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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 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!
The Ho Stro’ (A quick peek at a little sex work) #BlackAsiaWithLove
Sitting on the curb of a busy road along the railroad track.
Wearing a mini skirt with your legs spread, bent over
Scratching your wig with one of your long fire-engine red fingernails, while
Reaching in your purse for the matching lipstick.
It’s half past midnight, the night is young.
4 women on the Ho Stro’ between the railroad track, a busy road, and a giant city park.
Hoes stroll day and night.
I’ve been on my way to work, or
Watching the sunrise on my way home from clubbing,
Rain or shine,
These hoes are inline
Scattered along the railroad track facing the park,
Sometimes 1 by 1, sometimes in twos;
And an elderly woman within eyeshot.
I’ve seen a crack head or two, too,
Trying to push herself up to any mens passing by.
Crack or smack,
I’m not sure what these hoes do,
But I know it’s whack.
Frail, emaciated, veins popping and tattered.
They rarely cross the road and venture along the train track.
Over here it’s wide open,
The hoes along the track roam in packs…
Whereas the park side of the stroll provides the crack heads some cover.
For a while, I resisted knowing that these women were hoes.
But one evening,
A couple of hoes showed up at my favorite Beef Noodle joint as I sat for dinner.
All cheery and bubbly,
Dressed for a night out.
Greeting everyone that comes in as you do in your neighborhood joint*
One of the ladies came over towards me, all bubbly and cheery,
Stretched out and unfolded her hands as if she were about to offer me something,
Then jabbed her index finger in-and-out of… you get it.
Yes, THAT universal gesture,
Though it didn’t seem lude coming from her, over a bowl of Pho.
I politely declined, they placed their orders and sat down.
Hoes gotta eat, too.
In my after-dinner walks around the lake,
I have to watch out when I reach the long, straight, tree-lined stretch along the track.
There, there’s nothing but cars parked,
And tea stalls at both ends.
Hoes tend to congregate right in the middle.
No man gets by unsolicited.
It’s as if the bright fire-red were their signal.
Fire-engine red lipstick and false nails to match.
Sometimes a matching skirt, purse and shoes, too.
It’s loitering, but
Soliciting men, too.
The men know where to find them, these hoes are always there.
Street crawlers know where to find them.
Rush hour or late-night,
Early morning, and absolutely at high noon…
Women can’t loiter.
Just look at how we treat women who are not even in the trade.
Meanwhile, men and boys in most parts of the world can hang out anywhere, anytime.
Men are much freer at this level of corporeal control and bodily integrity –
In public and private space.
Although I’d argue that we teach boys to disintegrate into the night.
This is exactly the breach that’s reached here.
These hoes stroll.
There is a Ho Stro’ in every city I know!
Pimps, hookers, hoes, tricks, johns and everybody in between can see.
Who do the law-keepers claim are the criminals?
Hey mister, have you got a dime?
Mister: Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?
*I’ve only lived here a half a year, so I’m sure this is their hood; I’m new to the party.
NB: Ho Stro’ or whore stroll is an American southern vernacular term – the first term I learned as a kid – for a red-light district. PLEASE, do not look up Ho Stroll on YouTube but if you must this one from LA is HILARIOUS And please, seriously, don’t bother looking up words for the clients of female sex workers.
Surviving in a changing environment: the use of illicit drugs
Recent months have seen a rebirth in drug related news stories, often linked to the death of young people or babies or the dealing of drugs by youth and gangs. This led me to consider the place of drugs in British Society, not in terms of their distribution, production, cost, but the reasons why illicit drug use continues to be prominent in UK society. There is plenty of research on this topic and considerable political commentary on the problem, however is drug use really a problem or are we simply more aware of illicit drug use and more open to discussing it? There are certainly arguments for both sides but neither address the reason why drugs are in our society and this led me to consider the speculative argument that cocaine use is increasing, or at least shifting to a newer market.
Cocaine, historically the drug of choice for celebrities and the wealthy is now spreading across society to a wider social demographic by why? The main argument produced by the ACMD is that there is a two-tier market based on purity, the more pure and thus more expensive continues to be used by celebrities and the wealthy but a less pure, cheaper version is now available for those less affluent. I don’t doubt the validity of this argument but I think there is more to this than simply price and purity. Historically, drugs that are now illegal were widely available and staple part of people’s daily lives helping to mask the harshness of life or facilitate their functionality within working and social environments. Has much changed? The political drive to make us do more for less is certainly evident in modern society as is the harsh effects of poverty and deprivation, both of which can lead to drug use, albeit these once legal substances are now illegal.
