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For Tyre’s last Five badges. (spoken word)

The badges you wear were betrayed the very instant you flashed your sights on me.

You had nothing good in mind from the start.

I was doomed from the beginning.

By the time the brutality started,

The senselessness of it all kept my body numb to the assault.

“What did I do,” I keep asking, as

Your brutal blows, strongholds and punches bend my body into painful pretzels.

While y’all’ve got me firmly pressed against the pavement, y’all yell:

“Get on the ground.”

Pressed on the ground, I say disarmingly:

“You guys are really doing a lot right now.”

My calmness stands out against all your unwavering aggressions.

Yet, you continue to play the same game: “Get on the ground.”

Beneath the ground there is only hell, and yet

My face pressed against the gravel by your hooves feels like hell, right here, right now.

‘Watching the world wake up from history.

As if wielding your fists and batons, tasers and bullets don’t threaten me enough,

There are five of you, and

Each of you is massive.

Each of you …highly trained, experienced, and tremendously pumped up.

I am a little weasel sized up against any one of you, and

You are a mob of five.

Too weak to lift my own self, two officers hoisted me up by my limp arms, blood streaming from my head and outta ev’ry orifice, voice too weak to shout. I’m beaten badly, and yet you continue to brutalise me.

Manhandled.

I stumble up, firmly in your grasp, and all I do is plead, which gave enough time for another officer to grab a baton.

He quickly came back with the baton, screaming “give us your hands,” while the two officers still restrained me by these very same hands.

You continually scream “Stop resisting,” while

At least two if not three of you all strangling some part of my body.

The agony is immense.

You’re a pack on the hunt.

You chase me down, and

Torture and kick me more feverishly for running away.

I am in a battle for my life, you…

You are in a battle for your manhood.

“Bruh, you say, and words like these are the same words used to connect us to one another.

The words you use to abuse me could be endearing in another context.

Yet you have the nerve to call me “bruh,” and beat your brother to death.

‘I was alive and I waited, waited’

Waited for your humanity to show up,

Waited for justice to be served to me equally.

‘I was alive and I waited, waited,’ waited three days in the hospital…and

Neither justice nor your humanity ever showed up.

Saluting Our Sisters: A Reflection on the Living Ghost of the Past

Sarah Baartman. Image source: https://shorturl.at/avLO4

In the 20th century, many groups of people who had been overpowered, subdued, and suppressed by imperialist expansionist movements under arbitrary boundaries began challenging their subjugation. These emancipation struggles resulted in the emergence of quasi-independent, self-governed African nation-states. However, avaricious socio-economic opportunists were aided into political leadership and have continued to perpetuate imperial interests while crippling their own emerging nations. Decades later, it has become clear that these ‘new states’ have become shackled under the grips of strong and powerful men who lead a backward and dysfunctional system with the majority of people impoverished while they enervate justice and political institutions.

Prior to this, the numerous nation states now recognised as African states had developed their distinct social, political, and economic systems which emerged from and reflected their distinctive norms and cultural values. Barring communal disputes and conflicts, robust inter-communal associations, interaction, and commerce subsisted amongst the nations, and paced socio-economic developments were occurring until external incursions under different guises began. Notably, the tripartite monsters of transatlantic slave trade, pillage of natural resources, and colonisation which not only lasted for centuries, disrupted the steady pace and development of these nations. It destroyed all existing social fabric and capital of the people, and forcefully installed a religious, socio-political, and economic systems that are alien to the people.

Ironically, while the transatlantic slave trade and colonialism were perpetuated under the guise of a “civilizing mission,” it took over three centuries for the “civilised” to realise that these abhorrent incursions were far from being civilising, and that they themselves required the civilisation they purported to be administering. However, while one might imagine that this awareness would lead to remorse and guilt-tripped sincere repentance for the pillage, pain, and atrocities, the abolition and relinquishing of political power to natives, the following events symbolized the contrary. Neo-colonialism was born, and international systems and conglomerates have continued the pillage on different fronts as aided by the greedy political class. Thus, it is unsurprising that yet again, strong, and powerful men are revolting against and deposing the self-perpetuating, avaricious socio-economic opportunists who wield political power against the interests of their nations in series of military coup d’état.

It is clear that the legacy of exploitation and subjugation has brought about a new set of challenges. Leaders entrusted with the responsibility of fostering prosperity in their nations often succumbed to personal gain, perpetuating a cycle of exploitation reminiscent of the imperialist era. This grim reality creates a stark contrast: while the majority of citizens are trapped in poverty, a powerful minority wields disproportionate influence, eroding the foundations of justice, economic prosperity, and political stability. As a result, for the vulnerable, seeking safety, economic freedom, and escaping from dysfunctional systems through deadly and illegal migration to other parts of the world becomes the only viable option. However, unbeknownst to many, the lands they risk everything to reach are grappling with their own challenges, including issues of acceptance and association with once labelled ‘uncivilized’ peoples.

Black History Month sheds light on these challenges faced by the black community and other marginalized ethnic groups globally. This year, the theme ‘Saluting our Sisters’ invites us to reflect on the contributions of Black women to society and the challenges they continue to face. It is also important to reflect deeply on how we consciously or unconsciously perpetuate rather than disprove, discourage, and distance ourselves from sustaining and growing the living ghost of the past. As Chimamanda urges, perhaps considering a feminist perspective in our actions, practices, and behaviour can be a powerful step toward recognizing and acknowledging how we perpetuate these problems. Dear Sister, I admire and salute you for your resilience and tenacity in making the world a better place.

