My Experience with the Hollywood Fringe Festival 2023

Or

Systemic Racism Alive and Well in Hollywood

By

Levy Lee Simon

January 2023, I was working with an actress/writer and friend of mine who will remain nameless for now, as she worked on developing her one woman show. In conversation, the Hollywood Fringe Festival came up. This actress is a celebrity and you’d think she was past being in a Fringe Festival which for the most part is for up and coming artists. The actress felt, since it was her first authored play and first solo performance the fringe might be a good and safe place to perform it. I agreed. She suggested that I do my show as well. I wrote and performed my first solo show during the 2020 pandemic, live streamed from the White Fire Theater in Sherman Oaks, CA. It was an experience performing on stage alone with no one in the audience, talking about weird. Anyway, the response was extremely positive and many people suggested that I do the show live when I had the opportunity. I thought it might be a good idea to perform, Odyssey, Race & Racism at the Hollywood Fringe Festival 2023. So, I called my director and friend, Juliette Jeffers and told her of my plan. She agreed as she had some other solo performers that she would be directing in the Fringe as well.

 

My reasons were simple. I wanted to perform before a live audience. Since I’d never done a solo show before it would be a good way to test it out, so to speak. I wasn’t looking for exposure, connections or, any of that stuff. I have been around for a long time and did not need the Fringe to catapult my career, far from it.  What I did want, was to share my solo show with people who had not seen it, film/video it, and see what it felt like before a live audience. If I got a review or two that would be good too. Maybe I could promote the show afterwards for a run, a tour, or other festivals of note. I hired Phil Sokolof  as my publicist. He’s one of the best in LA for this kind og thing.

 

The Fringe promotes itself as an inexpensive way for artists to self-produce their shows. I found it reasonable but there was always fine print that requested more and more money, but  I was already committed when I paid my initial fees and have no regrets about that. My actress friend signed up too.

 

My play is Odyssey, Race & Racism is an evening of storytelling and spoken word monologues centering on racism as it occurred in my family’s lives and my own. I chose the Broadwater Theater because I always liked the main stage space when it was the old Lillian Theatre on Lillian Way. Honestly, I wanted a smaller theatre but none were available at a reasonable theatre time. I wasn’t going to ask my people to come to Hollywood to see a show at 10PM, and 8AM. I was left with the Broadwater main stage, 99 seats. It meant however that I would have to promote the hell out of the show to get people there.

 

Creatively everything went well. I connected with Juliette Jeffers who I like working with and I had my video/film camera person, Nefertiti Negron ready to go. Opening night was a blast. The cast from my other play, A Heated Discussion Revisited, which was running downtown at Los Angeles Theatre Center came up for the 8PM performance since they had a Sunday matinee at 3PM. They were a lively bunch. I couldn’t have asked for a better audience that night because they energized everyone else in the theatre, even myself.  The play received a rousing standing ovation. You can always tell when you have a good show because people don’t want to leave. They stick around and hang out, talking about the play, lots of laughter, questions, picture taking, congratulations, all that. I was pleased that my first show went so well. I did notice that no one from the Hollywood Fringe Festival or the Broadwater came to see it though. Hmmm.

 

The following Saturday and Sunday my shows were well attended but again no one from the HWFF was there. I heard there was one person from the Broadwater. I think it was Padriac Duffy, but no one else. I need to mention that the head stage manager at the Broadwater was a rude woman who spoke to people, (I should say me)  in a short dismissive manner as if she was annoyed that I had questions. She never looked me in my eyes when she did speak. Now, no big deal, her problem, not mine, but clearly she had issues. What always cracks me up about people like her, is they never stop to think about who they might be dealing with. That woman didn’t know me from Adam. There was a time in my life I wouldn’t have brushed it off because as Rakim said, “You could get a smack for that.” But I digress, and responding in that way is a thing of the past.  Just saying, people need to think because you never know who you are dealing with.

