June Jordan_Her Life and Letters
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Jordan’s involvement in political movements gave her hope that the lives of black people would be improved, in part, by demonstrating, marching, protesting, and then returning to the streets to insist on change. And fight Jordan did, by attending the rallies and writing poetry about black love, life, leaders, and movements.
Writing about civil rights movements in her essay “Declaration of an Independence I Would Just as Soon Not Have” Jordan asks: But where can you find serious Black spokesmen, or women, for the impoverished, hungry, state-dependent Black peoples among us who still amount to more that a third of our total population? And why does it continue to be the case that, when our ostensible leadership talks about the “liberation of the Black man” that is precisely, and only, what they mean?25
Jordan questions the foundation of the Black Power and Black Arts Movements in terms of the liberation, equality, and fair representation of women. Her questions, pointed directly at the leaders of these movements, speak to a universal problem with representation along racial, gender, and class lines. The Women’s Movement of the 1970s is not exempt from such questions, particularly when its white female leaders take on the roles of authority figures or assume the definitive voice for black people and other unacknowledged groups. Such acts further silence and ignore the realities of large segments of the population. As an example of such unfair representation, Jordan writes about the lowly position and unmet needs of black female workers in the United States: Black women continue to occupy the absolutely lowest rungs of the labor force in the United States, we continue to receive the lowest pay of any group of workers, and we endure the highest rate of unemployment. If that status does not cry out for liberation, specifically as Black women, then I am hopelessly out of touch with my own pre-ordained reality.26
Where are the leaders who will listen to the voices and realities of the world’s poor and impoverished people, particularly women? Where are the spokespersons who will rally for the rights of disenfranchised people, underpaid workers, oppressed citizens, and political refuges? Who will insist that there can be no movements without the presence and participation of black women? The absence of black women in human rights organizing was always a point of concern for Jordan. For she could not understand why major political movements
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did not readily acknowledge and push to the forefront the inclusion of women.
Jordan was frustrated with, and unforgiving of, the fact that the multidimensional existences, struggles, and voices of women remained absent from larger conversations on human rights, equality, and love. Such points are articulated in the poem “From the Talking Back of Miss Valentine Jones: Poem # One” (1976): you (temporarily) shownup with a thing
you say’s a poem and you
call it
“Will the Real Miss Black America Standup?”27
From here, the poet goes on to protest the assumption that black women have no words when, in fact, their words—the poetry of their work and the reality of their domestic lives—are often ignored by black men, including male poets of the Black Arts Movement:
and the very next bodacious Blackman
call me queen
because my life ain shit
because (in any case) he ain been here to share it
with me
(dish for dish and do for do and
dream for dream)
I’m gone scream him out my house
be-
cause what I wanted was
to braid my hair/bathe and bedeck my
self so fully be-
cause what I wanted was
your love
not pity
be-
cause what I wanted was
your love
your love28
Employing a crisp, feminist perspective, this poem about “talking back”
demonstrates Jordan’s resistance to being silenced by the very leaders of the 1960s black protest movements and the 1970s feminist movement who were supposed to represent her. Both Jordan’s essay “Declaration of an Independence I Would Just as Soon Not Have” and her poem “From the Talking Back of Miss Valentine Jones: Poem # One” critique the role of “leader”
when such a role infringes upon the voices and rights of women. For example, the “bodacious Blackman,”29 the “you” and “your,” in “From the Talking Back
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of Miss Valentine Jones: Poem # One” attempts to assume authority over and for black women, believing that his words, wisdom, and voice represent the lives and histories of black women as well. What the “bodacious Blackman”
does not realize, or fails to acknowledge, are the daily “domestic routines” of black women. According to Miss Valentine, “I had to remember to write down/margarine on the list/and shoepolish and a can of/sliced pineapples in casea company.”30 The Blackman’s lack of acknowledgement is a failure for Miss Valentine, especially since all she ever really “wanted was/your love/not pity.”31
In addition to this lack of love from the “bodacious Blackman” for the working black woman, Jordan’s poem points to the larger, more systemic failure by leaders of “Black” movements to deconstruct images of Blackness portrayed in popular white culture. For Jordan, a true black aesthetic could never really be actualized since some of the 1960s and 1970s political leaders did not fully take into consideration the voices and rights of black women and children. The “benign neglect” of black women at home and in political movements made Jordan—mother, artist, activist, and self-proclaimed Black Nationalist—question the validity of those movements and their leaders; Jordan had a more inclusive vision of the contributions that black women could make in political activities.
