Allan Warren Wikimedia Commons
I have visions of James Baldwin in New Mexico.
These manifestations are particularly timely, too, as Baldwin's 96th birthday would have landed on August 2, and the Black, gay literary icon, who died in 1987, may be the most compelling writer of the moment, presaging cultural consciousness in 2020. Baldwin holds an iconic significance to Black Lives Matter activists, making it rather funny and rather tragic that his mainstream introduction to millions followed Raoul Peck's 2017 documentary I Am Not Your Negro. (To really know Baldwin, however, please read the books.)
Cinematically and culturally, I Am Not Your Negro does an effective job of conveying Baldwin's biography, his birth in segregated Harlem, New York, his 10-year "exile" to Paris—which he undertook to escape the evils of Jim Crow that destroyed his family—and his friendships with both Martin Luther King Jr. and Black Panther leaders. Peck uses montage to powerfully connect Baldwin's books like Notes of a Native Son (1955) and The Fire Next Time (1963)to the BLM protests of today; he was, it seems, the first truly intersectional writer.
Rooted in his Blackness, Baldwin in various writings and speeches predicted the election of a Black president (whose position wouldn't necessarily end racism), decried the silencing of gay identities and called on America to acknowledge Native American genocide; his most singularly famous sentence appears in the 1953 essay Stranger in the Village: "The world is white no longer," he wrote, "and it will never be white again."
Consider: "Whiteness," in Baldwin's lexicon, represents institutionalized homogeneity, privilege and power.
Baldwin, then, is often likened to a prophet who also predicted America's painful but inevitable reckoning with the past, but who believed in its capacity for redemption. Of course, there can't be true redemption without repentance. Baldwin believed love was essential to redemption—and both become tangible only after the country has 100% "come clean."
Baldwin's urgency resonates today in this time of national protest. And in this time, how might he speak to New Mexicans? What can we apply to the Land of Enchantment? For me, a Black American, the question is inseparable from a discussion beginning to be appear throughout the media, infiltrating family lives across the state: How can we create a genuinely multicultural New Mexico?
In June, Gov. Michelle Lujan Grisham created the Governor's Advisory Council for Racial Justice and tasked the body with the mission of "monitoring state institutions and holding them accountable for ending institutional racism and ensuring that all persons receive fair and equal treatment and opportunities." The 43-member council consists of community members from across the state who have prior experience working in fields of health, education and public safety. With notable names such as Santa Fe's Sebastian Margaret (who's working to launch the Disability Project through the Transgender Law Center), Santa Ana Pueblo's Jaclyn Roessel (an equity trainer with the New Mexico Indian Affairs Department; Navajo) and Albuquerque-based ACLU of New Mexico board member Alexandria Taylor—among many others—it's obvious Lujan Grisham aspired to create a panel which respects New Mexico's true diversity, beyond the standard clichés. The panel includes representatives of numerous marginalized communities, reflecting a world Baldwin fought for half a century before the harsh realities of the present day finally forced hard conversations BIPOC Americans have been longing to have.
I expect the group will engage in lengthy discussions involving genealogies, family stories and personal stories—the very kinds Baldwin forged into literature. If I am not overtly recommending Baldwin to them, it's because my ideal would be that members were already familiar with him! If not, however, I say this:
Baldwin had no personal connection to New Mexico. His work, however, speaks to the trials of multiculturalism, when communities in historical conflict must abide together in harmony. He was a globe-trotter who wrote about time in France, Africa, the Caribbean islands, of Arabs and Algerians. He was fascinated by the ways colonialism and the slave trade impacted society, and though there is much to glean across his entire catalog, I would steer the council to study one Baldwin piece in particular—the aforementioned Stranger in the Village.
Recounting several months Baldwin spent living in the tiny Swiss town of Leukerbad, Stranger posits that while villagers may have never encountered a Black American before his arrival, they had already overheard rumors of savage Africans and black devils. Baldwin's positive and negative experiences were colored by stereotypes, steering him toward the realization that he was a stranger in the village, and furthermore, given the racist illusions which preceded him, he couldn't exist comfortably in the Western world. He moves between being accepted, but misunderstood—embraced, yet feared. Today, the essay still speaks to the issues confronting Blacks in New Mexico.
No, we're not strangers in the village— we have a historic presence in the state—but that fact has been problematically overshadowed by the state's tri-cultural identity. To some extent, Black Americans who are born in or relocate to New Mexico still ask themselves a stranger's questions:
Will my story be accepted here? How much of my identity and heritage can I bring to the table? A feeling of cultural estrangement troubles Black New Mexicans (sometimes including myself, even after 10 years here), and it's time that changes. Stranger in the Village ultimately teaches a universal lesson about sense of place and sense of self.
According to New Mexico Voices for Children, 60% of the state's adults and 74% of its children belong to an ethnic minority. There is no decided majority here. Until we achieve a less divided New Mexico, Anglos, Hispanics, Native Americans, Blacks, Asians and others will experience the awkward position of wondering—will our stories be accepted here?
Creating a Multicultural New Mexico with Darryl Lorenzo Wellington, Christa M Castro and Alicia Inez Guzmán
6 pm Thursday, August 20. Free
