We really enjoyed this lecture by Lawrence Waldron on indigenous Caribbean art. Besides Arrom and Eugenio Fernandez Mendez, the only other author whose works we've read on "Taino" art and material culture is Ostapkowicz. We don't count Osvaldo García-Goyco's work here since his speculative attempt to link Taino art and symbolism with Mesoamerica was even less successful than Fernandez Mendez's work. Anyway, Waldron's approach here was really interesting, especially for noting continuity and change from Saladoid to Taino period ceramic arts.
Micius's Sunday Morning, Bainet, 1959captures the rural gentry and wealth of Bainet in the past. Although the subject of this painting is unclear, one thinks of the Pierre-Louis or another Bainet-based family of wealthy coffee traders or speculateurs who were able to accumulate some wealth and construct refined family homes. Our ancestral homeland was once far more important, economically, in Haiti.
We are loving the Haitian Art Society website. Their site features several paintings by Hector Hyppolite we have not seen before. While Hyppolite is not our favorite Haitian painter, some of his works are quite striking and fascinating for those interested in Haitian Vodou. The above, depicting Papa Loko, is a good example of this.
Ricardo Alegria's El uso de la incrustación en la escultura de los indios antillanos covers a potentially important topic, but sadly does not take it anywhere. Essentially, it is quite similar to his work on ball courts and plazas but with fewer theories or conclusions. However, the study emphasizes how the Taino encrusted so many works of wood, cotton, stone and other materials that served utilitarian and ritual or ceremonial purposes. Some of these pieces were true masterpieces in indigenous Caribbean art, featuring gold, conch shells and other objects. The fact that gold and shell were usually used for teeth and eyes of idols, three-pointer cemis and other objects is undoubtedly significant, too. Why the mouth was filled in gold for some of the most elaborate duhos, for instance, must surely have some deeper meaning in the Taino worldview and culture. Unfortunately, Alegria does not delve into those questions here, but the number of cohoba holders, duhos and other objects that featured gold or shell encrustrations is suggestive of deeper meaning. The use of shell to represent teeth seems natural enough for anthropomorphic or zoomorphic idols and cemis, but gold for the mouth, eyes or ears might have associations with turey, and the divine realm. As for why the only remaining duho to still possess its original gold is its mouth may have been linked to the belief that the spiritual world could communicate in rituals.
Eugenio Fernandez Mendez's Art and Mythology of the Taino Indians of the Greater West Indies is a frustrating read. A short work based on Taino art, mythology and archaeology seen in several examples of Taino art and glimpses from the Spanish chronicles, the author posits a significant Mesoamerican and/or Central American influence on the Taino. The actual chronology of this influence is uncertain, but the author is convinced of various mythological, theogonic and aesthetic similarities between the Taino and Mesoamerica, which presumably can be traced all the way back to the Olmec or proto-Olmec culture. How exactly this influence reached the Greater Antilles, and mainly Puerto Rico and Hispaniola, is unclear. If the general chronology of the rise of chiefdoms with greater political centralization and social differentiation began around 1000-1200 CE for Hispaniola and Puerto Rico, this is long after the Olmec and Classic Maya. However, if Mesoamerican influences may have sprung from an earlier period in the history of the circum-Caribbean, perhaps one in which peoples from the Yucatan, southern Mexico and other areas migrated to or traded with peoples living in the Greater Antilles, perhaps some stylistic and religious practices were transferred to the Taino. And who knows, perhaps the Totonac stone yokes are related to the famous stone collars of pre-Hispanic Puerto Rico.
There likely were contacts of some sort between the Antilles and Central America and Mesoamerica. Fernandez Mendez cites a number of sources indicating Taino contacts with Florida, northern South America, and Central America in the late 15th and early 16th centuries. These contacts likely existed long before Europeans arrived in the region. That said, there is a huge hole in Fernandez Mendez's theory. If Mesoamerican influences were so important on Taino mythology and art, why is so little evidence of this found in Jamaica and Cuba? We know indigenous people of Jamaica and Cuba likely had some degree of contact with the Yucatan, for example, but why is so little evidence of the influence of Mesoamerican "high" cultures evident on those islands? Why is it that more distant Hispaniola and Puerto Rico, where the most elaborate ballcourts, plazas, stone sculpture, duhos, and cacicazgos were developed, lack any incontrovertible evidence of trade or exchange with Mesoamerica? Did seafarers, traders, priests, and skilled laborers from Mesoamerica or Central America decide to skip most of Cuba and Jamaica because they were backwaters, demographically or culturally? It seems rather more likely that ideas or ritual practices may have reached Puerto Rico and Hispaniola via South America rather than a direct link to Mesoamerica. Fernandez Mendez seems to think otherwise, especially given the lack of elaborate ballcourts in northern South America.