Is Criminology Up to Speed with AI Yet? 

On Tuesday, 20th June 2023, the Black Criminology Network (BCN) together with some Criminology colleagues were awarded the Culture, Heritage, and Environment Changemaker of the Year Award 2023. The University of Northampton Changemaker Awards is an event showcasing, recognising, and celebrating some of the key success and achievements of staff, students, graduates, and community initiatives. 

For this award, the BCN, and the team held webinars with a diverse audience from across the UK and beyond to mark the Black History Month. The webinars focused on issues around the ‘criminalisation of young Black males, the adultification of Black girls, and the role of the British Empire in the marking of Queen Elizabeth’s Jubilee.’. BCN was commended for ‘creating a rare and much needed learning community that allows people to engage in conversations, share perspectives, and contextualise experiences.’ I congratulate the team! 

The award of the BCN and Criminology colleagues reflects the effort and endeavour of Criminologists to better society. Although Criminology is considered a young discipline, the field and the criminal justice system has always demonstrated the capacity to make sense of criminogenic issues in society and theorise about the future of crime and its administration/management. Radical changes in crime administration and control have not only altered the pattern of some crime, but criminality and human behaviour under different situations and conditions. Little strides such as the installation and use of fingerprints, DNA banks, and CCTV cameras has significantly transformed the discussion about crime and crime control and administration. 

Criminologist have never been shy of reviewing, critiquing, recommending changes, and adapting to the ever changing and dynamic nature of crime and society. One of such changes has been the now widely available artificial intelligence (AI) tools. In my last blog, I highlighted the morality of using AI by both academics and students in the education sector. This is no longer a topic of debate, as both academics and students now use AI in more ways than not, be it in reading, writing, and formatting, referencing, research, or data analysis. Advance use of various types of AI has been ongoing, and academics are only waking up to the reality of language models such as Bing AI, Chat GPT, Google Bard. For me, the debate should now be on tailoring artificial intelligence into the curriculum, examining current uses, and advancing knowledge and understanding of usage trends. 

For CriminologistS, teaching, research, and scholarship on the current advances and application of AI in criminal justice administration should be prioritised. Key introductory criminological texts including some in press are yet to dedicate a chapter or more to emerging technologies, particularly, AI led policing and justice administration. Nonetheless, the use of AI powered tools, particularly algorithms to aid decision making by the police, parole, and in the courts is rather soaring, even if biased and not fool-proof. Research also seeks to achieve real-world application for AI supported ‘facial analysis for real-time profiling’ and usage such as for interviews at Airport entry points as an advanced polygraph. In 2022, AI led advances in the University of Chicago predicted with 90% accuracy, the occurrence of crime in eight cities in the US. Interestingly, the scholars involved noted a systemic bias in crime enforcement, an issue quite common in the UK. 

The use of AI and algorithms in criminal justice is a complex and controversial issue. There are many potential benefits to using AI, such as the ability to better predict crime, identify potential offenders, and make more informed decisions about sentencing. However, there are also concerns about the potential for AI to be biased or unfair, and to perpetuate systemic racism in the criminal justice system. It is important to carefully consider the ethical implications of using AI in criminal justice. Any AI-powered system must be transparent and accountable, and it must be designed to avoid bias. It is also important to ensure that AI is used in a way that does not disproportionately harm marginalized communities. The use of AI in criminal justice is still in its early stages, but it has the potential to revolutionize the way we think about crime and justice. With careful planning and implementation, AI can be used to make the criminal justice system fairer and more effective. 

AI has the potential to revolutionize the field of criminology, and criminologists need to be at the forefront of this revolution. Criminologists need to be prepared to use AI to better understand crime, to develop new crime prevention strategies, and to make more informed decisions about criminal justice. Efforts should be made to examine the current uses of AI in the field, address biases and limitations, and advance knowledge and understanding of usage trends. By integrating AI into the curriculum and fostering a critical understanding of its implications, Criminologists can better equip themselves and future generations with the necessary tools to navigate the complex landscape of crime and justice. This, in turn, will enable them to contribute to the development of ethical and effective AI-powered solutions for crime control and administration. 

Tyre Nichols’ last bird’s eye view.

[Spoken Word/Read aloud]

After my death, the New York Times reported that you all gave me “at least 71 commands.”

“Many were contradictory or impossible,” the Times tweeted.

In a mob frenzy throughout the whole ordeal, y’all kept shouting at me over each other.

When I couldn’t comply – and even when I did manage to obey– you…(SMH)

“Responded with escalating force.”

Hmph!

NYT’s tweet is cleverly crafted, with a photo – a bird’s eye view of us from the street camera.

There we see 4 of you hunched down on me, pressing my whole body against the ground.

The 5th thug is lunging toward me with a weapon.

After my death, I wonder how y’all will explain this footage

Knowing the nature of these viral tweets?

I’ve personally reposted too many posts of Black bodies in my exact position to count.

I know I didn’t have to do anything to get here,

Knowing this brings me no comfort in this moment.

All of your commands ignore my humanity.

I am powerless and yet you persist.

In the many video angles of your fatal attack, we all see that…

Each of you had so many chances to just stop!

I’ve always tried to make sense of such lethal violence.
I try to understand the who, what and why of your attack that led to my death.

You had me pinned and pressed to the ground when you kept barking:

“Get on the ground.”

