Fall 16: Legacies

FALL 2016 The Legacy Issue

TABLE OF CONTENTS 4 6 7 8 10 13 15 18

The Legacy of Loving V. Virginia ADAMA KAMARA

What Are They Really Selling Us? MARIAH DOZE

The Beauty Issue MARKEISHA POLLARD

Photo Gallery: Still Raising Hell The Art, Activism, and Archives of Camille Billops and James V. Hatch

Arts & Activism CHRISTELL ROACH

Still Raising Hell Continued

Black Women and Science IMANI BROOKS

The Name is Clementine, but People Call Me Tish: (Re)claiming Black Identities JUSTIN MOORE

To begin the novel with this statement was powerful.

Yes, she is not called by her birth name, but the sentiment extends further: by opening the novel with these lines, Baldwin emphasizes the pervasiveness with which Clementine’s identity and personhood, as a black woman, are disrespected and ignored. I couldn’t help but reflect on my own story and how I was misnamed by my father, only seen as the “sissy” instead of Justin.

From the first page, I appreciated how Baldwin shed light on the power of naming and how black folk, especially black women, have to negotiate their identities in a society that refuses to respect their existence.

Naming has had a stifling effect on black communities. Nigger. Faggot. Jezebel. Ho. Boy. Gal. Uncle. Mammy.

These names have demonized and dehumanized black communities as a means to reassert white power or dominance.

As Ben L. Martin explains, ‘Until the 1960s, black was an insult. Black was starkly confrontational and militant.”

Black folk were not only forced “to accept but to embrace theretofore undesirable racial qualities.” The Moynihan Report (1965), written

by Daniel Patrick Moynihan on “The Negro Family,” describes black women as “reducing” a black male’s “role to that of errand boy to and from the relief office.” Lastly, for some black households, black LGBTQIA folk are portrayed as mere abominations or non-existent. Said sentiments voice how misnaming not only has divided black families and communities, but also interrupted healthy conceptions of selfidentity for black folk, forcing onto us false truths of ourselves, such as blacks are lazy, unintelligent, and “prone to criminality.” Marking black bodies with these false truths has allowed white, patriarchal supremacy access to our power: our autonomy, self-governance, and self-identity. Police forces—the henchmen of the white, patriarchal, supremacist state—have capitalized on these false truths through their consumption, violence, sexual exploitation, and slaughtering of black lives: Emmett Till. Fred Hampton. Harry and Harriette Moore. Sandra Bland. Tanisha Anderson. Maya Young.

Korryn Gaines. Michael George Smith, Jr. Hortense Spillers writes, “[Names] are markers so loaded with mythical prepossession that there is no easy way for the agents buried beneath them to come clean. In that regard, the names by which I am called in the public place render an example of signifying

property plus. In order for me to speak a truer word concerning myself, I must strip down through layers of attenuated meanings, made in excess over time, assigned by a particular historical order, and there await whatever marvels of my own inventiveness.”

I was not born “black” or “queer.” White, patriarchal supremacy has defined me accordingly. This naming was forced upon me the moment I escaped normativity—white, heterosexual, and hypermasculine.

White, patriarchal supremacy has forced me to see blackness and queerness as “other.” I have had to come to terms with these names, because my humanity is questioned and deemed invisible. However, channeling Spillers and Baldwin’s “Freaks and the American Ideals of Manhood” where he writes, “once you have discerned the meaning of a label, it may seem to define you for others, but it does not have the power to define you to yourself,” I choose to (re) claim my blackness and queerness in search for my own “inventiveness.” Asserting my existence threatens white, patriarchal supremacy, a parasitic ideology that has infiltrated my community: some black folk chant, “Black Lives Matter,” but fail to include all black lives—women, LGBTQIA, gender nonconforming, etc; some black folk prefer light-skinned folk over darkskinned folk; some black men demonize his own community by silencing and erasing the voice of black women and black LGBTQIA folk. Naming, rooted in white, patriarchal supremacist ideologies, has exploited black folk’s bodies and psyches to the point where we must negotiate what it means to be recognized as failed identities, or to be born into a predetermined social status.

Misnaming has disrupted humanity—innocent souls lost, identities exploited, and communities divided. I say all this to say that black, brown, and LGBTQIA identifying communities have to come together now more than ever. We must realize that we are more similar than we are different because we share a common humanity. Strange fruit remains the norm, and that just shouldn’t be the case. I decided to not let white, patriarchal supremacy gain authorship over my humanity. I am unyoking myself from the pejorative undertones of these names and finding my own “inventiveness.” Change starts within and with us, and we must continue fighting and (re)claiming our black identities.

- JUSTIN MOORE

I am unyoking myself from the pejorative undertones of these names and finding my own “inventiveness.”

The Name is Clementine, but People Call Me Tish: (Re)claiming Black Identities “Let’s face it. I am a marked woman, but not everybody knows my name” (Hortense Spillers’s Mama’s Baby, Papa’s Maybe).

W

hat does it mean when someone is misnamed?

How does this misnaming affect the victim, their self-identity, and personhood?