However, the rest of his argument relies on speculative interpretations of Las Casas, Pane, Oviedo, and other chroniclers and the Spanish sources on Mesoamerican religion and ritual to claim a strong influence of the Maya, Huastecs and others on the Taino. While there definitely are parallels between the religious and mythological world of the Taino and, perhaps, the Aztecs and Maya, one can also find even more numerous direct parallels and ethnolinguistic evidence linking the Taino to the cultures of northern South America. Interpretations of Pane such as those of Arrom and Stevens-Arroyo are more convincing, particularly in that they are better supplied by ethnographic evidence on the indigenous peoples of the Orinoco Basin as well as linguistic, archaeological, and genetic evidence pointing to South America as a primary source of Taino civilization. Of course, this does not mean that there was no influence from Central America and Mexico. Human sacrifice and the religious symbolism of the Taino batey very well could have some degree of Mesoamerican influence which is not evident in the cultures of South America where similar ballgames were played. Unfortunately, Fernandez Mendez's speculative reading of Yocahu and Guabancex in relation to the pantheon of Mesoamerican belief relies too heavily on assumptions on identifying Taino cemis and artifacts with particular gods and attributes which are not verifiable. He proposes a number of interesting hypotheses and notes certain recurring motifs among indigenous peoples in the circum-Caribbean region. Yet some of these similarities are likely archetypes common across many cultures, especially the role of fertility, sun cults, the importance of wind and rain, and divine twins or gods with multiple attributes. He also relies on possibly outdated theories of the hurricane as a deity or deified force.
Whether or not a cultural stream from Mexico reached the Greater Antilles in the 14th century, also spreading to the southeastern US and other areas, actually transpired remains to be proven. Based on Fernandez Mendez's analysis, more work must be done to ascertain the nature of contacts between the Taino and their mainland neighbors to the west. Whether or not the common "fire god" of the Taino and various cultures in Central America can be proven by alleged stylistic conventions shared across time and space raises even more questions that we do not possess sufficient evidence to support. Similarly, do we truly possess enough evidence to claim the behiques of the Taino were ritualists associated with the Moon, the mother goddess and the serpent? Intriguingly, Fernandez Mendez does claim that the jibaros of Puerto Rico retained some interesting traces of their Taino ancestors and predecessors. For instance, the word soco, allegedly the central post in a caney of the Tainos, survived in Puerto Rican Spanish with the same meaning (and sexual connotations).
Taino duhos are some of the best-known and most elaborate works of pre-Columbian Caribbean craftsmanship and art. Associated with cacical authority and the elites of Taino society, the best known duhos are often sculpted of wood. Many possess two-dimensional geometric patterns and designs and feature anthropomorphic or zoomorphic faces and features. Although stools are widely used in South and Central American indigenous cultures, among the Taino, duhos, particularly the ornate wooden ones, have stood the test of time and still serve as a testament to the artistic talent and technical brilliance of indigenous woodcarvers. As powerful artifacts associated with caciques and the elites, they can also be a powerful source or analysis for reconstructing something of Taino ruling ideology. Their restricted use, elaborateness, and the addition of symbols that may be based on cotton textiles, belts, navels, cemis (and/or ancestors) and entoptic phenomena suggest art and religion were closely entwined in an overall ideology of rulership.
