Showing posts with label Black Power. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Black Power. Show all posts

Sunday, January 17, 2016

MUHAMMAD ALI IS 74 YEARS YOUNG TODAY--HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHAMP!

http://www.netflix.com/watch/80015777…

BORN ON JANUARY 17, 1942 MUHAMMAD ALI IS 74 YEARS OLD TODAY. TEMPUS FUGIT...AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHAMP!

http://www.mikemarqusee.com/?p=82

Redemption Song: 
Book Review by Kofi Natambu
Posted on 4/3/2000


by Kofi Natambu
Ishmael Reed’s Konch Magazine,
20 March 2000


MUHAMMAD ALI
(b. January 17, 1942) 

This is an extraordinary book. It is especially astonishing because just when I began to despair that any one text could possibly do justice to accurately documenting and analyzing the often badly misunderstood and largely misrepresented complexity of either Muhammad Ali, the African American civil rights and black power movements, or that endlessly fascinating and elusive historical moment known forever as “the sixties,” an heretofore obscure author restores my faith in the illuminating power of great writing to do much more than merely chronicle legendary events. That the author would be a white American expatriate who left the U.S. in 1971 at the age of eighteen to settle in England and become an award-winning sports historian is all the more amazing and, in this particular case, gratifying.

For what Mike Marqusee has accomplished with this elegantly written book is nothing short of providing the most lucid, succinct, intellectually honest and even-handed account I have ever read of what Ali, and the various black political and cultural movements for radical social change both in this country and abroad (especially in Africa) of that volatile period really meant to its massive legions of fans and supporters throughout the world.

But Marqusee doesn’t stop there. His highly insightful and sharply analytical prose, which always somehow manages to remain both graceful and completely devoid of dogma, also incorporates an analysis of the significant social and cultural impact of such archetypal figures of the ’60s era, as well as earlier 20th century American history, as Malcolm X, Bob Dylan, Elijah Muhammad, Paul Robeson, Jackie Robinson, Marcus Garvey, W.E.B. DuBois, Louis Armstrong, Jack Johnson, Joe Louis, Sam Cooke and Martin Luther King. In doing so we learn how and why these seemingly disparate figures had such a profound effect on the anti-war movement against the American intervention in Vietnam, as well as the on-going struggles for human rights and social revolution in the United States, the African continent, the Caribbean, Latin America and Europe.

Toward that end Marqusee ties in the revolutionary movements against colonialism and for political and economic democracy in what was formerly known as the Congo (now Zaire), Ghana, and South Africa. Thus the reader is also treated to an analysis of U.S. complicity (through the CIA and the State Department) in the the military overthrow and assassination of the first and only democratically elected President in the Congo, Patrice Lumumba, in 1960 by none other than the vicious military officer and subsequent dictator Joseph Mobutu (who bankrolled the famous ‘Rumble in the Jungle’ heavyweight championship fight between Ali and George Foreman with state funds in 1974).

In fact it is one of the many engaging aspects of this book that it seriously investigates the many links between individuals like Ali, Malcolm X, Dr. King and Elijah Muhammad within the broader context of such major institutional forces as the Nation of Islam, SCLC, SNCC, the Organization of African Unity (founded by Ghanaian president and Pan-Africanist Kwame Nkrumah), the FBI, the CIA, and the American government. What emerges from this meticulously detailed attention to the intricate nuances of history is a book that tells us precisely who Muhammad Ali was as both boxer and human individual without sacrificing an understanding of how massive political, economic and social forces of the 1960s and ’70s impacted Ali’s perceptions of himself and the world. At the same time Marqusee allows us to see the champion’s considerable strengths and weaknesses in a way that doesn’t dehumanize him through either too much misplaced adulation or petty criticism. In fact the truly heroic dimensions of Ali’s stand against the war in Vietnam and his sincere commitment to his chosen religious and philosophical beliefs at great personal and professional cost is even clearer and more profound after reading this text.

As a result the extended and brilliantly written passages on the champion’s personal and political relationships with such icons of the period as Malcolm X, the major mentor and confidant of Ali’s before the acrimonious split between Malcolm and the authoritarian patriarch of the Nation of Islam, Elijah Muhammad, in March 1964 (and which helped lead to the tragedy of Malcolm’s assassination just eleven months later) is filled with well-researched and captivating accounts of the complex personalities and stances of all three men. For example, we learn that Ali, who first began secretly attending meetings of the Nation of Islam as early as 1962 (some two years after he received a gold medal as the American representative in boxing at the Olympic Games, and two years before he fought and defeated Sonny Liston in February 1964 for the world heavyweight crown), was already fascinated with the militant black nationalist oratory of Malcolm X (the leading national minister of the NOI) at a time when the Nation was still almost completely unknown to the general American public.

