Brotherly Love

This week in North Philly Notes, Nico Slate, author of Brothers, writes about his brother’s death and Philadelphia.

In 1994, my older brother was the victim of a racially-charged attack. A White man smashed a beer bottle into his face, crushing his right eye. I used to call it a hate crime but the truth is more complicated. On July 4, 2003, my brother died in a car crash he might have avoided if he still had both of his eyes. About ten years ago, I began investigating my brother’s death and its relationship to the night he lost his eye. I decided to write a book, Brothers: A Memoir of Love, Loss, and Race,

Neither my brother nor I ever lived in Philadelphia. He was attacked in Los Angeles, the city in which we were born and in which he lived most of his life. In 1960, my brother’s father, a Nigerian man named Chukwudi Osakwe, came to study at the renowned HBCU, Lincoln University, located not far from Philadelphia. In Brothers, I describe how Chukwudi played on the soccer team, was elected president of his freshmen class, and was known as “the new African with the fancy British accent.” I wish my brother and I had visited Lincoln together. He and I were in Philadelphia together only once—during a cross-country trip that occurred just a few years after he lost his eye. In my book, I describe how that trip revealed many of the challenges my brother faced after losing his eye—not just how to cope with his disability, but how to respond to the fact that he was now seen by others as disabled. I also discuss the way we were treated as a mixed-race family as we drove through different regions of the country.

While I chose not to write about our brief time in Philadelphia, I could have described our touristy decision to visit the Liberty Bell. I could have expounded on the cliché of “brotherly love,” a cliché that always meant more to me than it should have given that I spent so little time in the city. Even as kids in LA, my brother and I knew that Philadelphia was not an urban utopia that embodied its moniker. Like the Liberty Bell, that cracked symbol of a deeply-flawed freedom, a freedom that was not extended to the hundreds of thousands of enslaved Africans at the time of independence, the idea of a “city of brotherly love” is more a dream than a reality.

But my brother was a dreamer, like his father, and I still find hope in the promise of brotherly love, the promise of the love my brother shared for me. This is one of the reasons I wrote Brothers.

Making a case for the “power” of theory

This week in North Philly Notes, Grant Farred, editor of Africana Studies: Theoretical Futures, writes about the precarity of Black life.

The precarity of Black life. In the U.S. we are reminded of this every day. At least that is how it seems. Police shootings are the worst of it, but not the whole truth of it by any means. In the Black diaspora at large, a similar situation obtains. Unseaworthy vessels sink and African migrants drown as they go in search of a better life in Europe. If they survive, new modes of hostility await them. The stranger is not welcome.

To think a theoretical future for Africana Studies under these conditions seems, if not pyrrhic, then Wordsworthian in tenor. It would be dissembling to suggest that Africana Studies: Theoretical Futures was not conceived against precisely this backdrop, one which recalls the Romantic poet’s lament. Wordsworth writes:

The world is too much with us; late and soon

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers

Against just such a world, where everything mitigates against Black life, Africana Studies: Theoretical Futures makes a case for the “power” of theory. That is because in this collection, theory is not understood as an abstraction or as a rarefied mode of thought. Instead, theory is mobilized in this collection as the work of imagining—of thinking for—a future for Global Black life where precarity is not the order of the day. Africana theory is providing, if not a blueprint, then a first sounding board for how combat the violence that so threatens Black life; a platform for not only resisting the onslaught against Black life, but for ensuring a future that can sustain and nurture Black life. Where Black life might even thrive.

The work of theory is thus to harness the “power” of Black thought in all its manifestations. This collection includes poetic reflection, philosophical contemplation, geo-political analysis and quasi-memoiristic recollection. The work that this collection assigns itself is to think for the futures of Black life. Futures rather than the singular future. That is, in order to create the conditions under which Black life might be sustainably lived there can be no one, single future that will speak to and address all Black needs. It is therefore necessary to think for the plurality of futures. To propose the logic of plurality rather than singularity is, a priori, to anticipate a series of new challenges in those futures. That is, the work of making a future(s) in which Black life can be sustained is, by its very nature, an incomplete project. Every new imagining of Black life, to say nothing of every new making of that life, will generate its own set of possibilities and difficulties.

It will thus always be necessary to develop new theoretical tools, to hone new philosophical skills, to produce new poetic insights, to imagine new geo-political formations and configurations, in order to sustain Black life. In this way Africana Studies: Theoretical Futures recognizes its historical location. It speaks out of, and for, a particular historical conjuncture. It understands its speaking as emerging out of the institutional facticity that is the 50^th anniversary of Africana Studies in the American academy.

Rather than being declarative, then, the book offers itself as an invitation. The invitation to think for new theoretical futures, to produce new modes for Black being, to create new poetic articulations. The future of Africana Studies as a discipline is charged with always addressing the challenges that confront Black life, which history has shown to always be a condition overwritten by precarity—a way of being in the world that has always been “too much with us.”

Because Black life in the present is lived as an existential threat, the effect of such precarity is to lend urgency to thinking for theoretical futures. If nothing else, however, Africana Studies: Theoretical Futures reveals the many modes, the multiple registers, the variegated disciplines, in which this thinking might take place. And in this multiplicity, this collection makes evident, there is the imaginings of how Black lives might be lived.

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