Based on Abel Meeropol’s poem, “Strange Fruit” is a song about the lynching and killing of black people. Billie Holiday’s rendition of the song was the first one and thus has a significant place in the history of redemption songs. The song is raw and yet subtle. It addresses the violence caused by racism but also creates a pastoral backdrop. This contrast emphasizes on the point being made. The song does not call out white people directly. It also does not openly ask for black people to rise to action. Instead, it creates a quieter and more internal response. This song can be seen as an embodiment of Toni Morrison and Aime Cesaire’s notions of using language and poetry and tool for liberation, and Martin Luther King’s idea of nonviolence.

The first argument presented here is simple; poetry and music are tools of liberation. Morrison recognizes the absence of black representation in literature. She illustrates how language is political and aids the agendas of those who possess it. “Strange Fruit,” written in the English language, not only represents but empowers the black person. The oppressor’s language is molded to aid the oppressed and that too in a moment when even black people were trying to produce content for the consumption of white people. Holiday’s version of the song came out in 1935 and it was the first song of its kind among the uncle-Toms of the black music industry. It presented a history and an account of the present. Without overtly calling for a revolution, it does the required job of informing the people and stirring emotion. In accord with like Cesaire’s ideas about poetry being weaponized, Holiday’s song on Meeropol’s poem aims to bring the very real problems of a people into an arena which was considered entertainment only. Such kind of inclusivity reflected on support, shared fear, and the need to break the silence. In a way, this song acts as one of the first steps to the civil rights movement.

This song also embodies the nonviolence Martin Luther King talks about. An analysis of the lyrics shows that. The song opens with a pastoral image of “trees” but sets a dark tone from the beginning as these trees are stated to “bear strange fruit.” The purpose of the pastoral image seems to be to highlight the unnatural acts taking place in a natural setting. There is “blood” everywhere as “black bodies” swing and the “smell of burning flesh” is carried through the “southern breeze.” The juxtaposition of images of trees and wind with blood and death creates an uneasy feeling which continues to exist as the song goes back and forth between a tranquil scene and bloodshed. It calls to the sense of smell and sight as the “scent of magnolias” is interrupted by the “smell of burning flesh.” The song ends with references to fruit, rain, and sun, creating an image of ripeness and fullness. Yet, the crop is “bitter.” This could be seen as the white man’s apparent progression in contrast with his ugly racism.

The song on its own is not making a direct claim. It’s descriptive but it does not define the oppressor, only the oppressed. It simply reports on the events taking place and suggests that they are unnatural. The tone is not accusatory. In fact, the pastoral imagery and Holiday’s calm voice contrast with the violence. It also does not seem to be asking to cause a revolution based on violence like the one Malcolm X or Fanon seems to advocate for. The song merely causes contemplation. It yearns for peace. It is a cry for help, and a plea to put an end to all violence. In this way, it reminds one of MLK’s faith in nonviolence. The objective is to redeem what is lost and what is left behind. Thus, violence in retaliation does not the serve the purpose.

Holiday’s song reflects on the power of language and the need for representation. It also shows how a silent and nonthreatening plea can also help bring one closer to liberation. The personal kind of response that this song creates embodies nonviolence and creates new possibilities. If blood is not shed, and if the white men sow seeds of equality and coexistence, a new fruit will be born. It is the possibility of a sweeter fruit that Holiday is showing and that MLK, too, was chasing.

The most compelling aspect of Borderlands is perhaps how its form reflects Anzaldúa’s identity. While the text is predominantly prose, it also consists of poetry in both Spanish and English. The start of each chapter is an excerpt from a great Hispanic thinker. Gloria Anzaldúa’s magnum opus is fluid, much like her identity. Her ability to create such an unconventional yet striking text is nothing short of remarkable. Anzaldúa narrates her experience as a mestiza living in la frontera—the borderlands. Her style of writing reflects her conscience—it seeks to represent not only those who reside between the U.S. Southwest/Mexican border, but also those who have historically found themselves at a crossroads with regards to their identity. Hence, she states that the borderlands are “physically present wherever two or more cultures edge each other.” Attempting to navigate the multiple identities gives rise to a feeling that is “alien” to her. Borderlands is an attempt to rationalize multiple identities at the same time instead of having to conform to one or the other. The form of the text is reflective of the writer’s dilemma that she so eloquently articulates in multiple languages. She argues that a woman of color “does not feel safe within the life of her Self” as she is alienated from her mother culture and the dominant culture. As a result, the petrified individual is caught between los intersticios—the spaces between the different worlds she inhabits.