“That’s my baby boy,” my dad once proclaimed.

High school was the time I began to come out to my friends. It was also the time I was introduced to Grindr, a dating app that I would soon find out wasn’t for dating. Fresh to the scene, I created a profile, including details about myself: my height, weight, age, and a profile picture. At the time, it didn’t cross my mind that friends or family members would see my profile.

Much to my surprise, my half-brother, who was transparent about his sexuality, visited the profile and messaged me. I panicked.

I begged my half-brother to keep it a secret. I told him that I would come out when I felt comfortable. He didn’t listen. He outed me to my dad. I became unrecognizable. My dad said, “I didn’t raise no sissy.” (He hadn’t raised me at all.) These words taunted me. I was no longer myself: the kind, curious mind who was daddy’s “baby boy.” I became a “sissy.” I couldn’t figure out how something that felt so natural prevented my dad from loving me. Why wouldn’t he see me? Why did he no longer love me? This name somehow became my existence. I felt I was no longer myself, but a sissy—someone who was chastised for embracing both his masculinity and femininity. My confidence and self-identity were tainted—I was (re) named. In my dad’s eyes, I was no longer Justin. My dad committed a violence that many black and brown, LGBTQIA, gender nonconforming, poor, and disabled bodies experience everyday by marking our bodies as failed spaces—something that is deemed pathological, or seen as “other.”

Naming can be used as a means to define, acknowledge, or deny one’s existence or identity. What happens when someone is redefined, unacknowledged, or denied? While reading James Baldwin’s If Beale Street Could Talk, I found myself thinking about this question.

Baldwin opens the novel with protagonist Clementine saying, “I know I was christened Clementine, and so it would make sense if people called me Clem, or even come to think of it, Clementine, since that’s my name, but they don’t. People call me Tish.” To begin the novel with this statement was powerful. Yes, she is not called by her birth name, but the sentiment extends further: by opening the novel with these lines, Baldwin emphasizes the pervasiveness with which Clementine’s identity and personhood, as a black woman, are disrespected and ignored. I couldn’t help but reflect on my own story and how I was misnamed by my father, only seen as the “sissy” instead of Justin. From the first page, I appreciated how Baldwin shed light on the power of naming and how black folk, especially black women, have to negotiate their identities in a society that refuses to respect their existence.

Naming can be used as a means to define, acknowledge, or deny one’s existence or identity. What happens when someone is redefined, unacknowledged, or denied? While reading James Baldwin’s If Beale Street Could Talk, I found myself thinking about this question.

Baldwin opens the novel with protagonist Clementine saying, “I know I was christened Clementine, and so it would make sense if people called me Clem, or even come to think of it, Clementine, since that’s my name, but they don’t. People call me Tish.”

“I didn’t raise no sissy.” (He hadn’t raised me at all.)

(cont’d.)

STAFF Editor in Chief

Ashley Graham

Deputy Editor

Jasmyn Mackell

Treasurer

Olubusola Osunsanya

Social Media Manager Lauren Weems

Creative Directors Tamara Mason Tara Olayeye

Section Editors

Mariah Doze Manzi Ngaiza Christell Roach

Staff Writers

Imani Brooks Adama Kamara Justin Moore Markeisha Pollard

Social Media

LETTER FROM THE EDITORS Blackness. History. Truth. Legacy.

The complexities of Blackness transcend space and time. There is no limit to what it can create and no constraints to how much it inhabits. The history of Black people both in America and the African diaspora stretches far and wide and often goes unspoken. Being the first and only Black publication at Emory University, it was only right that we honored this history. This issue, themed Legacies, seeks to uncover, appreciate, and revive the richness of Blackness: past, present, and future. We hope that while reading this you take a moment to reflect on all of our people's past accomplishments and remember the work of our ancestors. As we go forth, channel them in all that you do because one day, you too will be remembered by your own legacy.

In strength, Ashley Graham, Editor in chief

Alexis Perkins

Jasmyn Mackell, Deputy Editor

THE LEGACY OF LOVING V. VIRGINIA

I

nspired by the landmark court case Loving v. Virginia, the film Loving has grabbed headlines and created a buzz at major film festivals such as Cannes and even scored major nominations well before its opening.

American screenwriter and director Jeff Nichols’ new film, starring Joel Edgerton and Ruth Negga is set to open November 4th of this year. The film celebrates the life and legacy of the Loving family and their journey to the ultimate Loving v. Virginia verdict, a remarkable decision that altered the way interracial marriage was and continues to be viewed legally in the United States.

Though the film takes place almost 60 years ago, the presence of interracial relationships in today’s culture is undeniable. Loving is much more than just another attention grabbing film; it reflects on a foremost moment in the push for racial equality in America while forcing us in the present day to ask ourselves how far we’ve actually come and if the structure of our racial culture has truly transformed beyond the boundaries of a constitutional change.

IMAGE BY © BETTMANN/CORBIS

As many as 8.4% of marriages by 2015 were interracial, a significant increase from .4% in 1960. In this way the discussion that the film Loving promotes pertains to a matter that is more than relevant in the context of today.

