The Difficult Miracle

of Black Poetry in America

Something Like a Sonnet for Phillis Wheatley

by June Jordan

It was not natural. And she was the first. Come from a country of many tongues tortured by rupture, by theft, by travel like mismatched clothing packed down into the cargo hold of evil ships sailing, irreversible, into slavery. Come to a country to be docile and dumb, to be big and breeding, easily, to be turkey/horse/cow, to be cook/carpenter/plow, to be 5’6” 140 lbs., in good condition and answering to the name of Tom or Mary: to be bed bait: to be legally spread legs for rape by the master/the master’s son/the master’s overseer/the master’s visiting nephew: to be nothing human nothing family nothing from nowhere nothing that screams nothing that weeps nothing that dreams nothing that keeps anything/anyone deep in your heart: to live forcibly illiterate, forcibly itinerant: to live eyes lowered head bowed: to be worked without rest, to be worked without pay, to be worked without thanks, to be worked day up to nightfall: to be three-fifths of a human being at best: to be this valuable/this hated thing among strangers who purchased your life and then cursed it unceasingly: to be a slave: to be a slave. Come to this country a slave and how should you sing? After the flogging the lynch rope the general terror and weariness what should you know of a lyrical life? How could you, belonging to no one, but property to those despising the smiles of your soul, how could you dare to create yourself: a poet?

A poet can read. A poet can write.

A poet is African in Africa, or Irish in Ireland, or French on the left bank of Paris, or white in Wisconsin. A poet writes in her own language. A poet writes of her own people, her own history, her own vision, her own room, her own house where she sits at her own table quietly placing one word after another word until she builds a line and a movement and an image and a meaning that somersaults all of these into the singing, the absolutely individual voice of the poet: at liberty. A poet is somebody free. A poet is someone at home.

How should there be Black poets in America?

It was not natural. And she was the first. It was 1761—so far back before the revolution that produced these United States, so far back before the concept of freedom disturbed the insolent crimes of this continent—in 1761, when seven year old Phillis stood, as she must, when she stood nearly naked, as small as a seven year old, by herself, standing on land at last, at last after the long, annihilating horrors of the Middle Passage. Phillis, standing on the auctioneer’s rude platform: Phillis For Sale.

Was it a nice day?

Does it matter? Should she muse on the sky or remember the sea? Until then Phillis had been somebody’s child. Now she was about to become somebody’s slave.

Suzannah and John Wheatley finished their breakfast and ordered the carriage brought ‘round. They would ride to the auction. This would be an important outing. They planned to buy yet another human being to help with the happiness of the comfortable life in Boston. You don’t buy a human being, you don’t purchase a slave, without thinking ahead. So they had planned this excursion. They were dressed for the occasion, and excited, probably. And experienced, certainly. The Wheatleys already owned several slaves. They had done this before; the transaction would not startle or confound or embarrass or appall either one of them.

Was it a nice day?

When the Wheatleys arrived at the auction they greeted their neighbors, they enjoyed this business of mingling with other townsfolk politely shifting about the platform, politely adjusting positions for gain of a better view of the bodies for sale. The Wheatleys were good people. They were kind people. They were openminded and thoughtful. They looked at the bodies for sale. They looked and they looked. This one could be useful for that. That one might be useful for this. But then they looked at that child, that Black child standing nearly naked, by herself. Seven or eight years old, at the most, and frail. Now that was a different proposal! Not a strong body, not a grown set of shoulders, not a promising wide set of hips, but a little body, a delicate body, a young, surely terrified face! John Wheatley agreed to the whim of his wife, Suzannah. He put in his bid. He put down his cash. He called out the numbers. He competed successfully. He had a good time. He got what he wanted. He purchased yet another slave. He bought that Black girl standing on the platform, nearly naked. He gave this new slave to his wife and Suzannah Wheatley was delighted. She and her husband went home. They rode there by carriage. They took that new slave with them. An old slave commanded the horses that pulled the carriage that carried the Wheatleys home, along with the new slave, that little girl they named Phillis.

Why did they give her that name?

Was it a nice day?

Does it matter?

It was not natural. And she was the first: Phillis Miracle: Phillis Miracle Wheatley: the first Black human being to be published in America. She was the second female to be published in America.

And the miracle begins in Africa. It was there that a bitterly anonymous man and a woman conjoined to create this genius, this lost child of such prodigious aptitude and such beguiling attributes that she very soon interposed the reality of her particular, dear life between the Wheatleys’ notions about slaves and the predictable outcome of such usual blasphemies against Black human beings.

Seven year old Phillis changed the slaveholding Wheatleys. She altered their minds. She entered their hearts. She made them see her and when they truly saw her, Phillis, darkly amazing them with the sweetness of her spirit and the alacrity of her forbidden, strange intelligence, they, in their own way, loved her as a prodigy, as a girl mysterious but godly.

Sixteen months after her entry into the Wheatley household Phillis was talking the language of her owners. Phillis was fluently reading the Scriptures. At eight and a half years of age, this Black child, or “Africa’s Muse,” as she would later describe herself, was fully literate in the language of this slaveholding land. She was competent and eagerly asking for more: more books, more and more information. And Suzannah Wheatley loved this child of her whimsical good luck. It pleased her to teach and to train and to tutor this Black girl, this Black darling of God. And so Phillis delved into kitchen studies commensurate, finally, to a classical education available to young white men at Harvard.

She was nine years old.

What did she read? What did she memorize? What did the Wheatleys give to this African child? Of course, it was white, all of it: white. It was English, most of it, from England. It was written, all of it, by white men taking their pleasure, their walks, their pipes, their pens and their paper, rather seriously, while somebody else cleaned the house, washed the clothes, cooked the food, watched the children: probably not slaves, but possibly a servant, or, commonly, a wife. It was written, this white man’s literature of England, while somebody else did the other things that have to be done. And that was the literature absorbed by the slave, Phillis Wheatley. That was the writing, the thoughts, the nostalgia, the lust, the conceits, the ambitions, the mannerisms, the games, the illusions, the discoveries, the filth and the flowers that filled up the mind of the African child.

At fourteen, Phillis published her first poem, “To the University of Cambridge”: not a brief limerick or desultory teenager’s verse, but thirty-two lines of blank verse telling those fellows what for and whereas, according to their own strict Christian codes of behavior. It is in that poem that Phillis describes the miracle of her own Black poetry in America:

While an intrinsic ardor bids me write
the muse doth promise to assist my pen

She says that her poetry results from “an intrinsic ardor,” not to dismiss the extraordinary kindness of the Wheatleys, and not to diminish the wealth of white men’s literature with which she found herself quite saturated, but it was none of these extrinsic factors that compelled the labors of her poetry. It was she who created herself a poet, notwithstanding and in despite of everything around her.

