Selma - A Review

Selma, released 50 years after the Civil Rights demonstration in the small city that gave it its name, is a timely portrait of a man who changed the way white America viewed the black population and set the groundwork for the post-Civil Rights struggle that African Americans are engaged in to this day. Whilst for many the watershed moment of the Civil Rights movement was two years earlier in Washington D.C where Dr. Martin Luther King gave his famous “I have a dream” speech, Selma instead focuses on the campaign following his acceptance of the Nobel Peace Prize in 1964. By doing this, it tackles MLK as a man already at the height of his power and notoriety. We see him as a powerhouse capable of exerting influence both on the streets and in the oval office. By establishing him in this context, the film frames its narrative around the movement itself rather than turning into a biopic, and this is where it finds its strength.

MLK was a great man, but also a flawed one. The film directly addresses his extramarital affairs and the way that they were used by the FBI to threaten and extort him in an attempt to get him to call off the march at Selma, but more than that it touches on the struggles he personally had in advocating his nonviolent approach to protest. In one particularly powerful scene we see MLK and his fellow protestors standing back as an elderly woman is beaten and pinned down by police outside of the courthouse in Selma. Nonviolence was essential in assuring that the protestors could not be portrayed as anarchists in the media, and it was certainly an extremely effective tool in gaining support for the movement, particularly from sympathetic whites, but it required extreme self control to maintain, and to many the lack of an attempt to aid the victimised was seen as callous. MLK never doubted the power of nonviolence and saw that it was perhaps the only way to advance the Civil Rights Movement, but in Selma we see the inherent risks in exposing civilians to aggression and refusing to respond.

MLK was willing to die for his cause, and in the end he did, but despite this (and because of the FBI’s revelation of his affairs to his wife) he was not present at the Selma to Montgomery march on March 7, 1965 when journalists’ captured the violent assault of over 600 protestors by state troopers and county sheriff’s deputies. This was the breaking point for the Selma movement, and MLK’s absence is notable in large part due to the fact that it paved the way for young SNCC member John Lewis to rise to the forefront of the Civil Rights movement. Leading the marchers alongside fellow activist Hosea Williams, Lewis was beaten to the ground and fractured his skull. Despite this, he escaped and continued to aid other activists before being taken to hospital. Lewis was the youngest of the ‘big six’ Civil Rights leaders, and came to represent the grassroots activism on the frontlines when MLK, Malcolm X and the others were seen as being mere talking heads. He would go on to have a successful career in congress, but this was where he established himself as a more-than-competent successor to the older movement leaders as they were assassinated and otherwise made less relevant. Selma does well in portraying this side of the story and highlighting the tension within the Civil Rights movement itself at this time. MLK was a figurehead but without grassroots activism and the likes of Lewis and SNCC organising individuals long before he arrived, the events in Selma never could have come to fruition.

The film ends with MLK’s victorious speech at Montgomery after the successful third march from Selma. We know that three years later, and several less successful movements attempting to tackle poverty, the Vietnam War and segregated housing in Chicago, he was assassinated. The question that remains as the credits roll is to what extent did MLK make change, and how far can his legacy go to continue to change black and minority lives in the US? 50 years later we watch the events at Selma unfold in fictionalized form in the aftermath of one of the largest racially defined protest movements in recent times; the Black Lives Matter response to the killing of unarmed Michael Brown in Ferguson by police, and the similar death of Eric Garner after being choked by officers in the NYPD. In many ways these deaths echo the violence suffered by black individuals during the Civil Rights movement at the hands of the police, but these incidents are fewer and further between, and public response clearly no longer needs to be won through extended protest by the black community – responses to the Ferguson events were quickly formulated and extensive.

We have certainly come a long way from the days of the Civil Rights movement, and Selma does a good job of exposing the overt racism of the time that infected every element of public life and made life so much harder for African Americans, particularly in the south. However, in the aftermath of Ferguson and at a time when more black men are under correctional control today than were enslaved in 1850, we have to ask if we really are living in MLK’s colour blind society, or if such racism has just become covert. Selma focuses on King’s push for voting rights but, thanks to mass incarceration and felony disenfranchisement laws, there are more disenfranchised African Americans today than in 1870. Despite falling crime rates, the US prison population has quintupled in the last 30 years, and blacks are incredibly overrepresented behind bars, due to the fact that black men are 35 times more likely to be arrested than white men. Police racism may not be as widespread or as overt as it was fifty years ago, but it still exists. It does not exist in every officer, but it still exists. It may not affect all of us, but it still exists.

