Prophets of the Hood has truly been a fascinating read. I knew on some level that hip hop is very complex, but I have never taken the time to seriously think about it or dissect it. I've been thinking a good deal about the last chapter, where Perry comments on the direction hip hop is moving. She says that "status is attached to the goods, not in the mimicry of white privilege, but rather in an effort to recast status." She also says that hip hop's extreme consumerism can mark a form of subversion, but that it is also related to the larger capitalist framework and culture that hip hop exists within.
I see two sides of a contradiction at play here. One is the effort to create a Black culture that is its own, that values Blackness and innovates in a society that constantly devalues Blackness. The other side of the contradiction is still existing within that very society while trying to escape it, in a way. Perhaps to be more clear, what I'm trying to say is that hip hop tries to subvert racist culture and ideology, but in order to do so it still defines itself in relation to such ideology. It is impossible to create something completely separate and independent. I have been thinking about this because it seems that one is not truly escaping the oppression they face if they are constantly defining themselves in a negative reaction to it. To give another example, my friend chose not to learn how to cook because it is what women are supposed to do, and she did not want to fit into the stereotype. But she did not make that decision because she had no interest in cooking, rather she was reacting negatively to sexism. Is this being liberated from sexism if you are still reacting in relation to it?
Then again, is it even possible not to do that? And is hip hop trying to be a truly liberating force, or to give some sense of reprieve and distinct culture within this society? It seems to me that there are limits to trying to create something liberating while still existing within a racist society. No matter what, one will be reacting in a negative relation to the racist ideology. Therefore, I think that hip hop has the ability to create space for limited liberation, but it is still saturated with racism and sexism, whether directly or in directly, that it is quite limited. We would have to destroy racism before truly independent and liberating culture can be produced.
Wednesday, March 15, 2017
Tuesday, March 14, 2017
Understanding Black masculinity
Dear Imani Perry,
Thank you for your laborious research and thoughtful
analysis on hip-hop. I have never had the opportunity to engage with
scholarship on the history and culture of hip-hop in the Black community. I
wanted to write to you about chapters 5 and 6 because they left me with a lot
of unanswered questions. You dedicated an entire chapter to exploring
masculinity in hip-hop and most importantly, you provided a historical
socio-political framework for your analysis. This particular chapter caused me
to think deeply about my judgments of male-dominated hip-hop culture. While I
recognize that not all hip-hop and rap is misogynistic and sexist, a lot of the
lyrics and messaging make me feel extremely uncomfortable as woman, and these
feelings are heightened when I am surrounded by men bobbing their heads to the
beat and singing a long. Chapter 5 challenged my perceptions and forced me to
think critically about black masculinity in relation to white masculinity. You
write, “it is, in fact, a sense of powerlessness in the face of white
masculinity, and the fear of being pimped at the hands of wealthy white
recording moguls, that guides the hyper-masculinist moment, and the
heterosexist moment as racial anxiety is articulated through a patriarchal
cultural lens when the fear of being “bitched” finds artistic expression”(124).
At first, I struggled with your argument because, at times, it felt like you
were making an excuse for misogynistic sexist violent behavior against women.
However, instead of making excuses for this behavior, this you helped me to
contextualize black masculinity through an important historical framework that
addresses the pervasive white power structure that disempowers black men. With that
being said I did feel like your language and tone was apologetic of black
masculinity. I feel that you could have provided the historical context while
being critical of black masculinity. I would be curious to know how a black
male audience would receive your commentary on black masculinity in hip-hop. Do
you think they would use your work to better understand their behavior and understand
how they oppress Black women? Or, do you think they may understand your work to
be an excuse for their sexist and violent behavior against Black women?
Looking forward to your
response.
Best,
Ry
I'm Sorry I'm Surprised
Dear Dr. Perry,
As I read your beautifully authored Prophets of the Hood, I find myself consistently surprised by the depth and breadth of your analysis. While I've never doubted hip hop and rap music were worthy of academic exploration, I also never imagined studying them could yield such robust and intriguing findings. But this is problematic--I would never be surprised that research exploring classical music or any kind of indigenous music would result in extensive insights.
One of the most pervasive themes in AAWL has been our tendency to regard anything black as inherently unsophisticated or undesirable. In the context of mixed race people (or those who could pass as such), for example, we've agreed that "black" is generally an unsatisfactory answer because we've been conditioned to believe what makes one beautiful cannot be one's blackness. Similarly, in this case, I think what surprises me about your book is the caliber of scholastic insight that can come from studying something so black. I hate that I've been conditioned to think this way and I hate that most people who've been privy to the same conditioning will never take the time to understand how fallacious this line of thinking truly is.
