Quilombo

Wikipedia:

A quilombo (Portuguese pronunciation: [ki?lõbu]; from the Kimbundu word kilombo, “campsite, slave hut”)[1] is a Brazilian hinterland settlement founded by people of African origin including the Quilombolas, or Maroons. Most of the inhabitants of quilombos (called quilombolas) were escaped slaves. However, the documentation on runaway slave communities typically uses the term mocambo, an Ambundu word meaning “hideout”, to describe the settlements. A mocambo is typically much smaller than a quilombo. Quilombo was not used until the 1670s and then primarily in more southerly parts of Brazil.

A similar settlement exists in the Spanish-speaking countries of Latin America, and is called a palenque. Its inhabitants are palenqueros who speak various SpanishAfrican-based creole languages.

Quilombos are identified as one of three basic forms of active resistance by slaves. The other two are attempts to seize power and armed insurrections for amelioration.[2] Typically, quilombos are a “pre-19th century phenomenon”. The prevalence of the last two increased in the first half of 19th-century Brazil, which was undergoing both political transition and increased slave trade at the time.

1988 Constitution: Article 68

The national black movement and the black rural communities in the northern regions of Pará and Maranhão gathered political momentum throughout the 1980s and succeeded in having quilombola land rights introduced into the 1988 Constitution in the form of Article 68. Regional and national organisations working to fight racial discrimination formed an alliance in 1986 that played an important role in the grassroots political action that resulted in Article 68. Black militants across Brazil demanded reparation and the recognition of the detrimental effects of slavery, including preventing black communities from accessing land.[3] The Black Movement explicitly decided to make land central to their political agenda during the constitutional debates. They capitalised on the perception that there were very few quilombos and that it would thus be mainly a symbolic gesture in order to get it into the Constitution.[4] It was assumed that any community would have to prove its direct descent from a runaway slave settlement.

Quilombolas are mentioned in this article about Inhotim and Paz’s exploitative business practices.

AG2018-MNP_1080304c or struggle-progress

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Frederick Douglass; Northwest corner of Central Park. Speech! Jacobin, summer 2015.

“If there is no struggle, there is no progress. Those who profess to favor freedom, and yet depreciate agitation, are men who want crops without plowing up the ground. They want rain without thunder and lightning. They want the ocean without the awful roar of its many waters. This struggle may be a moral one; or it may be a physical one; or it may be both moral and physical; but it must be a struggle. Power concedes nothing without a demand. It never did and it never will.”

The Atlantic looks back at 1968

The Atlantic‘s In Focus offers 50 images from 50 years ago.

Policemen Choking African American Rioter

Original caption: Miami policemen, one holding the man’s arm and the other with an arm lock on his neck, drag away a Negro youth during a clash between police and rioters in that city’s predominantly Negro Liberty City district on August 8, 1968. Bettmann / Getty

The Liberator, a role to play

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Jefferson L. Edmonds‘s newspaper had the byline, “A weekly newspaper devoted to the cause of good government and the advancement of the Negro.”

Toussaint L’Ouverture and Jean-Jacques Dessalines come to mind.

The claims for greater freedom are never enough. The role of operators acting on the machineries that produce civics, culture and liberties, Liberator, if you will, is pivotal and always needed.

W H Johnson
William H. Johnson, Toussaint l’Ouverture, Haiti, ca. 1945, oil on paperboard, Smithsonian American Art Museum, Gift of the Harmon Foundation, 1967.59.1154

Jean-Jacques Dessalines and the Haitian Revolution– William and Mary Quarterly, July 2012.

We are not surprised.

We are not surprised.

We are artists, arts administrators, assistants, curators, directors, editors, educators, gallerists, interns, scholars, students, writers, and more—workers of the art world—and we have been groped, undermined, harassed, infantilized, scorned, threatened, and intimidated by those in positions of power who control access to resources and opportunities. We have held our tongues, threatened by power wielded over us and promises of institutional access and career advancement.

We are not surprised when curators offer exhibitions or support in exchange for sexual favors. We are not surprised when gallerists romanticize, minimize, and hide sexually abusive behavior by artists they represent. We are not surprised when a meeting with a collector or a potential patron becomes a sexual proposition. We are not surprised when we are retaliated against for not complying. We are not surprised when Knight Landesman gropes us in the art fair booth while promising he’ll help us with our career. Abuse of power comes as no surprise.

This open letter stems from a group discussion about sexual harassment within our field,


© Jenny Holzer, Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.

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