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The Worlds of Ntozake ShangeAND DIGITAL STORYTELLING

My Take “On National Culture”- Samaha Blogpost One

by Hossain 1 Comment

“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.

an impossible knot

by Ortiz 1 Comment

My mother, pregnant with me in El Salto, a waterfall in Azua, Dominican Republic.

My mother, pregnant with me.

To be a daughter is to be inextricably intertwined with one’s mother, as explained by Adrienne Rich in “Of Woman Born,”. As I read through Rich’s logic of the all too complicated phenomenon that is the mother-daughter relationship, I came to understand my own relationship with my mother. Of course, there is only so much that can be taken from a text written by a woman whose relationship with her mother is not complicated by race or class. But nevertheless, I found myself thinking of the adolescent rage that inhabited my body as I thought of my mother. My mother is a woman born in the Dominican Republic, and having been dispossessed of her own mother as a child, she drew all of her energy into her relationship with her own children. My mother experienced the essential female tragedy, as described by Rich (237) and as a result, she nurtured us and provided a fierce, tender form of love that allowed us, allowed me to unashamedly desire this complete return to the mother. And yet, I experienced a similar distancing from the being that I am unavoidably tied to. 

I used to blame my mother for forcing me to stand in front of a sink and do dishes. She was unaware that the alienation from my brothers and what was expected of me made me believe I was somehow inferior, as if it to say that I was born with the purpose to serve. I hated her as she stood idly while I suffered the consequences of a rigid, patriarchal society that began in the confines of my home. And while I had not been introduced to the concept of feminism until my adolescence, I recognized the pillars of inequality, and saw her as the vessel of it. Yet, I did not understand the plight of motherhood. I did not understand the ways that my mother, too, had fallen victim to a system that rendered her a vehicle for oppression to her own daughter. I look at these images of my mother, pregnant with me, and understand Adrienne Rich as she describes the physical ties that envelop the mother and daughter. I rejected my own desire to return to my mother, but I imagine myself, enveloped in a warm, amniotic fluid that only meant to nourish me. I imagine myself, a mother to a daughter, whose own relationship to her mother is violently disrupted by her death. To make sense of my own plights, I needed to understand my mother’s, and the way she was limited, not only by the harsh expectations of a “male-controlled world,” but her inability to return to her own mother, aside from vignettes stored in her memory. I am still learning from her, of her, about her, and in doing so, I further tie myself to her. Yet, I don’t mind this impossible knot we’re creating.  

 

A Mother’s Dream – Charista Blogpost #1

by Charista 1 Comment

As I was reading through Adrienne Rich’s Of Woman Born: Reflections on Motherhood as Experience and Institution, these lines struck me.  I rearranged the lines so the reader can take pauses after each line and so the words look more alive, almost like they’re floating in the air. It reminded me of my own personal experiences with my mother and how she raised me. I am the eldest of three daughters born to an immigrant mother, who arrived here from the opposite side of the world with my grandparents and her two sisters to seek the American dream.

Working double and triple jobs in menial labor despite college degrees in their native land, my grandparents instilled the virtues of education to their children –all three ultimately earning doctorate degrees, including my mother. The adults in my life inspire me. I model my courage, ambition, and kindness after them. My mother is the bravest, strongest, and most hardworking woman I know. She raised my sisters and I with values that prioritize family and education to ensure our lives would be different than her childhood growing up.

She always puts her children first, even still to this day. My mother constantly tells us to live freely and follow our dreams so we can live the lives we want, the lives she always dreamt we’d have. My mother means everything to me. I’d be lost without her and all of her guidance and love. I often reflect on my life and how grateful I am to have such a strong, independent woman as my mother who inspires me to pursue my passions with the mindset that anything is possible.

 

where/when – event post

by Elizabeth 1 Comment

“We have been here since the beginning of time, just saying. We are also immigrants.”

During a slideshow presentation filled with pictures of her family, Cherríe Moraga made this comment during her event at Barnard this past Friday. It was a clear reference to her own Mexican-American heritage being attacked and demonized by the right and in particular, this country’s current president. To Moraga and millions like her, this is home and has been for generations. This made the audience laugh, but for me it prompted a series of questions- where and when am I from?

