The Wyoming Poets organization is sponsoring its annual nationwide poetry contest. The contest judge will be announced at a later date.
Who — Contest is open to all poets worldwide, however, submissions must be in the English language and fees in U.S. funds. Prizes will be awarded in U.S. currency.
What — Poems, published or unpublished. Any subject, any form, 40 lines or less (including title and line breaks). All poems must be original work of entrant. No pornography, racial or sexual slurs, or language considered obscene by average broad-minded reader.
Deadline — Opens October 1, 2015 and the deadline is December 1, 2015. Prizes — First — $100.00. Second $50.00. Third – $30.00. Fourth – $20.00.
Up to five Honorable Mentions will be awarded
Fees — $3.00 entry fee, plus $1.00 per poem. No maximum number of entries. (Example: 3 poems for $6.00, 5 poems for $8.00) Checks and money orders must be made out to WyoPoets.
Requirements — Poems, except for Oriental forms, must be titled. Poems must be typed or computer generated, in English, on 8-1/ 2 by 11” white paper, or similar computer paper. At least 10 point, preferably 12 point or larger font. No more than one poem on a page. Single or double- spaced. One side of the paper only. Photocopies okay if clear and legible. Submit two copies of each poem, one copy for the judge with no identification on it. On the other copy, show your name, mailing address, and phone numbers in the upper right hand corner of the front side. No limit on number of entries. No electronic submissions. No one poet can win more than one monetary prize, but can win additional Honorable Mentions. Include SASE (self-addressed stamped envelope) for winners list to be mailed by April 1.
Submitting — Send both copies of poems submitted together with entry fee, to:
Art Elser, Contest Chair
1730 Locust St Denver, CO 80220
For additional info and questions artelser@me.com.
Final judging — Will be by a qualified out-of-state judge not affiliated with WyoPoets. Decisions of the judge will be final. The Contest Chair will not enter this contest. Winners will be invited to read their winning poem at the WyoPoets spring workshop (date and place to be announced later.)
Rights — Winning poems may be published in our spring newsletter ONLY with the poet’s written permission. All rights remain with the poet. Be sure to keep copies of your entries as poems will NOT be returned. All copies of the poems will be destroyed after the spring workshop.
The following video clip contains a 57 minute concert set with Marc Cary & Indigenous People. Also featuring go-go’s own Go-Go Mickey Freeman on congas and Domo Lee on drums, the event took place at the Kennedy Center Friday, October 30, 2015.
A statue of the African-Brazilian resistance leader. | Photo: Vivasalvador.com.br/
Nov. 20 celebrates the life of the
Afro-Brazilian resistance leader
while reaffirming Brazil’s position
as the first place of freedom
of Blacks in the Americas.
Today is the National Day of Zumbi and Black Consciousness in Brazil. The celebration is the result of over 40 years of struggle of the renewed Brazilian Black movement.
Celebrated on the 20th of November, the holiday was established officially by Law No. 12,519 on November 10, 2011, and sanctioned by President Dilma Rousseff. This affirmed the history of Black people in Brazil, while commemorating the life of one of their most brilliant military leaders, Zumbi dos Palmares, who died on Nov. 20, 1695.
Zumbi: Black Brazil’s Legendary History of Resistance
Zumbi dos Palmares was the leader of the independent settlement, Quilombo of Palmares – located between the states of Alagoas and Pernambuco, in northeastern Brazil, which was founded by early Brazilian Africans as a resistance to European colonizers and slavers.
The Quilombo Of Palmares can therefore be considered one of the the first places, in the Americas, where Black people, who were brought to the New World enslaved, found freedom. Here they bravely fought against enslavement for almost a hundred years as the Portuguese attempted to colonize Brazil.
The Quilombo emerged in the late sixteenth century and peaked in the second half of the seventeenth century. During this time, resistance to the current slave order was only possible because of adept organizational, military and architectural skills: the Quilombo was surrounded by a high fence made of clay, and palm trees. It had three entrances protected by at least two hundred warriors, who possessed weapons and ammunition, and managed to defeat the expeditions of the colonial government several times, which sought to destroy the Republic of Palmares and the freedom it embodied.
Zumbi, born in the Quilombo in 1655, was kidnapped as a child by soldiers and given to a priest by the name of Father Antonio Melo. He was baptized with the name Francisco and taught Portuguese and Latin. In the year 1670, at only fifteen years old, he resisted the white settlers who he lived among, fleeing from the parish to return to his original home in the Quilombo.
Watch: Clips from the movie 1984 movie Quilombo featuring Afro-Brazilian actress
Zezé Motta and the music iconic Gilberto Gil.
After the death of the powerful leader Ganga Zumba, Zumbi became the absolute leader and military strategist in the fight against slavery. It was said that he held great spiritual power and that African ancestors of Brazilians protected him.
He defied several European settler military expeditions, ultimately prompting the king of Portugal at the time to write Zumbi a letter urging him to agree to surrender and live under the Portuguese laws. But Zumbi was no assimilationist. Refusing to accept life under the yoke of the Portuguese crown, and wanting full freedom for his people to the end Zumbi was killed in battle on November 20, 1695, after resisting, and fighting military expeditions.
An Awakening of Consciousness
For the African-Brazilian, November 20th is now celebrates the life of a hero who died fighting for freedom. It is a radical action that affirms the history of Black struggle against colonialism with its own national holiday and is a symbol of progress for Brazil.
On the National Day of Zumbi and Black Consciousness and throughout November marches take place throughout Brazil, though depending on the region, the actual activities of the day may differ. Recently the common theme of the marches is about stopping the genocide against Black youth and empowerment for Black Women.
Brazilians in front of statue of the fugitive slave resistance leader Zumbi dos Palmares, in Rio de Janeiro, who led a rebellion against the European colonizers slavery system during the colonial period. Zumbi’s death is commemorated today in Brazil as the Day of Black Consciousness. EFE/Marcelo Sayão
Earlier this month, on Nov. 7 was the March of Natural Hair Empowerment in the city of Salvador, Bahia. The march gathered a large crowd, mostly women, whose aim was to promote the affirmation of the Black beauty, especially kinky, and curly hair which is a political and cultural expression of ancestry. However, in Brazil this expression hasn’t always been accepted. Historically it has been stifled through the use of chemical straighteners and straightening combs. But, this march was a space for Afro-Brazilians to come together and affirm each other’s beauty in the fight against racism in Brazil.
On November 18th there was the National March of Black Women in Brasilia. 20,000 women of all states and regions of the country marched for freedom, a fair and democratic country and a stronger sense of safety as some reports say that almost every two hours a Black Woman in Brazil dies from causes other than natural death.
