How dare you: a response to the white preacher --Tate Burwell

How dare you. How dare you enter a space meant to educate black folk and then patronizingly tell them to stay in their place? How dare you credit the advancements made by black people DESPITE the hostile environment to the aggressor? Black people succeeding in the South does not mean that Southerners treat them well, but rather that despite the odds, we managed to do well for ourselves. Furthermore, after lauding the accomplishments of Naxos, how dare you sit in that institution and tell those students to strive no further? To take the education that was "better even than a great many schools for white children" and use it to hew wood and draw water? Are we not all Americans? Do we not all have the same duty to make our country proud by advancing as much as we can? Why would you want to rob our shared country of the talents of so many, simply because of your own prejudices? Prejudices rooted in nothing more than a difference in skin color. Why? Because you're selfish. You don't want to lose the illegitimate power bestowed on you by blood-thirsty, God-less, and savage ancestors. You inherited their greed, their need to consume, and there is no room in your world-view for black people to have equal opportunities. You know you haven't earned what you have, and you're terrified that will catch up with you. You showed your hand, though. You acknowledged how far we have come as a race in such a short time-- you betrayed your fear, and I see right through you. Our progress despite the odds is miraculous, awe-inspiring. You're trying your hardest to keep us down and you are not succeeding. You are losing. You have lost. You know that and you're holding on to your privilege for dear life, white-knuckled, praying to a God who is not on your side to keep "the Negro" down, misquoting His words for your own use, a transgression which you will answer for in time. I will not be satisfied, I will not sit still. I will not consume the words you are trying to force-feed me. I will not accept the status-quo you are scrambling so hard to impose. You're right--we have come so far in so little time. But we are just getting started. You think you can stop our momentum with a few misused quotes? That's like expecting to stop a freight train with your bare hands. Matter of fact, go ahead, try it. Step on the tracks. Scream at the oncoming train. Stand in the way. That train couldn't stop even it wanted to; the momentum is so great. On the journey there have been mishaps, sure-- pieces of track missing, low fuel at points, but the train has never stopped. And it will not stop. Not for you. Not for anyone. Not until the passengers have reached their destination, and at this point in time there are many more miles to travel. The train is picking up steam, and it will run you right over if you insist on standing in it's path. So go ahead, stand on the tracks: I dare you.

From Helga to Mother

Mother,
why did you have to fall in love with a lying hollow man, one that left
my skin to be slightly darker than desirable.  Why did you leave me alone in
a world where i will never belong, where i will never be claimed, one where
hatred is afflicted on individuals solely the color of ones' skin. Why couldn't you have fallen in love
with someone of your ranking, of your race, someone that didn't leave you broken. Mother did you  die of a broke heart? I wonder what caused you to go against your family, to willing lie with someone so different from yourself. We live in a world that has no sympathy for the weak; a world that hates difference. Mother, what courage did you posses? What posses you to think that love
transcends the thin line between races. What made you love a man that would never return your affections, a man that would leave us to survive on our own. Now you are gone, and i have to pay for your mistake: A family that will never accept me and would rather see me die than acknowledge that i share their blood. Mother, what selfishness possessed you to never think of the consequences of lying down with a hollow man, one that left my skin to be slightly darker than desirable.

Washington to Hunter

Dear Ms. Jane Edna Hunter,


I must say, I greatly admire your rhetoric for the most egoistical of reasons... your observations of the Phillis Wheatley Association preserve exactly what I meant when I told our people to "Cast Their Buckets Down." Thank you for preserving my legacy.

For I have always said, if we do not satisfy our white employers, how are we, as Negroes, to expect any gains in our social position or favorability? I adore your writing that "the most important factor in successful domestic service is a happy and human relation between the lady of the house and the maid." Observations and practices like these are integral to the Negro's well-being, his flourishing.

Because, although W.E.B. Du Bois argues that the Negro needs to be intellectualized, he does not provide concrete, completable tasks for the Negro, but imagines an alternative, likely unattainable universe. I grew up a slave, and the Negro who wants to and needs to survive and operate, must learn how to go about surviving now. Thank you for explicating how these rules may apply to our dear sisters.

Kindly,
Booker T. Washington

Dear Ms. Kellor,

I found your three recommendations to make Black women more respectable very...interesting. Why did you choose to focus on Black women? I was also wondering how you came up with these proposals in particular. I have a couple questions and suggestions:

First, I was a little confused by what you meant by the "practical and sympathetic women" on Ellis Island. I thought many immigrants who came through Ellis Island were subjected to terrible conditions, unsafe and humiliating medical examinations, and eugenics-based sorting and deportation. Is this what you meant by practical? Maybe we also have different definitions of sympathetic. After all, I was born quite a bit later than you, so our English could be different. Perhaps you can come up with an alternative suggestion, one that allows Black women to empower themselves. Perhaps Black women who have already established themselves in the North can give input on what they think would be a helpful program for welcoming in new migrants.

