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By Anemona Hartocollis March 20, 2019 605 NORWICH, Conn. — The two slaves, a father and daughter, were stripped to the waist and positioned for frontal and side views. Then, like subjects in contemporary mug shots, their pictures were taken, as part of a racist study arguing that black people were an inferior race. Almost 170 years later, they are at the center of a dispute over who should own the fruits of American slavery. The images of the father and daughter, identified by their first names, Renty and Delia, were commissioned by a professor at Harvard and are now stored in a museum on campus as precious cultural artifacts. But to the Lanier family, they are records of a personal family history. “These were our bedtime stories,” Shonrael Lanier said. On Wednesday, Ms. Lanier’s mother, Tamara, 54, filed a lawsuit in Massachusetts saying that she is a direct descendant of Renty and Delia, and that the valuable photographs are rightfully hers. The case renews focus on the role that the country’s oldest universities played in slavery, and comes amid a growing debate over whether the descendants of enslaved people are entitled to reparations — and what those reparations might look like. “It is unprecedented in terms of legal theory and reclaiming property that was wrongfully taken,” Benjamin Crump, one of Ms. Lanier’s lawyers, said. “Renty’s descendants may be the first descendants of slave ancestors to be able to get their property rights.” Jonathan Swain, a spokesman for Harvard, declined to comment on the lawsuit. Universities in recent years have acknowledged and expressed contrition for their ties to slavery. Harvard Law School abandoned an 80-year-old shield based on the crest of a slaveholding family that helped endow the institution. Georgetown University decided to give an advantage in admissions to descendants of enslaved people who were sold to fund the school. Editors’ Picks From a Swimsuit Model to the Trump Megaphone: The Genesis of ‘Jexodus’ How Parents Are Robbing Their Children of Adulthood Andy Cohen Is Tired of Being ‘Dad Shamed’ by ‘Momsplainers’ A program for a 2017 conference at Harvard on the links between academia and slavery. The program bears the image of Renty, a slave from whom Ms. Lanier says she descended. Credit Karsten Moran for The New York Times Image A program for a 2017 conference at Harvard on the links between academia and slavery. The program bears the image of Renty, a slave from whom Ms. Lanier says she descended.CreditKarsten Moran for The New York Times A series of federal laws has also compelled museums to repatriate human remains and sacred objects to Native American tribes. ADVERTISEMENT The lawsuit says the images are the “spoils of theft,” because as slaves Renty and Delia were unable to give consent. It says that the university is illegally profiting from the images by using them for “advertising and commercial purposes,” such as by using Renty’s image on the cover of a $40 anthropology book. And it argues that by holding on to the images, Harvard has perpetuated the hallmarks of slavery that prevented African-Americans from holding, conveying or inheriting personal property. “I keep thinking, tongue in cheek a little bit, this has been 169 years a slave, and Harvard still won’t free Papa Renty,” said Mr. Crump, who in 2012 represented the family of Trayvon Martin, an unarmed black teenager killed by a community watch member in Florida. Ms. Lanier is also represented by Josh Koskoff, a lawyer who represents families of the Sandy Hook elementary school massacre victims. Renty and Delia were among seven slaves who appeared in 15 images made using the daguerreotype process, an early form of photography imprinted on silvered copper plates. The pictures are haunting and voyeuristic, with the subjects staring at the camera with detached expressions. The daguerreotypes were commissioned by Louis Agassiz, a Swiss-born zoologist and Harvard professor who is sometimes called the father of American natural science. They were taken in 1850 by J.T. Zealy, in a studio in Columbia, S.C. Agassiz, a rival of Charles Darwin, subscribed to polygenesis, the theory that black and white people descended from different origins. The theory, later discredited, was used to promote the racist idea that black people were inferior to whites. Agassiz viewed the slaves as anatomical specimens to document his beliefs, according to historical sources. Sign Up for the Crossing the Border Newsletter The U.S.