Dissect - S6E9 - Forward by Beyoncé

Episode Date: June 16, 2020

We continue our serialized analysis of Beyoncé’s Lemonade by dissecting its ninth chapter “Resurrection,” which features the song “Forward.” Having restored her relationship, Beyoncé turns her attention to social action and communal healing, beginning with a moving portrait of the Mothers of the Movement. Support the ongoing fight of systemic racism and equality for all by visiting these links: trayvonmartinfoundation.org, colorofchange.org, joincampaignzero.org, and 8cantwait.org. A visual guide for this episode can be found at dissectpodcast.com. Follow us on social media @dissectpodcast. S6 merch can be purchased at shop.dissectpodcast.com. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

This episode of Dissect is dedicated to George Floyd, Brianna Taylor, Amad Aubrey, and the countless other black lives that have been lost over hundreds of years at the hands of racism in America. We will continue to say your names and not let the loss of your lives be in vain in our continued fight for justice and true freedom. If you're looking for a way to contribute, there are links in the show description with resources to support the movement

as we push forward. From Spotify Studios, this is Dissect, long-form musical analysis broken into short digestible episodes. I'm Cole Kushna. And I'm T.T. Shodea. Today, we continue our serialized analysis of Lemonade by Beyonce. On our last episode, we dissected the chapter, Forgiveness, which included the song Sandcastles. Set inside an intimate apartment, we heard Beyonce at her most vulnerable as she reunited with her husband. His tears and scars were evidence of his remorse, accountability, and proof that he too underwent his own self-reflective journey.

With both of them doing the necessary work to heal as individuals, Beyonce forgave her husband and they came together to begin healing as a couple. Having resolved her relationship, Beyonce will now look around more broadly in order to share her restorative model of healing with others. This leads us directly into Lemonade's next chapter, the subject of our episode. episode today, Resurrection. For a first, just in case. Resurrection begins with an outdoor scene shot in black and white. We see a large, beautiful tree covered in Spanish moss. This tree is located at the Destrahan Sugar Plantation in Louisiana, a setting previously

seen in Lemonade's opening chapter. Destrehan Plantation was the site for the trial of the 1811 German Coast uprising, one of the largest slave revolts in U.S. history. It was here that field worker Charles Deslandes led an army of enslaved men and women with the intention of confronting the governor of Louisiana and demanding that he outlawed slavery. As they marched to New Orleans, between 200 and 500 enslaved people from various plantations joined. The revolt was later defeated by a white militia. While many of the enslaved men and women fled, the rest were put on trial at the Destrehan Plantation. At this trial, the insurrectionists were sentenced to death.

Their heads were severed and put on display for 40 miles along the road leading to New Orleans. This savagery was meant to ward off any further rebellions. It is here at Destrahan, a site that holds this memory of both communal resistance and horrific violence, that a title card introduces the name of the chapter as resurrection, the action of rising from death to new life. We then hear a voice of an unidentified black woman in conversation. Something is missing. I've never seen this in my life.

So many young women they tell you, I want me a husband. Sally Mickey can make me feel better than you. What? So how are we supposed to lead our children to the future? What do we do? How do we lead them? Given all of the hurt, betrayal, and injustice we've seen

inflicted on both Beyonce and the black women throughout the film, this woman wonders how the black community should respond to the intrinsic racism so pervasive in American society. She asked, so how are we supposed to lead our children into the future? In other words, how do black mothers raise their children to find self-worth in a society hostile to their blackness? How do black mothers ensure a better future for their children? As she asks this, we cut to the image of a young black woman with an afro wearing a long black

dress. This is actress and political activist Amanda Lest Denberg, known for her. roles in hunger games, everything, everything, and the hate you give. At the time Lemonade was filmed, Stenberg gained additional fame for her 2015 viral video, Don't Cash Crop on My Corn Rose. In it, Stenberg called out white artists who appropriate black culture, but failed to address the racism that accompanies black identity. What would America be like if we loved black people as much as we love black culture? Stenberg has served as a powerful voice of Gen Z black girls, with Beyonce herself telling her that she hoped her daughter Blue would be like her one day.

In Lemonade, Stenberg sets up an old-fashioned accordion box camera on a tripod and directs a group of two dozen or so young black women to pose for a photo. These young women stand in the midst of the slave cabins of Destrehan Plantation. As an older woman asks, how do we lead our children into the future? the young women smile and talk amongst one another. It appears that while they remember the pain of their past, they don't allow it to rob them of their joy or sense of community as they look to the future.

What do we do? How do we lead them? Love. L-O-V-E love. Hallelujah, thank you, Jesus. I just love the Lord. I'm sorry, brother. I love the Lord.

That's all I got. When your back gets against the wall and your wall against your back, who you call? Hey, who you call? Who you call? You got to call him. You got to call Jesus. You got to call it because you ain't got another hope.

The woman's first answer is to lead the children forth with love, love for oneself, for one's body, for one another. To love in such a way can be deemed almost radical under the weight of systemic racism that continually instills messages of unworthiness for black people. However, like generations before her, she will stand up to a country that has threatened to break the bonds of black love through slavery, segregation, violence, stereotypes, mass incarceration, and police brutality. This, of course, is no easy feat. The love this woman turns to is divine love, rooted in her Christian faith in Jesus. Like generations of black Christian women before her, this woman turns to Jesus for support, strength, and guidance in moments where all hope seems lost.

