Pub Date : 2022-01-02DOI: 10.1080/00064246.2022.2007443
J. A. Anderson
beyond the everyday, or, in Raymond and Alice Bauer’s words, “day to day” forms. Holden’s book has rightfully pushed the field to revisit existing archives and known records in search of Black women’s relationships to rebellion and revolt, and to the agentive and resistive geographies that make overt resistance attainable realities within enslaved communities. Future scholarship, inspired by Surviving Southampton, will continue to locate Black women’s insurgency and will be better poised to question whether Gabriel Prosser’s 1800 Rebellion, Charles Deslondes’ 1811 German Coast Uprising, Denmark Vesey’s 1822 plot, and scores of lesser known conspiracies and rebellions were in fact the exclusive workings of these famous men and their male lieutenants.
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Pub Date : 2022-01-02DOI: 10.1080/00064246.2022.2007344
M. Steinitz
“Everything started in Colón, soul music came to Panama via Colón,” said bass player Carlos Brown remembering the late 1960s and early 1970s when he and his band Los Dinámicos Exciters were part of the vanguard of a new musical movement that revolutionized popular music in Panama, conquering national TV shows, radio stations, and dancehalls with a unique fusion of US soul music, Caribbean calypso, and the latest Afro-Latin styles from New York, Puerto Rico, and Cuba. While these musical groups which would become known as combos nacionales drew from diverse Afro-hemispheric sources, the predominant influence of soul icons from the US such as James Brown, The Temptations, and Aretha Franklin manifested itself not only in their music but also in their appropriation of US Black aesthetics which was closely related to a sentiment of solidarity and identification with the Civil Rights and Black Power movements among Black Panamanians. Paralleled in magnitude only by the emergence of Latin Soul in 1960s New York and Brazil’s Black Rio movement in the 1970s, the combos introduced African American-inspired “soul style” in a Latin American context that was built upon white mestizo nationalist imaginaries. As many of the combos’ protagonists were Panamanians of Afro-Caribbean descent they gave unprecedented visibility to a community that had been excluded and discriminated against since the arrival of their ancestors from Jamaica, Barbados, and other Anglo-Caribbean islands most of whom had been recruited as labor migrants for the US-lead construction of the Panama Canal between 1904 and 1914. While soul music has often been celebrated as the ultimate expression of the US Black experience, I suggest that a closer look at the popularization of soul music in a Latin American country such as Panama might help to question one-dimensional nationalist interpretations of the genre. While Black Power anthems like James Brown’s “Say It Loud – I’m Black and I’m Proud” were clearly aimed at closing ranks among African Americans in the US, I argue that soul music in Panama often contributed to building bridges between Panama’s Black Anglophone West Indian minority and the Spanishspeaking native population. It is in this spirit of complicating homogenizing and essentialist narratives of blackness and the prescribed meanings of Black popular culture that I aim to bring the concepts of post-soul and afrolatinidades into a dialogue with each other. In the same vein, it is this essaýs intention to contribute to the bridging of persistent demarcations between African American, Caribbean, and AfroLatin American Studies and further ongoing efforts for the development of a hemispheric perspective on the African diaspora in the Americas as proposed by Ifeoma Nwankwo, Agustín Lao-Montes,
