In the recent blogpost titled “Black Canadian Like Me,” Alyson Renaldo suggests a contention between kindred of shared borders—Black Canadians and African Americans. She recycles the “Black on Black” crime of people of shared African Diasporic experience disliking and distancing themselves from each other, suggesting that cultural cluelessness, assimilation, and a “lack of reaching back” are the culprits. Yet in irritating this sore spot, is the author as much its promoter as its clarifier, when suggesting for example that artist Jill Scott’s lyrical references to southern cuisine lacks insight and makes her “clueless” to the cultural experiences of others, and the questions of one Los Angeles bus driver to the author about her diction suggest a universal myopia about African Americans’ understandings of other Black people’s experiences? The post below explores the dimensions of Alyson’s argument, and the larger dilemma underlying the building and burning of bridges between Diasporic neighbors.
In the blogpost “Black Canadian Like Me” (http://www.theroot.com/views/black-canadian-me), Alyson Renaldo begins her blog sharing reflections on recently attending a Jill Scott concert in Canada with her friends. She admires Jill’s music, acknowledging it as a portal into an intimate portrait of Jill, a translation of personal experiences churned into lyrical public artifacts. But it is this very translation that the author criticizes and deems offensive, indicting Jill’s song on a platform larger than her lyrics, holds the song responsible for more than self-expression. Going wider and deeper than classifying Jill’s performance as creative expression, she critiques both Jill’s song and herself as an artist. Because Alyson and her friends were unfamiliar with some of the cuisine and cultural references Jill made, the author alludes to Jill’s references to food as intentionally excluding her and her friends from what “should” have been a concert of inclusivity. What follows are some of the comments Alyson and her friends recorded that they made during this collision between concert and culture:
“[Jill’s] just setting up her experience in the song. But, well, not really, because she’s asking us to reminisce with her, which means we’re supposed to know about these strange food combinations, too,” and “I don’t think they know there are others on the planet with them. Maybe she thinks the ‘c’ in ‘Canada’ really stands for ‘Carolinas.’”
Alyson and her friends situate Jill’s center of gravity—how she defines herself—as off-putting, and in the author’s words, “cultural cluelessness.” She asserts that Jill Scott disappointedly does not take into consideration the experiences of others within her music; talking about certain cuisine indicative of her personal story excludes and alienates others’ stories.
The author seems to be going in the direction of a cultural indictment of a personal cuisine-based affinity upheld by Jill Scott, but is using Jill’s lyrics to lead into a generalized assumption of African Americans’ cultural insularity and exclusivity. She interprets Jill’s culinary affinity as an elitist cultural alienation of them, foregrounding it as an implication of African Americans as a whole as being culturally insular and ignorant. Using the concert as a case study, the author devotes the rest of the blog to also discussing a premise that African-Americans participate in a self-erasure, with this erasure being a non-affiliation with Diasporic cultural and historical roots, a cultural and ethnic myopia whereby border kindred of African Descent (in this case, Canadians) are disregarded, and an unhealthy assimilation and absorption of Americana.
The blog has me pondering, and probably will continue so long after writing my own response. Trying best to not write tit for tat, there is something about this supposition of Diasporic and border-based betrayal that does not rest well. I think the blogpost offers a personal account about how one’s identity is formed and informed by historical and contemporary factors, but makes an over-sweeping judgment to about African Americans as a whole that further contributes fuel to an artificial fight between the survivors of the African Diaspora.
Jill Didn’t Mean No Harm
Alyson frames Jill Scott as “culturally clueless” because of the particular culinary references and cultural connections she made with them. However, artists work on dual planes—they express a particularized experience, yet do so in forums which universalize its access and foster new possibilities. This universal access then allows as audience to experience the framing of life as offered by the artist, while also being invited to innovate upon this offering by infusing or revising pieces of ourselves (writing a poem or essay based on a phrase, creating a dance to complement it, reminisce about a time in our lives when we experienced similar, do research, ask questions, etc.). As another option, we can accept it at face value as just an artist’s interpretation and integrate nothing of ourselves. To Jill’s defense (and credit), while not everyone grows up on collard greens and candied sweets as particularized by her, there is a universal human experience induced by food and tradition. As a universal human experience, food and tradition are intertwined, used to commemorate universally human events such as rites of passage, marriage, birth, death, war, victory, etc.
Art is an invitation into a dialogue between artist and audience, a conversation amongst a multiplicity of beings. I am a fan of Jill Scott in how she mixes a range of emotions, experiences and epiphanies with a range of sounds. I admire how John Coltrane translates the divine into music. Composer Clint Mansell generates a soundtrack for the movie “Requiem for a Dream” that gives a sound to addition—razor-backed, uncomfortable, brooding and solemn. Teena Marie blends guitar and a multi-octave range to make compelling narratives. Jamiroquai makes the ethereal into the audible. Astrud Gilberto sings Bossa Nova in a way that is seductive, soothing, and sonorous. Yo-Yo Ma interprets the history of countries and different music genres, rendering them into melded art. I may not come from where each of these musicians comes from, nor agree with or enjoy everything each produces. But, as artists do, by siphoning their specific experience through music, each provides a medium and channel into the human experience. So to argue as Alyson does that someone’s articulation of his/her experience to be deliberately excluding of others is a huge stretch. To suggest that an artist’s singular articulation is endemic of a practice of a people is erroneous and unfair condemnation (I’ll return back to this point in the next section).