 

By the end to the last performances not one person from the HWFF attended my play. HWFF gives out these awards; Best Play, Best Solo Show, etc… about twenty of them in all, but artists are required to get people to vote for their play. I could and would not participate in anything like that. The awards become a popularity contest not based on any kind of artistic or creative merit. It’s amateur in my opinion, and I don’t do amateur.

 

The Broadwater Theatre however gave out awards called, “Best of the Broadwater,” that were to be determined, so I thought by the Broadwater staff.  Funny I only met four people from the Broadwater, so I really don’t know who was making decisions. Anyway, if my play was chosen, they’d give it an encore performance. That was appealing to me because so many people I know still wanted to see the play.

 

The award ceremonies were given out on the last night of the festival which was Sunday June 25^th. I decided to attend on the outside chance that the Broadwater would select my play. The place was packed and the energy was, alive and festive. The music was pumping and good. People were dressed and taking tons of pictures. It was a Hollywood scene for sure. Finally, when the ceremonies began, Lois Neville and Ellen Den Herder stepped on the stage. They began by telling everyone how many shows they had seen. I think it was Ellen who proclaimed to have seen over fifty shows. They also made a point to announce that they devoted the year to multiculturalism and diversity. Well that’s all well and good but she didn’t see my show, neither one did. Of the 300+ shows there were approximately ten to twelve Black shows. So, why is it that the head of the Fringe chose not to see any Black show, but brags about seeing over fifty shows? Hmm. While this question was taking space in my head they had the nerve to say that their primary concern is diversity. What? Please. They even had people read off statistics proving that it has gotten better with women. LBGTQ, but Black and Brown needed to improve. Then they asked the audience, everyone in attendance to chant, “We can do better!!!!” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing and experiencing. As a person of color, I felt it was condescending and demeaning, as I stood there being one of those Black people who was slighted. They didn’t even know my name. I am not expecting special treatment but equal treatment. It seems to me that if you only have ten Black plays and you are promoting diversity you would see it necessary to see those ten Black plays, if it’s important but obviously it wasn’t. But this chanting thing was beyond comprehension. It was hypocritical so prevalent among those people who think they are not racist when they are. What happened to the so called BIPOC Movement? Well, in this case it was left in the hands of some very shameful, insensitive and privileged people.

 

It continues.

 

The Fringe gives out an award called the Ella Terenne Award. Ella was a playwright/actor who performed at the Fringe Festival in 2018, in her play Love, Locks and Liberation. In 2019 Ella had a massive heart attack and died. She was only in her forties. I knew Ella since 2001 when she was a journalist for the Haitian Times. She was Haitian, and reviewed my play on the Haitian Revolution, “For the Love of Freedom.” I was impressed with her review and contacted her. We became good friends. She told me back then that she wanted to write plays. I encouraged her to do so. When she finished her first draft of, Love, Lock and Liberation, she sent it to me to read. We discussed it and she asked me to direct her. I directed a reading of her play at the Complex Theatre in 2017 before her Fringe Festival debut. I didn’t direct her in the Fringe, I was out of town. I  got back in time to see her production and it was wonderful. I contacted the Fringe by email, to let them know of my history with Ella but got nothing back. Nothing. I found it difficult to hear them say once again how they were about diversity and used  Ella’s name to promote what they were clearly not doing.  They ignored the elephant in the room the big Black Cis man.

 

Yes, I take it personally when I see systemic racism raging right in front of my face. I am not the one to take it lightly. For most Black people, we have to choose our battles because there is always something to rage against on a daily basis. I cannot fight all those battles but this is one I choose to fight. When privileged white people take it for granted that just getting an all-white captive audience to chant, “We have to do better,” is making it better is quite frankly a HUGE problem.

 

And no, the Broadwater did not select my play for “Best of the Broadwater.”  How could they when they chose not to see it. People, I am not fretting not being chosen, if it’s has any resemblance of being fair. But it’s clear to a blind man that it is not. My play received rave reviews from critics and audience members. So why wasn’t it chosen? Hmm.