Primarily used in the United States, miscegenation is a technical term for the marriage or cohabitation between two people from different racial groups. Until June 12th 1967 the practice of miscegenation was illegal in the majority of states in the U.S. Not many Americans care to acknowledge this concept of legal restrictions on interracial marriage in the present day. However, antimiscegenation laws were very much a reality until just 49 years ago. This experience was especially present for Mildred and Richard Loving, whose story changed the way interracial marriage was regarded in the face of the American legal system. The Lovings’ bravery and the power of their love transcended the beliefs of that time. The legacy of the Lovings’ actions will perpetually remain pertinent in the history of the American civil rights movement.

As a historical drama, the film Loving is a largely accurate representation of the story of the Lovings, from their courtship to the end of the Supreme Court case pursued in their name. The bond between Richard and Mildred Loving was a genuine and modest one. After growing up with one another the pair fell in love and wanted nothing more than to get married in the presence of their close family and friends in their small town of Central Point, Virginia. Seeing as that Mildred was an African American female and Richard a white male, this was not possible. The couple had to travel to D.C to get married in order to avoid Virginia’s anti-miscegenation laws. And so the Lovings legally solidified their bond, united by a last name almost too fitting to be true.

spinal cord injuries in rats and mice, Rochinelle jumped at the opportunity. “OMG she’s Black” was her reaction to meeting Dr. Garraway, an unfortunate anomaly in the sciences.

For Rochinelle, the loneliness that comes with being a Black female student in the sciences motivates her to work harder. She feels privileged to even be in her classes. She knows that lack of opportunities and exposure and encouragement at young ages for Black girls are top reasons why the science field does not have their contributions. Rochinelle believes that if children have resources to succeed in lower schools and a foundation to pursue the sciences, then more Black girls would want to be the next astronauts, surgeons, engineers, etc. The problem can be traced to early roots. Another layer of limitation is added to students coming from low-income families because they typically do not have parents pushing them to pursue science as opposed to a practical field. For these families, economic security is the main reason to

pursue higher education. But, as Rochinelle brilliantly pointed out in our interview, if labs do not pay enough then the whole field of science becomes unappealing to those low-income students because they do not see a job in the near future that could practically support them or their families back home. Rochinelle was very fortunate to have courage to ask and find resources and support to explore her interests, which led her to the brain. To her, the brain is a fascinating but unknown organ, so, Rochinelle wants to help with discovering the unknowns of the brain. But, not all students are that motivated, so, the sciences must meet them halfway.

To the young Black girl exploring her interest in science, Rochinelle hopes that she would follow her passion. To have the courage to do so comes with understanding self-worth. Following one’s passions is not always easy, but it is always rewarding. She would encourage them not to give up and join her. Overall, Rochinelle is optimistic about the future including

Black women in science. According to her, the change will come once labs at Emory make conditions more favorable for low-income Black students, once students are encouraging to participate in the sciences, and once opportunities and professors of color become more accessible.

Dr. Hue. Dr. James. Rochinelle. Three examples from the Emory community who are putting cracks in the glass ceiling surrounding the field of science. That glass can only be shattered when “Black Women in Science” is no longer a phrase or a group analyzed because of a lack of diversity in the sciences. These women’s stories show that science need diverse contributors and viewpoints. As a writer, I share their stories to inspire anyone doubting their passions because it is “unusual” for them because of their identity. Limits are only conceptual. Dr. Hue, Dr. James, and Rochinelle are proof of that. In 2016, Black Women in Science are hidden. This article uncovers three, but there are so many more. Read and spread these three. Read and look for three more. Read and encourage three more.

That’s your responsibility as a reader. The time is now to change the norm. Let their stories encourage shattering glass, expanding fields, and changing the world.

-Imani Brooks

“Science Builds the Future” Poster by Paul Sizer

a normal phrase because the baggage that is associated with adding “black” and “woman” in front of the word “scientist” is removed. As a mentor, she is actively working to remove the baggage and to normalize her place in science.

“Never underestimate the value of showing up.

Normalizing different identities by simply being present is crucial to breaking down barriers. Science benefits from multiple perspectives and world views. We can’t get answers to questions that remain unasked. Since the scientific workforce gets to determine the questions that are pursued, I think it’s particularly important to create a space where those quiet voices can be heard by showing up and contributing and remaining.”

“Science education is all around us and it is our responsibility to give it to the world.” -Dr. Amanda James

Black women in science are just as capable, but not given the access as a minority group, to engage in the sciences and contribute to Dr. Amanda James’ idealistic view of science education. Dr. James works in the Division of Cardiology in the Department of Medicine at Emory University and serves as the current assistant director of the Initiative to Maximize Student Development at Emory. Her love for chemistry in undergrad and her draw to the people in science more than the science itself led her to study clinical pharmacology. Like most people in her field, Dr. James always had a burning desire to know the investigative “why” in any and every situation. But, as a woman of color, her interest in the sciences was not always supported by the environment in which she had to learn. At Spelman College, where she completed her undergrad, she was surrounded by other Black women on a daily basis. But, in her Ph.D. studies, she confronted a lack of diversity amongst her peers. There were no Black women as professors in her program. Dr. James accredits the nature of science academia, made by white men for white men, for that fact.

