’t I Love You?”,  when some some lil gal feels compelled to grab my headphones and check what a nigga was listening to.  
To be fair, Dyson remains a favorite--one of the purest Pop-Soul voices from the 1970s, right alongside Cuba Gooding, Sr., Natalie Cole, and the teenaged Michael Jackson--but “Why Can’t I Love You?” sounds like a bunch of white folks, listening to a Black guy around the campfire in one of them Frankie Avalon movies from the 1960s; he ain’t getting the girl (or boy), and  he singing for his dinner.
The new sonic archive I mined and mixed was my mother's (my dad’s archive would figure much later), who loved slow Alaga-styled southern Soul, where Al Green was the obvious fixture, but where Dorothy Moore and Luther Ingram were also clear favorites.  For many Moore is a one-hit wonder who nearly topped the pop chart in 1976 with the ballad “Misty Blue,” but the joint that stuck to me then--and still now--was a long-forgotten ballad called “I Believe You.”
Ingram, like Moore, had his own moment of pop stardom, with the ballad “If Lovin’ You is Wrong (I Don’t Want to Do Right)”, and while the the song got a regular hearing on my parent’s stereo--my mother’s archive was primarily on 8-Tracks--it was those album cuts that stayed with a lil nigga for years. Ingram’s  “I’ll love You Until the End” was the soundtrack to every lil Brown gal that gave me a rise, until I was like 15.” And let me be clear, before I had any idea who Mr. Vandross was, Luther Ingram was the only Luther that mattered.
As Michael Jackson taught me late in 1979 with “She’s Out of My Life,” sometimes a little heartbreak can get a nigga focused.  I can’t remember what little girl it was that broke my heart or I imagined would break my heart--I was living off the addiction of feeling hurt (real or imagined), as if I was preparing myself for some real hurt that was coming in the future--because I knew I was never gonna be that dude.
That dude was Teddy Pendergrass, who became my mother’s go-to Soul singer, when Al Green gave up the flesh for the sacred word.  My texts of choice: side-B of Pendergrass’s  Life is a Song Worth Singing (1978)--with the suite of “Close the Door,” “It Don’t Hurt Now” (which still moves a nigga in a certain way), and “When Somebody Loves You Back”--and “Can’t We Try” from his 1980 album TP.  I was 15, and what Pendergrass represented for me was this symbol of alpha-male--which I already knew I was never gonna be--alongside his clear expressions of vulnerability, articulated most powerfully in the physical limits of his voice, which cracked and creaked.
And while so much of this shit was all up in my head, when the hurt was finally real--and this little girl, I do remember, ‘cause I would eventually marry her--it was joints like Pendergrass’s “I Can’t Live Without Your Love,” Rick James + Teena Marie’s “Fire and Desire,” and more obscure fare like Booker T. Jones “I Came to Love You” and Michael Henderson’s “Take Me I’m Yours” (both found in my mother’s ‘45 collection)  that provided sonic catharsis.  What I often found myself committing to those mixtapes that I was started making in the early 1980s, as I transitioned from high school to college, was the most complex version of myself; the me that I most wanted to be was always gonna be found in those sonic archives.
Some of that complexity was found simply in the presentation of those mixtapes; every one of those tapes, featured visuals, usually cut out of my mother’s Essence Magazine--a thing I borrowed from a college peer, who was a noted player and Division 3 high jump champion--understanding even then about the importance of aesthetics in the curation of the archive; our shit more broadly, has never been about boxes and storage shelves.
For me, those mixtapes where not just a reflection of my love of music, but recognition of the thoughtfulness that went into constructing sonic representations of my passions, desires and moods. Like the DJs who work months in advance at creating mixes that folk will hear on the dancefloor at the club, I always understood (even before I had language to explain it) that these mixtapes represented my intellectual property—they were not simply songs thrown together randomly or in a sequence decided by some record company executive, but an attempt at meaning making that went beyond the intent of the artists whose songs might have appeared on one of those tapes.  
I still have many of those mixtapes—as much an archive of the transition from analog to digital—though it’s rare that I listen to any of them, if only because automobile manufacturers are not inclined to equip new cars with cassette players.  With the emergence of handheld digital devices that could literally store thousands of sound recordings—my now retired iPod Classic held more than 16,000 songs—my relationship to my sonic archive has been radically transformed.  
Streaming technologies have again transformed how we all consume and archive our media as folk simply listen to music via services like Pandora or Spotify.  For some, it is simply a question of how do you build a better delivery system for what is a multi-billion dollar industry of music consumption.  Despite these innovations to the delivery system I am still as devoted as ever  to crafting playlists as I did as a teen, resisting using streaming music services—despite the unprecedented access they offer to music archives—until fairly recently.
My devotion to the analog, in this instance, is less the unwillingness to embrace the future, but remembering how much of myself I put into those mixtapes 30 years ago--and how much those mixtapes help me recognize the man that I wanted to be in the world.

New York Immigrant Advocates Launch Black Immigrant Engagement Initiative

'The most recent Census Bureau estimates say that between 2010 and 2013, Black immigrants accounted for 25 percent of the growth in America's overall Black population. With all that as context, the brand new Black Immigrant Engagement Initiative was formed, and Hadiyah Harrison, Project Manager at the New York Immigration Coalition, and Carl Lipscombe, Policy & Legal Manager at Black Alliance for Just Immigration talk about the efforts with +BRIC TV'  

The Daily Show: "They Love Me" Music Video - Black Trump (ft. Jordan Klepper)

'Black Trump drops a new track with lyrics pulled verbatim from actual Donald Trump quotes' -- +Comedy Central  

ARTLAND: Kenneth Montague

'Kenneth Montague is a Toronto-based art collector, and the founder and director of Wedge Curatorial Projects . His passion is for photo-based work with a strong focus on black identity and the African diaspora. Currently Montague sits on the Advisory Board of the Ryerson Image Centre, and the Africa Acquisitions Committee of the Tate Modern.' -- +AkimboTV  

Left of Black S6:E28: Playlist Pedagogy--Social Justice + Black Intimacy

Left of Black S6:E28:  Playlist Pedagogy--Social Justice + Black Intimacy
Left of Black host and Duke University Professor Mark Anthony Neal (@NewBlackMan) is joined on-location by Monica R. Miller (@religionhiphop), Natanya Duncan (@GarveyiteWomen) and Jessica Marie Johnson (@jmjafrx) at Lehigh University.   Inspired by James Braxton Peterson’s concept of “Playlist Pedagogy,”  the group discusses their top-5 of Social Justice Agents and songs that conjure Black intimacy.Left of Black is a weekly Webcast hosted by Mark Anthony Neal and produced in collaboration with the John Hope Franklin Center at Duke University and in conjunction with the Center for Arts, Digital Culture & Entrepreneurship (CADCE).
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Episodes of Left of Black are also available for free download in @ iTunes U
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Follow Left of Black on Twitter: @LeftofBlack