The first part is easy. I (and like Moraga says, when she says ‘I,’ she means “we”) am from Georgia, and my family has been in the same general areas of Georgia and South Carolina for as long we can remember. I have what has been created for me here- soul-stirring Black southern gospel services, lingering memories of formerly segregated restaurants and movie theaters, “white sounding” names, and a history and culture so rich that it is hidden and obscured by all who do not want me to understand or  remember. This is where I am/we are from.

For Moraga, the beginning was her ancestors moving across the border to Southern California. For me, there was the first slave ship 400 years ago that carried 20 people that may or may not be my great-great-great-great-something. Unlike Moraga, I do not know exactly who the first ones were in my family. So, her statement seems to hold even more true for me/us. We were brought here at the beginning of this country’s colonization, the slave trade, the occupation of indigenous bodies and land, the construction of what America has become today. We have been here since the beginning of time. We are also immigrants.

Work That Sees – Makeen Blog Post #1

by Zachery 1 Comment

Reading Ntozake Shange’s work for this class was far different from a typical experience of completing homework. I began reading “getting to where I haveta be / the nature of collaboration in recent works” from Lost In Language and Sound. I approached this piece as I would any typical reading assignment: pen in hand, notebook opened, and ready to take traditionally detailed notes. I started noting general patterns, listing quotes and overarching themes as I felt I had been trained to do. However, as I progressed, I realized that this writing was far different than anything I had been trained to read. Despite its being different than anything I had previously encountered, the writing still bought a feeling of comfort over me. I had to abandon what I thought was the proper  way to proceed and begin to to analyze and understand in a different manner.  The themes that I had been taught to diligently search for began to emerge on their own, they were themes that I felt were my own. 

 

I began writing down individual words that struck me as profound. I did this in each of the poems in Lost In Language and Sound. I did the same as I read through Jessica Hagedorn’s Beauty and Danger and even as I watched “Her Pen is a Machete: The Art of Ntozake Shange” and “A Conversation with Ntozake Shange and Dianne McIntyre.” A number of thoughts jumped out to me but what rested with me most was the concept of community and collectivity that Shange achieved in her creations. One of the people featured in “Her Pen is a Machete” identified that what makes Ntozake’s work distinct is that “anyone could play that part,” specifically in reference to the wide spread re-production of For Colored Girls. For some reason these words are the ones that helped me to identify just what it was that set Shange’s work so beautifully far apart from those that I most frequently encounter in higher education. It was this exact collectivity that made me identify the themes within her works as my own.

 

Within this theme of collectivity, fall other themes of tradition, ritual and even generational elements of healing that felt oh so familiar. Questions arose for me, specifically in reference to her relationship with her mother grandmother and daughter. What I found most interesting was that in A Daughter’s Georgraphy, Shange spoke of her uncertainty in teaching her baby about the devastations that “this place” ie. this world will bring to her daughter. Yet, Lost In Language and Sound, Shange so wonderfully detailed the exact ways in which her grandmother and mother demonstrated freedom for her. I found this rift to be so odd––  who better to teach coming generations how to be free than Ntozake Shange? Alas, even this demonstration of vulnerability was comforting, to know that these fears arise even within the “best” of us.