The chapter titled “Entering Into the Serpent” builds on the aforementioned identity crisis. Her experience incorporates the impasse of her stigmatized culture and her sexuality as a queer woman. Anzaldúa emphasizes on the role of the supernatural in her Chicano/mexicano identity. Furthermore, she reinterprets the mystical elements that seem to be rejected by society. According to Anzaldúa, organized religion encourages “a split between the body and the soul.” However, she argues that the supernatural is integral to understanding the human condition. She believes that in this day and age, la Virgen de Guadalupe is the most potent religious, political, and cultural image of the Chicano/mexicano identity. Guadalupe, a symbol of hope, unites people of different races, religions, and languages. Guadalupe has been used by the Church to perpetuate institutionalized oppression by subverting the true identities of the three mystical madres: “Guadalupe to make us docile and enduring, la Chingada to make us ashamed of our Indian side, and la Llorona to make us long-suffering people.” However, it has not obscured the meaning for all as the mestizo continue to worship the old entities under the guise of Christian saints. Indigenous spirituality has been preserved under the façade of rationality and continues to be socialized within individuals. White rationality denounced mystical elements by classifying the existence of the “other world” as heathen superstition. For Anzaldúa, la Llorona, the mother who seeks her lost children, symbolizes her reflection on not only her lost homeland, but also the imposition of a subverted identity by the colonizers.

The question of identity is further obfuscated due to Anzaldúa being a queer mestiza. Instead of viewing Guadalupe in accordance with the imposed re-imagination, Anzaldúa chooses to see her for what she is: “the symbol of the dark sexual drive, the chthonic (underworld), the feminine, the serpentine movement of sexuality, of creativity, the basis of all energy and life.” She instead connected herself to Coatlalopeuh, the indigenous manifestation of Guadalupe. In doing so, she embraces her femininity as a queer woman whilst foregoing what is now interpreted as tradition in an attempt to reconcile both her culture and sexuality. She does so by using la facultad—the capacity to see the meaning of deeper realities in surface phenomena. By viewing the connection between the ‘disassociated’ body and spirit, la facultad offers the marginalized a possibility of navigating a world that poses many dangers to them. It is a heuristic method for those who “do not feel psychologically or physically safe.” The premise of the process in Anzaldúa’s experience is embracing the body and negating the traditional aspects of an oppressive religion. By using la facultad, Anzaldúa’s re-imagination of Guadalupe lends her strength and hope. Through her writing, she seeks to not only offer a possibility to the queer Chicano women, but to all those who face intersecting oppressions.

At Senghor’s time of writing, colonialism had ossified divisions along the fault lines of race and ethnicity. Keeping this context in mind, is there any value that can be truly seen as universal? Being dismissive of Négritude by seeing it as a particularism does not capture its true essence. According to Senghor, the purpose of Négritude is not to merely affirm as it also focuses on self-confirmation: “it is rooting oneself in oneself.” While Négritude cannot be seen a universal ethic, it still attempts to construct an effort to resist. This aspect of Négritude should not be ridiculed as a struggle against the discourse perpetuated by colonizer can manifest itself in different ways.

Universalism can be interpreted as a universally applicable philosophical concept that entails the creation of an inclusive space that seeks to involve everyone. Senghor, in Négritude, implies that this is his objective is to create “an opening to the world, contact and participation with others.” While his focus is on African culture, he alludes to the transformative qualities of Négritude that the entire world can experience. He claims it to be an ethic that synchronizes itself with the rhythm of life. It can be seen as an ethic that is almost break from the perils of modernity through self-affirmation. However, the origin and manifestation of the ethic is primarily centered on an “African” who possesses the interplay of forces. The claim that Négritude is predicated on a Pan-African racial identity is perhaps Senghor’s own reckoning as there is an underlying assumption that the framework is representative. A fundamental problem with Senghor’s argument is one of categorization. While he is emphasizing the importance of African culture, there is no mention of who specifically this “African” is. There is an assumption of African homogeneity throughout the text which is slightly problematic. By coalescing identities, not only is internal difference amongst the colonized negated, but there is also an implication that colonialism impacted the colonized in a homogenous manner.

