Now, obviously, the only way to translate

the written word to the cinema involves doing

considerable violence to the written word, to

the extent, indeed, of forgetting the written word.

-James Baldwin, The Devil Finds Work

After the death of Fred Hampton, executed by the Chicago Police, betrayed by a Black informant, many Blacks in my generation became activists. Black males of my age group became fodder for the profiteers of that war in Vietnam. Local law enforcement incarcerated others. We marched in Chicago despite Old Man Daley, and we loaded school buses and headed for Springfield to protest injustice. From atop lunchroom tables at our high schools, we demanded and received “Afro-American” history classes. And yes, we wore “afros” and read The Wretched of the Earth and Soul on Ice.

And The Fire Next Time.

We have integration, now. My people are dying behind banners and posters that proclaim Black Lives Matter. It’s worrisome.

Over a year ago, in this mid-sized city in Wisconsin, front lawns displayed the blue colored Trump signs; today, black colored posters and banners announce to passersby that the Black Lives Matter Movement is honored by the homeowners.

“Black Lives Matter!”

Wow!

Thinking there might be new and courageous Black residents, I discovered not Black Americans. Instead, the homeowners displaying these Black Lives Matter posters and signs are white. White women. And the one’s I met were lesbians.

I’m not a lesbian and shouldn’t be considered less than because I’m not. I oppose to any and all forms of oppression. I oppose any and all forms of injustice by any group against another. The right to have rights by the oppressed must be honored by all.

And that’s what concerns me. Whose rights are being ignored? Again?

I’m sure someone will point to one Black woman, a handful of Black women. Maybe a Black lesbian or two as well.

But I’m talking about a localized practice of exclusion on par with the systemic ideology and institutionalized practice of white supremacy. This is old: This group is oppressed and this other is too. But the long oppressed and long despised Black American should just step aside? Bow out? Take a back seat; stand behind the speaker at the podium; wait your turn again at the back of the line?

Long oppressed and long despised people haven’t been oppressed or despised by white men only. That’s not how white supremacy works. And it works well, I see.

I suppose I wasn’t surprised to find, in addition to race, church affiliation institutionalizes a profession of faith—and that matters, too. Faith in what? What am I asked to have faith in?

I have faith in humanity. But mythical narratives in which I required to relinquish my right to be human and contribute to solving the problems of racial injustice don’t interest me. And why should these fantastical narratives matter to me? What matters is ending suffering and bringing about justice. In other words, ending white supremacy matters! Bullshitting, that is, engaging in tactics to derail true resistance, matters to those determined to maintain white supremacy.

So whose lives matter, really? Because social justice education with Blacks as central organizers and educators does not matter, it seems. Black lives matter only when the anger of Blacks is drowned out by faith in white supremacy, patriarchy, and capitalism.

Integration matters, alright! Yes, this is old, classic: it all looks good on paper and in mission statements. But it’s nothing if not a police state! The women, in this case, used to “protect and preserve” - from where I stand—the authority of the State.

A dazzling number of police acquittals today speaks to the reality of white America’s relationship to its narratives of innocence.

In 2016, too, when so many liberals were denouncing their approval of Trump, I was asked by a dear friend, who died a few months after this phone call, if I had seen I’m Not Your Negro. Filmmaker Raouk Peck’s documentary envisions the book James Baldwin began but “never finished.” Haitian-born Peck explores the history of racism in the US.

On the phone, I hesitate because I’m not being asked if I’ve seen La La Land. It’s Baldwin. James. Uncle James.

No, I say.

Will I see it?

Yes, but not now.

Oh, you should see it!

You! (Me)!

Not to critique it, professionally. That’s not what I’m being asked.

I’m familiar with Baldwin. I’ve studied him and taught his essays for years, I say.

There’s not enough time in a lifetime to say more. I would like to say that I’m one who came to Baldwin when I was young, just as Peck did, just as so many young girls and boys in Peck’s and my generation. Like so many Black young girls and boys.