“一切都始于Colón，灵魂音乐通过Colón来到巴拿马，”贝斯手卡洛斯·布朗回忆起20世纪60年代末和70年代初，他和他的乐队Los Dinámicos Exciters是一场新音乐运动的先锋，这场运动彻底改变了巴拿马的流行音乐，他们以独特的融合了美国灵魂音乐、加勒比卡里普索和最新的非洲-拉丁风格的音乐征服了国家电视节目、广播电台和舞厅，来自纽约、波多黎各和古巴。虽然这些后来被称为“国家组合”的音乐团体来自不同的非洲半球来源，但来自美国的灵魂偶像的主要影响，如詹姆斯·布朗、诱惑乐队和艾瑞莎·富兰克林，不仅体现在他们的音乐上，而且体现在他们对美国黑人美学的挪用上，这与巴拿马黑人对民权和黑人权力运动的团结和认同密切相关。在规模上，只有20世纪60年代在纽约出现的拉丁灵魂音乐和70年代在巴西出现的黑人b里约热内卢运动可以与之相提并论，这些组合在拉丁美洲的背景下引入了非裔美国人的“灵魂风格”，这种风格建立在白人混血儿民族主义的想象之上。由于许多连队的主角都是加勒比海裔的巴拿马人，他们给了这个社区前所未有的知名度，自从他们的祖先从牙买加、巴巴多斯和其他盎格鲁-加勒比岛屿来到这里以来，这个社区一直被排斥和歧视，他们中的大多数人都是作为劳工移民被招募来参加1904年至1914年美国领导的巴拿马运河的建设。虽然灵魂音乐经常被誉为美国黑人经历的终极表达，但我认为，仔细观察灵魂音乐在巴拿马等拉美国家的普及，可能有助于质疑这种流派的单一民族主义解释。虽然像詹姆斯·布朗(James Brown)的《大声说——我是黑人，我很自豪》(Say It Loud - I’m Black and I’m Proud)这样的黑人力量歌曲显然旨在拉近美国非裔美国人之间的距离，但我认为，巴拿马的灵魂音乐往往有助于在巴拿马讲英语的西印度黑人少数民族和讲西班牙语的当地人之间建立桥梁。正是本着这种复杂的同质化和本质主义的黑人叙事以及黑人流行文化的规定意义的精神，我的目标是将后灵魂和非裔黑人的概念带入彼此的对话中。同样，essaýs打算协助弥合非洲裔美国人、加勒比人和非洲裔拉丁美洲研究之间的长期界限，并进一步努力发展关于美洲非洲侨民的半球观点，如伊费奥马·恩万科沃、Agustín劳蒙特斯、
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Pub Date : 2022-01-02DOI: 10.1080/00064246.2022.2007340
Trent Masiki, Regina Marie Mills
I n her novels Halsey Street (2018) and What’s Mine and Yours (2021), author Naima Coster explores the complexities of gentrification, parent–child relationships, and ethnoracial identity formation. A proud New Yorker of Caribbean heritage, Coster was born and raised in Fort Greene, Brooklyn to parents who have roots in the Dominican Republic, Cuba, and Curaçao. Coster earned her MFA in Fiction from Columbia and holds degrees in Creative Writing, English, and African American studies from Fordham and Yale. In this interview with Trent Masiki and Regina Marie Mills, Coster shares her views about the post-soul aesthetic, her MFA experience as a woman of color, and how being Black and Latina informs interiority and loss in her writing.
在她的小说《哈尔西街》(2018)和《我和你的什么》(2021)中，作者奈玛·科斯特探讨了中产阶级化、亲子关系和种族身份形成的复杂性。科斯特是一名自豪的加勒比海裔纽约人，他出生并成长在布鲁克林的格林堡，父母来自多米尼加共和国、古巴和古巴。科斯特在哥伦比亚大学获得小说文学硕士学位，并在福特汉姆大学和耶鲁大学获得创意写作、英语和非裔美国人研究学位。在与Trent Masiki和Regina Marie Mills的访谈中，Coster分享了她对后灵魂美学的看法，她作为有色人种女性的MFA经历，以及黑人和拉丁裔如何在她的写作中表达内心和失落。
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Pub Date : 2022-01-02DOI: 10.1080/00064246.2022.2007345
Regina Marie Mills
I n a 2016 interview in Vulture, African American crime and science fiction novelist Walter Mosley insisted, “The first Black superhero is Spider-Man.” According to Moseley, Spider-Man’s class position, nontraditional family, and the media’s unfavorable portrayal of his heroics resonate more closely with urban Black experiences than the experiences of a white boy from Queens. In many ways, Moseley argues that a Black Spider-Man could easily slip not only into Spidey’s suit but also the classic, tragic story. In 2011, Spider-Man did become Black. Miles Morales, a Black Puerto Rican teenager in Brooklyn, however, was not merely a re-skin of Peter Parker’s Spider-Man and his origin story. Building upon Adilifu Nama’s work in Super Black, I argue that Miles Morales as SpiderMan is “a racially remixed superhero” who offers readers and video game players “cultural points of interests, compelling themes, and multiple meanings that were not previously present” in the original source material. Racially remixed superheroes “are more chic, politically provocative, and ideologically dynamic than the established white superheroes they were modeled after,” hence, they tend to tackle political subject matter more overtly. In Marvel’s SpiderMan: Miles Morales, remixing Spider-Man means reinterpreting the iconic phrase “With great power comes great responsibility” to move from the individualist usage that Peter Parker models to a communal one. That is, Miles Morales must grapple with the structures of racism and classism that create his need to be a vigilante in Harlem. Miles riffs on what responsibility for power entails: self-questioning and doubt, yes, but also belonging and investment in a community. Miles Morales’ video game asks, “to whom is Spider-Man responsible and what does responsibility look like?” Spider-Man models the need to respond to the neighborhood that claims him. Since his creation, Miles Morales has elicited strong reaction from fans, detractors, and scholars alike. The establishment of a Spider-Man of Black Puerto Rican heritage camewith the death of Peter Parker in theUltimate universe, an imprint (ended in 2015) separate from the main Marvel universe. The Ultimate universe was not “canon,” so writers