This introduction both models how one might read race, blackness, activism and Shakespeare and contextualizes the many “Shakespeares” that might be at work in the essays in this cluster, which emerge from the Shakespeare Association of America seminar Shakespeare and Black America. It suggests that scholars in this Shakespearean subfield have political, pedagogical and personal investments that both overlap with and diverge from Shakespeare study as traditionally understood. It addresses some of the complexities of performing, teaching and reading Shakespeare not as an agent of cultural dominion, but as part of resistance and activism in black America.

Djanet Sears's Harlem Duet reimagines Shakespeare's Othello by weaving together three stories about Othello and his first wife, Billie, across three distinct time periods: the Civil War era, the Harlem Renaissance, and the present day. This essay centers on the scenes set in the Harlem Renaissance, a timeline that appears to unfold out of chronological order. By disrupting the linear progression of time, Sears transforms the theater into a platform that amplifies the stories of the oppressed through the dramatization of the ongoing, persistent cycle of oppression.

This essay investigates how Elizabeth Nunez's Prospero's Daughter (2006) and Terry McMillan's How Stella Got Her Groove Back (1996) engage with Shakespeare. By taking a middlebrow approach that emphasizes readers’ use of and pleasure in Shakespeare and that aims to cultivate an inclusive multiracial readership, Nunez and McMillan show that black readers can lay claim to a Shakespeare that they participate in (re)defining. While Nunez's novel frames Shakespeare's political uses within pleasurable genres of contemporary popular fiction, McMillan suggests that she and her readers can remake Shakespeare, the name of her heroine's love interest, into a figure associated with pleasure.

Claims for Shakespearean universality often position Shakespeare's works as resonating with all people across all time. But how far can one take such a claim? A 2013 sketch on Comedy Central's Key & Peele, entitled “Othello Tis My Shite!”, uses satire precisely in order to challenge assertions of Shakespearean universality. I argue that the sketch – which follows two Renaissance Moors, Lashawnio and Martinzion, who attend Shakespeare's Othello – suggests that Shakespeare may find the limits of speaking for “all people” when depicting black masculinity. Yet the sketch's twist ending helpfully proposes the transformative potential in Shakespeare for more effective, authentic representation.

As scholarly work on race in Shakespeare studies continues to develop, this article examines how important insights from critical Indigenous studies can help us to refine and enhance this work to more fully see historical moments at which Shakespeare's works have been appropriated in response to the oppression of settler colonialism. Taking an 1893 political cartoon from a New York newspaper as a representation of settler violence against Queen Lili‘uokalani of Hawai‘i, this essay traces the uses of Banquo's ghost in Hawaiian newspapers as a figure that haunts the racializing elimination of Native rule.

This essay considers the impossibility faced by The Merchant of Venice’s Shylock in seeking redress for his suffering and how dismissal of his complaints parallels criticism of protests against racial injustice in the twenty-first century, with particular attention to Colin Kaepernick's 2016 protest against police brutality. Venice's idealization of Christ-like passivity and our own age's veneration of Martin Luther King Jr.’s nonviolence create impossible standards for those attempting to call attention to injustice, leading to condemnation of protesters’ actions and misinterpretation of their motives.

This essay examines the political significance of the career of Atlanta-based Shakespearean Adrienne McNeil Herndon in the early twentieth century. It contextualizes Herndon's writing in the activist journal Voice of the Negro and elucidates the radicalism of Herndon's Shakespeare work at Atlanta University and beyond. More broadly, the essay shows how Herndon's performances and pedagogy – especially her focus on elocution work, bodily expressivity, domestic spaces, and visual culture – repeatedly challenged the white supremacist culture of the Jim Crow South, offering black Americans a way to resist racial terrorism and endure racial trauma.