 

All this being said, I did achieve my personal objectives. As I mentioned I received some stellar reviews. I had it filmed and many of my followers came out to see the play. I attached links to some of the reviews and some audience responses.

 

Recently the Ovation Awards in Los Angeles Theatre was cancelled when participants insulted an Asian actress who’d won the best actress award in her category. Apparently, the presenter mispronounced her name, and then posted a picture of another Asian actress that was supposed to be her. Hmm. Many of the major theatres in LA pulled out from the Ovation Awards, an institution in LA theatre was lost for the foreseeable future. In my mind this is no different.

 

I am not looking to disband the Fringe. That is not my intention, and I don’t believe I have that kind of power … maybe.  However, this type of racism has got to be called out. As I say in my play, “this type of racism is just as dangerous, just as stifling, just as oppressive, just as insidious and potentially just as deadly.”

 

I’m sending this writing to everyone who will read it but one of the biggest problems is that most white people won’t read it because they  don’t even care.  We live in a world where they don’t have to care. Their lives will not be changed one way or another, so they think. Again, as I say in my play, the one they chose not to see, “apathy and hypocrisy are deadly foes.” Yes, it runs rampant in Hollywood too where artists are supposed to be at the vanguard of thought, so I was taught.

 

One thing I know for sure, I will never do another Fringe Festival, and never step into another theatre that was part of the festival. It may not mean anything to them, but that’s my protest, against systemic racism in Hollywood. And I will be passing the word.

 

Levy Lee Simon 

www.LevyLeeSimon.com 

 

 

 

 

HOW DID WE GT HERE by LEVY LEE

How Did We Get Here?

By

Levy Lee Simon

I look around at today’s world and wonder how in the world did we get here? 

Not to make myself appear old because I’m not old but I am old skool, 

and I’m proud of that. Let’s start with that fact.  

I mean I grew up during a time when kids played outside and parents called you in when dinner was on the plate, better not be late. When baseball, basketball and football were an outdoor activity not just a visual commodity, played on X Box 500, Madden, or whatever the video game’s name’s name is. There was no snapchat or Instagram, where the number of likes defined who you are, a square or popular. No bullying on social media, playing the superior to inferiors. Sometimes the Technicolor TV screen would spiral, now everybody wants to go viral. I grew up in a time where boys and girls squared off in the middle of the street when there was a beef, no guns or AKs like there are today. The best person won, you shook hands and had fun. 

I mean how did we get here, after Martin and Malcolm and Huey and Bobby and H.Rap Brown and James Brown, and Attica, and Bob Dylan, and JFK and RK, and Fred Hampton, and The Black Panthers, Assata and Angela too, challenging the hypocrisy of the red, white and blue, and all those that died in Viet Nam, Iraq and Afghanistan, for Uncle Sam. How did we get here?  After promises of a better world, those that died, those that got fried, those that went into exile to hide, because they wanted to expose the truth. The truth that was suppose to set us free, you and me. How did we get here?

In 2008 when he wasn’t supposed to win, a Black President got voted in. He said all the right things like it’s about change and yes we can…. can I get an Amen, elected by blacks whites, yellows and browns by a people tired of the same old sounds. It was an event a Black man became president. Yes we can, make a America a vision of divine destiny for everybody, that shouldn’t be denied by American historical shame, racism by any other name. 

But, those betrayed Americans, grandchildren of slave owners couldn’t believe that shit, the needy greedy parasites of the right were ready fight. If you didn’t know would, you got  it twisted as they insisted on keeping American the same, and the Black President they blamed, and they came, in groups, Tea Parties,  one by one, dum deedy dum. 

