Thank You to Vaughn!

When it comes to classrooms, it feels like I have seen it all in these past 20 years.  I did student teaching in a third grade classroom in South Central Los Angeles, moved to a junior high school in the Bronx, then high school, then college teaching.  I have been to more funerals than I care to count, prayed with and for ex-convicts to find a way out, watched over small children while single mothers took care of business, worked with public safety to protect female students from physically abusive male partners (who have been known to come to campus to look for their ex-girlfriends/wives), helped students fight racist teachers, helped gay students fight homophobic campuses, helped parolees check(-in with) parole officers, fed/transported students who had no way there.  You name it, I have seen it.  It’s the nature of what it means to commit to working class/working poor communities in one of the central racist institutions that holds them hostage: SCHOOL.  The college classrooms that I have taught in are not that much different than that first junior high school where I taught in the poorest congressional school district in the country.

The statistics tell us that 1 in every 4 or 5 female students in college  (depending on which stats you look at) have been raped.  I don’t need them stats though: I can attest to that number via the conversations I have had with female students in every college classroom I have taught in.  The only thing that really connects all of these experiences and classrooms is the TOTAL incongruence between who these students are and how they get depicted— whether that be so-called “educational research” or scholarship or media depictions.  In media, they are savages who cannot control themselves.  In scholarship, they are hopeless remedial readers and writers in need of a paternalistic white savior (or, the distant cousin— the pied-piper of color) who has studied all of the right strategies (we might want to START wondering how any graduate program/college can prepare you to teach the communities that they are NOT enrolling or really employing as faculty).  For those who are privileged, these students are just authorized to be self-hating, anti-Ebonics, and anti-black since those things get anointed as post-racial or non-essentialist.  In everyday parlance, we imagine these students to be so hopelessly bamboozled by mass culture (often called “popular culture” by post-modernists) that they do  not know they are being robbed of time, money, spirit, and sanity.

The one thing I can count on is that I can’t count on media or academia to speak to, for, or about the people who I have had the opportunity to call my students.  It’s an important reminder that can shake me loose when my mind gets stuck on stupid.  Thank you to Vaughn Ephraim who shook me loose in this moment. Vaughn sent me the following video, “NA-TU-RAL” by  Qu’ality that he thought I might enjoy.

Qu'ality

Qu’ality

He was right.  Vaughn’s message when he sent me the video was equally deep for me.  Here is part of that message about why he knows, values, and listens to Qu’ality:

The song is called “Na-tu-ral” and it features shots of young ladies with all different kinds of natural hair styles. It is put together very well and I think it’s important to acknowledge black men who promote and acknowledge and love the beauty in black women. He is in within my age group, which is another important factor as it shows our generation is not fully tainted or corrupted with the vile and chauvinistic conditioning of white male western dominance which is simply below sub-par.

I agree with Vaughn.  Vaughn’s sentiments as well as what we see and hear in Qu’ality’s video are not what we often see and hear about young black men and women today.  Thank you, Vaughn!  Keep on pushin!  I am learning from you.

African Women’s Fashion Design as Rhetoric and Inspiration

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The bangles, the earrings, the intricate patterns, the textile expertise, the brilliant pops of color as THE accessory, the bold color all over and all around, the depth of brown skin tones spanning all shades, the beads encased on long necks, the necklaces draped over the shoulder or all the way down to the stomach, and then, for a grand finale, an African female designer in a self-designed African print dress takes a bow… I love all of it. I am talking here about African women designers of contemporary African fashions.

It is NOT my intent here to showcase new clothes to buy. The slideshow that opens this post (featuring some of my favorite designers) is not a shopping list. Many of these designers do sell their fashions at their websites and can be commissioned to create something for you from one of their collections. Their prices are much more reasonable, respectful, and human— in terms of human labor, skill, and textile design— than what you will see during any visit to a NYC Bloomingdale’s or Saks, neither of which are places where I ever shop.  I am interested in much more than fashion for purchase, however, when I follow contemporary African women designers.  Their work and presence are much bigger than that.  As of now, they are not so fully commodified as to represent the kind of fashion cartel like what we get with Prada and the likes.  When DBU showcased her amazing jewelry at 2011 Africa Fashion Week, the impact was not represented by exotic gems stolen from Africa (since colonialism, the utterance conflict-free diamonds, for instance, is simply an oxymoron… there can be NO such thing as a CONFLICT-FREE natural resource if it is taken from Africa.)  For DBU, it was the color, craftmanship, originality, ingenuity, and stunning impact of her jewelry that carried the day.  I would wear each item, exactly as she has them layered and paired, wearing all black clothing just so you can see the jewelry better just as she has it here:

We live in a world of colors and patterns that communicate their own histories, desires, and visions and these women designers give me a world that I like to look at and be part of.  When I watch the bodies adorned in sequin patterns in the designs of someone like Eredappa (shown below), I am as drawn to what she is communicating as I am to the graphic techniques of Mickalene Thomas with her works’ rhinestones and intricate patterns. That Eredappa attempts to mesh beadwork alongside local, Nigerian fabrics to make multidimensional design seems well aligned with how Thomas also constructs her visual world.