Joanna Ostapkowicz, author of the thesis Taíno Wooden Sculpture: Duhos, Rulership and the Visual Arts in the 12th-16th Century, appears to be one of the world's leading experts on the subject. Her thesis, including an extended catalog of extant duhos and their provenience and museum acquisition histories, establishes that at least 147 duhos have survived. Unfortunately, several have been damaged and the original contextual location of the find is not always clear. More than a few pieces probably ended up in private hands and several more likely await discovery in the Caribbean. Haiti, for example, with La Gonave identified as one center of production during the time of Anacaona, might yield more duhos of wood that could shed light on their production and distribution. Ostapkowicz's study also includes those built of stone as well as wood, but the wooden ones are often the most remarkable. In addition to examining the known origins of over 100 duhos, she includes examples of other wooden sculpture in Taino art traditions. A sophisticated review and discussion of known scholarship on Taino chiefdoms, the role of women in production, animal symbolism, and the relationship between rituals and ideology in cacical authority and duho use cover the rest of the dissertation.
The technical aspects of production are likewise included, as she estimates that wooden duhos constructed out of dense, tropical hardwoods like guayacan, would have likely required a specialist artisan (part-time or perhaps master artisan) 4 to 6 hours per day and at least a year to finish. This does not include the amount of time required to fell a tree or the seasoning time, either. Undoubtedly, crafting elaborate duhos required a woodcarver who know how to select the appropriate tree and the mastery of techniques with adzes, heat, and cutting to produce a finished stool. At the time this was written, the specific type of wood used for the duho or more precise dating was lacking. Today, however, some duhos have been dated as far back as the 13th century. Ostapkowicz's analysis and dating of other wooden artifacts, such as cohoba stands, suggest elaborate woodcarving in guayacan probably developed centuries earlier. Indeed, some masterpieces of Taino Hispaniola wooden sculpture date back to the 11th or 12th centuries. Perhaps elaborate duhos carved from guayacan or mahogany were already in circulation by the 11th century, possibly of restricted, elite use and distribution? This would suggest an efflorescence of Taino arts and cacical authority a few centuries before the dates proposed by Rouse.
Where Ostapkowicz's analysis is most interesting is on the subject of women in production, exchange, and use of duhos. If, as indicated by Martyr d'Anghiera, women in La Gonave actually produced duhos and wooden sculptures, this would suggest women were not restricted only to ceramics, domestic duties and cotton cloth production. Moreover, if the duhos depict the anthropomorphic or zoomorphic figure wearing cotton bands, belts, and caps, produced by Taino women, then the role of goods produced by women were essential to elite accoutrement. Women were also involved in the transfer of duhos, as Anacaona herself gave duhos to the Spanish. Moreover, according to Ostapkowicz, duhos may have been inherited matrilineally and exchanged at weddings. Indeed, women were also participants in at least some of the ritual activities involving cohoba, and probably sat on duhos if in positions of authority as cacicas. The past assumptions of scholars for a strict gender segregation during cohoba rituals or the actual act of sitting on a duho, lack sufficient evidence. Even among various South American populations from whom ethnographic analogies are often sought, women occasionally use stools and participate in various hallucinogen-induced trances or rituals.
Similarly important for understanding Taino society is the prominence of anthropomorphic features of several duhos. For Ostapkowicz, this emphasis is likely linked to ancestors and or cemis, as past cacique ancestors could also become cemis. By incorporating them into the duho, they literally and symbolically act as the foundation or support for the sitter. The sexual genitalia, linked to procreation, may have further supported this view. Moreover, the symbolism of trees with roots, trunks and branches associated with stages of life and connections to the subterranean world was likely linked to spirits, or seen as embodying or housing a spirit or being. Ostapkowicz, though skeptical of drawing too heavily on Pané, cites numerous episodes involving trees, wood, or, in one case, fruit. A tree moving on it own, and speaking with a behique through cohoba, can direct the shaman/carver into cutting it. Moreover, cemis carved of wood were also believed to be able to move on their own and escape from caciques or communities they were not interested in staying with. If ancestors were similarly venerated and could become cemis, their representation in a duho would become a powerful numinous quality that justified the sitter's right to office. Through sitting on the duho that was explicitly linked to powerful ancestors, and using the same duho in cohoba rituals or placing it in caves, the owner asserted their power to intercede between the human and other worlds in the Taino cosmos. In other words, elaborate duhos can be "read" as powerful texts of rulership.
