On the 50th anniversary of the assassination of the activist, orator and the man once referred to in eulogy by the late Ossie Davis as “Our Shining Black Prince,” El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz (most commonly known as Malcolm X), I quite foolishly decide to wade into that whole X-Men analogy thingy. Of course I’ve been warned. Of course I know better. But since when has that stopped me? So then, let’s do this thing.
This year after a 4am breakfast party, a night of Dimanche Gras and knowing we have to be on the road to meet our band at 10:00am for Monday mas, we didn’t go into town for Jouvert. Instead, we stayed in Chaguanas–where my father grew up. Liming with my cousin Freddy from the early morning, we made it out to see masses of people (one set ah people!) wining, flinging mud and paint, drinking rum & Stag, and jumping up with the big trucks that rumbled down the main road. Jouvert may not be as big in Chaguanas as it is in Port-of-Spain, but for many it’s enough. Thought this might be a good time to re-post last year’s blog on the early morning festivities and its origin. So if yuh don’t know…
*photo taken this morning, somewhere in Chaguanas.
On Feb. 8 1915, D.W. Griffith’s Birth of a Nation premiered in American theaters. The film depicted the Civil War, its aftermath and Reconstruction. Though billed as “history” by its director, Birth of a Nation instead offered up an alternate past. In this retelling of historical events, Reconstruction was discriminatory towards whites, African-Americans were oppressive tyrants; and the film’s heroes were the Ku Klux Klan, chivalrous protectors of civilization and white womanhood. This was a purely speculative tale, but one that was supported by popular racial ideologies, Southern nostalgia, academic schools of thought, and even the writings of a U.S. president. Hailed as a “masterpiece,” Birth of a Nation revolutionized film making as we know it. For white America, it offered a chance at reconciliation between a white North and a white South. For African-Americans everywhere, however, it was a terrorizing mythology, that posed existential dangers if not confronted directly.
It’s that time of year again, Black History Month. Beginning every February in the United States, the country sets aside 28 (or 29 in a leap year) days to celebrate, discuss and engage Black History. Innocuous enough. And yet what seems to happen every Feb. 1st, is the beginning of a 28-days long ritual of whining (how come they get their own month?), misconceptions and endless micro-aggressive racial faux-pas. And this isn’t just from the usual sky boxes of white privilege; there are black people (some of them noteworthy) who wade into…well…the stupid. So here are a few tips to better understand the month, both for those who have to endure the stupid and for those who might be enticed to engage in the stupid.
This is just an updated list from an identical post I did last year. But guess what? It never gets old because the stupid never changes.