First, who am I speaking to?
To Black American dancers reading along:
It is insufferable of me to say all this to you. I apologise for whitesplaining your own history.
I am still figuring this all out in my head, so I’m going to write it out.
To everyone else reading along (especially white lindy hoppers and people who are part of a socially powerful group):
We can do better.
Nor am I speaking specifically to teachers with this post. I’m talking to my friends (and strangers) about the way we use history, and specifically Frankie Manning, in lindy hop culture today. More particularly, the way people who are not Black Americans use Black history.
I am endlessly, perpetually enraged and just plain shat off by white ‘dance historians’ who reduce history to a list of dates and ‘events’ they found in a newspaper or journal produced by white businesses for white readers. I am not a historian by trade or training (though I seem to have produced and published a heap of articles and dissertations that look at history and how we ‘make’ it), but I know that if we want to understand what happened in the past, we need to do more than read the accounts of history written by the victors. The victors, in the case of the USA, are white, able bodied cismen. And fuck knows I’m thoroughly sick of reading about them.
Second, I am 100% coming at this issue with an agenda, and that agenda is ‘place Frankie Manning in social and cultural context’. I have that agenda because most of the current ‘talk’ (ie classes, lectures, social media posts, pages on websites, etc etc) present Frankie Manning the way the Ken Burns would: as a singular genius who created great art alone. This is the ‘Great Man’ approach to history.
This approach is a product of 19th Century Angle-Celtic imperialism: the idea that great social and political events (and scientific and cultural and artistic…) are the product of ‘great men’. Heroes. It’s also total bullshit. Creative and scientific and political changes and events are always the product (or one step in a process) of a whole community. You know the line ‘behind every great man is a great woman’? We’ll, it’s more that ‘every great man is embedded in a community that makes his work possible’.
In the case of Frankie Manning, yes he was a talented artist. But he was also the child of a woman called Lucille, who moved north from Florida to New York in the Great Migration. So his world growing up in Harlem was made up of the thousands of other Black Americans who’d moved away from the violence and unemployment of the south. This whole world made him who he was. His work as a professional dancer was shaped by his ‘colleagues’ (other dancers, managers, venue owners, film directors and producers, competition organisers, band leaders, musicians, etc etc etc). His domestic life was shaped by the people he lived with (his single mother, his wives and lovers, his friends), his social life was shaped by his neighbours (a crowd of people living cheek-by-jowl in urban Harlem), his friends’ and friends’ families’ experiences at work, in social clubs, in churches, and in the neighbourhood.
People lived really close together in the overcrowded area, and people came from all over the country with experiences with horrible injustice. They were often the first free people in their family, or even were enslaved in their own life time. To be alive, to travel independently, to make choices about where to live, to be paid for their labour was political. They were political people.
So this is the important bit: you couldn’t live in Harlem in the 20s and 30s without seeing political rallies on the street, hearing speeches on the street about New Negro issues, hearing people (especially women) organising tenant rallies and actions… and so on (this is a good article to learn about how everyday and ordinary politics was in Harlem in the 1910s-40s). The people who moved out of the south had come from places where they couldn’t speak loudly on the street, couldn’t make eye contact with a white person, had no legal recourse when their families were lynched by whites. But in Harlem, the whole philosophy of the ‘New Negro’ was to find a new way of being Black. And that identity was founded absolutely in community.
Politics wasn’t just about joining a political party and voting in elections (though voting rights were at the core of the New Negro movement). It was about neighbours in a building getting together to make their landlord treat them fairly. Or it was about getting WPA funding for a community arts center. Or it was about going to a church meeting and being organised to bring meals to the needy.
You can see the roots of the Black Panthers in all this: political activism was centered absolutely on the community, and on social justice.
Third why teach this in a lindy hop dance class or in a lecture to dancers, or write it on a blog about dance, or in a social media post? Why should modern day lindy hoppers think about Frankie Manning as a man who is part of the Harlem Renaissance?
1. If we tell a story of Frankie Manning as a ‘Great Man’, he becomes a sort of ‘touched by god’ larger-than-life superhero.
2. But if we tell a story of Frankie Manning as part of a community, specifically, the community of the Harlem Renaissance, then we can teach the fact that Black Americans in Harlem (and elsewhere) weren’t just passively accepting slavery or segregation or white oppression. They were actively working to resist oppression. And activism like this has to be collective.
3. This is important for understanding history, but it also provides a model for political action today. The Civil Rights/Freedom movement of the 50s was a product of revolutionary New Negro politics, and reworking of their practices. The Black Panthers were a decentralised community organisation that explicitly drew on the politics of the New Negro that centered education and community care. The Black Lives Matter movement is the next step in that long political and intellectual and community legacy.
Some of the key features of this political heritage are:
– the role of women is centered and acknowledged (women are always present in actions, but not acknowledged in patriarchal movements eg white peace protest in the USA)
– grassroots activism holds everything together. These politics happen in community spaces including homes, church halls, beauty parlours, cafes. Spaces where women and children have power (unlike, for example, a law court)
– when politics and action happen in everyday spaces, everyone is exposed to it everyday
– the ‘street economy’ (eg drug dealers and users, sex workers and consumers, organised crime, etc) becomes an acknowledged part of the process. eg Black trans women during the AIDS crisis (1980s USA) were essential in organising community care and support, and gangsters like Casper Holstein became involved in funding community works.
This all means that we can look at the Harlem Renaissance as a way to understand how we can resist and be politically active today. So instead of thinking ‘oh, I can’t run for a senate seat, I don’t have the money, so I can’t change anything,’ we can think ‘I can organise a fundraiser in my local scene and raise money for the local women’s shelter’ or ‘When I go to the weekend dance event, I can choose the class taught by a Black teacher instead of a white teacher’… and so on.
Frankie as part of the Harlem Renaissance gives us a model for understanding how we can be part of a politicised community today.
I especially like it because it’s a good alternative to the political model offered by white patriarchy in Australia. I don’t want to join a major political party. I want to teach lindy hop in my local club’s games room, and show people a photo of the Silent Parade taken by a Black photographer, to show how the streets of Harlem were literally filled with political actions taken by ordinary people to challenge white violence in other states.
4. It can also show how, even if a person like Frankie Manning didn’t tell stories about politics when he was teaching white people in the 1980s, he was part of a politicised community. If we think of him as a product of the Harlem Renaissance, the short anecdote in his bio where he describes traveling to see Martin Luther King speak as an ordinary thing colleagues in a unionised workplace did makes perfect sense.
It also shows modern, white lindy hoppers that you can be a great artist, or a hardcore adrenaline junky lindy hopper AND go to a political rally with your workmates.
And to address Damon’s point on my fb post:
it seems very much of filling an agenda that doesn’t serve the point of most Lindy Hop related lectures.