Mitch and the good old boys, scandalous and corrupt,  would not give up, and they were mad, hearts bleeding the confederate flag. Let us not forget the dividing lines have always been thin, it is now and it was back then.  And, along comes Trump spewing hatred and lies, like a snake spitting venom in our eyes.  E- mail shams,  racism, sexism and homophobic slights, the rhetoric of the right. Division symbolized by a wall, children taken from mother’s and caged like hogs. A country in moral decay, another hateful tweet three and four times day.  How did we get here? 

Where Black men and women are still being murdered in streets by white civilians and the police. The murderers never arrested never convicted even with evidence, so clearly depicted. Eric Gardner, “I can’t breathe.”  Alton Sterling shot in the heart held down by a cops knees. Philando Castille, Tamir Rice, Trayvon, Mike Brown, LaQuan McDonald, Sean Bell, and Freddie Gray. Add a new name every day.  The latest, Amaud Arbery, shot down like a runaway slave, dig his grave. Throw back to a time gone by? What a lie. Rednecks hunting a Black man down as he jogged, the only thing missing were the dogs. The truth of the matter, the shits not new, they’ve been hunting us down since 1492. IPhones and social media changed the game, that’s the only thing that’s changed.  

How did we get here? White supremacist, waving the American flag meet, armed to the teeth, automatic weapons, at the state house on Michigan streets. Mega hats and Make America Great again, ignoring the fact the America was built on sin. What message is really being sent, with the endorsement of the president?   

How did we get here? Where we are experiencing a global pandemic being handled by an incompetent leader putting his need to be re-elected before the importance of over 100, 000 human lives, that have already died. And the Legion of Deplorables think they know more than doctors and scientist, and that some shit.    

I came up during a time when people marched in streets, day and night, ready to fight, ready to die because real freedom would not be denied.  When people were so tired, they had to riot. I grew up during a time when Martin sang, We Shall Overcome, but right behind him was a Panther with a gun. 

Back in the day growing up in a dangerous New York, where life could easily be cut short on the streets, in the cold or in the heat, I never felt the need to carry a gun or a knife, it was fight or flight. But in today’s world I’m gonna give it to you straight, I don’t’ even feel safe.  Seems like anybody can shoot a Black person down, with no repercussions, that’s disgusting. The shit has got to stop no more turning back  the clock. I’m convinced as a true Native Son, if the ballot don’t work give me the gun, because things will change when Black men start shooting back. Not trying to incite nothing, just stating a fact.

How did we get here? The world has advanced in every conceivable way, yet here we are, still fighting racism, like it was yesterday.  

How did we get here?   

My Experience with Blackface – Up close and personal 1996

My Experience with Blackface – Up close and personal 1996 by Levy Lee Simon 

Two days after I arrived at the University of Iowa, and after meeting my fellow classmates,  I was invited to see a play written by a former grad student of the Iowa Playwright’s Workshop, who’d met some success in Hollywood. He was commissioned to write a play for the, 150 year celebration of Iowa becoming a state. The play was entitled “Hawkeye,” the nickname for the university athletic teams.  

They were making a big deal about the celebration, and the 60 year anniversary of the Theatre Department, founded by E.C. Mabie, in 1936. EC Mabie Theatre was the largest theatre in the department, 457 seats. Their was a large sepia tone picture of EC Mabie in the lobby’s hallway of fame, where there were pictures and paintings,  of  the many famous people who had attended the University of Iowa Theatre Department, including Tennessee Williams, one of my favorites.  

 I was very excited to be at Iowa and equally anxious to see my first play at the university. I wanted to see what they had to offer and how high they set the bar. I couldn’t wait to jump in and get my feet wet.   The theatre was packed mostly with white towns people from white I could gather. I believe I was the only Black person in the place. The play began, and within the first ten minutes I found myself becoming very uncomfortable. Twenty minutes in, I was appalled by the images I was seeing on stage. By the time the play ended I was beyond disappointed, I was furious.  There were racial stereotypes, and clichés prancing all over the stage making comments about Native Americans and African Americans that should have never been uttered at any time in history let alone 1996.  My mind raced, I thought we were past that. Boy, did I get a rude awakening. They had actors on the stage in Black face, and white face. Black face in 1996!!! Hadn’t the Ben Vereen’s debacle at the Reagan Inauguration of 1981, taught us anything, or was it selectively forgotten, or ignored? I mean it was surely a widely publicized moment that should have not been forgotten only 15 years later.  