-Mexico border is a daily headline. A political football. And also home to millions of people. Every week for the next few months, we’ll bring you their stories, far from the tug-of-war of Washington politics. SIGN UP ADVERTISEMENT The daguerreotypes were forgotten until they were discovered in an unused storage cabinet in the attic of Harvard’s Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology in 1976. They were thought to be the earliest known photographs of American slaves. Notes found with the images give small clues as to the identity of the slaves — their names, plantations and tribes. Renty was born in Congo, according to the label on his daguerreotype. An inventory from 1834 listing the slaves on the plantation of Col. Thomas Taylor in Columbia, S.C. The names Big Renty and Renty appear on the list. Credit Karsten Moran for The New York Times Image An inventory from 1834 listing the slaves on the plantation of Col. Thomas Taylor in Columbia, S.C. The names Big Renty and Renty appear on the list.CreditKarsten Moran for The New York Times In 2017, Ms. Lanier and her daughter attended a conference at Harvard on the links between academia and slavery that included speakers such as Drew Faust, Harvard’s president at the time, and the writer Ta-Nehisi Coates. They said they were offended to see the speakers positioned under a huge projection of Renty’s face. Mr. Coates, the author of a widely discussed article making the case for reparations, said in an interview that while he deeply respected the scholars at the conference, he sympathized with Ms. Lanier’s cause. “That photograph is like a hostage photograph,” Mr. Coates said of Renty’s image. “This is an enslaved black man with no choice being forced to participate in white supremacist propaganda — that’s what that photograph was taken for.” He said he understood how Ms. Lanier felt seeing it at the conference. “I get why it would bother her,” he said. “I wasn’t aware of all that at the time.” ADVERTISEMENT Interviewed at her home in Norwich, Ms. Lanier, a retired chief probation officer for the State of Connecticut, said she had not heard of the photos until about 2010, when she began tracing her genealogy for a family project. Her mother, Mattye Pearl Thompson-Lanier, who died that year, had passed down a strong oral tradition of their family’s lineage from an African ancestor called “Papa Renty.” Shonrael, Ms. Lanier’s daughter, wrote a fifth-grade project about her ancestor in 1996. The lawsuit could hinge on evidence of that chain of ancestry. Ms. Lanier’s amateur sleuthing led to death records, census records and a handwritten inventory from 1834 of the slaves on the plantation of Col. Thomas Taylor in Columbia and their dollar values. The slave inventory lists a Big Renty and a Renty, and listed under the latter is Delia. Ms. Lanier believes that Big Renty is her “Papa Renty” and the father of Renty and Delia, and has traced them to her mother, who was born to sharecroppers in Montgomery, Ala. Her genealogical research has its skeptics. Gregg Hecimovich, who is contributing to a book about the slave daguerreotypes, to be published by the Peabody next year, said it was important to note that the slave inventory has the heading “To Wit, in Families.” Big Renty and Renty are at the top of separate groupings, he said, implying that they are the heads of separate families. The image of Renty was one of several daguerreotypes commissioned by Louis Agassiz, a Harvard professor who believed that black people and white people descended from different origins. Credit J.T. Zealy, via the Peabody Museum, Harvard University Image The image of Renty was one of several daguerreotypes commissioned by Louis Agassiz, a Harvard professor who believed that black people and white people descended from different origins.CreditJ.T. Zealy, via the Peabody Museum, Harvard University “I’d be very excited to work with Tamara,” said Dr. Hecimovich, who is chairman of the English department at Furman University. “But the bigger issue is it would be very hard to make a slam-dunk case that she believes she has.” ADVERTISEMENT Molly Rogers, the author of a previous book about the images called “Delia’s Tears,” said that tracing families under slavery was extremely complex. “It’s not necessarily by blood,” she said. “It could be people who take responsibility for each other. Terms, names, family relationships are very much complicated by the fact of slavery.” One intellectual property lawyer, Rick Kurnit, said he thought Ms. Lanier would have a hard time claiming ownership of the daguerreotypes. He said the famous photograph “V-J Day in Times Square,” for instance, belonged to the photographer and not to the sailor or the nurse who are kissing. But that image, of course, was taken in a public space. Yxta Maya Murray, a professor at Loyola Law School, Los Angeles, said that images taken by force were tantamount to robbery. “If she’s a descendant, then I would stand for her,” Professor Murray said of Ms. Lanier. One argument for keeping the daguerreotypes in a museum is that they are