Header Image - The Worlds of Ntozake Shange

Hossain

The Fire Within the Poet

Shange’s poem “Hijo de Las Americas” is a call to collectivity and communion amongst those people who have been affected by English and American imperialism. It is also a call to protecting Black and Brown intellectual thought, which imperialism tries so hard to dismantle and destroy. A poet’s power lies in one’s way to reach the heart with words. to bring commonality and experience across bodies and minds. A poet’s mind, specifically one writing with the consciousness of liberation and collective struggle, is boundless. And this limitless is a threat to imperialism, which is met with violence. In Shange’s poem, Carlos reads the poems which survive the ruins of imperialist wars. He reads them, and his body feels the hurt which pervades the violence against free Black thought. Shange writes:

“carlos reads the poems he can/the rest

were burned by friends/when the security police

la guardia nacional/came looking for a free black

mind/burned poems cannot return/we

must

fix carlito’s leg/he must be able to stand up/…”

Carlos reads what’s left but the injuries of the war, both physical and mental, leave him impaired, searching for something. He reads these poems and awaits to pen his own, “poet[ing] his black black language.” However, Shange notes the importance of collectivity here, denoting that “we” as a community must help Carlos stand up. We must help him be free for him to create in spite of this constant violence and destruction imposed on the world he lives in. Violence against

intellects of color is not something new in the US. It is a systematic cycle of oppression and violence against “free Black minds.” An example which came

to mind as I was reading this was “Fire!!: A Quarterly Devoted to Younger Negro Artists”,

which was published during the Harlem Renaissance. Zora Neale Hurston, Gwendolyn Bennet, and Langston Hughes were among some of the creative intellectuals who founded and contributed to this magazine. It was dedicated to being a form of Black creative consumption for Black folk and other people it appealed to. Some of the writings within the magazine were odes to women and sexuality, along with poems reveling in queer love and liberation. However, the systematic violence against people of color in publishing always existed. To my knowledge, it is unknown who committed the atrocity, but the Fire!! printing press was burned to the ground shortly after they began circulating. After the loss incurred from that, the writers discontinued the magazine and existing copies are extremely rare to come by today. I think it is poignant to note the stark commonality between the past and present of Black poetry. While Shange uses burned poems as a metaphor for the stifling of free thought and exchanges of livelihood between people of color in imperialist nations, the Fire!! printing was literally burned down for being a threat to white life during the Harlem Renaissance. Shange poses a break to this system of destruction by reminding communities to band together and help one another make sense of the world, when colonialism tries to take that away from people.

To end my post, I will attach the foreword of the Fire!! magazine. While contextually, it serves as an explanation of where the quarterly name comes from, I think it also speaks to what Shange writes about in her poem. She writes about the burning of poems, one of the many fires, which torches black freedom.Fire is power and fire is pain. However, fire is also that which burns within a poet and within a soul; to keep going and to keep fighting.

Women of Color Feminisms: Unseen Digitized Labor and Activism

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I found Cassius Adair and Lisa Nakamura’s piece, “The Digital Afterlives of This Bridge Called My Back: Women of Color Feminism, Digital Labor, and Networked Pedagogy” to be incredibly thought provoking. For one, it made me realize I never really stopped to consider legal “fair use” laws, the labor theft of women of color, and internet consumption in the same vein, before this class. It made me contextualize my social media content consumption, along with giving me hope for how these platforms can be used in the future.

Kitchen Table Press was badass. Sorry if that kind of language is prohibited, but not that sorry. These women (pictured below) founded their own publishing press to protect their intellectual theories, ideations, and stories. It was an invention of survival and struggle. These Black and Brown women participated in the creation of a safe space for the longevity of their geniuses. Adair and Nakamura write, “by reflecting, writing, and speaking about the struggles of producing and circulation This Bridge, the members of Kitchen Table Press aligned their emotional, intellectual, and distribution activities as labor” (265). These women fought for their own structure of publishing and reclaimed the metaphysical, mental, and emotional labor, along with the academic production of their own works.

screengrab of @wellreadblkgirl's tweet of this image.

“It was published by Kitchen Table: Women of Color Press (Barbara Smith, Audre Lorde, Cherrie Moraga, Beverly Smith, & Hattie Gosset) in ’83).