Motherhood in Correspondence

by Breana Beaudreault 1 Comment

My favorite finds in the archives that have been related to my project have taken me in directions that I was not initially planning on exploring. Although I recognize that the undercurrent of my projects on forms of care and spirituality will tie in themes of familial relationships and motherhood specifically, I think Zake’s letters pushed me to explore this facet more. In one folder alone, I was able to find three separate letters from Ntozake to her mother that gave a really crucial insight to the way their relationship has grown and changed over time. In the same way, letters that her daughter has written to her grandmother and the way Zake engages her daughter in her letter illuminates that relationship, which shows the lineage and texture of these relationships in the way Ntozake does through her characters. In the first letter I read, which was the one that really drew me to my topic to begin with, was this really magnetic letter she wrote to her parents in October of ’86, discussing some time she spent in a mental hospital (or, the “crazy house” as she calls it) and reassuring her parents of her renewed stability. Here, the letter feels a bit distant as it’s s quite short, which felt to me like the equivalent of a phone call with your parents at home where you try to decide how much to tell them, how much you can let them into your life without worrying them or yourself. Her sense of humor about the whole situation is both introspective and eloquent, as she jokes with her parents “you see, wonders never cease—you get better & stay crazy…”. Almost five years later, you see that this distance has created tension, as she writes a letter to her mother about a time that Zake had stayed with her for a few days and evidently was causing some drama. She writes to apologize (again) for her behavior, which shows equally the strain on the relationship and the investment she has in making it work anyways. Even further down the line, Zake sends a letter to her mother begging her not to reveal Savannah’s true father to her when they visit, showing that she has allowed her mother in her life in some capacity and is trusting her with very sensitive information. A few years after that, there were some documents that suggested that her mother Eloise was trying to help support her financially after she seemed to have filed for bankruptcy and written some checks with insufficient funds. The documents were addressed to her mother and not Zake though they were about Zake’s finances, which suggested to me that her mother just decided to take over or Zake asked for her help. Perhaps this is a sign of progress, or just tracing the ups and downs of that relationship and Zake’s struggles in general, but the pieces that I got helped me to thread a timeline of their relationship a bit better. Savannah’s correspondence with her grandmother shows another relationship entirely, one simply of love in her youth, and her handwriting and style reminded me a bit of Zake. This female lineage traced through correspondence shows the ways that motherhood changes and adapts with both mother and child, and the way that both learn to show love in the ways they know how. It also emphasized this ancestral sisterhood, this hope to never forget that there were so many women who came before.

 

 

Scan 1: letter after stay in mental hospital.

Scan 2: letter from Zake to her mother apologizing for her behavior.

 

 

Scan 3. a card from Savannah to her grandmother. noted: emphasis on this one. reminded me of the title for colored girls.

what’s in a name?

by Onyekachi Iwu 1 Comment

If you were to ask me to list all of the things I identify as — “black”, “woman”, “queer”, “writer”, etc., I think the word “feminist” would follow sometime after the word “tall”. “Feminist” is not an identifier I readily think of as something that defines me. This is not because I don’t believe in a movement that combats the subjugation and devaluing of women globally. Or because I’m not forced to face the devaluing of my own womanhood on a daily basis. I don’t even think it’s because of the history of feminism as a movement that centers the issues of middle-class straight white women, although that may be a contributing factor.

I think my disconnect from the word “feminism” is that it feels like it forces a singularity. I am “woman and”, rather than both of my identities of blackness and womanhood existing simultaneously. I think in a way, I have “chosen” blackness. This is because when I am around black people, I am black and a woman. When I step outside of my community, I feel like I have to choose. In the eyes of “women of color” I am a woman. In front of “white women”, I am black. It is only in black spaces that I feel like both of these identities can inform and live together, especially in the presence of other black women.  I identify more with the idea that I am a black person who is a woman, than a woman who is black.

That being said, I don’t see blackness as something above my womanhood. The spaces I seek out and participate in are those that center black womanhood. The relationships with women I prioritize are with other black women and femmes, not black men. If I were to identify as something relating to radical work to uplift women, I would identify as a “womanist”, like Alice Walker. In her words explaining womanism, she states that a womanist is someone who is: “A woman who loves other women, sexually and/or nonsexually. Appreciates and prefers women’s culture, women’s emotional flexibility … and women’s strength. … Committed to survival and wholeness of entire people”. Like Walker, I believe in black women’s, and women of color’s, socialization of being a site of care and healing as possessing profound tools to heal the world and ourselves.This is what i would also use for the radical women of the 1970s/80s.

Even so, I feel like my activism is something I live, not something I necessarily have to name. In that, I would identify as a black woman who prioritizes the healing and care of other black women. I don’t find that the naming of “feminism” makes others more visible to me. Instead, it makes those who carry the values and beliefs I do about radical healing invisible to me. The word “Feminist” groups us all together, making it unclear what we all stand for.