This essay focusses on references to the sixteenth-century black poet and scholar Juan Latino in African American journals in the 1920s–1940s. Although Juan Latino is largely forgotten in the present day, publications such as the Journal of Negro History and the New Negro referred to the poet as an important figure in the intellectual history of the African diaspora. My essay posits Juan Latino (both the historical figure and an early modern play about him) as an alternative exemplar of blackness in early modern Europe to that found in Othello. By turning to Juan Latino instead of to Othello, scholars in the 1920s–1940s were able to suggest a transnational and transhistorical black diasporic identity linked with African American solidarity with the Republican cause in the Spanish Civil War.

In this paper I explore what it means to require Shakespeare at a historically black college by looking at Adrienne Herndon's 1906 essay “Shakespeare at Atlanta University” and W. E. B. Du Bois's Souls of Black Folk. Despite the frequent association of Shakespeare requirements with a conservative agenda, both Herndon and Du Bois imagine possibilities for powerful politics in the performance and study of Shakespeare. Reading these two texts together suggests that teaching, studying, and performing Shakespeare might still be powerful politics at black institutions.

The topic of race has long enriched Shakespeare scholarship. Race scholarship remains marginalized in the broader world of Shakespeare studies. The simultaneous “truth” of these statements reveals a deeply rooted professional ambivalence. And while recent attention has been paid to its manifestation at conferences and in journals, this essay explores its challenge to black teacher–scholars in the majority-white classroom. Rethinking The Merchant of Venice as an educational play, with Portia and Shylock performing as nontraditional teachers, I develop the concept of “teacher trouble” from Judith Butler's “gender trouble” to reflect personally on the perils and liberatory potential of antiracist performative strategies.

This article explores how black artists and intellectuals approach, challenge, and appropriate the works of William Shakespeare. Beginning with W. E. B. Du Bois's contention “I sit with Shakespeare and he winces not,” I examine how Keith Hamilton Cobb in American Moor interrogates Shakespeare's presentation of black identity. In particular, I suggest that modes of ambivalence undergird black American engagement with Shakespeare and that this ambivalence creates the space for black artists to interrogate Shakespeare's representation of blackness and white culture's gatekeeping of the Shakespearean text and its performance while also reimagining and recasting that representation to fit their contemporaneous needs.

This essay explores the world of a new production of The Taming of the Shrew, still in the earliest stages of development, that will employ non-traditional casting and re-envision Katharina (“as brown in hue / as hazelnuts”), “fair” Bianca, and their father Baptista as members of a mixed-race family. The production is conceptualized, cast, and rehearsed under the guidance of José Esquea, producer/director of the Soñadores Productions Shakespeare series (formerly of Teatro LATEA), a classical theater group that features Latinx, African American and Asian American actors, and mixed-ability casting (the combination of professional and amateur actors from the community).

For years the best black Shakespeare performers in America were itinerant “readers” or elocutionists. Denied access to white-dominated theatrical venues and refusing the minstrel stage, they traveled the country, usually alone, reciting key speeches and scenes from Shakespeare's works in school auditoriums, church halls and the occasional rented venue. Little is known about their audience's experiences of Shakespeare (which was often performed with other authors like Paul Laurence Dunbar). This essay experiments with using the author's personal history to interpret an anecdote from actor Richard Berry Harrison's unpublished memoir in which he recounts Frederick Douglass performing scenes from Shakespeare's Othello.

From 1931 until 1986, at the annual Texas Prison Rodeo, incarcerated people performed before massive crowds. In this negotiated space, prison officials, audience members, and imprisoned riders welded together a performance of violent range labor with a discourse of social rehabilitation. Responsible for funding all educational and recreational programs for the incarcerated population of Texas, the rodeo purported to save lives even as it risked them. Prisoner-led reforms in the 1960s and 1970s, however, helped expose the failures of Texas's labor regime, stripping the rodeo of its rehabilitative pretenses and contributing to the eventual demise of prison rodeo in Texas.