fragile physical objects, which degrade when exposed to light, said Robin Bernstein, a professor of cultural history at Harvard who has studied them. She declined to take a position in the legal dispute, but said that the images were safe at the Peabody. “Frankly, there are other repositories to keep them safe,” she said. “What I do know is that no ordinary individual such as myself could keep them safe in a home.” The question remains what Ms. Lanier would do with the images of Renty and Delia if she were to win her case in court. Ms. Lanier, who is asking for a jury trial and unspecified punitive and emotional damages, says she does not know, and would have to have a family meeting about it. She does not rule out licensing the images. Mr. Crump, her lawyer, had another idea. The daguerreotypes, he said, should be taken on a tour of America, so that everyone can see them.
By Peter Facini March 8, 2019 A friend gave Bob Parent a tip: be at the Open Door on West 3rd Street on Sunday. Mr. Parent, a photographer with a knack for showing up at the right time and place, didn’t need much encouragement. He arrived at the jazz club early in the evening of Sept. 13, 1953. It was unseasonably cool for late summer. The New York Times front page detailed the marriage of Senator John F. Kennedy and the glamorous Jacqueline Bouvier in Newport, R.I. The Brooklyn Dodgers had just clinched the pennant in Milwaukee. The show that night was billed as the Thelonious Monk Trio. Monk, 35, was already a prolific composer and piano innovator, yet it would take a decade for his brilliance to be fully appreciated by mainstream America. The trio was rounded out by Charles Mingus, 31, on standup bass and the youngster Roy Haynes, a 28-year-old hotshot drummer everyone called “Snap Crackle.” The Open Door was a dark little joint that Mr. Haynes would later characterize as “a dump.” The jazz historian Dan Morgenstern was slightly more generous in his description: “It was a strange place but had great music.” There was an out-of-tune piano in the front room that was presided over on most nights by a woman known as Broadway Rose. She sang popular songs of the day. The Open Door jazz club.CreditBob Parent Image The Open Door jazz club.CreditBob Parent Mr. Parent set up in the back room where the bands played. Then 30 years old, he had been making good side money shooting photos for magazines like Downbeat and Life; record companies sometimes bought his pictures for album covers. “Bobby was a terrific guy,” Mr. Morgenstern recalled. “He had a job at the United Nations doing press stuff. He was always around.” There was nothing about the Open Door to signal that magic was about to happen or that jazz history was about to be made. The place was half-empty, and Sunday was a dark night at many of the big nightclubs in New York City. Bob Reisner, a part-time jazz critic for The Village Voice, was also a promoter, and he booked minor clubs. Reisner knew he could get great musicians on Sunday, even at a second-rate venue like the Open Door. You have 1 free article remaining. With Monk, Mingus and Haynes, he had certainly booked a top-shelf trio, reason enough to make the trip downtown. The word on the street that afternoon — and what a savvy Bob Parent already knew — was that there was a good chance Charlie Parker would sit in with the trio. Editors’ Picks Your Environment Is Cleaner. Your Immune System Has Never Been So Unprepared. Amy Schumer Doesn’t Care What You Think (That Much) For Larger Customers, Eating Out Is Still a Daunting Experience Charlie Parker.CreditBob Parent Image Charlie Parker.CreditBob Parent Parker, the saxophone bebop pioneer, still only 33, had been trying to shake off a bad stretch in his tumultuous career. For reasons unclear, possibly drug- related, Parker had his cabaret license pulled. Without that card he was not allowed to perform in New York clubs where alcohol was served. This ban forced him on the road for some time. Now he was back in the city and living in a rowhouse in Alphabet City with his longtime girlfriend Chan Richardson and their three children. He was eager to get his card back. Sign up for the New York Today Newsletter Each morning, get the latest on New York businesses, arts, sports, dining, style and more. Monk was also working without his cabaret card. It would be four more years before he was able to recover his. The cabaret laws were a biased and punitive system that capriciously caused financial suffering for scores of musicians. Any police officer in the city could pull a musician’s card, and there was little they could do about it. On this night, Parker and Monk were taking a chance. There are no known audio recordings of this gig. The only record of the occurrence of this particular quartet was captured by Bob Parent’s Pressman