Thursday, January 1, 2015

Black Arts Movement Tentative Program for 50th Anniversary Celebration at Laney College, Saturday, Feb 7, 10AM




Black Arts Movement--West
Celebrating 50 years
focusing on Bay Area contributions 
   to the Black Arts Movement
In honor of Amina and Amiri Baraka (RIP)

Saturday, February 7, 2015
10am - 8pm
Doors Open at 9am
Laney College 
900 Fallon Avenue | Oakland, CA
Godfather of the Black Arts Movement, Amiri Baraka
Art by James Gayles

Working Program



10:00 AM--Black Arts Movement Physical Wellness Boot Camp, facilitated by Michael Bennett's Wellness Team from the YMCA, HP/Bayview
11:00AM-- Peer Group on Mental Wellness: How to Recover from the Addiction to White Supremacy Peer Group, facilitated by Dr. Nathan Hare, Marvin X and Suzzette Celeste, B.A., MPA, MSW


12 Noon--Book Fair--authors speak, music





 Bay Area Black authors/activists outside Joyce Gordon Gallery, a venue in the upcoming Black Arts Movement Cultural and Business District along 14th Street, downtown Oakland
photo Gene Hazzard/Adam Turner
2pm--Open Mike Poetry/Speak Out
BAM Babies will perform, including this group from Youth Speaks


2pm--BAM and Black Women Writers Panel; moderated by Elaine Brown; invited panelists: Judy Juanita, Avojtcha, Alice Walker, Aries Jordan, Phavia Kujichagulia, Portia Anderson



Black Arts Movement/Black Power Babies Amira Jackmon, Esq., Nefertiti Jackmon, M.A., Muhammida El Muhajir, B.S., and father Marvin X, M.A. (El Muhajir)
                            (Black Arts/Black Power Babies is the idea of Muhammida El Muhajir)
MX and Black Power Baby Fred Hampton, Jr.
We want Big Fred  in da house--Panther Cub!
photo Kamau Amen Ra

 Black Arts/Black Power Babies, Brooklyn, New York, produced by Muhammida El Muhajir
In white, BAM Baby, Oba Olatunji of the African Village, Sheldon, SC
Black Arts/Black Power Babies 3.0: Mahadevi El Muhajir, daughter of Muhammida El Muhajir and Shani Baraka, daughter of Amiri Baraka, Jr.

Black Arts Movement/Black Power Baby, Ras Baraka, Mayor of Newark, NJ
His mama (Mrs. Amina Baraka) say they will attend Laney BAM Celebration if they are invited 
by the Mayor of Oakland, Libby Shaaf!
4pm Black Arts Movement/Black Power Babies panel, moderated by Davey D; invited panelists: Phavia Kujichagulia and Taiwo; Dr. Ayodele Nzinga and son Stanley; Terry Collins and daughter Renya; Walter Riley and Boots Riley; Marvin X and Nefertiti

6pm - RECEPTION IN THE ART GALLERY: EXHIBIT OF SAN QUENTIN PRISON ART and Bay Area Visual Artists; curated by Professor Leslee Stradford; Welcome, Laney College President, Dr. Elnora T. Webb; proclamation of Black Arts Movement Cultural and Business District, Libby Shaaf, Mayor of Oakland; host, Paul Cobb, Publisher, Post News Group
Attorney John Burris, Oakland Mayor-elect Libby Schaaf, Post Publisher Paul Cobb.

Attorney John Burris, Mayor elect Libby Shaaf and Oakland Post Publisher, Paul Cobb





Laney College President, Dr. Elnora T. Webb and BAM producer Marvin X


7pm Laney College Theatre: Marvin X's BAM classic play Flowers for the Trashman, introductory remarks by Dr. Nathan Hare, father of Black Studies, founding publisher of the Black Scholar Magazine
dr. nathan hare photo: Dr. Nathan Hare BlackScholarsandIntellectualsDrNathanHare-.jpg

The Black Arts Movement Poet's Choir & Arkestra at BAM Conference, University of California, Merced, Feb-Mar, 2014
A Kim McMillan/Marvin X Production

