This Day in Black History: Aug. 15, 1975

 

Joan Little

became the first woman

in the United States

to be acquitted of murder

using the defense

of sexual assault prevention.

By Patrice Peck

Posted: 08/15/2012 

(Photo: Wikicommons)

Originally charged with the 1974 murder of a white jailer, Joan Little was ultimately acquitted on Aug. 15, 1975. Her defense claimed that Little, who was in prison at the time, had stabbed the jailer with an ice pick in defense when he assaulted her sexually.

Little became the first woman in the United States, regardless of race, to be acquitted using the defense that she used deadly force to prevent sexual assault.

Focusing attention on a women’s right to defend herself from rape, capital punishment and racial inequalities in the criminal justice system, Little’s trial aroused campaigning amongst the civil rights, feminist and anti-death penalty movements.

“Those of us — women and men — who are black or people of color must understand the connection between racism and sexism that is so strikingly manifested in [Joan Little’s] case,” wrote activist Angela Davis in a 1975 Ms. magazine article.

“Those of us who are white and women must grasp the issue of male supremacy in relationship to the racism and class bias which complicate and exacerbate it,” Davis continued.

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FEATURE  | spring 2002

Joan Little:

The Dialectics

of Rape (1975)

by Angela Davis 

No one-not even the men in the mob-had bothered to accuse Cordella Stevenson of committing a crime. She was black and that was reason enough. She was black and a woman, trapped in a society pervaded with myths of white superiority and male supremacy. She could be raped and murdered with absolute impunity. The white mob simply claimed that, a few months earlier, Cordella Stevenson's son had burned down a white man's barn.

It was 60 years ago when this black woman was raped and strung up on a tree. There are many who believe that incidents such as these belong to an era of racist terror now forever buried under the historical progress of the intervening years. But history itself allows only the naive to honestly claim these last 60 years as a time of unequivocal progress-especially when the elimination of racism and male supremacy is used as the yardstick.

Twenty-year-old Joan Little, one of the most recent victims in this racist and sexist tradition, is the cultural grandchild of Cordella Stevenson. She says that she resisted when she was sexually assaulted, but as a result she is currently being tried on charges of first-degree murder. In the event of a conviction, she will automatically get a death sentence and will be placed on North Carolina's death row-the result of a "legal" process, but still too close to the lynch law of the past.

The story begins last August 27, when a guard at the jail in Beaufort County, North Carolina, was found dead in the cell of a missing prisoner. He had been stabbed eleven times with an ice pick, the same ice pick that he had kept in his own desk drawer. The jailer, Clarence Alligood, was white. The missing prisoner was black, and the only woman in the entire jail. Because of a conviction on charges of breaking and entering, larceny, and receiving stolen property, Joan Little was serving a sentence of seven to ten years and had already been kept in the Beaufort County jail for three months at the time of her disappearance.

When the autopsy report was released, it contained this evidence of recent sexual activity on the part of Alligood: "His shoes were in the corridor, his socks on his feet. He was otherwise naked from the waist down. . . . The left arm was under the body and clutching his pants. . . . His right hand contained an icepick. There was blood on the sheet, cell floor, corridor. . . . Beneath his buttocks was a decorated, partially torn woman's kerchief. On the floor was a night gown and on the cell door was a brassiere and night jacket. . . . Extending from his penis to his thigh skin was a stream of what appeared to be seminal fluid. . . . The urethral fluid was loaded with spermatozoa."

After a week of evading police-who conducted their search with riot weapons and helicopters-Joan Little turned herself in, stating nothing publicly about the case except that she did what she had to do in self-defense. At her own insistence, Jerry Paul, the lawyer she contacted, received assurances that she would be incarcerated in the women's prison in Raleigh-not in the jail where the incident took place, and where she feared that she would be subjected to further sexual assault and perhaps even that her life would be in danger. Shortly thereafter, Joan Little was charged with murder in the first degree.

The circumstances surrounding this case deserve careful attention, for they raise fundamental questions about the bringing of murder charges against her. Moreover, they expose conditions and situations many women prisoners must confront, especially in the small-town jails of this country.

1. Joan Little was being detained in a jail in which she was the only woman-among prisoners and guards alike.

2. Like any other prisoner, Sister Joan was being held under lock and key. Only her jailer, Clarence Alligood, had access to the key to her cell that night. Therefore, how could he have been present there against his will? A part of an escape attempt on the part of Joan Little, as the authorities then charged?

3. Alligood was apparently killed by stab wounds inflicted by the same ice pick which he was known to keep in his desk. What was a jail guard doing with an ice pick in the first place? And for what legitimate purpose could he have taken it into a prisoner's cell?

4. Alligood was discovered naked from the waist down. According to Karen Galloway and Jerry Paul, Joan Little's attorneys, the authorities maintained for a full three weeks that Alligood's pants were nowhere to be found. Were they afraid that the public would discover that, although he had been stabbed in the legs, there were no such holes in his pants? Were they afraid people would therefore realize that Alligood had removed his pants before the struggle began? In any case, how could such crucial evidence be allowed to disappear?

In fact, the reality of Joan Little's life as a prisoner, even before the rape, may have been one of sexual exploitation; a fate she consistently resisted. Jerry Paul has said, "One possibility is that she was being kept in Beaufort County Jail for openly sexual purposes."

