“Thus all art is propaganda and ever must be, despite the wailing of the purists. I stand in utter shamelessness and say that whatever art I have for writing has been used always for propaganda for gaining the right of black folk to love and enjoy. I do not care a damn for any art that is not used for propaganda. But I do care when propaganda is confined to one side while the other is stripped and silent.” ~Du Bois

I love pretty statements–the ones people cross stitch on pillows and turn into wall art. I love them more when they’re powerful and even more so when they’re true. Du Bois’ statement that “all art is propaganda” is awesome in that it has all three of these qualities.

I don’t know about the rest of my age demographic, but I don’t usually look at the world around me, at the paintings, pictures, and books, and think, “Wow, look at these modern pieces of propaganda,” but perhaps I should. Creators create with a purpose in mind. Art has a reason for existing, and it is meant to be seen or read by others; it is meant to change the viewer in some way.

One of my favorite quotes is by author Cassandra Clare. She says, “One must always be careful of books and what’s inside them, for words have the power to change us.” I couldn’t agree more.

Du Bois is saying that art and literature should all be created with the intent to inspire, to catalyze something, and anything created that does not have didactic purpose is useless to him.

It is, however, the last sentence in the quote above that makes this quote relevant to our African American Literature class. He says that propaganda, art and literature, are “confined to one side” while the other side is “stripped and silent.”

For so long, many people–a whole country–did everything they could to repress and ignore and discredit and shame African American Literature and art. White propaganda was the only acceptable propaganda; therefore, only the white political point of view was circulated. Only the white political point of view was doing the influencing. The African American point of view was forced into silence.

And yet, black authors and creators like Du Bois took this repression as a challenge, one they were determined to overcome. They produced their own propaganda and influenced the readers and viewers whether they wanted to be influenced or not. That, after all, is often the effect of propaganda.

Was the end of The Marrow of Tradition a satisfying and/or fitting one? I fear I might be in the minority by saying this, but my answer is yes; I believe it was both.

But, Rachel! Most of the African American characters we’ve come to know died, and Major Carteret and his family all remained safe and intact! How is that satisfying or fitting? The ending was unjust!

Yes, the ending was indeed unjust–Carteret’s child lives and Miller’s child dies–and that it exactly why it was fitting . This whole novel is full of injustices–Clara’s preference for Tom, Janet’s lack of acknowledgement by Olivia, Jerry and Auntie Jane’s loyalty unrecognized or unappreciated, Sandy’s almost murder, Tom’s escape, and a whole host of other troubling unrighted wrongs–so, why should the end be any different? Would it have been nice? Sure. But unrealistic.

My finding the ending satisfying might not be so easy to logically explain away, but here it goes.

The ending wasn’t a happy one, but that is partially why it was satisfying. The book was about an organized attack against a race of people. A happy ending would’ve undermined the severity of the whole situation.

As for the Carteret family coming out the ordeal unscathed, while irritating and unfair, it is also satisfying in a way. Olivia and the Major now have to live with the knowledge that a) Carteret was the cause of the whole massacre, b) that Olivia and the Major both threw themselves on the mercy of a black man, c) that Olivia acknowledged Janet as her sister (and she cannot take it back), and d) that the only reason their son is alive is due to the medical practice of a black man. I hope the overwhelming guilt and humility will serve as their lifelong punishment for their wretchedness.

Don’t you just love situational irony?

I’m sure Carteret, Belmont, and McBane do. After all, it was Carteret’s article that, referring to the murder and robbery of Mrs. Ochiltree, said, “an atrocious assault upon a defenseless old lady, whose age and sex would have protected her from harm at the hands of anyone but a brute in the lowest human form” (185). And I couldn’t agree more with them in this instance.

At the time, of course, it was their hatred of African Americans that both lead them to believe the crime was committed by a black man and gave them the confidence to write such words. But, later, after Carteret is made aware that it was a white man of high social standing (one he was prepared to marry his ward off to) that killed and robbed her, what then? The words are as true post-reveal as they were pre-reveal. Carteret can hardly retract the article, and that’s gotta sting the white pride.

Or maybe, internally, Carteret accepts it. Maybe he recognizes that Tom is trash and a horrible person, and he would gladly see him punished if not for his own agenda. The problem would still remain that when it was a black man taking the blame, the article was used to discredit and condemn the entire race. But Carteret obviously doesn’t believe that Tom’s actions can condemn the entire white race.

Anyway, just some more super cute double standards.

Today, our justice system believes that a person is innocent until proven guilty. But apparently, in the late 19th century, an African American person was guilty until proven innocent.

Sandy did nothing wrong, but he was going to suffer a horrific death for a crime committed by a white man. There was evidence mounted against him, but all of it was circumstantial–not to mention intentionally placed/orchestrated by Tom. Had the police done any amount of investigating, they would’ve found the same evidence that Mr. Delamere and Ellis had. But no, Sandy was black and in the wrong place at the wrong time, so he was blamed and immediately said to be guilty.

Tom, on the other hand, was proven guilty, but his skin color and social standing (and the little boys club’s private agenda) allowed him to receive no blame. He was guilty, but he wasn’t blamed. Sandy was blamed, but he wasn’t guilty. Don’t you just love the 19th century justice system?

As for my quarantined reading habits, I haven’t really changed them. I own a lot of books–like, a lot– and there are many that I haven’t read yet, so I rarely venture to the library anyway. When I want something to read, I’ve got an extensive list to choose from within the four walls of my bedroom.