8pm Black Arts Movement Poet's Choir & Arkestra with special guests

                Black Arts Movement Poet's Choir & Arkestra at Malcolm X Jazz/Art Festival, Oakland, May 17, 2014
          photo collage Adam Turner
Sponsors: Laney College, Post News Group, Black Caucus of California Community Colleges, YMCA, HP/Bayview; Black Think Tank, Black Bird Press, KPOO Radio, Davey D and Greg Bridges of KPFA Radio, lajones associates, BWOPA/TILE

For more information, contact Marvin X, Project Director, 510-200-4164

MX and Danny Glover, BAM workers
photo Ken Johnson

Actor Delroy Lindo and MX
photo Ken Johnson

 Former Black Panther Party Chairwoman Elaine Brown, MX and Mama Ayanna of Malcolm X Grassroots Organization
photo Ken Johnson
Sun Ra
Space is the Place, Space is the Place, Space is the Place
"Gimme some space, podna, I can't breathe, I can't breathe, I can't breathe!"
Hands up, Pants up, Hands up, Pants up, Hands up, Pants up!






Wednesday, December 31, 2014

Hapi B Day, Dr. Clarke and Dr. Ben--two of our very best warrior scholars

Black Women Organized for Political Action

Dear Partner,
 
BWOPA/TILE is excited to announce the recent unveiling of the  Dezie Woods Jones (DWJ) Public Policy Fellowship program. The goal of this program is to support young leaders (16 - 30 years old) develop a deeper context of social justice issues while exploring system change methods and strategies to execute them.  In an effort to ensure that our communities continue to move forward in a direction that will be beneficial for all members of society, we have chosen 12 young leaders for this inaugural voyage.

The young leaders are off to a phenomenal start and we need your financial support to keep the momentum going.  

Your contribution of $25, $50, $100, $250, $500 adds up to help us meet our financial program goal. Each fellow costs minimally $2,500 for the year to underwrite meals, workbooks, speakers and transportation to the State Capitol, mini-retreats and monthly gatherings.

Time is running out. Make an end-of-the-year tax-deductible gift today.  Help the DWJ young leaders end the year strong and begin 2015 poised for success!

Thank you again for your generosity.  Remember, when you give back, you change lives.  


                                              
Dezie Woods Jones                                                    LaNiece Jones
CEO/President                                                             Executive Director

The Black Arts Movement












Black Theatre Magazine #2: God is Black

 
Marvin X interviewed LeRoi Jones, aka Amiri Baraka, 1968
 
God is Black
Chinese say God is the Chinese People
Chicanos say La Raza La Raza La Raza
Whites say God is White
Negroes say God is White
God is Black
Didn't the world come from a Black woman's womb?
Didn't Jesus come from a Black woman's womb?
God is Black
Son of God is Black
Mother of God is Black
Father of God is Black
--Marvin X

Black Bird Press News & Review: Marvin X's Grand Vision for the Bay Area Celebration of the 50th Anniversary of the Black Arts Movement, 2015

Black Bird Press News & Review: Marvin X's Grand Vision for the Bay Area Celebration of the 50th Anniversary of the Black Arts Movement, 2015

New thoughts on the black arts movement by Lisa Gail Collins and Margo Nastalie Crawford





During the 1960s and 1970s, a cadre of poets, playwrights, visual artists, musicians, and other visionaries came together to create a renaissance in African American literature and art. This charged chapter in the history of African American culture—which came to be known as the Black Arts Movement—has remained largely neglected by subsequent generations of critics. New Thoughts on the Black Arts Movement includes essays that reexamine well-known figures such as Amiri Baraka, Larry Neal, Gwendolyn Brooks, Sonia Sanchez, Marvin X, Betye Saar, Jeff Donaldson, and Haki Madhubuti. In addition, the anthology expands the scope of the movement by offering essays that explore the racial and sexual politics of the era, links with other period cultural movements, the arts in prison, the role of Black colleges and universities, gender politics and the rise of feminism, color fetishism, photography, music, and more. An invigorating look at a movement that has long begged for reexamination, this collection lucidly interprets the complex debates that surround this tumultuous era and demonstrates that the celebration of this movement need not be separated from its critique.

After Mecca by Cheryl Clarke: The relationship between the Black Arts Movement and Black Women Writers




The politics and music of the sixties and early seventies have been the subject of scholarship for many years, but it is only very recently that attention has turned to the cultural production of African American poets. 