I'm sorry for being surprised by the quality of your research. I'm sorry for being surprised by your eloquent and powerful style of writing. I'm sorry for being surprised to find out that you graduated from Harvard Law School at 27. I'm sorry for being surprised that you had a PhD and an LLM too. I'm sorry for being surprised at the legitimacy of a black woman studying black people and black things to such an extent. I'm sorry that I underestimated you, and I'm sorry that American society continues to underestimate us.
As I read your beautifully authored Prophets of the Hood, I find myself consistently surprised by the depth and breadth of your analysis. While I've never doubted hip hop and rap music were worthy of academic exploration, I also never imagined studying them could yield such robust and intriguing findings. But this is problematic--I would never be surprised that research exploring classical music or any kind of indigenous music would result in extensive insights.
One of the most pervasive themes in AAWL has been our tendency to regard anything black as inherently unsophisticated or undesirable. In the context of mixed race people (or those who could pass as such), for example, we've agreed that "black" is generally an unsatisfactory answer because we've been conditioned to believe what makes one beautiful cannot be one's blackness. Similarly, in this case, I think what surprises me about your book is the caliber of scholastic insight that can come from studying something so black. I hate that I've been conditioned to think this way and I hate that most people who've been privy to the same conditioning will never take the time to understand how fallacious this line of thinking truly is.
I'm sorry for being surprised by the quality of your research. I'm sorry for being surprised by your eloquent and powerful style of writing. I'm sorry for being surprised to find out that you graduated from Harvard Law School at 27. I'm sorry for being surprised that you had a PhD and an LLM too. I'm sorry for being surprised at the legitimacy of a black woman studying black people and black things to such an extent. I'm sorry that I underestimated you, and I'm sorry that American society continues to underestimate us.
Dear Maiesha
Dear Maiesha,
Your portrayal of Ethel Waters was excellent as well as your ability to have intellectual conversation about her character and nature. In our discussion about the controversial ending of the play and the problematic issue of the white savior complex, you something that truly resonated with me and my responsibility as a young person. You discussed the importance of forgiveness and deliverance .
On the subject of forgiveness and deliverance, I really enjoyed how you explored Ethel's spiritual awakening. While the ending does not do a good job of displaying this awakening, one important point was that harboring hatred does not produce a fruitful outcome in any revolution. Rather, it is important to be motivated by the need for change itself. To forgive is not to negate the experiences of racism and violence one has experienced nor is it a form of complacency; rather it is an action that places the power from the hand of the oppressor to the hands of the oppressed.
Kyle
Your portrayal of Ethel Waters was excellent as well as your ability to have intellectual conversation about her character and nature. In our discussion about the controversial ending of the play and the problematic issue of the white savior complex, you something that truly resonated with me and my responsibility as a young person. You discussed the importance of forgiveness and deliverance .
On the subject of forgiveness and deliverance, I really enjoyed how you explored Ethel's spiritual awakening. While the ending does not do a good job of displaying this awakening, one important point was that harboring hatred does not produce a fruitful outcome in any revolution. Rather, it is important to be motivated by the need for change itself. To forgive is not to negate the experiences of racism and violence one has experienced nor is it a form of complacency; rather it is an action that places the power from the hand of the oppressor to the hands of the oppressed.
Kyle
A Confused A Black Girl
After watching His Eye on the Sparrow and reading Imani Perry's Prophets of The Hood I do not know where I stand in history as a black women in history or if there was ever really a place for within this history. I take pride in women like Ethel Waters who suffered through so much abusive but still managed to make through and speak her worth into existence. She made each and everyone of her decisions matter and I just don't know as a dark-skinned women in society I can be able to do the same. Yes there are movements that aimed to bring women of all skin tones togethers like the melanin movement but even within those movements you never see a "true" dark-skinned girl. When you look at hip-hop videos todays and before African-American women bodies are over sexualized and yes this exploitation of the bodies affect all African-American women but you never really see a dark-skin girl as the lead person in the video. After watching the play and thinking about hip-hop female rappers it made realize that even though African-American women are united and tend to work together there are parts of society that still attempt to keep us divided.
