Harlem World
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If you ever take a walk down the famous 125th Street in Harlem, New York, you will notice that the street is crowded with vendors. These small business owners sell everything from beauty supplies to toys. But there is no business more prolific on 125th Street than booksellers.
Seriously: Almost every other vendor is selling books. And this has been true since the days of the famed Harlem Renaissance.
The success of these booksellers flies in the face of the pernicious notion that “Black people don’t read.” Black people do, in fact, read. We read a great deal. We simply don’t always read the books that the rest of the United States is reading. We just might not be into the “assigned readings” of academia or reading books considered “mainstream”—a word used as code for things that appeal to the demographic majority, which, in America, means white people, or not Black people.
We have diverse tastes. We read a lot of nonfiction and self-help stuff as we look for answers for surviving/thriving in a white supremacist capitalist patriarchal empire.
We read Street Lit/Urban Lit from authors like Eric Jerome Dickey, Donald Goines, Sapphire, Sister Souljah, Omar Tyree, Teri Woods, or Zane. We read literary fiction by James Baldwin, Octavia Butler, Percival Everett, Toni Morrison, Gloria Naylor, Jesmyn Ward, and Colson Whitehead.
We argue and debate about which of those genres represents the “true Black experience”—as though there is a monolithic Black experience. With these differences of opinion and perception, we shame each other and are embarrassed by each other, mainly because we’re worried about how we might look in the sights of the white gaze. And those gazing upon us are both disgusted and excited by our cultural productions, and find ways to mimic and/or profit from them in either scenario.
Despite evidence to the contrary, we believe that being as Black Excellent as possible will save us from anti-Black violence. I’m learning to divest from the idea that my survival rests upon whether my pants sag or cinch at my waist. You just don’t know how liberating that is for an artist. Now, my imagination is truly becoming limitless.
I’m of the belief that the distinction between Street Lit and Literary Fiction as it relates to Black authors is a false one. To me, each offers sublime and terrifying examinations of and possibilities for Black experiences. I reject the classist “high” and “low” dichotomy that Western ideology imposes on art. For me art is art, irrespective of whether the Black person is speaking in the tunnels or speaking on the highways or both. I find some art to be good. I find some art to be not so good. But I find value in all of it. I’m moved by all of it. I’m challenged by all of it. I’m changed by all of it.
So when I tell you that the chief way that I would know that I had actually made it as a novelist was if I saw my book being sold on the street in Harlem, I’m not lying. And y’all: I went to Harlem last Friday to explore, clear my mind, contend with this sorrow that has me in a chokehold, admire the scenery and the architecture of the homes, be amongst my people, feel embraced and welcomed, and bask in the energy of my distinguished Ancestors.
In the midst of all that, I came upon a bookseller. Solange’s “Almeda” was blasting from the speakers that framed his table and bookshelves. I eagerly looked to see if my book was among his collection. I doubted that it would be. Honestly, I thought that my book might have been too queer to potentially be included on the kind of shelf that usually gives honored spaces to, say, Elijah Muhammad and Frances Cress Welsing.
But holy shit: It was there, y’all!
It was there!
On 125th Street.
In Harlem.
The Prophets was being sold where Wallace Thurman and Zora Neale Hurston and James Baldwin and so many others had found and honed their artistic genius. A dream come true.
And I feel as though I was led there.
I had to stop myself from crying; seriously. I ain’t feel like bawling on a Harlem street corner because I was in Harlem that day to keep from bawling. But I did tell the bookseller that he was carrying my book and how much that meant to me. To my surprise, he told me that he had trouble keeping my book in stock because it keeps selling out!
He told me that he comes from a literary family; that his mother actually moved to Mississippi after being inspired to do so because she read Kiese Laymon’s Heavy: An American Memoir. I wish I could remember the bookseller’s name, and the name of his staff member. But I was so overwhelmed and my mind was racing so fast that I forgot. I do know that his shop is on the corner of 125th Street and Africa Square, across the street from the Adam Clayton Powell, Jr. State Office Building and right in front of Citibank. In addition to books, he also sells DVDs.
If you’re ever in Harlem, be sure to visit his stand. Tell him that Robert Jones, Jr. sent you.
I keep looking at those pictures and shaking my head in amazement. Ma, I made it.
Would you like to see more photos from my walk around Harlem? Take a look. Art abounds!
SIGHTS
In movie news, Halle Berry has a new film coming out, in the horror genre to boot. And it looks very scary.
Did you see the film, Civil War? I did not. I made the decision not to after reading several reviews that labeled it inept. But after watching this Acolytes of Horror critique of it, I am reconsidering. Warning: Spoilers and graphic images of war follow.
I didn’t watch Game 7 of the Knicks and the Pacers because any New Yorker can tell you: The Knicks never fail to disappoint. They are the team that gets you hyped up only to let you down. I will always root for them, but I also know that my rooting is always in vain. My brother Kiese Laymon told me that he for real wants someone to love him like New Yorkers love the Knicks (warts and all). LOL!