Still, Dr. James did have the opportunity to study under a woman to give her insight in how to survive as a woman in the field. There is a certain balance between personal life and research needed to succeed as a woman in the field. As a researcher who handled HIV on a daily basis, it was necessary for Dr. James to develop that balance. It is a choice that most women do not want to make; in contemplation, they end up thinking-is the science really that important? Dr. James would argue yes it is because she sees purpose in

being involved with spreading science to others, even though her road to do so was not always open to her or encouraging of her.

Dr. James received her Post-doctoral degrees from Georgia Tech and Emory University. This time she was by herself as the only woman and only minority in the programs. Today, the national trend is leaning to diversifying the biomedical workforce and science in general, but the difference is only apparent in the last few years. Similarly to Dr. Hue, Dr. James believes the source problem lies in the lost of students in undergrad who are not encouraged to graduate with a science degree. The pipeline programs recruit the students, but at some point, there is a major disconnect.

The disconnect contributes to a lack of diversity in faculty positions. Dr. James gives a lot of weight to the importance of having a mentor that looks like the student. It is a motivating force that cannot be taken for granted. She tries to contribute to as a mentor by being involved in the Keystone Symposium and the National Compact for Diversity and Mentoring.

Dr. James is aware that money rules everything in science. The person who pays and funds a project with get the credit and minority contributions with go unnoticed. That trend seems to be steadfast as African American women do more and more of the patent work, and yet they are only given a footnote. Dr. James believes the field will take a long time to open up as academic traditionally takes the longest time to change as a part of society. The change will come mainly from self-motivated scientists. To that young Black girl intrigued by her science fair but unaware of the career potential, Dr. James would encourage her to stay motivated by her curiosity because her motivation could help someone else. Dr. James never wants to give up the ability to answer the question of the moment and the ability to give science to someone else. And neither should aspiring Black female scientists.

Rochinelle Dongmo is one of those aspiring Black women wanting to go into the science field. As a second year student at Emory, she plans to graduate pre-med with a double major in Neuroscience Behavioral Biology and French. As she begins to take more classes in the NBB department, Rochinelle notices the lack of diversity in her classes and professors. None of her professors are Black, let alone a Black woman, and about 6 out of the 100 plus students in her classes are Black. So, when she got the opportunity to work in Dr. Garraway’s lab about (Cont’d)

In August of 1958, just weeks after their wedding, the local police of Central Point received an anonymous tip of the Lovings’ marriage which was considered to be illegal in Virginia. In the middle of the night a unit of police officers raided their house and Richard and Mildred Loving were immediately arrested in the comfort of their own home. They were charged with violating Virginia’s Racial Integrity act which prohibited interracial couples from marrying legally. The Lovings were initially submissive to the orders of the court, simply wanting to raise their young family as peacefully as possible. To avoid going to jail the Lovings agreed to move away from their families and out of their comfort zone to DC where they could cohabitate legally.

In 1964, The Lovings became overwhelmed with the frustrations of this compromise and decided that their desire to love one another freely outweighed the ease of compliance. Richard and Mildred Loving eventually filed a motion to negate the verdict of their original case. This motion would eventually develop into the tempestuous but ultimately momentous Loving v.

Virginia Supreme court case.

Loving v. Virginia transformed the way we as a society approach the concept of race relations even out of the context of legal unions. It exposed the bigotry of a country who has claimed to adhere to the notion that “all men are created equally”. From this exposure, a precedent for civil rights actions like the push for gay marriage equality developed. The circumstance of Obergefell v. Hodges, the landmark case that guaranteed the right to marriage to same sex couples in 2015, is likened to Loving v. Virginia in that it challenged the government’s interference with the freedom to marry and reinforced the idea that all Americans are created equally. Many consider the significant case of Obergefell vs. Hodges to be the Loving v Virginia of the gay rights movement. The Loving case indubitably revolutionized the way we acknowledge non-conventional marriages as a culture.

Loving v. Virginia altered the way Americans

look at race by affirming the notion that people of different races are equal. However, on its own, this case didn’t end racism or convince an entire nation to accept interracial marriages. For a country built on the exploitation of African American lives, the fight for equality will always go beyond the limits of legal changes no matter how monumental. The Loving v. Virginia case may have resolved 58 years ago but interracial marriages still hold a stigma for many Americans. The Lovings’ story is a universal one about the courage necessary to spark a revolution that demands to be heard and appreciated. Reminders of this pivotal moment in our history like the Loving film are a necessary establishment that ensure that we continue to discuss important civil rights matters like interracial marriage because the fight for equality is interminable. As the director of the film Jeff Nichols puts it, “Equality as a concept isn’t something I think we ever achieve, it’s something we make progress toward, and hope that we don’t slip back and lose any of it.”

