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<h1 id="reader-title">Black Art Matters: A Roundtable On the
Black Radical Imagination</h1>
<div id="reader-credits" class="credits">Walidah Imarisha, Robin
D.G. Kelly and Jonathan Horstmann interviewed by Red Wedge - <span
class="date">July 26, 2016</span></div>
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<p><em>Can America ever truly face its
racism – both past and present – for
what it truly is? Or is the history
of forced migration, bondage and
slave labor, legal apartheid,
incarceration and horrific state
violence too much for it to survive
such a revelation? Can it endure the
psychic shock and endeavor in some
kind of pursuit of truth or
reconciliation? Or will it simply
implode, come apart at the seams and
make way for something new?
Something which, hopefully, would
not have genocide running through
its veins? Langston Hughes tells of
a man urging us to “let America be
America again,” but Hughes is not so
sure such an America ever existed.
Neither should anyone today.</em></p>
<p><em>These are just few questions
conducive to a vast, intricate Black
Radical Imagination. The concept is
not a new one, but may raise more
eyebrows now than in quite some
time. With the Black Lives Matter
movement insisting that the struggle
for African America’s humanity is
not over, there is incontrovertibly
both more to fight for and more to
imagine. The phrase itself is, as
this roundtable suggests, amorphous,
slippery. For some it might conjure
up images of jazz singers decrying
lynching. For others it might be
young graffiti artists stealing
across train tracks, leaving dynamic
anti-police missives on walls. In
all cases it is pregnant with
dynamic, dangerous potential far
more deserving and substantive than
the vague, hollow promise of “the
American Dream.”</em></p>
<p><em>Walidah Imarisha is an author,
poet activist and educator who has
taught at Portland and Oregon State
Universities. Her writing has
appeared in several books and
anthologies. Most recently she has
co-edited Octavia’s Brood: Science
Fiction Stories From Social Justice
Movements (AK Press/IAS) and is the
author of Angels With Dirty Faces:
Three Stories of Crime, Prison and
Redemption (AK Press/IAS).</em></p>
<p><em>Jonathan Horstmann </em><em>is a
recording artist, social justice
activist, videographer, actor, and
illustrator based in Austin, Texas.
He is one half of the futurepunk
group BLXPLTN. The group’s first
album Black Cop Down was released in
the fall of 2014 and received wide
critical acclaim. Their new album,
New York Fascist Week, will be
released in 2016.</em></p>
<p><em>Robin D.G. Kelley is the author
and editor of more than ten books on
the subject of radical history, art,
music and the Black struggle around
the globe. These include Hammer and
Hoe: Alabama Communists During the
Great Depression (University of
North Carolina Press), Thelonious
Monk: The Life and Times of An
American Original (The Free Press),
and Freedom Dreams: The Black
Radical Imagination (Beacon Press).
He is the Gary B. Nash Professor of
American History at UCLA.</em></p>
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<p><em>The three were kind enough
discuss with Red Wedge their takes
on the meaning, history and
potential of the Black Radical
Imagination.</em></p>
<p>* * *</p>
<p><strong>Just starting out very
broadly: using the term “Black
Radical Imagination” can come off as
somewhat nebulous to the uninitiated
and practitioners alike. How would
you describe the Black Radical
Imagination? What comes to mind –
both in a contemporary and
historical sense – when you hear
that term?</strong></p>
<p><strong>Walidah Imarisha:</strong>
When I think of the term “Black
Radical Imagination,” I think of that
force that has kept Black folks not
only alive physically, but able to
dream of new and better worlds while
their bodies dwelled in hell. It is
the Black Radical Imagination that
also gave our ancestors the fortitude
to pull those better worlds out of the
ether and painstakingly build them
into our lived realities.</p>
<p>I also think about the
responsibility, right, and privilege
those who came before us claimed for
us to do the same, to envision new
just futures, and then do the hard
work of bringing them into existence.
We can’t build what we cannot first
imagine, and so our survival is our
Black Radical Imagination time
traveling, bringing us the resistance
of the past, bringing us the
brilliance of the future. As was said
in <em>Star Trek: Deep Space 9</em>,
we are the dreamer and the dream.</p>
<p><strong>Jonathan Horstmann: </strong>I
think Black activists have always
thought outside the box when it comes
to organizing for radical equality.