At the same time, entirely denouncing Négritude as unrepresentative is an injustice to its ethos and literary framework. The origins of the ethic can be traced to the “colonized intellectual.” Through the revitalization of art, the intention is to claim ownership of the self. If we view Senghor as a “colonized intellectual” who is temporally dislocated, we can see how that dislocation leads to an identity crisis which paves the way for a rather unique form of resistance. Individuals who try to assimilate into the colonizer’s culture suffer from a cognitive bifurcation which Memmi seeks to understand. It is almost as if Memmi’s diagnosis in The Colonizer and the Colonized is the perfect preface to reading Senghor as it allows to assess the impact of cognitive dualism. If we see this dualism as an ailment rather than an attempt to coopt, we can better understand the nature of this resistance instead of dismissing it for its inability to represent. Borrowing from Fanon’s usage of the term, Négritude can be perceived as a “muscular spasm.” It might not be a solution, but it is a self-confirming reaction. However, there is a difference between interpreting it is a reaction and classifying it as reactionary. The term reactionary implies that there might not be any substance within the literary framework. Making such an assumption is rather reductive as Négritude did make an effort to represent even though it cannot be entirely classified as a universalism.

The story of Alexander Crummell reads like a religious parable that preaches a message based on resilience. Despite the obstacles Crummell faced throughout his journey, he never gave up in the face of adversity. Du Bois conveys the idea that Crummell’s struggles are indicative of what afflicts the African American community. The chapter on Crummell can be seen as the antithesis to Du Bois’ chapter on Booker T. Washington of whom he is critical. Understanding his criticism of Washington is integral to uncovering the meaning behind Crummell’s story as it provides an exemplary model for Black leadership.

Du Bois is critical of Washington’s conciliatory approach toward social change which was premised on pacifying measures. Washington’s “Atlanta Compromise” speech promoted conciliation in the South by giving up the fight for Black civil rights. According to Du Bois, not only does such an approach negate the Black identity, it also suppresses the spirit of “revolt and revenge” which creates an impediment for Black progress. In contrast to Washington’s acquiescence, Crummell reacted differently when faced with a dilemma on his journey. Bishop Onderdonk said to Crummell: “I will receive you into this diocese on one condition: no Negro priest can sit in my church convention, and no Negro church must ask for representation there.” Crummell’s refusal to become complicit is the type of resistance that resonates deeply with Du Bois. Interestingly, Du Bois seeks to glorify an unsung Black hero with an unyielding resolve. Despite Crummell not being renowned, he epitomizes the type of leadership needed by the Black community to achieve greater prosperity.

Another important comparison to make is with John Jones in the chapter titled ‘Of the Coming of John.’ A prominent similarity between Crummell and Jones is that both of them are faced with similar temptations because of their experiences. Unlike Crummell, Jones gives in to these temptations, and eventually perishes in the Valley of the Shadow of Death. In comparison, Crummell astonishingly overcomes the temptations of hate, despair, and doubt. Despite the obstacles, Crummell continued to learn and preach. Du Bois shows that Crummell’s journey is far from a failure—it is a story of uncompromising resilience.

Du Bois argues that despite Crummell’s anonymity, he was an important figure. His story is indicative of the prejudice African Americans have historically faced. Within historical narratives, accounts of Black resilience and strength are obscured. Being able to control your own image is a sign of power. Du Bois argues that to reclaim that power and further the cause of achieving social justice, it is important to resist. Mounting a resistance can take on various forms, as shown by the comparison between Washington and Crummell. Irrespective of its form, this resistance must not be premised on compromises as it would only further entrench the Veil instead of lifting it.

“But Alexander Crummell it gave back. Out of the temptation of Hate, and burned by the fire of Despair, triumphant over Doubt, and steeled by Sacrifice against Humiliation, he turned at last home across the waters, humble and strong, gentle and determined. He bent to all the gibes and prejudices, to all hatred and discrimination, with that rare courtesy which is the armor of pure souls.” – W. E. B. Du Bois

Intersectionality is a concept that is premised on recognition.

Crenshaw argues that by trying to understand oppression on a “single-axis” with regard to identity, multidimensional oppression cannot be understood. By extension, intersectional politics allows intersecting oppression to be recognized. Recognition is precisely what doubly oppressed groups do not get. Even historiographers do not account for their perspective.

The effects of such oppression linger on today. The theoretical framework of how discrimination is interpreted needs to change, which makes intersectional politics a necessity as it empowers those who have been silenced. The need for recognition is pertinent because intersecting oppressions continue to exist. Identities tend to be neatly demarcated, but in reality, there is quite often an overlap which empowers certain groups at the expense of others. There are power differentials present in every society which are inherently oppressive.