Thankfully, my emotions haven’t fluctuated much during this confinement. I am, I’ll admit, already an emotional person when it comes to reading books or watching movies. I’ve never before had trouble getting angry or upset or excited while reading, and quarantine hasn’t heightened or lowered my emotional experience. Though, I will say that today’s reading was particularly hard to get through emotionally and physically. This whole book has repeatedly made me grimace and cringe and roll my eyes, but today I almost lost my lunch while reading chapter 26. I’m so torn between wanting/needing to learn more about African American history and being too disgusted to stomach it.

And on that cheerful note, I do have some advice for anyone who is easily distracted while reading: if the book or work you’re reading has a free audiobook, listen to it while following along on the page. The Marrow of Tradition has a great audiobook on Youtube, and I’ve been listening to it while reading this. If you’re a fast reader, simply adjust the playback speed. The audiobook has helped me absorb everything that’s happened thus far, and it has made reading the sections written in African-American-servant vernacular infinitely easier.

McBane saying that “any” black person would do to burn for the crime is significant in a number of ways.

First, it reiterates what we already know to be true about McBane: he’s the literal worst (well, he might be in competition with Tom for that title).

Second, it proves his lack of care for justice (pretty sketchy for a captain, am I right?).

Third, this might be a bit of a stretch, but I believe McBane doesn’t even think the crime was committed by a black person. I know he’s awful, but he isn’t stupid. The only people who had motivation to kill her were the white people who would receive some inheritance from her (*cough cough* Tom). McBane probably knows this, but he hates African Americans enough to use anything as an excuse to see one lynched.

Fourth, I think his words are foreshadowing what is to come. I don’t know what is going to happen to Sandy specifically, but we all know that a violent, bloody struggle is ahead (I mean, just look at the cover of the book), and Mrs. Ochiltree’s death is the catalyst. Sandy may or may not be proven innocent, he may or may not pay for this crime he didn’t commit with his life. Regardless, lives will be lost. It may be just as McBane says, “any” black person will do to take the fall for this.

Let’s talk about Ellis. Ellis is probably the saddest of all the characters we’ve met thus far. Now, I don’t mean sad as in, “Ellis is sadder than every one else.” I mean that Ellis is the most upsetting, the most irksome, and the most pathetic (in my opinion).

Here’s why: He has so much potential to be a good person. He genuinely loves Clara; he is a hard worker; he is a gentleman; and he doesn’t bad mouth Tom when he could have/should have. And yet, even though he possesses all of these good qualities, he is a racist. He believes in white supremacy just as much as the little boys club trifecta.

It’s always easier to swallow when someone awful is consistently awful in every aspect of his life–it’s easy to hate that person. But when you find someone who is a good person but he has that one critical failing in his character, it’s just sad and disappointing.

“Know their place” racism is extremely dangerous because it’s just as toxic as blatant racism, but it is masked by a false sense of appreciation and respect for the abused race.

For example, of the three characters in the white supremacist group, McBane is the most blatantly racist. He has no desire to mince words and wishes all African Americans dead. This, of course, is dangerous in the physical sense. He won’t hesitate to harm or kill a black person, and he has little fear of the laws that would prevent him from doing so.

Carteret is in the middle. He is of a higher social standing than McBane; therefore, he must adhere to social laws in order to keep face. But he is just as vicious underneath all of that pretense. He accepts African Americans when they maintain “their place,” but he is still often rude to and short tempered with his black servants.

Belmont is one of the worst kinds of racist. He is a white supremacist but he still values African Americans. However, he only values what they can do for him as servants and laborers. He is “kind” to his servants, but this only keeps them in “their place” happily. He gives them no reason to aspire for or want more. His false sense of appreciation and respect make him a “good master,” so his servants have no reason to fight for more rights. Thus, the status quo is maintained with no physical violence or societal disruption.

Jane was undoubtedly taught everything she believes to be true and right by her mother. And her mother believed that it was a black person’s place to be reverent and respectful to her white mistress and master–this was how someone of Jane’s color and station was to get by in life. Jane has carried on with this belief because she is treated well (at least that’s how she sees it) in the Carteret household; she has no reason to want change. What was good enough for her mother should be good enough for her, right?

Some might agree with Jane’s compliance because it does grant her favor among the white people, but complacency is always dangerous when in the face of injustice because it hurts not only oneself, but also those who come after.

Can I just say…

I was not expecting Esther to step up like that! I mean, talk about a complete 180 in the best way possible! The first half of the book, she was just the sweetest little thing (and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that). But, let’s be honest, would you rather read about a sweet angel who does what she’s told and sews all day? Or would you rather read about a 19th century woman who is willing to put her life on the line with all of the men to protect those she loves and a cause she knows to be right?

I was actually yelling and cheering for Esther when Walters was all like, “And how does this affect our quiet Esther?” And she just comes back at him with, “It makes me wish I were a man.” Anyone else feeling all of the Lady Macbeth “unsex me” vibes? She was like, “I’ll show you quiet,” and I was here for every second of it. Definitely my favorite character in the book!

Discussion question #1: Why does Clarence die at the end, and what does his death signify?

To me, Clarence represented betrayal. He wasn’t a bad person, but he renounced his race, choosing society over things like culture and family. Earlier in the book, Mr. Walters mentions that there are African Americans who wish they were white to escape their troubles. Ester even tells Charlie that she would die if it would make him white. So I’m not condemning Clarence, but, if I had written the book, I’d’ve killed him off too.

His death represented the death of his way of thinking–the desire to act white and look white and talk white. In the end, all of the African American characters who embraced their skin as a part of who they were lived happy, fulfilling lives. This book is trying to tell us that one doesn’t need to follow in Clarence’s footsteps. In fact, you shouldn’t follow in his footsteps. Being black isn’t wrong, and it doesn’t make you unworthy. Like the sentiments in David Walker’s appeals, you are how God made you to be, so you shouldn’t want to be any other way.