Obergefell v. Hodges, the landmark case that guaranteed the right to marriage to same sex couples in 2015, is likened to Loving v. Virginia in that it challenged the government’s interference with the freedom to marry and reinforced the idea that all Americans are created equally.

-Adama Kamara

RELATED READ: ALICE CHILDRESS - “WEDDING BAND: A LOVE-HATE STORYIN BLACK AND WHITE” The play examines interracial love and the hardships that persist when races mix. In this drama, Childress takes on prejudice in a way that examines the “othering” of minority people by other minorities.

WHAT ARE THEY REALLY SELLING US? I

f we can tell the ideals of a nation based on its advertisements, according to Emmy - nominated and award - winning stunt performer Norman Douglas, then what can we tell about the nation’s ideals about Black people based on the advertisements that they are represented in? I decided to explore this question by researching advertisements in which Black people were the focus. I noted what product they were selling, what message could be conveyed through this advertisement, and the characteristics of the Black person portrayed in the advertisements. Upon doing so, I discovered a very important trend: there were advertisements that portray Black people in an animalistic or exotic manner.

This type of representation can tell us a lot about the nation’s ideals concerning Black people with closer evaluation.

The first picture I came across was an advertisement for a fragrance called ‘Animale’ by Suzanne de Lyon. The Black female model was made up to look like a lion. She had no clothes on her body.

Her Afro was styled to look like a lion’s mane. Similarly,

I discovered an advertisement for “Africa Wild Liquor”.

The advertisement presented a Black man and a Black woman embracing. The woman’s arm was painted to look like a leopard’s fur coat, and there were claw marks on the man’s jacket. The advertisements encouraged readers “to unleash their wild sides”.

Next, I came across a Moschino fashion advertisement. It depicted a dark-skinned Black woman, scantily clad in a leopard print outfit, while posing provocatively. Finally, I came upon a Nivea advertisement. A Black man,holding the of another Black man by the Afro, was depicted under text that read “re-civilize yourself” and Look like you give a damn”. The man holding the head appeared to be throwing away, and he had a clean haircut and no facial hair.

After much examination, I noticed that all of these advertisements were associating Black people and Black features with savagery. The United States has had a history of utilizing advertisements as a vehicle to perpetuate stereotypes about Black people. While marketing is supposed to bring attention to the product, it is necessary also to pay attention to what is implicitly being sold as well. Advertisements like these sell the idea that Black people are animalistic and savage and that Black people are somehow less human.

Why should we care? What is significant about the way that Black people are represented in advertisements? Referring back to the words of Norman Douglass, “You can tell the ideals of a nation by its advertisements”. Since our nation advertises Black people to be inhuman, this idea is being forever tossed around in the consumer’s mind. We should care because the more we dehumanize a group of people, the easier it is to justify taking their lives. We are living in a time in America where Black people can be killed without a second thought. It often baffles me as to how this apathetic behavior has become so deeply rooted in our society.

It is not so hard to believe when we look at how Black people are portrayed in media and especially through advertisements. How we are portrayed informs the ideas that people have about us. It is time that our representation in advertisements, and in media as a whole, reflects the dignity and respect we want to be shown in our daily lives. It’s time for our humanity to be acknowledged.

-Mariah Doze

BLACK WOMEN IN SCIENCE Black Women in Science-a group of amazing minds who are denied opportunities to tap into their curiosity, to spread their ideas, and to be science innovators just because their skin is determined “too dark” by some. Here are three stories of one doctor of mentoring, one doctor of research, and one student of neuroscience behavioral biology. Academia wants to deny them their love of science and exploration. But should it be that way?

"Don't let anyone rob you of your imagination, your creativity, or your curiosity. It’s your place in the world; it’s your life. ” -Mae Jemison, first African American woman in space

I

t is a phrase that evokes two reflective questions for Dr. Gillian Hue: why do we have to talk about Black women in science in particular? Why are we special?

In truth, it is a phrase that offers a lot of challenge. It presents a problem as it reflects the scarcely diverse field of science and provokes a multidimensional conversation. As one of the few Black Women at Emory in the Sciences, she is committed to enhancing the diversity in the sciences because she recognizes that diversifying the field directly impacts the output of science and how many people benefit from scientific discoveries. It is 2016 and it is time to change who is in the room doing the thinking. More than just 2% of the scientists, in a traditional and untraditional sense, should be Black women.

With a PhD in Neuroscience, Dr. Hue was drawn to her field due to her passion for curiosity. “I am genuinely curious about how and why things work,” she says. “Science provides a great set of tools for asking questions. I am a science enthusiast and find great value in sharing that interest and enthusiasm with others. Empowering others to formulate, critically evaluate, and test their own ideas makes education and outreach two very important aspects of my contribution to science.” She currently serves the Emory community as the Assistant Director of Undergraduate Research.

