Thoughts on Rihanna’s ‘American Oxygen’

Rihanna’s American Oxygen is subversive in the best way possible.

Another month passes by as we have yet another black body dead at the hands of the police in the United States (RIP Freddie Gray) Yet, as we shout black lives matter, we only seem to roar for black men. Black women and trans lives seem to only get recognition on Tumblr, our bodies not worthy of more than a couple thousand to march (RIP Rekia, Mya, Yvette, Tanisha).

And then I’m asked what I think of Rihanna’s ‘American Oxygen’. At first listen and viewing I am dismissive, mostly because I’m not really listening, nor getting it. But Rihanna, a Black Caribbean American immigrant singing about oxygen in the United States, matters. This song is a visual and harmonic exploration of American imperialism that sets chills down my spine each time I find the melody in my head or catch a glimpse of the video on T.V.

First: “Breathe in, breathe out, American oxygen.” Only like Eric Garner, who died in a chokehold this past July stammered, we can’t.

Second: Rihanna croons of the possibilities of a young he and she that ‘can be anything at all’ yet she sings a blue question embedded in doubt, rather than truism. And as the video flips through major moments of U.S. history from the landing on the moon, to 9/11, Hurricane Katrina and lynchings in the early twentieth century it is clear that the question of American oxygen manifests in an imbalance of lack and excess.

Third: ‘We sweat for a nickel and dime and build into an empire.’ Yet juxtaposed with images of Ferguson, we can see that the empire’s pervasiveness manifests into oxygen that is simultaneously ubiquitous, yet suffocating. If a young girl and a young boy can be anything- because of the air we all breathe- the question becomes- not if the oxygen is present, but rather how certain bodies- those of Mexicans dying at the hands of the army trying to cross the border, or Katrina survivors left to die, can choke in its excess.

Fourth: Breath also conjures images of journey- that is its constriction in the journey. While we see imagery of immigrants trying to cross the border- we don’t see imagery of the journey itself. But if we take a step further we can picture it- bodies crammed together in trucks, with air sparse. Then I think of a different journey into the Americas- with slaves piled onto ships, crowded onto upper and lower decks, again with little room for a calm breath. And then to finally arrive at the destination, with more space to breath air, which is nothing less than contaminated, if not poisonous.

Fifth: ‘I say, can’t see- just close your eyes and breathe’- where the surreal promise of a better land is something that if not experienced through sight (read color blind- post-injustice) can still be understood through the exhalation of polluted air (or the reality of systemic inequality).

Sixth: In tandem with Michael Jackson’s “They Don’t Really Care About Us” and Public Enemy’s “Fight the Power”, “American Oxygen” has a message- one echoed in the recent albums of Kendrick Lamar and D’Angelo and even Erykah Badu’s 2010 ‘New Amerykah Pt.1’.

Seventh: Perhaps its dismissal comes because of Rihanna’s taut nipples (read titillation), or the fact that she’s an American immigrant seemingly singing about how great America is. But that’s what makes it all the more interesting. Rihanna doesn’t crack a smile once throughout the song, and despite the dismissal of her faux profound poses– she sings of a narrative she and we know all too well- you can be anything you want here, but only with sacrifice.

Eighth: Barack Obama calls those protesting in Baltimore criminals and thugs. And then the video’s opening (footage of Obama sworn in as President) makes sense. Obama was/is meant to symbolize a new America- a post racial, post inequality space, where anyone can be anything. But what we have 7 years later is something different- something new(ish), which refutes the notion that America as an institution has changed simply because a non white body is in the office of the President. It will take more than a black President to fix America’s system of inequality and racism. This truism was evident from America’s beginning days of the empire, and becomes all the more clear now, as millions of immigrants trying to get to America, and those already sworn into the land of the free, literally choke to death on the promise of American oxygen.

Beyonce and Chimamanda on feminism with a small ‘f’

This morning at 4 am (GMT) I received a text from my sister that read, “Beyonce has a new album that also has 17 videos and Chimamanda’s on it!!!” Half sleeping, I thought I mis-read, but a few minutes later I got insanely happy. I hadn’t heard the song yet, and had no idea what the collaboration would sound or look like, but I knew that it would have something to do with feminism, and at that moment, I knew there was no way I could go back to sleep.

It’s almost like when you have a brain fart, because something that seems so random is actually perfection and it’s like these are the collaborations that we’ll continue talking about for decades, and I’m just sad that I can’t quit my job and be a part of Beyonce’s creative team so that my life can have meaning. But brain fart aside, the collaboration between Chimamanda and Beyonce takes shape in the track ‘***Flawless‘ and begins with the controversial ‘Bow Down Bitches‘ before transforming into the perfect boughetto anthem of black womynism.