could experiment without adhering to the long, convoluted timelines and backstories ofMarvel’s major characters. Rather than keep AmazingSpider-Man’s origin story,Miles hasa story of his own. Across all media, Miles has two parents, though their class position varies. In the Ultimate comics and Jason Reynolds’ young adult novel, Miles’ US Black father, Jefferson (Jeff) Davis, is a former criminal and his light-skinned Puerto Rican mother, Rio Morales, a schoolteacher. They struggle to pay the bills and worry about Miles losing his charter boarding school scholarship. In the movie and video games, his family is middle-class and his father flips from ex-con to cop. In the movie, Rio is a nurse and, in the game, she remains a teacher. His uncle,
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Pub Date : 2022-01-02DOI: 10.1080/00064246.2022.2007341
Trent Masiki, Regina Marie Mills
I n his memoir Black Cuban/Black American, Evelio Grillo insists that Afro-Latinos and African Americans are “coconspirators in the struggle to bring the walls of racial injustice and discrimination down.” We, the co-guest editors of this special issue, could not agree more. As emblematized by the Black nationalist organizations to which Arturo A. Schomburg and John Edward Bruce both belonged and cofounded, the social bonds between AfroLatinos and African Americans have existed since the nineteenth century. Mindful of this history as we entered the last five years of the International Decade for People of African Descent, we proposed this special issue to respond to the increasing interest in and need for critical discussions of Afro-Latino and African American interculturalism in the post-segregation era. Motivated by Agustín Laó-Montes’s call for interdisciplinary collaboration between Black studies and Latina/o/x studies and byVeraM.Kutzkinski’s contention that the “authenticating rhetoric” of “Afro-Hispanic American” literary criticism is shaped by the Black Power, Black Arts, and Négritude movements, we put out a call for papers to investigate the relationship between Afro-Latinidad and the post-soul aesthetic. The term post-soul describes the socioeconomic conditions, cultural changes, and aesthetic sensibilities that characterize Black experiences in the US after the mid-1970s, after soul music lost its mass popularity. The post-soul generation is Black Generation X. Raised on the tenets of civil rights integrationism, the post-soul generation eschews, by and large, essentialist concepts of Black subjectivity, chauvinist notions of Black authenticity, and aesthetic preoccupations with Black political revolution. The post-soul aesthetic values experimentation, cosmopolitanism, multiculturalism, social inclusion, liberal individualism, and ideological freedom. One of the faults of the post-soul aesthetic is its centering of the African American experience as the Black experience, its reluctance to engage with Black ethnic diversity in America and the Western hemisphere. Given that the post-soul condition and the mid-1970s boom in the scholarly study of Afro-Latinidad are coterminous, we think it is high time that the two concepts be put in dialogue with each other. In the spirit of rigorous intellectual exchange, this special issue includes articles that variously accept, reject, and expand the post-soul aesthetic as they engage with Afro-Latinidad. Ranging from New York to Atlanta and from Panama to Brazil, the collection of interviews, scholarly articles, and personal essays in this issue discuss Afro-Latina literary fiction, Latino anti-blackness, Afro-Latina feminist epistemologies, and Latino/African American interculturalism in popular music and video games. Regina Marie Mills and Trent Masiki begin the issue with “Naming Loss: An Interview with Naima Coster.” A proud New Yorker of Caribbean heritage, novelist Naima Coster was born and