As a dark-skin women myself and from learning about the history of other dark toned women like myself I believe there is a mindset within society that causes to have to work a step more than our fellow sister. There is more abusive suffered and more obstacles in our ways. Don't get me wrong I am not discrediting other African-American women and their struggles and triumphs. I am just saying there is a nuance difference within the common struggle we all share that cause people like myself to struggle a little more to find our place within the society and what being a women means for me not only within society but within our history as African American women,
As a dark-skin women myself and from learning about the history of other dark toned women like myself I believe there is a mindset within society that causes to have to work a step more than our fellow sister. There is more abusive suffered and more obstacles in our ways. Don't get me wrong I am not discrediting other African-American women and their struggles and triumphs. I am just saying there is a nuance difference within the common struggle we all share that cause people like myself to struggle a little more to find our place within the society and what being a women means for me not only within society but within our history as African American women,
-Tamara Morris
catering to the audience
Mr Parr,
So I'm just confused about why you wrote a play that ended in "a white man." That was literally the ending. And I'm trying to think hard about what Maiesha said. That revolutionary acts can come in many different ways. I think one revolutionary act would have been centering Ethel as the agent of her spiritual salvation. And I know that theatre has to be written with the audience in perspective. But I do not know how to reconcile the desire to please the audience with a story that is truthful, or at least tries to tell the truth without putting other motives first. And the truth has to be mindful of the past. This question makes me think about hip-hop. How it has become commercial, and how the audience often takes precedence over the product. I am not trying to call out any specific genre of rap or rapper. I just want to challenge the notion that people need to worry about getting others to feel a certain way rather than expressing personal emotion and sentiment. And in writing a play, a personal desire for racial unity should not trump the personal narrative of a woman who never had the option to be dependent on a white man or look to them on advice to live her life that would have been beneficial to her. I think that hip-hop artists can look to their audience because hip-hop is about the audience, the interaction, but at the same time, the sentiment has to be true to the artist or it does not uplift the performer and the audience, and hip-hop was born partly out of a desire for self-empowerment.
So I'm just confused about why you wrote a play that ended in "a white man." That was literally the ending. And I'm trying to think hard about what Maiesha said. That revolutionary acts can come in many different ways. I think one revolutionary act would have been centering Ethel as the agent of her spiritual salvation. And I know that theatre has to be written with the audience in perspective. But I do not know how to reconcile the desire to please the audience with a story that is truthful, or at least tries to tell the truth without putting other motives first. And the truth has to be mindful of the past. This question makes me think about hip-hop. How it has become commercial, and how the audience often takes precedence over the product. I am not trying to call out any specific genre of rap or rapper. I just want to challenge the notion that people need to worry about getting others to feel a certain way rather than expressing personal emotion and sentiment. And in writing a play, a personal desire for racial unity should not trump the personal narrative of a woman who never had the option to be dependent on a white man or look to them on advice to live her life that would have been beneficial to her. I think that hip-hop artists can look to their audience because hip-hop is about the audience, the interaction, but at the same time, the sentiment has to be true to the artist or it does not uplift the performer and the audience, and hip-hop was born partly out of a desire for self-empowerment.
Soooooo......Let me get this straight...
Dear Mr. Playwright, Sir,
So let me get this straight….
Did you really just make this observation that white men can’t
write stories about black women because they don’t know nothing bout their
lives, but then you did it?
Let get this straight,
Did you really just act like you wrote this simply to give an
inside look into the life of Ethel Waters?
Did you really just insinuate that the point of the play was to show Ethel’s
epiphany in the importance of a Christian mindset, but then only really mentioned her lack of spirituality at the very beginning of Act I?
Did you really just play into this idea of a negro woman making a
name for herself after many tribulations, but then give the credit to someone else?
What I wanna know is,
How you gonna make this play, focusing on Ethel as an
independent, and then turn around and make it for white folk?
As I sat amongst this almost all-white old crowd, I silently
took note of every line they chose to laugh at and how uncomfortable they got
every time the actress said the word nigga. I thought to myself “Why are they
here seeing this play about Ethel Waters if they can’t handle the dialect?” Probably because you gave them something to look forward to, making the silent cringes throughout the play worth it.
Honestly, white people’s favorite thing is to feel like they’ve
helped out the poor little defenseless black people. As if they are God’s gift
to Earth. So, as a white man, don’t you sit there and try to tell me you didn’t
make this play for white folk.
You told them what they wanna hear. They gave a standing
ovation. And they left. Feeling ever-so-satisfied. As if they personally, helped Ethel.
And let me just get one last thing straight…….
Were you really celebrating the life of Ethel Waters or
merely showing an example of the blessing white men are to black women?
Sanura
Monday, March 13, 2017
Why Mr. Parr?
Dear Mr. Parr,
I have a few questions for you on your play His Eye is on the Sparrow. What did you have in mind for Ethel's character? Did you keep your story as close to her life as possible or did you use her, because of her celebrity, and stretch her truth? Did you use her to accomplish a goal of presenting whites as the saviors of the black race and blaming blacks for their lowly positions in society? Who did you write for? Did you write to educate white audiences and personify black bodies or did you write to appease them, to make them feel whole and holy? Tell me Mr. Parr, who?
Your message contradicts itself, flip-flops, and takes the careful observer through a maze of light and shadows. You spend the majority of the play building up Ethel as strong, resilient, talented, and humble. However, you end it in an entirely different way. You present a handsome white man as the presence that fills the gaping hole missing in Ethel's life, her need for a child. You have her find her salvation and fullness in white society and make her turn on her own race and proclaim herself a "racist" when, in all actuality, the distrust that she feels towards whites is totally warranted. What did you mean to teach? Who did you mean to please? If you were writing the play today, would Ethel still have found her salvation in whiteness?