When you kept yelling, one after the other, “Give me your hands,”

Two or three of you were already bending my arms backward and forward with force.

I contort myself and try to comply, yet

You keep screaming “Stop resisting,” meanwhile,

At the same time, two or three of you are manhandling some part of me, at all times.

At the end when you leaned my beaten-up, bleeding, limp body against your car,

One of you snaps-n-shares pictures of me with colleagues and friends.

He’s proud and reaching out to folks who’ll pat him on the back for his latest accomplishment.

During the whole attack, I notice this is the only time he’s cool. He smiles.

He’s clearly used to this exact same rush, this exact same thrill.

I’m more disappointed than angered by his grin.

Mine is an all-American honor killing –

Most just get shot, but many have been tortured just like me.

We see this is how too many of his brethren defend their shield.

Where was I to go?

Appeal to the other officers on the scene whose negligence is pristine?

I tried to run, you captured me, which provoked more torture; nowhere feels safe.

Why was I being terrorized?

And by you, who’ve pledged to protect us from (this) terrorism and (this) thug behavior.

What was I to do?

Flight, freeze or fight.

I am tiny compared to any one of you, y’alls combat training and y’alls five big bodies built-up for battle.

I am a fly; you act like lords.

“Bruh,” you call me, but there is no evidence of brotherliness here.

Or, does your fraternity honor and practice such sadomasochistic rituals?

I like skateboarding and photography, another magazine writes, trying to digest my senseless murder.

Yet the videos of me captured for the world to see are

“…absent all beauty and sterilized of hope.”

When would this end?

Would I have to die for you to stop.

How had I possibly provoked this attack?

Who was I to obey?

You? You’re no good, like Linda Ronstadt said:

You’re no good. You’re no good. Baby, you’re no gooooooood…..

You’re no good.

Or perhaps good in your god’s eyes?

Or, are you God?

No.

You’re not anybody’s God, but…

You play one out here on these streets.

Now, you’re playing my God… my life is keenly in your fists.

Yes! These unceasing murders that I’ve seen – not just mine now–

Is what makes this place hell on Earth in the here and now.

So perhaps y’all’re just agents of the devil,

A force unleashed from the depths upon these streets.

“Momma,” I cry out as loud as I can, and you continue to holler obscenities at me.

Momma used to say all people are fundamentally good,

But lately, I’ve felt fundamentally unsure, and now I’m convinced.

“I didn’t do anything,” I plea, rolling on the ground with my hands behind my back.

Y’all kick me.

“Mom,” I cry out again.

I will die here alone.

No mother should lose her child like this.

The agony inside now, as I call out to my momma, is not for her help,

But because I can already feel her pain once she hears how I’m dying.

Since momma fought for the public release of the videos of my attack,

My name is a hashtag and we have been written about a plenty.

“Every Black mother knows she is a split second,” one newspaper writes,

“… a quirk of chance, from joining a lineage of suffering that stretches back through Mamie Elizabeth Till-Mobley…”

When she saw y’all in court for my kidnapping, assault, oppression, and murder,

Momma said you didn’t even have the courage to look her in the face.

Cowards.

Momma said you’re gonna see her each time you are called to see the judge.

-END-

Photo:

NPR OBITUARIES: “Tyre Nichols loved skateboarding. That’s how his friends say they’ll remember him.”

The Color Purple, The Musical: What in the Misogynoir?!

The term misogynoir was first coined by Moya Bailey (2010) to describe the specific discrimination that Black women and girls experience through the combination of both anti-Blackness and misogyny, thus the term misogynoir.

TW: mentions of rape, child rape, racism, and misogynoir.

Alice Walker’s novel The Color Purple is a story loved around the world. So, when I saw that it was adapted to stage and touring the UK, my interest was peaked just enough to consider a visit to my local theatre the Royal & Derngate in Northampton. A Curve and Birmingham Hippodrome co-production, it came to Northampton in the first week of October. Largely, audiences that frequent my local theatre are overwhelmingly white – thus, watching The Color Purple it was a joy to my heart to hear Black people in my community engaging with the arts, because the last time I heard so many Black people attended, was for Our Lady of Kibeho as part of the R&D’s Made in Northampton season. This dates back to 2019, a production I reviewed for The Nenequirer showing that Northampton(shire) arts has work to do.

Social media platforms like Twitter and Instagram showed me the pretty unanimous positive praise for the Leicester-Birmingham co-production, while local critics also enjoyed it – including reviews from The Chronicle & Echo and The Nenequirer as well as further reviews by The Real Chris Sparkle and Northampton Town Centre BID. However, there were elements of the show that caused me great distress, no less than the perpetuation of misogynoir and racist stereotypes against Black men. It was deeply triggering, showing how historical trauma and vicarious trauma are ever present, including when white organisations have not done the work of protecting Black mental health when producing “Black-centred media.”

At the head of this cast, Me’sha Bryan gives a knockout performance as Celie (previous played by Whoopi Goldberg in the film) accompanied by Aaliya Zhané as Nettie, with Bree Smith as Shug Avery, and brilliant musical numbers grounded in the traditions of blues music that finds its origins in the trauma of enslaved Africans in the American South. They sang when “they got the blues” … and as far as performance and the commitment from the cast, I couldn’t ask for better.