It was Ali’s intense interest in the sect as well as his highly confident and independent attitude that supported Malcolm’s typically prescient insight that a then relatively unknown 20-year-old kid named Cassius Marcellus Clay would very soon become world heavyweight champion. Thus began Malcolm’s recruitment of a young man that he insisted from the beginning was more than capable of becoming a very important force in the organization. That this prophecy was not shared by the then sixty-five-year-old founder and leader of the NOI, Elijah Muhammad, is a major understatement since the old man not only considered boxing to be a morally inferior pastime but the idea of the young Clay as an important member of his organization struck him as pure folly. Of course none of this kept him from fully endorsing and embracing Clay as a leading (and now wealthy) member once he did become champion or bestowing on him the very rare privilege of a new Islamic name, Muhammad Ali, on the very night he became champion. This resulted in the older man being able to not only wean Ali away from Malcolm who, after being suspended by the Nation in December 1963, formed his own organization just two weeks after Ali won the title on February 25, 1964 but also enabled the elder Muhammad to take over the new champion’s financial affairs through his appointment of his own son Herbert as Ali’s business manager.

Ali admits years later that his painful split with Malcolm at Elijah’s bidding was a big mistake on his part and the major regret of his life. As Ali put it: “It was a pity and a disgrace he died like that [assassination] because what Malcolm saw was right, and after he left us, we went his way anyway. Color didn’t make a man a devil. It’s the heart, soul and mind that counts.”
Marqusee also provides us with a particularly astute and dynamic comparative analysis of Ali and another ’60s cultural hero and icon, singer and songwriter Bob Dylan. What is revealed in this luminous comparison is how Ali and Dylan, who were only eight months apart in age, both symbolized and represented in strikingly similar and different ways the alienation, restlessness, rebellion and deep thirst and desire for social and cultural change that was so characteristic of an entire generation throughout the world.
As Marqusee writes: “Ali and Dylan were first generation children of the burgeoning electronic audio-visual culture, which was still at that time largely unrecognized as anything other than an inferior and distant cousin to the mature forms of “high culture.” Their public achievements and the controversies that surrounded them helped compel the in telligentsia to take pop culture seriously. By their boldness, their ambitions and, paradoxically, their playfulness, they made their disciplines–sport and popular music–worthy of study…”

The deep appreciation for, and understanding of, popular culture that Marqusee consistently demonstrates in this book is never smug or condescending. In fact his clarity regarding how cultural values, politics, and ideology intersect and influence each other is echoed in his riveting accounts of the rise, rapid expansion and agonizing decline of the black power movement in the 1965-1975 period. This section of the book is framed by a dizzying number of major historical events, two of the most pivotal being the public assassinations of Malcolm X and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. who both died at the age of thirty nine only three years apart in 1965 and 1968. In recounting and critically examining these earth-shattering incidents Marqusee very deftly weaves the parallel narrative of not only Muhammad Ali but the history of the Vietnam war (and the intense national anti-war activity and draft resistance against it) and such well-known organizations as SNCC, the Black Panther Party, SDS, and SCLC. In highly dramatic yet measured prose we see in great and fastidious detail how Ali’s courageous stands play a key role in the tremendous explosion of black political and cultural consciousness among young African Americans, as well as the millions of whites who were just beginning to seriously question and oppose the government’s war in Vietnam.

We also witness Ali’s impact on global affairs as the U.S. moves swiftly to prosecute him for his public opposition to the war and the draft. In England, France, Germany, Africa, South America and throughout the Caribbean island nations Ali is universally hailed as a hero moving everyone from the philosophers Bertrand Russell and Jean-Paul Sartre to foreign government leaders, political revolutionaries, peasants and workingclass people alike to sing his praises and openly defend his position.

Meanwhile Marqusee takes us on a philosophical journey of his own, musing about the historical implications and consequences of Ali’s role in terms of the ultimate meaning of sports in the United States as well as a scintillating critique of what dramatic changes have occured in American political economy and culture (and in the national African American community) since Ali was banned from boxing and had his passport revoked in 1967, was finally legally reinstated (by a 5-4 vote in the Supreme Court in June 1971), and defeated Joe Frazier in 1973, George Foreman in Zaire in 1974, and Leon Spinks in 1978 to become world heavyweight champion for a record three times. During this critique Marqusee demonstrates how and why the conservative white and black American establishment began to embrace and coopt the former militancy of Ali after 1975. Thus begins the media’s concerted (and on-going) attempts to distort and manipulate the true meaning of his public legacy.

Finally Marqusee takes the reader full circle from his opening paragraph where he ponders the sobering yet curious fact that where once Ali had been fiercely opposed and reviled by the government, sports writers and media executives he was now in the 1990s being openly lionized and feted by the same powerful public figures and corporate institutions that had once denounced him, took his championship title away and tried to send him to prison. It is also revealed that because of backstage lobbying by NBC Sports Ali was chosen to light the famous torch at the 1996 Olympic Games in Atlanta, Georgia before a sold-out crowd of 83,000 people (paying $600 per ticket), and a global TV audience estimated at three billion. However in the final chapter to this seemingly dense, but never boring or ponderous, three-hundred-page masterpiece, Marqusee provides an eloquent, powerful and compelling counterstatement and critique of this cynical appropriation by American and other global capitalists who use the symbolic power and authority of Ali’s international image to sell the Olympic Games and its endless spinoff products.