Think of hip-hop's origins. Think of
Black Lives Matter tactics. We create
global cultural movements, we shut
down freeways. The Black voice is
forced to be imaginative because
otherwise it will be silenced.</p>
<p><strong>Robin D.G. Kelley: </strong>By
employing the phrase the “Black
Radical Imagination” in my book <em>Freedom
Dreams</em>, I was referring to the
ways in which Black Leftists, some
nationalists, feminists, surrealists,
etc., envisioned collectively, in
struggle, what a revolutionary future
might look like and how we might bring
this new world into being. Contrary to
misreadings of my book, I was not
referring to some kind of dreamstate
but arguing that we cannot divorce
critical analysis from social
movements. It is not enough to imagine
a world without oppression (especially
since we don’t always recognize the
variety of forms or modes in which
oppression occurs), but understanding
the mechanisms or processes that not
only reproduce structural inequality
but make them common sense, and render
those processes natural or invisible.
The Black Radical Imagination is not a
thing but a process, the ideas
generated from what Gramsci calls a
“philosophy of practice.” It is about
how people in transformative social
movements, moved/shifted their ideas,
rethought inherited categories, tried
to locate and overturn blatant,
subtle, and invisible modes of
domination.</p>
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<p>But what makes it “Black Radical”?
What is the Black Radical Tradition?
Cedric Robinson describes it as “the
revolutionary consciousness that
proceeded from the whole historical
experience of Black people” and not
merely formed by capitalist slavery
and colonialism. It questions the
capacity of racial capitalism to
re-make African social life and
succeed in generating new categories
of human experience stripped bare of
the historical consciousness embedded
in culture. Black revolts, the
expression of the Black radical
imagination, were not necessarily
formed by the logic of Western
capitalism. But has modern racial
capitalism formed in the afterlife of
slavery so thoroughly shaped our
consciousness as to make the kind of
radical epistemologies Robinson
identifies almost impossible to
produce? Consider just how easy it is
to fall into neoliberal logic of
racial uplift, entrepreneurship,
“branding,” or even the restoration of
the liberal Keynesian welfare state as
our movement’s main objective! This is
why <em>discovering</em> and
recuperating the Black radical
tradition/imagination is so <em>necessary</em>
– not in order to reproduce it but to
understand its logic and fundamental
demand: a complete critique of Western
civilization and, as Fanon put it, a
disordering of our current (colonial)
social order.</p>
<p>That said, woman of color feminisms,
certain autonomous and indigenous
movements in the Americas, best
grasp/exhibit the black radical
tradition, what it means to go there,
to the root. For example, The Combahee
River Collective statement was not a
call for a race and gender integrated
social democracy but a deeper
disordering of racist, capitalist
heteropatriarchy that required a
remaking of the whole of life, of
centering life on multiple forms of
reproduction and the body and
pleasure. It argued that a non-racist,
non-sexist society could not be
created under capitalism, nor could
the socialism alone dismantle the
structures of racial, gender, and
sexual domination. The struggle wasn’t
just the public fight in the streets
or the public fight for
representation, nor was it just
socialism defined as providing
resources in a very public way –
decent jobs, collective labor. The
Statement made connections between
production, reproduction, household
labor, the exploitation of children,
sexual violence and sexual freedom –
issues that rarely find a place on the
agenda of a lot of Black nationalist
organizations, let alone socialist
ones.</p>
<p><strong>Over the past few years there
seems to be a resurgent interest in
wider circles about notions like
Afrofuturism, the Afropunk movement,
so on and so forth. What do you
think this can be attributed to? Is
it the rise of Black Lives Matter or
are there other factors at play as
well? How much do the cultural
differences between our time and,
say, the Sixties, shake out in terms
of this current artistic moment?</strong></p>
<p><strong>Walidah:</strong> I think
these pieces have always been there,
these are just the names we have hung
on them at this juncture. This is
ancient knowledge, whether it is the
non-linear way different African
cultures thought of time as explored
in the anthology <em>Black Quantum
Futurisms</em>, or Sun-Ra’s Saturn
ciphers. We have always manifested
these ideas, whether it was W.E.B. Du
Bois writing science fiction in his
short story “The Comet,” or Bad Brains
created hardcore. I grew up as a Black
person listening to punk music and
reading science fiction, and it felt
to me these were the places where I
had the opportunity to claim myself
and make of me what I would. Where I