Two years later, Phillis Wheatley, at the age of sixteen, had composed three additional, noteworthy poems. This is one of them, “On Being Brought from Africa to America”:

Twas mercy brought me from my Pagan land,
Taught my benighted soul to understand
That there’s a God, that there’s a Savior too:
Once I redemption neither sought nor knew
Some view our sable race with scornful eye,
“Their color is a diabolic die.”
Remember, Christians, Negroes, black as Cain,
May be refin’d, and join the angelic train.

Where did Phillis get these ideas?

It’s simple enough to track the nonsense about herself “benighted”: benighted means surrounded and preyed upon by darkness. That clearly reverses what had happened to that African child, surrounded by and captured by the greed of white men. Nor should we find puzzling her depiction of Africa as “Pagan” versus somewhere “refined.” Even her bizarre interpretation of slavery’s theft of Black life as a merciful rescue should not bewilder anyone. These are regular kinds of iniquitous nonsense found in white literature, the literature that Phillis Wheatley assimilated, with no choice in the matter.

But here, in this surprising poem, this first Black poet presents us with something wholly her own, something entirely new. It is her matter of fact assertion that, “Once I redemption neither sought nor knew,” as in: once I existed beyond and without these terms under consideration. Once I existed on other than your terms. And, she says, but since we are talking your talk about good and evil/redemption and damnation, let me tell you something you had better understand. I am Black as Cain and I may very well be an angel of the Lord. Take care not to offend the Lord!

Where did that thought come to Phillis Wheatley?

Was it a nice day?

Does it matter?

Following her “intrinsic ardor,” and attuned to the core of her own person, this girl, the first Black poet in America, had dared to redefine herself from house slave to, possibly, an angel of the Almighty.

She was making herself at home.

And, depending whether you estimated that nearly naked Black girl on the auction block to be seven or eight years old, in 1761, by the time she was eighteen or nineteen, she had published her first book of poetry, Poems on Various Subjects Religious and Moral. It was published in London, in 1773, and the American edition appeared, years later, in 1786. Here are some examples from the poems of Phillis Wheatley:

From “On the Death of Rev. Dr. Sewell”:

Come let us all behold with wishful eyes
The saint ascending to his native skies.

From “On the Death of the Rev. Mr. George Whitefield”:

Take him, ye Africans, he longs for you,
Impartial Savior is his title due,
Washed in the fountain of redeeming blood,
You shall be sons and kings, and priest to God.

Here is an especially graceful and musical couplet, penned by the first Black poet in America:

But, see the softly stealing tears apace,
Pursue each other down the mourner’s face;

This is an especially awful, virtually absurd set of lines by Ms. Wheatley:

“Go Thebons! Great nations will obey
And pious tribute to her altars pay:
With rights divine, the goddess be implor’d,
Nor be her sacred offspring nor ador’d.”
Thus Manto spoke. The Thebon maids obey,
And pious tribute to the goddess pay.

Awful, yes. Virtually absurd; well, yes, except, consider what it took for that young African to undertake such personal abstraction and mythologies a million million miles remote from her own ancestry, and her own darkly formulating face! Consider what might meet her laborings, as poet, should she, instead, invent a vernacular precise to Senegal, precise to slavery, and, therefore, accurate to the secret wishings of her lost and secret heart?

If she, this genius teenager, should, instead of writing verse to comfort a white man upon the death of his wife, or a white woman upon the death of her husband, or verse commemorating weirdly fabled white characters bereft of children diabolically dispersed; if she, instead composed a poetry to speak her pain, to say her grief, to find her parents, or to stir her people into insurrection, what would we now know about God’s darling girl, that Phillis?

Who would publish that poetry, then?

But Phillis Miracle, she managed, nonetheless, to write, sometimes, towards the personal truth of her experience.

For example, we find in a monumental poem entitled “Thoughts on the Works of Providence,” these five provocative lines, confirming every suspicion that most of the published Phillis Wheatley represents a meager portion of her concerns and inclinations:

As reason’s pow’rs by day our God disclose,
So we may trace him in the night’s repose.
Say what is sleep? And dreams how passing strange!
When action ceases, and ideas range
Licentious and unbounded o’er the plains.

And, concluding this long work, there are these lines:

Infinite love, whene’er we turn our eyes
Appears: this ev’ry creature’s wants supplies
This most is heard in Nature’s constant voice,
This makes the morn, and this the eve rejoice,
This bids the fost’ring rains and dews descend,
To nourish all, to serve one gen’ral end,
The good of man: Yet man ungrateful pays
But little homage, and but little praise.

Now and again and again these surviving works of the genius Phillis Wheatley veer incisive and unmistakable, completely away from the verse of good girl Phillis ever compassionate upon the death of someone else’s beloved, pious Phillis modestly enraptured by the glorious trials of virtue on the road to Christ, arcane Phillis intent upon an “Ode to Neptune,” or patriotic Phillis penning an encomium to General George Washington (“Thee, first in peace and honor”). Then do we find that “Ethiop,” as she once called herself, that “Africa’s muse,” knowledgeable, but succinct, on “dreams how passing strange!/When action ceases, and ideas range/Licentious and unbounded o’er the plains.”

Phillis Licentious Wheatley?

Phillis Miracle Wheatley in contemplation of love and want of love?

Was it a nice day?

It was not natural. And she was the first.

Repeatedly singing for liberty, singing against the tyrannical, repeatedly avid in her trusting support of the American Revolution (how could men want freedom enough to die for it but then want slavery enough to die for that?) repeatedly lifting witness to the righteous and the kindly factors of her days, this was no ordinary teenaged poet, male or female, Black or white. Indeed, the insistently concrete content of her tribute to the revolutionaries who would forge America, an independent nation state, indeed the specific daily substance of her poetry establishes Phillis Wheatley as the first decidedly American poet on this continent, Black or white, male or female.

Nor did she only love the ones who purchased her, a slave, those ones who loved her, yes, but with astonishment. Her lifelong friend was a young Black woman, Obour Tanner, who lived in Newport, Rhode Island, and one of her few poems dedicated to a living person, neither morbid nor ethereal, was written to the young Black visual artist Scipio Moorhead, himself a slave. It is he who crafted the portrait of Phillis that serves as her frontispiece profile in her book of poems. Here are the opening lines from her poem, “To S.M., A Young African Painter, On Seeing His Works.”