A very well-made video presentation from AyiboPost on my favorite Haitian painter. Obin's so-called naive style and detailed historical paintings capture not only the distinctive regional patrimony of the Nord but represent Haiti well. I am also intrigued his and the Cap-Haitien school's subject matter: historic paintings, cultural scenes of capois or northern Haitian life, and, from what I can tell, hardly any of the folkloric of vaudouesque scenes of Hector Hyppolite or other Haitian painters of Obin's generation.
Philomé Obin may very well be my favorite Haitian painter. Highly regarded and association with the Centre d'Art, Obin lead a Cap-Haitien branch. Several of his relatives continued in their own fashion his style, often depicting aspects of Haitian history, the Nord's regional identity and historical moments, of scenes of life in Cap-Haitien and its environs. Obin's style resonates with me in terms of its depiction of the human form as well as its thematic content. Obin, whose life encompassed Haiti's tumultuous period leading up to the US Occupation, creates visual evidence of Cap-Haitien's elites, popular culture, and Haitian social concerns without emphasis on Vodou themes or folklore.
From the bits and pieces I've been able to piece together of his life, he was from a Protestant background, a Mason, received some limited degree of art education, and had produced paintings for Masonic lodges in Cap-Haitien before Dewitt Peters and the Centre d'Art in Port-au-Prince was created. Rodman and Lerebours, of course, cover Obin's work and legacy, with the latter emphasizing Obin's middle-class status (or background) and past drawing lessons.
For me, however, one of the highlights of Obin's work is the break it gives one from constant allusions to Vodou as the "soul" or major theme of Haitian painting. History emerges as a constant theme in Obin's work, especially the importance of the Nord in the Haitian Revolution as well as the caco resistance during the US Occupation. Obin's work is a visual testament to several decades in Haitian history and life, educating both local and foreign audiences in the change and continuity of Haitian identity. While one sometimes senses a degree of nostalgia in Obin, one cannot avoid seeing some optimism in his work as well as a careful attention to social relations in Haiti. Obin's style and legacy is well-deserved, although some of his relatives and Cap-Haitien artists could not quite capture his highly stylized use of line and partial realism to depict human faces.
Although Le Zinglin was not the first comedic journal to appear in Haitian history (Le Cancanier and Oswald Durand's Les Bigailles predated it by a few decades), the short-lived journal (1890-91) included Henri Chauvet, who would make history through Le Nouvelliste. What struck me, however, was the ample use of illustrations in Le Zinglin, mostly comic strips satirizing local news, social mores, gender roles, and, although never directly, the state. The journal's cartoonist, Gilbert Tonner (a pseudonym, according to Jean Desquiron), produced most of the comics, usually written in French or French and Haitian Creole.
Considering the low literacy rate in the city during the 1890s, presumably the journal was mostly addressed to upper-class and educated middle-class readers, and the use of Creole in the comics is usually restricted to characters from the lower classes (who are also depicted with darker skin, it would seem). Nevertheless, the journal also published a play by Henri Chauvet which extensively used Creole, and, as the name of the paper would suggest, local themes occupy an important role.
For these reasons alone, Le Zinglin is an interesting paper in the history of Haitian journals. Amply illustrated, use of Creole, it also appears to have been the first satirical journal to use cartoons. Considering the intended audience for the journal, some of the writers and readers must have traveled to France and absorbed influences from Western comics and caricatures. Indeed, the negative portrayals of Haiti in Cham's caricatures must have been known,
Although the quality of the papers when digitized by the Center for Research Libraries has blurred or damaged some of the cartoons, I think Gilbert Tonner's style improved over time, particularly in its depiction of the human form. His cartoons also depict road scenes, pathways to Petionville or other areas of Port-au-Prince, and animals, restaurants, domestic scenes, or ships. He, like most 19th century cartoonists, places dialogue below the panels or at the bottom of the image, while relying on physical humor or absurd satire to convey comedic effect. For example, the lack of ice in Port-au-Prince heat fuels more than a few of the strips.