Although entropy has been identified as a theme in urban American fiction of the 1960s, it is far more significant in a strand of 1970s suburban fiction, in Joseph Heller's Something Happened (1974), John Updike's Rabbit Is Rich (1981), and the stories of Raymond Carver. I argue that in these texts the suburbs function as closed systems, subject to entropy, and that the suburbanite protagonists have a heightened sense of physical and metaphysical entropy, a reflection in part of the prevailing sense of irreversible economic and cultural decline and decay in that decade

The AIDS crisis in the US in the 1980s radically transformed the relationship between sexual minorities and capitalism. Opportunistic infections given free rein in human bodies by HIV rendered employees visible to employers and to health care providers as an economic risk, and set the stage for battles between health capitalists, politicians, and AIDS activists over access to health care. Health capitalism in 1980s America was both an arena of integration of queer Americans into mainstream society and also a political cul-de-sac, blunting the radical possibilities of sexual politics that were alive in the years before the AIDS crisis. In this article I focus on activist groups, primarily ACT UP, Gay Men's Health Crisis, National Gay Rights Advocates, and National Gay and Lesbian Task Force, and the liberal politicians who led legislative battles at federal and state level to force the health care system to respond to AIDS. In shifting our gaze from the Reagan administration and the religious right as the primary foils to AIDS activism, we can gain new insights into the direction of liberal politics in an era of supposed conservative ascendancy. An understanding of how AIDS activists and their allies negotiated questions of health access suggests that health care activism was in part a marker of class privilege, as gay activists and liberal Democrats openly embraced a medical model for sexual minorities that lifted them above the stigma of a public welfare system and integrated them further into heteronormative capitalism.

Madonna's book Sex (1992) is the world's largest-grossing illustrated book, selling 1.4 million copies worldwide and earning US$70 million in sales at retail. This essay is the first to use methods from the discipline of bibliography to analyze the book's production, distribution, and reception. This article extends scholarship on Madonna, including about her iconicity and visuality, from her songs and videos to her print culture. I demonstrate how Sex – both as a printed book and as an expression of national culture – is part of a dynamic American book history that constructs notions of America, including freedom of speech, thought, and religion.

This essay analyzes how various memorials create physical, temporal, and literary space for reflection about the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks. As a New York Times reporter, Amy Waldman contributed in 2001 to the “Portraits of Grief” before publishing in 2011 The Submission, her novel about the memorial-building process. Juxtaposing Waldman's fiction and journalism with the Reflecting Absence memorial in New York and Columbia University's 9/11 Oral History Project, the essay explores how memorialization of the attacks can build space for democratic debate rather than just a public monument to the idea of national grief.

This essay seeks to review the edges of Eric Lott's Black Mirror. But to approach the inner and outer edges of “a black mirror” is to sense the threat that they could become two sides of the same coin. In chapter 1, “Black Mirror: State Fantasy and Symbolic Surplus Value,” Lott writes, “we should explore the dimensions and especially the consequences of the fantasy race is – consequences that suffuse the consciousness of class, sexuality, gender, and other lines of force. Live there a while, in thought as in life. That is what this book tries to do.” To take up this invitation is therefore to first locate that space which readers are asked to live in for a while. However, to near that territory is not to enter the fantasy of race, if only to critique it, for we are already there. Nor is it accessed by abandoning the value of race, Lott contends, especially while the economy of whiteness continues profiting from “black symbolic capital.” Here we encounter the daunting scope of a “black mirror,” where horizon lines become Fata Morganas: an area that covers “the mechanics, dispositions, and effects of the dominant culture's looking at itself always through a fantasized black Other” (xvii). The dimensions of that mirror prove wider still, as any race, gender or class is shown capable of reflecting itself in it. More specifically, Black Mirror questions how signs of racial difference might possibly divest from the dominant symbolic economies in which they are exchanged, except Black Mirror largely does so by demonstrating their reinvestment. When analyzing the fantasies, angles and contradictions of a “black mirror,” readers are compelled to seek its outer edges, a market with real use-value, spaces where gifts are exchanged, or a beyond alluded to as “occupying the tain of the mirror – the mirror's tin backing that allows it to reflect at all” (20).