Now, during the month of November, especially after the implementation of the law 10,639 in 2003, which made the teaching of history and African and Afro-Brazilian culture in elementary schools and high school compulsory, many events related to appreciating Blackness happen.
But the big problem is that this only occurs during that small space of time, and during the other time of the year, black history and culture are neglected, made invisible in a country that, despite their diversity, presents white as the universal standard.
However, the 20th of November signifies a victory for a generation of intellectuals in the Black movement who competed in the historical memory and won. They challenged the official historiography of slavery told by descendants of Europeans (a paternalistic story of white princess who freed the slaves by a simple decree) and erected a Black hero to represent the historic fight of more than half of Brazil’s population, which has historically been subjugated.
In Brazil, because the mass media is a vehicle where the white elite project their ideologies and exert mental control over much of the population, black leaders like Zumbi are usually purposely neglected in academia and by the state. Brazilian racism works to silence and delete Black voices and stories. So even though much of the population is stuck in psychological shackles, many are becoming empowered by the knowledge of the ancestors. They are marching in the streets and beginning to constitute what may be called own will to be free from mental prison.
The 20th of November is a constant reminder to Brazilians to keep fighting for our freedom. And it is for this purpose that the streets are filled, the flags and portraits of Zumbi are held and waved. As the traditional drums are played: the force of Zumbi extends to every person in the Americas who seek to fight for equality.
Many social organizations participated in the march, including the labor union CUT. Photo:Vinícius Carvalho / Jornalistas Livres
The Republic of Palmares, is very important for the African-Brazilian, and especially for any Black person in the Americas, because it was the place where freedom for the enslaved African was won, even before the Haitian Revolution.
In a way the Quilombo of Palmares, is where Africa had reinvented itself for nearly a century. Palmares is a spirit, the fire that burns in the chest in search of justice. This memory is revived during the National Day of Zumbi and Black Consciousness in Brazil, and advances the struggle for socio-racial equality, for full freedom, which is longed for constantly by Blacks throughout the world, from Africa to its diaspora in Americas.
++++++++++++ Davi Nunes, is a native of Salvador-Bahia,Brazil. He is a Black Brazilian writer and poet. You can following him here https://ungareia.wordpress.com/davi-nunes/
He is the first black grandmaster in history, and also
an extraordinary chess teacher, an organiser and a
friend of the stars. In this indepth interview by
Adisa Banjoko, the “Bishop of Hip Hop”, Maurice
Ashley tells about his life, his likes and his
encounters with GZA and Will Smith. Fascinating stuff.
By Adisa Banjoko, “The Bishop of Hip Hop”
One of the beautiful things about chess, martial arts and Hip Hop is that at its highest levels race does seem to fall away. You only see the raw courage and art in motion. International Grandmaster Maurice Ashley embodies these three things when he plays as well as when he speaks. He is the first Black Grandmaster and is also a product of the Hip Hop generation. In this interview, we discuss how he began his journey as a chess player. He tells of how he clashed with GZA and Will Smith on the 64 and squares how martial arts is related to chess. We also discuss the various nuances of chess players on the street vs. classically trained chessmen.
The first black grandmaster in history
Adias Banjoko: So, what does it take to become a Grandmaster in chess? What do you have to do?
Maurice Ashley: You have to get a performance record of 2600 in 25 games. Now, what does that mean? You have to play in different international tournaments. There are various masters and international grandmasters there. You have to perform at a certain level against that crowd. There is a specific kind of rating in chess. The best players are usually ranked over 2600. Garry Kasparov was the highest rated player of all times and he was rated at 2851 at his peak. But 2600 is the top 100 players in the world.
In order to become a Grandmaster you have to perform at that level of ability not once but generally speaking three times. Because most tournaments are nine rounds each. You have to do it in three tournaments. You literally play like one of the best in order to be given the title. If you can do that three times, you are given the title.
AB: Who was your last match against for you to get the title and how nervous were you?
MA: The gentleman was a guy from Romania, Adrian Negulescu. He was an International Master. That game I was incredibly nervous. I went into the game and in the middle of the game everything changed. Around move 14 I realized ”It’s all good. I just need to settle in and play”. I was able to play very calmly, very coolly – just play.
For that kind of important game, you wouldn’t think that I could be calm throughout. It just so happened that I was very calm. My opponent did not know that game would give me the title. He just thought it was a regular chess game. But my friends knew, and a couple of people around me knew. So, after the game he was like “Why are you so happy”? I was like “I just got my title.” He said “Oh, wow”. He was cool about the game. Chess players are real sportsmen. It was a good game – he treated it with respect.
AB: How old were you when you began playing chess and do you remember when you began to actualize the goal of becoming a grandmaster?
MA: I really started playing in Jamaica. My brother was eight years older than me, but I would always tag along behind him. We played a lot of games, Monopoly, checkers, cards but chess was one of the games we played. My brother says that he recalls that when the chess set was there, I treated it differently. He said he remembered me being in the backyard playing by myself. No one else treated the board that way. I was 9 or 10 at the time.
I don’t’ recall taking the game with any seriousness. But what happened is that I was 12 years old when I came to this country. When I was 14 in high school I saw a classmate playing. I knew I knew the rules of the game and how to play. I figured “I know this game I’ll be alright.” I played him and he crushed me. It was ridiculous. It wasn’t even close at all.
I couldn’t understand what was going on. I was in the library doing some work and I found a chess book. I didn’t know they had books on chess. I’m looking at it mystified. “There’s actually strategies and tactics for chess?” I just fell in love with the game right there. I got hooked. It made so much sense, the stuff that was in the book. So, I went and I played my friend again.
Of course he beat me again. He had been reading books all along. Knowledge is power. In chess, knowledge is definitely power. But I caught the bug and he and I played over and over all through high school until I eventually started beating him.
Maurice Ashley – the early days
AB: Few people see the relationship between Hip Hop and chess. When did you start seeing it? Also, coming from Jamaica were you even a big Hip Hop fan originally?
MA: Well I’m old enough to be at the begining of Hip Hop. I came here in 1978. Hip Hop didn’t start until Sugar Hill blew up. That was about 1980, maybe ’79. I was of course a Bob Marley fan first. I grew up where Reggae was playin’ on the streets everyday. That kinda music was a part of my life on a regular basis. When I came here Reggae wasn’t what it is now. It was a Jamaican phenomenon . It wasn’t what it is now with Sean Paul and crew who got things to where they are today.
From the very beginning though I was into Hip Hop. Chess and Hip Hop definitely have elements that intertwined. One of those things is creativity. The greatest chess players are creative. Of course there are some calculations that have to be made. There is skill involved. Much like there is skill involved in Hip Hop. But it is not the mathematics that separates the greatest players it’s the creativity. It’s the ability to change with the environment. Having the ability to deal with any situation that confronts you no matter what the danger. To be able to overcome. To stay cool under all pressure. That’s the real mark of a champion in chess.