And then, there was the stereotypical white male hero who all the women, white, Black and Native American wanted. In fact, the Native woman in the play betrays her entire tribe for the love of a white man. Did this actually happen, or was it a fantasy of the playwright? At the talk, back after the performance, many of the all white audience members stayed to compliment the production.

            “This is the best play I’ve seen at Iowa, and I’ve been coming to this theatre 35 years.”

            “I loved it. I simply loved it! Some excited gray haired woman exclaimed!!!!

I buried my head in my hands. I was only there for two days but I couldn’t stay silent. If they were going to take offense to what I had to say so be it. I mean they were going to get to know be sooner or later, so why not now. I raised my hand. Eric Forsyte, the director of the play and head of undergrad acting seemed eager to call on me. 

            “Lee, right?”

“Yes, Levy Lee Simon. What I am going to say is going to be in the minority here and I don’t mean to offend anyone, because it seems that everyone enjoyed the play very much, but sitting here as a Black audience member, I have to say, I was highly insulted and offended by the content of the play and quite frankly thought it was racist.”

The audience became quiet immediately. Eric looked at me with all sincerity and said.   

“Well, I have to disagree with you. I don’t think it’s racist at all.” He said setting on the lip of the stage. I continued. 

“You have actors in Black face on stage, which is a symbol of racism at it’s highest point in this country. You have a white male lead who all of women are so in love with that they are willing to betray their family, culture and community, for the love of someone who obviously doesn’t love them.”

Eric looked at me obviously stuck, because he  wasn’t expecting this. Neither was I.  Eric had not thought about any of the things I said, it was clear. But he had to say something in front of that audience.

“Well, I hate to disagree but those things don’t mean that it’s racist.  I can speak for myself and the playwright and tell you neither of us have racist bone in our body. You are wrong.”

“Wrong? I’m wrong? OK, I’m wrong. I’m not trying to debate you about it. That’s my honest reaction to what I saw, and the mere fact that I’m a Black man expressing feelings about what I saw and you are telling me I’m wrong, is actually racist in itself, because you are denying my voice and my feelings and you even refusing to even consider what I’m saying.”

You could hear a pin drop. Afterwards word got around the theatre department and back to the chair, Alan McVey, pretty quickly. The following day I was sitting in his office recalling the encounter with Eric.   Alan,  to his credit sat at his desk and listened. He said he wanted to address the issue and called for an interdepartmental meeting with staff, professors and students to discuss the Hawkeye the play. The meeting was held in one of the larger class rooms and it was packed with grad students, professors, staff,  and, Edris Cooper, an African American MFA directing student from San Francisco who like myself had met with some success in the real world before being offered an opportunity to come back to school

Edris, was from the Bay Area. She was Black in every way. Dark skinned, straight from the hood, and would cuss you out in an instant, but she also spoke five languages, was articulate as they come, and knew a thing or two about acting and directing.  She was one of the most talented and intelligent people I have ever known, but don’t make her angry, or you just might have hell to pay. She was cool with me and she had my back. Eric continued to defend his position. Sometimes white people mean well but because of their privilege, they just don’t know when to stop. 

“What do you mean, don’t you hear us? We are telling you that we were offended by the play. We are offended by white actors on stage in Blackface! You are just going to ignore that!!!!!” 

Edris ’s  voice was raising, and the tension in the room was building.  

            “I’m not ignoring anything. I just disagree with you.”

“It’s not for you to agree or disagree. I don’t give a fuck weather you agree or not. I need for you to hear what we are saying. That’s it. Just hear what we are telling you, and accept it as truth!!!!”

            “Well, I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you are so upset about.”