In a parallel, and very interesting, assessment of the contemporary sports scene Marqusee openly criticizes the global corporate and media absorption of Michael Jordan who, unlike Ali, has always been willingly complicit in the highly profitable exploitation of his image:

“Nothing could be further from the ethos of Muhammad Ali than the no-risk business acumen of Jordan. When campaigners trying to draw attention to the plight of low-paid workers in Nike’s Southeast Asian sweatshops appealed to Jordan for help, they got the brushoff. So did black Democrats in Jordan’s homestate of North Carolina when they asked him to endorse their efforts to defeat the racist, homophobic tobacco champion, Jesse Helms…Ali’s embrace of an alternative nationality, in the form of the Nation of Islam, evolved under the pressure of events into a humanist internationalism, a sense of responsibility to the poor and powerless of all nations. Jordan’s subordination of himself to “America” made him an emblem of “globalization”, a form of rule from above by multinational corporations. His astonishing achievements on the basketball court, and the huge rewards he has reaped from them, are advanced as justifications for “the American way,” the capitalist way. Jordan has become the embodiment of the Social Darwinism of the new world order…”
By historical constrast then we learn the real reasons why Ali and his mythic yet all too real example continues to be of great value today despite the greed-based blandishments of advertisers, promotors, athletes, and consumers alike. It is a fitting coda to a great book that, like its main subject, continually inspires, educates, entertains and transforms our understanding of ourselves, our shared history and the incredibly complex world that we live in. Nothing could be a greater tribute to a true champion of the people.

 
 
 
 
 
You can watch I Am Ali instantly on Netflix. Sign up for access to a wide variety of Movies & TV Shows streaming instantly to your TV, computer, tablet or favorite device.
netflix.com
 

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

Renowned Historian Peniel Joseph On the Life, Work, And Legacy of Stokely Carmichael, 1941-1998


 Stokely:  A Life by Peniel Joseph.  Basic Civitas Books 2014

PENIEL JOSEPH


Tufts University professor Peniel Joseph a major historian and scholar of the Civil Rights and Black Power Movements is interviewed at length on C-Span's IN DEPTH program talks extensively about these movements and his own career as both an academic and community activist as well as his brand new and critically acclaimed biography STOKELY: A LIFE (BasicCivitas Books, 2014) about one of the most important and central figures of both the Civil Rights and Black Power eras, Stokely Carmichael. This program was televised on C-SPAN'S BookTV on Saturday, March 2, 2014

In Depth with Peniel Joseph:

Author and historian Peniel Joseph talked about his life and career.He also responded to viewers' calls, Facebook comments, electronic mails, and tweets on topics such as rewriting post-war black history, the civil rights movement and the Obama era, among others.

The Tufts University professor is the author of three books: Waiting 'Til the Midnight Hour: A Narrative History of Black Power in America; Dark Days, Bright Nights: From Black Power to Barack Obama; and Stokely: A Life. He is also the editor of: The Black Power Movement: Rethinking the Civil Rights-Black Power Era, and Neighborhood Rebels: Black Power at the Local Level.

BookTV.org
C-SPAN2
Airdate: March 2, 2014

Interview time: 3 Hours

Friday, September 23, 2011

Documenting the Historical Legacy of the Black Power Movement

Angela Davis being interviewed in prison in 1970

Stokely Carmichael in Sweden, 1967

Ericka Huggins with her daughter Mai in 1970


Ericka Huggins, 2011

Danny Glover
Executive Producer of 'The Black Power Mixtape 1967-1975'



Interview and Film Review
by Chuleenan Svetvilas


In the United States footage of the black power movement is usually limited to scenes of fiery speeches, angry protests, and violence. In the new documentary The Black Power Mixtape 1967-1975, Swedish filmmaker Goran Hugo Olsson offers a far more nuanced, complex, and humane view using previously unreleased archival footage shot by Swedish TV reporters during this time period.

There is a moving scene with Stokely Carmichael gently interviewing his mother about the employment difficulties his father faced as a black man. And there is a riveting jailhouse interview of Angela Davis from 1970 speaking eloquently and passionately about violence against black people. This documentary film essay also includes interviews with everyday Americans as well as Black Panther Party members and political activists.

For 30 years, this footage languished in the basement of Swedish Television. None of the footage had ever been seen outside of Sweden before. Once Olsson discovered the footage, he knew he had to make a film.

