a public service announcement from Professor Dred Scott to the true students of Black liberation

My Friends
Chains are long things.
From your sojourns of today
Until your battle plans of tomorrow
Please remember that blackness
           Travels without
Moving;
it                        crosses borders but
stays in slavery.

Ya got that?
fugitive
don't mean
free

  Plan accordingly.

Thank you.



(c) Omar Ricks 2013

Django: Disciplined and Enslaved

Oh boy. It must be Oscar season. Daily newspapers are publishing profile articles that show the difficult imaginative off-camera work that actors put into big-budget Hollywood productions. That means we can expect a menagerie of the fucked-up fantasies actors have to live out in order to get themselves into character. And in a season with at least two films pertaining to slavery, it would seem that people seeking Oscar buzz are saying too much. And ya know, sometimes I just like to sit back and listen to see what kind of shit comes out of their mouths.

Being Calvin Candie

"[T]he world has more than one way of keeping you a nigger, has evolved more than one way of skinning the cat..."--James Baldwin, No Name in the Street

Kerry Washington and Leonardo DiCaprio have been held up as models of actorly commitment to craft for their recent work in Django Unchained.

For the moment, let's consider DiCaprio, who reportedly cut his hand while the camera was rolling and kept going with the take. Anyone who has studied introductory acting in the USA recognizes this as an example of something that the guru of American realistic acting, Russian director Konstantin Stanislavski, would have called "living the part." It's almost exactly like a moment in Stanislavski's first English translation, An Actor Prepares, when the actor (accidentally) transforms his physical discomfort (the heat from the stage lights, the heaviness of his robes, etc.) and says his lines more truthfully than he did before. "Living the part" was, for Stanislavski, "the highest form of acting," the moment when the actor (the person playing the character) responds to real, genuinely felt impulses and transforms those impulses to do something that serves the goals of the character. It's not that DiCaprio's cut hand substituted for his work in developing the part, but it might have helped him go a little more ballistic and his willingness to just go with it might have helped him reach the ballistic pitch called for in the moment.

In this same vein, then, DiCaprio also let Samuel L. Jackson cuss at him to act more like a slave master because, as Jackson reportedly said about having to endure racism and the repetition of the epithet "nigger," "this is just another Tuesday for us." Jackson reportedly said this to DiCaprio to encourage him to really invest his energies in a role (Calvin Candie) that DiCaprio reportedly found abhorrent to play. Jackson was there for DiCaprio-- and, as film critic Armond White points out, for Quentin Tarentino-- in a way not so different from the way that his character, Stephen, was there for DiCaprio's: getting him to treat Black people like "niggers," and giving DiCaprio the license and support he needed. Imagine a world in which a Black person says to a white person, "Please, pleeease call me 'nigger!'"-- and remember, as Baldwin said, that this can happen in multiple ways-- and you've just thought of what a Black actor goes through on "just another Tuesday" working in a play or film telling the story of Black life and history in slavery. That is, in fact, considered a basic professional courtesy that a generous actor just does if she or he is acting opposite a white person who says things like "Buddy, I’m having a tough time with these words," as DiCaprio reportedly said. It's just what a "good actor" does. And, again, to push Armond White's point just a little further, it's also what a good house slave did. Be sure to notice, of course, that a cut hand is probably not a routine occurrence for DiCaprio, whereas being called "nigger" is such a defining aspect of Black life (circa 1858 and circa 2013) as to be "just another Tuesday" for Jackson.

And then there's Washington, who actually subjected herself to torture to such an extent that she feared for her sanity if the shoot had gone any longer than it did and, as it was, had to take the unusual move of bringing her family to the set just to get through the whole ordeal.

Now, I can't claim any insider knowledge of the Django set (although I invite actors and others to speak up about what goes on). But, speaking as a Black person who has worked professionally as an actor, I can say that Washington's willing subjection to beatings and other forms of torture in preparation for playing Broomhilda are examples of how the professional/artistic ethic of psychologically realist acting works. It is a mode of control that social theorists have called disciplining. We'll say more about that in a moment. Stay tuned...