 

What’s in a name?

by Breana Beaudreault 0 Comments

Feminist politics are most certainly a part of my worldview, but I don’t think I have ever called into question the fact that I never use modifiers when I discuss the type of feminism I practice. I think that when the term first came into my consciousness, I was in a very white environment, and because of that, I don’t think they put much thought into modifying the term to what they identify as or believe. These women, I believe, knew that If they were to have to put modifiers on their feminism, they would have to be honest with themselves and recognize their feminism as white. Because of its introduction to me as a more generic, all encompassing umbrella, the concept itself became really nebulous, and I struggled to understand why the women I was surrounded by were so outspoken about women-specific issues, but when students of color or queer students spoke up about microaggressions that made them uncomfortable, they were silent and therefore complicit. Even in spaces for women of color, discussing our solidarity and ways that we could care for and protect each other, these never took place in the framework of feminism or empowerment, but rather basic survival. This is a place where the concept of feminism could have been really driven home for the women who could have used that transformative power in empowerment to push past survival and towards active resistance.  In taking some space from that specific environment and being asked to seriously call into question my sense of morality in another academic setting, it has always felt like a more distant and sterile discussion, a theoretical discussion about very real problems. Although the emphasis on intersectionality has shown me that there are so many ways to identify and do radical work for those communities, I have always struggled in picking one term as I always have felt in-between. Being biracial is an identity I have known and loved since birth, something that my parents always told me to be proud of. Although the duality of identities has provided me with many perspectives and experiences, there is a sense of discomfort in both predominantly white and exclusively black spaces between my peers and I. Even within my black identity, I have always felt the need to choose between identifying as black, which is how society will visually code my mother and I, and being Latina, especially one that was not raised speaking Spanish.  The identifier of afro-latinx was one that I was completely unfamiliar with until I got to college, and the wide acceptance and use of the term showed me that there was a community of people that look like me, and might have some similar experiences.

 

When I discuss radical feminists in the 70s and 80s specifically, I aim to be as specific with my language as the women who I reference have asked me to. How these groups individually are called and what they call themselves is constantly evolving as our vocabulary and understanding around feminism expands and deepens. However, I think that at the heart of it, women within marginalized groups recognize the reality of the multiple oppressions they face, they recognize that their feminism must be intersectional to be feminism at all. Co-liberation is the kind of framework that intersectionality pushes us toward. I think the specificity of Third World or transnational feminisms can be, as I touched on in my presentation, tremendously empowering and clarifies specific membership and focuses. However, even though those two alone share many similarities, there were clear feelings of division on ideas like nationhood and borders. Therefore, I think intersectional feminism is the best catch-all phrase, but the narrower the identities that one can discern for themselves, the easier it is to find those with similar backgrounds, experiences, visions of liberation, and define oneself against generic feminisms like the second wave feminists of the 70s and the white feminists of present day.

Traditions Feed the Soul

by Perry O'Parsons 2 Comments

The first chapter of If I Can Cook/ You Know God Can gave me some things to think about; like about the varying degrees to which holidays carry meaning for different people. This is something I have never really thought about. It had never occurred to me before that holidays that get the most attention and deference are not for everyone (no holiday is). Placing value on one set of traditions A. creates the expectation that everyone else will feel the same about those traditions and B. that those traditions are somehow superior or more important than any others. This could be incredibly demoralizing to anyone who does not subscribe to those traditions and/or their value-systems.

This makes me think about nationally-recognized holidays. How does that work? Who is deciding what should be recognized as a national holiday? Like… thanksgiving?? I do love cranberry sauce on turkey, but why do we eat it on thanksgiving? And WAY more importantly, WHY do we get a week (or about a week) off for thanksgiving? That week off says “this  holiday is important and should be celebrated” and as we know Thanksgiving has some devastating and violent baggage attached to it.

That all being said, for those who might be ignored or harmed by the observation of certain national holidays, there is great pride and strength to be found in reclaiming holidays. As Shange writes in If I Can Cook/You Know God Can: “And so, black-eyed peas and rice or “Hoppin’ John,” even collard greens and pig’s feet, are not so much arbitrary predilections of the “nigra” as they are symbolic defiance; we shall celebrate ourselves on a day of our choosing in honor of those events and souls who are an honor to us.”(7) I think this quote gets to heart of what If I Can Cook is about. Shange is celebrating her traditions, her loved ones’ traditions, and the traditions of the African Diaspora, by exploring the stories behind these recipes she gives them recognition that that they do not get from, for example, the united states government.