However, whilst I have praised the musical numbers above, I did not believe it fitted with the tones of The Color Purple curating a rift between what the actors were saying and doing on stage, and the intonations of the music – as well as the lighting design. And despite the directorial position deciding the rape of a child wasn’t musical material (rightly so), the choice to have it as a passing detail with no further discussion, I found particularly off-key. This is one of the moments that highlights that The Color Purple may not have been musical material and better considered as a serious drama. I did not walk away feeling that bleak, much ado with contradictory lighting choices to character moods. The characters were feeling one away and lights did something else. By the by, rather than skip over the rape to maintain “the musicalness”, it may have been more effective to have done this story as a stage drama (with musical elements, if at all). The horrors depicted at the beginning of the novel are pretty nonexistent in musical.

So, this recent adaptation was a disappointment. Not from an acting point of view but behind-the-scenes pre-production elements like direction. The start of story includes a fourteen year-old who births two children after being raped by her father. So, the amount of trauma that exists around child sexual abuse and rape appear unconsidered when they glossed over these parts of the story. Furthermore, I do question if they consulted with any survivors when doing research for this adaptation. A ‘sensitivity consultant’ would not have gone amiss either, further to considerations of intersectionality and how cultural nuances in global, but still different Black communities, will be interpreted by white people, especially in provincial Little England.

Blown away by the musical abilities of the cast, stage productions (like much art) are often labelled as “escapist” so is not afforded the same criticality as for example – policing, education, sport and so on – we are all guilty of this and we can do better. This may be art; there were no redeeming Black characters, and Black men calling Black women “ugly” (written into the script) in full face of a white audience is cultural violence. In Northampton, the large white audience laughed at this example of ableist misogynoir, and in many ways this production felt to be played up for white audiences. Lots of white people are not used to seeing Black people as full human beings, and I do feel the play draws out our humanity. And by proxy centres white comfort with a Black aesthetic reinforced by white supremacy in media.

Disability justice activist Talia Lewis has released definitions of ableism every year since 2019. In January 2022, she discussed ableism as a violent social discourse that values people’s bodies and minds according to societally constructed ideas of “normalcy, productivity, desirability, intelligence, excellence and fitness …” Lewis (2022) states that these ideas are embedded in other violent discourses such as eugenics, capitalism, misogyny and white supremacy. The adaptation of these characters is only part of this debate, where another part may want to consider how this play has informed everpresent white superemacism pervasive across Northamptonnshire. It may impact how local white audiences may view Black people when they perceive that in this cultural text – ‘this is how Black people talk and act around each other.’

“This systemic oppression leads to people and society determining people’s value based on their culture, age, language, appearance, religion, birth or living place, “health/wellness”, and/or their ability to satisfactory re/produce, “excel” and “behave.” You do not have to be disabled to experience ableism.”

Talia Lewis (2022)

In Homegrown (hooks and Mesa-Bains, 2017), bell hooks tell us “We have to constantly critique imperialist white supremacist patriarchal culture because it is so normalized by mass media and rendered unproblematic. The products of mass media offer the tools of the new pedagogy.” Theatre is no different to films, literature or television programmes. Watching the musical, it struck me how the numbers of people who haven’t done the work of unlearning their own white supremacy would be impacted by such an adaptation (yes, as we know all humans can reproduce these isms but in a global western context, however, white supremacy has put white people on the top of that racial hierarchy).

One instance of misogynoir and ableism was underpinned by the three Black women singers (their character names escape me) who were written as Sassy Black Women inherently “comedifying” Black womanhood. Brilliant singers, but were written lazily reinforcing a damaging cultural media narrative that diminishes the three-dimensional personhoods of Black women. This was offered with no alternative. The Hypersexual Jezebel (named after the “sinful” Biblical character) appears in numbers of characters while Sofia was written as the Strong Black Woman. Black men were then written as violent, comedic relief, illiterate, and other harmful stereotypes, and domestic abuser Mr Albert is redeemed to the sound of musical harmonies and joyful lighting.

At a Northampton level, the critics from local media revisited a culture of uncritically discussing art. Stories aren’t just stories but a product of the society that created them, and we are a society that finds it easier to challenge the criminal justice system than it does liberal arts institutions, in spite of both having a say in how Black people are viewed and treated. Despite “Black theatre” not being genre, we need more shows at the Derngate that centre Blackness in Britain. And whilst commissioning and hosting shows about ‘Black issues’ is not evidence of an anti-racist commitment, it would be nice to see more shows locally about Black people in the UK by Black people.

When we do get “Black stories”, they so often centre the US, most recently The Color Purple (Oct, 2022) and Two Trains Running (Sept, 2019) – denying local audiences a context for Blackness within the United Kingdom, while recentring American Blacknesses is gaslighting through art. In November, Dreamgirls centring American Blackness is coming to the Derngate. A co-production between The Curve and the Birmingham Hippodrome, this adaptation of The Color Purple was deeply problematic on many levels that local white critics may not have picked up on because of their whiteness – drawn in by a spectacle of a “Black show”, viewed through a white gaze that is unused to talking about white supremacy as a political structure.

The white audience for these misogynoir tropes specifically – largely one of laughter – reminded me of the white gaze, with white laughter as eased white supremacy. Whiteness continues to pervade through ‘acceptable racism’ where serious digs made at Black people in-text laughed at by white people may show how white people may think about Black people in designated white spaces. A Black man seriously calling a Black woman ugly and a white audience laughing at that is incredibly revealing – a comfortableness in spaces coded as white … and how white people may act when thinking and talking about Black people in private (i.e in spaces coded as culturally white and desgined to their comfort).