The Only Good Actor Is a Disciplined Actor

"Being a body that desires to be seen, the black body lives on a fine line between Absence and orchestrated Presence. …Since its problem is that it exists, its efforts to justify its existence always miss their mark."— Lewis Gordon, Bad Faith and Antiblack Racism

Now, I don't give a shit about the outcome of the Oscar race. What I do care about during Oscar season are these kinds of revealing off-camera profiles. Oscar season is a moment when corporate media outlets are spewing these kinds of profiles left and right. Why? Probably because the Oscars are a horse race. No, of course, actors are not horses. The work of actors is much more subjective to judge than simply observing whose nose crossed the finish line first. But observers of the Oscar race are invested in who wins to such a degree that they have little regard for the physical or psychological health or ethical integrity of those doing the work to get the win. People speak less guardedly when at the tracks, and, in the Oscar race, people divulge details about how actors work, showing that most actors do in fact work very hard. A common saying among actors goes, "The worst insult someone can give you is to tell you that you did a good job of acting." That's because acting is supposed to just look like being. If you look like you're acting, you probably need to keep doing (practicing) it until it looks seamlessly like being.

These backstage/off-screen profiles show how much doing goes into being without distracting from the illusion that what happens on screen is "real." Even the master illusionist Hollywood apparatus can afford to share little off-camera peeks at how it "makes the magic." Details that might otherwise be restricted to trade journals show up in the LA Times. Stoking interest in the horse race-- I mean Oscar race-- media outlets encourage us to think about actors as being more than just bodies. They appear as intellectual, learned, inspired, disciplined.

"Good actors" are "disciplined" actors, and for Black actors this rule is no exception. But--and this is a big but-- when you're expected to play a slave-- a nonbeing, a "nigger"-- the stakes of doing the things that help you create a being (a character) are quite different from the stakes that other actors face in building any other kind of character. After all, you are a nonbeing playing a nonbeing and expecting to be recognized as a professional for doing so-- by beings. Gaining that quasi-recognition involves subjecting yourself to modes of discipline because, otherwise, things might get out of control and you might get swallowed up by the role, or perhaps even go all Nat Turnery on that ass.

By "disciplining," I mean that, rather than explicitly punishing you, forcing you, or twisting your arm into doing something as extreme as Washington does, the protocols of professionalism routinely instruct Black actors to do this same type of thing as a model of what it is to be a "good actor." And you can't say anyone put a gun to your head and told you, "Let me whip you and lock you in a box, or else!" if you are the one who asked them "Will you please help me get into this role by calling me a 'nigger' with your mouth and your whip and your chains and your locks and your body language--on camera and off camera?" in the first place.

That's what "disciplining" means in Michel Foucault's sense of the word described in the book Discipline and Punish (1977):

[I]t  dissociates  power from  the  body;  on the  one  hand,  it  turns  it  into  an 'aptitude',  a  'capacity',  which  it  seeks  to  increase;  on the  other hand,  it  reverses the course of the energy,  the  power  that  might result from it, and turns it into a relation of strict subjection. (Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison, NY: Vintage, 1977, p. 138)

In other words, the disciplined worker no longer has to be beaten into doing something as in slavery; when "disciplining" is how power operates, the worker just does it so that she can be "good." She feels it adds something to her, say, a certain skill needed in acting, while at the same time it is subjecting her to the uses of powerful institutions, say, like Hollywood.

To speak of "good acting" is to speak regardless of whether it's "good" for you. And that's where Washington's concerns about her sanity become a way of talking about how our day-to-day lived experiences with disciplining mirror the contours of the antiblack paradigm we live in. I mean, why would Washington need to worry about her grip on reality if she didn't have anxiety about how close slavery is to modern-day black life?

In the backstage/off-camera context, this disciplining often bears more than a passing resemblance to slavery. For example, I once worked on a set of a cop show in Los Angeles. A gang of heavily armed off-duty cops (two white, one black) tortured my character and his partner, both of us Black Jamaican drug dealers, and forced them to drink each other’s urine out of the toilet. Between takes, as the producers decided what to do with us, I stood there and watched the three cop actors plus the white, Asian, and Latino grips, camera ops, and others (a few women but mostly men) pointing at my and my partner’s bodies. And then they did it all over again.

Of course, slave masters and overseers back in the day, like teachers, bosses, and prison guards today, knew the same thing Foucault knew: It is easier to use the slave who self-regulates and is intrinsically motivated to "be good" at something than one who has to be punished and forced into doing everything.