In "After Mecca," Cheryl Clarke explores the relationship between the Black Arts Movement and black women writers of the period. Poems by Gwendolyn Brooks, Ntozake Shange, Audre Lorde, Nikki Giovanni, Sonia Sanchez, Jayne Cortez, Alice Walker, and others chart the emergence of a new and distinct black poetry and its relationship to the black community's struggle for rights and liberation. Clarke also traces the contributions of these poets to the development of feminism and lesbian-feminism, and the legacy they left for others to build on. 

She argues that whether black women poets of the time were writing from within the movement or writing against it, virtually all were responding to it. Using the trope of "Mecca," she explores the ways in which these writers were turning away from white, western society to create a new literacy of blackness.
Provocatively written, this book is an important contribution to the fields of African American literary studies and feminist theory.

Tuesday, December 30, 2014

See the art of Duane Deterville at the Black Arts Movement 50th Anniversary Celebration, Laney College, Feb 7









See Dr. Ayodele Nzinga's production of Jitney by August Wilson at the Flight Deck, downtown Oakland


 

 Dr. Ayodele Nzinga, PhD.

Jitney is a must see. If you can, rush, run, fly downtown to the Flight Deck Theatre at 15th and Broadway, go pass the boarded up buildings from I Can't Breathe & Hands UP, Pants Up! and take a seat... Final shows: Friday, Jan. 2, 7pm; Saturday, Feb. 3, 2pm and 7pm.
Wilson by Gayle
 Ancestor playwright August Wilson
I am mid way through the production of Jitney. Only 3 shows left. It's the second show of the cycle we have done at the Flight Deck in newly dubbed "Uptown", (used to be plain old downtown), Oakland.  This is our third production since leaving The Yard , (The Sister Thea) in the Bottoms. We started in the Bottoms and now we are Uptown -- we are a success story. What a story it is -- the making of art is often if not always as much a drama as the work itself. We are The Lower Bottom Playaz, we are Oakland's premiere North American African theater company and we have earned every accolade we have ever received.
We are that company Javier Reyes from Colored Ink called the Mc Gyver  troupe for our inventiveness and applied ingenuity. How else would a troupe with the motto, We create what we need from what we have been gifted" roll. We much like our art come from a place of struggle. We are more than entertainment. Our mission is to create community one story at a time. We have become very intentional in embodying our mission. We are serious artist.
We do not create art because it is easy. It is in fact very difficult. Art making in America is costly. We are not wealthy but we have something to say. We are artist out of a necessity -- we have found our purpose. We are gifted. We share the gifts we have been given.  We find a way to make art in spite of the difficulty. We make art as a way of being in the world, as a way of changing the world, as an act of resistance to narratives of lack, marginalization, and scarcity. We are abundantly gifted. We are boundless in our determination. We are dedicated to our craft.
Personally, I stay not because its easy, not because of material rewards, but because art is my calling. The stage is my podium -- I am talking to you. I have been gifted a talented cohort of artist to create with -- that in itself is a challenge. Sitting in a room of geniuses is not all you might think. Genius comes at a cost. And I demand more than mere genius. I am not fond of actors. I am in love with artist -- storytellers, musicians, alchemist who turn story into gospel, magicians who willingly disappear into a character in the name of the story unfolding to show us pain, beauty, horror, injustice,ugly truth, triumphant love and all the other myriad aspects of being. Try herding cats, harnessing fire in a bottle, or aiming a rainbow and you will come to understand what it is to sit in collaboration with genius. I have that privilege.
Yet this is not a cakewalk. It is a marathon in a smorgasbord with all the challenge you can stand .  I may have come to the table ready, but I have grown since I pulled up a chair. I have become very firmly who I say I am.  I am now capable of setting the table. I owe some of that to Wilson. I owe a great deal to the teachers who came to me before Wilson. I owe it to my horse eating great grand parents and the female lineage they bore who taught me how to strive. I owe it to the characters I recognize and have come to love and admire in the American Century Cycle. I owe it to the genius in the room with me trusting me to invoke Wilson properly.  I owe it to my ancestors who walked the path to give me the privilege to claim my gift as my birthright, as my ordained avocation, as my duty to life and nation. I owe it to my nation walking like a blind man in the dark surrounded by  enduring hostility and privilege in this nation divided smothered by the myth of the American dream. I owe it to myself for the struggle doing the American Century Cycle has been.
Doing Jitney was difficult. They are all difficult. I don't expect it will get any easier. Doing what is right, what one should do, what one must to live in the world with dignity in tact is not usually the easiest path. My path has rocks on it. I stay the path rocks and all. I have been called. I have answered. "The destination is worth the journey" as Wilson himself declared. The difficult journey has made me appreciate the lessons learned along the way. We should all know we pay for our lessons in life. With that in mind I am open to the lessons, paying the price for knowing, and determined to remember to remember. I am on the battlefield with Wilson.
