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Show I THE CITIZEN iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiL I THINGS BOOKISH I RlllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllillllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllMlllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllr Edited By WILUAM C. WINDER, Jr. their wildest orgies, but under that defiant mask of gayety, it is not dif- A Matter Of Race COMMITTEE composed of ten members of the Academy awarded to a negro the much coveted Gon-couprize for the best novel written In France in the year. Furthermore, the book so honored is an indirect attack on the actions and methods in the subjection and government of the French Congo, In itself a fact which would immediately prejudice the minds of all persons who could not accept a work on its merits ' regardless of its subject matter or authorship. It is fortunate for this author that Bordeaux was his home rather than an American city, for it is simply beyond our imagination to think of the committee of Columbia University ever daring even if by any chance its members had the desire, to award one of the Pulitzer prizes to a member of a colored race. In conversations regarding this book we have heard no little surprise expressed regarding this event, and also over the fact that a negro could be so talented as to deserve such a signal honor. Such a book is highly significant of the time in which wre are living, when whole peoples, whose collective minds have been dormant for centuries, are now striving for some form of expression. And when the representative members of a race attain a semblance of articulation, it is high time that all who profess to think should take serious notice of the new voice and its message. Batouala by Rene Maran (Thomas Seltzer) is a book to be read by all who are interested in the fact that there exist other people and other forms of civilization outside our own immediate interests. This Maran is a highly intelligent man who returned to Equatorial Africa and lived with the natives in order that he might gain first hand information and an authentic atmosphere for his book. His aim in writing was to treat objectively the things which he heard and saw during that period and, after reading the book, we feel sure that one must admit that he has admirably fulfilled his purpose. It was his aim simply to narrate, never to argue. His personal ideas were never to be allowed to color a picture, and if they do, we have been unable to find where. That he feels deeply the present predicament of his race is clearly shown in his preface, but propaganda has not been permitted to spoil the artistry of the novel. A rt em-poly- ed This book pictures for us, in considerable detail, a short period in the life of the remnant of a once formidable tribe at Grimari, French Congo, and more especially of its chief, Batouala. We learn of the daily habits and modes of thought of these people; also of their traditions, superstitions, We view them in and ceremonies. ficult to discover a tragic sadness and hopelessness, a feeling that the tribe is doomed to pass out of existence. And in their songs they welcome death, with its long sleep and freedom from worry, as a deliverance from the yoke which they realize themselves too weak to throw off. It is our pleasure to know these people as savages, yet what has our civilization ever done to make their lot easier? And after all is not their savagery but a relative value? We cringe at some of their rites and ceremonies, but history tells us that it was not so many centuries ago that a higher civilization shuddered at the mere thought of our ancestors. How much saner the whole world would be if its people could only realize for a day that truth is but a relative term; that the er- rors of yesterday are the truths of today, and that tomorrow a new light may dawn which will make our most cherished truths seem obsolete and childish! This is not an appeal for any tribe or people or race, but it is an appeal to sanity in our hasty condemnation of those we consider inferior. The writing of Maran evokes to our senses a magic atmosphere of those African days. We can inhale the aroma of that rank, damp vegetation; we can hear the many litle things which go to make up those great African silences. In little clearings amid the trees and plantations we can see the huts of the natives, and the existences passed under those thatches will never be entirely foreign to us again. The attitude of the white masters to the blacks, and the attitude of the dark people toward the whites, is made known to us by many a conversation or a solitary musing. These millions of people, so many thousands of miles away, are dumb, but they are growing restive under their burden. Deep in their sleeping conscience, too, is a pride of greater days long since gone, for was not the magnificent civilization of Egypt the work of the black race? They will begin to utter sounds to which we are unused, and it is for us to listen. Batouala, the young chieftain, lives before us, adheres to the best of his ability to the traditions of his fathers, loves jealously, hates fiercely, dies miserably to sleep unknown and unwept, but this little book of his doings for a day will make of him a speaking representative of inarticulate millions. Batouala, sleep! It is now some months since we read another book of colored people and also by a negro, Darkwater by W. E. B. Du Boise (Harcourt, Brace & Howe). This work has won no great honors, yet it, too, is deeply significant of its time and place. It is the work of one of the most intelligent and capable of Americas negro writers, and consists of a number of essays, fantasies and poems, most of which have appeared in various magazines, and are unrelated except as to the general subject involved. In this book, Mr. Du Bois pleads, argues, warns. His heart is in the work, he