To show the lab’ring bosom’s deep intent,
And thought in living characters to paint.
When first thy pencil did those beauties give,
And breathing figures learnt from thee to live,
How did those prospects give my soul delight,
A new creation rushing on my sight?
Still, wondrous youth! each noble path pursue,
On deathless glories fix thine ardent view:
Still may the painter's and the poet's fire
To aid thy pencil, and thy verse conspire!
And many the charms of each seraphic theme
Conduct thy footsteps to immortal fame!

Remember that the poet so generously addressing the "wondrous youth" is certainly no older than eighteen, herself) And this, years before the American Revolution, and how many many years before the 1960s! This is the first Black poet of America addressing her Brother Artist not as so-and-so's Boy, but as "Scipio Moorhead, A Young African Painter."

Where did Phillis Miracle acquire this consciousness?

Was it a nice day?

It was not natural. And she was the first.

But did she—we may persevere, critical from the ease of the 1980s—did she love, did she need, freedom?

In the poem (typically titled at such length and in such deferential rectitude as to discourage most readers from scanning what follows), in the poem titled "To the Right Honorable William, Earl of Dartmouth, His Majesty's Principal Secretary of State for North America, etc.," Phillis Miracle has written these irresistible, authentic, felt lines:

No more America in mournful strain
Of wrongs, and grievance unredress'd complain,
No longer shalt Thou dread the iron chain,
Which wanton tyranny with lawless head
Had made, and with it meant t' enslave the land.
Should you, my Lord, while you peruse my song,
Wonder from whence my love of Freedom sprung,
Whence flow these wishes for the common good,
By feeling hearts alone best understood,
I, young in life, by seeming cruel of fate
Was snatch'd from Afric's fancy'd happy seat.
What pangs excruciating must molest
What sorrows labour in my parent's breast?
Steel’d was that soul and by no misery mov’d
That from a father seized his babe belov’d
Such, such my case. And can I then but pray
Others may never feel tyrannic sway?

So did the darling girl of God compose her thoughts, prior to 1776.

And then.

And then her poetry, these poems, were published in London.

And then, during her twenty-first year, Suzannah Wheatley, the white woman slaveholder who had been changed into the white mother, the white mentor, the white protector of Phillis, died.

Without that white indulgence, that white love, without that white sponsorship, what happened to the young African daughter, the young African poet?

No one knows for sure.

With the death of Mrs. Wheatley, Phillis came of age, a Black slave in America.

Where did she live?

How did she eat?

No one knows for sure.

But four years later she met and married a Black man, John Peters. Mr. Peters apparently thought well of himself, and of his people. He comported himself with dignity, studied law, argued for the liberation of Black people, and earned the everyday dislike of white folks. His wife bore him three children; all of them died.

His wife continued to be Phillis Miracle.

His wife continued to obey the “intrinsic ardor” of her calling and she never ceased the practice of her poetry. She hoped, in fact, to publish a second volume of her verse.

This would be the poetry of Phillis the lover of John, Phillis the woman, Phillis the wife of a Black man pragmatically premature in his defiant self-respect, Phillis giving birth to three children, Phillis, the mother, who must bury the three children she delivered into American life.

None of these poems was ever published.

This would have been the poetry of someone who had chosen herself, free, and brave to be free in a land of slavery.

When she was thirty-one years old, in 1784, Phillis Wheatley, the first Black poet in America, she died.

Her husband, John Peters, advertised and begged that the manuscript of her poems she had given to someone, please be returned. But no one returned them.

And I believe we would not have seen them, anyway. I believe no one would have published the poetry of Black Phillis Wheatley, that grown woman who stayed with her chosen Black man. I believe that the death of Suzannah Wheatley, coincident with the African poet's twenty-first birthday, signalled, decisively, the end of her status as a child, as a dependent. From there we would hear from an independent Black woman poet in America.

Can you imagine that, in 1775?

Can you imagine that, today?

America has long been tolerant of Black children, compared to its reception of independent Black men and Black women.

She died in 1784.

Was it a nice day?

It was not natural. And she was the first.

Last week, as the final judge for this year's Loft McKnight Awards in creative writing, awards distributed in Minneapolis, Minnesota, I read through sixteen manuscripts of rather fine poetry.

These are the terms, the lexical items, that I encountered there:

Rock, moon, star, roses, chimney, Prague, elms, lilac, railroad tracks, lake, lilies, snow geese, crow, mountain, arrow feathers, ear of corn, marsh, sandstone, rabbit-bush, gulley, pumpkins, eagle, tundra, dwarf willow, dipper-bird, brown creek, lizards, sycamores, glacier, canteen, skate eggs, birch, spruce, pumphandle

Is anything about that listing odd? I didn't suppose so. These are the terms, the lexical items accurate to the specific white Minnesota daily life of those white poets.

And so I did not reject these poems, I did not despise them saying, "How is this possible? Sixteen different manuscripts of poetry written in 1985 and not one of them uses the terms of my own Black life! Not one of them writes about the police murder of Eleanor Bumpurs or the Bernard Goetz shooting of four Black boys or apartheid in South Africa, or unemployment, or famine in Ethiopia, or rape, or fire escapes, or cruise missiles in the New York harbor, or medicare, or alleyways, or napalm, or $4.00 an hour, and no time off for lunch.

I did not and I would not presume to impose my urgencies upon white poets writing in America. But the miracle of Black poetry in America, the difficult miracle of Black poetry in America, is that we have been rejected and we are frequently dismissed as “political” or “topical” or “sloganeering” and “crude” and ‘insignificant” because, like Phillis Wheatley, we have persisted for freedom. We will write against South Africa and we will seldom pen a poem about wild geese flying over Prague, or grizzlies at the rain barrel under the dwarf willow trees. We will write, published or not, however we may, like Phillis Wheatley, of the terror and the hungering and the quandaries of our African lives on this North American soil. And as long as we study white literature, as long as we assimilate the English language and its implicit English values, as long as we allude and defer to gods we “neither sought nor knew,” as long as we, Black poets in America, remain the children of slavery, as long as we do not come of age and attempt, then to speak the truth of our difficult maturity in an alien place, then we will be beloved, and sheltered, and published.

But not otherwise. And yet we persist.

And it was not natural. And she was the first.

This is the difficult miracle of Black poetry in America: that we persist, published or not, and loved or unloved: we persist.