Unfortunately, I am not yet able to identify Gilbert Tonner. And no other newspapers, with the expection of Haiti illustrée, during this time used several pictures. So, I am unable to identify any other 19th century Haitian cartoons. However, by at least the 1930s, comics appear in Le Nouvelliste and caricatures almost certainly did not disappear complete from Haitian newspapers. Tonner's mixture of French and Creole might have been unique, however, and in some cases, quoted proverbs or hinted at a critique of dominant social relations.
In the future, I hope to explore the history of comics and cartooning in Haiti and elsewhere in the Caribbean. In between Gilbert Tonner (or is it Toner?) and Zobope, a comics journal from the 1940s launched by Georges Remponneau and other artists (including Bloncourt, according to an article from Conjonction), what else transpired in the development of the comic strip in this Caribbean republic?
Tracking down examples and detailed information on Haitian art before 1930 can be difficult. With the exception of a hard to find key text by Lerebours or Alexis, there is only an issue of Conjonction which touches upon the subject. That is what led me to Edouard Goldman, a Haitian painter and actor whose work, mostly based on past photographs or sketches (such as this), brought a lively color to the Haitian past while glorifying strong or important leaders and intellectuals. Unfortunately, the text is hard to decipher in many of his works, and the book of the exposition at the Grand Palais, which featured several of Goldman's portraits, does not feature the best reproductions.
Anyway, Goldman was trained by his father, and is one of more than a few painters whose work depicted politicians, prominent members of society, or historical figures. As a painter, his medium gave him the ability to bring color to the depiction of Haitian reality, as well as integrate text to tell a story of those depicted. For example, the above painting on the left of Toussaint Louverture quotes Lamartine, saying that Toussaint made the nation. Goldman's early 20th century portraits make the case for taking Haitian art before 1930 seriously, particularly since it represents certain themes which loom larger in later work, especially portraits of Haitian founding fathers. The quiet dignity with which Goldman imbues these portraits are a powerful assertion of national pride.
Riding on a Blue Note is comprised of a number of reviews and essays on several major or lesser known figures in the worlds of jazz and popular music. Giddins writes with wit and a sense of humor to discuss the merits and problems facing artists as diverse as Sinatra, Irving Berlin, Ellington and Ethel Waters to Bobby Blue Bland, Wes Montgomery, and Cecil Taylor. Giddins also approaches the question of race, culture, and identity in a more nuanced way than many other (white) critics of jazz, from what I've encountered so far. The essay on George Benson may come off as too dismissive of jazz fusion, but I cannot help but (mostly) concur with Giddins on the fusion question during 1970s jazz. This is an indispensable collection of essays from the 1970s that will add much needed nuance to the state of the music during those times.
The famous Neg Mawon by Albert Mangonès photographed in 1970. LaGrace Benson has written a worthy tribute to this important Haitian architect and sculptor, as did Kreyolicious.
Stuart Hall's documentary series episode on Haiti is, of course, too short, but a good introduction to Haiti from the great Caribbean scholar. The documentary also challenges the stereotypes of Henri Christophe's rule and the interviewed Haitian scholar alludes to Baron de Vastey's allusions to African architectural genius and grandeur resurfacing in the monuments of Christophe's Haiti. Unfortunately, the film tries to fit Haiti into a transplanted Africa in the Americas that was isolated from the rest of the world. Watch the second part of the video here, which discusses Haitian art.
As I expand my Argentina playlist on Youtube, I want to share this interesting Robert Colescott painting that alludes to the black origins of tango. More Argentines who think black people in their country died out in the late 19th century should see this painting, as well as read Robert Farris Thompson.