She should have been moved to the women's prison in Raleigh shortly after her original conviction, but she was never transferred. According to Paul, a TV camera was focused on her cell at all times, leaving her no privacy whatever even when she changed clothes or took a shower. When she used her sheets to block the view, they were taken from her. Joan Little's lawyers have said that on one occasion a highway patrolman visiting the jail on business unrelated to Joan, came into her cell and urinated on the floor.

Essential to a clear perspective on the Joan Little case is an analysis of what might have happened if the situation had been reversed. What if Alligood had overpowered her? What if he had stabbed her with the ice pick-as he may have intended to do if she could not otherwise be raped? What if the sexually violated body of Joan Little had been discovered in that cell on the night of August 27?

There can be little speculation about the turn events would have taken had Joan Little been killed by Alligood. A verdict of "justifiable homicide" would have probably closed the books on such a case.

But she had the courage to fend off her assailant. The price of her resistance was a new threat of death, this time issuing from the government of North Carolina. And so she is being tried-by the same state whose Supreme Court decided, in the 19th century, that no white man could be convicted of fornication with a slave woman.

Joan Little stands accused by a court system which, proportionate to its population, has sentenced more political activists to prison than any other state in the country. The number of state prison units in North Carolina is staggering-more than five times greater than in California, the most populous state in the country. In fact, North Carolina, along with Georgia, can claim more prisoners per capita than any other state-and they include, of course, an enormously disproportionate number of black men and women.

As this article is being written, there are 71 prisoners on death row in North Carolina, making that state Number One in the nation in condemning people to legal death. In the event of a conviction, the state's present sentencing policy could make Sister Joan Little the third woman in the country to be sentenced to death since the Supreme Court ruled in 1972 that the death penalty imposed at the discretion of judges and juries was cruel and unusual punishment. North Carolina subsequently mandated that a conviction on a first-degree murder charge automatically carried the death penalty. This procedure was appealed to the Supreme Court in late April. The other two women presently on death row are also in North Carolina-a black and a Native American.

Joan Little's attorneys relate numerous possibilities of judicial bias against her. In Beaufort County, for instance, where families are generations old, virtually everyone knows everyone else. Living in the area are numerous Alligoods. One of these Alligoods sat on the Grand Jury which returned the indictment against Joan Little.

Without exception, every pretrial motion filed, as of this writing, has been flatly denied. Despite inflammatory publicity about Joan Little-including unfounded and malicious charges that she was a prostitute-and in spite of the unconcealed public sympathy for Alligood, the courts have refused to grant a change of venue for the trial.

Although Joan Little is indigent, her motion to have the court assume the costs of expert witnesses has been denied. It was denied even though the court does not have to pay her attorneys' fees, since the lawyers are donating their services.

Efforts to gain access to the evidence, in the form of discovery motions, have also been thwarted. The sheriff at first refused to release a list of female prisoners previously incarcerated in the jail, leading to a belief that the authorities feared the exposure of other sexual assaults by Alligood and his colleagues. Later, after the State Bureau of Investigation had questioned 65 former prisoners, their names were released to Joan Little's lawyers-but even this SBI report stated that some of these inmates claimed Alligood and other jailers made sexual advances toward them.

After the difficulty in locating Alligood's pants, the defense attempted to have all the evidence assembled and placed in protective custody. This was denied.

Although Sister Joan seemed clearly eligible to be released on bail, District Attorney William Griffin employed every trick of his trade to prevent her release. When the defense attorneys attempted to post bail, for instance, Griffin, relying on a technicality, ordered the clerk not to accept the bond. Finally, as a result of a nationwide outcry, she was released in February on bail of $115,000: an amount that is itself clearly exorbitant.

Over the last few years, widespread concern about the increasing incidence of sexual assaults on women has crystallized into a militant campaign against rape. In the Joan Little case, as well as in all other instances of sexual assault, it is essential to place the specific incident in its sociohistorical context. For rape is not one- dimensional and homogeneous-but one feature that does remain constant is the overt and flagrant treatment of women, through rape, as property. Particular rape cases will then express different modes in which women are handled as property.

Thus when a white man rapes a black woman, the underlying meaning of this crime remains inaccessible if one is blind to the historical dimensions of the act. One must consider, for example, that a little more than a hundred years ago, there were few black women who did not have to endure humiliating and violent sexual attacks as an integral feature of their daily lives. Rape was the rule; immunity from rape the exception. On the one hand the slave master made use of his tyrannical possession of slave women as chattel in order to violate their bodies with impunity. On the other hand, rape itself was an essential weapon utilized by the white master to reinforce the authority of his ownership of black women.

Although the immediate victim of rape was the black woman-and it was she who endured its pain and anguish-rape served not only to further her oppression, but also as a means of terrorizing the entire black community. It placed brutal emphasis on the fact that black slaves were indeed the property of the white master.