And this is: “Something Like A Sonnet for Phillis Miracle Wheatley”: -

Girl from the realm of birds florid and fleet
flying full feather in far or near weather
Who fell to a dollar lust coffled like meat
Captured by avarice and hate spit together
Trembling asthmatic alone on the slave block
built by a savagery travelling by carriage
viewed like a species of flaw in the livestock
A child without safety of mother or marriage
Chosen by whimsy but born to surprise
They taught you to read but you learned how to write
Begging the universe into your eyes:
They dressed you in light but you dreamed
with the night.
From Africa singing of justice and grace,
Your early verse sweetens the fame of our Race.

And because we Black people in North America persist in an irony profound, Black poetry persists in this way:

Like the trees of winter and
like the snow which has no power
makes very little sound
but comes and collects itself
edible light on the black trees
The tall black trees of winter
lifting up a poetry of snow
so that we may be astounded
by the poems of Black
trees inside a cold environment

From the book Some of Us Did Not Die: New and Selected Essays by June Jordan. Copyright 2002 by June Jordan. Reprinted by arrangement with Basic Civitas Books, a member of the Perseus Books Group (www.perseusbooks.com). All rights reserved.

Jump to Reader Comments (7)

 

COMMENTS (7)

On January 13, 2007 at 2:00pm Anajmah El Tohami wrote:
PRESENT!!!!

IT WAS A NICE DAY!

On August 13, 2007 at 8:29am Farah Griffin wrote:
This beautiful and insightful essay is one of the best on Phillis Wheatley, forcing a reconsideration of a poet who has often been dismissed. Thank you June Jordan.

On February 8, 2008 at 8:03pm Ian Jacobs wrote:
wonderful, useful site. Came across whilst searching for line Obama used from June Jordan's "Poem for South African Women", -'we are the ones we have been waiting for'.

Thank you

On December 23, 2008 at 4:46pm Marie Webb wrote:
I don't know if you will be able to help!

I am trying to find poem that my mother knew I think called the "slaves dream". Beneath the burning sun he lay

A Sickle in his hand! Hope you can help me! Thanks.

On April 22, 2009 at 9:25pm Dana Wiseman wrote:
This was great! Exactly what I was looking for! Thank You!!

On February 26, 2011 at 3:45pm maressia mcmurry wrote:
i think she was an amazing woman and she stood up for what she wanted and she wrote beautiful poems

On February 27, 2012 at 3:47pm L.J. Hughes wrote:
And let be clear…..I AGREE WITH HER WITH ALL MY HEART
AND SOUL! It’s true. I often find myself searching and
searching through websites, looking for that “Black”
type of poetry. But, I can never find it. Why? Because,
the published poetry community is overpopulated by White
people. It’s sad, I know..but it’s true. And as a Black
poet, it’s hard to get published because we are too
“honest,” “political,” and “topical.” Because we don’t
address shit like how beautiful the mountains are at
mid-day we are too harsh. Because we don’t talk about
how our lovers touch ignites our soul, we come off as
too honest. And that’s the problem…I don’t want to talk
about love. I don’t want to talk about the fucking birds
and the bees. I want to address why the shadows of my
ancestors still live with me today. I want to address
why America points the “thug” finger at me. I want to
address the reasons I feel like an outsider walking into
a library full of white people. That’s what I want to
talk about. And that’s the thing about being a Black
poet in America. Even though we KNOW we may not get
published in this White community, we never stop. We are
blessed with the spirit of determination and dedication.
And we will continue writing and addressing the issues
that are important and that need to be addressed.

Fuck all that nature and love talking bullshit. Let’s
write about some political and social issues. Black
poetry for the fucking win!

 

 

Related

Poems by June Jordan

• •1977: Poem for Mrs. Fannie Lou Hamer
• •A Poem about Intelligence for My Brothers and Sisters
• •Apologies to All the People in Lebanon
• •It’s Hard to Keep a Clean Shirt Clean
• •July 4, 1974
• •Letter to the Local Police
• •On the Loss of Energy (and Other Things)
• •Poem about My Rights
• •Poem for Nana
• •Problems of Translation: Problems of Language

Read More

• •Directed by Desire
• •For the Sake of People’s Poetry
• •Soldier: A Poet’s Childhood
• •Writing War, Writing Memory

 

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Biography

One of the most widely-published and highly-acclaimed African American writers of her generation, poet, playwright and essayist June Jordan was also known for her fierce commitment to human rights and progressive political agenda. Over a career that produced twenty-seven volumes of poems, essays, libretti, and work for children, Jordan engaged the fundamental struggles of her era: over civil rights, women’s rights, and sexual . . .

Continue reading this biography

 

In Honor of Nina Simone:

Why Black Women Must

Re-Frame the Conversation

about Racism in Hollywood

By Spectra  

September 18, 2012 ·

A few weeks ago, I wrote about the internet’s sensationalized debate over Zoe Saldaña playing Nina Simone in a Hollywood biopic: How the Light- vs. Dark- Skinned Debate Misses the Point about Black Women in Media.

In summary, my post called for marginalized communities–especially, in this instance, black women– to be more aware of the way the mechanism of racism and colorism in Hollywood too often keeps us sensationalizing debates about Hollywood’s perception of our beauty (and even, as in this case, pits us against each other), rather than embracing the opportunity for us to affirm our collective power as both...

GO HERE TO READ FULL ARTICLE

 

New Orleans

and the History of Jazz

by Loren Schoenberg

 

 

Louis Armstrong, 1953 (Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division)

New Orleans is a city built in a location that was by any measure a mistake.

North American settlers needed a way to import and export goods via the Mississippi River, so a city was created atop swamps. By virtue of its location and its role in the international economy, New Orleans became home to a population that was as heterogeneous as any. Besides the French and, for a time, Spanish colonial powers, other groups included African Americans (both free and slave), people from the Caribbean and Latin America, and Scandinavians and other Europeans. The United States purchased Louisiana from France in 1803 (for $15M), and this more than doubled the size of the young country. The Louisiana Territory included parts of Alberta and Saskatchewan, as well as almost a quarter of the modern-day United States. Naturally, New Orleans became one of the country’s major cities. Its variegated racial realities played a major role in the spiritual and moral lives of Abraham Lincoln and Walt Whitman, both of whom first witnessed the true cruelties of slavery there. In his series of essays that eventually comprised the classic The Cotton Kingdom, Frederick Law Olmsted stated the following about New Orleans in the mid-1850s:

I doubt if there is a city in the world, where the resident population has been so divided in its origin, or where there is such a variety in the tastes, habits, manners, and moral codes of the citizens. Although this injures civic enterprise—which the peculiar situation of the city greatly demands to be directed to means of cleanliness, convenience, comfort, and health—it also gives a greater scope to the working of individual enterprise, taste, genius, and conscience; so that nowhere are the higher qualities of man—as displayed in generosity, hospitality, benevolence, and courage—better developed, or the lower qualities, likening him to a beast, less interfered with, by law or the action of public opinion.[1]

In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the Crescent City, as it was known (due to the curvature of the Mississippi River as it surrounds the city), was alive with music. Music served as a psychological shield against the floods, fires, epidemics, and riots that marked New Orleans history, for it provided an excuse to forget, or a spur to overcome, the problems brought on by both nature and society. The most original form of that music, jazz, has come to be synonymous with New Orleans.