What Jordan sought, then, was a political movement representative of the widely varied experiences of women, men, and children, including black and immigrant people like her parents. This collective would revolutionize and internationalize the black protest movement in its inclusivity. Maybe Jordan’s desire for such a collective was influenced by Malcolm X’s recognition of the need for heightened analysis and increased commitment that could only come from an international human rights movement. Or perhaps Jordan’s desire for such a collective is similar to Martin Luther King, Jr.’s call for universal love and equality through nonviolent measures. In many ways, Jordan’s desire for a rich black aesthetic, inclusive of the voices and realities of black women, King’s insistence on universal love, and Malcolm’s call for an international collective are all rooted in a civil rights liberation movement that supports historically marginalized people by acknowledging their voices and making them visible.
Jordan critiqued the work of both Malcolm X and Martin Luther King, Jr., as well as their representative causes, as a way to interrogate her own social responsibility. This interrogation, mediating between nonviolent and violent responses, encouraged Jordan to continue to examine black leadership in relation to communality and struggles. In her timely essay “Civil Wars,” Jordan discusses the lack of black leadership, King’s assassination, and “the massive Black peoples’ uprising of Miami, 1980.” She writes,
Again and again after the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr., social commentators “deplored” the lack of Black leadership. But I had been thinking, maybe it’s a good thing. Certainly, I couldn’t see any white leadership around that left me envi-ous. The concept of leadership itself seemed to me dangerous and tired.”32
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Such leadership, even during the 1980s, was “dangerous and tired”33 because of the increase in violent acts directed at people of color. She wrote about the murder of Arthur McDuffie who “died because three cops beat him to death because he went through a red l
ight and he was Black.”34 Jordan attended with her close friends, Gwendolyn Hardwick and Alexis De Veaux, “the 1979 organized, nonviolent demonstration to protest the police murder of Luis Baez,”35 a young Brooklyn resident who was shot sixteen times. She participated in “the People’s Tribunal,” where artist, writer, and activist Alexis De Veaux was briefly interrupted by New York police officers as she attempted to deliver her statement about unarmed Elizabeth Magnum, one of many black women killed by police officers. It was Jordan who wrote one of the most striking lines of dedication: “This is my short list: for 1989 I dedicate myself to the memory of Lisa Steinberg [a homeless six-year-old who died of child abuse] and to the future of the Palestinian people.”36 Where is justice? Where is love? Where is leadership? Who is to be turned to for guidance? Who will stand up and lead the demonstrations, protests, and movements of resistance that once shaped black life in America? Is leadership really “dangerous and tired?”37 Will anyone resolve to “search for relevant comrades and group initiatives to support,” or are people too tired because all of the leaders are dead and gone?38
June Jordan’s examination of black leadership and her presence at rallies and demonstrations took her in many directions. During the early 1970s, she traveled to the 36th Annual Conference of Southern Governors held in the small, white town of Gulfport, Mississippi, a town that did not have any visible black residents.39 She attended the conference to gather information on a study she was conducting on land reform for her unpublished manual More than Enough. Then in 1973, Jordan, along with Inez Smith Reid, former organizer of the Black Women’s Community Development Fund, began the “Afro Americans Against the Famine” campaign to raise attention and money for the millions of Africans affected by the Sahel famine. In support of this campaign, Jordan and Reid conceived of the Black Media People’s gathering held at New York’s formerly named Negro Ensemble Company in July 1973. According to Jordan, “it was well attended. Jesse Jackson flew in. . . . Carlos Russell moder-ated. . . . Roberta Flack donated a radio spot.”40 However, the support was not enough to convince lawmakers of the presence of a significant African or African American lobby. Meanwhile, Jordan simultaneously realized that Black Nationalism in this country often amounted to a concern for one’s local community and not for “the continental African struggle.”41 She was dismayed with this realization because she began organizing the campaign believing in “an exclusively Black national action”42 and she left the campaign knowing “that color is not enough to save your life. Certainly it is quite enough to kill you.”43
Jordan also continued her contributions to the discourse on black sexuality and personal politics, topics often absent from the black liberation agenda.44 In 1978, for example, Jordan went to the National Black Writers Conference at
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Howard University in Washington, DC, where topics included conversations about feminism, lesbianism, sexuality, sexual freedom, and the black community. Jordan describes feeling powerless because “as a Black woman, as a Black feminist,” she is quite often treated as such by black men and white people.
Nevertheless, this powerlessness does not substitute her status as part of the majority, “because Black and Third World peoples constitute the majority of life on this planet.”45 Jordan, as part of this specific majority, has a power that others may not embrace, one based on sharp critiques of race and gender in politics. These two debatable and often highly contested terms, according to Jordan, challenge assumptions about people’s abilities, roles, and rights. Jordan’s power was exemplified by the body of her writing, speaking engagements, demonstrations, teaching experience, and other political and artistic activities.
This was evident when Jordan attended the governors’ conference in the all-white town of Gulfport, Mississippi, the academic conference on liberation and self-hidden homophobia, as well as at the Black Writers Conference in Washington, DC. These experiences not only heightened Jordan’s realization of the need for universal equality but also monumentally affected her views on leadership, equality, and identities.