In conjunction with the sexual exploitation of black women, the stereotypical image of the black woman branded her as a creature motivated by base, animal-like sexual instincts. It was therefore no sin to rape her. This bestial notion of the black woman, incidentally, played and continues to play a significant role in justifying the overexploitation of her labor. For such a woman would hardly be distinguishable from a beast of burden. Again, she is openly defined as property. If rape was, in effect, institutionalized during slavery, essentially the same institutionalized form of rape is present today in such vestiges of slavery as do-mestic work. How many black women working in the homes of white people have not had to confront the "man of the house" as an actual or potential rapist?

The rape of the black woman and its ideological justification are integrally linked to the portrayal of the black man as a bestial rapist of white women-and, of course, the castration and lynching of black men on the basis of such accusations. Struggle against the sexual abuse of black women has demanded at the same time struggle against the cruel manip-ulation of sexual accusations against black men. Black women, therefore, have played a vanguard role, not only in the fight against rape, but also in the movement to end lynching.

For black women, rape perpetrated by white men, like the social stereotype of black men as rapists, must be classed among the brutal paraphernalia of racism.

Whenever a campaign is erected around a black woman who has been raped by a white man, therefore, the content of the campaign must be explicitly antiracist. And, as incorrect as it would be to fail to attack racism, it would be equally incorrect to make light of the antisexist content of the movement. Racism and male supremacy have to be projected in their dialectical unity. In the case of the raped black woman, they are mutually reinforcive.

Joan Little's assailant had probably been exposed to all the racist myths about black women, and was aware of the lack of redress available to victims of white rapists. In the aftermath of the incident, in fact, vicious accusa- tions were hurled at Joan Little: she was called a prostitute and it was claimed that she engaged in sexual activities with jailers.

Of course, the conviction rate for rape is the lowest of all violent crimes -regardless of the victim's ethnic group. Only in those instances where the accused rapist is black and the alleged victim is white can a long prison term or death penalty be antici- pated. From 1930 to 1967, 455 men were executed as a result of rape convictions: 405 of them were black, 48 of them were white, and two were of other ethnic groups. This means that almost 90 percent of all rape executions during this period involved black men.

Courts have established the pattern of either acquitting or not trying the majority of white men who are charged with rape. In New York, for instance, in 1967, 30 percent of all felony indictments ended in convictions, but in only 13 percent of all rape indictments were there convictions.

There must be a reason behind this social and judicial encouragement given to rape. This reason, in turn, must be related to the social and political function of male supremacy in general.

The oppression of women is a vital and integral component of a larger network of oppression which claims as its foremost victims black people, Chicanos, Puerto Ricans, Asians, Indians, and all poor and working-class people. Just as class exploitation, racism, and imperialist subjugation of peoples abroad serve to nourish this larger system and keep it functioning, so male supremacy is likewise essential to its smooth operation. The larger system, of course, is monopoly capitalism and its overall driving motive is profit.

It is in the interests of the ruling class to cultivate the archaic patriarchal domination of women-based on male ownership of females as property-that flourished during the feudal era. As long as women are oppressed, enormous benefits accrue to the ruling class. Female labor can be even more flagrantly exploited than male labor. (White women's median wages are even lower than black men's and, of course, women of color receive the lowest wages of all workers.)

The social definition of women as housewives provides, as Alva Buxenbaum states, the most effective "rationale for failing to make housework and child care a social responsibility." A list of examples could go on and on. The social incentive given to rape is woven into the logic of the institutions of this society. It is an extremely efficient means of keeping women in a state of fear of rape or of the possibility of it. It is, as Susan Griffin wrote, "a form of mass terrorism." This, in turn, buttresses the general sense of powerlessness and passivity socially inflicted upon women, thus rendering them more easily exploitable. Yet, just as working-class and poor white people who exhibit racist attitudes toward people of color are unconscious agents of a higher power, so rapists (though they may be individually unaware of this) are performing deeds that give sustenance, not to them, but to the existing system.

Joan Little may not only have been the victim of a rape attempt by a white racist jailer; she has truly been raped and wronged many times over by the exploitative and discriminatory institutions of this society. All people who see themselves as members of the existing community of struggle for justice, equality, and progress have a responsibility to fulfill toward Joan Little. Those of us-women and men -who are black or people of color must understand the connection between racism and sexism that is so strikingly manifested in her case. Those of us who are white and women must grasp the issue of male supremacy in relationship to the racism and class bias which complicate and exacerbate it.

Let us be sure that the leitmotif running through every aspect of the campaign is unity. Our ability to achieve unity may mean the difference between life and death for Sister Joan. Let us then forge among ourselves and our movements an indivisible strength and with it, let us halt and then crush the conspiracy against Joan Little's life.

>via: http://www.msmagazine.com/spring2002/davis.asp

catspirations:

Desi Rap is a collection of essays from South Asian American activists, academics, and hip-hop artists that explores four main ideas: hip-hop as a means of expression of racial identity, class status, gender, sexuality, racism, and culture; the appropriation of Black racial identity by South Asian American consumers of hip-hop; the furthering of the discourse on race and ethnic identity in the United States through hip-hop; and the exploration of South Asian Americans’ use of hip-hop as a form of social protest. Ultimately, Desi Rap is about broadening our horizons through hip-hop and embracing the South Asian American community’s polycultural legacy and future.

I’ve found another book to add to my reading list. For anyone else who may be interested, you can read it here.