What Foucault didn't quite understand was how very adaptable slavery was. Antiblackness is so powerful that not only can it reconstitute slavery after the Emancipation Proclamation and 13th Amendment as sharecropping, convict leasing, wage slavery, and prison slavery; but it can even extend unique and under-appreciated modes of slavery into the coteries of the Black elites, so that even studied, disciplined, acclaimed actors who graduate from college, speak at the Democratic National Convention and star in an ABC series and drive Range Rovers and have Louis Vuitton clothes can be enjoyed like...well, any old slave. (Remember what Malcolm X said about a Black person with a Ph.D.?)

In Washington's case (as with that of Jackson and Foxx), self-regulation is subjection to torture. For Black actors, our on-camera lives as slaves bear much resemblance to our off-camera lives. That's not because we can't get over it or because everybody goes through the same thing; it's because that's still where we as Black people are-- still getting pushed out of jobs and neighborhoods to make room for white people; still getting sodomized, battered, and shot by those who are supposed to "protect and serve"; still getting blown away by civilian white people who deputize themselves to be our overseers, vigilantes who are getting protected by the police. Being well-spoken graduates of competitive higher learning institutions does not relieve us from the demands that the slave estate has for our bodies-- to brutalize, enjoy, experiment on, and destroy our bodies. Dressing in expensive clothing does not render us safe. Walk on the set; you're a slave. Walk off the set; you're still a slave. Asking someone to subject us to slave treatment almost seems redundant, except that we are expected to do it in the name of being "good actors." Torture and discipline, abjection and professionalism go hand in hand.

Actors are taught in acting classes and directed on sets to see behavior like Washington's not as masochistic but, rather, as something that demonstrates an admirable level of "commitment" to the craft. We are taught to aspire to it. And while I've never been instructed explicitly to do what she did, I've often been told, "You know, the really committed actors are able to get over the painful legacy of slavery, imperialism, and genocide and just do the work. Those are the ones who get jobs. Do you want a job?"

Reality Check

"My pride became my affliction. I found myself imprisoned in the stronghold I had built. The day came when I wished to break my silence and found that I could not speak: the actor could no longer be distinguished from his  role."--Leo Proudhammer in James Baldwin, Tell Me How Long the Train's Been Gone (1968)

Most Black actors playing slaves cannot fly their parents to the set and get themselves mentally back in balance. Many Black actors don't have their parents, or any people who help them get back on balance. Most Black actors will play a slave, then turn around, and hit the temp job or a night shift at the diner, if they even have jobs, where their bosses and coworkers routinely treat them...well, you know...like slaves. Much of Black life isn't really balanced. If it ain't one thing, it's another. All of which is to say that, if we think of slavery as a set of circumstances in which one is defined by an external marker (say, skin color and facial features) and in which one is available to uses that abuse the body and mind for the purposes of other people's gain and pleasure, for most Black people, it is difficult to distinguish day-to-day life from slavery. "This is just another Tuesday for us" indeed.

And that's why Washington's experience and Jackson's reported words, seemingly intended to reveal something about how much they sacrificed for the craft, end up showing something that is much more revealing-- something that perhaps all of us Black folks can relate to: that whether backstage/off-camera or onstage/on camera, the life of the Black actor, like the lives of most Black people, is still unshielded from the violence of slavery. You can replace whips with pink slips. It does not change the position of your Black ass in relation to all others.

So how is it that the reality of "living the part" means losing touch with "reality" for Washington but is "just another Tuesday" for Jackson? Maybe that's a project for a comparative biographer. Several of Washington's other roles display a toughness that really can't be faked, so it's not that she's somehow less able to take it than Jackson. And Jackson, of course, has had weak moments in his life. But maybe both are true. Maybe all of it is that same aporia, the old ambivalence, the unbearable blackness of nonbeing, the oxymoron of "Black life": "Just another Tuesday for us" is enough to drive you clean out of your mind.

Republican National Convention in 105 words

"[I]n the big lie there is always a certain force of credibility; because the broad masses of a nation are always more easily corrupted in the deeper strata of their emotional nature than consciously or voluntarily; and thus in the primitive simplicity of their minds they more readily fall victims to the big lie than the small lie, since they themselves often tell small lies in little matters but would be ashamed to resort to large-scale falsehoods. It would never come into their heads to fabricate colossal untruths, and they would not believe that others could have the impudence to distort the truth so infamously."
--Adolf Hitler, Mein Kampf (Murphy translation)

NAT TURNER & GEORGE JACKSON DAY

George Jackson and Nat Turner both did their thing on this day in 1971 and 1831 respectively.

