The Oscars Briefly

While I'm throwing in my 2 cents on Awards Season doings, let me add my voice to a question I've seen posted repeatedly: Where were the black films this year?

Let me confess that I haven't seen many films in the past year. So my perspective may be a little narrow. I have no direct experience with any of Tyler Perry's projects, including his new film version of the groundbreaking play, "For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow Is Enuf". My favorite flick of the past 12 months was the crazy and marvelous "I'm Still Here", starring Joaquin Phoenix, who has my attention no matter what he does because he has a certain fabulousness I can't ignore. The movie was a gas. The premise was provocative, fresh, and very naughty. LOVED IT.

From the narrow perspective afforded by the worn red couch in my living room, having seen NONE of the contenders for Best Film excepting Toy Story 3 (guess why), I couldn't help but notice that Oprah Winfrey, Halle Berry, and the late great Lena Horne stood out in the program in that weird Beautiful Black Women kinda way. Their achievements and contributions to the medium are huge. But they weren't in any breakout films in the last year.

And then... the grand finale was another feast for the eyes, in that Beautiful Brown Children kinda way. I adored those gloriously multi-culti fifth graders from Staten Island, NY who closed the show. They were fantastic, and their choir leader is clearly a god among men. It did leave me wondering, though, if there wasn't an eleventh hour push by the show's producers to bump up the brown.

I have my fingers crossed, that all the loud-mouthed black artists with something important to say have spent the past year busy in their studios and on location, and that next year's awards season will be flavored with strange and savory fruits.

Esperanza wins!

                                          http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w2JRGv91urY

The Grammy Awards kept me up too late last night. The commercials were long and lame. The musical acts were entertaining, some were even inspired. It was refreshing to see so many live instrumentalists on the big Grammy stage. Backing Bob Dylan, I believe I counted 3 double-bass players, 1 cellist, umpteen guitarists, 2 banjos... A band like The Avett Brothers getting the spotlight... Far out! I am a big fan of real music. That is to say, music performed by humans playing instruments with acoustic qualities.

So it should come as no surprise that I was thrilled to witness Miss Esperanza Spalding win Best New Artist. Not only is she a talented young musician and vocalist, she is a fellow brown girl. I'm sure some critic somewhere has already compared her in a superficial way to Alicia Keys, who is also a talented young musician, vocalist, and brown girl. But Esperanza is thriving in the jazz world. Bringing jazz to a young audience, impressing the old guard with her chops, and accompanying many established artists in a variety of genres. Her mere existence on the scene is exciting. Her success is thrilling.

Go Brown Girl, Go!

Conflict: Black History Month

I have conflicted feelings about Black History Month.
I think it's weird. Of course we don't need a White History Month, because we don't categorize events or eras as white-centric. It's a lot like the isolation of black authors in book stores and libraries. We're still a nation of segregationists : the non-white stuff needs a label and a shelf off to the side.

Black History Month must be some form of reparation. Acknowledgment. A big guilt band-aid. Band-aids help the healing, it's true. But when every theater, every school, radio station, TV network, book store - everyone takes a Black History moment in February, it doesn't feel good. The shortest month of the year, right? It's an old joke: Give the black folks the month nobody wants. Why is Black History Month celebrated in February, the shortest, coldest month of the year?

In two minutes, I found some useful answers in a Google search. Black History Month was initially Negro History Week, beginning February 12, 1926. The week was chosen because it encompasses the birthdays of Abraham Lincoln and Frederick Douglass. In 1976, as part of the nation's bicentennial celebration, it was expanded and was renamed Black History Month.  My search yielded a lot of interesting points about Black History Month, and the many ways people celebrate and honor black history. I expected my bad attitude to be uplifted, to a higher ground. Black is beautiful!

My little research project left me feeling embarrassed and ashamed. I could write on this for days, but I'm trying to keep it brief. My rant for post-racial America:  This is not 1926. Or 1976. If in 2011 we still need a month in which to focus national attention on black history, then something has gone horribly wrong in our education system, and in the national discourse. The labels and the categorizations are self-perpetuating. Don't you see?

Womanpower #1

I know a handful of women, older than me, in fact closer to my mother's age than mine, who I consider living heroines. They are good listeners. They are creative, and intuitive. They like to talk about books, movies, cultural phenomena, and they like to hear about my children, because they are grandmother age, and they are curious about the paths of future generations. They are a lot like my mother in many ways, but they are not my mother. I love and admire them, and I'm honored that they enjoy my company. They are all busy, accomplished women.

I had lunch with one of my heroines today. She is a teacher of teachers. She loves to learn, and she also loves to share her knowledge. She is full of deep questions, and dares to "go there", wherever "there" may lead, and she doesn't pretend that it's easy. She just plunges in. Today she asked me if I could recommend something literary about racism, for a course she's teaching on Acknowledging Race and Racism in the Classroom (my version of the course title). She'd like to present her students with an essay or two that would serve to open the topic(s) for discussion. I immediately thought of two anthologies I've read recently: Uncle Tom's Children, by Richard Wright, and a new James Baldwin collection, The Cross of Redemption. 

Then I thought about the female writers I admire, and wished that their voices rang as clearly in my ears. I see how lopsided my exposure to literature has been. Reflecting, in truth, the lopsided reality of the published word, particularly in the African American language. I declare! I need to fix this. First, by reading more women's stories. Second, by promoting those stories. Third, by encouraging girls and women to write!

Mothers! Get your girls to write! 
Ladies! Get writing! 
Let's tip the scale!

All I Can Say Today

courtesy of today's New York Times

Spencer Ainsley/The Journal, via Associated Press