(via ragasiyam)

∞  August 16, 2012

16 August 2012 

7 key issues in

African feminist thought

Firstly, it is important to say that when it comes to theory, it’s more accurate to speak of African feminisms than of one almighty African feminism. Not all African feminists agree with each other–luckily, I’d add, as this would hinder deep reflection of issues such as those listed below–yet respecting differences whilst recognizing a common ground is a priority. As I mentioned in the previous post, many women might refer to themselves as both African feminists and Black feminists. (This is especially evident in bibliographies of both African- and Black feminist writing.) However, African feminist thought has an added commitment to analyses in African contexts.

I should also clarify that African feminists here, as mostly elsewhere, refers to feminists of African heritage both in Africa and in the Diaspora, and that with ‘African women’ I’m referring to women of African heritage who are rural, urban and of all social classes who live in Africa and across the globe. Lastly, the views expressed below are mine and my choice to highlight seven key issues is not to suggest that there aren’t other equally pressing and important issues or that these seven are comprehensively covered in this one post.

Al-righty, on that note, let’s start with the Big, Bad Guy.

Patriarchy
Africa is no different to other continents in the world, where whatever autonomic space the society offers the individual, it is less if one is female. Unfortunately we don’t know of a time in modern history when women of a racial/ethnic/class group were not disadvantaged in comparison to men of the same racial/ethnic/class group. We know of times (including this current one) when women of one race, ethnicity and/or class may have social advantages over men of another race, ethnicity and/or class. African feminists pay attention to the ways that patriarchy–a psychological and political system that values the male higher than the female–uses law, tradition, force, ritual, customs, education, language, labour (etc.) to keep women governed by men in both public and private life. African feminism sees that African men and women could have mutually beneficial, transformative and progressive relationships in the private and public spheres if our relationships were non-patriarchal and egalitarian. Nevertheless, African feminists assume responsibility for striving for such equal societies rather than hoping that men will someday redistribute privilege and power to create a better, more harmonious prospect for future generations.

Race
African feminist thought does not solely deal with the “male-female”-imbalance because that would leave out other factors that affect African women’s lives, one of which is racial hierarchies and the socio-politics that come along with them. In fact, African feminists tend to be well-versed in how racial politics has undermined those practices in parts of historical Africa that had complementary elements and that nurtured a spirit of mutual intimacy. African feminist writing aims to ‘undo’ the roles and conditions that made Africans dependent on their colonizers, to ‘unwrite’ the burden of a history of imperialism that spans through centuries and to give a new language with which African women and men can progress from the racialized trauma that till this present day affects women and men, albeit in different ways.

Tradition
It’s quite unpopular to criticize African traditions, or to point out that African history is marked by male dominance which African women have always resisted. Whether it is to do with the household, marriage customs, production methods or sexual freedoms, African patriarchal traditions for the most part make distinctions between male and female in ways that disadvantage the female. African women have been silenced for too long about the crimes of traditional patriarchy such as the abusive and dehumanising institution of patriarchal polygamy, widow abuse, genital cutting, witch-hunting and women’s lack of access to property and power in traditional society. That said, African feminist thought doesn’t seek to abandon tradition, as tradition also harbours a precious cultural memory and a rich legacy of knowledge and spirituality. Rather the goal is to enable tradition to adapt to its times so that rather than stagnate, it can enrich society, as customs and culture should do. Take for instance Sisonke Msimang, a well-known African feminist who here describes incorporating the lobola (bride price) in her wedding ceremony in a completely feminist way! That’s a great example of how to maintain cultural pride whilst simultaneously preserving a commitment to evolution and harmony.

Underdevelopment
Africa, according to statistical indices, is the poorest continent in terms of people’s access to basic amenities. African feminist thought honours that poverty in Africa and wealth in the west are structurally linked. The west’s continued injustice towards Africa through military intervention, resource exploitation, NGO propaganda, unjustifiable debt and trade practices, and other neo/colonial practices of the power hungry has devastating effects on African states ability to cope with such factors as HIV/Aids, women’s sexual & maternal health and infrastructure development. Perhaps worst of all, is that the underdevelopment of Africa has impeded on the development of consciousness through adequate educational systems. As a result, African societies have been unable to naturally progress in ways where their jurisdiction, agriculture, intra-continental trade, indigenous healthcare and philosophical outlook has advanced to match the needs of citizens. In addition, this lack of consciousness development fuels unexamined claims like that the pursuit of gender equality is unAfrican or that homosexuality is sinful. Furthermore, poverty affects women worse than men in developing parts of the world because as Thomas Sankara said, “…women are dependant of the dependant.” African feminism seeks to enlighten that in order to develop African countries need to create social institutions that will resist foreign hegemony over African people, encourage engaged thinking and a workforce inclusive of all of its population on equally focused footing.

Sexuality
To point out the obvious, lesbians are women and homophobia and the persecution of African queer women by African states is a key issue in African feminist thought. The question of female sexuality in all its manifestations, and the control and suppression thereof, is in fact a central preoccupation for African feminists.  How do we challenge the state that pushes a rigid heterosexist idea as the norm? How do we unlink sexual dominance from sexual pleasure? How are women’s bodies made to bear the wounds of history; and of foreign intrusion and prolonged national struggles?  How do we address the psychological and physical suffering that women endure after violation? African feminist-centered thought and activism aims to query into and dismantle the mindset that doesn’t encourage the fundamental human right of ownership over ones body.