Nile Mosaic of Palestrina from around 100 BCE depicts the Nile Valley from a Roman perspective. Ships on the Nile, temples, flora and fauna of the Nilotic landscape, and, as the land goes further and further uphill (South, toward the Sudanese border) we see men with bows hunting, likely representing "Nubians," who were also renowned archers. Scenes such as these depict Roman fascination and obsession with Egypt and its environment, especially regarding animals, the gods, the river itself, and the unknown expanses of northeastern Africa. Roman expeditions and travelers never penetrated beyond the vast Sudd in the Sudan, but their contact with the Meroitic kingdom to the south of Egypt ensured some contact with "Ethiopians," that is, dark-skinned or black people. The following mosaics depicts fellow black devotees to Isis from Roman art from Pompeii, at least, according to Frank Snowden, a Classicist who focused on depictions and perceptions of "black Africans" in the Greco-Roman world. Behold the diversity within the priests and worshipers of Isis, a popular cult throughout Egypt, Nubia, and the Mediterranean Roman-dominated world. The cult of Isis was indeed quite popular with Nubians to the south, and, by the 6th century A.D., Byzantine Christian authorities of heavily Christianized Egypt closed down the temple at Philae, near the border in the South. Anyway, the dark figure in the upper right of the first image, near the man with light-skin in the center on top of the steps, appears to be holding a sistrum. Apparently Egyptomania, the spread of the Isis cult, and Roman imperial rule led to demands for "authentic" touches to their Egyptian-derived religion (Image of the Black in Western Art is a great source on this). Dark-skinned people, animals, and Egyptian priests, not mutually exclusive with dark-skinned, were often initiators or participants in spread of Isis to the Italian peninsula, in places such as Pompeii. The second image depicts one dark-skinned figure on top of the steps with what may be a feathered headdress, perhaps representing Bes, an Egyptian ithyphallic dward god.
A lot of Nilotic scenes in Roman art also refer to sexuality, fertility, and ancient Egyptian religion, which is no surprise given the popularity of the Isis cult or that ancient Egyptians had fertility rituals associated with the Nile's inundation of the land. Other Nilotic scenes depict dark pygmies or dwarves, which, in Greek religion, was likely an allusion to the satyr, also associated with fertility and sex. Thus, Nilotic scenes of the Roman world not only reinterpret and recycle Egyptian religious themes, but also incorporate Greek and other influences. In order to depict the "exotic" and alluring fertility and Other, dark-skinned peoples often appear, such as the black figure represented in the following mosaic, also from Pompeii. It is unclear if this black figure represents fertility, authentic Nilotic scenes, or is a servant of some sort, but the picture undoubtedly connotes sexuality.
General haitiano en marcha, caricature of a Haitian general from a Dominican newspaper in 1845, the year after secession from Haiti. Though ambiguous in whether it is pro- or anti-Haitian, the artist seemingly knows something about the usual images of Ogou/Ogun/Ogunde, a lwa associated with the military. Note how the general, though dressed in sandals, is proudly en marcha with French military-styled dress but carries fish, plantains, and maize as tribute, manje lwa, for Ogou.The dog he forces to follow him on leash may represent the eastern half of Hispaniola, or perhaps another allusion to the god of war, Ogou. Many Haitian artists depict Ogou in a remarkably similar way, smoking tobacco, carrying food, a saber, and, dressed in military gear. A painting by Andre Pierre, painter and houngan, depicts a remarkably similar Ogoun Badagry in the 20th century, as noted by others. Sara Johnson's Fear of French Negroes was the main source for this post.
Painted between 1467 and 1471, Last Judgment is a triptych depicting, interestingly, a Black person as one of the saved and as the damned, representing the universalism of Christianity through which anyone could find salvation or damnation. The following statue of Saint Maurice, created in the 13th century for the Cathedral of Magdeburg in modern-day Germany, depicts a saint as a Black person. Somehow, St. Maurice, who had never been depicted as a Black, was transformed into one by medieval German Christians. It likely was not that difficult to change his color, considering the historical Maurice's roots in Upper Egypt and the Latin maurus, referring to dark-skinned people of North Africa.
Here is the Black Madonna of Czestochowska, Poland
Erzulie by Gerard Valcin
Veve
Catholic European Christian iconography and art clearly influenced Haitian art and popular religion. The image of the Black Madonna could have disseminated in Haiti with the presence of Polish soldiers in the French army sent to reconquer the land under Napoleon's brother-in-law. Of course the spread of the Black Madonna image could have also arose from later Catholic influences in Haiti after the Vatican finally recognized the nation in the mid-19th century or during several Church-run "anti-superstition" campaigns against Haitians who practiced Vodou. Regardless, it's a fascinating example of how art and ideas transcend race, gender, and religious lines. Scholars disagree on the Black Madonnas of Christian Europe, but it's appearance in Haitian religious practice and art demonstrates how individuals and peoples borrow ideas and reinterpret them. Thus, the Catholic Virgin becomes a spirit of sexuality and love in Haitian Vodou.