Chimamanda’s contribution to the song is a speech, which consists of elements of her lauded TEDx2013 address ‘we should all be feminists.’ While I’m sure many could be confused as to how Beyonce’s lyrics connect with Adichie’s call to feminism it’s that very confusion that addresses the critical feminism that both Adichie and Beyonce speak to. When ‘Bow Down’ was released (or leaked?) earlier this year, there was a lot of discussion that Beyonce telling other women to ‘bow down’ was anti-feminist, which is what most white feminists declare whenever Beyonce does anything. Many have critically examined why white feminists need to leave Bey alone, but ‘Flawless’ hails as a powerful response to the notion that being feminist has to be strictly defined. In tandem with Chimamanda’s call to feminism- both Chimamanda and Beyonce are also critical of a feminism that doesn’t recognize a women’s right to speak through her body and sexuality (which is what many try and shame Beyonce for).

What I love about how Beyonce speaks through feminism, is how simplistic the language is. It reminds me of Nigerian feminist author Buchi Emecheta’s critical intervention to western narratives of feminism, where she calls for a recognition of feminism with a small ‘f’- opening our eyes to the fact that African women achieve in different measures, and also that women live in and through their decisions to be whatever they want to be. Even though Emecheta refers to ‘feminism with a small f’ in a starkly diffferent framework than female super stardom- I think it resonates through it’s recognition of the varying and supposedly contradictory ways we can lead our lives and still be feminists. For Beyonce, it’s really as simple as saying “I woke up like dis. I look good tonight’ and it’s interconnectedness to conversations of womanism that happens through ‘diaspora’ with Chimamanda is still causing brain farts in my mind.

Thoughts on Reading ‘Americanah’ as an American born Nigerian Black Woman.

I just moved to Lagos from Brooklyn, to work as a content manager for a lifestyle blog. The first few pages makes me extremely emotional on the Sunday I spend reading, and I burst into tears when Skyping with my parents, who of course, don’t understand why I’m upset.

I cringe when reading Chimamanda’s characterization the African Students Union that Ifelemu joins during university. It reads true, but somehow awkward and reminds me of all of the politics that come from being black and African at college.

I skip through most of Ifelemu’s blog posts while reading the first time, because they remind me of why I find the internet annoying, even as I write this very post for the internet.

I find myself frustrated not necessarily with Ifelemu’s observations on race and blackness, but with Chimamanda’s press tour on race and blackness.

Her discussions of race as something that she came to understand only after coming to the U.S. strike me as problematic.

They strike me as problematic because they seem too eager to place race and blackness in the U.S. and fail to consider racialisation as a process that has also impacted Nigeria.

Reading Americanah leaves me with 3 questions/contentions: How can we talk about race in Africa, in a way that doesn’t privilege what race means in the U.S? Or how can we talk about the delineations between blackness and race, in a way that recognizes the history of how race was assembled colonially and how blackness as phenomenology has come into being through racialised notions of self? I’m not trying to force race into where it doesn’t belong, but it strikes me as odd that Africans, or specifically Nigerians, continue to act as though blackness doesn’t mean something here. 

I wonder and continue to wonder how to do work around race through gender and class in Nigeria, that won’t draw contentions that I’m trying to force western notions of blackness onto Africans. What I really want is to locate and unpack the post-colonial materiality of race in Nigeria and how racialisation as a process comes with slippages and links to Chimamanda’s learned blackness in the U.S.

Bodies That Matter: FEMEN’s Appropriation of The Curse of Nakedness

If you’re unfamiliar, FEMEN is a Ukraine based feminist group with chapters throughout Europe, the Middle East, and North Africa. FEMEN has been making waves for the past year now, through their chosen method of activism: naked protest. While the method has gained popularity and visibility in the mainstream, it has also been problematized by feminists in other parts of the world. This past November, when Egyptian feminist Alia al-Mahdy posted photos of her naked body wrapped in an Egyptian flag, there was a huge debate over the use of the method as an example of European feminists imposing their values onto Third world feminism/Islamic feminism. Sara Mourad has already provided an excellent analysis contextualizing the debates surrounding Alia’s naked body, which is in many ways applicable to the latest manifestation of FEMEN’s tactics in Tunisia, via the naked body of Amina Tyler. Tyler’s naked protest has been the topic du jour particularly because of the call for her to be punished with at least 80 to 100 lashes, or actually death by stoning.