Wanting to know more,
Vanessa Sims
I have a few questions for you on your play His Eye is on the Sparrow. What did you have in mind for Ethel's character? Did you keep your story as close to her life as possible or did you use her, because of her celebrity, and stretch her truth? Did you use her to accomplish a goal of presenting whites as the saviors of the black race and blaming blacks for their lowly positions in society? Who did you write for? Did you write to educate white audiences and personify black bodies or did you write to appease them, to make them feel whole and holy? Tell me Mr. Parr, who?
Your message contradicts itself, flip-flops, and takes the careful observer through a maze of light and shadows. You spend the majority of the play building up Ethel as strong, resilient, talented, and humble. However, you end it in an entirely different way. You present a handsome white man as the presence that fills the gaping hole missing in Ethel's life, her need for a child. You have her find her salvation and fullness in white society and make her turn on her own race and proclaim herself a "racist" when, in all actuality, the distrust that she feels towards whites is totally warranted. What did you mean to teach? Who did you mean to please? If you were writing the play today, would Ethel still have found her salvation in whiteness?
Wanting to know more,
Vanessa Sims
Why I Don’t Fuck With Hip Hop:
Why I Don’t Fuck With Hip Hop:
I hate you then I love you and then I hate you again.
As a kid you had my back. We would chill everyday after school, on the weekends—just us. We learned all the dances, we wrote some raps, and we watched all the music videos. You told me:
“I know I can
I KNOW I CAN,
Be what I wanna be,
BE WHAT I WANNA BE,
If I work hard in it,
IF I WORK HARD IN IT,
I’ll be what I wanna be,
WHAT I WANNA BE”
We were tight. You understood me. I understand you. And I always had your back, even when everybody warned me about you.
Everybody told me that you would dog me out. That you hated me cause I was a girl with no ass. That you called me a bitch and a hoe. And I just didn’t believe them, cause you said I was down. That I was bout that life. I was one of your boys. I was your sis.
I was 12 when you first disrespected me.
I was at the flea market, walking around tryna find someone to spray paint my forces. I was out with my cousins, and not my momma. So the attention was a lot. You saw that nigga follow me around the whole flea, and you aint even say shit. When he smacked my ass, you didn’t even do shit.
It’s like when I started growing titties, I revoked my card for protection and respect that comes with being one of your boys. I already had it hard, so why didn’t you care? And I wish you would fix your mouth to tell me something different, because all of a sudden, I became your bitch, yo hoe, and someone your momma didn't fuck with.
I never thought you would treat me this way.
So don’t fuck with you.
And please don’t come at me saying I need you, because there will be me after you just as there was before you. I don’t need you to feel me. I don’t need you to back me up if I need to say something.
Stop talking to my brother, and stay away from my little sister.
I’m not playing with you.
My
Stories
Dear
Ethel Waters,
As
the musical director of His Eyes Were on
the Sparrow, Darius Smith, and others before him, once said, “We need to
tell our own stories.” This declaration rings true not only in the context of
the play based on your life, Ethel, but our pursuit of art, our passions, and our
lives in general. I was fortunate to have seen a play on your incredible life, which
was beautifully portrayed by Ms.Maiesha McQueen. Throughout the play I couldn’t
help but think, if you were sitting with us in the audience, how would you feel
about your portrayal? Or the fact that a
play based on your life was written by a white man? You rightfully felt
uncomfortable with white people and their treatment of people of color for
majority of your life, so I cannot fathom, despite changes of the heart later
in life, the feeling that a white man has a hand in telling your story. Yet, at
the same time, I am grateful to have learned so much about you and your life
through His Eyes Were on the Sparrow, and
that the adaption exists. The play, as well as many of readings from “African
American Women’s Lives” remind me that all of our histories are told through a
lens and sometimes with bias.
My history classes from elementary to high school, from Texas, to Michigan, to Georgia, focused on white men, and were usually coupled with conservative views. The “African American Women’s Lives” course is unlike any other history class I’ve ever taken through its engaging content and discussion and by it being taught by Dr. Hobbs, an African American woman. Courses such as AAWL educate us on black women who’s stories are not commonly known and experiences specific to black women. Our stories should be shared to broader audience, and delivered by ourselves personally or people who can understand as much as possible (no one can truly walk in another’s shoes). We need to be heard. To accomplish this, we need to educate ourselves and other people. All the while, empowering others to tell their stories in every way possible, through literal storytelling, or art or passions ranging from science to history. Ethel, your story empowered me to continue to work towards my goals and always advocate for what is right. I hope I can do the same for someone else.
Sincerely,
Sydney
Dear everything,
It is almost comical how often oppressed narratives are turned into stories of cross-cultural/racial allyship.