In the nineteenth century, balls or public dances were held in many American cities, and those in New Orleans were legendary—both for their popularity and their interracial audiences. To attract the maximum number of people to the dance floor, the bands of nineteenth-century New Orleans gradually mixed and matched musical styles, sowing the seeds of jazz. No musical genre was more popular than opera, and the arias that could be heard throughout the city day in and day out had a profound impact on the melodic styles of the musicians who created the jazz idiom, most notably the pianist/composer Jelly Roll Morton, reedman Sidney Bechet, and trumpeter/vocalist Louis Armstrong. Their precursors included the Creole composer Louis Moreau Gottschalk who, as far back as the mid-nineteenth century, wrote such works as “The Banjo” and “Bamboula,” which combined African and European idioms in a fresh and daring manner.

But if there is one specific place where the roots of jazz can be traced, it would be in Congo Square, where slaves were allowed to dance and generally express themselves. This is where the cultural mix that remains at the root of American (and subsequently, much of the world’s) popular music began. The slaves’ various forms of expression, rooted in Africa, intermingled with the New World. This outlet for the myriad emotions engendered by racism and slavery (as well as the hard-to-find and hard-won joys of life in such situations) started a stream of music that led to Buddy Bolden.

By all accounts, this barber/cornetist was the first musician whose music could be called jazz. It was the early twentieth century, and Bolden took ragtime, the music of day, and played it in a rough-and-ready style with the vocal and improvisatory feeling of the blues. Ragtime was conceived as a delicate, non-improvisatory style of piano music. Bolden’s transmogrification of it into a harder-edged improvisatory, horn-based form laid the groundwork for jazz bands of the future. His pioneering efforts inspired the next generation of musicians, including cornetist Joe “King” Oliver, who refined the approach into something far more sophisticated. At the root of the mature New Orleans style that Oliver and his band championed was a polyphonic approach to ensemble playing. This means that the horn players (two trumpets, clarinet, and trombone) all played concurrently. To do this without sounding jumbled called for each musician to listen intently to the others while simultaneously creating their own responses. One way to listen to classic New Orleans jazz at its best is to imagine the complexity of the melodies as a representation of its polyglot communities. It’s worth noting that at the very time that Bolden’s band was at its peak, the injustices of Plessy v. Fergusonwere making themselves manifest in the Crescent City and across the country.

Much has been made of the synergy between New Orleans’s fabled red-light district, Storyville, and the evolution of jazz. And while it’s true that the tremendous amount of vice that flourished there created around-the-clock work for musicians, the fact is that the majority of them worked elsewhere, and certainly not in the houses of ill-repute, which were mostly the exclusive province of pianists. Where Storyville does enter significantly into the picture is when it was closed in 1917 (purportedly too many servicemen on their way to fight World War I never returned after finding their way there on leave) and its population of entertainment-related workers had to look to other cities for employment. This coincided with the general migration northward of southern blacks, and within a few years many of the major players were relocating in Chicago (and more than few in California). This left the gap that the young Louis Armstrong filled (he was born in 1901, just a year too early to be drafted) and within a few years he rose to the top, eventually joining his mentor Oliver in Chicago in late 1922.

Armstrong’s travels took him to Chicago and then to New York. Jazz continued to survive in varying degrees in New Orleans as the music spread around the world, and by the 1940s the Crescent City became a Mecca for jazz lovers. There also continued to be a steady stream of first-rate jazz musicians who came from New Orleans and participated in all the current streams of music that were developing in Kansas City, Los Angeles, and New York. A short list would include tenor saxophonist Lester Young, who came to fame with Count Basie’s band, Ornette Coleman’s drummer Ed Blackwell, and in more recent years, the trumpeter/composer Wynton Marsalis. Of course, in terms of R&B and its offshoots, we only have to mention the names Fats Domino, Harry Connick, Dr. John, Professor Longhair, and Aaron Neville to be reminded of how New Orleans has stayed close to the core of popular music to this day.

It was a tragedy that brought New Orleans back to the world’s attention in the summer of 2005 when Hurricane Katrina not only ripped the city and its environs apart, but also exposed the racial and cultural dysfunctions that still exist in the United States. The city that never should have been there gave the world a tremendous cultural gift, jazz, whose progeny, popular music, was ultimately employed in fundraisers around the world to try to save New Orleans. Students and teachers alike will gain a new understanding of our nation’s past by looking into the untold strands of world history that are inextricably bound to the Crescent City.

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[1] Frederick Law Olmsted, The Cotton Kingdom: A Traveller’s Observations on Cotton and Slavery in the American Slave States, 2nd ed. (New York: Mason Brothers and London: Sampson Low, Son & Co., 1862), 1: 302.

---

Loren Schoenberg is the executive director of the National Jazz Museum in Harlem and on the jazz faculty at The Juilliard School. A saxophonist who has worked with Benny Goodman, Bobby Short, and other jazz greats, he is the author of The NPR Curious Listener’s Guide to Jazz (2002) and myriad articles and essays as well as album notes, for which he has received two Grammys.

Amanda Diva — Manchild

I am re-discovering Amanda Diva now known as Amanda Seales - I have no idea why she is not doing more music. I stumpled apon this track and its been on repeat ever since - its beautifully done. She reminds me of Nikki Jean.