With Jitney I claim our space. I mark this point in the journey like Wilson marked completing Jitney which was the eighth play of the ten which would become The American Century Cycle.  He had yet to write the bookends Gem of the Ocean and Radio Golf. This was a point of epiphany for Wilson.  He could see the whole spell. I sit in deep communion with him. I feel this point on the path viscerally. Seeing and knowing have become painful and I channel the pain through the production of art that illuminates the source and the chance of deliverance from that pain.  I am praying with my hands moving trying to help construct the healing I need -- the healing we all need. I have the advantage of having the whole spell writ out before me; nothing left but to perform the incantation. I am on verse eight of ten shoulder to the grindstone, pushing the envelope, anticipating a blessing.
With my commitment to the American Century Cycle. the world I knew has fell apart as I walk the path. The producer and the theater we started with are in our rear view as is the neighborhood we moved into to do art that had the intention of being much more than entertainment. We were Griots coming home to tell the tale of falling forward into the American dream with our souls still in tact.  We had the idea that, if we worked to make it so, it would surely be. My home itself has become an emblematic battleground. Home and the idea of it had to be rethought, are still  being considered as I write. At this moment my only home is in the graveyard when the songs of my ancestors whisper to me -- stay the path. Wilson has blown so much away.
We were not wrong it has just not turned out the way we thought it would. That's okay. We have become fine dancers we have learned to change the steps when necessary but we refuse to leave the path. We are no longer sure where the path will take us. We have faith in our fate, we have surrendered to our destiny, we are doing what we must--sharing the gifts given. We are in alignment. We are the water that Ester speaks of in Gem of the Ocean, we are fluid, we have learned the necessity and rude contours of Diaspora.  None of it matters as much as the fact that this is exactly where we should be. Even the difficulty factor acknowledges we are at the top of a mountain.  Wilson and the ancestors stand there with us waiting for the song. The song must be sung the spell must be completed.
No one not even Wilson has enacted the spell in order. We will be the first. We are in a new theater. We produce our own work. We will finish this spell of a work and move on changed forever having walked with Wilson though the past to the point where Radio Golf ends. We will know more than we now know, and that will inform how we walk though the world carrying the song we have found in Wilson. I have learned a fair amount so far:
One must match walk with talk or become simply sound and fury.
If you pray with moving hands the path will clear.
One's song is the essence of one's being the inner light, the purpose, the soul force, it must be nurtured, it demands to be sung.
We have a duty to life.
We must remember.
If you drop the ball go back and pick it up.
Everything ain't always what it seem.
If you lose sight of your song you will suffer.
You were born free with dignity and everything.
Our stories are enough.
You can't pass the torch to the future and then insist on calling  the music it dances to.
We must consider doing what we have never done if we desire what we have never had.
The past is the key to the present you need it to see the path to the future clearly.
Trust what you know you know.
I am because we are.
If the wheel don't work somebody got to fix it -- it don't matter who it pains.
Right is right and right don't wrong nobody.
You got to tell the truth and stand in the light.
We are enough.
What I have learned is what feeds me now.   Finally we are getting feature stories. To all this I say yes. But as the SF Gate feature pointed out "we have been doing this with very little fanfare." Truth is fanfare cost. You need money for advertising and bells and whistles. We are so grassroots. I value paying artist. I know we eat and that heat and water cost even geniuses. It's nice to finally get reviewed. They say:
The actors capture the essence of their characters, and director Nzinga succeeds in providing the elements necessary to bring them together into a cohesive and unflinching portrayal. “Jitney” is an exceptional piece of theater, well played by this gifted group of artists." --Elizabeth Warnimont
Jitney is a must see. If you can, rush, run, fly downtown to the Flight Deck Theatre at 15th and Broadway, go pass the boarded up buildings from I Can't Breathe & Hands UP, Pants Up! and take a seat...
So the fanfare is coming.
But it's not what drives me. I am driven by what drove Wilson:  the urgency to hear the song . The need to complete the spell. This is my duty to life. If my art is my weapon I have chosen well with Wilson. We are on the battlefield in dark times when the song of self is our most potent magic. The world is poised for change. I can hear it in the people's getting up and taking to the street. The fight is not over. We have not forgotten being born free. We are all called to contribute to a better world. There are forces in place that like the way the wheel works its their job to guard the wheel. I am a Black Arts Movement artist. My art is my contribution to the battle to change what is into what needs to be.  I battle not against personalities but principalities,  this art is spiritual, its a leavening stone, it is resistance. I am emboldened with my hard earned lessons firmly rooting. I am fit for the battle. In the tradition of the Black Arts Movement art is ritual, it is political, it is my calling card for discourse, it is my intra-inter group interface with my humanity. I am teaching while I am learning. This song will be sung.
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Related:
Jitney Tickets:jitney web banner
The American Century Cycle