Although I certainly sympathized with Maiesha's efforts to remind us that minorities shouldn't keep their "rage inside" and should focus on connecting with others, even across racial boundaries, I still couldn't be convinced to love the fact that Ethel Waters's final song had to be about Billy Graham and his success in helping her find God. Though I don't want to completely reiterate what's already been said, I still wonder at this tension often debated in the art world between allowing one's audience to leave the theater content and "satisfied" with the work or alienating them, so that either feelings of guilt or the realization that things still need to change are invoked. It's the ultimate Brechtian vs. Stanislavskian question -- do happy endings create the very attitudes (more specifically, a blithe indifference to social matters) that we hope to subvert?
Well maybe the case is different for when working to paint a picture of Ethel Waters. Maybe the emphasis should not be so much on her struggle, but on her success. Did she (in the play) really need to centralize Graham as the vessel for her deliverance to God though???
I am still working out the answer in my head -- however, it seems, for now, there isn't an answer. What is so bad about emphasizing ally-ship? Larry Page certainly didn't see an issue there.
Sincerely,
Still in a state of confusion
To: Maiesha From: Tate
You said that you needed us in the audience on Sunday. I needed you. Your performance, and the larger opportunity to travel with my class; a diverse group of black women, was exactly what I needed. As someone who has acted, and absolutely loves being a part of the theater. As a black woman from Atlanta. As a girl interested in the lives of the women who came before me. As all an amalgamation of all the things that make me, me: I have to thank you for your presence and your performance. I left our discussion with a full (not heavy) heart. While the play's writing was iffy at times, your performance never was. Your commitment, your dedication to your craft, your seemingly boundless energy, and, of course, your incredible talents in singing and acting truly told a story in a way that was honest, and real. I appreciated that you considered all of the complexities of the role, the writing, and the character, and your ability to reconcile them and be true to Ethel in the performance. Like I said, I needed that. You are an inspiration. It is so important to be validated. You provided all of us with that and I hope we were able to give that to you. I want you to know that I wanted to shout "sing it!" so many times during those musical numbers, they were honestly just so so good, but I didn't because of the largely white audience, and I can't imagine what that sort of cultural difference is like day in and day out. I don't know if I could do it honestly. To deliver such an emotionally exhausting and racially charged performance eight times a week, staring out at a sea of white faces, standing alone, is more than I can handle at the present moment. Living in a predominantly white freshman dorm is currently murdering my soul. This is part of the reason why Sunday was so important to me. I want to know how you maintain your sanity and find joy in the day to day. I want to know how you are dealing with the whiteness of Portland, and if playing Ethel has provided you with any new or helpful insights. And, again, I want to thank you just for being and existing and I especially want to thank you for creating and sharing.
Ethel Waters
Dear Ethel Waters,
when i heard and read about your birth, the circumstances that lead you to become the
person you wanted to be, the question that arises in my head is did you ever feel unwanted? Were you constantly burdened, overwhelmed by constantly feeling unwanted? A thirteen year old mother who wasn't ready to take care of you. A father who brutalized your mother. You were born from hatred. How did you do it, overcome feeling unwanted, because it monopolizes every aspect of my life. It runs me into the ground. i wonder why you married at thirteen, at the same age your mother was raped and had you. i wonder why you married someone abusive, but he must not have always been that way. I wonder if it all stemmed from feeling unwanted and if it too ate at you from the inside out. If you too tucked yourself into bed hoping tomorrow will be the day that you finally realize your self-worth.
That ending though...
Dear Ms. Waters,
His Eye is On the Sparrow was a fantastic show that did a great job honoring you, until the last five minutes.
It went through every stage of your life from your childhood to your “epiphany” with Billy Graham in the later years of your life. The reason why I put quotes around the word epiphany is because I simply cannot believe you had such an epiphany. It was basically you realizing that you’ve been a racist thanks to a conversation you had with Pastor Graham on the color of God.
The problem that I had with that is the incorrect use of the word racist. The definition of a racist is someone who believes that one particular race is superior to other races. In no way did the performance ever show evidence of you saying anything to the extent of black people are superior to white people. The only thing that the show portrayed you to be guilty of was making generalizations about all white people based off experiences you had with some of them. These were not out of prejudice; they were founded upon actual experiences. Also, these were not said in an effort to make black people superior to white people. From my perspective, they were said out of self-preservation. You were afraid of what happened with the nasty club owner happening again, which is totally rational.
So, for the playwright to have your character say that you're a racist in the finishing remarks of this show was completely uncalled for and incorrect. For this, he should make a public apology.
Sincerely,
Ruthie Lewis
Shattered Mirrors
Dear Mr. Parr,
Yesterday evening, I travelled to see His Eye Is On The Sparrow in Portland, Oregon with a group of other Stanford students. This was a trip for our class, African-American Women's Lives, and I was fascinated to see what a "musical bio" was. I've been in and seen musicals, plays, stage readings, and other performances of questionable classifications, but never a "musical bio." Once the show started, I realized a "musical bio" is basically a play with singing dispersed between scenes, however, I no longer found myself focusing on the classification of performance. I was, instead, enraptured with the story. In hindsight, I think that is more so due to the realistic and entrancing performance of Maeisha McQueen, but she still needed a text to interpret and portray.
