I got it: This is where that mess started.

PBS has developed a docudrama from Terry Alford’s nonfiction account “Prince Among Slaves.” I read this book in graduate school: it’s the fabulous story of a very wealthy prince and devout Muslim, Abdul Rahman from Futa Jallon, who becomes captured during battle by non-Muslim Guineans in 1788 and eventually traded and brought to Natchez, Mississippi, at the time a Spanish port. The crazy part is that nearly twenty years later Abdul Rahman meets a white man who stayed with his family back in Africa for sixth months when Abdul Rahman was a teenager, setting in motion a long series of events that proves his identity.

Abdul Rahman came to America better educated than most slaveholding whites; he could read and write in Arabic for one thing, and spoke well enough Spanish to explain to Thomas Foster, his new master that he was indeed a prince. Foster was nearly illiterate and like many slaveholders, couldn’t even afford to pay for his slaves and had to mortgage them. Yet, Abdul Rahman remained his slave for forty years. In these instances, literate, cultured Africans were forced to play down their talents and abilities for the man, and whites emerged in popular thought as the only intelligent race on the planet.

I can only imagine: this dynamic set in stone the insecure relationship and subliminal discomfort that I’ve seen develop between blacks and whites when blacks have enjoyed greater privilege and advanced education beyond he, a white individual, who should be higher in power and stature. Among all the deep-seated issues that arose between blacks and whites from slavery, it’s rarely considered outside of academics that a white inferiority complex may be one of them.

And consider the black inferiority complex, of which much has been written: aside from the physical and spiritual toll of slavery, consider the intellectual stagnation. Can you imagine all the nonsense that could have been avoided. . .perhaps it’d be less surprising and more acceptable for blacks to be ’smart’ without it being read as an act of whiteness or rebellion.

I’m giving thanks for intellectual emancipation. And to those who are wilting; blossom, and those who are bright, shine forth from the shadows.

Happy Black History Month.

 

The more things change. . .

Have you seen The Best Years of Our Lives, directed by William Wyler? The film is a classic, and I was happy to see it again last night after having first viewed it years ago in film school. It follows three veterans, including real-life double amputee Harold Russell in a gut-wrenching performance, who return home from World War II to discover their “readjustment” an emotionally challenging, economically frustrating, and often disappointing process. At numerous point in the story, civilians demonstrated little understanding about the real toll of the war and returning home. Here, support did not come easy, whether Federal, local, or interpersonal. It’s remarkable how similiar in many ways the plight of veterans remains unchanged after sixty years. Goes to show the more things change the more they stay the same. . .

The film did stir up my understanding of redlining, the development of the suburbs, and post-war wealth in white America. . .I’ve got more reading to do, but Wyler’s film, though considerably dramatic adds something unexpected to the picture.

 

Flashback. On Bosnian Filmmaking. . .

In 2006 I attended the Bosnian-Herzegovinian Film Festival at Anthology Film Archives, where I saw two films, Counterpoint for Her, and A Dream Job, both by filmmaker Danijela Majstorovic. Soon after, I decided to track her down for an interview, which was published by Pop Matters for their new film blog “Short Ends and Leader” on Sept. 20 of last year. See here. Both films address the lives of women and their lack of choices for economic freedom and actualization-Counterpoint for Her explores the traffick of women for sexual slavery, A Dream Job follows young women as they strive for pop-stardom in the world of Turbofolk music, which is sometimes negatively associated with inanity, RTV Pink, and the Milosevic era. I recommend both films and look forward to viewing more cinema coming from this region.

I am happy to find out the article was mentioned in Pop Matters’ “Best Of!”

To learn more about the Bosnian-Herzegovinian Film Festival, see http://www.bhffnyc.org/.

 

OLD NEWS: A final word on the 78th Academy Awards

A barrage of uninspired montages, touting the most hackneyed, banal clips we all know to love from movie history, and a string of comments or self indulgent asides that posited the Academy against the current administration could not save the fact the awards show was uptight, smug even in its self-aggrandizing liberal-ness. The Academy, perhaps, in its corporate-tinged myopia, smelling itself on a year of topical films, is so removed that its tired elitism appears all-inclusive. If the Academy were nearly as liberal, progressive and democratic as it so purported itself Sunday evening, a rufflesome “surprise win” by Memphis’ Three 6 Mafia in the Original Song category should have been a mere undernote to the evening’s proceedings, instead of becoming a water-cooler moment. Exceptions aside, this is the organization who’s usual shortsightedness prompted the need for Independent Spirit Awards. Because the two ceremonies seemed intertwined this year is not the hallmark of progress, rather, as commonly reminded, a bad year for the box office blockbuster.

 

Bobby Loves Whitney

Bobby Loves Whitney

“Abuser!” one passerby etched on a Brooklyn subway poster. “IN THIS PATRIARCHY BEATING YOUR WIFE MAKES YOU FAMOUS!” Such truths were scrawled on the shoulders Bobby Brown, who, donned in a white suit of innocence, stands beaming on the poster for his new reality TV show “Being Bobby Brown” which airs on Bravo. Perhaps, if you’ve already become accustomed to the bizarre, Ringling-esque parade that has become hit television, you’re hardly miffed by the concept of a show that follows the lives of two has-beens that have become more famous for their troublesome abusive relationship and rehab stints than their 80’s era mega-watt achievements. Brown, as we know, rounded out ‘tween group New Edition before a successful solo career, and his wife, Whitney Houston was arguably America’s first black pop sweetheart. Both had enormous talent, which in popular opinion disseminated into drug problems and codependency. As both got older, they struggled for relevancy in a youth-driven market, a relevancy which they attempt to recapture with each bewildering episode of this thirty minute program.

Completely unabashed in their behavior, Bobby and Whitney are new money at its worst. In the absence of any pretense of class, pride or presentability, even the Brown children run amok with wild snatchback ponytails. Whitney does not disappoint (in my mother’s words) “to show the worst of Newark in her.” In one particular episode, where the Brown clan go camping, a sex-crazed Whitney purrs for Bobby to “row across that river, bring me behind that tree and work me over.”

Later in the episode we watch Bobby, proudly foul, fat and flatulent, making plans with sidekick brother and business partner to create new acts for their label. One may sit and stare, pitying him for his hope to reenter the spotlight/game. However, lest we forget, this is the same Bobby Brown that finagled himself a reality show about himself in the first place. Maybe the joke’s on us. After all, when’s the last time you jetsetted for no particular reason whatsoever?

If you had a crush on Bobby Brown in the 80’s you may be sad to find he ended up with a puffy eyed, loose tittied harpy; if you idolized Whitney Houston, you’ll be disappointed to see she settled with a crass, pug nosed alcoholic. In reality, or at the least the reality they present to us, Whitney and Bobby are worse than we could have imagined. For the first time, their actions as black people did not shame me as a racial sistren, for it is very clear their actions only reflect upon themselves. Once you make the admission that a) yes, Whitney may have been “like this” in the first place and b) this is how they really are; you can move on to critique the quality of the programming. At the end of the day, Whitney and Bobby are two codependent addictive personalities who are deeply in love, the kind of sweaty, tore up “black love” one might see on a hot day rubbing scratch-offs just outside the liquor store at noon. Ultimately, not too novel. If these sort of archetypes are unfamiliar to you, then the antics of “Being Bobby Brown” just may satisfy as good entertainment.
-Spring 2005