‘The beauty in black existence is as real as the brutality, and the beauty prevents the brutality from having the final word. Black suffering needs radical and creative voices, prophetic advocates who can tell brutal and beautiful stories of how oppressed black people survived with a measure of dignity when they were not meant to. Who are we? Why are we here? And what must we do to achieve our full humanity in a world that denies it?’ (James H. Cone, The CROSS and the LYNCHING TREE, April 2017, Eighth Printing, Orbis Books, p.95).
In last weeks’ article, 14th March 2018, titled, Taking Command, I outlined how Black men being defined by non-Blacks, without an adequate response from us as Black men, limits us in multiple ways and paves the way for Black men to be treated accordingly without obstacle. I used some examples from Canada based on the research undertaken by Robyn Maynard (2017). Many other equally quality pieces of research could have been cited if space allowed. In today’s contribution I move geographic location to the United States of America to put flesh on the bones literally, of what James Cone cites, quoting Martin Luther King, is an elusive ‘something’ for Black people, that ‘I am tired of fighting for…that should have been mine at birth’. That something was being seen as a fellow human being worthy of value and respect. Not something to be earned, fought for, bargained, died for. It is timely to mention Martin Luther King (January 15, 1929-April 4th, 1968) in today’s article, as it is the anniversary of King’s assassination in Memphis on April 4th, 1968, in two weeks’ time. I also stated that at times our actions as Black men appear to support the oppressor’s racist perceptions of us as Black men and we need to identify that more clearly and address it.
The premeditated murder of Black people by White people knowing that they have acted with the implied and explicit consent and authority of the State, is nowhere more evident in the history of the United States of America, than during the ‘lynching era’, between1880 to 1940. Some 5,000 Black men, women (estimated 2 per cent of all those lynched), children and youth were set on fire whilst alive, hanged, shot, castrated, dismembered whilst still living and when dead and parts of their bodies distributed as ‘souvenirs’ to the assembled White throngs, raped, tortured, humiliated, physically destroyed. Executed in the full glare of the social media of the time, and authorised by those in power. Those who could have used their influence to condemn and change the conditions that created the ‘lynching era,’ reacted with shameless silence and inaction. Self-protection was foremost.
‘‘At bottom…Whites employed lynching to keep Blacks in their ‘place’ and, more specifically, as a way to control the Black labour force.’ (Walter White (Introduction by Kenneth Robert Janken), Rope and Faggot, A biography of Judge Lynch, 1929, Alfred A. Knopf, Inc; 2001, University of Notre Dame, p.x1)
As indicated earlier, although Black women were estimated as being some 2 per cent of all those lynched, Black women played a key role in resisting and refusing to pay homage to White declared supremacy. They suffered the same fate as Black men: ‘tortured, beaten and scarred, mutilated and hanged, burned and shot, tarred and feathered, stabbed and dragged, whipped and raped by angry White mobs’ (Cone, J. H. 2017, p.122). They were fundamental partners in fighting against racist tyranny and assumed leadership positions in resistance such as in the case of Ida B. Wells, born a slave (July 16, 1862-March 25, 1931), those women left to care for fatherless children when their fathers were summarily lynched, those women pulling families together in a corral against a torrent of assault, all were leaders of note and of central importance in the struggle of Blacks against almost insuperable odds, and most of whom are nameless and forgotten. Except those in our own immediate families, like my family on my father’s side in South Carolina, where the graves of my slave ancestors still lie in unmarked graves. The family know which relatives lie where, passed down from one generation to another. The family has not forgotten their struggles and their determination to pave a better tomorrow for their descendants. Their influence on us as descendants is still evident and should be.
‘While spectacle lynching was on the decline in the 1950’s, there were many legal lynching (s) as state and federal governments used the criminal justice system to intimidate, terrorize and murder Blacks.’ Even today, there are still episodes of lynching. ‘Whites could kill Blacks, knowing that a jury of their peers would free them but would convict and execute any Black who dared to challenge the White way of life. (Cone, J. H. (2017, p.31). This has also not changed. This was the Black experience…and still is.
One can understand perhaps then why Malcolm X (May 19, 1925-February 21, 1965) remarked in response to the ‘Dream’ declaration of Martin Luther King in 1963; that the Black experience then present and likely in the then forecast future, was far from a ‘dream’, more like a ‘nightmare’ (Amsterdam News, September 7, 1963, p. 6.)
What has happened in the past is never eclipsed. It is dormant. It surfaces particularly when similar incidents arise triggering recall. Forcing the past into the glare of the present, where there perhaps is less silence, greater backbone and a global environment that could be encouraging in positively addressing issues of Black oppression and potentially strengthening the resolve of social media of today to do so. Exposure to social media coverage of shootings for example of Black people can however have long-term mental health consequences for us as Black people. According to Monica Williams, clinical psychologist and Director of the Centre for Mental Health Disparities at the University of Louisville, ‘graphic videos combined with lived experiences of racism, can create severe psychological problems reminiscent of post traumatic stress syndrome…White people used to have picnics at hangings, bringing their children to watch Black bodies suffer and die. We are not far removed from that, it’s just being played out through technology now. And it hurts.’ (PBS News Hour, When Black Death goes viral…Kenya Downs, July 22, 2016)
Consequences of injuries attributed to racist actions are seen as long-term and cumulative. Racist incidents can be remembered for decades after the events-and indeed for a lifetime. Just beneath the surface of the lived lives of individuals of colour are such memories causing further injury particularly when they are not being addressed. Such harms related to being assaulted on racial grounds endured by individuals are often communicated and influential across networks of family and friends, even across communities. The impact on Black bodies of racism, are thereby transmitted across generations along with the methods used by Blacks to deal with that racism. The lesson here is that you do not need to have endured a racist assault on your integrity yourself to be harmed, witnessing such assaults on other Black bodies whether in person or through social media, can have the same impact (the work of Robert T. Carter is useful here, Teachers College, Columbia University, Racism and Psychological and Emotional Injury: Recognizing and Assessing Race-Based Traumatic Stress, The Counselling Psychologist, Vol. 35 No 1, January 2007 13-105.
DOI: 10.1177/0011000006292033)
Areas of similarity are now becoming clear in the experience of Black people in Canada and the United States of America. The histories are different; the individual experiences are unique to the context of the country identified. There are connections however in that the Black experience appears to be the same. Treated as non-human. Disposable: A piece of property to be used and disused at whim. Next week we move to our last geographic location in this four part series, the United Kingdom.
Bearing in mind our histories as Black men in Canada and the United States of America that I have attempted to show glimpses of, and the resistance of Black men to their assigned status, it becomes clear that our individual lives are not our own to do with as we please. We are connected as Black men to one another in a fundamental, umbilical way. This demands recognition that what we do individually has an impact on others who look like us. This insists upon each of us being aware of our individual actions and utterances and its possible impact on other Black men. Our relationship to White people, is also central, paved with shattered glass on which we tread bare foot as we warily forge a working alliance in the light of our joint histories: A work in progress.
I leave you with a short video on the impact on one Black man of the actions of other Black men, and you decide whether we owe each other some recognition of acting together positively in the light of our histories, to address our futures together. Some of us continue to provide support for racist supremacist perceptions and actions by our behaviour as Black men. That must not be sanctioned further by our apparent silence and inadequate responses. It is not the responsibility of someone else-anybody but us. We need to be at the fore. It has to be stopped. Our ancestors and histories of struggle and achievement are being affronted. They cannot rise from the grave to resume their battles against injustice. That is our responsibility now. Rise to the challenge.