在他的回忆录《黑人古巴人/黑人美国人》中，埃维利奥·格里洛坚持认为，非裔拉丁美洲人和非裔美国人是“推翻种族不公正和歧视之墙的斗争中的同谋”。作为本期特刊的共同特邀编辑，我们对此深表赞同。阿图罗·a·朔姆伯格(Arturo A. Schomburg)和约翰·爱德华·布鲁斯(John Edward Bruce)都是黑人民族主义组织的成员并共同创立了这些组织，作为其象征，非裔拉丁美洲人和非裔美国人之间的社会联系自19世纪以来一直存在。在进入“非洲人后裔国际十年”的最后五年之际，我们铭记这段历史，提出本期特刊，以回应人们对后种族隔离时代拉丁裔和非裔美国人跨文化主义日益增长的兴趣和批判性讨论的需要。受Agustín Laó-Montes呼吁黑人研究和拉丁/o/x研究之间的跨学科合作以及veram的推动。库茨金斯基认为“非裔-西班牙裔美国人”文学批评的“真实性修辞”是由黑人权力、黑人艺术和黑人感恩运动塑造的，我们呼吁论文调查非裔-拉丁主义与后灵魂美学之间的关系。“后灵魂”一词描述了20世纪70年代中期灵魂音乐失去大众流行之后，美国黑人经历的社会经济状况、文化变化和审美感受。后灵魂一代是黑人x一代，他们在民权融合主义的原则下长大，总体上避开了黑人主体性的本质主义概念，黑人真实性的沙文主义概念，以及对黑人政治革命的审美关注。后灵魂美学重视实验、世界主义、多元文化主义、社会包容、自由个人主义和意识形态自由。后灵魂美学的错误之一是将非裔美国人的经历作为黑人经历的中心，它不愿意与美国和西半球的黑人种族多样性接触。鉴于后灵魂状态和20世纪70年代中期对非裔拉丁裔学术研究的繁荣是相关联的，我们认为现在是时候将这两个概念相互对话了。本着严谨的思想交流的精神，本期特刊收录了各种接受、拒绝和扩展后灵魂美学的文章，因为它们与非裔拉丁人有关。从纽约到亚特兰大，从巴拿马到巴西，本刊收录了访谈、学术文章和个人随笔，讨论了非裔拉丁文学小说、拉丁裔反黑人、非裔拉丁女性主义认识论，以及流行音乐和电子游戏中的拉丁裔/非裔美国人跨文化主义。Regina Marie Mills和Trent Masiki以“命名损失:对Naima Coster的采访”开篇。小说家奈玛·科斯特(Naima Coster)是一位自豪的加勒比海裔纽约人，她在布鲁克林的格林堡(Fort Greene)出生并长大
{"title":"Introduction: Bridging African American and Latina/o/x Studies","authors":"Trent Masiki, Regina Marie Mills","doi":"10.1080/00064246.2022.2007341","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1080/00064246.2022.2007341","url":null,"abstract":"I n his memoir Black Cuban/Black American, Evelio Grillo insists that Afro-Latinos and African Americans are “coconspirators in the struggle to bring the walls of racial injustice and discrimination down.” We, the co-guest editors of this special issue, could not agree more. As emblematized by the Black nationalist organizations to which Arturo A. Schomburg and John Edward Bruce both belonged and cofounded, the social bonds between AfroLatinos and African Americans have existed since the nineteenth century. Mindful of this history as we entered the last five years of the International Decade for People of African Descent, we proposed this special issue to respond to the increasing interest in and need for critical discussions of Afro-Latino and African American interculturalism in the post-segregation era. Motivated by Agustín Laó-Montes’s call for interdisciplinary collaboration between Black studies and Latina/o/x studies and byVeraM.Kutzkinski’s contention that the “authenticating rhetoric” of “Afro-Hispanic American” literary criticism is shaped by the Black Power, Black Arts, and Négritude movements, we put out a call for papers to investigate the relationship between Afro-Latinidad and the post-soul aesthetic. The term post-soul describes the socioeconomic conditions, cultural changes, and aesthetic sensibilities that characterize Black experiences in the US after the mid-1970s, after soul music lost its mass popularity. The post-soul generation is Black Generation X. Raised on the tenets of civil rights integrationism, the post-soul generation eschews, by and large, essentialist concepts of Black subjectivity, chauvinist notions of Black authenticity, and aesthetic preoccupations with Black political revolution. The post-soul aesthetic values experimentation, cosmopolitanism, multiculturalism, social inclusion, liberal individualism, and ideological freedom. One of the faults of the post-soul aesthetic is its centering of the African American experience as the Black experience, its reluctance to engage with Black ethnic diversity in America and the Western hemisphere. Given that the post-soul condition and the mid-1970s boom in the scholarly study of Afro-Latinidad are coterminous, we think it is high time that the two concepts be put in dialogue with each other. In the spirit of rigorous intellectual exchange, this special issue includes articles that variously accept, reject, and expand the post-soul aesthetic as they engage with Afro-Latinidad. Ranging from New York to Atlanta and from Panama to Brazil, the collection of interviews, scholarly articles, and personal essays in this issue discuss Afro-Latina literary fiction, Latino anti-blackness, Afro-Latina feminist epistemologies, and Latino/African American interculturalism in popular music and video games. Regina Marie Mills and Trent Masiki begin the issue with “Naming Loss: An Interview with Naima Coster.” A proud New Yorker of Caribbean heritage, novelist Naima Coster was born and","PeriodicalId":45369,"journal":{"name":"BLACK SCHOLAR","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.4,"publicationDate":"2022-01-02","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"45004371","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2022-01-02DOI: 10.1080/00064246.2022.2007348