“I grew up in a culture of bantering and, ngl, I love a caustic riposte. And while in certain ways I resent the current policing of language, there is a distinction. I hate to break it to you, but a “joke” in which the gag is that the person is black isn’t a joke, it’s just racism disguised as humor. A joke told to a white audience where the punch line is a racist stereotype isn’t a joke, again it’s just racism; if there is only one black person present, it’s also cowardly and it’s bullying. Jokes of this nature probably aren’t funny for black people.”

Emma Dabiri (2021: 98)

Art imitating life is one thing, but when life imitates art is another. White laughter at Black people in cultural media texts goes back to the days when blackface was on the BBC (until 1978). To see this platformed by a local arts institution then profiting from it, is revealing of how whiteness is performed and profited from, when white people think they’re not being watched. Creatives have a responsibility and so do those institutions that platform them.

Myself and fellow blogger @haleysread discuss this further in our prior entries about the scandal surrounding Jimmy Carr and Netflix. On that October evening, being one of the few Black people in the audience, it was incredibly uncomfortable. To consider art uncritically is to be entertained from a vantage point of privilege (or ignorance). Attending with my friend, to see unanimous positive feedback from the public made us feel a way, no less than from many Black people. We must always be critical; being critical is not the same as criticising, and those who are critical only take the time to be so because we care.

It is not about individual actors but about the lack of critique of institutional platforming in producing “art” that goes on to cause harm. Another fellow blogger Stephanie @svr2727 talked about misogynoir and the media in her recent webinar with the Criminology Team and Black Criminology Network. Violent mistakes in arts productions show a need not for more historical consultants, but sensitivity readers and empathy viewers. One cannot teach empathy, you either have it or you do not. Extending this gaze to screen media texts as well like Bridgerton and others, it is a further reminder that social scientists are needed at the very top of media … especially those of us that research about race, racism, and other forms of violence.

These cultural texts are rehearsed, edited, and considered by multiple hands before any public audience sees them. So, why are we still having to challenge? Simple: misogynoir, ableism, and whiteness are institutionalised and normalised socially and culturally into our day-to-day practice. No less than in “liberal” arts institutions.

“Nothing but a circus, with clowns and all.” – Malcolm X

Do You Remember the Time? At the Lynching Memorial

On September 11, 2021 I visited the Lynching Memorial, which is near the newly expanded Equal Justice Initiative Museum, From Enslavement to Mass Incarceration.

At the heart of the “National Memorial for Peace and Justice” (Lynching memorial) is a vast collection of giant, rusty metal, rectangular pillars, hanging tightly together like a neatly planned and well-looked-after orchard.

Etched in each are the names of (known) lynching victims by date.

We can see that, at times, entire families were lynched.

The pillars are hung so cleverly that one has to experience this artistic installation in person.

Nonetheless, the subject of white terrorism in the deep south is heavy,

Which is perhaps why Guests are invited to visit the nearby museum before the Memorial.

One needs time to prepare.

Naturally, sandwiched between enslavement and mass incarceration exhibits,

The museum also has an array of material on lynching.

This included a giant mural of jars surrounded by videos, infographic murals, maps and

An interactive register of every known lynching by county, date, state, and name.

I’m still stuck on the mural of snapshots of actual lynching advertisements, and

Pictures of actual news reports of victims’ final words.

These were the actual final words of folks etched forever in these hanging, rusty pillars.

Ostensibly, written by war correspondents.

Standing in awe of the museum’s wall of jars, I chatted with a tall Black man about my age.

He’d traveled here from a neighboring state with his teen son to, as he said,

“See how this stuff we go through today ain’t new.”

I recounted to him what a young man at the EJI memorial had showed me a few years ago:

A man’s name who’d been lynched early last century for selling loose cigarettes –

Just like Eric Garner!

Yet, even since then,

We’ve gotten the police murders of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor,

Or even Michael Brown, Walter Scott and Philando Castile.

Amadou Diallo was shot 19 times in 1999, standing on his own stoop

And while Jayland Walker got 46 bullets this year while fleeing on foot.

Tamir Rice!

Tamir Rice was a little boy.

A little boy playing in the park. But his mere presence terrified a white man.

So he called 9-1-1 and the police showed up and shot Tamir within seconds!

We can watch the tape.

All of these martyrs are included in the museum’s growing timelines (sigh).

After their own legal work in representing the wrongfully imprisoned for damn near life,

EJI began collecting jars of dirt near every known lynching, and

If invited by local officials, EJI would offer a memorial plaque and ceremony commemorating that community’s recognition of historic injustice(s).

An open field sits next to the suspended pillars, filled with a duplicate of each pillar.

These duplicates sit, having yet to be collected and properly dedicated by each county.

These communities are denied healing, and we know wounds fester.

The field of lame duplicates effectively memorializes the festering denial in our body politic.

There are far too many unrecorded victims and versions of white mob violence, and intimidation, not just barbarous torture and heinous murder.

Outside of these few sorts of memorials,

We do have to wonder how else this rich history has stayed in our collective memories.

Too many Black families were too traumatized to talk and didn’t want to pass it to their kids.

We know many fled after any minor incursion,

Just as someone had advised Emmet Till to do,

And there’s no accounting for them and the victims’ families who fled and

Even hid or discarded any news clippings they’d seen of the events.

Yet, whites must have kept record.

