The Association for the Study of African American Life and History has, since it’ founding in 1916, used history as a tool in the struggle for African American freedom. ASALH has had a long relationship with activism and the larger community, a relationship that makes it somewhat different from the other professional organizations discussed this week. This comes as no surprise to the readers of this blog. After all, the history of African American history (chronicled so well by historians such as Pero Dagbovie) is one of understanding that history, and the humanities, are never fully separated from the world in which they exist. Led this year by Daryl Michael Scott, professor of history at Howard University and a well-known scholar of intellectual history in his own right (his Contempt and Pity is still the most important text we have on the history of “black pathology” and the academy), ASALH continues this tradition during a time in which “conversations about race” have taken on a new life of their own.
The year 2015 has already proven to be an important one for the various intellectual viewpoints that form the African American intellectual tradition. This year is the fiftieth anniversary of several key events in American history revolving around race. As I’ve written elsewhere, how we celebrate or commemorate these events matters. Yesterday was the fiftieth anniversary of the “Bloody Sunday” moment during the Selma voting rights campaign. The presence of an African American president, along with a former Republican president, civil rights activist-turned-Congressman John Lewis, and a cavalcade of dignitaries from both parties, made yesterday’s gathering an emotional commemoration of the last dramatic moment of the “heroic period” of civil rights activism.
Jeet Heer’s essay in the newest The New Republic has brought our attention back to a conversation that, for a while at least, was on the backburner while others debated the latest Jonathan Chait piece on political correctness. But Heer’s essay also requires some serious thinking from intellectual historians. What he’s done is chronicled the long history of African Americans within the pages of The New Republic—both as writers and as subjects. However, Heer’s piece is not just a meditation on The New Republic. Instead, it needs to be read as part of a larger and more complicated history. American liberals and African Americans have had a testy, sometimes beneficial, sometimes wary, relationship. The New Republic’s own history is testament to that.
If the late 19th century was the golden age of American freethought, as Susan Jacoby posits in her recent biography of Robert Ingersoll, then the same can be said of the early twentieth century when examining African American freethought. The 20-year period from 1925 to 1945 saw an outpouring of black literature that explored themes of atheism and agnosticism in a bolder way than nearly all writers except Frederick Douglass had done before. Countee Cullen published a number of poems attacking the idea of a white God, Zora Neale Hurston’s autobiography Dust Tracks on a Road announced her Deism to the world, Langston Hughes’s The Big Sea likewise posited that he had no need for Jesus or church, and Nella Larsen’s 1928 novel Quicksand featured an atheist protagonist (modeled largely on herself) for whom religion symbolized the oppressive, patriarchal culture of early 20th century America.
I’ve spent the last few weeks writing about how African American intellectuals viewed the rioting of the 1960s. Last week, I compiled a brief review essay laying out works that further describe how African American intellectuals, and American society in general, has dealt with crime and the African American community. Today I’ll consider how the discourse of the 1960s among African American intellectuals related to a wider discourse about the possibilities of the American state—and American life—at the end of the Sixties.
The African American Intellectual History Society has graciously allowed us to cross-post their new series on the twentieth anniversary of Robin D.G. Kelley’s landmark book, Race Rebels. The series was announced last night, and today is the first installment, written by Brian Purnell. Here’s a sample of what they’re doing to honor Kelley’s work (if this doesn’t whet your appetite to read the rest, I don’t know what will):
Ebony magazine’s October 1965 issue featured a long story by Louie Robinson on the Watts riots of August of that year. Robinson, reporting on the riots and their aftermath, expressed surprise that such an event could occur in Los Angeles. “Race relations, measured by the national yardstick, have been among the best,” he wrote. Yet he, and many Americans regardless of race or color, were surprised. “Harlem or Chicago, yes; Birmingham, maybe; but never, never Los Angeles. It was the wrong time and the wrong place. Los Angeles Negroes had—theoretically—everything but a fair housing law,” which Robinson reminded his readers did exist until being eliminated by California voters in 1964. It seemed that the “long, hot summers” that began the previous year in places like Philadelphia had spread to the unlikely West Coast city of Los Angeles. The riots themselves, however, exposed a fault line between the police and young African Americans that people in the Los Angeles area, and especially Watts, were already concerned about. Wrote Robinson:
Many Americans currently sit on pins and needles waiting for the grand jury decision on the fate of Officer Darren Wilson and, by extension, the fate of the passions that have animated events on the ground in Ferguson, Missouri for months. However, the story of Ferguson and the death of Michael Brown didn’t happen in a vacuum. What is important to consider is how we got to this moment intellectually—something that exists in a much larger intellectual context. I’ll sketch that out today and in coming weeks.
Jonathan Scott Holloway. Jim Crow Wisdom: Memory and Identity in Black America Since 1940. (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2013)
Review by Robert J. Greene II
The intersection of memory and history has proven to be a fruitful enterprise for historians in recent years. An understanding of both is essential if scholars are to attain a proper (or at least as close to proper as possible) grasp of what both what life was like in the past, and how people thought and believed in that era. Often times, memory proves to be a forum for understanding the creation of shared traditions, customs, and identity. That is no less the case for African Americans, as Jonathan Scott Holloway argues in Jim Crow Wisdom.
I’m happy to add to LD Burnett’s wonderful post from yesterday detailing her experience with Ebony magazine—and Vince Harding’s exhorting scholars to pay attention to it—as part of her overall research. Today I wish to add to that, demonstrating how Ebony has also played a role in my understanding of several strands of intellectual history running through the early 1970s. Considering Ebony as a place of considerable debate over African American politics, culture, and history is, as the Harding article indicated, important for anyone attempting to understand elements of the Black experience.