SOUNDS
I’m most happy to share that one of the most intelligent people I have ever met, Dr. David J. Johns, has started a podcast called Teach the Babies, and I encourage you all to listen and subscribe:
Durand Bernarr has a new EP. It’s fire and exclusively available on EVEN. Purchase it here: https://www.even.biz/users/my-library/en-route
WORDS
Another one of the most intelligent people I have ever met,
, has started a newsletter called the DAM Digest. Sign up today at: https://www.daniellemoodie.com/.
“In three and a half years, President Biden has already installed more non-White federal judges than any president in history. His slate of judges is also majority female — another first.”
Nick Mourtoupalas, “Biden has installed the most non-White judges of any president”
“Inmates do billions of dollars of work for companies and governments each year. A landmark lawsuit alleges many are being kept in prison because the business is just too good.”
Josh Eidelson, “Corporate America Never Really Quit Forced Labor”
“Start with Alfred Nobel’s [after whom the Nobel Prize is named] dynamite, the first explosive to unlock the staggering — but unstable — energy potential of nitroglycerin. Nobel had spent years perfecting a detonator design to enable a controlled explosion and minimize the risk of an accidental blast like the one at 1626 Lexington. (Nobel’s younger brother died in a laboratory explosion.) Ultimately, in the mid-1860s, he hit upon a mix of nitroglycerin and a porous sand known as diatomite, which could be shaped into different packaging and transported with little risk of accidental detonation.”
Steven Johnson, “When Dynamite Turned Terrorism Into an Everyday Threat”
“‘Voter apathy is real, and we have to validate it. We can’t bark at people to go to the ballot box when we’re not acknowledging what they’re going through,’ Jovita Lee, the program director of the nonprofit coalition the North Carolina Black Alliance, told Capital B. ‘So, what we’re doing is this: validating how folks are feeling, and also making sure that they know that some of the people responsible for how they’re feeling will be on the ballot in November.’”
Brandon Tensley, “Voter apathy is real. Here’s how Black organizers are tackling it.”
“So, just to be completely clear, Alito, a Supreme Court Justice, displayed a symbol of support for fascist insurrection shortly after an attempted fascist insurrection. The obvious conclusion would be that Sam Alito, Supreme Court Justice, supports fascist insurrection.
Some pundits and commenters, and of course Alito himself, have disputed this interpretation. Maybe, some have speculated Alito didn’t know what the symbol meant. Maybe he wasn’t responsible. Maybe we need to hear more context.
Nuance and context are useful and worthwhile. But you don’t want to get so distracted by nuance and context that you deny reality or make excuses for evil. We can go further into why Alito did what he did and what it says about the support for heinous causes. But we shouldn’t doubt that Alito supports a heinous cause. He told us who he is. We should believe him.”
, “Sam Alito Is a Fascist Insurrectionist”
“We shouldn’t be surprised that Johnson and his fellow enablers—almost identically clad in the Trump uniform of red tie, dark suit and white shirt repeating almost identical talking points—were there to kowtow to Trump, break the gag order on his behalf and display rank partisanship over their sworn duty to serve justice. But we shouldn’t let these increasingly frequent (and sometimes ridiculous) public shows of subservience to their cult leader distract from the chilling reality that their behavior portends…
We should remember this week and particularly the House Speaker’s aggression against our system of justice. If the Republican Party expands its power and criminal defendant Trump gets back into the White House, this week will have been a notable harbinger of their commitment to destroy our democracy. To turn their backs on the norm of respecting court proceedings as government servants and as citizens. To end the independent judiciary and immunize their leader from accountability.
We have been warned.”
“I was an intern at The Nation magazine when I applied to the Columbia School of Journalism. Victor Navasky was still the EOC at the time. So when I got rejected I went to his office in tears seeking advice. He let it slip that some folks on the committee questioned if I wanted to be an activist more than a journalist.
In my application I wrote about wanting to locate and report on the still untold stories of Black communities that needed pushing into the center of our national conversations. To frame them differently and with more humanity and nuance.
I share that to say I hold journalism and especially local reporting close to my heart. I do not believe healthy communities nor functioning democracies can exist without journalism…Unfortunately, when it comes to our current moment and the (right side of) history-making campus protests the folks we normally check with are getting it entirely wrong in some of the most offensive, bizarre, and sometimes even hilarious ways.”
, “Truth Telling In a Time of Denial”
“Indeed, at all four camps where I have spent time, I have been blown away by the light, the grass, the sky, the spirit of generosity, the easy temporal nature of camping with friends, the camaraderie, and—for the modern American university—the surprisingly religious spirit (drawn from Islam, Christianity, Judaism, and Native American traditions). These encampments were not always calm—sometimes they could be quite lively—yet they were among the most dynamic, electric, alive and pedagogical spaces I have ever seen.
But violent? The only violence came from Zionist counter protesters and, to a much larger degree, the police. The cops are the chaos agents which make these lovely, often gentle spaces into brutal hellscapes.