The image I have inserted above of Barbara Smith, Audre Lorde, Cherrie Moraga, Beverly Smith, & Hattie Gosset is a widely circulated image that pops up, if you Google, “kitchen table press.” However, I use this screen grab intentionally. This picture was tweeted by the Twitter account @wellreadblkgirl. I had no idea this page existed. I attached a link attached to the image below, which describes the bio of the page, if folks want to check it out. The bio reads, “Well-Read Black Girl: Book club turned literary festival…Finding Our Stories, Discovering Ourselves.” I include this and point out that this account tweeted the image of the Kitchen Table Press because I feel like it’s a perfect example of the coincidence of This Bridge and digital consumption and activism. Black women and other women of color can utilize platforms to bend to their principles and lived experiences detailed in these scholarly works, while educating and sharing with the masses. It also allows for younger women to be empowered by these examples and to see issues surrounding race, gender, sexuality and other intersections of identity to be topics which they can theorize and discuss as well. These kinds of accounts and platforms dismantle the monolith of academia. However, Twitter is another coroporate conglomerate which stands to gain compensation, as opposed to the individual. I wonder what alternative, non-corporate platforms of sharing these kinds of thoughts can be imagined to look like.

While this is a much more complicated issue of the violent history of uncompensated labor and practice against women of color, this kind of knowledge dissemination and creation of networks allows for a new understanding of how education like third world feminisms can reach the “global cultural flow,” as anthropologist Arjun Appadurai calls it. I remember learning about his theory of “technoscapes” in one of my anthropology classes., where he uses it to describe and understand the global economic and cultural flow through different disseminations of knowledge. His term is one in which the increasing speed and advancement of technology can help understand the “increasingly complex relationships between money flows, political possibilities, and the availability of both low and highly-skilled labor” (Appadurai, 298). This can help us better understand how Adair and Nakamura characterize the “Internet [as] animated by cultural and technical labour” structures (263). This is not just a phenomenon limited to America or women of color feminists within the States. The Internet is just a paradoxical example of simultaneous (in)/visibility of the theft of labor and labor divisions created for people of color across the world.

However, as I end my post of rambles, I wonder if a hegemonic Black feminist and third world feminist discourse can be created with the Internet. Edward Said’s Orientialism relies on European hegemony being consolidated through the constant circulation of Western scholarly discourse. Taking “technoscapes” into consideration, a Black/women of color feminism hegemony is not impossible with the use of social media. I use the word hegemony because my vocabulary currently lacks the vernacular to describe a dominant society based on the principles of revolution and freedom. While I understand this issue is way more nuanced than the points I offer, I wonder and yearn to be part of that kind of world. If only…

Healing Justice: Feeling Shange

Yesterday, October 1st, 2019, was one of the most unique experiences of my life. It is still hard to put it in to words, what I felt in Barnard’s James Room last night, but it was Shange. Is that possible? To use her name as an adjective? It was Shange. Healing Justice, in a way, is Shange and her work. That’s quite some pressure to put on a singular woman, though, but she is Shange. Last night, Ebony Noelle Golden described her as a “firestar” and a firestar, she is. Last night, the James Room was decolonized for two and a half hours. I was lucky enough to be in that room last night, where we were all invited to participate in ceremony, veneration, and prostration to Shange. I know myself to be a monotheist, but Shange is not short of a goddess. Perhaps, in some way, her spirit last night, was sharing energies with Sechita, and her ephemeral presence was felt. I was in a meditative state. I keep thinking zen, but that’s not the right word. It was meditative, perhaps, even religious. I am a person that believes in the exchange of energies, but is often skeptical of spirits. Perhaps it is my own fear? But yesterday, I spoke to Shange. I felt her there, and I was unafraid. My mind was white matter, white light, blank, and present. She granted me that gift–to be present. I felt myself, a different part of me wake up- Samaha Hossain.

I’m posting this almost a whole month after attending the healing justice event. I often write when I feel moved and I wrote that quickly one afternoon when I felt compelled to put my thoughts and feelings on paper. I made the decision to publish the unedited and unfiltered version of my thoughts about the Healing Justice event. I am inspired by Shange and her philosophy of dismantling and using the oppressive English language in ways that work best for our tongues and our bodies. The thoughts are above are my own, untouched by the conventions of academic expectations and without the pressure of explaining my feelings and consciousness to make sense to another. In essence, that night and being surrounded by Shange and her works granted me this feeling of entitlement and empowerment over my intellectual property. I have to say, there’s something quite satisfying about seeing your name follow a quote, it feels right.