While many of my classmates, myself included, found themselves doubtful of and blatantly questioning the intentions and purposes of the shows conclusion, I find a broader concept occupying my thoughts. I've been conflicted by my reviews that I've been giving the show to everyone that asks me, "How was it? Was it good?" My forehead promptly begins to ache as I cough up a sharp chuckle and prepare to separate hydrogen and oxygen atoms with a spoon.
Here is my dilemma Mr. Parr. Seven-eighths of your show were captivating and beautifully written. As I said earlier, I was absorbed in the story that you wrote and fascinated by the way you chose to string together the events of Ethel Water's life. However, the, approximately, final 5 minutes shattered the hypnotic state that I was in. Aside from the content of events, the language and writing suddenly seemed inorganic and disconnected from that which was previously used. The moments seemed rushed, as if cut and paste from the original draft of a paper that was due in 5 minutes, so you didn't have time to read over it and make sure it was cohesive. The story just didn't seem "Ethel" anymore.
With all of that being said, I have a question for you that is simple, in phrasing but complex in the requirements of its answer. I would like to say that there is not a "right" answer, but in light of the fact that you are a white male that has created a trilogy of shows about the lives of African-American women in show business, there is.
How do you perceive black women?
I haven't seen your other shows, and was actually quite surprised to learn that they existed intentionally and in relative conjunction with one another. I don't know your intentions for the show's conclusion, the original or the edited version, and apparently neither do the actress or the music director. I don't know you personally. The only things I have to go off of are the words you wrote, and quite frankly, those aren't enough. You give yourself, what appears to be a pat on the back, when having Ethel ask about what a white man would know about the struggles of a black woman and if they are capable of retelling those experiences since they have none.
I don't want to invalidate your entire show, or Ms. McQueen's beautiful performance, because of a controversial ending. Yet I find myself with those thoughts because this is a moment that needs context and clarification. I keep asking if this show would be running if a black man or woman had written it. I wonder who gave you the right to attempt to recount the story of a black woman's struggle and if I should just accept the fact that at least you had the interest to actually write the show at all.
This is the complex reality of an intellectually and socially engaged individual, more specifically that of a black woman in theater. I would greatly appreciate if you could answer my question with as much thought and introspection as possible.
Thank you,
Morgan-Me'Lyn Grant
Yesterday evening, I travelled to see His Eye Is On The Sparrow in Portland, Oregon with a group of other Stanford students. This was a trip for our class, African-American Women's Lives, and I was fascinated to see what a "musical bio" was. I've been in and seen musicals, plays, stage readings, and other performances of questionable classifications, but never a "musical bio." Once the show started, I realized a "musical bio" is basically a play with singing dispersed between scenes, however, I no longer found myself focusing on the classification of performance. I was, instead, enraptured with the story. In hindsight, I think that is more so due to the realistic and entrancing performance of Maeisha McQueen, but she still needed a text to interpret and portray.
While many of my classmates, myself included, found themselves doubtful of and blatantly questioning the intentions and purposes of the shows conclusion, I find a broader concept occupying my thoughts. I've been conflicted by my reviews that I've been giving the show to everyone that asks me, "How was it? Was it good?" My forehead promptly begins to ache as I cough up a sharp chuckle and prepare to separate hydrogen and oxygen atoms with a spoon.
Here is my dilemma Mr. Parr. Seven-eighths of your show were captivating and beautifully written. As I said earlier, I was absorbed in the story that you wrote and fascinated by the way you chose to string together the events of Ethel Water's life. However, the, approximately, final 5 minutes shattered the hypnotic state that I was in. Aside from the content of events, the language and writing suddenly seemed inorganic and disconnected from that which was previously used. The moments seemed rushed, as if cut and paste from the original draft of a paper that was due in 5 minutes, so you didn't have time to read over it and make sure it was cohesive. The story just didn't seem "Ethel" anymore.
With all of that being said, I have a question for you that is simple, in phrasing but complex in the requirements of its answer. I would like to say that there is not a "right" answer, but in light of the fact that you are a white male that has created a trilogy of shows about the lives of African-American women in show business, there is.
How do you perceive black women?
I haven't seen your other shows, and was actually quite surprised to learn that they existed intentionally and in relative conjunction with one another. I don't know your intentions for the show's conclusion, the original or the edited version, and apparently neither do the actress or the music director. I don't know you personally. The only things I have to go off of are the words you wrote, and quite frankly, those aren't enough. You give yourself, what appears to be a pat on the back, when having Ethel ask about what a white man would know about the struggles of a black woman and if they are capable of retelling those experiences since they have none.