A guy is trying to kill you in chess. He is trying to maim you intellectually. It is not some esoteric general exercise. It’s war! I’m trying to break you down. I’m trying to break down your pieces. I’m trying to break down your mind. I’m trying to break down your spirit- everything. When guys lose at the highest level it’s brutal. You feel like you have totally prepared to come out. You have all these skills. Then a guy comes and takes your position and rips it apart. That’s personal.
So, you fight to the death in a chess game. You try to use all your skills, your weapons your capabilities to win the war. A lot of people do not realize that kind of depth in a chess game. Because they can’t. They do not have access to the mind of a champion. It’s not like other sports that are much more obvious.
A lot of people think of chess as slow, or boring. Because they can’t step inside and realize what the two competitors are struggling with as they play. It’s tremendous. It’s activity, activity, activity- danger is around every corner.
AB: I know that you have mentored the GZA from time to time on chess strategies. I know you also mentored Will Smith talk about that for a minute.
MA: VIBE was doing an article on the connection between chess and Hip Hop. So, they linked us together. In the end they only explored the Hip Hop side and just did the article with GZA. But we found out we had to do a photo shoot together. We finally ended up meeting. We hung out at a chess club in Brooklyn and I showed them some stuff.
AB: What did you think of GZA’s game and what have you helped him develop?
MA: Well, I was very surprised by his game. Considering he has never played a tournament in his life, he plays like a tournament player. The problem he has is he does not have the long foundation one needs to avoid certain categories of mistakes. I was stunned to hear that he had not read many chess books. What happened was, he just played.
Through practice he developed a lot of ideas on his own. When Wu-Tang fights they get down. Their strength is mathematical-tactical. It’s like street fighting. But street fighting does not work against a polished boxer. There are tremendous limits, and they will show up . As the game goes on sooner or later you are going to make a mistake.
It’s like “You can’t get away with that idea. This is gonna hurt you in the long run. Even if you cant see it now, it’s gonna hurt you in a few moves. It’s gonna decrease your position in ways you don’t suspect.”
I was very impressed, but I was like, “OK, this guys needs some lessons.” A lot of times you need to beat a guy down before he can see what’s up. “What’s Grandmaster? You must be kinda good, but I don’t know what that is?” So we played, and I showed him what the level was like and he was very respectful. He realized that there was a chasm between us. But now he wants to take lessons. He’s been in LA doing his latest album Grandmasters. When he comes back I’m gonna elevate his game. He said he does not mind losing to me, but he does not want to lose to the people out there in the park. He said, I gotta show him how to beat those guys!
GZA – pronounced jizza, also known as “The Genius”, is an American rapper, famous for his cool, precise flow and cerebral, literate rhymes.He is regarded by many as the best pure rapper in the entire Wu-Tang Clan. The Genius was born Gary Grice on August 22, 1966, in Staten Island, NY. He started learning rhymes by the earliest hip-hop MCs while spending time in the Bronx, and returned to Staten Island to share them with his cousins, who later became Ol’ Dirty Bastard and the RZA.
AB: Tell me about Will Smith.
MA: I was blessed to meet him. He saw me when I was first getting attention for being the first African American Grandmaster back in 1999. He reached out as did other stars, Wynton Marsalis, Bill Cosby – I met quite a few people. Because they understood the significance of a brother making it in that kind of field.
I met with him briefly at a studio. But I could only stay a few minutes because I had my young four-year-old daughter with me. I did not hook up with him again until the next year. His wife’s assistant called me and said that his wife wanted to surprise him on Valentines Day. She wanted to give him a lesson with a Grandmaster and asked could I come.
Chess player in black: Will Smith
When I came in the room he was “Woah, what’s going on?” She was like “Happy Valentines Day”. At first he was like “but aren’t you and me supposed to be hangin’ out?” She was like “No, it’s ok” and that’s all he needed – he was OUT (laughs). We played for like three hours. He has a very good game. He had been playing a while and he reads. I would think that he would do better against GZA if they rumbled because his game has less holes in it.
AB: LIKE THAAAAAT?
MA: Will’s game has a little bit more polish to it. You gotta be careful with Will.
AB: Tell me about a chess player you really respect.
MA: Number one on my list is a former world champion, Mikhail Tal. He was Latvian. He was the youngest champion at the time, before Garry Kasparov broke it and that’s actually since been broken.
But Mikhail Tal could have grown up in Brooklyn. His style was radical chaos. He basically tried to play chess as if he was standing in a hurricane. His opponent would get so confused by what was being thrown at them – including the kitchen sink… That they couldn’t figure it out. He didn’t play perfect chess, and he did not care to. He just wanted to get down – to brawl. He was like “Let’s do it. Let’s get wild. No quiet strategic games. I’m throwin’ some of my pieces at you. Some of them may die, but that’s all right. Ultimately I’ll strip the king naked, checkmate you and break your back. That’s it”.
It took computers to break his game down. His game would be over and people would analyze his game not days, not weeks – but months. Computers think much faster today. But they look at the game and they found “Wow, if the guy had walked the tightrope, through the jungle and by-passed the snake, and then got through the quicksand – THEN he would have been safe on the other side. But who is gonna do that?”
He burnt out very young. He had many problems. He was a chain smoker, a drinker. The whole nine. He had a lot of physical ailments and could not keep it up. I guess that’s kinda like living the hard life as a rapper. He couldn’t sit still. So he was extremely creative during his peak years and just wasn’t able to keep it up.
AB: How do you deal with the mental, physical and even spiritual stress of chess? I mean, I have been in games where you make one wrong move and you can feel your heart drop like you jumped off of a building. You can have an attack that is so flawless and then one mistake that undoes 15 good moves. I’m just a casual player, I suck – and I feel it. So, I can’t imagine what it must be like for someone on your level.
Maurice during a simultaneous exhibition in a school
MA: I think that part of what goes into being a Master or Grandmaster is that. The constitution to handle it. A lot of players have gone up, but then stopped. They have not been able to pass the bridge. There is something about their constitution that does not allow them to get there. There is a certain amount of fortitude that a player has to be able to maintain to tolerate that kind of tension day in and day out.
People do various things. During my quest to become a Grandmaster I was doing a lot of Aikido. It is a marital art that stresses internal relaxation. It stresses using your opponents force against them. It stresses meditation. It was very powerful for me.
AB: It was interesting that you mentioned Aikido. I study Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, and there is a fighter named Ricardo De La Riva. He has a DVD of techniques called “Chess on the Mat”. I gotta get you guys together!