African American women have been marginalized along the fault lines of race and sex. Liberation movements prioritize the emancipation of a group over others. Hooks argues that these movements in the 20th century, further disenfranchised African American women by negating their identity. For instance, the women’s movement in the late 60s was both racist and sexist in its attitude towards black women. Instead of being inclusive towards all women irrespective of race, the movement was fronted by white women who supported the values imbued by white racial imperialism. Furthermore, black liberation leaders were unwilling to acknowledge the sexist oppression of black women by black men as it would “complicate efforts to resist racism.” As a result, black women were permanently cast to the background. Intersectional politics offer a way of rectifying such mistakes.

Even though social media driven socio-political movements in the contemporary era appear to be inclusive, intersectional politics allows Black women still have to carve out a space to give prominence to their respective grievances. The African American Policy Forum (AAPF), a gender and racial equity think tank, has initiated social media campaigns and published reports to challenge the narrative that victims of institutionalized racism are mostly black men. Black Lives Matter is a social movement initiated after the acquittal of George Zimmerman for the shooting of African American teen Trayvon Martin in 2012. While the movement appeared to be for “all Black lives along the gender spectrum,” in reality, it failed to acknowledge the work of Black women, trans people, and queer people within contemporary movements for racial justice. Furthermore, Treva B. Lindsey criticized Black Lives Matter for promoting a narrative against racial violence which was premised on a Black masculine perspective. In the three years following Black Lives Matter, more than seventy Black women have lost their lives to police violence. For every Trayvon Martin, there has been a Rekia Boyd. In the documentary The Lives of Black Women, Rekia’s brother stated: “They barely talk about women. Why is that? It’s crazy, because you see that even in death, women play the second role.” In response to instances of racial injustice against Black women being forgotten, the AAPF launched two social media campaigns—#BlackGirlsMatter and #SayHerName. In collaboration with the think tank, Crenshaw published a report titled “Black Girls Matter: Pushed Out, Overpoliced, and Underprotected” to illustrate how disciplinary policies negatively impacted Black girls and other girls of color. The aim of the report was to understand “the ways [these girls] experience inhospitable educational environments and to produce recommendations designed to eliminate those inequities.”

Moreover, SayHerName was launched in 2015 after the death of Sandra Bland who died in police custody. Her story was representative of how many Black women were mistreated by the criminal justice system, and how they were disregarded by the wider public. The neglect shown toward Black women has not entirely been a matter of missing facts. Even where women are present in the data, “narratives framing police profiling and lethal force as exclusively male experiences lead researchers, the media, and advocates to exclude them.” The report titled “Say Her Name: Resisting Police Brutality Against Black Women” demonstrates how Black women who are “profiled, beaten, sexually assaulted, and killed by law enforcement officials are conspicuously absent from this frame even when their experiences are identical [to Black men].” Choo and Ferree note that the aim of this campaign was to “meet the locational standard of intersectionality by which the perspectives of the oppressed move from margin to center.” If activism fails to incorporate violence against Black women, they are further marginalized and rendered invisible. In order to prevent these women from being cast into a “zone of nonbeing” in which they question their own identity, activism has to be inclusive in both its ideology and documentation while condemning state-sanctioned violence against Black people.

If intersecting oppressions are not taken into consideration, the condition of certain groups can worsen. For the individual experiencing these multifaceted identities, it can be difficult to process their experiences. Their reality can be wrongfully interpreted as destiny instead of what it actually is—a manifestation of discriminatory norms.

The viewlessness of norms tricks us into believing that this is “how things have always been, this is what exists naturally, objectively and logically”. However the Black Radical Tradition has taught me to investigate the mainstream because it does not just occur. There is a reason why certain ideas come into the mainstream while others are sidelined. Being aware of the politics of norms and mainstreams, allow us to see beyond them. This in turn allows us to re-imagine the world, unrestricted by the shackles of the mainstream.

Toni Morrison shows us how every piece of writing is a series of choices. Further extending this idea allows us to see that every action entails a series of choices. Consequently a series of choices supplement a certain way of thinking. If we look at the world as “readers”, uncritically accepting these choices we take the world as it is given to us. However if we view the world as “writers” we can question the legitimacy of these choices.  Furthermore we question the illegitimacy of the “ownership of history”, and thus open the subjectivity of the created narrative. We pose the questions: What creates the mainstream? Why should we follow it? Why are certain people ignored whilst others glorified? This examination allows us to question the viewlessness of norms and the mainstream.