Global feminism
For feminism to be far reaching in impact, African feminists, like all others involved in the women’s movement need to collaborate with each other as we are also co-dependent in an increasingly inter-connected world. In the 20th century, African feminists were largely engaged in eliminating the arrogance and imperialism that had been imported through white-western feminism into African women’s narratives, but in the past decade or so the focus has been on ways to work together despite differences and especially to strengthen ties with Latin American and Asian feminist struggles. This pattern is in varying degrees the zeitgeist of all global feminisms, even though theory and practice are not always in unison.
African feminists need to curb (not neglect) their anger towards the negative images that many white feminists have perpetuated and focus on the resourceful work that many white feminists have produced, and white feminists need to be starkly aware and critical of their privileged position.Only then can we mutually seek to empower the strength at the heart of womanhood.

Love 
Love is something that all human beings desire in life yet it is an undervalued emotion in the worldview that shapes much of modern ideas. Using art in all its forms, for instance, to infuse theory with passion and emotion is for many African feminists a radically transformative act. Art is a realm where African feminist positions are not stated, but are symbolically represented. By creating new intellectual traditions aside of white/male academic history,  African feminists are in effect questioning the legitimacy of  knowledge production and decolonizing and depatriarchalizing minds.
African feminist thought is fuelled by the idea that love and justice are complementary to revolution and change. It is focused on healing, reconciliation, and on an insistence that the language of African womanhood, from its global position, is the language that can transform society into one where sexual, racial, spiritual, psychological and social equality are afforded. In such a society people can pursue lives with less daily micro- and macro-aggressions, less hostility and more space for self-realization. From Miriam Makeba’s music to Oumou Sy’s fashion to Nike Ogundaike’s art, African feminists are at the forefront of using creativity to express that progressive thought is not only cerebral but also visceral and expressive.

Thoughts? Questions?

More African feminist resources here.

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MsAfropolitan is the blog of Minna Salami, writer and commentator on Africa, African feminism, race, identity and founder of MsAfropolitan.com. Subscribe to posts via email or RSS . Check out the MsAfropolitan Tumblr, Facebook, Twitter and shop design by women of African heritage in the MsAfropolitan Boutique

Nike

<p>Nike from Joel Benson on Vimeo.</p>

 by Joel Benson 

A visit to an art gallery in Lagos, Nigeria, and witnessed, firsthand, African art in all its beauty.

Camera - Canon 7D
Direct-Shoot-Edit - Joel Benson
Music - "Beautiful" by Asa
Special thanks to Nike

a FULLGROUND presentation

THAT MAN CALLED STEVE BIKO

By on 16 August 2012 in BIOrijin

The climax of many a man’s triumph is captured in the last suffering that led to their final death. The fact is whiles a man’s enemies thought they were making a final end to him, what they did not know they were in fact doing was to demonstrate in effect the length the hero was ready to go to die for his convictions through the tortures and brutalities despising his very one life in the process.

There was a man sent from above his name was Steve Biko, sent on a redemption cause; the end of apartheid one of the greatest shames in human history. On 18th of December, 1946, this Prophet was born in King Williams Town which is today Eastern Cape a province in South Africa. He studied to be a medical doctor in the University of Natal but he defied the stethoscope to treat man’s greatest disease; race prejudice. Biko diagnosed the system in South Africa and found a killer virus; apartheid.
His first diagnosis was to organize a movement, built on self reliance and unity; the South Africa Student Association with him as the first President.
Secondly he prescribed a psychological and physical touch to the struggle. What this meant was the liberation struggle demanded all the resources of the fighters.

Thirdly, Biko employed the pen and the venom of the tongue any outlet to send out the message employ. His book “I write what I like” is a must read. The struggle surely met violent oppression and brutalities to quell the spirit of the movement. That was not to be surprise, after all E.W. Kenyon said “when man has no answer, he resorts to brutal force”

Biko then suffered expulsion from the University of Natal and was restricted from speaking to people and restrained to King William’s Town magisterial district. He couldn’t speak or write and his words were forbidden to be quoted, a proof of how powerful and feared he was.
But then it was time to leave, 18th of August, 1977, Biko was arrested. He was brutalized, chained to a grille, battered on the head and interrogated for the next 22 hours, he fell into coma. After that on 11 September 1977, he was chained naked to Pretoria; he died the next day.

Though the police and courts sought to cover up the cause of his death, the courts of natural justice exposed them. But friend, though the light of the struggle was killed, the rays of his life could not be dimmed.
Finally he left these words for you; “Black is beautiful, man, you are okay as you are, begin to look upon yourself as a human being”.  And so my dear friend, that was another great life, I have told you of that man called Steve Biko.

Full Documentary…

 

Lerammoux: The Dung & Beetle Project 

The Dung and Beetle Project is a creative collaboration between Writer, Lerato Mmutle aka Lerammoux and established Music Producer, Gabi Le Roux. Every short story has a song. The lyrics are informed by the narrative and the beat grooves to the tempo of the story. Written, composed and produced in South Africa. Lerato Mmutle is living in Europe.