could step beyond what I was being
told I was by the larger society as a
Black woman, and instead decide for
myself who I will be.</p>
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<p>I think movements for justice always
feed art and creativity, and vice
versa. So absolutely Black Lives
Matter is part of that. As my <em>Octavia’s
Brood </em>co-editor adrienne maree
brown talks about, even the name is
visionary science fiction, because to
the mainstream, Black lives don’t
matter. But we can dream of that
world, we can envision a world where
they do, and then we connect with the
ways that world has been dreamt of and
build by those who came before us, and
add our pieces to it. Black Lives
Matter on their website a few months
ago asked folks to submit responses to
the prompt “In a world where Black
lives matter, I imagine…” They were
offering all of us the opportunity to
engage in collective ideation, so we
can begin to pull that world into
existence.</p>
<p><strong>Jonathan: </strong>Blackness
has long been exoticized, and not with
the most convenient consequences to
say the least. I am wary of this
resurgent interest in “all things
Black” unless it translates into
actions taken towards Black
liberation.</p>
<p><strong>Robin: </strong>I cannot say
for sure, only speculate. First, I
can’t see a direct correlation between
Afrofuturism and the rise of Black
Lives Matter because I am of the
minority opinion that neither is so
new. Versions of Afrofuturism were
already here, embraced, debated,
struggled over throughout much of the
20th century. My chapter on surrealism
in Freedom Dreams gestures at this,
but so does the first chapter “In
Search of the New Land” which links
Sun Ra and Marcus Garvey. Afrofuturism
is wonderful; it is also a new word
for a longer Black radical tradition
of Marronage, seeking out free space,
liberated territory. Read Neil
Roberts’s remarkable book, <em>Freedom
as Marronage</em> and you will see
this pretty clearly.</p>
<p>Second, I don’t see Black Lives
Matter as a sudden break from the
movements that arose in the 1990s and
early 2000s in opposition to
Clinton-era neoliberalism. True, the
eruption in Ferguson gave the movement
against police violence a boost, but
organized struggle against police
violence goes way back, and many of
those activists worked on a variety of
racial, economic, social justice
issue. I contend that they helped lay
the foundations for the Battle in
Seattle (1999), the U.S. Social Forum,
Immigrant rights demonstrations of
2006, and ultimately Occupy. They
include the Labor/Community Strategy
Center and the various organizations
they formed (i.e., the Bus Riders
Union), POWER (People Organized to Win
Employment Rights), Critical
Resistance, SOUL (School of Unity and
Liberation), the Black Radical
Congress, Organization for Black
Struggle (St. Louis), the New York
Taxi Workers Alliance, the Los Angeles
Community Action Network, Miami
Workers Center, Domestic Workers
United, to name but a few.</p>
<p>The media is not interested in the
genesis of movements or history;
spontaneity gets higher ratings. But
if you just scratch the surface a
little, you’ll find that members of
these organizations had some
relationship with the current uprising
– either as mentors or leaders of the
new movements, including Occupy, Black
Lives Matter, the Dreamers and 67
Suenos, We Charge Genocide, the Dream
Defenders, The Black Youth Project
100, and the Community Rights Campaign
in L.A. Indeed, just consider the fact
that the three women who founded Black
Lives Matter were movement veterans
and had led organizations that
specifically focused on immigrants and
undocumented workers. Opal Tometi,
herself the daughter of Nigerian
immigrants, runs Black Alliance for
Just Immigration; Alicia Garza,
formerly director of POWER (People
Organized to Win Employment Rights),
went on to join the staff of the
National Domestic Workers Alliance,
which is made up of mostly Caribbean,
African, Latina childcare and
household workers; and Patrisse
Cullors, a former lead organizer of
the Labor/Community Strategy Center
and founder of the Community Rights
Campaign, which defends Latino and
black students from police harassment
and the increasing use of the criminal
justice system to manage student
behavior. Patrisse is now founding
director of Dignity and Power Now, an
organization is dedicated to
protecting incarcerated people and
their families in Los Angeles.</p>
<p>I can imagine that my answer might be
read as an evasion of the question.
On the contrary, I think we often err
on the side of seeing movements
erupting from elan or cultural trends
without paying attention to
organizing. We continue to do this at
our peril, and when we do we follow
the bourgeois media’s lead.</p>
<p><strong>Of course, as with anything
that is created by people of color,
there is a massive pull to sanitize
African or African-American artistic
expression and place it within a
context that is very safe for a
culture industry that likes to
present itself as “color blind.”
