“What about Black Radicalism?” A film screening and discussion

March 28, 2011

Tomorrow (29th March), Dream of Safety (http://dreamofsafety.blogspot.com/) and I will be holding a film screening and discussion at The Really Free School (http://reallyfreeschool.org/). The event is called “What about Black Radicalism?” and starts at 4pm. For details see the outline below. All welcome:

“Within the current moment of heightened activism, the question of Blackness is one that, too often, seems forgotten or relegated to a footnote. The possibility of Black militancy, articulated with a reading of racial oppression in general, appears absent from the questions being raised right now in London about protest and building new forms of social life. This is despite the fact that, like feminism and Marxism, Black radicalism, as a set of practices and viewpoints, has constantly both addressed these issues and influenced, profoundly, student protests in the past, especially in the 1960’s. We would like to raise, once more, the question of Blackmilitancy by diverting our attention, temporarily, from the UK in order to see how Blackmilitancy formed and mattered in the context of the United States. This ‘diversion’ would ultimately allow us to return to our own situation, transnational and national, and will be informed by two documentary films: “Take This Hammer” (1963, featuring James Baldwin) and “Black Panthers – Huey!” (1968).”


Dream Sequence soundtracked by Cooly G

March 5, 2011
















Last night my dreams were made of broken kinship. I was a man who had passed on but was yet to catch up with the news. I lingered around those for whom my passing was old news, yesterday’s headlines, tomorrow’s chip paper. Between their acceptance that I was gone and my stubborn refusal to realise this was so, we stumbled along in some kind of unanimity. Yet it wasn’t quite like that. I knew there was something horribly wrong, some unbridgeable divide between us. It was as if loss was what was keeping us together, but none of us were able to accept it. To try to end this thing I would finally have to get the news. For them that meant re-living news that was old. When that time came, the combination of my delayed arrival at and their reencounter with the news of my passing would be acted out as some kind of degraded reunion. We would know we had all been there before. Tears enough to drown in. Stomach empty. Choked moan. But we hadn’t shaken it all off the last time. Hadn’t let it all out. And we knew it might not even be enough this time around. We would have to do it all over again. In the mean time we could go on as we were, beating loss at its own game.