LARRY DAVIS was born today, May 28, in 1966. As a youth, Davis was forced by the NYPD to deal drugs to pay off corrupt NYPD pigs. When Davis tried to get out the game, owing the crooked pigs some money, the police began searching for him. Though the cops would later say that they were seeking Davis for questioning in connection with four murders, Davis knew that the pigs were attempting to kill him because of his intimate knowledge of their corruption. The police threatened Davis' mother and told her that they intended to kill Davis. On November 19, 1986, an NYPD hit squad of 27 pigs, some of whom had been drinking alcohol, arrived at the door of Davis' sister's apartment in the Bronx, where Davis was hiding. The police, carrying at least one shotgun and at least one automatic weapon, rushed the door in a mass, failing to follow even their own operating procedure, and firing on Davis with a shotgun blast that grazed his head. Davis returned fire. In the ensuing shootout, the pigs shot up Davis' sister's apartment, where Davis' sister's children were present. Davis injured six pigs, two of them seriously, and escaped. Davis eluded capture for 17 days, despite a massive police manhunt and the active cooperation of the local news media. Knowing the bounty the police had on his head, Davis stayed undercover, spied on the pigs as they searched for him, and determined the best moment to negotiate his surrender. During the negotiation, Davis insisted that the FBI and media be present to ensure his safety. He surrendered on December 6, 1986. Davis was acquitted of the four murders and of the attempted murder of the police officers who invaded his sister's apartment. Davis was convicted of weapons possession charges and, while incarcerated, was beaten repeatedly by prison guards, leaving Davis partially paralyzed and in a wheelchair. The pigs succeeded in convicting Davis of another murder, and on February 20, 2008, while serving a 25-to-life sentence, Davis was murdered by another inmate. Davis insisted until the end that he was framed. For many Afrikans living in urban killing fields called ghettos and barrios, Larry Davis is a hero because he fought back against the crooked cops who walk among us, coercing, brutalizing, raping, and killing at will. Honor him on this, his Born Day. Honor him, on this, the day of the fallen. He was a Freedom Fighter.

Reblogging: Is Tech Racist?

Created by: OnlineITDegree.net

Rihanna’s Media Roulette

By Nicholas Brady

“They can say whatever

Imma do whatever

No pain is forever… yep, you know this!”

The lines above were tweeted by Rihanna mere minutes after billboard.com published an article aimed at her. The article was written in the form of a letter asking Rihanna to cease her growing rapport with Chris Brown. This article not only asked her to “do it for the kids,” but also for herself and her own health. Billboard felt the inevitable heartbreak to come would be too much for Rihanna to take. They were only writing the piece because they cared. Admirable, right? Rihanna’s response to billboard: “no pain is forever” so she is going to “do whatever.” Since then, the two of them have released two steamy remixes that caused the Internet to have a collective orgasm and fit of rage simultaneously. Was this a product of their collective scheming?

Yep, we know this.

The ability to subvert and manipulate media spectacles is what makes and breaks popstars. It is the difference between being a has-been and a hot commodity. Rihanna’s camp created this spectacle with some very interesting moves. They initially created hype by only releasing a shortened version of “Cake” on the album, then wet our appetite with thinly veiled tweets about or to Chris Brown. In fact, this spectacle is much less about the two remixes themselves (which are good pop songs), but what the act of releasing music together hints at (or proves): Brown and Rihanna reconciling in more ways than just music. Thus, it is good for business for two artists building their images on dangerousness and sexuality to construct this spectacle. Yet spectacles have a habit of taking on a life of their own, producing monstrosities in excess of their inventor’s wishes.

Taking this point a little further in reference to the OJ Simpson trial, Toni Morrison writes that the spectacle has one job, “the production [and consumption] of belief.” The spectacle is the definition of passive aggressivity, where the authors (the media itself) also double as background characters that have no “power” over the narrative. The media reports on “facts” and “rumors” in the same breath, gives opinions on events that are not confirmable, and, in moments of inexplicable double-ness, criticizes itself for reporting on such “non-stories.” The game is familiar, yet remains titillating nonetheless. The narrative continues to speed along, moving from “are they friends?” to “are they back together?” to “we KNOW they are back together, now how do we feel about it?” Our desire to know produces its own reality.