Speed Graphic camera. Mr. Parent developed a signature technique that allowed him to work without flashbulbs, which performers found distracting. It gave his work a dark and intimate feel. Roy Haynes.CreditBob Parent Image Roy Haynes.CreditBob Parent One photo from the Open Door that night has since become a jazz icon. It shows Parker standing out front, wearing a light suit, two-toned loafers, his arms thrust forward, blowing what appears to be his famous King brass alto saxophone. To Parker’s left is Monk on upright piano, microphone slung over the instrument. Two drinking glasses and a dinner plate perched on top. At Monk’s right is Mingus, slouched over his bass. Along the back wall is Mr. Haynes, his eyes fixed on his bandmates, himself under the gaze of the two mysterious mermaids painted on the wall behind him. It has since been called by many “the greatest photo in jazz.” Bob Parent died in 1987, and his photo archive is curated by his nephew Dale Parent. “We refer to it as ‘the Photo,” said Dale. “It’s a monument to his craft and we take great pride in its appreciation.” Charlie Parker’s stepdaughter Kim, who is now 75, has a copy of the picture that she keeps in her home in Pennsylvania. “I am thankful for all the photos,” Ms. Parker said. “I live with the ghosts.” For her, the photo is priceless. “I’m looking at it now,” she said when reached on the phone. “Roy Haynes had a crush on me at one point,” she recalled. “Monk was my favorite, loved Monk. I wish I was there that night.” Haynes at his home in Baldwin, N.Y.CreditJohnny Milano for The New York Times Image Haynes at his home in Baldwin, N.Y.CreditJohnny Milano for The New York Times Mr. Haynes is now 93, the only living member of the quartet that night. He still has memories of that performance. “It was beautiful, man,” he said recently. “I was at a very young age. So I was enjoying it. Playing with great people. “ “It’s a terrific band, a pity no one recorded it,” said Mr. Morgenstern. There is no set list. It’s a fair bet that the Thelonious Monk composition “52nd Street Theme” was performed, but we can only speculate. Though the club was far from packed, for those who were there it undoubtedly was a memorable night. Four legends of the great American art form, together for an all-too-brief moment. A photograph thought to show Jack Kerouac in the audience.CreditBob Parent Image A photograph thought to show Jack Kerouac in the audience.CreditBob Parent That brings up an interesting question. A lesser-known photograph shows a glimpse of some audience members. In the background, at a front table, there sits a dark-haired man in a dark shirt smoking a cigarette. It has been speculated over the years he may very well be Jack Kerouac. It was at this time that Kerouac was researching the underground jazz scene for a book that would later become “The Subterraneans.” And according to Joy Johnson, the author of a Beat scene book, “Minor Characters,” and Kerouac’s girlfriend for a time in the late 1950s, it would have made sense for Kerouac to have been at the Open Door. His devotion to Charlie Parker was well known. “It’s certainly possible,” she said. “He was in New York at the time the photo was taken.” She has seen the photograph, and she said it looks enough like him. “There is no way of knowing for sure,” she added. “Also I question whether he would have been sitting at a front table, given how broke he was at the time.” The moment when New York was the jazz capital of the world has passed. Mingus, Monk and Bird are all dead, and their brief intersection was marked only by a few people, an otherwise unremarkable night in the city captured on film. Even the Open Door is a memory, torn down to make way for the Bobst Library at New York University.
In New York City, there’s a growing movement when it comes to places to gather. From left, Tim Jack, Prince James and Jeff Lindor at The Gentleman’s Factory in Brooklyn. Credit Demetrius Freeman for The New York Times Image From left, Tim Jack, Prince James and Jeff Lindor at The Gentleman’s Factory in Brooklyn.CreditCreditDemetrius Freeman for The New York Times By Morgan Jerkins March 9, 2019 Members access the space, located in Central Brooklyn, by having their fingers scanned and giving a passcode. Upon entering, they find a lounge, complete with couches, a barber chair and books on finance. The spiral staircase leads to an area with workstations. Inside on a recent day, a man who works as a consultant helped five others get businesses certified. Another launched a campaign to run for City Council, engaging members to assist in outreach. An author presented research in a forum. The Gentlemen’s Factory brought them all together. As one of the very few spaces in New York City exclusively for men of color, The Gentlemen’s Factory began as a