For your second proposal, I was wondering why you chose to regulate Black women to prevent improper sexual relations and miscegenation. If we really want to create an effective policy, I think that white men, who often frequent brothels, should also be under house arrest between the hours of 9 pm and 6 am. Regulating both parties seems to make much more sense; there are bound to be people who slip through the cracks, so regulating both sides seems to have a much higher chance of success. What do you think?

Finally, for your third proposal of fixing the problem that Black women have of wanting to avoid hard work, I'm wondering what you see as the difference between Black and white women. I mean, white women seem pretty lazy to me. They don't work, they hire people to take care of their house and kids, and I'm not really sure what else they do. Maybe they should also take a class in efficiency, because it seems they don't really know how to use their time wisely either. Please correct me if you have some information I'm not considering, but I really think there are policies that would be more effective than the ones you suggested.

Please look over my suggestions and I look forward to hearing your comments. I'm sure you want to improve the lives of all people, Black, white, man, and woman, just as much as I do.

A letter to Mrs. Hayes-Rore

Dear Mrs. Hayes-Rore,

I was wondering why it is so difficult to talk about issues of race, intermingling, and adultery. What makes these topics forbidden? It's not inherent to their nature--it's only the culture that dictates these rules. My mother was a young immigrant, blind to these issues. But she's not the one who has to live with the consequences of her actions.

As I somewhat petulantly told you about my family, I was afraid. I watched your face harden as I felt mine stiffen in embarrassment, shame, and defense. The tension in both our faces is a sign that these are issues that beg attention. Whenever we feel defensive, we must ask why. These issues will not resolve themselves through suppression, through burial, and through a sweeping subject-change. It's like the shadow that looms on the wall--do we avoid the shadow or the object that casts the shadow? Just because we "cannot" talk about things does not mean that they are not there. They just are.

Sincerely,
Helga Crane

Letter to Hazel Carby

Dear Hazel Carby,

I enjoyed reading your article, “Policing the Black Woman’s Body in an Urban Context,” and I was particularly interested in your analysis of the Phillis Wheatley Association. You bring up a very important point: that efforts toward “racial uplift” so often were focused not on improving people’s lives, but on improving people’s images. People like Phillis Wheatley cared little for the happiness or material comfort of her subjects, so long as they “conform[ed] to middle-class norms of acceptable sexual behavior” (747). It seems that this directly fed the culture of dissemblance – when outward appearances mattered more than personal well-being, the path of least resistance for Black migrant women was to put on a brave face, adhere to middle-class norms, and accept that which was socially difficult and inexpedient to change.

I think this plays into today’s respectability politics, too. Too often, discourse around racial uplift centers on shaming and curtailing behaviors associated with poor or working-class Black Americans. As in the era of the Great Migration, the lives of impoverished people do not improve by adopting middle-class norms, and yet, the adoption of these norms is seen as both a means to an end and the end in itself. As you point out, this is a dangerous and unhelpful view. When appearances are prioritized over people’s lives, people’s lives cannot improve. Instead of shaming and blaming victims of an oppressive system, we must fight to undermine and change the system.

Sincerely,

Molly Culhane

This Here Is Mine

Ma Janie tried to take my man from me.

Crept through the shadows with that policeman on her arm,

I saw her go after my sisters’ before.

Ma Janie’s took a lot of stuff from me before.

I handed her the slack in my spine,

Didn’t need it to walk around no ways.

Let her paint a new smile on my face for the lady of the house,

It looked like they could both use a nice one nowadays.

I even repented for sins I never committed,

The things she wanted to do but never could.

All of us girls are always being redeemed for what we’ve never done.

Washing invisible stains from our souls like the ones in those pearly white sheets.

But if the Lady and Ma Janie

Can see remnants of the lives they never led,

Then every single one of us

Has to pour out our blood that should’ve bled red.

No more red life essence,

Maybe yellow because dainty is as a woman does.

All the “right” things they teach us,

And I’ve never learned about how to have love for myself.

I found a man to care about me

And I found him all on my own.

Finally got something that I know is mine,

Mine and mine alone.

I don’t need his love to feel like me,

But it sure feels nice to know that I have it.

So, Ma Janie and the Lady can take my walk, my talk, my smile, and my job.

But this man here is mine.

You can’t have ‘im Ma Janie.

You can’t have ‘im.