Did whites collect the newspaper ads or reports of a lynching they’d attended or hoped to?

They made and sold lynching postcards, curios, and other odd lynching souvenirs.

Where are the avid collectors?

Plus, apparently, terrorists don’t just kidnap and hang someone to death,

So what did they do with all the ears, noses, fingers, and genitals they cut off?

Or eyes they plucked out?

Or scalps they shaved?

Many victims pass out from the immense pain of being tortured and burned alive, but still

I doubt all those pieces and parts got thrown in the fire, because, of course,

Plenty of pictures show entire white families there to celebrate the lynching like (a) V-day.

And in many ways, it was, and

The whites looked as if they would’ve wanted to remember.

Looks can be deceiving, but the ways whites were also bullied into compliance is real.

Still, my mother swears that some white families’ heirlooms must include

Prized, preserved pieces of Nat Turner.

Ooh, wouldn’t that be a treasure that would be.

Plus, given the spate and state of anti-Black policing and violence,

Our democracy, nay, our Constitution itself, is as rusty as these pillars.

The pillars resting in the field remind us not only the work left to do, but also, it’s urgency.

How many more pillars may we still need?

How many amendments did will freedom take?

It goes to show how great thou art now!

See: Slave Ads at the EJI Museum

No ways tired: Miss Lillie, arrested with Mrs. Parks.

12 September 2021

Visit to the Equal Justice Initiative Museum, From Enslavement to Mass Incarceration.

Near the end of the EJI’s newly expanded museum, there is a wall of slightly larger than life-size mugshots of folks arrested alongside Mrs. Rosa Parks in just another local act of civil disobedience. I’ve rarely seen a more earnest collection of everyday people, not unlike the folks around me as I get to know Montgomery today.

Mugshots.

Men in suits, ladies sporting pretty hats in their Sunday best.

Farmers in overalls and working women in neat dresses.

Learned-looking men with glasses, and fancy tiepins.

Young men in sleek fedoras and two or three older men in derbies.

Another man wears a skullcap.

Meaningful women and men of age, of reconstruction age, whom we imagine had by then seen every intimate and public side of Jim and Jane Crows’ wickedness.

They were representin’.

The only thing they seem to have in common is their determination.

(Sigh).

I found myself face-to-face and fixated with

Miss Lillie Bell Robinson.

She sat,

Framed,

With her arms,

Crossed.

Double-crossed.

With her head,

Tilted,

With her expression, tired, but

Also, a particular squint in her eye – or perhaps a gleam – that betrays her obvious fatigue,

As if saying: “No ways tired.”

I moan in tune, and

This somehow keeps my knees from buckling under the weight of it all, since

The preceding exhibits have already taken us along a long timeline where

Every glimpse of justice gets trampled upon –

Again, and again.

I sigh and see why they are tired.

On that day, did Miss Lillie know that much more violence, much more real intensified violence was yet to come?

This was the mid-50’s, and

Could Miss Lillie have imagined that:

Just 5-6 years later,

Freedom Riders from the north would arrive around the corner,

Riding federally desegregated, public coaches, and

The same local sheriffs would stand by, and

Let them get beaten, assaulted, brutally, and

Battered by white-hot mobs –

Only to arrest the so-called outside agitators?

Probably all of you, Miss Lillie, were battered by many of the same hands, and

Abandoned by many of the same actors of local justice.

I estimate Miss Lillie to be my grandparents’ age, and

By that day, they’d already fled and made their way to Kentucky.

I am wondering where Miss Lillie is now – right now?

(I take a deep sigh and realize that I’ve not yet reached the mass incarceration part of the museum, and ultimately just skimmed on by.

Graciously, the final exhibit is a “Recovery room,” a hall of walls of portraits,

which we might also call “mugshots,”

As each face had all, actively, over centuries,

Activated against oppression.

I recognized writers, musicians, poets, painters, politicians, preachers, teachers, activists of all flavors, and

After the weight of the truth shown in each timeframe, this left me feeling full of joy.

And, I moaned along with the tunes, there, too.

That day,

She’d had had enough, and

Though reluctant before,

Somehow now,

Miss Lillie could no longer stand by, and

Just wait for justice, and

Just go on about her own merry way, and

Pretend like this is ok, and

Adjust to the insanity of segregation, and

The very look on her face said this is “why we can’t wait.”

Her face calm, but

Twisted.

The mug shot ID, hanging around her neck like a shackle: #7010.

Business as usual, and for sure somebody’s gettin’ paid.

So, she not knowing.

She, not knowing if this all will work.

If getting arrested today mattered.

If any of this is worth it.

If this time change is coming,

having nothing left but Faith…

in herself, in others, and

Somehow faith in her nation… to do the right thing,

Despite this day, and

In spite of the many apparent setbacks, and

A million everyday,

Tiny little cuts.

We rise.

That day, Miss Lillie rose to the occasion.

She and all these others stepped up so we could step out, and

Step in here now,

Free to learn about each step along our legacy of peace.

I’m now in awe of Miss Lillie, and

Take a step back and

Smile at her, and

Take in the glory of this sensation.

Hats off to you, Miss Lillie.

Sculpture at EJI’s Lynching Memorial

Days to mark on our calendar!