middle ground between work and home for men who need a venue for networking and socializing. “They’re going through a divorce, or they have mental health challenges, or they’re going on an interview but they don’t know how to ask for a salary increase,” said Jeff Lindor, the club’s founder. “There wasn’t an outlet for them to be.” ADVERTISEMENT Mr. Lindor, clad in a custom-made Prince James suit (the designer is a Gentlemen’s Factory member) noted that members contribute to making the space their own, whether it’s the Malcolm X art above the leather sofa or the magazines near the coffee table. Born in Petit-Goâve, Haiti, Mr. Lindor was raised in a Coney Island housing project. The son of non-English speaking immigrants, Mr. Lindor and his family were wedged between a wealthy, white community on one end of the neighborhood and an impoverished and predominantly black population on the other. He asked himself: Why does my community look like this? Why does blackness look like this? You have 2 free articles remaining. SUBSCRIBE TO THE TIMES The socioeconomic disparities between white and black people inspired Mr. Lindor to study Urban Policy at the New School, where the seed of what would become The Gentlemen’s Factory started to germinate. While earning his master’s degree, he organized gatherings with other black men to discuss their experiences. Their first event was a Saturday gentlemen’s brunch in Brooklyn, with a $50 entry fee. When 40 black men showed up, Lindor realized that the group might need a dedicated physical space. Editors’ Picks Paramount Was Hollywood’s ‘Mountain.’ Now It’s a Molehill. What Does Misogyny Look Like? Behold, the Tiniest of Books ADVERTISEMENT The mixers that followed led to hundreds of black male New Yorkers gathering. “I had to ask myself,” Mr. Lindor said, “Is this an enterprise or a hobby?” At the time, Mr. Lindor was working as the strategic adviser to the executive staff at the Department of Correction, in the DeBlasio Administration. He resigned, spent two months developing a business model, then secured a lease with money he had saved. Mr. Lindor asked friends who made more than six figures a year if they would support him; in the end, they invested $100,000 into The Gentleman’s Factory. “There are very few spaces where men of color can come together and engage in meaningful dialogue, said Rubain Dorancy, a member who is also an attorney and an educational consultant. “At the Gentlemen’s Factory, you will find men of all ages and with varied backgrounds, engaging, supporting and uplifting each other.” Spaces made by and for people of color are not new. In 1826, young African-Americans gathered at 161 Duane Street to socialize and discuss the arts in a group known as the Philomathean Literary Society. In 1892, Victoria Earle Matthews, an author and activist, created the first black women’s club in New York City, the Women’s Loyal Union. Five years later, in 1897, she created the White Rose Mission, in uptown Manhattan, where young black girls who migrated from the South could get acclimated to city life. Yet social spaces for people of color such as The Gentlemen’s Factory — with its 100+ member strong base and a range of event programming, from finance workshops to wellness seminars — remain extremely rare in New York. In the 1950s and ’60s, there were many social clubs in different communities of color, but as the decades passed, their numbers dwindled. Some clubs closed because they were being operated illegally; others could not afford the expensive licenses required. Sign up for the New York Today Newsletter Each morning, get the latest on New York businesses, arts, sports, dining, style and more. SIGN UP ADVERTISEMENT Today, Toñita’s is often called the last Puerto Rican social club in Brooklyn. The last remaining black LGBTQIA+ club in New York City, Langston’s, needs $73,000 to stay open. The Gentlemen’s Factory charges $150 a month for membership. Prospective members must fill out an application and be interviewed and screened by a committee. If a white man wanted to join, Mr. Lindor says, “We don’t discriminate. He’ll just have to know that all of the content is still going to speak about the black and brown male experience.” In New York, the law states that any public establishment must allow full and equal access to people irrespective of race, as well as “color, religion, or national origin.” Alicia McCauley, Deputy Press Secretary of the New York City Commission on Human Rights, says, “NYC Human Rights Law protects against racial discrimination in any form, including in public accommodations such as social clubs. However, social clubs can be centered around certain experiences as long as the membership policy is not discriminatory based on race, religion, national origin, or any one of the other 22 