No North American African should celebrate New Years Day--the worst day in the life of our ancestors

 

Slave Auction at Richmond, Virginia, 1856.

The Slaves' New Year's Day


Dr. Flint owned a fine residence in town, several farms, and about fifty slaves, besides hiring a number by the year.
Hiring-day at the south takes place on the 1st of January. On the 2d, the slaves are expected to go to their new masters. On a farm, they work until the corn and cotton are laid. They then have two holidays. Some masters give them a good dinner under the trees. This over, they work until Christmas eve. If no heavy charges are meantime brought against them, they are given four or five holidays, whichever the master or overseer may think proper. Then comes New Year's eve; and they gather together their little alls, or more properly speaking, their little nothings, and wait anxiously for the dawning of day. At the appointed hour the grounds are thronged with men, women, and children, waiting, like criminals, to hear their doom pronounced. The slave is sure to know who is the most humane, or cruel master, within forty miles of him.
It is easy to find out, on that day, who clothes and feeds his slaves well; for he is surrounded by a crowd, begging, "Please, massa, hire me this year. I will work very hard, massa."
If a slave is unwilling to go with his new master, he is whipped, or locked up in jail, until he consents to go, and promises not to run away during the year. Should he chance to change his mind, thinking it justifiable to violate an extorted promise, woe unto him if he is caught! The whip is used till the blood flows at his feet; and his stiffened limbs are put in chains, to be dragged in the field for days and days!
If he lives until the next year, perhaps the same man will hire him again, without even giving him an opportunity of going to the hiring-ground. After those for hire are disposed of, those for sale are called up.

O, you happy free women, contrast your New Year's day with that of the poor bond-woman! With you it is a pleasant season, and the light of the day is blessed. Friendly wishes meet you every where, and gifts are showered upon you. Even hearts that have been estranged from you soften at this season, and lips that have been silent echo back, "I wish you a happy New Year." Children bring their little offerings, and raise their rosy lips for a caress. They are your own, and no hand but that of death can take them from you.
But to the slave mother New Year's day comes laden with peculiar sorrows. She sits on her cold cabin floor, watching the children who may all be torn from her the next morning; and often does she wish that she and they might die before the day dawns. She may be an ignorant creature, degraded by the system that has brutalized her from childhood; but she has a mother's instincts, and is capable of feeling a mother's agonies.
On one of these sale days, I saw a mother lead seven children to the auction-block. She knew that some of them would be taken from her; but they took all. The children were sold to a slave-trader, and their mother was brought by a man in her own town. Before night her children were all far away. She begged the trader to tell her where he intended to take them; this he refused to do. How could he, when he knew he would sell them, one by one, wherever he could command the highest price? I met that mother in the street, and her wild, haggard face lives to-day in my mind. She wrung her hands in anguish, and exclaimed, "Gone! All gone! Why don't God kill me?" I had no words wherewith to comfort her. Instances of this kind are of daily, yea, of hourly occurrence.