Butlers, maids, slaves and the White House.
Commentary by Black Kos Editor Denise Oliver-Velez.
On August 16, Lee Daniel's The Butler, a star-studded film from The Weinstein Company, who also brought us Fruitvale Station, will hit the nation's movie screens.
Based on the real life story of Eugene Allen, a black man born in 1919, who was hired to work in the White House in 1952, rose to the rank of butler and then to the top rank of Maître d'hôtel, served under eight Presidents. Allen, who retired in 1986, lived to see Barack Obama take office, and was a special guest at the inauguration.
Butlers in the Family Dining Room, c. 1975. Eugene Allen (second from right) worked from 1952 to 1986 as a pantryman, butler, and maître d’. He recalled, “I had a good relationship with all the butlers. You know, it’s closer than your relatives, because you work so close together. You see them every day. You eat together, you work together. It’s every day.”
He died March 31st, 2010 at the age of 90.
The Washington Post covered Allen, back in 2008, A Butler Well Served by This Election. Wil Haygood, who wrote the original WaPo feature, has expanded his article to book length, The Butler: A Witness to History.
Two friends in NYC, who went to pre-screenings have called me to encourage me to go see it. Both are black. Both, like me, have grandparents who worked "in service" all their lives. Both, like me, are descended from enslaved people in the DC, Maryland, Virginia area.
The calls prompted me to think about slaves and domestic labor for white folks, and how I feel about the long line of black actors and actresses who have portrayed those roles on the silver screen, and the stage, and the reality of the real life labors of folks from my family and community.
I still haven't gone to see "The Help" and I won't, since it was a star turn for a white actress with the black domestic help as props. I don't begrudge Octavia Spencer, her Oscar. I loved her performance in Fruitvale Station.
I'll make up my mind about going to see The Butler, in a week or two. There is no question that it will elicit commentary from a wide range of critics and pundits of all colors. The film is already the subject of a boycott by a vet group (highly touted by Fox News - which I won't link to) who are outraged that Jane Fonda is cast as Nancy Reagan.
Though many people don't think consciously each day about the history of enslaved African-Americans and their intimate connection to the building of this nation, the nation's capitol, the nation's Presidents (12 of whom were slave owners) and the decades of service work that continues (and is also the foundation of what is now "the black middle class") it is rarely far from my thoughts.
I have ancestors who were owned by James Madison who worked at his Oak Hill plantation in Loudoun County VA. The aunt who raised my mom was a domestic for a wealthy DC family who owned Woody's - a big DC Department store. My grandmothers - one black, one white, were domestics. My grandfathers worked "in service", one as a chauffeur, the other as a Pullman Porter. I can't tell you how outraged I was (and still am) when Governor Jerry Brown of CA vetoed the Domestic Worker's Bill of Rights legislation in California, which has again been passed in the legislature.
I remember living in D.C. and launching its first black-controlled public radio station, WPFW-FM. We hit the airwaves with Duke Ellington. Duke's father, James Edward worked as a butler.
As the butler, J. E. made the decisions around the Cuthbert house and oversaw the activities of the cook and maid. He also catered many of the parties Cuthbert threw for his well-placed friends and associates. Mercer Ellington remembers both his grandparents helping prepare food for these occasions. They also worked with other family members for different caterers, including on one occasion, a reception at the White House.
Being in service to Washington society had another (albeit minor) benefit for the Ellingtons. Their employer would pass on to them used household articles, generally of good quality. Over time the family owned fine secondhand sets of silverware and china. "Maybe we never had a complete genuine set," Mercer stated, "but all the silver was first class." He said that both his father and grandfather had an extensive knowledge of glassware, china, and silver.
There were excellent cooks in the family, and dinners at home tended to be quite grand. Mercer noted that the table was always set like one of the many elegant functions his grandfather had butlered. "This you might say is where the `Dukedom' began," Mercer recalled, "his experience of being around when his father was working for splendid people." Ellington himself remembers being pressed into duty as a page at one of these functions, when the boy who usually performed this task was unavailable.