The spectacle of their simulated reconciliation is two levels of simulation: a simulation of a simulation, or what Jean Baudrillard calls a simulacrum. Yet there is nothing amazing about this perse. Is Brown/Rihanna’s simulated reunion any more fake/real then Kim Kardashian’s wedding? No would be the easy answer, and this may be true in theory, but the ruse of analogy fools us into comparing situations separated by the gulf of race and the history of violence we are still living through. All popstars maintain and cultivate an image, but the black popstar (and all black people for that matter) are subjected to bear the weight of what Frantz Fanon calls an imago. While the image is about our conscious perceptions (we watch television and see Kim Kardashian), the imago is the relation between what we consciously see and unconsciously feel. Fanon’s example is the myth of black sexual prowess. The facts are that black men’s penises are the same size, on average, as anybody else, but race affects us unconsciously so that black men are perceived as sexually powerful beings. The unconscious imago is tied directly into how we receive and consume images, thus effecting the direction media spectacles move to. Rihanna’s media spectacle is no different and her black femininity supercharges its force. Like a bubble waiting to burst, the spectacle is filled with the hot air of our collective desires.

The collective desire of this media spectacle has been, interestingly enough, to help Rihanna. Each major media source, from billboard to entertainment weekly, and even “stars” like Reese Witherspoon and some wife from those “real housewives” shows, wrote how much they loved and cared for Rihanna. They only wanted what was “best for her.” The image of her bruised, beaten body is repeated endlessly. They wished to protect her from pain, hoped she would be a more responsible subject, and pleaded that she would just say no to Brown’s (sexual) prowess. The media has done pretty much everything but actually talked to Rihanna – well, the real Rihanna. But that is not who they are interested in. Instead of addressing themselves to the “real” Rihanna, they are invested in the project of constructing, acting upon, and deconstructing her imago. What Rihanna is really doing with Chris Brown is not important, it is what our unconscious has already decided is true that forms the narrative. In this move, they simultaneously dehumanize her (by relegating her to being merely an imago of herself) and reconstruct her as a subject responsible to the societal good (what is good for her and the girls that look up to her). This discourse of responsibility has quickly turned into the desire for someone to take responsibility, i.e. to be held accountable or to be punished. Groups have begun to protest and Rihanna’s label refuses to officially release the single. In a swift motion, the desire to protect quickly turns into the desire to punish. Writing on how protection and punishment were intimately tied up in slave law Saidiya Hartman wrote, “in the very efforts to protect [her]… a mutilation of another order was set in motion… the effort to safeguard [her] recognized [her] as subject only as she violated the law, or was violated (wounded flesh or pained body).” The imago of Rihanna – which is very different from Rihanna herself who has denied any chance of reconciling with Brown romantically – violated the trust of our society that had come together to protect her from the black male monster. Not only had she violated the trust, but also had the nerve to flaunt her sexual excesses in our faces! The conclusion the media spectacle – and the music business that is attached to it – has reached is, Rihanna must be punished for her own protection. In order to protect her body from physical pain, we must inflict metaphysical and social pain on her. It is, after all, because we love her. This is going to hurt us more than it will hurt her.

Rihanna choose to play a dangerous game with the media, a game she feels she is in control of. This is the price of fame for a black woman. In the wake of Whitney Houston’s death and the media spectacle that has frozen her image into an imago and torn it into fragments for public consumption, let us take time to remember that this world, in very simple terms, does not love us. The spectacle’s perverted love is a velvet glove slipped overtop of a violent desire. The desire to make us what Hortense Spillers has rightfully described as “beings for the captor.” Beings for someone else instead of our self. Rihanna’s love affair with the spectacle is the real abusive relationship we need to warn her about. But my desire is not to preach. As she stated in the original quote, she is “gonna do whatever” she wants. Rihanna wants to live her life attempting to grab power from the jaws of powerlessness. Yet, this elusive power is little more than playing a game of Russian roulette with a fully loaded pistol. This is the game she “chooses” to play. The only conclusion then is to, as she once sung, “just pull the trigger.”