American politics during the 1980s also informed Jordan’s views on leadership. She was convinced that the failed attempts of mobilization in underserved communities were connected to the political agenda of American Republicans and conservatives, most notably, the leadership of former President Ronald Reagan. Jordan was probably more appalled by Reagan’s controversial stance on fighting for the freedom of all people affected by structures of greed, oppression, and imperialism than she was over the legacy that he was already creating for himself under the “Reagan Revolution.” Jordan often wondered: What kind of a president alleges “no new taxes” in an effort to have peace and prosperity? What kind of a leader, according to Jordan, allegedly wants peace—not war, continued violence, and brutality—but insists on stockpiling nuclear weapons? Jordan’s poem “Easter Comes to the East Coast: 1981,” is addressed to former President Reagan and speaks of a vision of a world where diversity and egalitarianism are truly embraced. The first part of the poem reads:
Don’ you worry about a thing
Mr. President and you too
Mr. Secretary of the State: Relax!
We not studying you guys:
NO NO NO NO NO!
This ain’ real
Ain’ nobody standing around
We not side by side
This ain’ no major league rally
We not holding hands again
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We not some thousand varieties of one fist!
This ain’ no coalition
This ain’ no spirit no muscle no body to stop the bullets We not serious46
This message to the President and his cabinet represents Jordan’s stance not only on civil movements during the 1980s but also on labor movements that privilege particular groups over others. In this poem, Jordan reverses aspects of history: no one is watching, no one is paying attention, no one is joining hands, there is no need to “worry about a thing,”47 when in fact, people are watching and organizing, and there is a need to worry about the long-term implications of U.S. politics. The poem continues:
NO NO NO NO NO!
And I ain’ never heard about El Salvador;
I ain’ never seen the children sliced
and slaughtered at the Sumpul Riverside
And I ain’ never heard about Atlanta;
I ain’ never seen the children strangled in the woods . . .
NO NO NO NO NO!
This is just a fantasy.
We just kidding around
You watch!48
For Jordan, there is no kidding around, as illustrated in the poem. The increase in violence continued to move from a national context—in this case, the United States—to an international context, and Reagan’s era of power contributed to this phenomenon. Jordan protested Reagan’s presidency and his insistence on using nuclear power and manufacturing more bombs.
Reagan was elected in 1980, toward the end of the long period known as the Cold War, and remained in office until 1988. During this time, power struggles dominated conversations on U.S. foreign politics. It was Reagan versus the Soviet Union over issues of communism. It was communists (the Left) versus capitalists (the Right) over nuclear power. The Soviet Union was supporting Cuba in the 1980s, while the United States was refusing to assist Cuban liberation in any way. Clearly, the threat of nuclear war still abounded, and Jordan was aware of this. In her poem “A Reagan Era Poem in Memory of Scarlet O’Hara, who said, in Gone With the Wind, something like this:” Jordan writes:
“As God is my witness, so help me God:
I’m going to live through this
And when it’s over
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If I have to lie, steal, cheat, or kill,
I’ll never go hungry again.”
The poem says:
“Amen!”49
On a national level, Reagan was insisting that school prayer become a requirement and 1980s America was experiencing a recession that was masked by foreign policies; while the United States was fighting other countries, America’s poor people continued to suffer the most because of the recession. On this latter point, Jordan admits, “I don’t believe Ronald Reagan has a clue about communism any more than he knows where Managua is in relationship to Memphis, Tennessee. . . . I am not worried about communism.”50 She continues by indicating what she is most concerned about:
I’m worried about my country: This is where I live. And what kind of situation do we have here where folks can claim ultra-loyalty to these United States, and where average Jane and average Joe can mouth a lot of “love it or leave it”
mumbo jumbo and then turn around and tell you majority rule is beside the point?51
Jordan—activist, poet, and fighter—did not want to lose this country to hate.
She did not want her country to succumb to foreign policies that dangerously intervene in another country’s political agenda and safety without realizing that such interference would be met with retaliation. What Jordan wanted was a new government, a new America, and a new foreign policy that supported international coalition building. She wanted schools in the United States not to feel threatened by governmental policies and mandates that do more harm than good. Additionally, Jordan did not want a president in office who forces children and their families to abandon their cultural and religious practices concerning prayer, language rights, and religious observations.
In “Where Are We and Whose Country Is This, Anyway?” (1986) Jordan remarks, “We need a new president. To save our country, we need an opposition party on the American scene.”52 For Jordan, this new president would care about Nicaragua’s Sandinistas, the people in all of Africa, and the citizens of his or her own country—the political agenda of a democratic country that does not engage in nuclear wars and that does not tolerate ethnic cleansing and genocide. This message is powerfully articulated in Jordan’s poem “INTIFADA INCANTATION: POEM #8 FOR b.b.L” (1997). In part, Jordan writes: I SAID I LOVED YOU AND I WANTED