I daily think about the tsunami of racial hatred evoked by the ascension to the Presidency and occupation of the White House, by a black man and his family. The irony abounds, since those who know our history also know we built the damned place.
We are okay in the eyes of racists, as long as we stay in our place. Serving them.
Building for them. Working for them, but never, ever ever elevated above them.
I look backed recently at a piece Democracy Now did around the time of Barack Obama's first election.
How Slaves built the Capitol and White House
Amy Goodman conducted an extensive interview with Jesse J. Holland, the author of "Black Men Built the Capitol: Discovering African-American History In and Around Washington, D.C"
Millions of people visit the National Mall, the White House, and the U.S.
Capitol each year. If they only hear the standard story, a big question remains:
“Where’s the black history?”
Packed with new information and archival photos, Black Men Built the Capitol
answers this question. In this thoroughly researched yet completely accessible volume, Washington insider and political journalist Jesse J. Holland shines a light
on the region’s African-American achievements, recounting little-known stories
and verifying rumors, such as:
• Enslaved black men built the Capitol, White House, and other important
Washington structures.
• Philip Reid, a thirty-nine-year-old slave from South Carolina, cast and helped
save the model of the Statue of Freedom that sits atop the Capitol Dome.
• The National Mall sits on the former site of the city’s most bustling slave market.
• The grounds that are now Arlington National Cemetery were, from 1863 to
1888, a self-sustaining village for former slaves called the Freedman’s Village.
My stomach often flips a bit when I read official government papers relating to members of my family who were enslaved, though my heart swells with pride that they survived it, and went on to prosper, against all the odds. I remember when I was alerted to the emancipation papers for some of them in DC, dusty records at NARA which have finally been made
available online.
To the Commissioners under the act of Congress approved the 16th of April, 1862, entitled "An act for the release of certain persons held to service or labor in the District of Columbia."
Your Petitioner, Hugh W. Throckmorton of Washington City D.C. by this his petition in writing, represents and states, that he is a person loyal to the United States, who, at the time of the passage of the said act of Congress, held a claim to service or labor against the following persons of African descent of the names of Lewis Sipio, Solomon Ford, Henry Weaver, Patsy Jackson, John Jackson, Dennis Weaver, Winney Ford and Joseph Ford for and during the life of said Persons and that by said act of Congress said Persons was discharged and freed of and from all claim of your petitioner to such service or labor; that at the time of said discharge said Lewis Sipio was of the age of Thirty Years and of the personal description following:(1) Light Coloured, Solomon Ford Twenty Nine Years of a Dark Coloured, Henry Weaver aged Twenty Six Years, Dark Coloured Patsy Jackson, aged Twenty two years, Dark Coloured John Jackson aged Eight Months. Light Coloured Dennis Weaver aged Eighteen years. Dark Coloured Winney Ford aged Sixteen years, Dark Coloured and Joseph Ford aged fifteen years. Dark Coloured all very healthy and No defect excepting Henry Weaver who has a Broken Leg; and at Present Writing on Crutches but improving
It enrages me to see a dollar value sought for them by their current "owner".
That your petitioner's claim to the service or labor of said Negroes was, at the time of said discharge therefrom, of the value of Seven thousand three hundred fifty Dollars dollars in money.(3) as follow to Wit. Lewis 1200$ Solomon 1400$. Henry 400$ Dennis 1150$ Joseph 1000$ Patsy 1000$ John 100$ and Winney 1100$. They all Being healthy, Young and Good Workers and no defect except Henry, as aforesaid, and that to the Best of My Knowledge and Belief they have no moral mental or bodily infirmities or defects except in the case as stated in Henry.
Such is our history.
So many people visit Arlington Cemetery each year and don't know the story of Freedman's Village.
We come from a long line of butlers, cooks, nannies, maids, field hands, porters, laundresses and sharecroppers who struggled to get us to where we are today.
We are not far removed from that history, and in fact it continues into our present, with the battles for jobs, the vote and against our systematic incarceration.
We can't forget either that behind the images offered to us on the big screen, are the lives of very real people, upon whose shoulders we stand today.
