Thoughts from "African American Activism," part 3

Part Three!  Woo!

A few weeks ago, Rhodes graduate and current Vanderbilt PhD candidate Anthony Siracusa came to speak the rhetoric of violence within the framework of the history of Memphis.  Siracusa delivered a fascinating and thought provoking talk, covering just about everything during his 40+ minute overview.  One of the things from the evening that really stuck out to me was the way in which Anthony grounded his talk in a discussion of the Trans-Atlantic slave trade.  It seems that the best way to frame any exploration into the violent aspects of hegemonic whiteness, especially in the context of white policing of black bodies and criminalization, is with a dive into the history of the slave trade in North America.  It’s a linear presentation structure that works very well…back in March, author Timothy Tyson used a very similar approach to begin his talk on his recent book the blood of Emmett Till, and it was effective in that context as well.

                Another fascinating element of Siracusa’s talk was his use of the phrase “Politics of Being.”  This phrase wasn’t really fleshed out during the course of the night (I’m assuming I’ll just have to read one of Anthony’s books, which I’m sure are imminent), but I was fascinated with the way Siracusa linked the phrase to both the non-violent tactics of the civil rights era and also with the broad range of ideas that we have discussed in class that deal with the concept of prioritizing human space as not just survival but also activism.  This being said, I’m sure the “Politics of Being” has much more well defined parameters then the space I’ve carved out for it will allow, but nevertheless his use of the phrase certainly sparked my interest.  I’m excited to see where and how I encounter Siracusa’s work in the future.

Thoughts from "African American Activism," part 2

Part Two, featuring Chance, Acid Rapper, Soccer-Hackey-Sacker

Back in June of 2016, Chance the Rapper took part in a discussion at the University of Chicago entitled “the Art of Activism.”  The hour-long talk ranged across a number of topics including family, Chance’s relationship with the music industry, and religion, but ultimately, it centered around the intersection between art and activism, specifically, the relationship that rap and hip-hop artists maintain with activist traditions.  I’ve pulled a couple of clips from the talk that I felt were particularly relevant to our class discussions in the last few weeks.  The first clip centers around a concept that Chance references over and over during his talk, that of the “free artist,” and in the second, Chance breaks down the tension that exists between different schools of activist thought, a concept he sums up as the choice between “the mouth and the fist.”

"Free Artist" Clip

Use of the phrase “free artist,” is interesting for two reasons.  First, Chance is careful to place himself in the long lineage of black musicians who have fought to maintain control of their artist license, a decades-long fight for agency that ties in closely with the activist traditions we are looking at.  Secondly, I immediately related Chance’s term “free artist” to the idea raised in class last Thursday, “What does freedom mean?”  For Chance and other musicians who follow a similar vein of thought, freedom means control of one’s artistic process and product.  For others artists, freedom means the opportunity to chase a record deal, regardless of the circumstances.  I’m fascinated how this dynamic parallels the dynamic found between the different schools of thought within black activism around the turn of the century (Integration vs. Washington’s economic focus, etc.)

The Mouth and the Fist

Chance’s statement, that “there’s a lot of thought that goes into deciding…whether to be a mouth or a fist,” is really a great summation of the tension within 19^th century black activism between physical and intellectual resistance.  I noticed this tension most clearly while reading David Walker and the Nat Turner confession a few weeks back.  When I watched Chance’s talk, I immediately drew parallels between David Walker as “the mouth” and Nat Turner as “the fist.”  I can acknowledge that this is somewhat of a limiting comparison, but I’m struck by how relevant Chance’s phrase felt in relation to the tensions that we have explored in class discussions.

I’d encourage you to watch the whole clip if you’ve got some free time!

Thoughts from "African American Activism," part 1

This is a write-up I did last spring for one of my classes.  I think it's both interesting and of decent quality, so I thought I'd throw it out there.  It's about bikes n' stuff! Check it out!

I recently came across a 2013 interview on blackenterprise.com with Mikel Madison, the Atlanta-based owner of Fixie Bicycle Gallery.  Madison was born and raised on the west coast and moved to Georgia looking for freelance design work.  He noticed how many bicyclists lived and worked in the Edgewood neighborhood of Atlanta, and, decided to open a bicycle repair shop out of his loft as a sort of “side hustle”.  Using skills learned from his father, an electrician, Madison gradually widened the scope of his small business, expanding to a brick and mortar location in 2010.  He considers himself a “bike enthusiast” who caters to Atlanta’s growing “hip” population, a market that is growing as more and more young people in urban centers are beginning to view bicycle transportation as a viable option (ahem, Memphis, ahem).

                The interview focuses largely on how Madison navigates the mostly-white world of custom made bikes as a black business owner and bicycle enthusiast.  When reading the article, I expected both individual and systemic racism to be stated obstacles in Mikel’s story, and they were: he briefly mentioned racist encounters he has faced as a customer in other Atlanta bike shops, and also touched on what I’d call “white pricing” within the bike customization industry (essentially, pricing to the customer’s means and not to actual costs).  An element of racism that I wasn’t expecting to encounter in Mikel’s story, however, was the peculiar situation of wholesale bike-equipment distributers who were uneasy about partnering with an up-and-coming black entrepreneur until he had obtained a permanent storefront.  Some of this reluctance could have been tied to market dynamics, but one has to acknowledge that being shut out by wholesale distributers for that reason alone (and come on, how many small-industry, customization start-ups begin expansion having already secured a storefront??) probably has at least partially biased/racist roots.

                Another interesting point that comes up during the course of Mikel’s interview involves the complicated realities of gentrification.  When asked why he had chosen to open a storefront space on Edgewood Avenue, Mikel points out that the building’s two story, loft-above-store-below layout meant that he would only have to pay one rent instead of two.  He also describes how he set up shop in the area “before this area underwent it’s makeover.  There weren’t any cool restaurants or hangouts here…”  Later in the same line of thought, though, he makes clear that he identifies with the longstanding tradition of the black business owner who resists gentrification: “I’ve been trying to stay on this block because I think it’s important for something like this to be in this neighborhood. I think it is important for black business to be in this neighborhood, especially with Sweet Auburn being gentrified, I want to keep my little foothold in the community.”  These two quotes illustrate Fixie Bicycle Gallery’s duality; on the one hand, in 2010, FBG was a sleek, new, hip concept in the vanguard of Edgewood’s gentrification, while in 2013, it had become a stalwart black business that pays lip service (at the very minimum) to anti-gentrification rhetoric within Atlanta’s black business community.  Surviving the thin margins that define custom-build, hipster bike shops remains difficult enough without the aforementioned biases and racism that have shaped Fixie Bicycle’s development.  Nevertheless, Mikel Madison’s Fixie Bicycle Gallery keeps on rolling.