I especially like to follow youtube-channelers who create their own movies of the African designers that move them.  In close second to that preference are the runway shows that the designers themselves plan and execute, brilliantly showcased in the United States with Africa Fashion Week.  In both of these visual contexts, what you see are multimedia-writers telling us a story… designing us a story.  At the 2011 Africa Fashion week, Korto Momolu (fondly remembered for her time on Project Runway) especially captured design-as-its-own-story with her 2011 collection that tells the story of women’s survival during war using her home country of Liberia as muse:

Each piece in Momolu’s runway exhibit tells its own story and each piece works in specific relation to the previous and following outfits: it is the most visually rich kind of chapter-building that I can imagine.

I like to follow these designers and look at what they are up to.  They inspire me to create anew, to be bold and imaginative, to not tone myself down in a suffocating world of beige, and to rely on my own local languages and cultural expressions for contemporary structures.  This is how I plan to inspire and charge my summer.

Phyllis Hyman: Backtight Again!

Phyllis Hyman - Living All Alone86I started listening to Phyllis Hyman back in high school, the time when her album, Living All Alone, dropped.  She was a mainstay in my college years and was the first artist where I took my collection of cassette tapes and converted them all to CD (my cassette ribbons were all chewed up with how much I rewound and played those cassettes).  I’m not sure what drew me to her: maybe it was just that bold spirit, her flare for style that was out of this world, that big voice, them cusswords she laced so lovely, her ability to drink her a glass of some strong stuff when she needed it, the trash-talking and the overwhelming hospitality at the same time.  I admired all of it but somehow I knew she was unhappy, which drew me to her more, a sentiment I could understand. I just thought she would maintain. I was hoping.

At 45 years old, on June 30, 1995, Phyllis Hyman committed suicide.  Her suicide note read this: “I’m tired. I’m tired…” I have not been able to listen to a single song by her since then.  I just couldn’t.  It’s been a long 18 years with NOT A SINGLE PHYLLIS HYMAN SONG.

But, on this day, I am listening to Phyllis Hyman again, not any album, only live performances.  I need her live today.

Phyllis_HymanI woke up at 4am to prepare for the day’s work, a day that will have me on campus until at least 9-10pm (and I am just not someone who can handle this 3 hours of sleep per night thing!).   Since arriving to work at 8:30, the only moments of real joy that I imagine that I will have are when my undergraduate students stop by to say hello and pick up their anthologies.  At 4am, that’s how I knew this day would be and for some reason, I just wanted to hear Phyllis Hyman’s voice, as if I thought she could get me through and would understand.  I suppose I am reaching the end of this set of growing pains as a post-tenure professor pushing myself to put myself in situations where I am only doing the kind of work I truly believe in.  Before tenure, it was all about that get-that-tenure-grind, now it’s more about me …and what and who can intellectually, politically, and socially sustain me.  That said, I still needed to get through this day, a day that won’t actually approximate that previous sentence.

So today, I am backtight with Phyllis (for the Ebonically-challenged: that means a longlast reunion with a old, deep soulfriend).  I still miss her deeply but today, she has felt a little closer again and has gotten me through the day.

Impact of Aja Monet: “Is That All You Got”

Last week in class, we finished unit six.  In that unit, I asked students to hear, see, and draw a line of connection between black women in 1970s Black Power Struggles, Black Arts Movement, and contemporary spoken word artists.  I received an email one night from one of my beloved students, Karina, who asked that I include what she saw as one of Aja Monet’s most impactful poem, “Is That All You Got?,” in the list of Monet poems that I offered.  Here is that poem:

I was actually introduced to Aja Monet, the youngest national poetry slam winner, through my students, not through New York City’s poetry events.  I can honestly say that I have never had a class of young people where someone did not know Monet’s work and this spans quite a few years of my teaching now.  I am only now realizing that Aja Monet ‘s words and visions visit my classroom in each semester that I teach undergraduates.  It speaks to me about what Monet is speaking to these young black men and women.  In fact, Karina’s one request as a high school graduation gift was Monet’s book of poetry, a book I have now added to my own shelves. There are certainly a set of go-to essays and other texts that re-circulate back into my classroom and I know now to add Monet’s poetry to this set.

I have listened to this poem over and over this weekend, hoping to hear my students better.  Mainly what I hear now is that they have been through some things, are looking back on it, and are seeing just how and why they are going to make it through because as Monet puts it: “Is that all you got? What the f**k is you broken for?” It’s a reminder that I am also thankful for.