But even more than time… I know Baldwin because he knew me. Like Malcolm. But it’s a documentary not just about James Baldwin… That’s why we are all with him… That’s why Tamir is there. Trayvon. So many dead and still alive and yet to come…

But I say only: I know James Baldwin!

You should go and see the film. Why don’t you want to see the film?

And it’s as if I’m out of time. It’s not my history there on that screen. It’s not a history I carry with me. If it can be said what the documentary shows is NOT my history, has nothing whatsoever to do with me, then maybe it can be said the film is flawed. Worse, there’s no truth in it! It’s a lie because I’m somehow outside of time.

Have you seen Get Out? I ask. I went to see Get Out.

Ten minutes into the film, I’m smiling at filmmaker Jordan Peele because I can see as I watch his work, he’s not afraid! But I dare not say this.

What is that? he asks.

And I try to explain Get Out, I realize I can’t. How do you explain a plot that is your reality, always denied?

He asks, If he should see the film? Are you saying I should see the film?

Nothing short of surgically removing our conscientiousness or our very humanity in this current atmosphere of white supremacy makes offering love to Black folks an enterprise of possibilities.

I let the matter drop.

And not long ago, just a month ago, in fact, another dear friend, a 30-something, white female, asked if I’ve seen I’m Not Your Negro.

Oh, no!

Have you seen Get Out? I ask without answering her question.

No, not yet. But you should see I’m Not Your Negro!

You should… I should! I should!

It’s nightmarish if it seems like you’re the only one awake! He was struggling to understand, and she, young still, is willing to understand. This is more than can be said about white America as a whole.

Innocence! Innocence! American innocence!

It’s a continuum. A horror that keeps on horrifying—particularly when I’m asked to wonder out loud about the handsome Trevor Noah or oh, that so articulate Neil Degrasse Tyson!

Ten years in the making and finally filmmaker Raouk Peck has I’m Not Your Negro in the cinema houses. In several interviews the reader can view online, Peck explains his approach to film making and his attitude about compromise. He’s not about making profits in order to live the “American Dream” or the “Good Life”; he’s not about to compromise the integrity of his work to appease the ideological goals of profiteering executives in Hollywood.

Yet, in one interview, Peck’s asked to comment on the come and go, the “trend” of Black film making. It has it’s moments, you know, says the interviewer at this “Race and History: A Conversation with Raouk Peck,” Doc Conference, TIFF, 2016. There were two or three in the 1980s. And then only a few in the 1990s! What about those “trends”--those “moments” in the lives of Black films and Black filmmakers, Dude?

And, undaunted by the innocence of the nonchalant interviewer, Peck looks directly at the one who believes he knows…

I’ll approach the question in my own way, Peck begins: “I don’t believe in such moments!”

Listen carefully, it’s not about “trends.” The coming and goings of Black filmmakers who do and then just don’t—he’s one of the few Black filmmakers to still be surviving because he has some economic opportunities not afforded others who should have been encouraged and supported similar to white filmmakers. He was able to work outside of the film business and direct his financial resources into his projects.

It’s not a matter of “trends.” It’s that Black lives don’t matter in America—really. And we know that… I know that.

Peck names Black men and women, filmmakers, still struggling to find the money to do their work. Yes, some have given up.

Who decries the lose of these lives and their voices?

It’s not better now as opposed to some mythical past when it was worse, Peck explains. But we’ll never get the funding or support we need from the industry “unless we take it.”

A silent interviewer is now listening to what I’m sure, he didn’t expect to hear. Some in the audience are encouraging Peck as he further explains how change could represent real change! It’s a change he’d like to see. Peck can imagine it:

He’s in an executive’s office. He’s allotted the usual 30 minutes to pitch a film idea. And finally, he “doesn’t need to spend 25 minutes of that half hour” explaining “who James Baldwin is and why he’s important!”

“We should be able to enter a room with someone who knows where we are coming from, who knows our history.” Then we can discuss film making, about the process of making a film. “We can talk film and not have to convince [someone] that [we] exist.”

And we do!

There’s a legacy of resistance too. And it’s always present.