I don’t think Eric was a true card carrying racist, I don’t. I know one of those when I see one and hear one, and he wasn’t that kind of racist by any stretch. But he was a different kind of racist. He was the ignorant kind. That’s why he couldn’t understand what Edris and I were trying to get to over to  him. He was clueless. He was staying fast to his position and that was making Edris crazy. I could see that her simmer was becoming a boil and it wouldn’t be long before she boiled over.  

“You don’t understand? You don’t understand. What do I have to do to make you understand?”

And before anyone could respond, Edris picked up a desk/chair and flung it across the room as hard as she could. It crashed with a loud thud, against the black board.  Even I was shocked.

“What do I have to do to make you understand? What do I have to do for you to see that we are not bullshitting you.  Is that what I have to do to get your attention? This is real for us. That play insulted us and all Black people!” 

Alan McVey ran out of the room.       

“I have a phone call.”

He didn’t have a phone call. Later I came to understand that Alan McVey  didn’t like confrontation of any kind, and this was the height of a confrontational act. Edris could have been expelled for throwing that chair. 

            “All of you should be ashamed of yourselves!” 

And then, she walked out. People there didn’t know what to do or say or do before I broke the silence. 

“I was invited to Iowa as a playwright and I get here, and find out that there is not one person of color in the graduate acting program. Not one. And I find that hard to believe in 1996. I also find it hard to believe that those of you in the grad acting program are OK with that.  How could you be OK with that? I would not be OK, looking around the room and seeing people that only looked like me in 1996. I wouldn’t need to say anything if you had said something long before I got here. It’s not just Eric and the play, you are all guilty. All of you.” 

One by one people filed out of the room but my comment didn’t fall on def ears. I felt like I was heard. We were heard. Later Alan McVey called me into his office. First he said that, we were right to challenge the play and the fact that the college was so lilly white in 1996.

            “Lee we’ve tried to get people of color into our program. We have ..”

“No hard enough.” I said. “You mean to tell me, that there are no African Americans, or Latinos who want to come back to school on a full ride, to get their Masters degree at a school like Iowa?  I don’t think you are looking hard enough,” I said.

“Well, maybe you can help us in recruiting.”

I didn’t come to the University of Iowa to recruit, but I also could see it would be in my best interest to say that I would.”

            “Yes, I’ll help.”

“OK, great!  I’ll make sure to have potential students call you and talk to you about coming to Iowa. I’ll spread the word with the professors, and when we have URTAS next month in Chicago we’ll make sure to give those students your number.”

I shook my head. What else could I do? I did help with the recruiting and the following year of the 16 new grad students, nine were people of color. And from that point on there was no Blackface on stage. For the next three years, I’m proud to say we rocked at the University of Iowa, doing some fine work. 

Levy Lee Simon 

GENTRIFIED By Levy Lee Simon

Gentrified

I went back home, to Harlem the other day,

353 West 115^th Street, between Morningside and Manhattan Avenue,

The place I was raised and where I grew.

Stickball, in the middle of the street, and Ringling Coca 1,2,3.

The girls jumped Double Dutch on the sidewalk,

While the adults sat in Morningside Park,

and drank Shaffer beer, Ballentine Ale, and talked,

in the summertime to way after dark.

And, any adult could discipline you,

when your parents got home you already knew,

your momma was going to whip that ass,

just because somebody said you was being bad.

Skellies, strike out and tag,

wise potato chips and a soda in a brown paper bag.

Mister Softee, chocolate, vanilla and strawberry

or, Italian Icies, coconut, banana and cherry.

Sometimes …

 we played spin the bottle

down old Mr. Jones basement.

The lookout got twenty five cents.

One day Willie Mays stepped out of a limo,

and the adults  watched from their windows.

Why he came to our street that day, who knows.

But he did. We played stickball with the, “Say Hey Kid.”

Every now and then we’d cross the park,

had to be home before dark.