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News by dopper0189, Black Kos Managing Editor
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Movies featuring heavily black casts often don't open in predominantly white cities like Portland, Maine. Salon: What does movie distribution tell us about race?
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I don’t want to make too big a deal of this, and perhaps “racism” is too reductive a term to use for the phenomenon, but there’s definitely something not quite right about the way that certain movies are distributed across the country.
For example, I live in Portland, Maine. Despite what many of you may think of Maine as a whole, Portland is a progressive city. We were the first state to allow gay marriage by referendum, largely because of Portland’s overwhelmingly liberal population. The city regularly elects Green party candidates. Our city has the fourth highest concentration of gay couples per capita in the nation. It’s a funky, liberal socially progressive city.
But it’s also very white.
That last point is important because over the weekend, there was only one movie that opened super wide: Wolverine. It opened in nearly 4,000 theaters, which meant that it played in nearly every city with a multiplex in the country. Meanwhile, there were two movies that expanded nationwide, and one that opened with a major-limited run. The To Do List opened in 600 theaters, The Way Way Back expanded to 886 theaters, and Fruitvale Station expanded into 1064 theaters. Two of those movies came to Portland, and it wasn’t the one that opened in the most number of theaters (I’m not complaining about The Way Way Back finally coming here, mind you: It is easily my favorite movie of the summer, so far). The one that didn’t come featured a black cast, even though — opening in more theaters — Fruitvale Station had a higher per theater average at the box office than both The Way Way Back and The To Do List.
Similarly, last month, Kevin Hart: Let Me Explain opened in 883 theaters over the Fourth of July weekend and put up a surprisingly healthy $10 million opening weekend, about five times more than The Way Way Back opened this weekend, and about six or seven times more than The To Do List opened this weekend. Despite four theaters and 48 screens, Kevin Hart’s movie didn’t open here, either (in fact, it never came to my city). However, Girl Most Likely, the Kristen Wiig movie that no one has seen, and that rolled out in only 351 theaters, has been here for two weeks.
Maybe that makes financial sense. The powers-that-be may know what they’re doing. Maybe distributors look at the demographic of a particular city and simply decide that overwhelmingly white cities will not come out to see Kevin Hart, or even Fruitvale Station. Maybe that’s what the number crunching tells them (although, Think Like a Man and it’s $33 million opening weekend suggests that plenty of white people are willing to see a movie featuring a mostly black cast if the movie is good).
(Credit: CREATISTA via Shutterstock)
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Jay Smooth is spot on. ColorLines: The Magical Danger of Sagging Pants.
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Across the Caribbean, food imports have become a budget-busting problem, prompting one of the world’s most fertile regions to reclaim its agricultural past. New York Times: As Cost of Importing Food Soars, Jamaica Turns to the Earth.
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The scent of coconut oil and fiery jerk spice blows through kitchens across this green island, but as the country’s food imports have become a billion-dollar threat to finances and health, Jamaica has taken on a bold new strategy: make farming patriotic and ubiquitous, behind homes, hospitals, schools, even prisons.
Across the Caribbean, food imports have become a budget-busting problem, prompting one of the world’s most fertile regions to reclaim its agricultural past. But instead of turning to big agribusinesses, officials are recruiting everyone they can to combat the cost of imports, which have roughly doubled in price over the past decade. In Jamaica, Haiti, the Bahamas and elsewhere, local farm-to-table production is not a restaurant sales pitch; it is a government motto.
“We’re in a food crisis,” said Hilson Baptiste, the agriculture minister of Antigua and Barbuda. “Every country is concerned about it. How can we produce our own? How can we feed our own?”
In a region where farming is still often seen as a reminder of plantations and slavery, the challenge runs deep, yet at regional meetings for years, Caribbean officials have emphasized that “food security,” primarily availability and access, is a top priority. Many countries are now responding, branding foreign food like meats and high-calorie snacks a threat, and locally grown food responsible and smart.
Jamaica started earlier than most. A decade ago, the government unveiled a national food security campaign with the slogan “grow what we eat, eat what we grow.” Grocery stores now identify local produce with large stickers and prominent displays.
