Ancestral Work

Attending the Critical Approaches to Black Media Culture Conference at Tulane University

Apr 01, 2024

New Orleans is my maternal ancestral home; my grandfather and his siblings were born and raised in the 11th Ward. During The Great Migration, he relocated to Michigan to escape Jim Crow and for the promise of finding work.

Over the past four (4) years, I’ve been delving deeper into my ancestry to establish a spiritual practice and connection to my Hoodoo lineage. As I’ve learned about my great-grandmother’s hometown of St. Charles Parish and my abolitionist roots, New Orleans has become an aberration calling me “home.”

Last month, Dr. Meredith Clark, the project lead for Archiving the Black Web at Northeastern University, and The College of Wooster, the funder for my archival project, confirmed my cohort participants and me to speak at the Critical Approaches to Black Media Culture Conference at Tulane University.

Gotta love a long-term manifestation.

My therapist and I often discuss scheduling time to decompress before and after big projects to maintain stress levels, improve focus, prevent burnout, and provide me with the space to simply “be.” Upon learning the conference started two (2) days after Mardi Gras, I made plans to fly into New Orleans early to shake off the everyday grind of caregiving and allow myself time to explore the city and catch my ancestors' (holy) spirit.

I arrived the night before Mardi Gras after a day full of flight delays, Aperol Spritz, and airport bar snacks. I checked into my hotel and then walked over to Bourbon Street to Mambos, a tourist trap with a full menu for late-night cravings. I knew it was going to be a challenge to avoid gluten during my stay; I came prepared with Benedryl, an epi-pen, and a prayer.

After settling my check and heading towards the door, a man approached me and asked, “Are you Sinnamon?” My social anxiety kicked in as he drunkenly reached out and grabbed me to give me a hug.

Sidebar: don’t ever do this to me if you see me in public. Grabbing someone without consent is akin to assault.

People's parasocial relationship with celebrities only increases when they forget that just because they have seen the inside of someone’s orifices on screen, we don’t actually know one another. I disappeared down Bourbon Street, cautiously and carefully, chatting with a friend in my AirPods as I walked around the French Quarter, getting my bearings and familiarizing myself with varied routes to my hotel. The tourists were out in full revelry, drinking foot-long sugar-filled frozen cocktails and flashing for beads. I climbed into bed after 3:00 a.m., hopeful to get up two hours later for the Skull & Bones walk.

The following morning, I slept in late. I grabbed a moringa tea bag from my luggage, requested a cup of hot water from the front desk, and walked a few blocks to Canal St. just in time to catch the Zulu parade. The costumes were gorgeous, and the music was lively. The Krewes often threw beads, coconuts, cups, and toys hard, fast, and high. Spring breakers begged for beads and offered to bear their breasts to secure them, a practice, I learned, that is not actually part of the Mardi Gras traditions. Being short, as I made my way to the front of the barricade, it became easier to collect a few beads with medallions without being pelted by the speed. Watching the high school and college bands sparked a core memory of participating in drill and step teams at Rose of Sharon Masonic Temple as a Junior Eastern Star.

Leaving the parade, I texted a local contact and asked, “Where are the Black people going to celebrate?” desperate to escape the drunken spring break atmosphere of the French Quarter. She directed me to a concert under the bridge hosted by the Ashe Cultural Center, describing it as New Orleans’ version of Summerstage, an outdoor concert series in parks throughout New York City.

The bridge was a twenty-minute walk from the hotel. I stopped at a cafe en route to pick up a latte for the journey. The bridge was located at the end of the parade route. As the floats came through, the Zulus threw medallions, umbrellas, coconuts, and toys into the crowd. The motorcycles revved feet away from mom-and-pop food vendors selling made-to-order fried wings, fish, gumbo, and cocktails from folding tables. Local artists performed, and they led the packed crowd through a call and response of twerking, stepping, and rhyming about “dog ass niggas.”

Later that evening, I stopped by Cafe du Monde for beignets and a classic cup of coffee with chicory. I then walked along Decatur, chatting with a friend on the phone as I popped into souvenir shops. As I approached Frenchman Street, the sound of a brass band playing Lauryn Hill wafted through the window of a bar. I ordered a Sazerac and danced until the band finished their set. I bar-hopped for the next few hours, chasing the music and a vibe.

The following day, after brunch, I visited Bourbon French Perfume and purchased a travel size of their signature Kus Kus perfume and a gorgeous, fillable heart-shaped rose quartz perfume bottle pendant.

Afterward, I walked to Mass at St. Augustine Church in the Tremé to view the Tomb of the Unknown Slave and light a candle for my ancestors.

The community of the Tremé sits on the grounds of a former plantation by the same name. The history of St. Augustine’s (pronounced “Augustin”) was founded in 1842 and has a rich history of desegregation. The Tomb of the Unknown Slave is a remarkable “shrine consisting of grave crosses, chains and shackles to the memory of the nameless, faceless, turfless Africans who met an untimely death in Faubourg Tremé.”

