These highways displaced many Black communities. Some Black activists are using mapping to do the opposite: highlight hidden parts of history. Library of Congress, Geography and Map Division

Joshua F.J. Inwood, Penn State and Derek H. Alderman, University of Tennessee

When historian Carter Woodson created “Negro History Week” in 1926, which became “Black History Month” in 1976, he sought not to just celebrate prominent Black historical figures but to transform how white America saw and valued all African Americans.

However, many issues in the history of Black Americans can get lost in a focus on well-known historical figures or other important events.

Our research looks at how African American communities struggling for freedom have long used maps to protest and survive racism while affirming the value of Black life.

We have been working on the “Living Black Atlas,” an educational initiative that highlights the neglected history of Black mapmaking in America. It shows the creative ways in which Black people have historically used mapping to document their stories. Today, communities are using “restorative mapping” as a way to tell stories of Black Americans.

Maps as a visual storytelling technique

While most people think of maps as a useful tool to get from point A to point B, or use maps to look up places or plan trips, the reality is all maps tell stories. Traditionally, most maps did not accurately reflect the stories of Black people and places: Interstate highway maps, for example, do not reflect the realities that in most U.S. cities the building of major roads was accompanied by the displacement of thousands of Black people from cities.

Like many marginalized groups, Black people have used maps as a visual story-telling technique for “talking back” against their oppression. They have also used maps for enlivening and giving dignity to Black experiences and histories.

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An example of this is the NAACP’s campaign to lobby for anti-lynching federal legislation in the early 20th century. The NAACP mapped the location and frequency of lynching to show how widespread racial terror was to the American public.

Another example is the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee’s efforts to document racism in the American South in the 1960s. The SNCC research department’s maps and research on racism played a pivotal role in planning civil rights protests. SNCC produced conventional-looking county-level maps of income and education inequalities, which were issued to activists in the field. The organization also developed creative “network maps,” which exposed how power structures and institutions supported racial discrimination in economic and political ways. These maps and reports could then identify urgent areas of protest.

More recently, artist-activist Tonika Lewis Johnson created the “Folded Map Project,” in which she brought together corresponding addresses on racially separated sides of the same street, to show how racism remade the city of Chicago. She photographed the “map twins” and interviewed individuals living at paired addresses to show the disparities. The project brought residents from north and south sides of Chicago to meet and talk to each other.

Maps for restorative justice

Restorative mapping is an important part of the Living Black Atlas: It helps bring visibility to Black experiences that have been marginalized or forgotten.

An important example of restorative mapping work comes from the Honey Pot Performance, a collective of Black feminists who helped create the Chicago Black Social Culture Map, or the CBSCM. This digital map traces Black Chicagoans’ experiences from the Great Migration to the rise of electronic dance music in the city. The map includes historical records and music posters as well as descriptions of important people and venues for that music. Millions of African Americans migrated from the Deep South to the industrial North between 1942 and 1970. In this photo, Black youngsters are dressed for Easter on the South Side of Chicago, April 13, 1941. AP Photo/Library of Congress/FSA/Russell Lee

While engaging Black Americans in the effort, the CBSCM map tells the story of Chicago through a series of artistic movements that highlight African Americans’ connection with the city.

After years of gentrification and urban renewal programs that displaced Black people from the city, this project is helping remember those neighborhoods digitally. It is also inviting a broader discussion about the history of Black Chicago.

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Restoring a sense of place

An important idea behind restorative mapping is the act of returning something to a former owner or condition. This connects with the broader restorative justice movement that seeks to address historic wrongs by documenting past and present injustices through perspectives that are often ignored or forgotten.

The CBSCM map is not a conventional paper map. While it includes many things you would find in such a map, such as road networks and political boundaries, the map also includes links to fiction writing and the Chicago Renaissance, art and music, as well as expressions of food, family life, education and politics that document a hidden history of Black life in the city. The map provides links to specific historic documents, socially meaningful sites, and to the lives of people that tell the story of Black Chicago.

Thus, the map helps highlight how this geography is still present in Chicago in archives and people’s memories. Through this digital representation of Black Chicagoans’ deep cultural roots in the city, the mapping aims to restore a sense of place. Such work embodies what Black History Month is about.

Joshua F.J. Inwood, Professor of Geography and Senior Research Associate in the Rock Ethics Institute, Penn State and Derek H. Alderman, Professor of Geography, University of Tennessee

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

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Jonathan Howe, Temple University

In an effort to avoid stereotypes about Black male athletes, such as being labeled a “dumb jock,” Spike, a college football player, says he wore athletic clothes to class as little as possible.

“I mean, granted, I’m a 6-foot-4, 240-pound Black kid on campus, so it’s kind of hard to get away from that,” he said. “But I didn’t want any, you know, significant confirmation that I was an athlete. So, I just wore like a collared shirt, jeans and nice shoes every day.”