Her day-to-day functions of being a “scientist” are more about contributing to science through mentorship, research methods, training, advocacy, and outreach than being in a lab coat behind a microscope. Dr. Hue invests in helping other scientists become good scientists by empowering others to be active in their

own academic journey. She offers her experience and expertise because she doesn’t underestimate the value of a student seeing themselves in their professor, especially in terms of identity. As a science enthusiast, Dr. Hue is making science possible by creating the next generation of inquiring minds.

“I didn’t know there was a Black woman professor in the neuroscience department.”

That’s a phrase that Dr. Hue commonly hears, but it carries heavy weight. She contributes the lack of Black women in the sciences directly to the lack of visibility to students who are considering entering the field. See, successfulness has less to do with ability and more to do with practicability. To be a scientist means to be willing to make sacrifices and commitment to the community. But the community devalues the contributions from Black minds, so where is the motivation or invitation to join?

Dr. Hue points to faculty rosters as a representation of the visibility phenomenon. There are lots of women in undergrad science classes, but somehow faculty rosters do not include female professors. Where is the pipeline leaking? Why are they choosing not to continue into faculty positions with their acquired degrees? Dr. Hue is aware of the leak and actively tries to find the source as a way to contribute to diversifying the science field.

At the end of the day, she wants to make sure all voices are heard and the only way to do that is to include more Black women in the conversation. When she thinks of the future, she envisions “Black Women in Science” being

THE BEAUTY ISSUE:

BLACK BEAUTY AS DEFINED BY BLACK GIRLS AT EMORY I presented black women on Emory University’s campus with a list of questions about their perception of black beauty.

These girls are from different places and of different ethnicities, but they share similar views on beauty issues. The following interviews are their responses to the questions.

“Have you ever had self-image issues or felt self-conscious about your physical appearance?” Every time I would ask a girl this question she would shuffle about in her seat, twirl her hair, or shift her eyes from me to the floor before answering, “Yes.” We have all been there. At some point in our lives, we have felt inadequate in some way. As a young African American woman, I admit to struggling with my self-image in the past. It’s difficult to feel beautiful in your own skin when female characters on television and women in magazines do not look like you. “Her skin is lighter than mine; her hair is longer and straighter, and her backside is smaller. If she is what is accepted as beautiful then what am I?”

Interviewee 1

Hometown: White Marsh, MD Ethnicity: Ethiopian

How have these identities influenced the way you perceive beauty?

My perception of beauty was influenced by the women around me when I was younger which reflected more on Ethiopian beauty standards while it was more influenced by American beauty standards and pop culture as a result of the schools I attended in the U.S. What other identity (socioeconomic status, sexual orientation, age, biological sex, religion etc. ) has also had an effect on this perception?

My religion and socioeconomic status instilled a greater appreciation of a more natural and subtler beauty in me.

Top Left: Photo of Exhibit Top Right: Sigrun Muelle, portrait of Camille Billops and James V. Hatch, 2012 Middle Right: Photo of Exhibit Bottom Left: “Two Black Crows Comedians,” De Lux Theatrical Studio in Detroit, Michigan, c.

1920-1930 Bottom Right: Bert Williams, December 31, 1920

Growing up, did you have a fashion icon or someone you idolized for their beauty? Did you imitate them?

Yes, my mother. As a child I would borrow my mother’s clothing, makeup, and shoes

Interviewee 2

Hometown: Louisianna

How have these identities influenced the way you perceive beauty?

I appreciate black beauty more (natural hair, ethnic styles, etc) .

Growing up, did you have a fashion icon or someone you idolized for their beauty? Did you imitate them?

Queen Bey!...No one can.

Do you have someone you idolize in this way now?

Still Queen Bey! What is your opinion on the way blacks are portrayed in media? How does this affect the way you view your self as a black individual?

What is your opinion on the way blacks are portrayed in media? How does this affect the way you view your self as a black individual?

Blacks are often portrayed as poor and desperate, having several kids and no real “purpose”. In the media, successful blacks are seen as a rare accomplishment that deserves special applause .

Have you ever had self-image issues or felt self-conscious about your What characteristics/ traits (physical and nonphysical) do you believe physical appearance? If so, do you know why you felt this way? define beauty?

Yes, different remarks from various individuals growing Confidence, self-worth, love for others, humility. up made me more self-conscious. In general, I felt like ***These are interviews are continued in excerpts I didn’t meet certain beauty standards which made me ind the rest of this article online throughout the magazine more self-aware.

Butterflies were created for this installation by the following artists: Clinton Fluker, Arturo Lindsey,Fahamu, Pecou, and Afua Richarsdon

they knew it or not awareness and attention to the issues they rapped about was the response. That authenticity was undoubtedly coming from the space created by the Black Arts movement.

Many say NWA has inspired today’s generation.

People try to paint the Black Lives Matter movement as violent, angry, and racist. However, the Black Lives Matter movement and artists who stand in solidarity with them all embrace truth and accountability. In peaceful protests activists and members of the community walk the streets of Chicago or Atlanta quoting NWA [insert the threeword refrain NWA coined]. No matter how ardently people attempt to project violence onto the movement it is certainly the continuation of a legacy. Tagging all protest as riots (as many do) is an attempt to silence what people are protesting, which is violence upon their bodies.