Maroud highlights how many women of color feminists have taken issue with what they consider a clear example of imperial feminism which imports western understandings of nakedness onto Islamic notions of the body; I want to draw attention to what continues to be overlooked. It seems that no one is emphasizing the fact that these white feminists do not own the method they have chosen to declare as their call to arms against patriarchy. In short, before we discuss how FEMEN is engaging in somewhat problematic dynamics with women of color feminists throughout the Middle East & North Africa region, we should recall that their chosen method of protest is certainly not exclusive to white European feminists. Have we forgotten the naked protests that have taken place in Nigeria, Liberia, Kenya and Uganda for over a century? While the conversations surrounding FEMEN’s growing presence in the MENA region certainly highlight valid arguments about Western feminism and how it relates to other notions of feminism/womanism throughout the globe, what I find to be the greatest example of liberalism is that they’ve managed to convince us that they own the method and, in some ways, shape how we understand our own nakedness.

What is arguably one of the most powerful manifestations of naked protest over the past century took place during the Women’s War in Eastern Nigeria (1929) and was a significant manifestation of black women’s resistance to colonial authority and racialised Western notions of the body. The significance of the history of this method continues to manifest in naked protests, which have taken place in West, East, and Southern Africa as recently as December 2012. Yet these black women and their unyielding fearlessness to literally put their bodies on the line and stand against multinational oil companies, corruption, and violence, receive little visibility in the mainstream. Sometimes, even in their own countries, their commitment and strength is dismissed as foolish, unfruitful and futile.

In this era of social media and new technologies FEMEN’s tactics are able to gain notice through their chosen mediums of expression and well connected network. The issue is not so much that they use naked protest as a method, but rather that we continue to confuse our disapproval of how their tactics mimic imperial feminism with the method itself. In other words, FEMEN’s expansion into the Middle East and North Africa is likely a glaring example of imperial feminism, but not because of the method. Women of color, specifically throughout the continent have been using naked protest and genital cursing for centuries to express their intolerance and perform resistance. FEMEN’s naked bodies aren’t the only bodies making waves- while their tactics are highly visible, they have yet to shut down an entire oil facility for seven days with the simple threat of disrobing.

*Originally published at Okayafrica

Real Husbands of Hollywood and the Ever Effeminate Brand of Kevin Hart

With a series premiere of over 4 million viewers this past January, there is no question that “Real Husbands of Hollywood” has caught the attention of viewers across the US. We first got a preview of “Real Husbands” in June 2012 during a segment of the BET Awards. The concept was funny, but many probably did not foresee that what was an entertaining spoof of reality TV shows, would morph into a full network series.

Yes, “Real Husbands of Hollywood” is funny. It’s funny first and foremost because of the Kevin Hart brand, and of course the cast is filled with black male veteran actors and performers, such as Boris Kodjoe and Duane Martin, that we don’t usually get to see on our TV screens. In addition, the premise is effective as a satirical depiction of black women on reality TV via programs such as “Real Housewives” “Love & Hip Hop” “Bad Girls Club” etc.

However, aside from the comedic impact of watching black men perform deceit, arrogance, manipulation via mimesis of the black female reality character, I think it’s also important to note that a lot of the comedic content of the show rests on Kevin Hart’s brand. Specifically, his brand of self-effemination via the physicality of his body in juxtaposition to our ideas of black macho masculinity. Within the first few episodes we watch: Kevin Hart get the shit kicked out of him by a nine-year old, the juxtaposition of his weakness to the strength of boxer Laila Ali in preparation for another physical embarrassment courtesy of Shane Mosley. Oh and of course another knockout delivered by R&B crooner, Robin Thicke. It’s all great (well decent) comedy, and works to establish that the Kevin Hart of Hollywood Husbands, is not the well-liked, and appreciated Kevin Hart of the real world. In some ways perhaps the writing of the show reflects his own neurosis about his fame, finances, and physicality.

In terms of black masculinity, the premise of the show is of course that each of these men have wives that are more successful, and the punchline is that it’s true in real life. But what is somehow fascinating about the writing is how it depicts and problematizes black women and their relationship to reality television (through the fame of their former partners) as a vehicle for fame and fortune at no cost, and in too many cases with no shame. Or rather how the show emphasizes this, but is still unable to extricate itself from representing and enforcing the insecurity of black male masculinity, especially through Kevin Hart’s (strange) and small body.

As we anticipate the end of the first season, I think the show has another season in its life span. I’m extremely curious as to how the show will continue to draw in its audience, as viewership has been on the decline since the first episode. We get the joke of the show, but what remains unclear is how the show and Kevin Hart will advance with it and beyond it, in what could be an interesting contribution to the modern era of selfsploitation and reality television.