MA:Chess on the mat? Wow, that’s cool. Martial arts and chess absolutely go together. Especially with the internal martial arts. Many times you cannot tell the difference between the feeling and the overriding strategy.
It’s no accident that much of what you see in chess is applicable in life. Certainly the skilled martial artists recognizes the connection. There is a certain ebb and flow that happens. At the highest level of martial arts, it doesn’t take two mistakes to lose (laughs). You are not getting a chance at a second mistake. So, you know you have the same kind of intensity, need for thorough focus, need for total balance. All the things that make a great martial artist make a great chess player.
AB: How long have you been studying Aikido?
MA: I started studying in 1998.
AB: What brought you to that art?
MA: Seriously enough chess did. I had not become a Grandmaster yet. I had played in a tournament. I made a breakthrough in chess. I realized that a lot of the greatest aspects of chess had to do with using your opponents force against them. I was surprised by it. ‘Cause I’m the type of guy. I like to take out the bazooka and shoot. That was my style. The brawl. But that was not working against the top players. You had to be a bit more subtle. Or, it could backfire against you.
But then I played in a tournament where I was able to use my opponents force against them. I talked to my wife about it. I understood Tai Chi. Mentally it was built on the same concept. My wife was practicing an art called Kido, which is a derivative of Hapkido. She said “That’s similar to what my sensei told me”. So, I started to research that. I came to Aikido. I first read a book on Aikido, and when I read it- it was like reading a chess book.
AB: Was it “The Art of Peace”? ‘Cause that book is like one of my top three books.
MA: It was actually another book called “Aikido and the Dynamic Sphere”. That book is deep. The art of centralization, the art of exploring the opponents initiative – it was like “woah”. I found it to be profound. I started translating some of that energy into my chess game, and it was magical. I was doing stuff to people that they just did not understand.
Garry Kasparov talks to anchor Maurice Ashley in the ESPN show
AB: I gotta get you and De La Riva together, man.
MA: That’d be fascinating.
AB: In the movie “Searching for Bobby Fischer” there is the theme of balancing the street hustlers chess style (played by Lawrence Fishburne) and his classical chess teacher (played by Ben Kingsley). What are the strengths and weakness of both kind of players?
MA: I think it goes back to the same concepts I mentioned earlier. The classically trained player knows the history. Knows which has occurred in the past. Knows what is proven. Like mathematical proofs. Like “execute in this fashion and you will be successful”. Because you can always draw on the classics to draw on a problem as you face it. The classics are tremendously important and provide the foundation of what it is you need to be successful.
However, something the classical player might lack, is that spontaneity. That innovative style. The ability to handle chaos. Because chaos has no rules.
AB: It has sublime rules.
MA: Well you have chaos theory and the butterfly effect and all that stuff…It’s not an easily quantifiable set of rules that you can say “Well, when stuff hits the fan this is what you do (laughs). The classically trained player might get confused in those situations. While the street player knows all about those situations. Knows all about life getting wild. Sometimes you don’t have money to pay the rent. You might have to go to Mikey D’s to get that next meal. Or hustle up to get a drink.
A classically trained player will recognize the imperfections in the street hustlers game. But sometimes he won’t be able to take advantage of it. Because there is a slipperiness to the street players style. Because he is very hard to pin down. He is a survivor. He knows how to survive. So, there will be trick upon trick in his bag. You might be surprised by some of the tricks because just when you think you have him you’re like “Where did that come from?” Then you start saying’ “I should have seen it”. But then, part of his game is to play dead, when he still has life. So, that is a real aspect of both sides.
AB: In the chess movie “Fresh” which features Samuel Jackson, there is a scene where Jacksons character sits in a trailer with his son. He has photos of all these various chess greats. Bruce Pandolfini, Bobby Fischer, and others. He starts talking about as good as a lot of these guys might be that with a chess clock – they cannot hang. That the pressure of a timed game proves the toughness of the mind. How does a clock change the nature of the game?
MA: A chess clock is a clock that has two faces. When you press your side, it begins the time for the other player. You can play two hours a side, or you can play 5 minutes a side. What that does is it forces you to be more intuitive in your decision making process. You’re gonna be more intuitive and less calculating. Control becomes a real issue. Some people think lightning quick and can control a game all the way through. Even at the five minute mark. But it’s almost impossible to do. Many more situations occur that force you to rely on intuition rather than calculation. That kind of intuition does change the game dramatically. People who are more used to thinking fast on their feet play better clock chess, or what’s known as “speed chess” than they will over the board- which is a slower version. You can have a player who will crunch you with no clock who will have trouble against you on the clock. Because that person cannot check your ideas with a thorough search.
A lot of street players when they got into tournaments, they failed. They sometimes don’t do well. Because they don’t have the dedication. They don’t have the patience for sitting at the boards for a long period of time.
AB: You are known to be an excellent teacher and you have some product out right? Also, what is the essence of being a great chess teacher? I know a lot of great fighters who cannot pass on what they know. I’m sure it’s the same thing in chess.
Maurice Ashley teaching chess to school children in Harlem
MA: I have one CD Rom “Maurice Ashley Teaches Chess” and the DVD is “Speed Chess”. I think there are different qualities. One is being able to communicate the game in a simple easy to understand language. You have to draw connections between chess, sports and real life that a student will be able to understand and readily grasp. You can be a great chess player. If you’re explaining something and making it sound like calculus, kids are not gonna be able to follow you.
The second thing is to have a passion for the students learning. It’s not a job. If you see it as just a job, the student will see that you don’t really care about them. So, whenever I coach… Now I don’t as much as I used to, but whenever I do, I always did so to the detriment of my chess game. I so wanted to communicate the concepts to the student, I’d get caught up in their growth, as opposed to my own growth. That is the essence. Simplicity in what you do and love for what you do.
AB: Thank you. You have no idea how grateful I am that you have taken this time to talk with me.
MA: No, it was a pleasure, really.
++++++++++++ Adisa Banjoko is the controversial author of the upcoming book “Lyrical Swords Vol. 2: Westside Rebellion. To download an ebook today visit www.lyricalswords.com, where you can also contact him.
Saul Williams is an entertainer who wears many hats: actor, rapper, musician, artist, and writer, to name a few. We’ve seen him star in the 1998 film Slam and take the lead in the 2014 Broadway show Holler If Ya Hear Me. Williams has also performed alongside artists like Erykah Badu, The Fugees, and Nas. But he’s arguably at his best — his most raw and true form — when he’s Saul Williams, poet.
When the author was originally commissioned to write his latest poetry collection, US (a.),he was expecting to reflect on the country’s elation over electing Barack Obama as the first black president. But as time went on, Williams’ task to write about America became increasingly difficult due to the numerous deaths of black teenagers at the hands of police officers. As a result, US (a.) portrays the complicated identity of what it means to be an American and how race heavily influences everyone’s experiences.