Michelle Alexander, in her book The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness, suggests that mass incarceration represents a new form of segregation and disenfranchisement of African Americans and other minority populations. She argues that in order to carry the torch that Martin Luther King held before his assassination and ensure that his legacy is not wasted we should return to the streets and challenge this new form of oppression through nonviolent protest. His work is not yet done, and Selma hopefully comes at a time where black issues are salient enough in the public mind to remind us that things can be done to make a change if it is so needed. As a call to take notice of these issues, Selma has done its job. The rest is up to us.

A Trip to the National Veteran's Art Museum

The National Veteran’s Art Museum in Chicago is a modest exhibit of select works from veterans of various wars throughout US history. It offers free admission year round but runs largely on public funding and so a small donation is suggested. Though small, the works on display are extremely moving. At my time of visiting the The Things They Carried exhibit and the 100 Faces of War Experience display were the two key features on show.

The Things They Carried is based on the novel of the same name by Vietnam veteran Tim O’Brien. The book, published in 1990, is a fictionalized memoir of O’Brien’s experiences in Vietnam with Alpha Company. Blending elements of fact and fiction to create a story that represents what he considers to be the only ‘true’ account of war, one that captures the emotional and psychological reaction to violence rather than dealing in physical reality, it is highly regarded as one of the most moving works detailing the Vietnam conflict. The exhibit is designed to accompany the text by providing insights into the realities of warfare as experienced by the soldiers themselves. Consisting of photographs and artwork created by veterans it displays both the visual reality of the conflict and individual interpretations, through paintings, letters and diary entries. Whilst the images are fascinating, the artwork and diary passages provide widely varying perspectives on the nature of the war that defined a generation. With statements ranging from the political to the deeply personal, the artwork in this exhibit reveals the distorted reality that each individual man and woman lived through during their time at war.

Following this theme is the 100 Faces of War exhibit put together by artist Matt Mitchell, who painted the portraits of 95 veterans and 5 civilians involved in the war effort for the Iraq and Afghanistan conflicts. Each individual image is displayed with a statement from the person pictured. The statements themselves are what makes the exhibit so interesting, and also what ties it in with the theme put forward in The Things They Carried. Veterans range from being proud of their time served, to shocked and horrified by what they had done and seen others do. We see men and women proudly asserting their desire to return to battle and serve their country stood next to others who express regret for being duped into fighting for a cause they no longer believe in. We see individuals who came back from the war stronger and more confident paired with those whose lives have been destroyed by post-traumatic stress disorder and traumatic brain injury. We see those who were injured physically and those who injured others. We see the dead next to the living. Walking amongst these faces one is made aware of the fact that each of these individuals experienced their very own war, and that their narrative does not necessarily reflect the historical sequence of events that defined the first decade of the 21^st century. To what extent do the facts accurately portray the ‘truth’? This is the question O’Brien tackles in his book and it is one that these two exhibits force you to consider. For those of us who have not served, can we make judgements on the actions of veterans and the politicians who masterminded the war efforts? Can we trust the judgements of those were there? To what extent are these wars really in the past? For those suffering from PTSD and other psychological conditions as a result of warfare, the reality is that they never left the desert. What about the civilians who had to live through these wars without a way out?

In the words of Army Staff Sergeant Alejo Amaris, who was injured in Iraq in 2006 and picked as a contributor to the 100 Faces exhibit, “life is 10% what happens to me, and 90% how I react to it. And so it is with you...”. The exhibit shows 100 different realities, all of which are equally real and equally important. For every veteran and civilian who was touched by the Vietnam of our generation a different reality exists. We can choose to look at the facts on the ground and try to make sense of the conflicts that way, or we can try to understand the myriad reactions of each individual returning from a battle zone. In the aftermath of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, the current exhibits at the National Veterans Art Museum aim to take stock of what the short and long term effects may be on individuals touched personally by combat, and how the vicarious influence on a generation raised in the shadow of America’s longest running war will shape our future in foreign policy.

Though modestly sized, the National Veterans Art Museum has a lot to offer for someone interested in the psychological impact of warfare. It is moving because of its honesty, shying away from the propaganda of war stories from the administration, other than to demonstrate that they are a part of the tapestry that makes up the experience of war. You don’t have to agree with all of the opinions put forward in the artwork on display – in fact you definitely won’t – but you should acknowledge that they exist and take the time to try to understand why that is the case. 