Ayendy Bonifacio
I became a US citizen in the summer of 2013. It was the year before I started graduate school. I was 26 and couldn’t afford the near thousand-dollar application fee for the citizenship application. The charges were waived for me by a program operating from my mother’s Catholic church in Queens. They paid the application fee and assisted me and many other immigrants with the application process. I remember looking over the shoulder of the application officer who filled out my application. She completed most of my information for me, including my name, age, address, marital status, and sex. When she arrived at the race box. She marked “white” without looking at me. I walked out of the church’s office into the hot New York City heat and boarded the Brooklyn-bound J train. My brain rattled with unanswered questions as the train tracked homeward. All I could think about was the race box. I, a clearly non-white, multiracial Dominican man, white? Why did the application officer, a Latinx person with a similar skin tone as mine, see me as white? Why didn’t I call it out? And why did it matter? It wasn’t until I moved away from Brooklyn into a predominantly white space in Ohio for grad school that some of these questions began to click. Latinidad and the myth of mestizaje, I realized, were linked in ways that too often leaned into whiteness, and silence surrounding this linkage can be a form of violence. Fast forward to today’s critical moment of anti-racist protests stemming from the killings of Rayshard Brooks, George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, and so many others. It is critical for us in Latinx communities to come to terms with our histories of anti-blackness and Black denial, which is the history of how Latinidad often fails to see and serve us equally. The question of race among us Latinx immigrants is political, cultural, and social. This question is deeply embedded in long histories of colonialism, immigration, mestizaje, blancamiento (whitewashing), and what, in 1903, W. E. B. Du Bois called the US American color line. As Latinx immigrants, our subjectivities, what we call ourselves and how we see each other, intersect with Black–white dichotomies in the US and the colorism and pigmentocracies contrived in our natal countries. We are re-racialized in the diaspora, forced to check a box that we don’t understand, and contribute to the machinery of anti-blackness. The racial hierarchies that emerged from our natal lands are a product of the legacy of colonialism, the institution of slavery, and racist discourses. The truth is that we have inherited a racist and limited discourse to conceptualize our racial complexity. The white box felt like I was leaning into whiteness for self-preservation. Even if I did not check it myself in that Catholic church office in Queens, I did not stop it or didn’t know that I could. The Catholic church, in some ways, was trying to make me white when all I wanted was US citizenship.
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Pub Date : 2022-01-02DOI: 10.1080/00064246.2022.2007343
O. Zamora
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Pub Date : 2022-01-02DOI: 10.1080/00064246.2022.2008762
Ariel Martino
analyze any specific sub-cultures or Latin American beauty standards and how they informed European and North American cultures, it does trace the racial origins of fat phobia. Strings answers the questions of why we regard fatness poorly especially in womenofAfricandescent. In her explanation, she details the immorality and savagery connotated into the very flesh of African peoples. Strings’ scholarship is a pillar in the field of sociology and provides an excellent examination of historical and contemporary body studies involving the Black body in adjacency to white supremacy.
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