 

__________________________

Umalali:

The Garifuna Women's Project

presents the hidden voices

of Garifuna women

to the world

---

Bearing the Stories of Their People in Songs of Joy, Sorrow, Strength and Beauty

Umalali: The Garifuna Women's Project is an album overflowing with stories. There is the story of how it was made: a ten-year labour of love that started with five years of collecting songs and discovering striking female voices, followed by recording sessions in a seaside hut, and ending with exquisitely detailed and subtle production wizardry. There are the stories told in the songs: of hurricanes that swept away homes and livelihoods, a son murdered in a far-off village, the pain of childbirth and other struggles and triumphs of daily life. There are the personal stories of the women who participated in this magical recording project: mothers and daughters who, while working tirelessly to support their families, sing songs and pass on the traditions of their unique culture to future generations.

Umalali is also the story of a young, innovative music producer from Belize whose meticulous and inventive craftsmanship has resulted in what will surely be recognized as one of the most uplifting and moving albums in recent memory. Blending the rich vocal textures of women from the Afro-Amerindian communities of Belize, Guatemala and Honduras with echoes of rock, blues, funk, African, Latin and Caribbean music, Umalali is an entrancing journey into the heart and soul of women whose strength, hard work and perseverance provide the bedrock of their community.

Umalali: The Garifuna Women's Project, which will be released by Cumbancha on April 7th, 2008, is a groundbreaking album that invites the listener behind closed doors into a fascinating musical world that has remained largely unexposed until now. The project was produced by Ivan Duran, the mastermind behind Andy Palacio & The Garifuna Collective's album Wátina, one of the most critically acclaimed albums of any genre in 2007.

 

The album has added poignancy with the sudden death on January 19th of Andy Palacio, one of the greatest champions of the Garifuna culture. The international success of Palacio's album Wátina had brought great attention to the exceptional musical expressions of the Garifuna community, descendants of the intermarriage between escaped African slaves and indigenous Carib and Arawak Indians. An essential advisor, mentor and champion of the Garifuna Women's Project, Andy had invited singers from Umalali to participate in the 2008 concerts of the Garifuna Collective.

Instead, the tour is being converted into a tribute to Andy Palacio, and the women will raise their voices alongside other Garifuna talents in praise of a man who tirelessly promoted the global awareness and safeguarding of his people's culture. For an updated list of tour dates, visit Cumbancha.com.

Lavishly packaged with a deluxe digipack and expansive 36-page booklet, that features full lyrics, detailed song descriptions and gorgeous photographs, Umalali: The Garifuna Women's Project also includes extensive bonus material. The enhanced CD includes numerous bonus tracks, slideshows, and over 30 minutes of exclusive videos that give a greater insight into the making of the project and the stories of the women that participated in this remarkable project.

__________________________

Umalali:

The 'Voice' Of The Garifuna

January 27, 2009 from KEXP - Umalali ("Voice") is a Belize-based group assembled by producer and musician Ivan Duran to help revive the Garifuna culture of Central America. Duran has been a key figure in the revitalization of the African-Caribbean culture of the Garifuna, whose ancestors came from Africa to the Caribbean several hundred years ago, and settled along the coast of present-day Belize, Honduras, Nicaragua and Costa Rica. In 2007, Duran teamed up with singer Andy Palacio to produce the successful Watina album, and took more than 10 years to research women's music in the region and put together the Garifuna Women's Project.

Palacio and his group toured the U.S. in 2007, and even performed a live session at KEXP. Tragically, Palacio died the following January, and the 2008 tour of Umalali became a tribute to him and his work reviving the Garifuna music, language and culture. The touring version of Umalali includes three female singers, with five supporting musicians, led by the mother-daughter team of Sofia and Sylvia Blanco from Livingston, Guatemala, and Desere Diego from southern Belize. The two percussionists play the African-derived traditional drums of the Garifuna people, and other musicians supported the singers on electric guitars and bass.

The group performed an a cappella song, "Amiehasi," followed by two songs from its album: "Merua" and "Fuleisei." Umalali closed the session with "Watina," the title song from Palacio's album, performed in tribute to his musical legacy. Umalali continues to carry on his work and bring the beauty of Garifuna culture to international audiences. I felt lucky to have had them in our studios.

Originally recorded Sept. 15, 2008.

>via: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=99877936 

Call for Submissions for a

Collection of Poetry and Prose:

Sad Pretty Girls of Color

Deadline: 1 January 2013

Sad Pretty Girls is a collection of artwork and nonfiction poetry and prose which seeks to explore post-adolescence and cultural identity through the perspective of millennial women of color.

We are currently accepting submissions of previously unpublished short stories, illustrations, poems and essays. Pieces submitted may be in any style and on any subject. Submit a maximum of two essays or short stories (up to 2500 words long) and five poems (up to 50 lines long). The artwork submission guidelines are completely open.

Send all work as Word or image file attachments by e-mail  with a short biographical write-up within the body of the email. New and established writers alike are encouraged to submit.

CONTACT INFORMATION:

For queries/ submissions: sadprettygirlsofcolor@gmail.com

Website: http://sadprettygirls.tumblr.com

 

Open to Writers of any Nationality:

Flying Elephants Short Story Prize

($2,000 top prize | worldwide)

Deadline: 16 November 2012 (11:59pm EST)

AndWeWereHungry is delighted to announce the Flying Elephants International Short Story Prize in honor of its inaugural issue. The Elephant Prize is sponsored by Gregory Colbert. Please read carefully—entries not conforming to the terms and conditions will not be judged. Submission of an entry is taken as acceptance of all the terms and conditions of entry.

ELIGIBILITY:

AndWeWereHungry‘s inaugural short story competition is open to entrants 18 years or older, of any nationality and from around the world, so long as you are writing in English and have not previously published a novel or collection of short stories.

The Flying Elephants Prize is not open to anyone connected to AndWeWereHungry and/or Ashes and Snow either as a colleague, relative or friend. Additionally, entrants who have a strong professional or close personal relationship with AndWeWereHungry‘s editorial staff are asked to abstain from entering the contest in order to prevent even the appearance of a conflict of interest. If you are wondering whether you have a “strong” or “close” relationship with the editorial staff, you probably do.

CLOSING DATE: Friday November 16, 2012 11:59pm EST. (We reserve the right, however, to change deadlines and other dates without notice for any legitimate reason provided that we post so here on our website.)

ENTRY:

• Short story submissions that connect, however loosely, to our inaugural theme are automatically entered to the competition free of charge. We kindly request that if you have a blog or a website, to please share a link to the competition on your site.

• Your entry must be submitted through our third-party online submission manager before the announced deadline. Entries submitted in any other form will not be submitted. Entrants must provide their name, email address, telephone number and postal address on the initial submission manager form. For more on our online submission process, formatting and general submission guidelines please click here.