Autobiography of a Recovering Skinhead - A Review

Frank Meeink’s story is one that shocks and inspires in equal measure. A boy who joined the skinhead movement at the age of 13, he grew up to become a white supremacist of national notoriety, serving three years in prison at the age of 18 for kidnapping and a violent assault. What followed was a change in attitude that led to his severing of ties with the movement and a resolve to change his ways. Unfortunately this was accompanied by a slide into habitual drug use as a way of coping with his violent past. Clean now, and lecturing across the US speaking out against hate and racism, Autobiography of a Recovering Skinhead is Meeink’s first attempt at telling his story, using it as a cautionary tale highlighting the flaws in the white supremacist way of thinking, and also examining the psychological and social conditions that can breed hate.

It is this second point at which the book excels. Meeink details his early life and the characteristics of his neighbourhood and family in a way that does not diminish his responsibility for his actions, but that allows the reader an insight into the environment in which he survived. South Philadelphia, both in the 1980s and today, is an area stricken by gang crime and violence (as documented in Louis Theroux’s 2008 documentary Law and Disorder in Philadephia – which provides a very useful and candid look at crime in the streets where Meeink grew up, though without discussion of the white supremacy movement of which Meeink was a part) and it is in this context that Meeink frames his early childhood experience. Both of his parents were alcoholics and drug addicts and his stepfather was also an abusive alcoholic. His main interaction with other races was at school, where he was victimised by black gangs and eventually expelled for fighting back. The one issue that is highlighted throughout his youth is the lack of structure that allowed him to learn and develop effectively.

The white supremacy movement provided a structure. The ideology made sense when viewed in the context of 1980s Philadelphia and the people, in Meeink’s own words, provided a family that he had always felt he lacked. The transition from petty criminal schoolboy to skinhead was an easy one, and largely unremarkable as described in the book. Meeink describes his own story as largely universal among the ranks of skinheads that he knew during his time in the movement, and it is certainly remarkable in its similarity to the plot of the 1998 film American History X, which describes the journey of a man from skinhead to reform. Meeink suggests that the plot of American History X was not copied from his own story, despite having shown interest in making a film about his experience, but rather was an accurate portrayal of the journey of every young person that joins the white supremacy movement. With the vast majority of those in skinhead gangs aging between 18 and 25 it appears that many “grow out” of their ideology, or at least ties to the movement. What he suggests is that the movement itself is sustained only because of what it appears to be able to offer to young people who are vulnerable, not on the merit of its ideology. You can teach people time and again why racism does not make sense, but they will not listen while they are getting something they desire from the movement itself – a sense of belonging.

In Meeink’s case, the loss of his white supremacist “family” resulted in his resorting to drug use to fill the void left behind, even when he had a real family to care for. This second half of his story highlights the most important benefit that being in the movement provides kids with nowhere else to go; it makes them feel like they are wanted and that they are special. It explains away the complex social issues that led to their disenfranchisement in a way that is easy to understand and accept. It is an answer to a question they cannot quite articulate. Meeink now dedicates some of his time to challenging hatred through sport, with his Harmony through Hockey initiative bringing black and white kids together to learn and play ice hockey in a safe an inclusive environment. These children are brought together and identify with each other through a shared interest in sport, rather than a shared prejudice. Finding these ties helps to prevent the toxic atmosphere of racist culture from developing as people identify with other races and ethnicities and find common interests. It took Meeink his entire adolescence and young adulthood to learn that non-white, non-skinheads could share the same feelings, interests and experiences as him. This book, and his subsequent work lecturing and running Harmony through Hockey is his attempt at explaining that to others and preventing them from following in his violent footsteps.

As a no-holds-barred revealing of his traumatic youth, Autobiography of a Recovering Skinhead is amongst the most honest of autobiographical materials I’ve read. At times it is brutal and shocking, bordering on too much to handle, but for that reason it is an important read for understanding exactly what goes on in the mind of a young skinhead. Psychologically speaking, it is invaluable in shedding light on a phenomenon that is becoming all too common in modern culture, not necessarily in the skinhead movement but in other violent youth movements and white supremacist organisations across the world. Meeink sums it up best in his own words in a 2014 interview with Cracked.com, in which he stated 'Hate is just repackaged fear, and if you tear away the layers of a hateful person, you'll usually find a scared little kid in there'. Rather than using this as a way to absolve himself of his crimes, Meeink accepts that he made terrible mistakes and is trying to atone for them. At the time of the writing of this book he had only been clean of drugs for a few months (after several relapses) and was cautious about considering his future. He acknowledged that he was still in recovery, and far from cured. As the title of the book suggests he is also aware that the same psychological conditions that predisposed him to drug abuse also led him to join the neo-Nazi movement, and so in that sense he is still very much a skinhead in recovery. Here’s hoping he continues to recover, because works like this are vital in helping ordinary people to understand the politics of hate and, as we so often hear, understanding is the first step to prevention.