In addition, developments in technology and globalisation have significantly increased the pace of life for most people; we work longer hours to survive or because it is demanded of us, we juggle more commitments than ever before, we are expected to absorb and process huge amounts of information instantaneously all of which has sped up our lives to the point of sensory overload but are our bodies and minds really designed to cope with this long-term? When I was at university I studied during the day and worked nights so the maximum amount of sleep I would get in any 24 hour period was about 4 hours and this was broken sleep, usually between 4pm and 8pm. At that time the drug of choice was pro plus and without it, I would not have been able to sustain this lifestyle for three years. I’d like to say this was just a small period in my life that such actions were needed to follow my dream but the reality is that as the work-life balance blurs and demands on our time increase, time to sleep erodes and our bodies are not designed to operate well on minimal sleep. This naturally leads to the inclusion of stimulants in our daily lives to help us to function, whether that be caffeine or cocaine is a personal choice but potentially a necessary evil if we wish to survive.
That is not say that I condone the use of illicit drugs but that does not mean that I can’t see the potential benefits of such substances. There are numerous documentaries highlighting the use of uppers to stay awake and downers to sleep amongst the celebrity population whose lifestyles can be chaotic. The question is, has this chaos now spread to wider society as the cost of living increases and the political momentum for us to ‘do more’ continues to grow? If it has, then illicit drugs will remain a staple part of societies coping mechanism, whether that be too dull the harshness of daily life or enable us to survive in a changing environment.
“Sticks and stones will break my bones, but names will never hurt me”
The academic year is almost over and it offers the time and space to think. It’s easy to become focused on what needs to be done – for staff; teaching and marking assessments, for students; studying and writing assessments – which leaves little time to stop and contemplate the bigger questions. But without contemplation, academic life becomes less vibrant and runs the risk of becoming procedural and task oriented, rather than the pursuit of knowledge. Reading becomes a chore instead of a pleasure, mindlessly trying to make sense of words, without actually taking time out to think what does this actually mean. We’re all guilty of trying to fill every minute with activity; some meaningful, some meaningless that we forget to stop, relax and let our minds wander. Similarly, writing becomes a barrier because we focus on doing rather than thinking. With this in mind what follows is not a reasoned academic argument but rather a stream of thought
As some of you will remember, a while ago Manos and I had a discussion around words in Criminology (Facebook Live: 24.10.16). In particular, whether words can, or should, be banned and if there is a way of reclaiming, or rehabilitating language. Differing views have emerged, with some strongly on the side of leaving words deemed offensive to die out, whilst others have argued for reclamation of the very same terms. Others still have argued for the reclamation of language, but only by those who the language was targeted toward.
All this talk made me think about the way we use language in crime and justice and the impact this has on the individuals involved. This can be seen in everyday life with the depiction of criminals and victims, the innocents and the guilty, recidivists and those deemed rehabilitated, but we rarely consider the long-lasting effects of these words on individuals.
The recent commemoration (27.07.17) of the fiftieth anniversary of the Sexual Offences Act 1967 brought some of these thoughts to the forefront of my mind. This legislation partially decriminalised sex between men (aged 21 or over) but only in private, meaning that homosexual relationship were confined and any public expression of affection was still liable to criminal prosecution. This anniversary, coming six months after the passing of “Turing’s Law” (officially, the Policing and Crime Act 2017) made me think about the way in which we recompense these men; historically identified as criminals but contemporaneously viewed in a very different light.
I view the gist of “Turing’s Law” as generally positive, offering the opportunity for both the living and dead, to clear their names and expunge their criminal records. After all it allows society to recognise the wrongs done in the name of the law to a not unsubstantial group of citizens. For me, where this legal righting of wrongs falls down, is in the wording. To offer someone a pardon suggests they are forgiven for their “sins” rather than acknowledging that the law (and society) got it wrong. It does not recognise the harm suffered by these men over the course of their lifetimes; a conviction for sexual offending cannot be shrugged off or easily explained away and leaves an indelible mark. Furthermore, whilst the dead are to be pardoned posthumously, the onus is on the men still living, to seek out their own disregard and pardon.