Columbia and Amsterdam Ave, the white folk section

Just curious kids but we had direction.

When the cops would come we’d run,

chewing on boozooka bubble gum.

Jump the wall from that strange place,

“Jeronimo!”

And land in Harlem where we were safe.

Adults gave rent parties on Friday nights,

And, there was bound to be a fight. 

But no one ever pulled a gun.

Everybody was just trying to have fun.

Couldn’t do that if someone ended up dead,

Fill the glass up with ice and Johnny Walker Red.

Dancing to James Brown and Motown,

Twisting to Chubby Checker, getting down.

115h Street, my home on my way to being grown,

where I first learned about life,

that there were times to run and times to fight.

My family moved from 115^th Street when I was twelve,

just before the neighborhood turned to hell.

It was a horrible thing to see,

an entire neighborhood brought to it’s knees,

drug pushers and young kids scrambling dope,

one by one people losing hope. 

Many of my young friends lost their innocence

as death and dying became consistent.

They traded in their talents and dreams,

for a life of crime and streets that were mean. 

I was lucky that my family moved away from 115^th Street,

Where girls got turned out and the boys now packed heat.

I was only twelve when we moved away,

Just in time nick of time some people might say.  

We didn’t leave Harlem though.

Just moved uptown, just so you know.

It was just a little better up there,

More arts and culture to share.

I graduated high school, college, and continued my life.

But everytime I come back I come to

115^th Street or things just don’t seem right.   

So here I stand on 115^th Street, 2016,

And the street that is no longer mean.

No stickball or girls jumping rope.

No kids with dreams filled with hope.

It’s a tree lined street now, idyllic and serene.

No images of the past can be seen.

Surreal and unreal at the same time,

wondering if it was all in my mind.

In Morningside Park, an Asian guy teaches his son how to ride a bike,

as I remember my Dad doing the same thing  years ago under the twilight.

White people walking with their baby carriages and dogs,

I wonder if they know the history of a people that struggled

to live in Harlem and worked so hard.

Property value suddenly gone up, sky high,

people left forced to move out, live or die.  

Harlem will never be the same,

But clearly what’s inevitable is change.

Change truly is inevitable,

evidenced by A Harlem Tavern, and A Corner Social.

That’s incredible.

I walk up Lenox Avenue and marvel at all that’s new.

A Whole Foods on Lenox, healthy food too.

Crimes gone down I hear,

people walking the streets at night, no fear.

An, international coffee house on 129^th.

think I’ll stop in to have some coffee and a bite.

I walk in and am greeted with suspicious eyes.

I’m never caught off guard but to this I’m surprised.

“May I help you, she passive aggressively says.”

--- A coffee and some raisin bread. ----

She takes my card with no smile or welcome,

And suddenly I feel like I’m being shunned.

This can’t be, not in Harlem my home.

I look around and see no one that looks home grown.

And suddenly I’m feeling all alone, in Harlem my home.

Something is wrong, something’s not right,

And I get this feeling deep inside like I want to fight,

for my right to be who I am, stand a Harlem man.

For that I will take a stand.

I’m all for multi-culturalism and all that.

But to move in and take over,

Well, America has a history of that, that’s fact.

I take my coffee and raisin bread and shake my head.

This feeling I try to let go, try to shed.

Never before in Harlem did I feel I wasn’t home.

But, I felt it this day, a feeling deep inside my bones.

I looked the pretty brown woman in her face,

Cleary she was the one out of place.

Youthful innocence hiding the disgrace.

She gave me one of those half smiles,

I recognized that she was only a child.

And she didn’t have a clue,

of the history of Harlem and the people, if she only knew.

I took my seat and looked around

at all the people not from this Harlem town.

I sighed and drank my coffee, ate my raisin bread.

Gentrification has it’s place,

But it’s got to be done with respect, honor and with grace.

Because, the history and culture cannot be replaced.

And the people, the beautiful people,

 no matter what ain’t going no place.

