#blacktrauma

Week 4: Black Women of the Past By Keyyatta Bonds

Today’s post is going to be a bit more rant-y in nature because the things I have read from start to finish just have me tired.

To better organize my thoughts, I am going to layout my discussion points: 1) Short Reflection on BodyMinds, specifically Traditional vs. Neo-Slave Narratives (films) 2) It’s going to take a hot minute for me to willingly read Kindred again…

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I am a person who loves a good slave movie. Now, I probably shouldn’t be stringing those words together, but there really is something I enjoy about movies like Django, The Birth of a Nation, and 12 Years A Slave. I have always gotten weird looks and questions about my enjoyment of the films, but I’ve really not thought much of it until now. I am aware of the horrors of the system, so I never really thought beyond how films like those are just to present slavery as wrong, but in a very shallow and palatable way. And typically, in the end of those films, I always feel some sort of relief or comfort because the Black people in them didn’t endure all that pain for nothing; there’s usually some resolution to their trauma and grief.

Schalk explains it best in that Black people in traditional slave narrative cannot be reduced to just their suffering in order to keep alive the “possibly of recovery, healing, and redemption.” (38) As a consumer, I need that. I am fully aware that many stories about slavery are rooted in suffering and many people did not have a happy ending; but I cannot sit for 2 hours and watch people be beaten and brutalized for nothing in return as a viewer. I do not expect the films to teach me intimately about all the traumatic experiences associated with slavery, and I feel they show just enough to get the point across. Also, film gives that option to just fast forward or look away. In scenes showing abuse, that is my time to disengage and get some snacks because as a descendant of slaves I do not need to watch those to make the stories more real to me.

This is why I particularly enjoy Django because the entire movie Django seemed to be in control. He is acting in the world instead of him reacting to the world. I know that these films may give a warped view on how deep the trauma and suffering with slavery really goes, but I hope that people are engaging with these stories outside of a film-context. This is another reason why I am comfortable to say I like slave films – I am fully aware in watching their stories unfold that very few had this type of redemption arc. I engage with narratives of slavery outside of an ‘art’ context so it doesn’t do anything for me for the film I’m consuming to be more horror-filled or historically accurate.

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Reading Kindred forced me to sit to engage with the text and the images on every page to fully understand the story, which drained the hell out of me.

At every page, I was certain that it could not get worse. Truthfully, I was already over the comic from the first section of reading because of how much Dana was unsupported and dismissed and physically abused. I personally do not need the images to tell the story but it does make the reading experience more interesting to say the least. In a book, there are parts I can skip if I see words I don’t like or look at chapter summaries to not fully read the text; but with the comic, I can skip the words all I want to but the images of uncontextualized torture are just sitting there in my mind. So, to better understand the story, I have to actively engage with both the words and the images.

At every point in the comic, I was just hoping in the end that Dana would find some sustained peace or joy or love or appreciation instead of me as the reader trying to search for the moments (to get a mental break) in the midst of her just trying to survive. I was hoping that Ms. Butler would be gracious enough to give me a cushion to fall back onto – and she gave me a crumb in the murder of Rufus – but I always wanted more. I wanted the end of the story to settle my spirit and satiate that need I have for stories of Black trauma to have a bright side – and it just did not.

In the past 34 years of my life every “meaningful” relationship I have had has caused trauma in my life(trauma bonds). I have spent 34 years of my life in survival mode. I am in month four of my therapy, my personal healing journey and here is what I have learned so far: 1. I’ve experienced childhood , childhood sexual, sexual, adult sexual, sexual assault, relational, parental, and family…

One of the hardest challenges in life is knowing when to let go. It is a repetitive lesson that is imposed on individuals through the years. An even harder task is dealing with the guilt of letting go. It feels as if one has failed, has given up. Yet instead, most individuals deal with the burdens of the past by letting it live within us, our minds, and influence our actions through the unconscious. It is a massive burden that begins to eat you from the inside, out. “The Destroyer” by Victor La Valle and “Please, Momma” by Chesya Burke share this common thread in their stories-- highlighting the effects of a burden as big as grief.

Being Black sometimes feels as if you're living in a constant state of grief-- we begin our lives in this world at a loss, or deficit. We see the world and our people in a state of loss, feeling like we live in a world that capitalizes on our lost lives, and our lost potential. Yet, we persevere. The Destroyer sheds light on loss being birthed from police brutality-- an image that is repetitively shown in the media, and a threat that follows Black folks all throughout their lives. The mother in the story has to deal with the grief of losing her only child to the inhumanities and atrocities of the world.  Knowing there was nothing that could be done, and no action of retribution or redemption. As most Black women do, she takes it into her own hands. Yet, she is not capable of letting go and accepting what is. There is a real horror that underlines this story-- the resistance of acceptance leads people astray from themselves. Without accepting what has occurred, slowly one loses sight of the world, and eventually themselves. By the end of the story, it is the mother’s grief that eventually consumes her. Her rage and her pain took charge-- that is the horror of trauma. It’s silence eats away at you until it is too late to realize the damage that has been done.

I think one of the most terrifying and horrific experiences a person could go through is when their world, and their perception of it shatters right before their eyes. It is something that can happen to any person, anywhere-- it knows no limits. It has a shape-shifting nature and takes its form in deaths, heartbreaks, secrets, and the list goes on. All very different experiences yet lead to the uprooting of everything a person knew was true in the world.

The novel, The Good House, by Tananarive Due sheds light on what happens in the dark. Secrets serve as a recurring theme in this story. Oftentimes, secrets are utilized as a protective force. It tends to protect people from judgement, acceptance, and even, themselves. But, what happens when the secrets become overwhelming and the burden is too heavy for the body to carry. There are some secrets within ourselves that we are not yet aware of, they breed in our unconscious mind until a traumatic event tends to bring it forth. Upon her son’s death, Angie was propelled to face the demons that her ancestors couldn’t. While reading this, I connected it to the burden of intergenerational trauma that persists across Black families. The history of Black people in America has forced black men, women, and babies to confront an enemy, an enemy breeding in our own backyard. The demon, Baka, in this novel represents how trauma grows in response to our commitment to not confronting it. It exists in the backyard of our minds and festers until we shatter the world that aided in its existence. Angie had to let go of her previous life, her previous beliefs, in order to face the demon at hand. She had to reckon with the secrets she kept from her son, the secrets her grandmother kept from her, the secrets she was too scared to admit to herself. Letting go of what one previously believed was true about the world makes it easier to view what world and things we are actually dealing with. Even if no one else believes, or can view it. It’s there.