BuzzFeed had the chance to catch up with Williams and discuss police brutality, his new book of poetry, and his family’s activist legacy. Here’s what he had to say:
When you were commissioned to write a book about America, what did that mean to you?
Saul Williams: On one hand, to be commissioned is an honor. Who the fuck asks anyone to write a poem? I was commissioned only once before to write a poem for Nas and Kelis’s wedding. For this book, they threw out big names like Ginsberg and Whitman, saying this could be my big American poem like they’d done before. On the other hand, I was offended because I thought, What do you think my other books are? Aren’t I critiquing America in them, too? Regardless, it didn’t seem like it was going to be a hard task, but then suddenly the country erupted over the killings of Mike Brown, Eric Garner, and so many others.
How did those events change the direction of the book?
SW: I was a childhood activist out marching with my parents at 10 years old screaming, “Fuck the police, fuck the police!” My parents raised me talking about all of the craziness that goes on in society, and now I’m the adult with kids who are asking, “Did you hear about those fucking police?” Holy hell, that’s hella depressing. I thought, Oh yeah, you want me to write about fucking America? I’ll write about fucking America! That explains some of the middle-finger-themed poems.
Jon Premosch / BuzzFeed
What’s the biggest difference between US (a.) and your other projects?
SW: My other projects come out of my own head, but this book was commissioned. The publishers gave me nine months, I handed it in, and the next day I expected them to be like, “You’re brilliant! This is beautiful, I love the titles of the poems!” But they were like, “This is only 12,000 words, did you look at your contract?” They were expecting 40,000 words, which is funny because as a poet it’s all about economizing language; if I had gone back to the poems in the book that I had edited then maybe we’d be at 40,000 words, but I edited the fuck out of them because we don’t need all those words. But they wanted 40,000 words, which for me is about 120,000 words before editing. That is America in a nutshell: It asks you to do something that’s an honor and then be like, “It’s not enough.”
How I look at America particularly
has a lot to do with what I learned
when I was able to step outside of it.
Is there significance behind the way you used punctuation and capitalization in the title?
SW: It’s rooted in the idea of “us and them.” There actually isn’t any disconnect between us, in the same way that scientifically there’s no real such thing as race. I thought about the divisions that exist in America and all of the perspectives that I could write from: men, black men, middle-class men, men from the ghetto, Americans, people who went to college, all of “us.” I also figured that in my truest form, I’d probably have to write multiple books to do a complete observational analysis on America, so the little (a) symbolizes my first installment. Who knows, maybe I’ll come up with (b).
In the foreword you wrote that you “voted for change” and then almost immediately left the U.S. Was that intentionally planned?
SW: It just so happened that that opportunity came. Obama got inaugurated in January and I had a friend who offered me a place in Paris in February to move in June. It was cheaper than where I was living and I was like, I’ve always wanted to do this, I should fucking do it. I moved to Brazil as a kid and I knew that so much of how I look at the world and how I look at America particularly has a lot to do with what I learned when I was able to step outside of it, observe from the outside, and also communicate with people who are not from here.
Jon Premosch / BuzzFeed
What was it like to watch most of Obama’s presidency from outside the United States?
SW: I think as we saw when Obama was elected, there was a celebratory mode that people were in. They thought it was really cool and it was a good look, especially after Bush. But I was interacting with a lot of North Africans and Middle Easterners who still brought up topics like drone warfare and the discovery of how much of a centrist Obama was, especially in his first term. Now it’s nearing the end of his second term and he’s met with Native American communities 10 times more than any other president ever has. It’s little things like that that might be the legacy. Simultaneously, when you get something like that happening all of the nonsense comes out of the woodwork, like the tea party, Donald Trump, and white-power type of shit. I think people witnessing the tea party found that crazy, but at the same time they couldn’t find it so crazy because we were in the middle of a fascist uprising across Europe as well. Fuckshit’s happening everywhere.
You included a photo of your mom in US (a.) where she’s getting arrested at a protest. Why is the picture important to you?
SW: In 2013 my cousin found it on eBay. The photographer was selling it and just described it “Black woman at protest Brooklyn, 1963.” My cousin who lives in St. Thomas was like, “Isn’t this Aunt Juanita?” He sent it to me first and I burst into tears because I knew this story; we had grown up hearing about this photo because supposedly it was on the front page of the New York Daily Herald in 1963. I heard my parents say, “Your mom was on the front page and she got arrested for protesting.” My dad was like, “I got arrested too that day, but it wasn’t in the paper.”
How did your parents inform your understanding of politics and social change?
SW: When I was in the third grade, I thought I either wanted to be an actor or a lawyer when I grew up. My mom told me to do my next school report on Paul Robeson, and it was that; it was the fact that my parents threw around names like Paul Robeson, invited guests to the house like Odetta, and someone like Pete Seeger was a regular member of my dad’s church where he was a pastor. I grew up around these people who always aligned their artistry with protest and so I just thought it was normal. The connection between protest and art always made sense to me; it was always about these visionaries who gave their lives in service to humanity. The freshest artists were always that — Bob Marley, Nina Simone, Bob Dylan, Allen Ginsberg, Joni Mitchell — they all knew the world is bigger than just them. I couldn’t understand why anyone would waste their time singing about anything else when this is really where the iconic shit is.
Jon Premosch / BuzzFeed
What do you think about the role that social media plays in activism today?
SW: When the Arab Spring went down I was like OK, Twitter is the shit. Facebook is the shit. Now there’s no fucking holding us back, they should’ve never given us these things. The Arab Spring had me fucking ecstatic. I was in Paris surrounded by a lot of people from the countries where the shit was going down, being in taxicabs with an Algerian driver on his iPhone like, “Holy shit!” That’s when I really acknowledged the role that technology can and will play in the transformation of society.
How did it feel protesting in the streets of New York City over the death of Eric Garner compared with watching other events unfold online?
SW: It’s real when you get out there, you see the police standing in those lines, you see what their faces look like, and you know that these are a bunch of guys that could give a fuck. Although there’s a lot of cool ones — when I’m lost, I love asking police for directions, especially if I’m driving with a joint or something. But when it comes to protests, I saw the anger on their faces. At one point I was in a policeman’s arms and he was shaking me so hard, he even ripped my favorite coat. My wife fucking screamed like I never heard her before, it was the scariest shit I ever heard. She was so loud that all the police turned and were like, “Let him go!” In those moments, no one gives a fuck about the internet. I remember saying to my wife, “You should’ve taken a picture!” But in the moment you’re not always concerned about that. No one talks about the fact that there are so many police on steroids; that’s the popular drug amongst policemen. The rookie comes in and they’re like, “You want to be intimidating on the street? Bulk up, take some ‘roids.” And there’s a crazy amount of testosterone in those things; no drug is ever just affecting your body. So these guys are amped up on steroids, literally, and acting accordingly. On the one hand, you feel empowered by technology, but being out there and having to reason with these guys is difficult. It can also be fun in a sense to reason with police, as long as you’re not dealing with the gravest of realities, which is witnessing someone being hurt or killed.