 

BIG PRETENDER: the song

BIG PRETENDER: the story

“Smash, bang, zoom, aaaaah!” - sounds from next-door echo through the corridors of Mr. Mothusi’s suburban mansion. He feels something is wrong, he knows something is wrong but chooses to do:  . He paces around his house like a plucked chicken with no sense of flight. He argues with himself, “You want me to get killed?” The compelling question reverberates in the acoustic silence.

He spends the whole night playing ‘hide and seek’ with his own truth, his conscience is too good at this game. He tries to locate his courage but finds sleep instead. The sounds dissipate as he falls deeper into oblivious slumber. Awoken by dawn, he comes to. He habitually switches on the TV morning news, sits up and tenderly nurses his morning glory as it protrudes over the female presenter’s head. He scratches his scrotum with a yawn and walks over to the bathroom. Three seconds later, he hears these words:

“One only wonders, where were the neighbours of number 56 Glen Road when they needed them?”

He stops dead in his tracks; a sudden machete of shame attacks his chest as he realizes that he is the neighbour - who did absolutely. He strips naked and turns on the emotional waterworks, coming at him relentlessly. He shakes off the imposing regret and watches it flow down the drain in the shower. He recalls the night before, how he so wanted to go out and save them, how he should’ve, how he could’ve, how he didn’t!

During the night before, he had turned off the lights, opened up the blinds in his lounge and watched them. He remembers what he had seen; four men with balaclavas run in and out the backyard with three black bags. He knows he has no alibi, he had been home, the neighbours had also seen him park his ostentatious Jaguar into the driveway and without acknowledging them, go straight into his house and shut the door. This is not good, he ruminates as he swallows his half-masticated cereal. He's having guilt for breakfast.

He walks out of his front door and notices the policemen and tape around the entire yard of his next-door neighbour's property. He is panic-stricken, what if they want to question him? What would he say? He manages to leave undetected.

After a hard day at work - imagining all sorts of horrible scenes of the night before and reading about them in the local newspaper - he comes home. He parks his car but instead of getting into his house, he stays in the garage and pulls out his hosing pipe - fixing it to its lethal partner. He starts the engine and idles, idling and idling, waiting and waiting for the gas to come into his lungs and take him away from this torturous contrition.

In the local newspaper, he read that two children and a woman were murdered during the break-in. He had heard everything and now, sitting silently in the seat of his pain, he conjures images of a braver man, a man who would not have thought twice, never mind a thousandth time. A man who would have taken his licensed gun into the yard and risked his life for the three that were stolen. While his thoughts became a foggy blur, his neighbour to the right was nurturing suspicion. She, a widowed nurse who had married well - Mrs. Rapulana - was off duty and hearing the car idle for what was too long a time, looked through the window to see the garage door ajar.

Rapulana decides to investigate and discovers a pipe attached to his exhaust. He is unconscious in the car, asleep and awaiting his redemption. She crawls in and pulls the pipe free. Shit! The doors are locked; he is not getting any oxygen. She runs out to summon the few policemen still investigating the crime scene and they manage to open the garage door.

Mothusi is unaware of the collaborative commotion around him. Stuck in his reverie, he is holding his gun and stands outside his neighbours’ back door. The door is cracked wide open, he lets himself in, careful not to crush the glass and covertly creeps into the house. He hears a woman screaming. “Please, please!”

He takes a deep breath and walks into the room, his gun aiming straight at the perpetrators - one of them fondling the woman. They are shocked, caught unaware. The woman is holding her children for dear life on the Persian mat.

“Whoa! Whoa! Hold it, man.”

“No, you hold it! Let them go,” he commands.

“Who are you?”

“I’m the neighbour.”

“The neighbour,” the two rogues laugh. “But you guys never do anything!”

“Let them go.”

“That’s not gon’ happen.”

A shot goes off, the woman and children run quickly out of the house. Another shot rings, and another and yet another. No one in the house survives, a fair exchange: three lives for three.

“C n you h  r me?”

Mothusi feels someone slapping his face and registers only the sting of the sun as he opens his eyes. All his neighbours and a couple of paramedics are surrounding him, looking worried and morbidly entertained at the same time.

“He’s alive!” someone says and with that a great cheer follows.

They are smiling at him. He is quickly reminded of his shame.

“I did!”

“What, wait! He’s saying something! Shhh!” insists the nurse.

Silence allows him the space: “I did... nothing!”

“What are you talking about?”

“I did nothing! I heard everything but I did nothing!”

All the neighbours looked at each other and lowered their heads. They had all heard the woman’s cries.

“Well,” she paused. “Today, we all did something!”

__________________________

LONG FASHIONABLE NIGHT: the song

LONG FASHIONABLE NIGHT: the story

In one night on Long Street, I danced with a pink-haired Asian; shared a whiskey with an Italian in a suit; talked politics with a Boer in skinny jeans; had a minor altercation with a scantily clad Xhosa girl and savoured a conversation with an authentic Maasai man who had walked barefoot to South Africa, all the way from Kenya.

The nocturnal creatures of Cape Town and beyond came out to hang in the Long Street playground, dressed in their finest and their worst. I’d decided to wear my necklace of spoons, which drew attention. But I remained tame next to a gorgeous African with a Minnie Mouse bow tie on her head and her companion who felt inspired enough to don a bright pink tutu. For the night, the city had turned into a comic book and we were all superstylish-heroes.