protected categories in NYC.” Mr. Lindor’s dream is to expand into Harlem, DC, and London, and to learn how to navigate venture capital funding. “I was privileged enough to get family and friends to donate, but when I look at my counterparts, they’re getting millions. There need to be more spaces like this — but how are we going to fund it?” Najla Austin, the 27-year-old founder of the forthcoming Ethel’s Club. Credit Demetrius Freeman for The New York Times Image Najla Austin, the 27-year-old founder of the forthcoming Ethel’s Club.Credit Demetrius Freeman for The New York Times Najla Austin, the 27-year-old founder of the forthcoming Ethel’s Club, has no interest in venture capital funding. While working at tech start-ups, Ms. Austin kept her eyes on the women’s co-working space The Wing, which opened in 2016. She considers it to be one of the “coolest, innovative” spaces around — and wondered if there might be a possibility for black and brown people to replicate that success. ADVERTISEMENT For two years, she kept her ear to the ground to see if more spaces for people of color would pop up. When they didn’t, she said, “I’ll do it.” Last October, Austin created an Instagram page for Ethel’s Club — a name honoring her grandmother. The following day, 600 people had signed up for the wait list on the accompanying site. “I got tons of emails — people wanting to have an event or buy a membership. Most companies struggle with demand, and for me, it was the opposite.” While Ms. Austin will not disclose the amount of money she’s received in fund-raising, it is enough for her to be looking at 10,000-square feet locations in Brooklyn for a proposed August 2019 opening. There will be a boutique featuring products made by people of color in the front of the club, and a members-only quarter in the back. Membership is application-based; interested parties must support the brand mission of empowering and advancing people of color. With regards to fees, Ms. Austin said, “There is tiered access with the hope of allowing everyone the ability to use the space as needed with a financial commitment they’re comfortable with.” ADVERTISEMENT A one-year membership is required, and events will range from matchmaking to wellness to tech workshops. Her credo is “for us by us.” Ms. Austin is not looking for investors whose interests might conflict with those of people of color. Ladin Awad was a student at the New School where she met and befriended Sienna Fekete. A few years later, the duo linked up with June Canedo at a brunch; they then planned conversations about identities, privilege, and the spectrum of experiences for women of color. Each woman is from a different place in the diaspora — Ladin from Sudan, June from Brazil and South Carolina, and Sienna, a Caribbean-Canadian, from Los Angeles. When they researched lexicons, “chroma” stood out for its meaning as an intensification of color. “That makes sense because that’s what we’re amplifying, women of color,” Ms. Fekete said. Although there is no strict ban on white people attending their events, like Mr. Lindor and The Gentlemen’s Factory, the trio emphasizes that people of color are going to be centered and prioritized. From left, June Canedo, Ladin Awad and Sienna Fekete, the founders of Chroma. Credit Demetrius Freeman for The New York Times Image From left, June Canedo, Ladin Awad and Sienna Fekete, the founders of Chroma.CreditDemetrius Freeman for The New York Times Chroma has organized events with names like “Working Women of Color” and “Continuity: A Conference on Self-Preservation for Women of Color.” Its members recently celebrated the grand opening of their studio in the Lower East Side, a goal financially realized through their networks. At the Chroma studio, they partner with other collectives and document the conversations, which have themes such as digital archives, social media and mental health, and alcohol and drug addiction. ADVERTISEMENT “We were having a candid transparent conversation of the struggles that we go through as a collective,” Ms. Fekete said. “There is a need for a physical space.” What these spaces share, in addition to catering to people of color, is the privilege of connections. While they exist outside of traditional venture capital and corporate structures, pre-existing networks of families, friends, and friends of friends were responsible for carrying the financial backing. Tim Jack, the general manager of The Gentlemen’s Factory said, “I’ve never been a fraternity kind of person. I actually shunned them because of the elitist part of it. But this space is different. [Mr. Lindor] is giving black men the opportunity to unleash in a positive way and also deal with the things that have been traumatic to us. He gives us a space to be able to talk about it and not feel rejected.”