*UPDATED* On #McKinney, the Bayou, and Beyonce: Where Graphic Fiction Meets Graphic Reality Meets Formation
February 7, 2016: This post has been updated to include visual commentary on Beyonce's latest video and song, Formation.
Before going in, first read Zandria's post We Slay, Part I. I have nothing more profound or theoretical to add here. Instead I want to show the chronology of my own readings of racial violence of black bodies in the south as told through, by, and about black girls and women. As the post explains below, each semester I assign Bayou to my graduate students at Columbia. Eight months ago, I composed this post to illustrate the similarities between the McKinney pool party incident and the graphic novel's depiction of racial violence against black girls in the deep south. I conclude the original post stating: "The Bayou is an echo of the present." Bayou also tells the story of the future. Since June of last year, more black women have died in police custody as the Movement for Black Lives intensifies.
Yesterday, Beyonce debut her most political rendition of the state of black lives in the U.S. I could go on about the imagery and symbolism presented in the video, as so many others have already done. Instead, however, I'm going to incorporate a few images from the video that adds to my previous visual analysis in efforts to raise more questions about the relationship between time, space, racial violence, and black women and girls' bodies.
We see both Lee's body and Dajerria Becton's body on the ground, forced there by the hand of a white male police officer. Then we see Beyonce's body laid out atop of a New Orleans police vehicle sinking into the remaining waters left behind by hurricane Katrina. Is it a sacrifice--a death, a homage?
Then we see the two girls, Lee and Dajerria, nearly split images of one another; a picture of a black girl animated on paper next to herself in physical form, both superimposed through digital media. Lee and Dajerria are subjects of our gaze. Are they helpless--vulnerable? Then appears Blue Ivy, Beyonce's daughter, hands on hips, afro puffed. She's looking down smiling at our gaze. Is Blue redemption--a child of destiny, of what's to come of black girlhood in the future?
I present a chronology of visual images here, although it's clear to me that chronology and dimensionality cannot contain black existence. In fact, our bodies, experiences, myths, and deaths transcend time and space. Lee foreshadows Dajerria who flashbacks to Lee. Both represent a sacrificial moment; a death in present time. Lee is Dajerria is Beyonce is Blue. Redemption is embodied through our daughters.
The post below originally appeared on June 10, 2015.
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This semester I'm teaching a course at Teachers College, Columbia University on Culture, Media, and Education. As part of the course, students are assigned to read a graphic novel of their choice and asked to provide a multimodal analysis of the text.
I participated in the assignment with my students this week and chose to read for the first time Jeremy Love's graphic novel Bayou (2009). (Side note to grad students: Reading short fiction is a refreshing escape from the daily grind of dissertating. I highly recommend). I was initially drawn to Bayou a few weeks ago in preparation for the course because of the novel's use of imagery to illustrate critical social commentary and historicize issues of racial violence in the south. I've always been drawn to bayou stories. Having spent a good portion of my young adult life living in the south, I find myself always deeply affected by stories of the bayou.
I didn't realize, however, the significance of Love's story until last week after learning about the McKinney pool party incident. A seemingly unfathomable scenario in which a white male police officer drags to the ground and publicly humiliates a Black teenage girl named Dajerria Becton in a majority-white gated community of north Texas.
The officer has since resigned from the police force. Yet, images and video of the incident continue to spread across the Internet, graphically displaying familiar tensions between Black youth (particularly Black girls) and police officers.
McKinney and the Bayou are eerily similar. Both take place in southern towns confronting issues of racial violence at the hands of white neighbors and police officers. The two narratives depict graphic imagery and accounts of towns that have been plagued by racial segregation. A microcosmic tale of a nation branded by its long and deeply troubling history of racism.
Despite its colorful and cartoonish animations, Bayou is far from a childish tale. The novel's images evoke racial trauma of years passed that even to this day reemerge by way of sharable content and online viral imagery. Bayou is a story of desperation, hopelessness, fear, triumph, and courage; an all-American anecdote about a little Black girl whose survival solely depended upon being brave while living in a racially divided town and country.