Wafting from hip-hop club to jazz club to house club, I ran into a fellow outside the hotdog stand. The aroma of the frying halaal sausages teased my senses as we confabulated in the queue.

“This is such a different space from Jozi, it’s so... it's so... liberal! People just seem to wear whatever they want. I see the strangest outfits every time I come here. Hey, are those spoons?” asked he in neon red stirrups.

He went on to apprise me of the upscale Pop the Bottle parties in Johannesburg for the ‘who’s who'. To lubricate your entry into the hired mansion, an expensive, prestigious bottle of alcohol would do the trick and the men attending wore suits. I pondered to myself that Long Street was so diverse there’s simply no space for exclusivity. Everybody is somebody in Cape Town and every one around me has license to experiment.

After devouring my unhealthy indulgence, I finally took a seat at the Waiting Room where I bee-bobbed my head to the infectious Funk music and looked around at the 60’s inspired setting. At the corner of eye, I spotted the oddest specimen, glittering in gold sequins. In her ensemble, she looked like something out of a '92 matric dance photo album. I searched the room for disapproving stares but there were none. In Cape Town, she was simply an individual with a queer dress sense.

After a few uncoordinated moves on the dance floor with the pink-haired Asian, Sukti, I moved on to yet another club. Long Street knows no concept of time and when I finally glance at my watch, it’s 4h20am. I should have known the night would run away with me. ■ 

+++++++++++

 Writer: Lerato Mmutle Producer: Gabi Le Roux Photographer: Goran Lizdek

Inspired by images from: Moeketsi Moticoe

Cover Design: Willie Els  Styling: SHEYOU

__________________________

Secrets of A Little House: the song

Secrets of A Little House: the story

Two white Egret herons peck through the fertile grass of the playground on Rochester road. Their pristine white feathers offset the colourfully painted steel formations that are made to amuse the young of heart. Standing in position, they look like spaceship domes of pleasure, patiently awaiting to thrill the next rider.

The birds gracefully go about searching the best worms of the day. The herons are fair and agile, with extended, slim necks and lengthy, black legs. They stroll through the grass, elegantly perusing through the fog of the spring morning. The fog will clear up shortly and they’ll find all that they’re looking for. 

Opposite the park, stands a Victorian house, number 106. The inviting exterior creates a façade for those whose business it is to mind their own. To the casual passerby, it seems like a normal home but what transpires through that door, under that roof is anything but!

Mr. Ali Shiram Mohammed Hisham, a staunch Muslim man lives there with his submissive wife and three children. The wife, a bruised woman of small build chooses to wear a burka, not mandatory for South African Muslims, only in order to hide the scars of a battered marriage. Her mother has survived that same fate and has no sympathy to spare her daughter. During moments of courage and fleeting triumph, her mother sends her back with bitter words, “Know your place, please your husband and raise his children.”

Mr. Ali Shiram Mohammed Hisham would often say, in a deep gam accent, so exclusive to the area of Cape Town, “Ek is die baas in my home!”  But that is not what’s strange about 106 Rochester Rd. What perturbs the birds, for they see everything from their playground vantage point, is that whenever the children come out of the house, they feign happiness. Such pretence, ingrained at such a young age can only have dire consequences but the birds were not the kind of species who judge.

The song of the mosque rings hollow through the empty corridor. He, dedicated to his unforgiving religion, insists that his household should pray every time it is heard. This is even applicable in the wee hours of the morning. By now, the kids - all boys - have developed an internal clock that helps them rise on time. If they’re even a minute delayed, they will be severely punished.

Their punishments are very often sadist because their father makes them punish each other. If one boy were to be caught hiding his food, the others would each have to beat him with a stick. This is often an incredibly painful process for the boys because they are very close and although they try to be lenient with one another, their father will not relent until he is satisfied that they have all learnt their lesson. The mother is powerless in their father’s presence and will often leave it to her silence to curse him. She seems to shrink whenever he walks into the room with his debilitating stature and terrible posture.

One day, the children play in the park. Shaheed, Shubaid and Shihaam run straight to the playground after school. They know they should change into their muslim ‘dresses’ first and that he forbids playing in uniform but it has been such a good day at school plus it’s a Friday. Surely, Father will also be of good spirit?

Meanwhile, in the cosmetic factory, Mr. Ali Shiram Mohammed Hisham sits in his office, with his hands over his ears. He is the manager and as he takes a deep breath, he hears sirens blaring in the background, throbbing for attention like a 2 year-old boy intent on receiving his toy. He is running out of breath and as the next few intakes struggle for a smooth passage, he coughs and stands up.

“Something has to be done,” he bellows. With that, he walks out.

As he reaches the underground, heavy machinery emit smoke and chug with difficulty. The space is dim and the only light is the red beam consistently signaling a hysterical crisis. A man in heavy overalls comes rushing toward him.

“We did the best we could do! It looks like it’s all system’s shut!” he glances toward his superior and for a moment, in his mind’s eye, he proudly mounts his high horse. “I told you not to increase production. All that was needed was simply an organizational boost to motivate the workers but no... you know everything, right! Well, here it is. Now, what do you want me to do?”