Poetry has always been there for me
when I needed it to help me find some
sort of balance or to help me find
humor.
How did poetry help you work through some of the events this year?
SW: Poetry has always been this therapeutic and cleansing process for me. I used to write raps, but I started shifting and specifically focusing on poetry when I was 23. That’s also the age when I started meditating and wanting to work on myself. I always considered poetry the residue of the work I was doing on myself, so I was chronicling thoughts and ideas in an attempt to relinquish myself of doubts and fears that were getting in the way of this self-realization process. I was also chronicling the things that I was realizing, the epiphanies I was having. And in the gravest moments, whether it was breakups, deaths, or a close family member experiencing something terrible like rape, and I didn’t know what to do with this anger, I would write. Even if the terrible thing didn’t happen directly to me and it happened to someone next to me, I’d still feel it. Poetry has always been this open-armed reception when working through ideas based on anger, fear, dreams, or what have you. I used to walk down the streets in New York reciting these poems like mantras in my head, because they would get me through the day. Poetry has always been there for me when I needed it to help me find some sort of balance or to help me find humor. Writing US (a.) helped me laugh, which is necessary sometimes, otherwise we’re just scrolling through our timelines getting angry. To be just perfectly honest, when it helps the most are in those moments when you feel completely alone, misunderstood, and confused by life.
If you could say anything to your younger self, what would you say?
SW: Those mushrooms you have in your hand are a good idea.
In praise of the novel Half of a Yellow Sun, Chinua Achebe wrote; “We do not usually associate wisdom with beginners, but here is a new writer endowed with the gift of ancient storytellers… Adichie came almost fully made.” Looking back to what has happened after this famous declaration, it is remarkable how prescient Achebe’s comment was.
No storyteller on the continent in the last ten years has gripped the imagination of Africa like Chimamanda Adichie. Her Nigerian reading tours are major events with fans swarming the venues as if at a musical concert. During one of her recent readings in Lagos, a young woman broke down in tears at meeting her for the first time. Adichie’s striking personality, speeches and media interviews have enthralled audiences across the world.Her books are prescribed texts for secondary schools all over Africa. Scores of African PhD students anchor their thesis on her work. Her multiple prize-winning novel, Half of a Yellow Sun, has now been turned into a motion picture in a path-breaking collaboration between Nigerian and British filmmakers. Scholars have written books on her. Children who were born after her infiltration of our national consciousness were named after her. Even Hollywood stars are fans; Will Smith recently called her to tell her so.
As is the case with some gifted people, Adichie’s talent was quick to announce itself. From writing plays that were acted by her classmates in elementary school to her first nibble at the intimidating narrative of the Biafran War with an early published work, For Love of Biafra, written when she was just a teenager, Adichie showed early signs of a girl who had the head of an old woman on her shoulders.
I recall my first interview with her in September 2003 in Lagos after Zoetrope had published her short story, Half of a Yellow Sun (which would later become the title of her second novel). Adichie had talked intensely about her dream of setting up a writers’ colony in Nigeria. It had all sounded wishful and quixotic. Today, although she has not fully achieved the dream of setting up the physical structures of a colony, Adichie has established a virtual one – a community of writers, weaned from the nest of her annual creative writing workshop in Lagos. This may well be her most astounding legacy.
In a recent conversation, an influential second generation Nigerian poet argued that Adichie represented a rupture on the Nigerian literary scene. He just might be right. Viewed against the backdrop of the literary famine that preceded her emergence, there are many people for whom Adichie represents the bold new voice of Nigerian writing. Personally, before her emergence, I had long decided that Nigeria’s rich tradition of storytelling ended with the Chinua Achebe generation. My impression came from the prolonged period of near-arid literary production caused by the long years of military dictatorship. For a considerable period, the Nigerian literary scene was an overcast rainy morning. There were occasional peeps of the sun, such as when Helon Habila won the Caine Prize in 2001, but many writers were locked up in guerilla journalism and human rights campaigns against the military regime of the time and had very little time to sustain Habila’s great effort by creating serious literature. Much of what was published during the period lacked the literary merit to produce more than a muffled echo within the Lagos arts community.
I began to take writing more seriously after reading Adichie’s short story Half of a Yellow Sun. I was gripped by her narrative power and stricken by the character of the bespectacled 13 year old boy, Obi, whose scholarly thirst and uncanny wit I found so inspiring that when he died, I felt a sinking sense of loss. His character was fully realized. It was astonishing how, in such a short piece, Adichie powerfully dramatized this truth: war swallows the brightest amongst us. The story won her the David T. K Wong Prize for Fiction and turned literary ears in her direction.
The early promise of that story was fulfilled in her debut offering, Purple Hibiscus; a path-breaking novel that won a number of important prizes. It became wildly popular among Nigerian readers and non-readers alike. More than that, it inspired the emerging generation of writers to re-possess the Nigerian narrative. Said Tolu Ogunlesi, a writer and journalist, on Adichie’s enormous influence on new African writers – “Her success has given a lot of us the confidence that our stories are worth writing. And her workshop, which is now in its seventh year, has kick started many literary careers and friendships.”
Ogunlesi, a member of the inaugural edition of Adichie’s workshop, was the winner of the 2009 CNN African Journalist of the Year in the Arts and Culture category. Adeleke Adeyemi, winner of the Nigerian Prize for Literature (2011) who writes under the pen name Mai Nasara is also an alumnus of Adichie’s workshop.
Close observers see a degree of similarity in Chinua Achebe’s “opening of doors” to writers on the continent in his role as the pioneer editor of Heinemann African Writer’s series – and Adichie’s hugely successful workshop, which has sired a new generation of writers. In much the same way, the online writers’ community that emerged from Adichie’s workshop series compares quite favourably to the writer’s body, Association of Nigerian Authors (ANA) founded by Achebe. The similarities have continued to grow with the bold interrogation of racism in Adichie’s latest work, AMERICANAH, which stridently plumbs the deep silences of the world’s uncomfortable truths and echoes Achebe’s pointed confrontation of racism in his lecture ‘An Image of Africa: Racism in Conrad’s “Heart of Darkness.” Even Adichie’s rumored rejection of an attempt by the Nigerian government to confer a national honour on her is reminiscent of Achebe’s famous rejection of national honours by the Nigerian government.