Andrea Bruce for The New York Times
Students feeding chickens before class at Rennock Lodge All-Age School in east Kingston, Jamaica.
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From beloved freedom fighter to destroyer of his homeland... LA Times: Zimbabwe President Mugabe declared winner in vote called fraudulent.
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Zimbabwean President Robert Mugabe, who has ruled the country for 33 years, was reelected president in an election declared a "farce" by rival Morgan Tsvangirai.
Zimbabwe's electoral commission announced Saturday that Mugabe, 89, had received 61% of the vote, compared with 34% for Tsvangirai, the current prime minister and leader of the Movement for Democratic Change party, or MDC.
The vote has been condemned as seriously compromised by the largest local observer group, the Zimbabwe Electoral Support Network. African observers have commended the election for being peaceful — in contrast with previous elections — while expressing mild concern about voting irregularities.
The European Union on Saturday raised doubts about the polling.
"The EU is concerned about alleged irregularities and reports of incomplete participation, as well as the identified weaknesses in the electoral process and a lack of transparency. The EU will continue to follow developments and work closely with its international partners in the weeks to come," EU foreign policy chief Catherine Ashton said in a statement.
Zimbabwean women shop for vegetables in Jambanja market in Seke, south of Harare, the capital, last week. Zimbabwe President Robert Mugabe's party has been declared the winner of the election last week amid reports of irregularities. (Alexander Joe / AFP/Getty Images / August 2, 2013)
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Voices and Soul
by Justice Putnam
Black Kos Poetry Editor
While Democracy still threatens to break out in Egypt, Libya and Wisconsin; while people around the world demand equality and economic equilibrium, the acolytes of St Ronnie genuflect at the Altar of the Southern Strategy and the Chicago School of Economics. A mantra of self-interest causes them to fall into an almost trance-like state, so they meditate on their place in the Universe.
In the dream-land of the Master and in his dream-time as the Lord of Servants; the cosmology of existence is predetermined and exact. Daddy Petrol Warbucks and his Trophy Wife strut through their palace of opulence, spilling dry cocktail gin on ancient marble; while their cruel children, Paris Brittany and Golden Brooks, play a cruel game of tearing off the wings of butterflies. When the children's supply runs low, more butterflies are delivered by military contractors, hired just for the occasion. Beyond the moats and the gates, across the outer estates and in the valleys around his expansive expanse, soma drugs and televisions are delivered to the plebians by the Big Brownshirt Delivery Corporation, a subsidiary of Daddy Petrol Warbucks, Incorporated.
In the dream-land of the Master and in his dream-time as the Lord of Servants; his happiness is bestowed by God. Why else would he be Daddy Petrol Warbucks, the annointed Master and Lord of Servants? Because he realizes the world depends on his well-being and ever-increasing largesse, he hires expeditionary forces to scour the lands for more largesse, which makes him even more happy. So happy, that his happiness spills over and baptizes the world below.
It's a happy world he has created; the plebes have their distractions, his wife has her Chanel and the children have their butterflies.
So happy, so very, very happy.
In theory, of course.
The Trickle-Down Theory of Happiness
Out of heaven, to bless the high places,
it falls on the penthouses, drizzling
at first, then a pelting allegro,
and Dick and Jane skip to the terrace
and go boogieing through the azaleas,
while mommy and daddy come running
with pots and pans, glasses, and basins
and try to hold all of it up there,
but no use, it's too much, it keeps coming,
and pours off the edges, down limestone
to the pitchers and pails on the ground, where
delirious residents catch it,
and bucket brigades get it moving
inside, until bathtubs are brimful,
but still it keeps coming, that shower
of silver in alleys and gutters,
all pouring downhill to the sleazy
red brick, and the barefoot people
who romp in it, laughing, but never
take thought for tomorrow, all spinning
so when Providence turns off the spigot
and the sky goes as dry as a prairie,
then daddy looks down from the penthouse,
down to the streets, to the gutters,
and his heart goes out to his neighbors,
to the little folk thirsty for laughter,
and he prays in his boundless compassion:
on behalf of the world and its people
he demands of his God, give me more.
-- Philip Appleman
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