I don't want to invalidate your entire show, or Ms. McQueen's beautiful performance, because of a controversial ending. Yet I find myself with those thoughts because this is a moment that needs context and clarification. I keep asking if this show would be running if a black man or woman had written it. I wonder who gave you the right to attempt to recount the story of a black woman's struggle and if I should just accept the fact that at least you had the interest to actually write the show at all.
This is the complex reality of an intellectually and socially engaged individual, more specifically that of a black woman in theater. I would greatly appreciate if you could answer my question with as much thought and introspection as possible.
Thank you,
Morgan-Me'Lyn Grant
For Larry Parr
Dear Larry Parr,
This weekend I attended a performance of your play "His Eye is on the Sparrow" at the Armory produced by Portland Center Stage. I am a student at Stanford University and I went as school sponsored trip with my class African-American Women's Lives taught by Allyson Hobbs. Maiesha McQueen was absolutely phenomenal. Her every movement, every glance, every vibrato felt genuine and honest. Simultaneously Ethel and Maiesha. One of my classmates was huddled under her coat as it was a bit cold in the theater, and during one of her brilliant songs Maiesha noticed, made eye contact with my friend and did a little gesture acknowledging that my friend was a little chilly. It was the smallest moment but it made me realize just how much and how well Maiesha lives in her character.
You don't need me to tell you that you've written a wonderful play. However, I did have a few questions about some of your choices- particularly the ending. By positioning Billy Graham as the crux, the ending of Ethel's story, it felt as if Ethel's struggles were delegitimized in a way. It felt as if the whole point of her life, and the play, was to realize that she was being racist against white people and that was holding her back from true happiness. I recognize that this play is based on what actually happened to Ethel, and indeed maybe she even felt that she had been racist herself, but I think the way your ending is currently positioned is irresponsible. We hear so many intimate details about how Ethel has had to face racism, classism, sexism and more throughout her life. And watching the elderly white people in the audience I felt many of them were really empathizing with Ethel- that they were getting it. But the ending felt like letting them off the hook. The ending felt like you were saying racism is bad and we should all just love each other and recognize we are all god's children. While this is not untrue, it felt like a shockingly uncritical look at racism. It is the privilege of white people to be able to ascribe such an easy solution to racism because they are not faced with racism everyday. I would have loved to see a more challenging ending, an ending that implicates the audience more, that reminds us that there is still a great amount of work and healing to do.
I really did enjoy your play. Darius Smith did a wonderful job arranging and crafting the songs to fit perfectly with the scenes and Maiesha's character and voice. Thank you for writing and commitment to telling Ethel's story.
Best,
Gianna Clark
This weekend I attended a performance of your play "His Eye is on the Sparrow" at the Armory produced by Portland Center Stage. I am a student at Stanford University and I went as school sponsored trip with my class African-American Women's Lives taught by Allyson Hobbs. Maiesha McQueen was absolutely phenomenal. Her every movement, every glance, every vibrato felt genuine and honest. Simultaneously Ethel and Maiesha. One of my classmates was huddled under her coat as it was a bit cold in the theater, and during one of her brilliant songs Maiesha noticed, made eye contact with my friend and did a little gesture acknowledging that my friend was a little chilly. It was the smallest moment but it made me realize just how much and how well Maiesha lives in her character.
You don't need me to tell you that you've written a wonderful play. However, I did have a few questions about some of your choices- particularly the ending. By positioning Billy Graham as the crux, the ending of Ethel's story, it felt as if Ethel's struggles were delegitimized in a way. It felt as if the whole point of her life, and the play, was to realize that she was being racist against white people and that was holding her back from true happiness. I recognize that this play is based on what actually happened to Ethel, and indeed maybe she even felt that she had been racist herself, but I think the way your ending is currently positioned is irresponsible. We hear so many intimate details about how Ethel has had to face racism, classism, sexism and more throughout her life. And watching the elderly white people in the audience I felt many of them were really empathizing with Ethel- that they were getting it. But the ending felt like letting them off the hook. The ending felt like you were saying racism is bad and we should all just love each other and recognize we are all god's children. While this is not untrue, it felt like a shockingly uncritical look at racism. It is the privilege of white people to be able to ascribe such an easy solution to racism because they are not faced with racism everyday. I would have loved to see a more challenging ending, an ending that implicates the audience more, that reminds us that there is still a great amount of work and healing to do.
I really did enjoy your play. Darius Smith did a wonderful job arranging and crafting the songs to fit perfectly with the scenes and Maiesha's character and voice. Thank you for writing and commitment to telling Ethel's story.
Best,
Gianna Clark
A letter to the actor who portrayed Ethel Waters
Dear Maiesha McQueen,
Your presence made my trip to Portland so much more meaningful than I expected. I went in thinking I was going to be re-energized by a musical about a black woman, much like when I saw The Color Purple at the Milwaukee Repertory Theatre a few years ago (which I noticed in your bio you've performed at before -- that's my hometown!). And I was. Learning about the trials and triumphs of Ethel Waters was a magical experience. But like everyone else in my African Americans Women's Lives class, the ending left a really bad taste in my mouth. Our talk afterwards however gave me so much perspective.