We have to be careful of criticizing musicians (and perhaps artists in general) as cultural elitists and exclusionists because of references made in a song, and just because some references are unfamiliar or outside the realm of our specific experience. My husband is a fan of several artists old and new, across a span of artists (from Aretha to Adele, from The Dramatics to The Bee Gees, from David Ruffin to Neil Diamond), eras (60’s, 70’s, 80’s), genres (movie scores to classic soul) and continents (here and abroad). Several of my nieces love and grew up with Soca and Calypso. Being around them has made for me a feeling of discomfort because I am unfamiliar with many of the songs and artists they like. However, it is the intersection of our shared lives as family, amidst this discomfort, that has encouraged me to ask questions and penetrate past a wall of assumed difference, rather than be immobilized by assumption. Lesson learned and the take-away. . .while there is variance in our musical tastes, and in the content and cultural referencing of the artists, these things make for more of an opportunity for curiosity than criticism or Diasporic cutterage.
Cultural identity Held Up in the Mirrors of Others’ Eyes
Another argument made in Alyson’s blog is that there people of the Diaspora living in the United States “process race and community differently than I” (than Canadian-located counterparts), that there was a kind of oppression-and-assimilation orientation that people of color in the United States hold compared to brethren living in Canada. She recounts her rearing as being entrenched with identifying with the country of family origin, not current location (in this case, Canada where she was born as a citizen). She makes several statements that that end. For example, she states, “It was absolutely unheard of for anyone of my ilk to claim Canada,” which “absolutely everything, from your table etiquette to your family pride — was figuratively imported,” and “my generation’s parents knew what they were doing when they insisted on raising us as West Indians first, rather than Canadian.”
There are two implications here. One is that only Alyson has been reared this way, suggesting that no other immigrant groups, whether voluntary or involuntary, practice the preservation and continuation of old traditions in new lands and inculcate their young to do the same. Second, the author implies that if someone was not raised this same isolationistic way, that she or he is deprived and “less than.” The author’s mentioning of how she “processes race and community” seems more as to bring separative distinction and deliberate distancing to the forefront. Isn’t this the very same elitism she accuses Jill Scott of doing during the concert? Jill is accused of cultural elitism because of references made in a song and “promoted” during a concert, yet the same indictment could be imposed here for the author’s elevation of how she was raised to the assumed absence of how others are not.
The author also makes an interesting statement about her rearing and interracial interactions between white Canadians and people of the African Diaspora living in Canada. She asserts that in Canada there is a deliberate distancing between those of West Indian descent and the white majority:
“. . . when it comes to my sense of self, I am Caribbean, first and foremost.
As a child of West Indian immigrants, I clearly remember my dual development: When I stepped outside, my whole world was white, with a smattering of minorities, but when I returned home, the inverse was true. My entire socialization mirrored black and West Indian sensibilities, training that took place exclusively at home. All standards of progress were set by West Indian ideals. None of this was explicitly articulated so much as explicitly modeled.
It could be reasonably surmised that, as a community, we were invested in privacy and distance from the majority. Our parents interacted with the country’s white majority as one would a friendly co-worker. Caucasians were not our parents’ superiors — nor were they subordinate. They were just people with whom our parents were expected to spend significant amounts of time. Granted, if, while using this model, they forged friendships, that was cool, but it wasn’t even remotely necessary or solicited. Also, it goes without saying that it was not considered wise to bring one’s ‘work’ home . . .
Perhaps my generation’s parents knew what they were doing when they insisted on raising us as West Indians first, rather than Canadian. It meant that we could live within a white majority but not be defined by that majority. This is how our parents ensured our solid foundation, which was and remains an immeasurable gift.”
The author states that confining interactions with “the majority” to just work is optimal to preserving one’s own identity. To contrast, it is the lack of preserving this distance, and the adoption of “the American dream” has led to the “downfall” of African Americans. Based on a brief stint of living and going to school in Los Angeles, talking with a bus driver, and attending a party with white Americans, Alyson contends her understandings about African Americans grew. Yet the author condescending argument has holes as well, as evinced by judgmental comments about African Americans such as, “[there is the] American cultural norm of self-absorption, a trait to which black Americans are not immune,” “I had completely forgotten is that black Americans are still Americans, a nation firm in its resolve that no person or thing on this planet — or in the heavens — matters as much as they do.”
Alyson doesn’t specifically state what she believes as the way African American process race and community, and its differences to her own. By implication, it seems from the blogpost she is suggesting “differently” that being born as an African American means to be devoid of rearing that infuses one’s growing up with being brought up with history, knowledge and traditions of Diasporic ancestry. It also implies an over-willingness to accept, acculturate and assimilate the beliefs and practices of the dominant culture—to the consequential cheapening of one’s self. Her premise also implies that to assimilate some beliefs, to participate in some of the traditions of one’s current country of citizenship, is a cheapening of oneself. Suggesting that there was not enough “resistance” placed against integration and “hence the consequence” of marginalization. As if to suggest living a daily strategic negotiation on multiple fronts of culture, employment, and identity are demeaning work.
However, growing up through multiplicity does not lead to mediocrity or “selling out.” As a woman of color born and living in the United States, I am the culmination of various experiences. Some directly rooted in my ancestry and ancestral history, others based on living within a multi-ethnic nation. Some experiences I have had through growing up in a major urban city, others from visiting family in rural settings. Some experiences are inherited from family traditions, others from sharing in the family experiences of others. Some experiences as a woman of color have helped me ascend, other have been afflictions because of people’s assumptions based on my gender and ethnicity. Who we come to be is more mosaic than singular.
I was not sure of the connections the author makes between Jill Scott’s music, her cultural upbringing, and suppositions about the African American experience. What I did read and note was the tracing of experiences distancing, in both the author’s accounts and also in my experience as the audience. A conventional conclusion that summarizes talking points wouldn’t do justice here, because what Alyson’s blogpost brings up is the need for more dialogue and conversation across borders of land and heart.
For now, for us all I offer one suggestion. Stop placing so much responsibility on a song, and so little on introspection.