In addition to the archival footage and interviews, the director also includes voiceover commentary by contemporary musical artists Eryka Badu, Talib Kweli, and Questlove; interviews and comments by professors, writers, and activists Robin D. G. Kelly and Sonia Sanchez as well as singer/songwriter and activist Harry Belafonte and the filmmaker Melvin Van Peebles.

As a documentary film, Black Power Mixtape is an uneven combination of riveting archival footage, audio commentary by contemporary artists that ranges from insightful (Talib Kweli) to bland (Questlove), and fascinating interviews organized in rough chronological order. There is no theme or agenda being put forth, which gives the film an open quality that is rare in U.S. documentaries. Olsson simply leaves the interpretation up to the viewer.

Ericka Huggins is passionate about the film Black Power Mixtape 1967-1975 and would like as many people as possible to see the film. “I can’t tell you how many young students, graduate students I talked to who want to be teachers who felt re-inspired by this film,” says Huggins, a sociology professor at California State University, East Bay. She is even giving extra credit to her students who see the film.

Huggins is intimately familiar with this time period. She was a leader of the Black Panther Party in Los Angeles, along with her husband John Huggins, who was shot and killed on the UCLA campus in 1969. Chuleenan Svetvilas interviewed Huggins about the film, which opens in the San Francisco Bay Area this weekend at Landmark Theatres.

INTERVIEW WITH ERICKA HUGGINS:

Chuleenan Svetvilas: As someone who was involved in the Black Panther Party and lived through the time period covered in the film, what would you hope that people take away from it?

Ericka Huggins: That there are still challenges that we all face as citizens of the United States that we can reach, we can all step forward and be a part of making necessary changes. The film gives us a really good view of a piece of history, just a tiny piece of history and the history that preceded it and the history that followed begged the question, “Well, that was then, what do we do now?” and there are actually all kinds of things that we can do individually and collectively.

CS: There’s a lot of fascinating footage. Had you seen any of the footage in the film before?

EH: No, I can’t say that I did and I loved that I was seeing familiar footage and handled in the film in such a fresh way. I would say Goran Olsson had fresh eyes for what viewers would want to see because he had never seen it before. And he’s not American, which is the beauty of the film. So he doesn’t feel the necessity to put a slant on it or tell us how we should watch it.

CS: As you were watching it, were any scenes were surprising to you?

EH: None of the scenes were surprising. I lived through that period. So none of it surprised me. Actually it brought up memories of that period of time. All of the people in the clips that I knew and the people that I didn’t know were so familiar to me because I worked with all of the different aspects of communities represented in the film. The most touching and inspiring clips in the film were the interview with Stokely Carmichael and his mother and the way that Angela [Davis] so naturally and powerfully answered a question that is constantly asked and she answered it in such a way in both instances when I saw the film in communities, let’s say, it caused a powerful response in the audience, a thankful grateful response in the audience. And I’m sure that it caused in some people some self-reflection. Those are two powerful scenes.

Another is with a Vietnam vet who was talking about what it meant for an African-American man to come home from war and not really feel at home, not be given the respect that he was due. If we just extract the country name, Vietnam and put in Afghanistan, we have the same circumstance and the same resulting repressive and oppressive forces at play for the people in the countries where we are warring and the soldiers, the men and women who go to fight. Those were some of the scenes that really stood out to me. There were many others, like the funny and poignant poem that Lewis Michaux just gives to us. It’s just hilarious and there’s such truth in it. I remember that bookstore. It was a meeting place, an activist hub, a place for learning and knowledge because there weren’t many places that you could go and find out about the histories of people of color, not just African Americans but Michaux’s bookstore also had lots of other books as well. Now there are many other bookstores like it but that one was a historical phenomenon.

CS: What’s unusual to me about the film is that the filmmaker has contemporary people, younger people like Talib Kweli and Eryka Badu who are commenting on that time period, unlike traditional documentaries that usually use one voiceover and fewer voices are being heard. Sometimes that worked and sometimes it didn’t. What did you think about that approach, using younger people, some of these musicians as additional voiceover commentary?

I loved it. I loved every commentary that every person made. The reason why is that is what the film is for from my perspective The film was created I believe to have us not only think about what we’re watching and what we’re understanding of it but to talk about it. Talib Kweli and Robin Kelly helped us to think about what we were watching but not tell us what we were seeing, once again, because the audiences are filled with people who are younger, because we don’t live in the ‘60s and ‘70s any more, we’re in 2011. It’s important that we have a modern understanding so it all works for me. I don’t have any critique of the film because I don’t watch it as if it’s a documentary.

I’m not a filmmaker, I’m not a critic but from the standpoint of history and with the concern I have for the students that I teach, my own children and all of the young people who I come into contact with, there would be no way for them to see the compilation of images and voices if it weren’t for this film. It is a great beginning and I hope that many other films do this. And for the people who critique the film, my request of them is to make one that does work.