The energy around the church was potent. Being able to touch the weathered shackles and chains of the shrine in the garden of the church was a reminder of how our ancestors often found comfort and healing amidst the brutal realities of enslavement. I had hoped to see and touch the original pews purchased by free Africans during the War of the Pews so the families of freemen and enslaved Africans could worship, but the main chapel was closed for repairs caused by Hurricane Ida. I hadn’t been to Catholic Mass since childhood. Sitting in the parish hall, I followed along in the Liturgy of the Word, received the Eucharist, and sobbed as I said prayers for my late father and other ancestors.

As mass ended, a young man quietly approached me on the sidewalk outside the church.

“Can I ask you a question?” he asked.

“Sure,” I replied.

“Are you a priestess?”

I chuckled, “This is not the first time someone’s asked me that. I’m not; why do you ask?”

“I’m a highly spiritual person. I just know these things,” he shared.

We fellowshipped on the sidewalk outside the parking lot for a few minutes. Joseph grew up in the Tremé, where St. Augustine was his family church. Like me, he hadn’t attended Mass since childhood. We discussed the struggle to reconcile the forced indoctrination and colonization of enslaved Africans and indigenous people throughout history, how ancestral work requires embracing the faith of your ancestors, and how African Traditional Religions often hid within Catholicism and Christianity. I talked about recognizing Hoodoo in my great-grandmother’s rituals and superstitions, even if she never called it that. I mentioned that my next stop for the day was to visit Crescent City Conjure to close the circle.

Joseph and I walked together to the edge of the Tremé. He mentioned that if I remained in town on Sunday, I should visit Congo Square. He explained how the community continues to uplift and celebrate our ancestors in the one public space where our enslaved ancestors were allowed to gather, dance, and sell their wares. As we said our goodbyes, I popped in my Airpods and walked over to Crescent City Conjure to purchase a few books, candles, and other spiritual items to bring home.

Follow the links to learn more about St. Augustine’s Church, The War of the Pews, Tomb of the Unknown Slave, and Congo Square.

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The following day, I presented (Self) Performance Studies: Intimate Visions on Sex Work and Personal Archives at the Black Media Culture Conference. I combined some of the images from my archive with the first reading of my afterword for Body Autonomy: Decolonizing Sex Work & Drug Use. The essay shares my lived experience, advocacy for sex worker rights, policy (threats and advocacy), training recommendations, and prescriptions for Black futures.

Body Autonomy was my first substantial writing in over a decade. I dedicated the past four (4) years to Cognitive Behavior Therapy to help regain neuroplasticity from the last Traumatic Brain Injury I sustained in 2013. My therapy goals were to return to writing and public speaking; this conference culminated from many hours of hard work, tears, and manifestation to return to my one true love, the written word. I was pleased that my work continues to be well-received in academic spaces. I can’t wait to share this powerful work with the community.

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As part of the conference wrap-up, we were asked to answer the following questions about the experience. I’ve decided to share my answers here.

If you could describe the conference's vibe in 3 words, what would it be?

Engaging, inspiring, and strategic

What was your favorite panel/speaker & why?

My favorite speaker was Dr. Robin R. Means’ opening plenary, Black Horror, Uncivil Disobedience, and Reclaiming the Urban. Dr. Means’ focuses on how respectability and criminalization limit job opportunities and how individuals can respond to and seek justice. As both a filmmaker and sex workers’ rights activist, her sentiments were in alignment with many of my own when advocating for the decriminalization of sex work and legislative protections against occupational discrimination for people in the sex trades. As a public intellectual working in academic spaces, it was affirming to hear my thoughts and words echoed by the Vice President of a university. As a filmmaker, watching how she analyzed films and incorporated the material into her presentation was insightful and helped me assess how I might approach my work as I move into the next phase of my project.

What was your biggest takeaway from the event/weekend?

The weekend reminded me that being a public intellectual is equally valuable as being an academic. I was able to offer grad students insight into incorporating sex work and mythology surrounding trafficking into their projects, which was a powerful opportunity to grow my confidence and career. I truly enjoyed meeting the other individuals from Archiving the Black Web in person for the first time. Listening to everyone present their projects provided vital insight into methodology, language, and praxis for my own project.

Did you meet any new collaborators or plan any potential new projects?

I met several graduate students interested in following up with me to discuss suggestions I made regarding their projects. I met individuals interested in potentially adding my upcoming book release to their syllabus’ this year and booking me to guest lecture in their spring or fall classes. I met a documentary filmmaker, who I will introduce to a colleague producing a film I am an executive producer on that is based on their research on the history of Black women in porn and includes my career and advocacy work. I also met someone who wants to introduce me to a professor who teaches porn studies and will follow up with them to learn about the archives at the university where they teach.

How will this conference influence the scope of your work for the next year or so?

The networking opportunities at the conference will allow me to expand my reach for academic speaking engagements, coauthoring, and consulting over the next year.

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Thank you to Archiving the Black Web for your continued support and Tulane for having me. And a special thank you to all the academics who showed enthusiasm for my work, discussed the possibility of bringing me to their universities to speak, & received my suggestions for including sex work, decrim, & trafficking in their projects.

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After the conference, I extended my stay for an extra day. I enjoyed brunch with a cute Conjure man I met at the Conjure shop. We walked over to Congo Square and stumbled upon a protest calling for a ceasefire in Palestine. Later, we strolled over to Dauphine Books, where I acquired a vintage leather-bound book of Pslams and a book about the illegal sex trades in Antebellum New Orleans.