It is common practice to have a day in the year to commemorate something.  In fact, we have months that seemed to be themed with specific events.  I look at the diary at the days/months which are full of causes, some incredibly important, others commemorating and then there are those more trivial.  Days in a year to make a mark to remind us of things.  An anniversary of events that brings something back to a collective consciousness.  Once the day/month is over, we busily prepare for the next event, month and somehow between the months and days, I cannot help but wonder; what is left after the day/month? 

When International Women’s Day was originally established, at the beginning of the 20th century, socialism was a driving political movement and women’s suffrage was one of the main social issues; since then other issues have been added whilst the main issue of equality remains on the cards.  Has women’s movement advanced through the commemoration of International Women’s Day?  Debatable if it had an impact.  Originally the day was a call for strikes and the mobilisation of women workers. Today it is a day in the calendar that allows politicians to utter platitudes about how important the day is, and of course how much we respect and love women these days!  It is hardly a representation of what it was or set out to be.  Like so many, numerous other events are marked on our calendar, but wehave lost sight of what they were originally set out to be. 

Consider the importance of a day to commemorate the Nazi Holocaust.  Never again!  The promise that such a mass crime should never happen; the recognition that genocide has no place in our respective societies.  Since that genocide, numerous others have taken place, not to mention the mass murder, violent relocations, and the massacres and ethnic cleanings that have happened since.  Somehow the “never again”, to people in Biafra, East Timor, Rwanda, Darfur, former Yugoslavia, Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, Libya, and many other places simply sounds ironic!  We commemorate the day, but we do not honour the spirit of that day. 

In this mixture of days and months we also have days for mothers, fathers, lovers, friends, hugs, happiness, and many other national and international events.  To commemorate or to offer a moment of reflection.  Somehow the reflection is lost and for some of these days, millions of people are required to purchase something to demonstrate that they care or worst still, to make something!  How many mothers worldwide have had to admire badly made pottery or badly drawn cards from kids who wanted to say “I love you” on one specific day.  Leaves me to wonder what they would want to say on all other days! 

So, is it better to forget them? Get rid of these days and if anyone suggests the creation of another, we feed them to crocodiles?  It would have been easy from one point to end them all.  Social issues are never easily resolved so we can recognise that a day or a month does not resolve them!  It raises awareness but it’s not the solution.  In the old days when the Olympics started there was a call for truce.  They did not allow for the games to take place whilst a war was happening.  Tokenism? Perhaps, but also the recognition that for events to have any credibility they need to go beyond words; they must have actions associated with them.  What if those actions go further than the day/month of the commemoration?  Imagine if we respect and honour women, not only on IWD but every day, imagine if we treat people with the respect, they deserve beyond BHM, LGBTQ+ months?  Maybe it is difficult but if we recognise it to be right, we ought to try.  We know that the Holocaust was a bad thing so lets not just remember it…lets avoid it from happening …Never again! 

Calling All Dads: Girls Girls Girls wanted. #SpokenWord

Calling all dads.

Reward for the first hundred daughters!

Calling all dads, Magic City Club is recruiting!  

Magic city is the most elite strip joint in the world,

Any dad should be proud to have his daughter work for us!

We value our customers and want to give YOU the chance to shape Magic City Club’s future.

So we’re recruiting.

PLEASE send your daughters in right away.

We need your girls, girls, girls.

The most beautiful daughters in the world, we ask all dads to send them now.

You’re our valued-customers so you know MCC is about quality!

Send them in to Magic City Club, by express, in a rush, by plane or by bus!

Hurry, hurry, hurry we need girls – quick – these polls aren’t going to oil them selves. 

We don’t care how you get these girls here we need strippers now!

Now we know this is a difficult task,

So we are offering a reward for the first hundred daughters!

The first hundred days to send in their daughters will get a lifetime ticket! 

A lifetime supply of girls swinging on poles, every dad’s dream. 

So send in your daughters, and the first hundred new donors receive a lifetime supply of free entry to any of our prestigious establishments around the world for you and a party of 10 men. 

Imagine how your career will explore when you bring your colleagues on an annual, all-expense-paid trip to Magic city, and enjoy some other men’s daughters swinging from the polls. Swish. Slide. Spin, Twirl. And flap, flat on the ground, she’s in a split!

Dads, you will not be missed on any neighbor’s Christmas list when you invite the dads from your hood right on down to Magic City. 

Don’t miss Father’s Day. Each year, Luxury Life Liquors sponsors our special Father’s Day event and fills pool on stage with whiskey. Watch these girls swim like mermaids. After the show, you know MC doesn’t waste good liquor.

Magic City.

It’s magic.

And somebody’s daughter has got to do it, has got to swing from these polls!

 Act now, send in yours! Send in your daughters right away. 

As our valued customer, you know Magic City Club has a ‘don’t ask don’t tell’ policy for the backrooms, so: Employer shall be not liable for sexual harassment, STD’s, or in any way held responsible for unwanted pregnancies.

We provide the costumes; daughters must provide their own contraception.

Yours truly,

The management

*P.S. Magic City Club is not affiliated with that MC strip joint all the rappers rap about.

At The Mouth of ‘Bloody Sunday’ #Travel #Prose #History

At the Mouth of Bloody Sunday

I know the one thing we did right, was the day we started to fight. Keep your eyes on the prize…hold on. Hold on.

Bloody Sunday in Selma only highlighted the bloody Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays that Black people in America have faced from the first time we laid eyes on these shores. It took people to gather and protest to change. In December ’64, the good Rev. Dr. King was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for this movement. That spring in Selma, people marched across a bridge in order to highlight the normal voter suppression practices still happening throughout the south – and still in 2021. 