So I really appreciated all of the comments, one particular comment that seems to stand out to young people who come to me after the film showing to talk about it, and I’m sure this will continue because I’ve given this film as extra credit to my students I teach sociology and it’s a powerful film in that way. One that that really stands out that people are talking about is Talib Kweli’s commentary on being on the plane and listening to [a recording of] Stokely Carmichael speak and then being stalked by the airport police or law enforcement folk. And so then the question is why and then you come to the answer, unless you’re into denial. Because we can listen to anything we want on our own earphones in the privacy of our own individual world. So that was powerful and was the prompt for a lot of great conversation. There are so many conversation points in it.

One of the challenges we face in the United States today is that we cannot talk about things like this. I’m talking we, not just African Americans and communities of color talk about the combination of race and class and gender a lot. They may not call those constructs race, class and gender but it’s always talked about. But one of the things that’s difficult is to be in the room with European Americans, African Americans, Asian Americans, indigenous Americans and Latin American or Latinos from that diaspora and talk like this after watching such a film. We can talk but it’s difficult to stay in the conversation as it is and not get sidetracked by personal emotions or guilt or shame or free-floating anger, any of those things. I think that this film because it’s gentle in a way – what do I mean by that – it doesn’t hit you over the head with anything. It just shows some footage with some music and some voice narrative here and there. It does make people want to talk about it. People didn’t want to leave the room when we had the community viewing of it in Oakland. They wanted to talk, they wanted to ask each other questions, to be grateful to one another for the work they do. I met poets and artists in the room who wanted to take something from the film and move forward with it in their own work. So I believe it’s important.

Americans have a tendency to, the way we’re socialized is, watch a film, critique it and say I didn’t like it or that was nice and go home and go about our regular whatever it is.

So I’m hoping that we will be inspired by the film. I hope that many, many people will go and see it. That’s why I’m doing these interviews. I don’t work for the publicist. [laughter]

CS: Of all the young people, the musicians, I thought Talib Kweli’s comments were the most relevant and the most interesting and informed. He’s clearly studied the period and has an interest in that era.

EH: Yes, and I want to remind you about what Eryka Badu said about the importance of telling our stories, whether they are historical stories or our current stories, that we need to tell them because there are so many stories out there. I thought about that for myself because I’m writing my autobiography, how important it is that we tell our stories and not let others tell our stories. And the mass media told these very stories to us from ‘67 to ‘75, the period of the film, completely different story. We were hateful, we were criminal, we were ruining the face of the United States and it’s way of governing, rather than looking at what was really happening. So I thought what she said was quite wise and I felt that in the things she said, she’d studied history as well. If you listen carefully to Eryka Badu’s music, all of it, not just some of it, not just what gets played on the radio, you hear history in her lyrics. So sometimes intelligent or intellectual or educated or well versed in something might exclude people who are educated in different kinds of ways and intelligent in different kinds of ways because there isn’t only one way of being intelligent or intellectual.

CS: You mentioned that you’re having your students seeing the film as extra credit. Do they have to do any writing about the film for your class?

EH: Yes, they have to write three highlights of the film, whatever they are, I don’t mean film clips. Just three highlights of this film from a sociological perspective and show me their ticket stub. Other than that I want them to see it for themselves. I’m giving them a number of points for seeing it because they are paying money. And they are not wealthy students.

CS: You had mentioned the difference between how the mainstream media presented this time period – how it’s filtered through stereotypes of African Americans whereas in the Black Power Mixtape, the footage is simply being shown with this additional filter on top of it. Can you talk more about this contrast?

EH: for instance when there are documentaries that have been done on the period of the 60s and 70s. I’ll give an example: I watched one American documentary where we saw water hoses knocking down people. We were given a context that excused that behavior. And the filmmaker probably didn’t even realize it. We’re seeing that in the context of the movement let’s say to cross the bridge with Martin Luther King, there were so many people, the police felt it necessary to respond. I don’t know that that’s what they felt. That something was going to happen. It was a peaceful march across a bridge of hundreds of people. Why did the police feel they had to respond?

So Goran Olsson, a filmmaker from Sweden, just shows us the film, the footage. And what we come away with is African-American people at that time were being knocked down by water hoses and/or beaten by people for no reason that we can discern. And is there a reason good enough is the other thing you’re left with. One of the people who interviewed me last week said some of the scenes were unbearable for her to watch. She’s an Irish American woman. She said “I was so embarrassed by the tour guide on the bus. I wanted it to stop.”

Although it hurt my heart, I’ve heard it, I’ve seen it, it’s there. Goran just showed it to us. He didn’t excuse the tour guide. He didn’t tell us why we were seeing it. He gave it to us, open-ended. That interviewer who said it was hard for her to watch, is my age so she remembered the news footage of people being chased by dogs, beaten with billy clubs by police or iron rods by violent white Americans, and what we were talking about that day is that the violence is often placed in the hands of the people who defend themselves.