• We will acknowledge receipt of your entry by email. If you do not receive such an email from us within seven days of your submission, your entry has not been received and you should try again. We cannot take responsibility for entries lost in cyberspace, so if you encounter problems, please send us an email in a timely manner.

• No more then one work per entrant may be submitted. If more than one story is submitted, only the first will be considered. And while simultaneous submissions are generally acceptable, they are ineligible for consideration of the top three cash prizes.

• By submitting an entry, you warrant that the entry is entirely your own original composition that does not infringe any law or regulation or third party right including, but not limited to, the law of copyright, trademark, libel or defamation. Any entries found to be infringing on the rights of any third-party will be removed. Plagiarism will not be tolerated.

• By submitting an entry, you attest that the entry has never been previously published or broadcast in any form, including print, eBook or online publication. You may, however, enter work you have already published on your personal blog. Please do not send work that has won a prize elsewhere (e.g., a winner, finalist, or honorable mention) or is currently under consideration in another writing competition.

• Your entry cannot be altered once its been submitted. If you wish to withdraw your entry, please do so via our online submission manager as soon as possible. AndWeWereHungry will not enter into any correspondence about entries or results, and cannot offer any feedback on individual entries.

THE SHORT STORY:

• PRIZE: First Prize $2,000 Second Prize; $1,000; Third Prize $750; Fourth Prize $500 Fifth Prize $500; Sixth Prize $250]

• We have no words limit, but we expect the sweet spot to be between 3,000 and 6,000 words.

• The general theme, or creative prompt, for our inaugural issue asks entrants to consider the name of our publication itself AndWeWereHungry and expand reflection on the observation that “It’s Lack That Gives Us Inspiration.”

• We welcome all entries that address our theme in general, but only entries that deal with the theme “AndWeWereHungry for Nature,” may stand for the top two cash prizes. Your work must connect the general theme of the inaugural issue with that of a hunger for nature as we described here.

• Prizes will go to those writers whose short fiction shows the greatest originality, power to move and mastery of the short story, while presenting us with something new to consider.

JUDGING:

• Entries will be judge anonymously; in other words, the names of the author will not be made available to either the initial readers, our editorial team or the judge(s). We thus ask that you do not include your name or any personal information on any page of your entry. (Personal information shall be separately entered on our third-party submission manager and all entries shall be given a unique anonymous tracking number.) No cover letter is needed.

• AndWeWereHungry‘s andeditorial team will blind-select a longlist of finalists from among the universe of relevant entries. The editor will then forward the longlist to the named Judge(s) for prize selection. In the unlikely event that we simply don’t receive a sufficient number of entries of reasonable quality for a longlist and thus provide a reasonable and fair basis for judging the Prize, we reserve the right to cancel the competition, in which case no prizes will be awarded.

• The Judge(s) will blind-select from the longlist five winning entries and 12 shortlist entries. The decision of the judge(s) is final. And neither discussion nor correspondence concerning any decision will be entered into once work has been submitted. The judge(s) reserves the option to declare ties and to designate and award only as many winners and/or finalists as are appropriate to the quality of contest entries and of the work we which to represent in the magazine.

• The cash-prize winners and shortlist selections will be notified by email. If we are unable to contact a shortlisted entrant despite making reasonable attempts to do so, the Judge(s) will be entitled to shortlist another entry. Failure to respond such reasonable efforts within a two-week period will result in the forfeiture of the award. In such event, we shall not be held liable for any loss or damage arising out such an entrant’s enjoyment of the prize.

• The winning entrants will be published in our inaugural Winter 2013 issue, and prominently featured on our website for three months [and the winning author’s name and short story title will also be announced on Ashes and Snow's website].

• The cash prize is nonnegotiable, and will be paid to the winners by check. No alternative prize or payment method will be offered.

RIGHTS AND TERMS OF USE:

• You retain worldwide copyright on your work (including film and dramatic rights).By submitting an entry, however, you acknowledge and agree that you will be deemed to have granted AndWeWereHungry, and its affiliates, licensees, successors and assigns:

• The non-exclusive rights for publication and distribution of your entry online on our website, digitally and in any publications we may produce, at our discretion, in the future (including as part of an anthology—print, eBook—downloadable single story format, audiobook, podcast, mobile device application, or in any other present of future form of publication). The rights for publication will be non-exclusive and will not bar you from publishing the work elsewhere. We ask only that you acknowledge that we published it first and, without prejudice to the terms here, grant AndWeWereHungry a non-exclusive, perpetual, royalty-free license to permanently archive the winning entries and runner-ups and to permanently publish the first three paragraphs of such entries on AndWeWereHungry‘s and website www.andwewerehungry.org.

• The right to clearly identify you as the author of any work we publish online or in any other potential publications and you attest that you agree to this publicity. You have the option, however, of using a pseudonym if you wish.

• The right to produce an anthology (print or eBook) of the inaugural issue and winning entries and you will not be entitled to royalties from any commercial sale of the anthology, but license us to use your work in this commercial manner. All entrants whose work is published in the anthology shall will receive a copy, but profits from any sale of the anthology will go back into the administration of the AndWeWereHungry, and website and subsequent creative competitions.

• A worldwide sub-licensable, perpetual, transferable, non-exclusive royalty-free license to use in any way whatsoever including but not limited to, public performance, public display, publishing, reproduction, broadcasting, amendment or modification of the entry or any part of the entry on and through the website www.andwewerehungry.org or any website associated with AndWeWereHungry,and in its different present and future forms (e.g., magazine print, audiobook, podcast, audio download, electronic databases, eBook, mobile device application, electronic media or website including mobile form or any other facsimile or derivative versions in any medium).

• By submitting an entry and entering the competition, you agree to accept these rules in full, all of our terms and conditions, and general submission guidelines. We reserve the right to adjust these rules without notice, but any such changes shall be posted here on our website.

CODE OF ETHICS:

AndWeWereHungry, and the Flying Elephants Prize vow to conduct this inaugural [short story] competition as ethically possible. As such we subscribe to the Council of Literary Magazines and Presses (CLMP) Contest Code of Ethics.

CLMP Code of Ethics: CLMP’s community of independent literary publishers believes that ethical contests serve our shared goal: to connect writers and readers by publishing exceptional writing. Intent to act ethically, clarity of guidelines, and transparency of process form the foundation of an ethical contest. To that end, we agree (1) to conduct our contests as ethically as possible and to address any unethical behavior on the part of our readers, judges, or editors; (2) to provide clear and specific contest guidelines defining conflict of interest for all parties involved; and (3) to make the mechanics of our selection process available to the public. This Code recognizes that different contest models produce different results, but that each model can be run ethically. We have adopted this Code to reinforce our integrity and dedication as a publishing community and to ensure that our contests contribute to a vibrant literary heritage.