Mr. Ali Shiram Mohammed Hisham composes himself and takes the salt and wound in his stride.

“Gary, I’m going to need you to man up! Call Head Office and tell them everything.”

“Everything?” asks Gary.

“Everything.” He moves away from Gary and shifts into solution gear.

By the time he returns home, the day has been long. Mr. Ali Shiram Mohammed Hisham pulls up in front of his yard, the first thing he sees is his children playing in their uniform. He misses the joy that spreads across their faces as they play tag. He misses the camaraderie that exists between his three boys and he misses their laughter that permeates through the whole neighbourhood. He misses another breath and catches it with the next exhale, a long sigh escapes his lips and his posture worsens.

He opens the car door. One of the boys turns sharply toward the familiar sound and makes a sudden halt. The other two boys wonder and follow his eye line to see a heaving monster marching to the playground. Their father is already working at his belt, slowly taking it out of his pant loops.

Two nights before, the brothers had made a pact that they will no longer suffer at the hands of their father. With a unanimous nod from all three, they attack their father and when he loses balance, they run in the same direction and do not dare to look back. This is the last day Mr. Ali Shiram Mohammed Hisham sees his progeny. Now, the Egret herons peck through the memories in the empty park opposite 106 Rochester Rd, Observatory.

++++++++++++

Writer: Lerato Mmutle Producer: Gabi Le Roux Vocals: Lerammoux

Photographer: Goran Lizdek Cover Design: Willie Els Styling: SheYou  

Call for International Submissions

for Fifth Issue:

A Few Lines Magazine

A Few Lines Magazine, a print and web journal, is now looking for submissions for its fifth issue. We are a widely read journal with strong roots in Southern California. Poets from all over North America, as well as all over the world, have been published in all of our past issues, and we are seeking to expand our audience and body of contributors.

We accept poetry of most flavors and fiction that is expertly crafted. Our reading time is around one month and we read year-round, so the turnaround is quite fast.

So send us your work - we'd love to have the chance to review it. We encourage contributors to first become familiar with our work. All of our issues are free as PDF downloads.

GUIDELINES FOR SUBMISSIONS: We only accept online submissions at this time. We welcome unsolicited and simultaneous submissions, so please feel free to send us your work. If your work is published by another magazine before we respond, please let us know. We do not accept work that has been previously published. The reading time is around two months, so please allow us the time to go over your submission; we closely read everything we receive.

SHORT STORIES: Fiction of 1,500 to 3,000 words will be considered for upcoming publications. We can only review one short story submission at a time. We will only read submissions that are 12-point readable font (i.e. Times New Roman, Ariel, etc.), double-spaced, and titled. We will only accept .doc or .docx Each submission must have a word count at the top. Do not include your name or association.

FLASH FICTION: Fiction of 350-850 words will be considered for upcoming publications. We will read 1-3 pieces of flash fiction per submission. We will only accept documents that are .doc or .docx We will only read submissions that are 12-point readable font (i.e. Times New Roman, Ariel, etc.), double spaced, titled, and electronically submitted. Each submission must have a word count at the top. Do not include your name or association.

POETRY: Please submit two to five poems at a time in a single document. No particular format is necessary, but please make it legible. We only accept .doc or .docx If for any reason you exceed 2,000 words, please say so in the e-mail. Do not include your name or association.

CREATIVE NON-FICTION/ESSAYS: Creative Non-Fiction and/or Essays of 2,000-5,000 words will be considered for upcoming publications. We can only review one essay per submitter every quarter. We will only read submissions that are 12-point readable font (i.e. Times New Roman, Ariel, etc.), double spaced, titled, and electronically submitted. Each submission must have a word count at the top. Do not include your name or association.

CONTACT INFORMATION:

For queries: jfoster.editor@gmail.com

For submissions: via submittable

Website: http://www.afewlinesmagazine.com/

University of Notre Dame Press

Ernest Sandeen Prize in Poetry

Deadline:

September 1, 2012

Entry Fee: 

$15

Website: 

http://english.nd.edu/creative-writing

E-mail address: 

creativewriting@nd.edu

A prize of $1,000 and publication by University of Notre Dame Press is given biennially for a short story collection. Writers who have published at least one short story collection are eligible. Submit two copies of a manuscript of any length and a curriculum vitae with a $15 entry fee, which includes a subscription to Notre Dame Review, by September 1. Send an SASE, call, e-mail, or visit the website for complete guidelines.

University of Notre Dame Press, Ernest Sandeen Prize in Poetry, 356 O’Shaughnessy Hall, English Department, Notre Dame, IN 46556. Coleen Hoover, Contact.

Literal Latté

Ames Essay Award

Deadline:

September 15, 2012

Entry Fee: 

$10

Website: 

http://www.literal-latte.com

E-mail address: 

litlatte@aol.com

A prize of $1,000 and publication in Literal Latté is given annually for a personal essay. Submit an essay of up to 8,000 words with a $10 entry fee ($5 for an additional essay) by September 15. E-mail or visit the website for complete guidelines.

Literal Latté, Ames Essay Award, 200 East 10th Street, Suite 240, New York, NY 10003. (212) 260-5532. Jenine Gordon Bockman, Editor.