For instance a new spin on some documentaries is, unlike the peaceful marches led by Martin Luther King, police came in and responded to a protest and people fought back. What? We’re watching police beat people. And they don’t know nonviolence. And more and more importantly, as Stokely said, the police don’t know nonviolence. So [in the film] we were not asked to blame people. We weren’t even asked to blame the people who did what they did. We were just asked to think about what we are seeing and what we can do to change it. And the interviewer who I talked to said it really inspired her to do more. And that is something that a lot of people have said. What can I do in my life where I am with the people that I’m connected to - to uplift humanity. It’s powerful if everybody decides in their own way, in their own work with the people that they’re connected to - to do just a bit more. Exponentially, it means change.

I met Goran Olsson through Skype and he is one of the most humble and kind human beings I’ve met in a long time. His original intention was not to make a film about the 1960s. He was planning to do something else and as he put it in this TV archives, he found this “treasure.” Well, first of all, he saw it as a treasure, not something he could sell on eBay.

CS: He valued it.

EH: He valued it and I’m sure it was hard. He did something beautiful with it. He doesn’t claim to understand all the nuances of African-American history or Black Liberation Movements, not at all. He just thought people have to see this. And he was right. He takes his teenage children around to help him with it. He brought them to the States when he interviewed a number of people. Wonderful filmmaker but more importantly, wonderful human being. His film is an example of what we can do with the skills and talents we have and the people we’re connected to.


Chuleenan Svetvilas is a writer and editor in the San Francisco Bay Area. Her film articles have appeared online or in print in Alternet, Documentary, The Panopticon Review, DOX, Mother Jones, and the book Soccer vs. the State (PM Press, 2011)

Monday, February 11, 2008

Peniel E. Joseph on Black Power & Obama

February 11, 2008

This is a very important new article by the prominent young black historian (and Professor of African and African American Studies at Brandeis University) Peniel E. Joseph, who wrote a great book on 'Black Power' in 2006 entitled 'Waiting Till the Midnight Hour'. This highly interesting analytical piece on Obama and his historical relationship to the politics of 'Black Power" was sent to me by my sister-in-law. Enjoy...

http://www.brooklynrail.org/2008/02/express/from-black-power-to-barack-obama

[My note to my sister-in-law]

Thank you very much for this article. You're right of course--I'm VERY interested in this piece. I've been a fan of Joseph's writing since he wrote 'Waiting Till the Midnight Hour' a couple years ago. I see him as one of an important cadre of major African American historians and political scholars to emerge in the past 20 years (like Robin Kelley for example) and a welcome alternative to the somewhat shallow and jejune analysis that too often passes for serious academic scholarship dealing with the highly complex history, politics, and culture of modern African American life. I'm particularly interested because my own personal political involvement seriously began during my freshman year in high school (fall of 1966!) when I joined a number of 'black youth' organizations dedicated to the ideas and national movement circulating around the theme of (what else) 'Black Power.' I find the historical trajectory of these intense black political and cultural struggles over the past 40 years to be extremely profound in their ongoing impact on American society in general and Obama's extraordinary campaign is obviously the most visible and significant embodiment and extension of this trajectory (whether Obama himself yet fully realizes or appreciates it in ALL of its dimensions or not). I have absolutely no doubt that Obama will of course learn all the many necessary "lessons" his pathbreaking campaign is teaching him, as well as discover an even deeper understanding of exactly what he represents in terms of this broader historical arc. His intelligence, vision, discipline, and commitment (as well as the profound contributions of his amazing wife Michelle) will ensure that Barack will grow into true greatness as BOTH a truly progressive American political leader AND an "African American" one so long as he maintains and fiercely protects his INTEGRITY. These mutually supporting roles are ultimately indivisible you know...

===============

From Black Power to Barack Obama
by Peniel E. Joseph

Barack Obama’s meteoric rise from charismatic senator to national phenomenon to presidential contender reveals the complex evolution of black politics since the civil rights and Black Power era. Obama’s candidacy is particularly noteworthy during this primary season and election year, which comes on the fortieth anniversary of 1968, a year when effort to transform American democracy ran headlong into a violent defense of white supremacy. Born in 1961, the same year Freedom Riders faced prison to desegregate interstate travel across the nation, Obama remains aloof to the culture wars—whether based in racial, gender or ethnic solidarity—that remain a cornerstone of the legacy of the 1960s. “I think America is still caught in a little bit of a time warp,” Obama confessed to Newsweek last summer. “The narrative of black politics is still shaped by the ’60s and black power.” Indeed.

Black Power era radicalism loomed over 1968, a year most often remembered for the assassinations of Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy in the spring, followed by the election of Richard Nixon as president in the fall. Urban rebellions—what the media and law enforcement officials referred to as riots—gripped dozens of cities that year, in the sixth straight summer of civil disorders. Radicalized college and high school students staged raucous demonstrations, walkouts and campus takeovers that sent shockwaves through much of the nation.