feels sure of his ground, and the reader is made aware of a remarkably able and sincere Intelligence at work in every page. His knowledge of statistics on education and illiteracy in this country is very comprehensive and fully documented. His deep understanding of the soul of the race is splendid, and vested in that understanding, he makes a thunderous appeal for a hearing, and that appeal is certainly not without Its sound logic. This man is not humbly craving pardon that his skin is black; he is proud of it and proud of the race from which he came. He realizes that the dark peoples of the world were at one time its most highly civilized, nor does he believe that the pendulum will never swing that way again. His effort is to arouse a race consciousness within his people, pride instead of hopeless lethargy, and the signs that he and his friends are succeeding are not entirely lacking. With the ignorant, for a white to speak favorably of the work of a negro is to some extent to commit an offense, but there are some signs of the times which even the ignorant cannot afford to neglect. The colored people are beginning to fight back more and more; the race is producing some men capable of expression, and through them the whole race will speak and make its hopes and ambitions known, and later will make its demands. There is a problem which must be faced and faced intelligently. Interspersed with the propaganda of the book there is some charming writing; the man knows how to express his thoughts in effective form. The little fantasy, Jesus Christ in Texas, is beautifully done, while the essay, The Immortal Child, shows a rare ability and insight into our present problems, especially that of proper education. One thought alone is worth the reading of the chapter, that instead of making men carpenters, we should make of the carpenters, men. The whole book has a deeply humanizing effect, gives one the feeling that there are many things far more important than race quarrels and our looking down on the people whose skins are not quite so white as ours. And not one of the least responsible factors in the whole case, in our private opinion, is that cruel old religious fallacy that this race is under the curse of Cain, of biblical fame. Proud as we of the white race are of our achievements, there is nothing in all history which even hints that any single race will remain forever paramount. While on the subject of race hatred, it might be well to make a few observations on a few hatreds existing within the white family itself. It is not so many months ago that one Gertrude Atherton, no doubt feeling herself slipping down the hill of fame and taking advantage of certain prejudices existing in the public mind, came forth with a vitriolic attack on all heretics not belonging to the Nordic race, and especially against the Al pine and Mediterranean races. Now, it has been known as a very effective method, when one has superiors who are not blood relations, to cast the whole crew into limbo, thus precluding the probability of having to argue the matter out with ones individual, Of course Mrs. Atherton is & niece of somebody or other who had foes. made a name in American history we heard who this somebody was not so very long ago, but it made such an impression that we promptly forgot it and as such, is doubtless 150 per cent Nordic, for we have her word for it that all really great people are. Now, indirectly we gather that a certain class of critics headed by Mr. Menchen, name more or less Alpine, has made considerable talk of our greatest novelist being a Mr. Dreiser... name more or less Alpine. Nor are- -' Mr. Menchen and Mr. Dreiser the only able ones with names more or less Alpine, or Mediterranean, or Semitic; in fact among the very best; such names are disproportionately many. Now simply to cease to recognize the existence of any of these people naturally brings into the limelight others who have been quite overshadowed and nearly forgotten. It is through and through an appeal to race prejudice, but it has always been an effective one. Seriously speaking Mrs. Atherton claims for the Nordica, all the bravery, chivalry, gallantry, and the power of doing any and every thing beautifully. No, she does not labor under the burden of a mock modesty. Contrariwise, everything that is vulgar, bestial, worthless, salacious, or of ill repute in any manner, belongs exclusively to the other side. In her argument, if such it could be called, she contends that the doing of anything of merit is proof that the doer must belong to the chosen race. As an example, her claim is that in the World War, the volunteers were almost wholly Nordics; in fact their act of volAll of unteering proved them so. which is just about as reasonable as the answer of the good woman, when in argument as to the existence of a personal devil, Of course there is a devil, else how could they take all To us, and these pictures of him? let us say here that we are of the opinion that we are of the Nordic race, such an appeal is entirely nonsensical and not a little dangerous. We would not even give it the honor of space, but it has actually been taken seriously by considerable numbers of people, who, although they have done'., nothing in the world to warrant it, enjoy this silly excuse for feeling a little superior to their fellow men. We said it was not a little dangerous, too, and we need only mention for proof the fact that Mr. Fords Dearborn Independent saw fit to champion the matter. Now, for Mr. Fords ability in matters economic we join with the enthusiastic crowd, but when it comes to matters affecting the intellect, How long, 0 Lord, how long? Race Prejudice! How unnecessary it all is. To survey for a moment the worthy creative results of all races, how small the harvest really is. Can ' we afford, in the love of to cast aside one sincere work Above of an acute understanding? self-glorificatio- n, |