Eghosa Imasuen, author of Fine Boys, says that because of Adichie, a generation of writers have met and formed a community. “I remember my workshop set, the inaugural edition. It has been the simmering of talent, talent that has found a community of others. That has been due to her. I think that is her place, not the books, which are important by themselves, but that she brought a new generation of writers together.” Poet and novelist, Uche Peter Umez agrees. “Chimamanda’s impact on the literary scene has been nothing short of phenomenal. Her biggest contribution so far, beside her annual creative workshop, is in helping young writers discover their voices and use these voices to unflinchingly tell stories that are distinctively and diversely African.” Echoes journalist Abdulaziz Abdulaziz, who attended the workshop two years ago, “within my experience and what I observe with members of my class, the workshop is immensely beneficial and has helped many in discovering their voices.”
Purple Hibiscus was a success, but what truly launched Adichie into the global literary orbit was her second novel Half of a Yellow Sun, now widely considered to be a modern classic. Adichie is Africa’s most read novelist among her generation. Her work has been translated into over 30 languages across the world and has received awards in Africa, Europe and the United States. It was hardly surprising when she won the MacArthur Genius Grant, worth thousands of dollars, awarded to talented individuals who have shown extraordinary originality in their creative pursuits. Adichie achieved the status of an orator when she gave a talk at the TED Global conference in Oxford in 2009 titled “The Danger of a Single Story.” Her performance was the stuff of myth-making. The talk is now one of ten most watched TED talks. It wasn’t long before scholars began to look at the similarities between that talk and Achebe’s Image of Africa Lecture in the University of Massachusetts in Amherst, in 1975. Both speeches show an astonishing resonance and topicality, further growing Adichie’s legend.
For taking on the intimidating horror of the Biafran war, Chinua Achebe described Adichie as ‘fearless.’ Many who know her well agree, pointing to her willingness to take on heavy subjects. Her seemingly fragile frame and striking beauty may not prepare an observer for her forthrightness. Those who know her well say that Adichie has no falseness or guile, two things many Nigerians arm themselves with to enable them negotiate their ways through our complex of overarching sensitivities. She says exactly what she thinks. She holds strong views and never flinches from voicing them. But this is always done in a spirit of honesty and integrity. “She always talks about the importance of being truthful to yourself and your writing,” a participant from this year’s workshop said. Eghosa Imasuen simply interprets that as sensitivity. “The Chimamanda I know is a sensitive soul. The empathy displayed in her books is not forced; it is effortless.”
For one who has given so much to writing and writers, it is interesting to see that there are pockets of resentment for Adichie even among her kindred of writers. The storm that trailed her recent interview in the Boston Review offered an insight into this resentment. I read the interview when it was first published and thought it displayed a witty playfulness, quite common for Adichie who often combines honesty with humour. In the interview, she jokes about feeling like a ‘proud mama’ on recounting the successes of her workshop participants, about starting a secret society of African writers in a basement, about Nigerian chauvinism, and even about her own possible failed attempt at humour.
But two parts of that interview offered her critics her open flanks to cast a spear in.
The first in which she opined that the Caine Prize was not the best barometer to gauge African writing. The second was her referring to one of the Caine Prize nominees, Elnathan John (an emerging writer who applied to, was accepted, and attended her 2011 workshop) as ‘one of my boys at the workshop.’ John then wrote an insulting blogpost that spread like flu on the Internet, chiding Adichie for her comment and making her out as arrogant. Other insults and personal attacks on her followed.
American academic Aaron Bady who conducted the Boston Review interview, is puzzled by the response. He speculates that it might partly be due to bruised male egos. “When a woman becomes very famous, men in her field often resent that success, much more than they would resent a man, and jump at the chance to attack her. I feel like Ms. Adichie just said what a lot of people have said: that the Caine Prize is fine but also massively overhyped. I basically agree, and it’s not a slap at the shortlisted writers to say so. In the interview, I mentioned Igoni Barrett to her because I think he wrote the best book of short stories I’ve read this year so it was strange to see four Nigerian names on the shortlist, but not his. It doesn’t take anything away from the shortlisted writers to say that!”
Adichie, a winner of many prizes – the most recent of which was the Chicago Tribune Heartland prize for AMERICANAH – has consistently said that prizes, in general, are good but are never the final arbiters of good writing. “It’s lovely to win,” she said in a recent CNN interview, when asked about her awards. “But that isn’t why I write. If I hadn’t won anything I would still be somewhere today probably unemployed but writing. What matters the most for a writer, I think, is to be read.”
Her ambivalence about the Caine Prize in particular may have been further shaped by her own personal experience. She was shortlisted for the prize ten years ago and later wrote a short story titled ‘Jumping Monkey Hill’ presumed to be about her experience. In the story, the administrator of a prize for African writers, an old Englishman, dismisses the stories by young African writers most of which are based on their lives and instead dictates to them what a ‘real African story’ should be. Some of the young writers resist but others are in an uncomfortable position because while they may not agree with him, they toe the line as they hope the Englishman will help them find international publishers. Adichie was lucky not to have to toe the line because, according to her manager, by the time she was shortlisted for the prize, she already had an American literary agent and publisher.
Zimbabwean writer Novuyo Rosa Tshuma, in a nuanced piece titled, “Adichie and the Great Brouhaha” argues that the outrage following Adichie’s comments is in fact an impressive demonstration of Adichie’s power. Tshuma also suggests that those who interpret the interview negatively say more about their own prejudices than about what was actually said in the interview.
To be fair, an unbiased reader may well find Adichie’s comments offputting, especially since print interviews do not always capture the tone of voice or other nuances. Bady was kind enough to show me the full transcript of the interview. It makes clear, for example, that Adichie’s question “why this overprivileging of the Caine Prize?” was in response to Bady saying that he and a group of academics were following and blogging about the prize. Adichie also adds that the Caine Prize is a good thing that brings attention but is not the final arbiter of African writing. Yet even without these missed subtleties – understandable for an interview of limited space – the rabid negativity from certain writers to Adichie’s interview was so overblown as to suggest a deliberate attempt to manufacture controversy. Perhaps it is the lot of Chimamanda Adichie that anything she undertakes acquires a new and urgent weight.
Bady himself, who is in the best position to parse the interview’s tone, says that Adichie was never condescending. “From my perspective, in the interview, I would never have expected someone like Elnathan to get that upset at being called “my boy.” At the time, it seemed purely collegial, friendly. Maybe there’s some kind of history between those two, and if so, that’s their business; I don’t know anything about it. But even if there’s some kind of buried back-story, it seems like a person should either tell the whole story or keep it to yourself.”