Martin Luther King Jr. said “riot is the language of the unheard” and if our protest gets pegged as riot, then it is important to trace the origin of that riot, not geographically but timewise. Successful erasure is capping a movement and not looking at what or who silenced it. Successful projection is being able to peg protestors as people babbling and complaining without recognizing the links in the chains of their oppression. If one generation’s protest music can be the anthem of another generation’s, then what does that say about the societies they live in?

Art is not separate from activism. The two expressions inform one another. What does this mean? Why does this matter? In a time where black and brown communities are surrounded with injustice and strife, it is important to define the struggle. Solange’s Album, A Seat at the Table, defines our stuggle today; Tarell McCraney’s In Moonlight Black Boys look Blue inspired Barry Jenkins’ screenplay Moonlight and it defines black masculinity in a time where the country needs to re-humanize black men; Ava Duvernay’s film 13th, sheds necessary light on mass incarceration and exposes it’s legacy of slavery. Artists across every discipline and genre are metaphorically defining through experimentation with language. The art being created today is as much activism as it is art.

A gift to 2016, Beyoncé’s Lemonade showcased masterful cinematography in the video album as much as it did the vocals; the journey of the album encompassed story truth

vs. happening truth and encouraged multiple conversations. There was room for both artist and viewer to step into emotions and embark on a shamanistic journey with Beyoncé. The advocacy for mental and emotional health, self-care, self-love, and activism are laced through the entire video album; whether it is the cast, seeing Beyoncé smash car windows, or the fact that whole songs are dedicated to “anger” and “forgiveness,” space is being created for important private and public conversations that we need to be having. Whether it is direct protest art or indirect definition culture, it is custom.

Not only do we are we telling America #BlackLivesMatter, but we show our country though our magic, as Jesse Williams said: “We are done waiting and watching while this invention called “Whiteness” uses and abuses us, burying black people out of sight and out of mind, while extracting our culture, our dollars, our entertainment, like oil, black gold. Ghettoizing and demeaning our creations then stealing them, gentrifying our genius and then trying us on like costumes before discarding our bodies like rinds of strained fruit! ......... the thing is though....... the thing is .......just because we are magic doesn’t mean that we are not real!” – sounds like a call to action for the open rhetoric movement to baptize this society to me.

We show them through art, rap, spoken word, personal expressions that link the struggle to exist, with the struggle to preserve our people.

That link is a cultural heirloom, a legacy of the black community. In the face of erasure, violence, silencing, and gaslighting, we define the struggle, and shape America’s culture. If “riot is the language of the unheard” then I understand the riots across our nation that come in the wake of death and injustice, as communities channeling body-language as custom to express, where words are not present or are not enough. I encourage every marginalized voice to create riotous art that comes from the silenced spirit. It is how we keep it alive, how we keep ourselves alive, how we convict those who persecute us.

We have told them #BlackLivesMatter. Now, as horrible as it sounds, we must show them. Keep creating. Keep speaking. Keep protesting. Our struggles do not define us. We define the struggle.

“In a time where black and brown communities are surrounded with injustice and strife, it is important to define the struggle.”

-Christell Roach

**All photos in this section taken from the Camille Billops and James V. Hatch Archives at Emory University Top Left: Cliff Joseph, Blackboard, 1971 Bottom Left: William Walker, Peace and Salvation, Wall of Understanding, 1970 Right: James V. Hatch, c. 1970-1980 Photographic contact sheet of James Hatch

ARTS &

ACTIVISM OUR STRUGGLES DO NOT DEFINE US -- WE DEFINE THE STRUGGLE

I

n a time of “open-narratives” an artistic movement is creating substantial commentary on injustice against marginalized communities. Artists like Beyonce, T.I., Solange, Tarell McCraney, Danez Smith, Claudia Rankine, and so many more are creating work that speaks out against the injustice targeting black and brown bodies in our country. From super bowl stadiums, to the Kennedy Center and farms in Atlanta, these artists are creating space for conversation about the brutality of silencing. This art is extremely present and engaging. It convicts and sends out calls for the response of fans watching.

Beyonce’s Superbowl performance with her dancers dressed as Black Panthers was definitely a call for the response of her fans to see, recognize, and understand what that statement was. Kerry Washington and Viola Davis attended the 2015 Kennedy Center Awards Gala in celebration of Cicely Tyson, just six months before a crowd of young minority artists and activists protested their silencing there. Harry Belafonte brought his dream to Atlanta in a weekend of arts and activism, creating space for our voices at the inaugural Many Rivers to Cross Festival 2016. I’d like to call this the Open Rhetoric movement.

The legacy of colonialism isn’t just something that we trace in textbooks; it is in the colonized minds of people of color, and the privilege of those who benefit from America’s systematic apartheid today. The chaos of conversation is the rhythm of the Open Rhetoric movement. Oppressive people, structures, ideas, and systems are being called-out, challenged, dismissed, or redefined by people of color and those who understand and recognize their place in the wrong prescribed to others.