“If you can’t vote, you ain’t free. If you ain’t free, well then you a slave.” –Intro interview to Eyes on the Prize part 6/8.

According to the National Park Service, who oversees the important civic monument now:

“On “Bloody Sunday,” March 7, 1965, some 600 civil rights marchers headed east out of Selma on U.S. Route 80. They got only as far as the Edmund Pettus Bridge six blocks away, where state and local lawmen attacked them with billy clubs and tear gas and drove them back into Selma.” 

From my 7th grade social studies class circa ‘87, I would also add: The good white citizens of Selma gathered at the mouth of the bridge for the spectacle, to witness or probably participate in the oppression. We see them in the footage, films, pictures and media coverage of the events, and we know many are likely still alive. Black-n-white news footage of the days leading to Bloody Sunday show the sheriff and his angry henchmen prodding people with their clubs, plenty of ‘regular’ people watching in joy.

The people prodded? Well-dressed and behaved Black citizens of Selma and activists who’d come to support them. According to the footage, white citizens came out in droves for what they knew would be a bloody suppression of simple voting rights. As spectators, their presence made the massacre spectacular.

Selfie @ the Mouth of the Bridge, Sept ’21

I’ve visited the National Voter Rights Museum and Institute at the mouth of the bridge, and there they have an actual jar of jellybeans used to test Black people coming to sign up to vote at the local government office. Yes, sitting behind that booth was a white man who demanded that a black person – any citizen of the darker complexion – accurately guess the number of jellybeans in a jar in order to be allowed – in order for him to allow them – to register to vote. I feel like I have to repeat that, or say it in different ways because it is so unbelievable.

This September, I visited a museum at the edge of the Edmund Pettus bridge in Selma, Alabama, on the way to Montgomery, the state capital. This historical museum marks local efforts to contest voter restriction practices. These practices were heinous in tone and texture, yet creative and cringe-worthy in nurture and nature. For example, consider the ingenious of these jellybean-counting white men in DC who created the separate-n-unequal space to inspire a variety of voter suppression taxes, tests and clauses throughout the south. It is these sorts of mad men who make decisions that impact the entire world as we have come to know and understand it now. 

Yes, it is these sorts of men who send politicians to the state houses, and sent/send senators to Washington DC, to cajole politicians of every hue to compromise on their values. Now, we also know they send mobs to storm the capitol on the very day all the legislators gather to confirm the election results.

I know the one thing we did right, was the day we started to fight. Keep your eyes on the prize…hold on. Hold on.

The jar of jellybeans at the National Voter Rights Museum and Institute, Selma, Al. Sept ’21

Imagine yourself standing there in a museum, looking at a shelf, and there is a jar of jellybeans. There’s nothing spectacular about the jar, nor its contents. For any of us have seen something like this in virtually any kitchen, or supermarket. My granny grew, harvested and canned vegetables, so growing up I got to handle many mason jars first hand. 

In fact, I love jellybeans. I used to visit the gourmet jellybeans shop in the mall after school when I was a kid. You could pick out any flavour that you liked, and I always went for blueberry, and cherry. I loved the contrast between the royal blue and Corvette red. It is a childhood fascination that my dentists still adore me for to this day. Naturally, these gourmet jellybeans were a little more expensive than the ones you get in the supermarkets, but I liked to save my money and treat myself sometimes. Plus, it felt very special being able to pick out the ones you like, and not have to discard the disgusting ones – who ever thought licorice or cola belonged on a jelly bean!?! 

As a candy, jellybeans are so visually enticing. As you enter the shop, the walls are covered from floor to ceiling with all sorts of bright neon colors. Every shade of the rainbow grabs your eyes, calls to you. Between stacks of plastic bags and scoops, you are awed by the massive jars of each individual jellybean color ready for you to pick-and-mix. There are also tables with stacks of both empty and pre-filled jars. There are jars of all sizes filled with colorful patterns of jellybeans with matching ribbons tied in bows around the lids. Of course, the entire shop smells like fruit, all kinds of fruits, sweet, succulent fruits that you cannot even imagine. You are the customer, you are king. By virtue of entering the fancy shop, this is your kingdom.

Now take all of that and put it in a jar. To get to this jar, you have to enter an official government building in the town center. Next to the entrance stands an armed, uniformed white man who gives you a disgruntled look as you enter, signaling that he’s not there for your safety but aggravation. Now, as you approach, you see the jar, sitting on a counter, and behind it sits another white man. Try to imagine this white man, probably with a gun next to him or somewhere nearby, with nothing better to do than to threaten your life. Because the town is so small, he knows your last name, and may know of your family. 

Since this is a small town, he knows your employer, he knows where you live as you’ve just written this down. He may even know your family, as the local history is so insidious, his family may have even owned or overseen yours at one time. Or, at that very moment, you or a family member may work for him or his kin. Your kids might play together. You may have played with him as a kid when, for example, your mother was his nanny (read-and-said-in-the-south: Mammy). Yet now, here in a free democracy, it is his job to register citizens to vote. 

It is his prerogative, the birthright of this individual, plain (white) man on the other side of the glass to demand that you count the number of jellybeans in the goddamn jar. It is a privilege that no one anywhere near here has ever questioned. So, with a smile, he plops a big red “DENIED” stamp on your registration form. Of course yo’cain’t! A “killing rage” surges. Be glad you don’t have a gun with you.