Trey, a baseball player, refrained from speaking up or sharing personal information – even with his teammates.

He said he was often “outnumbered in opinion” as he was one of two Black athletes on a team of 40, which led to him “not even wanting to speak up” about issues that may cause conflict with others. “I’m a Black student-athlete and, like, that already makes me have to carry myself a different way,” he said.

I’m a professor of sport management who researches the experiences of Black male college athletes. During the 2020-21 academic year, I interviewed 16 Black male college athletes at Division I colleges across the U.S. I wanted to know how they changed their behavior to navigate stereotypes about them.

I also asked participants, who competed in numerous sports – including football, baseball, cheer, diving, and track and field – to record audio diaries about the topic as part of the study.

I found that these college athletes, at times, went out of their way to change how they present themselves to others in order to avoid anti-Black racism and “dumb jock” stereotypes on campus. At other times, they pushed back against these stereotypes as a form of resistance.

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‘I don’t bring up that I am a student-athlete’

Self-presentation refers to how someone acts or behaves during social interactions in order to influence how others perceive them. For example, a person may change how they speak, or their word choices, depending on who is around them.

The Black male college athletes in my study altered their presentation in a number of ways, including their dress or clothing and their speech. They also limited how much information they shared, and at times they hid details about their identity.

Marc, another football player, reflected on how being a Black male college athlete affected how he spoke – both the frequency and delivery – during class. “You have to be, like, more engaged,” he said. “You got to assert yourself more and you got to be more analytic about things.”

These adjustments were not restricted to academic environments. Marc was also careful about what information he shared in various athletic settings, too. “You do not really talk about personal stuff or anything like that,” he said.

Participants did not want their vulnerabilities used against them by their coaches or academic advisers.

Another strategy Black male college athletes used was hiding details about their identity – most often their athletic identity. Tyler, a track athlete, noted, “I try to make sure I don’t bring up that I am a student-athlete. I’m just trying to build my identity away from the sport.”

Black students, white campuses

Black men represent about 6% of total college students in U.S. four-year public institutions. Yet at Division I schools, the highest level of college athletic competition, they represent roughly 45% of football players and 51% of men’s basketball players.

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Overall, Black men represent 12% of all Division I college athletes, excluding historically Black colleges and universities.

Meanwhile, at Power Five schools, where college football is a big-time business, as many as 1 in 6 Black male students are athletes, compared with 1 in 50 white students.

The vast majority of Division I schools are predominantly white institutions. Their athletic departments, including coaching staffs and administrators, are overwhelmingly white. For example, 78% of Division I athletic directors, 81% of head coaches, 68% of assistant coaches and 90% of head athletic trainers are white.

Similar to their athletic experience, these athletes do not see many other Black people across campus. Faculty on these campuses are 93% non-Black.

Racism and discrimination

It is well documented that Black male college athletes experience racism and discrimination while attending these predominantly white schools. This includes, for example, unequal enforcement of school policies and less access to educational opportunities.

They are discriminated against for being Black, for being Black males and for being athletes. Although touted for their physical prowess, Black male athletes are often labeled “dumb jocks” – their intelligence somehow discredited by their physical stature.

They are sometimes seen by students, faculty, staff and even fans as lacking the intellectual ability and motivation to succeed academically. They are characterized as illegitimate students who undermine the academic mission of the university and receive special treatment.

One study found that professors and academic counselors had lower academic expectations of Black college athletes compared with their white counterparts and that these athletes lacked autonomy in making academic decisions. Academic counselors often selected their courses, as opposed to the athletes registering themselves, which made the athletes feel powerless.

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Another study found that faculty members were more likely to attribute Black male college athletes’ success to policies, such as affirmative action, instead of their merits, as they did for white athletes.

Resisting societal pressure

Not all the athletes altered their behavior or appearance to avoid anti-Black stereotypes. Keyvon, a football player, expressed that he presents himself authentically in predominantly white spaces as a way to “apply pressure” and force people to get comfortable with his Blackness.

Being a big-time college athlete indeed presents privileges, such as a pseudo-celebrity status, which at times can shield Black male college athletes from the impact of stereotypes and anti-Blackness. However, this is often the case solely when Black males perform well in their sport.

Sport performance should not determine how people treat Black male college athletes. Nor should Black male college athletes be placed in a box when it comes to how they present themselves, or risk anti-Black discrimination if they express themselves authentically. Ultimately, Black male college athletes will present themselves in a manner they deem appropriate – whether that aligns with what society expects or not.

Jonathan Howe, Assistant Professor of Sport Management, Temple University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

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Ana Lucia Araujo, Howard University

During the era of slavery in the Americas, enslaved men, women and children also enjoyed the holidays. Slave owners usually gave them bigger portions of food, gifted them alcohol and provided extra days of rest.

Those gestures, however, were not made out of generosity.