While Adichie has chosen not to comment, close friends say there is no buried back story. A fellow participant at the workshop attended by John says, “Some of us thought he was an irritant, he thought he knew better than others and he thought his own writing was better than it was. Chimamanda always tried to strike a balance. She also cracked jokes with him, she joked with all of us. He called Chimamanda his mentor and his teacher. I remember she once told him that his problem is that he is a provocateur, that he should write more truthfully and not just to provoke. She liked his writing about gay themes because she encouraged writing about issues that people keep silent about. She also liked the fact that he was a Northerner because she said the Northern perspective is often not heard. I think that was the main reason she encouraged him and introduced him to her own literary agent in New York, which -by the way- many writers of her standing simply do not do.”
This may well be true of many writers, especially in today’s publishing world where it is near impossible to be published by a mainstream publisher without an agent. But it is nothing strange for Adichie, who is also known to have helped other African writers, including Teju Cole, author of the critically acclaimed Open City. She not only recommended Cole to her literary agency, but also hosted a pre-publication luncheon in New York that introduced editors to his new novel.
The only thing close to a back story with John, say friends, happened some months ago. Adichie had given an interview in which she said that ‘for most Nigerian women, wearing their natural hair is unbearable.’ She was then deliberately misquoted as saying that Nigerian women with Brazilian hair had low self-esteem. John joined an online bandwagon that referenced the misquote. Adichie wrote him to say that she expected better from him, that he should have read the actual interview first to see what she actually said. He wrote to apologise. She later wrote to congratulate him on the Caine Prize shortlist. Said John’s fellow workshop participant, “We just didn’t understand where his blog was coming from. It makes no sense that he is now claiming ‘manhood-shrinking’ emails. He himself knows she meant ‘one of my boys’ in an affectionate way. She was claiming him which is a compliment. Many of us from the workshop told him point blank that he was seeking cheap publicity. People who had never heard of him before now know of him. Even if he truly believed she was denigrating him, why make it so public? After all the last communication between them was a private email she sent him congratulating him on the Caine Prize, so why wouldn’t he write her privately? How can you start a negative campaign against somebody who has done nothing but help you? He even complained that it took her time to reply his emails. Does he know how many emails she gets? How many other writers in her position even take time to read the work of upcoming writers? The truth is that he is entitled and has an inflated sense of himself. He felt bad that he didn’t win the Caine Prize and decided to lash out at somebody. Chimamanda is an easy target because she is so prominent. Some others joined in, because some people like tearing successful people down, especially someone like Chimamanda who is a strong and confident woman. The sad truth is that Chimamanda is now going to be more careful and wary about how she opens herself up to upcoming writers.”
Adichie may indeed have to become more wary. Either way, she has made deep impressions on the attentive world. Even her most vitriolic critic cannot dispute that. In doing what many writers have not done, Adichie has earned a place in the hearts of many who love and adore her. She has also earned the respect of those who are either undecided about her or do not have a friendly disposition towards her. In a prophetic comment, after Adichie’s win of the David T. K Wong’s Prize for Fiction in 2003, Obi Iwuanyanwu, a Professor at Central State University, Dayton, Ohio, said, “Given my knowledge of similar astounding young writers in history – I would make bold to describe her as a genius. I believe that Chimamanda, who was born seven years after Biafra, is destined to write the Great Biafran Novel.” It is serendipitous that ten years after Iwuanyanwu’s prophecy, a similar conclusion has been drawn by Kathryn Schulz, an American journalist writing in New York Magazine. Adichie’s recent novel AMERICANAH is, according to Schulz, “one of the better novels I’ve read about contemporary America, but I’m not tempted to call it a Great American Novel. Instead, it strikes me as an early, imperfect, admirable stab at something new: a Great Global Novel.”
Adichie seems to be always drawn to “stabbing at something new.” With the impending release of the film adaptation of her groundbreaking Half of a Yellow Sun in October this year, this prodigious talent has more substance to keep the mythmakers busy for a very long time.
‘Some bodies are global, but most bodies remain local, regional, “ethnic.”‘
In this episode of GV Face, the Global Voices Hangout series, Joey Ayoub, a Lebanese blogger and Global Voices contributor, Lova Rakotomalala, our Paris-based French language editor and Laura Vidal, our Paris-based Latin America community manager talk about race, the politics of death and the unequal reactions to tragedies around the world.
Global Voices is a border-less, largely volunteer community of more than 1400 writers, analysts, online media experts and translators. We set a news agenda that builds bridges, global understanding and friendship across borders. We focus on telling stories from marginalized and misrepresented communities. Our trusted team of editors and writers — people like Joey, Laura, and Lova — report on 167 countries around the world. Our translators render these stories into more than 35 languages. Many of our community members speak multiple languages and call more than one city and country their home.
I come from a privileged Francophone community in Lebanon. This has meant that I have always seen France as my second home. The streets of Paris are as familiar to me as the streets of Beirut. I was just in Paris a few days ago.
These have been two horrible nights of violence. The first took the lives of over 40 in Beirut; the second took the lives of over 120 people and counting in Paris.
It also seems clear to me that to the world, my people’s deaths in Beirut do not matter as much as my other people’s deaths in Paris.
We do not get a “safe” button on Facebook. We do not get late night statements from the most powerful men and women alive and millions of online users.
We do not change policies which will affect the lives of countless innocent refugees.
This could not be clearer.
I say this with no resentment whatsoever, just sadness.
Laura Vidal was a block away at a bar when the first attack took place at a restaurant on November 13 in Paris. Laura moved to Paris seven years ago from Venezuela as a student. In, “After the Paris Attacks: For It to Be Unity, It Can’t Be Partial“, she reflects:
Since I arrived in Paris I’ve followed the endless discussions on origins, skin colours, backgrounds and religious faiths. Part of my research work is based on—of all subjects—intercultural sensitivity. These conversations are emotional, and therefore uncomfortable. But they’re necessary. And I say this because it seems that dividing the world between “us” and “them” isn’t useful. And it never has been. In fact, the artificial creation of difference is what fuels all of this. And this is how we learn to see “ourselves” and “others”, and this is the lens through which we have studied history and watch the news. “Us” and “them”. “Here” and “far away”. I don’t think we can afford to keep this view of the world anymore—assuming we ever could—and maintain this denial of reality.
The time to have a global discussion on terror attacks, free speech, empathy and Islamophobia is not when tragedy strikes but beforehand and when cooler heads prevail.
Yet, whether we like it or not, the public thirst to make sense of the world is highest when such sad events occur. The timing might not be ideal, but we have the opportunity as media contributors to reframe the conversation for thousand of readers all over the world, while they are paying attention.