Black radicals stood at the center of these demonstrations. Advocates of Black Power would ultimately transform American democratic institutions through gritty, often provocative, street demonstrations, campus takeovers and community organizing that challenged entrenched black leadership as much as government officials.

Four decades have passed since King was cut down by an assassin’s bullet on Thursday, April 4, 1968. It’s worth remembering how King’s post-’65 push for economic justice, critique against the Vietnam War, and efforts to galvanize the nation’s poor stood, in part, as a response to criticism from black militants.

The years between the Supreme Court’s 1954 Brown decision calling for desegregation and the passage of the 1965 Voting Rights Act are popularly recalled as the heroic period of civil rights struggle. In scholarly and popular histories this era is most often evoked by a collage of images that begins with a black woman holding a newspaper sign announcing the Brown decision; moves to Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King being arrested for participating in the bus boycott in Montgomery, Alabama; stops briefly to show federal troops protecting black students in Little Rock, Arkansas; before jumping ahead to dramatic pictures of racial terror in Birmingham that include stark footage of black civil rights demonstrators being attacked by German shepherds and fire hoses. King’s August 1963 March on Washington speech becomes the centerpiece of this newsreel style version of history.

But there is another side to this story that is often left untold, but crucial to understanding contemporary black politics. During the same decade that cast King in the spotlight, black radicals, led by Malcolm X, confronted American democracy’s jagged edges of poverty, police brutality, poor schools, unemployment, and an emerging urban crisis through bruising protests in places such as Harlem, Detroit, and Los Angeles. While critical of the civil rights movement’s focus on desegregating public accommodations and what many considered its overemphasis on the power of the vote, many of these Northern militants drew inspiration from these struggles and simultaneously participated in both movements. Early Black Power radicals, most notably Malcolm X, drew strength and power from the international arena, paying particularly close attention to the 1955 Bandung Conference in Indonesia, Ghanaian independence in 1957 and the Cuban Revolution of 1959. When Fidel Castro came to Harlem in 1960, the first leader he met with was Malcolm X. In February of 1961 what several years later would become known as Black Power made its national debut via an organized demonstration at the United Nations in protest against the assassination of Patrice Lumumba, the prime minister of the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

In 1966 Stokely Carmichael, a young civil rights organizer who had done impressive work in some of the most dangerous parts of the South, gave name to a pre-existing movement by calling for “Black Power” in the heat of the Mississippi Delta. Black Power would galvanize black radicals, but quickly came under fire—then and now—for advocating what critics argued was a racially separatist philosophy that promoted anti-white feeling, fomented violence, and reeked of sexism. In truth, while certain Black Power activists were guilty as charged, the major strains of the movement represented a far more nuanced and radical critique of American society. Black Power activists harbored a deep cynicism regarding the ability of American democracy to be extended to African Americans. Carmichael’s pursuit of political, economic and cultural power came only after suffering years of physical violence and abuse at the hands or ordinary white citizens while trying to promote voting rights among sharecroppers.

1968 was also the year of the Black Panthers, perhaps the most enduring symbol of Black Power era radicalism. Contemporary mythology surrounding the Panthers focuses on the group’s bravado, flashy clothes, guns, and fiery polemics that advocated an armed confrontation against the state. Less well remembered is the fact that co-founder and minister of defense Huey P. Newton was a college student and an ex-con, a young organizer who cared deeply about the survival of the black community. On this score, the Black Panthers launched a host of “survival programs” during their relatively brief (1966-1982) existence that focused on bread and butter issues, including health care, decent housing, food, clothes and the treatment of prisoners.

The Panthers were, in fact, simply the most spectacular manifestation of the Black Power era’s call for radical democracy. Black college and high school students from New York City to Greensboro, North Carolina out to San Francisco successfully transformed university curriculums and founded Black Studies programs and departments around the nation. Trade unionists in Detroit and other cities attempted to organize workers caucuses to challenge the entrenched racism of white-controlled unions. Led by Amiri Baraka, Nikki Giovanni, Sonia Sanchez and many others, the Black Arts Movement re-imagined the very contours of blackness through poetry, prose, theater, dance, music and style. Black feminists challenged sexism both in the society and in the Black Power movement itself, arguing for a more inclusive vision of Black Power that promoted a human rights agenda. Welfare mothers from New York City to Las Vegas dreamed of a guaranteed income and, when Dr. King met with them to encourage their participation in the Poor People’s Campaign, they lectured him on the intricacies of public policy. Finally, hundreds of thousands of ordinary local people backed a new generation of black politicians and successfully elected them as mayors of a range of urban cities in the 1960s through the early 1980s, including Cleveland, Gary (Indiana), Newark, Atlanta, Detroit, Chicago and Philadelphia.

