The Dynamic of Racism in Beloved Compared with the Modern Day

Throughout the book, Sethe doesn't seem to experience a great deal of racism on a day to day basis. The oppression that she feels is almost entirely from her memories being kept alive. It's as though the racism will only disappear when the memories fade away. This reminds me a whole lot of the modern day, in a strange way. In contemporary society, racism is really only perpetuated because of the vivid memories (or perhaps the learned memories) of the past. It's like that really bizarre phrase that some people say where the surest way to eliminate racism is to collectively forget slavery. While I don't necessarily agree with this sentiment, Beloved seems to put an interesting spin on this idea.

Sethe seems to talk a lot about her "rememories" and how they can be shared between people and will never ever fade away. Isn't that something like what happens today? I feel like racism has definitely been on the decline since the times of slavery, and theoretically, one day it should just be pretty much nonexistent. Still, there are racists out there who are as such simply because it's somewhat of a generational or historical thing for their region or family. This is why Sethe feels the racial injustice and uncertainty about her future. Since the memory of oppression and racism is still very much alive for her, she knows that it must still exist relatively unrestricted in the real world.

The Art of Organized Graffiti

When I was much younger, my dad used to take me out to a lake near our house where we would walk our dog or go on bike rides. Just before the main path though, we'd always pass a railroad bridge with some of the most elaborate graffiti I'd ever seen before. One day as we were traveling by it, my dad stopped and said to me something along the lines of, "We've got some real artists around here." That was the first time I ever remember anybody using the word "art" in the context of graffiti, and I don't think I had really regarded it as such before. It made me think though, graffiti was just a form of paint on a canvas, so why not?

I really enjoyed seeing Style Wars. A lot. I knew almost nothing about graffiti culture walking into that classroom, and the movie/documentary really gave me something to think about. One of the aspects of the movie that struck me most was just how comparatively mature the kids doing the graffiti were. I suppose there had always been this nagging spot in my mind that kept telling me that graffiti is vandalism and vandalism is for bored, immature kids. The people depicted in this movie, although not necessarily "cultured" or well-off, seemed to do a great job of sticking together as a community, helping each other out, and fending for themselves out there.

The artists really did remind me of an expansive community of people, and they were. The level of organization that took place throughout the entire movie was really interesting to me, and not necessarily something I would have expected. I always thought of graffiti of just sort of appearing like magic, but these guys spend hours and hours and hours planning it all and making it just perfect, only to have it scrawled over by some opposing graffiti group or scrubbed clean by the mayor. That takes serious dedication. The whole thing really has given me a whole new perspective on and appreciation for the art of graffiti.

Generations of Hatred

The poem Night, Death, Mississippi by Robert Hayden that Louis read for us a little while ago really stuck out to me at the time. It's easily one of the most horrific poems that we've read so far this year, and the implications of it really are heartbreaking. The poem is told from the perspective of an elderly KKK member who's too old to continue to do what he loves, so he helps out and supports his grandson, "Boy." Everywhere I look in the modern day, I can spot instances of antipathy between younger generations and older generations, mainly doe to progressive social change making the world a better place (at least from my perspective, I suppose). That's clearly not happening in this poem. The grandfather is proud of the son for doing things exactly the same way that he did. No change whatsoever is occurring here, just generations of perpetuated racism.