Feeling the gentle breeze and the sun on my skin as I floated around DePaul’s camp, I thought about how lucky I am to travel between these sights.
But to those of you who haven’t been able to get to a camp, I say: You are being lied to about these spaces—by most reporters, by most politicians, and (with extremely few exceptions), especially by university presidents.”
Steven W. Thrasher, “You Are Being Lied to About Gaza Solidarity Camps by University Presidents, Mainstream Media, and Politicians”
Discretion is advised for this next entry.
It seems that we are only scratching the surface of just how pernicious and widespread rape culture actually is, how power fuels it, and how anxious the world is to normalize it. This is, after all, the nation that elected the proud rapist Donald Trump (and is poised to reelect him) and Bill Clinton and goodness knows how many others who have been accused of this behavior or hid it, by any means necessary, from public view. This is the country that defended Clarence Thomas and demanded that Anita Hill take the hit “for the culture.” This is the alleged “civil society” that held Brett Kavanaugh up high and kicked Christine Blasey Ford straight to the fucking curb.
When they say, “Make America Great Again,” part of what they mean is returning to a time when sexual assault was openly acceptable (rather than lower-key acceptable as it is now). When it was considered a rite/right, a ritual, a natural part of human interaction, and therefore normal. When adults married children with full permission and eager co-sign from the family, the community, and the state. Where the question was not if you were going to be raped, but when. And when it happened, you were expected to shake it off, be silent, blame yourself, and keep the rapist’s secret at every measure.
I said “when” like that shit ain’t right now.
In the headlines this week is the brutal video of Sean “Diddy” Combs savagely beating the shit out of Cassie Ventura in a hotel hallway (I will not watch the video or post it here). I hope that Ms. Ventura finds a way to heal from the horror Diddy heaped upon her. But Diddy ain’t the only one implicated here.
I’m also looking at all of the people who said that she fabricated the claims of abuse in order to extort money from him. I’m looking at the people who said they needed to see evidence first (which: okay, fine; innocent until proven guilty is a fine principle and standard), but what they meant was that they wanted to see the blood and bruises; the flying fists and feet. And yet, when they saw all of that, they still doubted it—which tells me that what they really wanted was titillation, not justice.
I’m looking at all of the people who said: “If she didn’t leave, if she stayed with him, then the abuse couldn’t have been that bad.” I’m looking at those who weren’t disgusted by, and didn’t give a shit about, any of the claims of Diddy’s abuse until they heard that homosexuality was involved.
For all of those people, I’m wondering whether or not they have soul enough to be as loud and public with their apologies and admissions of profound error as they were when they were speaking on matters they clearly didn’t have a gnat’s worth of knowledge about.
If the Internet comments sections are any indication—whether bots, paid operatives, or real people—Diddy being a “Black Billionaire”™ is such a lure and fantasy, holds so much weight in cultural and sexual imaginations, that people are willing to stand proudly in their hypocrisy and complicity. They see themselves as protecting their economic, lustful, and vicarious investments in him. He is their lover, reflection, or twin. Predictably, they use “God”® as both deflector and justification. They pray for him, but not for his victim(s). These are the ways of colonial religions.
Diddy has since apologized for what he and his team initially “vehemently denied” ever occurred. It looked to me like he was reading/riffing from prepared remarks, which wouldn’t have been so bad if the remarks weren’t so self-centered.
“Accountability” is a word that has lost all useful meaning.
I want to say something here like “stop abuse,” but that seems so pat and small. I believe that the micro and macro are intrinsically interconnected. I believe that it is impossible to end abuse in empire because empire is the very corporeal manifestation of abuse. It is the ferocious teacher and we are its students whether we want to be or not. Empire must end in order for abuse to end. White supremacy, capitalism, and patriarchy must end (and very few people truly want them to end) in order for abuse to end, since each of those things relies on heavily on abuse (of people, of places, of things) in order to exist. These are the minds and mechanisms that make bedrooms indistinguishable from battlefields. A bomb dropping and a fist striking are born of the same sociopathy, instill the same traumas, seek the same harms, rejoice in the same casualties. (Thank you,
, for this honest and vulnerable testimony on what some of us call “generational curses.” By the Ancestors, we need counter-spells now more than ever!)And don’t get it twisted: No one is coming to save us. There is no “great protector” on Earth or in the clouds. We all must learn to protect ourselves the best way we know how.
I don’t like to end these newsletters on such dour notes. But these are treacherous times, family. The infected wounds are being lanced in this scar of a world. There will be bleeding before there is healing. But I hold out hope, however foolishly, that healing is possible.
Please hold each other dear. Guard yourselves fiercely. Respect each other’s existences. Let love—finally, finally—be the guiding principle.
I’m wishing each of you as much safety and joy as possible. And remember:
Cruelty is the boomerang that we think is an arrow.
Take good care.
Blessings upon blessings,
Robert