Would you say that’s a danger with
this new artistic wave too? Do you
think there’s a way in which the
Radical Black Imagination bristles
against being metabolized in such a
way?</strong></p>
<p><strong>Walidah: </strong>I think
the word “radical” is incredibly
important in the phrase Radical Black
Imagination. As Angela Davis tells us,
radical literally means to get to the
root of things. To understand
something on a foundational
fundamental level. If that is truly in
practice, that cultural manifestation
can’t be sanitized, because as I said
before the roots of our Radical Black
Imagination are in the vast cultural
galaxy that has and does exist in
Africa, in the freedom dreams of
enslaved Black folks and the cultures
and communities of visionary
resistance they built, in the Black
Liberation-era imaginings of what
self-determination and global autonomy
would look like. We know our roots
have been grown in blood; it is an
integral part of its essence and once
we know that, it cannot be removed.</p>
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<p><strong>Jonathan: </strong>The
danger lies in allowing yourself or
your work to be sanitized. Radical
critique is woven into the fabric of
what this project does, and if that is
taken away you no longer have BLXPLTN.
That's not to say that we don't want
to create work that is light and fun,
but even then I believe a rock band
comprised of people of color is a
political statement in and of itself.
Every day that we live through without
being arrested or killed is an act of
revolution. We're not making any deals
with the devil. In the end standing as
Black and proud will always make you
more than a few enemies, but having
enemies is nothing new to our people.</p>
<p><strong>Robin: </strong>Not sure I
understand the question, nor do I
think there is such a thing as a
singular Radical Black Imagination.
Nor do I believe the culture industry
sees itself as “color blind.” Often
the most reactionary elements of the
“culture industry” plays into racist
representations with all deliberate
speed and no apology, if they believe
there is money to be made. I’m less
worried about how radical artists try
to negotiate the culture industry or
how that industry manages political
content than with our continued
investment in the industry itself and
the kind of abject individualism that
so many of us subscribe to in the name
of being “radical.” First, there are
valuable lessons from the Black Arts
Movement and other movements of the
need to withdraw from the industry, to
create actual (and virtual) spaces
outside of control or commodification.
This is happening and worth talking
about, but most of the folks I know
would rather talk about Kendrick
Lamar. That’s fine but limited
politically.</p>
<p>Second, I keep coming back to
collective movement, collective art,
movement identities. We’ve come to
believe that social media is, ipso
facto, an expression of the “social”
or the collective. Yes, it is a
remarkable tool for making global
connections, organizing, and seeking
out alternatives to corporate media.
However, there is a counterproductive
tendency in social media and the
“blogosphere” to not think and
struggle collectively, but rather make
pronouncements from one’s perch, and
when there is push back or critique,
to call the critic a “hater.” This is
a new American phenomenon I can’t get
my head around. And the implications
for art are enormous. It basically
means that artists need not be
accountable, and they protect
themselves from critique by having a
following on Twitter or Facebook that
function like a kind of gang. For
example, when I published my essay
“Empire State of Mind” that delved
into Jay-Z’s entanglements with
sweatshop labor in producing his
clothing line, or his unwitting
backing of privatizing water in Africa
under the guise of philanthropy, or
Alicia Keys’ refusal to join the
cultural boycott of Israel on the
specious argument that her music will
bring Israelis and Palestinians
together in a big lovefest, I received
much push back for “dissing” artists
who are doing such good. Really? I
guess I’m old school and can’t
separate the material realities of
exploitation from art.</p>
<p><strong>On the other hand, do you
think there’s possibility for these
types of radical, Black and proud
narratives to reach across and shift
non-Black folks’ (Arabs, Latinxs,
radical white folks, etc.) ways of
thinking? What’s the difference
between this and what we would call
co-optation?</strong></p>
<p><strong>Walidah: </strong>With <em>Octavia’s
Brood</em> we came up with the term
visionary fiction, which is
fantastical writing (whether it be sci
fi, fantasy, speculative fiction,
horror, etc.) that helps understand
existing power structures and helps us
imagine new just futures. We also came
up with principles of visionary
fiction – that change is collective,
decentralized, that it focuses on
people. That it centers those who have
been marginalized, especially those
who sit at the intersections of
identity and oppressions (like queer
and trans folks of color, like
differently abled undocumented
immigrant folk). If we are operating
with shared principles, and have a
mutual dream of freedom, then we will
always have a center to return to.</p>
<p>I think dreams of freedom resonate
with all those who want justice. This
is where multiplicity comes in, and
why I believe science fiction becomes
incredibly helpful, because it allows
us to see that instead of one “right”
future, there are infinite futures, in
a universe that is infinitely
expanding. Instead of the one “right”
way to liberation, there are as many
paths are there human beings past,
present, and future.</p>
<p><strong>Jonathan: </strong>The
shifts are already taking place. If
you look at the BLM movement, the
non-white allies totally get that they
have skin in the game. In the fight
for liberation we must prop up the
most oppressed. We must work towards
that end. There is something very
encouraging about a lot of today's
kids. They seem to understand a bit
better than our generation that until
Black trans folks are liberated we are
<em>all</em> oppressed.</p>
<p><strong>Robin: </strong>Embracing,
acting on, and furthering radical
thought is never cooptation. No one
should have a copyright on a radical
critique of the world and visions of
how to enact that critique. What we
think of as the Black Radical
Imagination or the tradition has not
only informed other struggles
–Palestinians, Egyptians, indigenous
movements, movements across Latin
America and Asia, as well as “radical
white folks,” but one must also
acknowledge that those movements
elsewhere have informed what we think
of as Black radical movements and
thought. I can’t go into it now, but
it is hard to imagine T. Thomas
Fortune, Lucy Parsons, W.E.B. Du Bois,
C.L.R. James, Walter Rodney, Angela
Davis, Barbara Smith, etc., without
Marx, Engels, Lenin, Gramsci, Trotsky,
or Che Guevara, or Rimbaud, or M. N.