The Bayou is an echo of the present.
Dajerria Becton
Blue Ivy Carter
Love's Bayou, Vol. 2 (2011) is also available for purchase.
Happy Birthday Daddy
James J. Conley April 30, 1930 - December 17, 2008
James J. Conley, who would have turned 83-years-old today; the man who taught me what it means to sacrifice integrity, pride, work, and life for love. The only man who has ever loved me unconditionally, as in loving wholly without perimeters or boundaries determined by external circumstance or ego. My best friend. The one who was always there to watch me run against the boys, reminding me, "you're better than them. Don't you ever forget that". The one who came to watch me play basketball as an adult, even as he was confined to a wheelchair, still yelling from the sidelines, "you still got it, kiddo!". The one who loved my beautiful mother during the 80s when white men weren't supposed to love Black women, all the way up until his last breath. My father. My hero. My joy. My pain. The only man for which I would ever give my life. Happy birthday, daddy. I love you.
I Need a Break
I'm stressed. Despite access to free concerts, happy hours, and drum circles in New York City, I haven't been able to find peace this summer. Even as I type this post, I can barely turn my head because my shoulders are holding my neck hostage. Needless to say, I've been quite the worker bee this summer. So far I have instructed two courses at Columbia's main campus and Teachers College, respectively (four courses if you count TA'ing). I've also been working tirelessly this month to create a dope curriculum for young African-American men. Don't get me wrong, I'm doing what I love. I'm grateful. However, I can feel my body wearing down. I thought taking a trip Upstate with my students and playing Sunday ball with fellow academics would help, but the truth is I need to get far far way from this claustrophobic city. I have less than a month to figure how I am going to get out of the city so I can breathe before I take on a full course load, two part-time instructor positions, and devote time to relaunching my company Media Make Change.
In addition to being stressed out and tired *all the time*, and perhaps on the brink of a breakdown due to exhaustion (don't worry, I'm good), I am a working class student. That means I don't have "make it rain" money, otherwise known as "disposable income" for the bougie and sadiddy folk.
I like to stay busy, but I prefer to stay sane.
Wanna help a sista out?
Ideally, I'd love to go to the Bahamas (~$1500 all-inclusive) but reeealistically I'm cool with renting a car or hopping on a train to escape to the closest body of oceanic water.
So, if you're at all interested in doing good for your fellow neighbor, please donate to the "Help Tara Get The Hell Out of New York City Fund" also known as my impromptu-vacation-before-classes-start fund, also known as my moment-of-peace-before-all-hell-breaks-loose fund, also known as my can-I-get-a-witness-to-support-my-mental-and-emotional-fitness? fund, also known as . . .
*exhale* <---- #this.
Unfortunately, you can't claim this sort of donation as charity on your tax bill...BUT know that every time you donate Michael Jackson will moonwalk and shout "hee-hee" from Motown heaven. Aaaaaand, know that where ever your donations take me I will bring you back a souvenir, with love of course.
I'm well aware that stress is relative and people are dying of hunger and folks around the world are at war, this post does not function to negate other people's trials, tribualations, pain, and sorrows. If you do not feel comfortable donating to my little cause, I understand. In fact, here are some great *organizations that you can donate to instead:
New Orleans Video Access Center (NOVAC)
Kids Rethink New Orleans Schools
*these are some of the organizations I've worked with in the past, currently, would like to work with in the future, or I just think the org is pretty awesome.
However, if you do have some "make it rain" money on the side and would like to help me get the hell out of dodge, your generosity is warmly and lovingly appreciated.
Now allow me to entertain you before you head on over to my PayPal account. *smiles*
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=00bQKWcob_Q]
Welcome to CheeseEggs.com, a.k.a Breakfast Ed.D. Omlette, a.k.a MSTU 5002
I'm eating cheese eggs thinking about culture, media, and education.
And so it was written.
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