No matter the opposition to its connotations, “woke” defines a generation of people who have awakened from the American Dream of complacency amid the presence of violence in our society. Through a push for representation in a language that confines us, we have created terms and pronouns that hold whole sections of Americans who’d been abandoned to interpretation.

We name, define, and tag our struggles and the structures that we face, reading terms like ‘intersectionality’ and ‘xenophobia’ into our shared cultural lexicon. We are actively disarming a heavily violent language in our everyday speech, on social media, and through the arts.

Think of language as a metaphor. Language manifests on the page (literature), in our bodies as body language (dance), it shifts atmospheres in the creation of scenes and acts (theatre), it takes shape and color (art), and it moves through universal rhythms that communicate messages to us on conscious and subconscious levels (music). Language is the motor of our society, and every generation moves at a different pace. Today’s generation is filled babble, in that marginalized communities refuse to be silenced, and they strengthen their voices through intersectionality. This babble is an intersection largely hinged by the arts. I call this “defining the struggle.” As individuals pour into streets, stand or kneel in protest, or partake in art that expresses feelings they’ve yet to find words for, they are contributing to the voice of our generation and shaping it for others.

This movement of voices is nothing new. Each generation has a resurgence of commentary of some sort. The New Negro Movement and the Black Arts Movement in particular are examples of that discourse on presence. In a time where blacks all over the country

were faced with the task of resiliency in the face of oppression and violence, black artists in and beyond the 1920s Harlem began to produce art in a way that asserted their presence. Similarly, the Black Arts movement was regarded by many like Larry Neal as, “the aesthetic and spiritual sister of the Black Power concept. … The Black Arts and the Black Power concept both related broadly to the Afro-American’s desire for self-determination and nationhood.” In these two movements, the definition culture of blacks called upon and created a legacy that has informed generations into today.

Initially coined as the ‘New Negro Movement’

by Alain Locke, it is far better known as the Harlem Renaissance. This ‘rebirth of the Negro’ was a baptismal of sorts; it absolved the black community of the weight of struggle and afforded it to them as a utility to create. From this came literature, art, dance, theatre, music, and social representation that created space in American culture for blacks. This space is the definition of their struggles at the time. It is the response to the calls for lynching and segregation. It was a bold reaction that not only said that their lives mattered, but went on to show white Americans why. For example, with swing music: in response to bodies being left swinging from trees, blacks danced swing music that countered that silencing of the body. They may or may not have been aware of the reclamation over the body, but they were doing it! They turned their back from the oppressor and began to dip into their collective culture basin of the African-American spirit, thus birthing swing that attested the worth of black lives. Swing music was not only a practice of African Americans, but was enjoyed by the entire country as American culture. White Americans may or may not have known it, but every bop or shag was a statement that negro lives mattered (body language).

Writers like Zora Neale Hurston and Langston Hughes wrote in ways that defied the American rhetoric of the time (pieces like I, Too, Am America), which misconstrued the black image through shallow discourse, hate speech, or through the denial of Negro presence outside of being a “problem.” Coming from a tradition of only having space for blacks in the papers under crime and respectability politics, the Harlem Renaissance created a wealth of literary definition of black people that the country hadn’t known existed or was in denial of.

Publications like the Crisis served as a dictionary carrying all this definition culture, and saw much of the work of writers of that period that ended in 1937 with the publication of Zora Neale Hurston’s piece, Their Eyes Were Watching God.

In the black world, if struggle is an heirloom then definition-culture movements are custom. Another generation that created in the space of definition out of the custom of resiliency is The Black Arts Movement.

Coming off the heels of protest in the Civil Rights Movement, the Black Arts movement came to embrace Black Power. As Larry Neal said, the Black Arts movement was the “aesthetic and spiritual sister of the Black Power concept.” This movement created space for black theater groups and black poetry performances and journals, and both had close ties to community organizations and issues pertaining to black people. They were actively defining themselves and shaping their culture through custom and experimentation. This socially engaged group of artists used literature as a shelter for their vulnerability, and made a lifestyle of the social change they wrote into being. Most pointedly, the legacy of The Black Arts movement was its innovative use of language. Speech, music, and performance were major elements of Black Arts literature. Black Arts aesthetics emphasized call and response within the body of the work as well as between artist and audience. This same orientation is apparent in rap music and performance poetry that picked up around the 1990s.

The Black Arts Movements use of language undoubtedly created space for rap music and groups like NWA. As a generation revisits their contributions to rap music with films like Straight out of Compton, 2015 more and more of today’s youth are identifying with the music and reviving the enthusiasm for it. Although many may dismiss NWA as obscene, violent, racist, irrational, or anything else one can use to murky a statement, there is a high level of vulnerability, and truth in the music. Just as the Black Arts Movement wanted “poems that kill:” violent, angry, and attack poems; NWA created music that many may say was violent, angry and attacking. The Black Arts Movement claimed anger as an emotion and not as a fault. NWA lived the music they wrote, they rapped their lives. Their music was a call, and whether

“In the black world, if struggle is an heirloom then definition-culture movements are custom.”