Roy and Sen Katayama. Consider George
Jackson’s identification with
Palestinian poet Sameeh Al-Qaseem’s
“Enemy of the Sun,” one of several
poems he wrote out from a book he read
in prison? A book, incidentally,
published by the Black run radical
Drum and Spear Press out of D.C.?
None of this is cooptation. This is
called solidarity.</p>
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<p>Solidarity is becoming increasingly
distant in a political atmosphere that
can only see white people at “allies”
and not comrades, or only see
anti-Black racism as the only thing
worth fighting for, or questions
whether or not Black people should
support struggles of people who have
not succeeded in quashing all vestiges
of anti-Black racism. It is a high
standard, especially since our own
communities<em> – </em>I’m talking
about Black people<em> – </em>have
continued to reveal lingering signs of
anti-Black racism. Comradeship is not
built on some metaphysics of race or
some shared experience of oppression.
Comrades are made in struggle, and
they are never numerous and they don’t
necessarily look like us. Comrades
recognize that white people are a
fabrication<em> – </em>and for that
matter, so are we as Black people, and
indigenous people, as Latinos and
Asians. Yes, we’re real with real
desires and cultures and (contested)
beliefs and histories, but we are
forced to always remake ourselves in
relation to Others, to whiteness, to
racism/sexism/homophobia. People of
Color is not an identity but a
relationship defined by racism,
dispossession and imperialism. I’m not
saying we’re just “people” or making
some claim to universalism, but rather
we need to recognize that as long as
“difference” is structured in
dominance, we are not free and we are
not “made.” Making revolution requires
making new identities, and that means
new relationships and learning from
each other. That is not cooptation.</p>
<p><em>This interview appears in Red
Wedge No. 2, "Art Against Global
Apartheid," available for purchase
at the <a
href="http://www.redwedgemagazine.com/shop/">Red
Wedge shop</a>.</em></p>
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<p><em><strong>Walidah Imarisha</strong>
is an author, poet activist and
educator who has taught at Portland
and Oregon State Universities. Her
writing has appeared in several
books and anthologies. Most recently
she has co-edited Octavia’s Brood:
Science Fiction Stories From Social
Justice Movements (AK Press/IAS) and
is the author of Angels With Dirty
Faces: Three Stories of Crime,
Prison and Redemption (AK
Press/IAS).</em></p>
<p><em><strong>Jonathan Horstmann</strong> </em><em>is
a recording artist, social justice
activist, videographer, actor, and
illustrator based in Austin, Texas.
He is one half of the futurepunk
group BLXPLTN. The group’s first
album Black Cop Down was released in
the fall of 2014 and received wide
critical acclaim. Their new album,
New York Fascist Week, will be
released in 2016.</em></p>
<p><em><strong>Robin D.G. Kelley</strong>
is the author and editor of more
than ten books on the subject of
radical history, art, music and the
Black struggle around the globe.
These include Hammer and Hoe:
Alabama Communists During the Great
Depression (University of North
Carolina Press), Thelonious Monk:
The Life and Times of An American
Original (The Free Press), and
Freedom Dreams: The Black Radical
Imagination (Beacon Press). He is
the Gary B. Nash Professor of
American History at UCLA.</em></p>
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<div class="moz-signature">-- <br>
Freedom Archives
522 Valencia Street
San Francisco, CA 94110
415 863.9977
<a class="moz-txt-link-abbreviated" href="http://www.freedomarchives.org">www.freedomarchives.org</a>
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