Additionally, by documenting these recipes and their stories, she is creating a record for future generations to refer to in order to understand, and establish their traditions. Holidays such as Christmas, Hanukkah, Thanksgiving, and easter are often discussed or taught in American schools, meanwhile hundreds, probably thousands of holidays which may be practiced/observed by students in an American classroom, are not taught.

The same principle is at work in chapter one when she cooks a traditional New Year’s Eve meal for her daughter. She is giving her daughter a solid ground to stand on, an assurance that someone came before her, and by carrying on their traditions she is supported by them. Lots people in America don’t necessarily have to think about this dynamic. People who unquestioningly subscribe to the holidays and traditions observed by the government, by those currently in power, are given this support. They don’t have to look for it. Some might say, who cares? It’s just a silly matter of holidays and when school is out for winter break. But, as Shange seems to get at in “What’d You People Call That?” the human soul is fed by traditions and history. She says, “Though I ate alone that New Year’s Eve, I knew a calm I must attribute to the satisfaction of my ancestors. I tried to feed us.”(9) She is feeding her daughter’s soul now, and giving her means to feed it for years to come. Something she might not be given otherwise, or may not discover for many years. What a gift to give your daughter! 

 

Below I’ve listed two Wikipedia pages that I make me realize how many different holidays, which many of which are likely practiced by people in America, are ignored by the designation of Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter etc. as national holidays.

Here is a picture of one of the covers of If I Can Cook.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States_immigration_statistics

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lists_of_holidays

Thank you, Shange

by Dayna Beatty 1 Comment

I wanted to write a final, reflective blog post surround what I’ve found in the archives, how I’ve come to understand the importance of the archives we have access to and Shange’s contributions to Barnard’s library, and the importance of fair use and copy right laws when it comes to engaging with the materials we use.

I’ve realize through my visits to the archives the incredible courage and confidence it must have taken Shange to leave not just unpublished work or drafts of documents to us, but personal items, in particular personal journals, for public use at an institution. Her decision to do so not only demonstrates her own strength, but also her confidence in the Barnard College community. To trust such a large group of women with this invaluable and private information showcases how much Shange values our college and the education we receive through it. I can’t imagine sharing my personal information in the way that Shange has, and I wish I had the chance to tell her how truly appreciative I am that she has given Barnard this incredible gift. This donation seems to directly embody Shange’s spirit, her generosity, and the courage I hope to one day exude.

During our in-class activity on Thursday, Professor Hall asked us to reflect on what we wish people knew about Shange and what we learned through this course. My answer to both of these question lies within the archives. I wish more people knew about the archives, how accessible they are, and what they have to offer, because through this course, I learned all of this. Prior to taking this course, I had no idea that Barnard was in possession of the archives, that there was so much material in the archives, or that every student has open access to them. I wish more people were aware of them, because I’ve learned so much about Shange, and by extension myself, through self-reflection inspired by Shange, and by visiting and embracing the materials in the archives. I’ve shared this with my close friends, but in the coming semester I am going to make a much larger effort to encourage my peers and members of the various on-campus organizations I’m a part of to visit and use the archives—that’s what they are there for! We cannot truly appreciate the gift that Shange has given us if we aren’t taking advantage of it regularly.

 

Finally, I wanted to touch on the importance of fair use and copy right, and the need to understand them both. Personally, my concept of these ideas was very surface-level prior to the workshops we had with professionals who deal with these issues every day. The people that produce the works that we are using for this course, our scalar projects and for our educational betterment at large, worked hard to produce the materials they did. It is important to acknowledge and thank the original creators and those that inspire us. I’m grateful that this course gave me a better understanding of these concepts, because these are lessons that I will take with me beyond this class whenever I engage with and use materials that I have not personally created.

For the tech component, I wanted to include a list of Tweets that came out after Shange’s death, of people remembering her spirit and her work. However, there were so many, I would like to invite anyone reading this to check out this link from a website that celebrates and informs women of color, in addition to visiting twitter and filtering for tweets that use the #shange at the end of October.