As abolitionist, orator and diplomat Frederick Douglass explained, slave owners were trying to keep enslaved people under control by plying them with better meals and more downtime, in the hopes of preventing escapes and rebellions.

Most of the time, it worked.

But as I discuss in my recent book, “Humans in Shackles: An Atlantic History of Slavery,” many enslaved people were onto their owners and used this brief period of respite to plan escapes and start revolts.

Feasting, frolicking and fiddling

Most enslaved people in the Americas adhered to the Christian calendar – and celebrated Christmas – since either Catholicism or Protestantism predominated, from Birmingham, Alabama, to Brazil.

Consider the example of Solomon Northup, whose tragic story became widely known in the film “12 Years A Slave.” Northup was born free in the state of New York but was kidnapped and sold into slavery in Louisiana in 1841.

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In his narrative, Northup explained that his owner and their neighbors gave their slaves between three and six days off during the holidays. He described this period as “carnival season with the children of bondage,” a time for “feasting, frolicking, and fiddling.”

According to Northup, each year a slave owner in central Louisiana’s Bayou Boeuf offered a Christmas dinner attended by as many as 500 enslaved people from neighboring plantations. After spending the entire year consuming meager meals, this marked a rare opportunity to indulge in several kinds of meats, vegetables, fruits, pies and tarts.

There’s evidence of holiday celebrations since the early days of slavery in the Americas. In the British colony of Jamaica, a Christmas masquerade called Jonkonnu has taken place since the 17th century. One 19th-century artist depicted the celebration, painting four enslaved men playing musical instruments, including a container covered with animal skin, along with an instrument made from an animal’s jawbone.

In the 1861 narrative of her life in slavery, abolitionist Harriet Jacobs described a similar masquerade in North Carolina.

“Every child rises early on Christmas morning to see the Johnkannaus,” she wrote. “Without them, Christmas would be shorn of its greatest attraction.”

On Christmas Day, she continued, nearly 100 enslaved men paraded through the plantation wearing colorful costumes with cows’ tails fastened to their backs and horns decorating their heads. They went door to door, asking for donations to buy food, drinks and gifts. They sang, danced and played musical instruments they had fashioned themselves – drums made of sheepskin, metal triangles and an instrument fashioned from the jawbone of a horse, mule or donkey.

It’s the most wonderful time to escape

Yet beneath the revelry, there was an undercurrent of angst during the holidays for enslaved men, women and children.

In the American South, enslavers often sold or hired out their slaves in the first days of the year to pay their debts. During the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day, many enslaved men, women and children were consumed with worry over the possibility of being separated from their loved ones.

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At the same time, slave owners and their overseers were often distracted – if not drunk – during the holidays. It was a prime opportunity to plan an escape.

John Andrew Jackson was owned by a Quaker family of planters in South Carolina. After being separated from his wife and child, he planned to escape during the Christmas holiday of 1846. He managed to flee to Charleston. From there, he went north and eventually reached New Brunswick in Canada. Sadly, he was never able to reunite with his enslaved relatives.

Even Harriet Tubman took advantage of the holiday respite. Five years after she successfully escaped from the Maryland plantation where she was enslaved, she returned on Christmas Day in 1854 to save her three brothers from a life of bondage.

‘Tis the season for rebellion

Across the Americas, the holiday break also offered a good opportunity to plot rebellions.

In 1811, enslaved and free people of color planned a series of revolts in Cuba, in what became known as the Aponte Rebellion. The scheming and preparations took place between Christmas Day and the Day of Kings, a Jan. 6 Catholic holiday commemorating the three magi who visited the infant Jesus. Inspired by the Haitian Revolution, free people of color and enslaved people joined forces to try to end slavery on the island.

In April, the Cuban government eventually smashed the rebellion.

In Jamaica, enslaved people followed suit. Samuel Sharpe, an enslaved Baptist lay deacon, called a general strike on Christmas Day 1831 to demand wages and better working conditions for the enslaved population.

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Two nights later, a group of enslaved people set fire to a trash house at an estate in Montego Bay. The fire spread, and what was supposed to be a strike instead snowballed into a violent insurrection. The Christmas Rebellion – or Baptist War, as it became known – was the largest slave revolt in Jamaica’s history. For nearly two months, thousands of slaves battled British forces until they were eventually subdued. Sharpe was hanged in Montego Bay on May 23, 1832.

After news of the Christmas Rebellion and its violent repression reached Britain, antislavery activists ramped up their calls to ban slavery. The following year, Parliament passed the Slavery Abolition Act, which prohibited slavery in the British Empire.

Yes, the week between Christmas Day and New Year’s Day offered a chance to feast or plot rebellions.

But more importantly, it served as a rare window of opportunity for enslaved men, women and children to reclaim their humanity.

Ana Lucia Araujo, Professor of History, Howard University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

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