This quarter I was in a devised production of a 1917 surrealist French play called The Mammaries of Tiresias. The play's content surrounds gender, bodies, bodily autonomy, and our relationships toward others and the state. One issue that we discussed often and tried to stage throughout the rehearsal process was the audience's control over the actor in performance -- that there remains an actual person with selfhood on stage underneath the character we're embodying. During the final applause, I couldn't help but notice how tired you looked when Ethel left and you gave your bows. When you started crying as soon as you said somberly that you "had another performance tonight", my heart really broke. It must be truly hard to give a predominantly white audience that "vindication" with a performance that simplifies racism and the end of Ethel Waters's life. Plus the fact that the first white woman to ask a question callously told you that you looked like a slave during the second act is mind-boggling.
I hope it brings you some consolation that our class was so hyper-aware of the humanity behind Ethel Waters and behind you as you portrayed her for us. I also hope it makes you happy to hear that speaking with you has inspired me even more to tell our stories bravely and unfiltered through art at Stanford. And I hope our paths cross again someday because I know you have so much more wisdom to share with me and my generation. We're all so glad you exist, too.
Thank you so much,
Natalie Johnson
Your presence made my trip to Portland so much more meaningful than I expected. I went in thinking I was going to be re-energized by a musical about a black woman, much like when I saw The Color Purple at the Milwaukee Repertory Theatre a few years ago (which I noticed in your bio you've performed at before -- that's my hometown!). And I was. Learning about the trials and triumphs of Ethel Waters was a magical experience. But like everyone else in my African Americans Women's Lives class, the ending left a really bad taste in my mouth. Our talk afterwards however gave me so much perspective.
This quarter I was in a devised production of a 1917 surrealist French play called The Mammaries of Tiresias. The play's content surrounds gender, bodies, bodily autonomy, and our relationships toward others and the state. One issue that we discussed often and tried to stage throughout the rehearsal process was the audience's control over the actor in performance -- that there remains an actual person with selfhood on stage underneath the character we're embodying. During the final applause, I couldn't help but notice how tired you looked when Ethel left and you gave your bows. When you started crying as soon as you said somberly that you "had another performance tonight", my heart really broke. It must be truly hard to give a predominantly white audience that "vindication" with a performance that simplifies racism and the end of Ethel Waters's life. Plus the fact that the first white woman to ask a question callously told you that you looked like a slave during the second act is mind-boggling.
I hope it brings you some consolation that our class was so hyper-aware of the humanity behind Ethel Waters and behind you as you portrayed her for us. I also hope it makes you happy to hear that speaking with you has inspired me even more to tell our stories bravely and unfiltered through art at Stanford. And I hope our paths cross again someday because I know you have so much more wisdom to share with me and my generation. We're all so glad you exist, too.
Thank you so much,
Natalie Johnson
Rage-A letter to Ethel Waters
Dear Ethel Waters,
Since seeing a truly beautiful musical depiction of your life, I am left in a cycle of being satisfied in one moment by the ending, and unsatisfied in another. At first, the ending seemed perfect. It felt rational to let go of the generalization of the entire white race as hateful, bigoted, and unfair people, and to finally allow yourself to evaluate each person’s character before making a judgment based on skin color.
However, like many of my classmates, the ending also seemed to glorify the white race. It seemed that Eddie was the typical white savior depicted in movies and other historical representations. It seemed that you were giving full credit to a white man, rather than to God or to your own resilience. It felt wrong that you, all of the sudden, looked at African-Americans more negatively, and white people more positively.
But, as the actress who depicted you explained, the ending had a lot more to do with letting go of your rage against the white race, and your rage against the world that was quite literally, making you eat yourself to death. It became clear to me that this is something that you had to do to allow yourself let happiness into your life, even if this happiness was facilitated by a white man.
This was satisfying to me for a while, but now I am left with conflicting messages on whether or not rage is helpful or destructive. Highly influential people like Fannie Lou Hamer and Bernie Sanders seem to romanticize rage, seeing it as an instrument of resistance. Fannie Lou Hamer used her rage to fight against brutal oppression in a powerful way, and one of Bernie Sander’s famous quotes, “Never ever lose your sense of outrage” establishes a similar sentiment. But in your case, rage was seen in a negative light; it was impossible for you to gain back your health with the sense of outage eating you alive. On a similar note, Fannie Lou Hamer also became very sick with Heart Disease and Cancer, probably having to with the stress that accompanies this powerful force of rage.
Rage, therefore, must be helpful to the group, but destructive to the individual. It is unsettling to me to come to the conclusion that in yet another case, oppressed people must choose between their own health, happiness and safety, and fighting for their rights.
-Veronica
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