As I conclude this post, I felt a lot that night. And something I have come to realize is that words won’t do it justice. It was an embodied and internalized experience. But it was one that made me think. It made me reach out to my mentors and loved ones who have supported me throughout my time at Barnard and reminded me to show them more love. It made me reconnect with my faith and want to explore different sects. We ended the ceremony that night in communal song. I remember swaying my body, closing my eyes, and basking in my presence of mind. But healing and song reminded me of the Sufi sect of Islam, which is different from what I practice. Sufism is the sect more involved with mysticism and music in prayer; the whirling dervishes of Turkey may be a popular representation of this. I bring this up because a Sufi song kept coming to mind as I sat through the ceremony. Kun Faya Kun is a Sufi song that was popularized by a Bollywood movie. I have attached the link below so that folks may listen, if they have the time. Kun Faya Kun translated from Arabic to English, means, “to be.” It means to exist and manifest oneself in the world as a being as per Allah’s will. To me, it also means to be present and conscious of your existence and the might of the universe, which I think fit perfectly with what I was feeling at the healing justice event.

As I stood in the shower that night, I put my phone by the window. I turned my volume on high, and hit play on Kun Faya Kun. I closed my eyes and swayed once more as the steam and droplets of water took over my body and filled my air with song and life. White light, blank space, my natural high. I felt it once more. I felt her and Him and myself.

Simply, I was.

My Take “On National Culture”- Samaha Blogpost One

“On National Culture” 

“The native intellectual nevertheless sooner or later will realize that

you do not

Shaheed Minar in Bangladesh erected in honor of the Language Movement

show proof of your nation from its culture, 

but that you substantiate its existence

in the fight, which the people wage,

against the forces, of occupation.

No colonial system draws its justification from the fact that the territories are

culturally non-existent.

You will never make colonialism blush

for shame, by spreading out little-known cultural treasures, under its eyes.

 

what he [the native intellectual] ultimately intends to embrace are

in fact, the castoffs of thought,

Women resisting during the Bengali Liberation War in 1971

its shells, 

and corpses, a knowledge

which has been stabilized once and for

all.

 

he must go

on until he has found the seething pot–

of which the learning of,

the future will emerge” 

(Fanon, 223 and 225).

For this week’s blog post, I chose Frantz Fanon’s piece, “On National Culture.” It stood out to me because it seemed to have a lot in tandem with what Shange was writing about in “my pen is a machete.” Throughout her piece, she was writing to dismantle the oppressive imposition of the English language unto Black people and those oppressed within the United States, which was evident in the way she chose to spell her words and use breaks that felt familiar to her. Fanon had similar feelings as he continually expressed his discontent with colonial efforts to erase national identities. He suggests that the cultural identity of a nation emerges after its liberation. From my understanding, he poses liberation as distancing one’s  identity from European hegemonic entanglement. He also suggests that searching for an identity solely connected with one’s ancestry and past, may leave one feeling unfulfilled in the present. Thus, he suggests that breaking free from these binary thoughts may foster a new national and cultural identity.

The excerpt I chose to rearrange into a poem delineates these three phases that he speaks in a beautiful way, while depicting the struggle and the extent needed to combat the oppression of not just the English language and art, but European impositions upon colonized people. I inserted a picture of Bangladeshi women carrying guns and protesting during the Bengali Liberation War in 1971. This example resonates with me and this post because it exemplifies radical protest and revolution against the colonial Pakistani rule during that time. I think that it also connects back to Shange’s readings for this week because the liberation war grew out of the Bengali language movement, during which, Bengalis fought for their mother tongue, under Pakistani rule. Thus, all of these moments in history coincide in the way that they struggle and radicalize around an identity and against an oppressive, often, colonial force. This is meaningful to me because as someone non-white born in America and having never visited my mother country, I sometimes debate the politics of  my belonging in the U.S. I think Shange’s rearrangement and ownership of the English language to serve her work is radical and inspiring, and it is a direction towards continuing decolonial projects. Her pen is her machete, and I await to find my own.