CONTACT INFORMATION:

For queries: info@andwewerehungry.org

For submissions: via submittable

Website: http://andwewerehungry.org

 

Call For Papers: Picturing Others:

Photography and Human Rights

By Andrew Hetrick On August 26, 2012 

 

Cardiff, 17-18 January 2013

Cardiff University in Cardiff, Wales, has opened a call for papers for a 2-day conference that will bring together photographers, academic researchers, press officers, journalists, and members of community groups to enter a discourse on how photographs are used to represent people in situations of conflict and disaster, and to consider the real-world effects that photographic representation can have on the lives of people migrating from one country to another. The conference’s main goal is to create an initial forum for a continuing discourse between photographers, media officers, journalists, and researchers on photography.

The conference hopes to explore ways in which photographs throughout history have affected the way certain groups of people are represented in our present time, as well as the ways in which different groups of organizations use photography to inform or educate, and how photography is used within these different sectors to communicate with each other and their publics. Engaging with how people from areas of conflict and disaster view these images of themselves by others, the conference is interested in how they use photography themselves. In a broad sense, the conference hopes to reflect on how human rights and individual agency can be both promoted and violated through photographs, as well as the choices made by photographers and broadcasters when using these images.

The call for papers invite proposals of 200 words for submission by October 8, 2012 from all those interested in photography and human rights. Decisions will be communicated though e-mail by October 22, 2012. Proposals should be sent to the organizing committee at migration@cf.ac.uk. The conference invites presentations taking practical, personal, and theoretical approaches referring to any historical period and geographical area. Presentations will be 20 minutes long.

Topics for discussion may include but are not limited to:

• Are there patterns in the ways in which people in conflict or distress elsewhere are represented in photography?

• How do these patterns of representation affect how people who migrate to other countries are perceived and how well they can integrate and settle?

• How do past photographic representations of people from elsewhere link to contemporary photographs of countries in conflict or disaster situations and the way they are presented?

• How do non-photographic media, such as text and radio journalism, affect responses to photographs of other people?

• How do photographed people in situations of conflict or disaster, or in peacetime, interact with their media representations?

• What kinds of images do indigenous media and NGOs use to represent people in situations of conflict or disaster in their own countries and localities?

• What are the decision-making processes used by photographers picturing conflict and disaster?

• How do image the choices made in news media affect how images are used by development organisations or community groups, and vice versa?

• Where migration is concerned, what are the effects of images on perceptions of migrants, on social integration in host countries, and on the resolution of conflicts at home and in host countries?

• How is the educational role that images of others can have connected to issues of wider power relations between the global South and the global North in making, publishing/broadcasting and viewing images?

(information taken from http://politicstheoryphotography.blogspot.com/)

Cardiff University’s mission is to pursue research, learning and teaching of international distinction and impact.

Features of their vision and mission are a striving for excellence, integrity and innovation in every aspect of activity; a strongly collaborative approach; open and effective communications and an inclusive culture based on dignity, courtesy and respect.

More here 

Power and Soul

James Brown and The Fania All-Stars were some of the renowned African American and African musicians were brought together in Kinshasa, Zaire (now the Democratic Republic of the Congo) for a 3-day music festival in 1974. The planners had approached Don King to combine the event with the title fight between Muhammad Ali and George Foreman.  Although the events were linked, the fight was pushed back to October. The footage filmed was originally to create the Academy Award Winning boxing documentary When We Were Kings. Hours of footage had previously remained unseen until Jeffrey Levy-Hinte released the film Soul Power in 2008.

 

Miriam Makeba performing in Zaire, September 22, 1974

The film features the musical performances of B.B. King, Bill Withers, Miriam Makeba, Celia Cruz, and The Spinners. Watching these masters is powerful. What is also striking are the connections and offstage comments by the artists and entertainers. Muhammad Ali, for example, talked about how his perception of Zaire changed once he arrived and the sense he had that “…savages are in America” as opposed to Africa. Performers in the show spoke many different languages and the film has scenes that show these barriers being broken down. Everyone had the ability to express themselves through music and dance. Their connections were also amplified by the bond of a common homeland.

Celia Cruz and Johnny Pacheco performing in Zaire, September 22, 1974.

All the performers expressed their interest in working for the empowerment and liberation of Black people. Soul Power continues this vision and shows the power of music in uniting people and understanding each other.

by Megan Cleary

'In My Genes,'

Feature Debut

By Lupita Nyong'o

('12 Years A Slave')

To Screen At Maysles, NYC

by Tambay A. Obenson

September 17, 2012

The announcement that she'd been cast in quite a meaty role in Steve McQueen's Twelve Years A Slave naturally led some to wonder about her past work, given that, as I noted in that post, looking over her IMDB page, the Kenyan actress has primarily crew credits on a few projects, but little in the acting department. Although on her Twitter page, she lists herself as an actor first, a graduate of Yale School of Drama.

Well, something tells me that Lupita Nyong'o's life is about to change, as more folks become familiar with her name and face.

And we may be seeing some of that already, as a documentary she directed (yes, she's a filmmaker as well), titled In My Genes, will screen at the Maysles Institute (in NYC), on Monday, October 1, at 7pm, in an event presented by Doc Watchers, curated by Hellura Lyle.

And by the way, a post-screening Q&A with Lupita Nyong, with a reception, will follow. So she'll be present for it! More incentive to attend.

What's the feature documentary about? Here's a synopsis:

The first feature-length documentary by talented Kenyan director Lupita Nyong'o, In My Genes, follows eight individual Kenyans who have one thing in common: they were born with albinism, a genetic condition that causes a lack of pigmentation. In many parts of Africa, including Kenya, it is a condition that marginalizes, stereotypes, and even endangers those who have it. Though highly visible in a society that is predominantly black, the reality of living with albinism is invisible to most. Through her intimate portraits, Ms. Nyong'o lets us see their challenges, their humanity, and their everyday triumphs.

Tickets to the screening event are $10; you can pre-purchase yours HERE.

No word on what Lupita might currently be up to, now that shooting on Twelve Years A Slave is complete. Maybe she'll be directing; maybe she'll be acting; maybe both. 

But once we learn anything, so will you.

Watch a trailer for In My Genes below (followed by poster, and CNN interview with Lupita).