This and thought and knew, smiled and continued to drink my brew.

This is for Harlem everyday, all day.

Levy Lee  ….

I AM

THE OSCAR SITUATION and the BIGGER ISSUE by Levy Lee Simon

The Oscars and the Bigger Issue by Levy Lee Simon

I truly believe the recent controversy over the Oscars brings forth an issue that is  greater and much more disconcerting than most people are addressing. Yes, there is a problem with the Oscars when people of color are completely ignored by the prestigious Academy of Arts of which the overwhelming majority are white men over sixty.  There is even a larger problem when Hollywood Studios refuse to recognize and produce works by people of color. I know this first hand because as a Black screenwriter I live the problem on a daily basis. But this is not about me personally per se.  The problem goes beyond the academy, and is a symptom of issues prevalent in the majority culture. I use majority as the reality of the power structure in America and nothing more.

The great novelist, Ralph Ellison described it best in his book, The Invisible Man, where he explains the ideology of invisibility as it applies to Black people in America. His premise is that white people don’t value our importance in the world and due to that we become invisible, and that our lives, our stories, our history our very existence doesn’t matter. In his iconic book Ralph Ellison wonders why he feels out of place and through acute observation recognizes his own invisibility within the larger society. Of course this is a monumental discovery because every human being has a need to be seen and heard. Everyone wants to matter, weather it’s in their own household, the community or the world at large. I know most artist feel a need to be recognized. It comes with the territory.

Back to the Oscars, there are people who suggest that maybe certain performances by Black actors were not worthy of nominations. That surely is arguable and I’m not writing to suggest that every time a Black actor has a lead in a film they should be nominated for an Oscar. That’s ridiculous. Art for the most part art is interpretive. In many cases good work can be argued. Great work usually stands out as great work. (My opinion.)  Personally, I felt that Idris Elba and Abraham Attah In Beast of No Nation, Jason Mitchell, O’Shea Jackson, and Corey Hawkins in Straight Out of Compton gave Oscar worthy performances. The film Straight Out of Compton, also could easily have been nominated for “Best Film,” along with F. Gary Gray for directing. People can argue about my choices and that’s healthy and fine, but that’s my take on it. I also find it odd that all the talk is about the actors and not about a great film such as Straight out of Compton, which for me is an instant classic, chronicling new musically movement and an explosive time in our history.  

Getting back to my point, with all the communicative power and high visibility, that Hollywood possesses, what does it suggest when the work of Black artist is denied and ignored? The denial of our work in Hollywood trickles down to the rest of the society with an attitude on non-importance. Questions arise; Is it being said that we area not equal? Or as Spike Lee ask, “We can’t act?” Is the argument then that we are not important enough to the larger society? Is it a dismissal of our very existence? These questions cannot be over looked and they cannot be limited to Hollywood. We all know Hollywood has a lot of power. Mostly everyone loves the movies and our lives and in many ways shaped by what we see on TV and in films. Black people  have stories to tell, in a way that only we can tell them. Yet Hollywood consistently acts as if we only matter when we are in a supplement to their world. Of course we know that’s not the reality in 2016.

So, when the Oscars nominations denies us, ignores us, then how does that register symbolically to the police officer who feels that we don’t matter anyway? As far fetched as it may sound it’s all connected if ever so subliminal.  I know there are a lot of differing opinions on the subject and here’s mine, boycott, protest, speak out, do what ever, say where ever but we cannot afford to be silent, we cannot afford to remain invisible.

In doing research for a project that take place in Los Angeles of the 30s and 40s the so called golden years, the same conversations were being held by Black artist, almost verbatim. I do believe today the world is trying hard to move in a direction that is evolving  progressively away from the old ways, but the old ways are not going down without a fight. This is not a petty issue about Hollywood types. This issue is about all of us, where we are and where we are going.  Now is the time to speak up. We may not agree but the discussion needs to happen so changes can happen. It’s time and long overdue.

Levy Lee Simon