The “Santa Clausization” of Martin Luther King and the ostracization of Malcolm X is an example of the bias of the mainstream.  Martin Luther King has been made into a reductive figure; he is used not as a means to illustrate the issues of the African American community but rather the gains that gloss over the still-continuing structural issues that plague the Black community. He has been appropriated to serve the system that still exploits African Americans and is used as a justification for the linearity of progress, i.e. it strengthens the justification of wait. Instead the fuller picture of Martin Luther King and Malcolm X is lost; the ones that demand for accountability and the transfer of rights now.  Without critically examining the concepts and reduced figures of the mainstream, fallacious justifications such as the inevitability of progress and the virtue of waiting become acceptable.

A mainstream image of Martin Luther King assures us that the Civil Rights Movement resolved most of the issues that plagued the African American community. Furthermore it convinces us that there exists a linear relationship between time and progress. The Civil Rights Movement is used to show that “things will only get better”.  Using Toni Morrison’s lens we can see that this suits the purposes of those who benefit from the current system. It allows the status quo to continue unchallenged.  It illustrates the politics of the mainstream, which claims to be objective and neutral. It is a tool used by the “owners of history” who benefit from current oppressive systems. On the other hand if we examine sidelined figures like Malcolm X or Ella Baker we can see their criticisms that naturally opposed this simplified view of Civil Rights and Martin Luther King. Whether it is Ella Bakers idea of slow organic progress or Malcolm X’s radical sweeping changes, each fight the recommendation to wait, deny the linearity of progress and therefore urge for immediate action.

These figures understood the hegemony of the mainstream and its political origins, allowing them to free themselves from its cage. They thus played the important role of re-imagining the world. The Black Radical Tradition shows us many figures that did this. Whether it is CLR James’ re-situation of the centre of revolution or Malcolm X’s re-construction of identity, these figures opened up possibilities. They showed that the way to re-imagine the world is open for all those who choose to look. There are other ways of being for those who question the way things are, and make demands for the way it should be. The Black Radical Tradition therefore showed me constriction of our knowledge, and the freedom of our unknown.

Blood on the leaves

And blood at the roots

Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze

Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees

This is the voice of those who were silenced, murdered, maimed, and those who were supposed to be forgotten. It is the voice of those who were never meant to be survive. The only history that they inherited was a history of violence, of murder, of abduction yet those who suffer are the only ones who can comprehend the sheer force of the gross injustice of power. They are the only ones who can show us that this is not the way things are supposed to be. They carry a burden which shouldn’t be theirs to carry; the burden of explanation should not fall on them.

The black radical tradition is the vantage point of those who suffer and those who refuse to accept the “thingification” the world imposes on them; those who refuse to be reduced to the “nigger”, those who refused to be reduced to degraded sex objects. They demand only to be recognized as human. Their’s is a history of unfathomable horror but theirs is also the history which is radical; which promises change; which envisions a new world; which rejects a Manichean, despot duality and in that sense, they are the bearers of the future.

Those who have not been given a place in the world are the ones who speak truth to power. “Death may be the meaning of life, but we do language. That maybe the measure of our lives.” Morrison challenges the belief that language may be neutral; language within itself conceals the power which forms it and that is why it must be constantly exposed and those who were robbed of their language must constantly reaffirm their narrative through taking ownership of the language at their disposal and calling it out for the kind of violence that it embodies.

The tradition, when seen through this lens makes us understand how the oppressed comes home to him or herself. Someone who is always told that they don’t deserve a space on earth for they have no history of civilization is overjoyed by all that their glorious past has to offer and that is the story of negritude. It gives them a chance to see themselves from new eyes, however, they must not remain trapped in the luring of the past for that fixation makes them blind to the reality of the present. They must not insist on their identity as natural for they will again be viewing themselves from the gaze of the oppressor.

 One can never be free if one keeps reacting to the oppressor. What sets them free, then is knowing that they may not be able to see or conceive a world that completely recognizes them and does away with all oppression but they can certainly strive towards it by speaking truth to power, for the bird, which carries the burden of the past, the toxins of the present and the hope of the future, is truly in their hands. Freedom, then, requires an acknowledgement that we can never fully comprehend the forces that shape our lives, but we refuse to accept the absoluteness of these forces for they always weren’t such and they always won’t be such. In the words of Gloria Andaluza, “so don’t give me your tenets and your laws. Don’t give me your lukewarm gods.”

The tradition, essentially, places a responsibility on all of us to bear witness to and to reject all forces of oppression, discrimination and marginalization that the lukewarm gods of those who benefit from this systematic dehumanization legitimize. The struggle, then becomes a very personal one and the moral burden is very real for those who were never meant to survive haunt us and question us: have we done our part?