Barack Obama is a direct beneficiary of this rich and varied legacy. As late as Harold Washington’s historic 1983 mayoral victory in Chicago and Jesse Jackson’s robust 1984 presidential campaign, the Black Power legacy infused black political protest, organizing and even electoral politics. Black Power’s impact was of course often blunted by the media’s refusal to acknowledge its continued existence after the mid-1970s. But something happened to black politics in the post-Black Power era, perhaps best exemplified by Jesse Jackson’s own meteoric rise from insurgent outsider to the most recognizable black power broker within Democratic Party circles. Jackson’s route followed a trajectory taken by venerable activists such as Andrew Young, John Lewis and other civil rights veterans who came to define King’s increasingly radical dream as accommodation with powerful white neo-liberals.

Jackson’s endorsement of Obama notwithstanding, the aging civil rights cadre has repudiated Obama because he threatens to cut them out of their cozy deals as intermediaries between the Democratic Party establishment and the black community. But from Black Power’s legacy we have been given Barack Obama, an intelligent, handsome and inspiring politician whose blackness has become a source of his racially transcendent appeal. Yet, when we take a closer look, Obama has all the trappings of a strong, if closeted, race man, complete with a lovely black wife, two beautiful black daughters and membership in a black church that is unabashedly Afrocentric. Until recently, Obama appeared to be more of the leader of a movement than a bona fide presidential candidate. A victory in the Iowa caucuses changed that and the Clinton campaign launched a series of racially coded, but still patently obvious, lines of attack through various proxies that brought up Obama’s substance abuse as a young man, slurred his anti-war record as a “fairy-tale,” and impugned Dr. King’s legacy by asserting that it took Lyndon Johnson to actually pass civil rights legislation. These attacks have successfully served the Clintons’ Machiavellian purposes: to out Barack Obama as a black candidate. They are also reminiscent, in their own way, of the worst kind of racial pandering engaged in by the Democratic Party’s southern wing during the post-Reconstruction era. While certainly not as blatant as Alabama governor George Wallace’s infamous “segregation then, segregation now and segregation forever” statement, the impact of the Clinton campaign’s racial politicking is similar: it casts racial difference as un-American, subversive, and a threat to the very foundations of the nation’s democracy. But, even as it successfully positions Hillary Clinton to win the party’s nomination, this strategy may have crippling long-term repercussions. As black Americans become increasingly aware of the Clinton campaign’s ugly efforts to racially swift boat Obama’s candidacy, there could be a backlash among African American voters come November.

By playing the race card, the Clintons have successfully pivoted the Democratic primary away from substantive political issues (e.g., the war in Iraq) and turned it into a debate over which oppressed group (blacks or women) deserves the nomination. Gloria Steinem’s New York Times op-ed piece, published in the aftermath of Clinton’s loss in Iowa, set the tone for this storyline, arguing that black men had received the right to vote fifty years before white women while conveniently ignoring that most blacks could not exercise that right until 1965 because of racial apartheid in the South. Predictably, as attacks by prominent white politicians and ex-president Bill Clinton on Obama mount, the black community has rallied with the latent sense of nationalism that is always bubbling beneath the surface. For all intents and purposes, Obama has now been outed as a black candidate, the very moniker his entire campaign had successfully avoided. By promoting a robust version of the American Dream, albeit in Technicolor, Obama’s campaign had heretofore avoided that perception.

This need not be the political Achilles heel that many might imagine. After all, contrary to popular opinion, the Black Power Movement fought for bread and butter issues that made an impact on the lives of all Americans, including good public schools, decent housing, healthcare and gainful employment. While activists looked for racially specific solutions to problems rooted in slavery, a variety of multi-ethnic and racial groups looked to the movement as a broad template for social and political justice goals. In this sense, contemporary discussion of multiculturalism and diversity are rooted in the radically democratic ethos of the Black Power era. Obama has recently come under attack for comments suggesting that Ronald Reagan’s presidency reflected a deeper more substantive change in America than Nixon or Clinton. I absolutely concur, even as I vehemently object to the Reagan era’s acceleration of black poverty, incarceration and misery. Reagan’s presidency in many ways represented a counter-revolution to the search for “land, peace, bread, and justice” advocated by the Black Panthers. Obama’s legacy is still unfolding before our eyes. Ironically, the key to achieving the broad, racially transcendent impact that his soaring rhetoric aspires towards may lie in lessons taught by a Black Power Movement whose legacy Obama is unlikely to ever publicly claim.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Peniel E. Joseph is associate professor of African and Afro-American Studies at Brandeis University. He is the author of the award-winning Waiting Til the Midnight Hour: A Narrative History of Black Power in America (Holt, 2006) and editor of The Black Power Movement: Rethinking the Civil Rights-Black Power Era (Routledge, 2006). A native New Yorker (and former Brooklyn resident), he is writing a biography of activist Kwame Ture (Stokely Carmichael).

Copyright 2005-2008 The Brooklyn Rail