A friend once referred to The Boondocks comic strip as my "black power comic." He was correct. I love The Boondocks comic and TV show. I would die for it. The Freeman family, consisting of Huey, Riley, and their grandfather represent the 3 different 20th century approaches to race by African-Americans. Their grandfather, Robert, epitomizes traditional black Southern Civil Rights-era views and strategies on race relations. Huey, named after co-founder of the Black Panthers, Huey P. Newton, represents the Black Power and militant movements of the late 60s and 70s. Riley, on the other hand, symbolizes the current generation of black youths enamored with gangsta rap and that sub-culture, which according to his brother Riley is known for ignorance, lack of foresight, and concerned only with instant gratification. Of course you have to love Thomas Dubois, the "Uncle Tom" black neighbor in the blindingly white suburb of Woodcrest. His white wife Sarah and their adorable and innocent biracial daughter Jazmine provide another look at race relations through interracial relationships. Of course the comic also brought up the savagery from which whites have risen in this country, an issue that they don't like to be reminded of.
So right away black readers who saw Boondocks in the newspapers had representation and a voice for the first time. This is the only comic that ever addressed issues of race with black characters and was actually funny and insightful.Huey's pro-black and angry rhetoric greeted millions of Americans in the morning hours for approximately six years, 1999-2005. Indeed, as Huey's Brooklyn friend Caesar once says in one strip, "When are millions of Americans ready to wake up to the angry rantings of a black kid." Well, it actually happened! Moreover, I'm glad creator Aaron McGruder moved away from family-based humor after 9/11, thereby making The Boondocks the most critical and political comic in the country.
After 9/11, Huey began blasting the Bush regime at every opportunity. Although Bush was always a target of Huey's rantings, newspaper (The Free Huey, named after Black Panther Huey Newton) and dialogue with his friends and family, the first 2 years of the comic focused on the move from the Southside of Chicago to the white suburb of Woodcrest and the sudden impact the Freemans had on their white neighbors and vice versa. As you can imagine, hilarity ensued from these encounters and reactions and I believe Huey's character, beliefs, and actions exposed white folks to different aspects and perspectives on black radicalism.
Unfortunately too many whites don't realize that McGruder is also satirizing elements of black radicalism and criticizes blacks just as much as he criticizes or makes fun of white people and white culture. McGruder pokes fun at Huey Freeman's crazy beliefs in conspiracies, criticizes the economic philosophy of black nationalism and forms of black cultural nationalism, such as Kwanzaa. Furthermore, through Riley and Grandad, he criticizes "studio gangsters," integration and outmoded forms of resistance to racism and segregation advocated by Tom Dubois and Grandad and the NAACP. So I can say that I disagree with a friend who feels that the comic strip was too hostile toward white readers but perhaps he just does not understand due to his lack of exposure to black nationalism and African American history.
Anyway, The Boondocks television show is hilarious but lacks the political punch of the comic. Obviously the switch in format does not allow the show to keep up with everyday news in politics. Instead, the TV program focuses on the characters and uses more controversial humor. As Aaron McGruder himself admits, it's good that the program came on the air after Dave Chappelle, whose television show opened the way for more freedom of expression and less censorship in television.
However, I am disappointed with the lack of Michael Caesar in the first 2 seasons of The Boondocks. This Brooklyn youth transplanted in a white suburb provided a lot of humor and served as a foil to Huey in the comic. I also enjoyed his nerdy conversations with Huey about X-Men, film, Star Wars, and kung fu movies. I have yet to see most episodes of the 3rd season of The Boondocks but the season premiere made fun of black America's love of Barack Obama. As Huey correctly predicted, the election of Barack Obama did not change the system or improve conditions for black folks.
In conclusion, I will simply quote Huey Freeman's comments on the George Bush regime during a Thanksgiving prayer. Remember this came out recently after 9/11 while most comics and journalists were defending Bush and the curtailment of civil liberties. Matter of fact, Huey is the only character in comic strip history who ever advocated theft since the whole country was built on stolen land. I love this brother.