He looks to Jesus as the one who, quote unquote, makes a way out of no way, as he was able to overcome the torture and brutal violence of his crucifixion by resurrecting three days later. As a woman's voice fades out, we transition to the grassy field surrounding the ruins of Fort McComb, the civil war relic from the opening sequence of the film. It's here at the ruins of Fort McComb that we see a black and white portrait photo lying upside down in the grass. This is the image of Booker T. Washington, the promise. black educator of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Born into slavery, Washington was freed

following the Civil War. He then opened and became principal of the Tuskegee Institute where newly freed black men could receive an education during the Reconstruction era. Booker T. Washington was a powerful force of hope and a symbol of black success in an era dominated by the threat of brutal lynchings. We pan over this photograph of Washington to see there are more black and white photos of black men and women strewn across the grass, leading us into the inner depths of the fort. Beyonce is quite literally being led by her ancestors into the fort, a symbol of the history she must confront. Now inside the fort, we see there are candles and more pictures of ancestors lining the stone walls, as if these ruins have been converted into a vigil. You are terrifying. Beyonce recites the adapted final line of Worson Shire's poem for women who are difficult to love.

In its original context, the poem addresses a powerful woman in a broken relationship with a man who attempts to control her. Beyonce had previously adapted this poem in the chapter Denial. I tried to change. Closed my mouth more. Tried to be softer. Prettier. Less awake. In our analysis of these lines, we took them to represent not only the ways Beyonce was subjugated within her relationship, but also the ways Black women code switch and downplay their emotions in response to stereotypes such as the angry Black woman.

Throughout the film, we witnessed Beyonce shed these internalized messages of racism and powerfully reassert herself. Now she says, you are terrifying and strange and beautiful. Rather than attempting to be softer, prettier, and less awake, she encourages her audience of black women to unapologetically own their complex humanity. Perhaps terrifying to oppressors who reduce them to a palatable, submissive role, Beyonce urges them to challenge this oppression and affirm their beauty. As Beyonce completes this line of poetry, we see her inside Fort McComb, gazing into an old photograph.

After a long pause, she drops the photo she's holding into a large trunk. and rubs her hands together as if wiping them clean. Much like the young women who pose for a picture outside Destrehan Plantation, Beyonce must decide what aspects of the past to remember, but also what to let go of, which she does here literally. This is the last time we'll see Beyonce in this chapter. As she disappears into the ruins of Fort McComb, we hear the opening moments of the song Forward.

Forward is written and produced by James Blake and Beyonce. Just as Beyonce disappears from the film, so too does her presence in the music. Instead, James Blake sings the majority of Forward, becoming a kind of third-person narrator, a voice that enters to advance a story while often lending insight into the motivations or feelings of the characters. The song's emphasis on forward motion suggests that Beyonce and the women that accompany her are ready to transform their pain into forward movement into the future. Blake begins with a night

I have to listen It's time to fight Forward Blake continues with the singular word forward Which he'll repeat five more times throughout the song His somber tone suggests that this movement

is not taken lightly but is rather a strenuous, effortful motion Blake continues Best foot forward just in case When we made our way till now It's time to listen It's time to fight

At this stage and beyond She and her husband have reconciled, and she is ready to put her best foot forward, cautiously moving to face a formidable challenge together, despite the difficulty that lies ahead. As we heard in Sandcastles, this will involve vulnerability, constant communication, and a continual fight to preserve their relationship. Blake continues, now we're going to hold doors open for a while. Now we can be open for a while, forward. Here, Blake further indicates the new resolve in their relationship, to hold doors open for a while, rather than become closed off. It is through this humble gesture that they will create openings for one

another, moving forward. However, Beyonce also moves forward in the sense that she shifts Lemonade's focus from personal concerns to broader communal concerns throughout this chapter. This is indicated by both her absence from the visuals and her limited vocal presence in the song. Although, Beyonce and her husband have resolved their interpersonal conflicts, the lingering societal injustices she's alluded to throughout the film remain. Therefore, when Beyonce sings, it's time to listen, it's time to fight. It's important to not only listen to those experiencing injustice, but to fight the structures that create these conditions in the first place.

As Blake's first verse continues, we move from the ruins of Fort McComb to the interior of the Maidwood Mansion Plantation House. young actress Covangenet Wallace stares directly into the camera, staring straight into our eyes, holding a portrait photo of a smiling, mustached black man. He looks old enough to be her father, or even grandfather. We get the impression that this man has passed away, and she holds up his image as a reminder of his life and legacy.

We then shift to the image of a regal, dignified black woman seated in a chair. Like Covangene Wallace, she gazes into the camera with soft. soft eyes, holding a photo portrait. However, this is not the image of an unknown man, but rather the instantly recognizable Trayvon Martin. The woman holding his photo is his mother, Sabrina Fulton. Trayvon Martin was just 17 years old when he was shot and killed by an armed neighborhood watchman, George Zimmerman, in February of 2012. Trayvon had gone to 7-11 to buy skittles and iced tea, and on his way home, he was followed by Zimmerman, who, who deemed him suspicious.

This led to a confrontation in which Zimmerman shot and killed Trayvon. His death ignited outrage, shock, and heartache across the country as it came to represent the life-threatening nature of existing while black in America. These feelings were only exacerbated by George Zimmerman's subsequent acquittal. The pain of Trayvon's laws became coupled with a sense of powerlessness against a justice system that often let those who killed unarmed black men walk free with no. repercussions. Zimmerman's acquittal incited protests across the country, catalyzing the Black Lives Matter movement. Black Americans banded together on social media and in the streets to protest

institutional racism. Trayvon Martin in the black hoodie he wore on the day of his death became symbols of this resistance, and many Black Americans identified with his story. Black protesters chanted, I am Trayvon Martin, drawing attention to one of the the most troubling aspects of his death. This could happen to any black person at any time. President Barack Obama said, both, quote, if I had a son, he'd look like Trayvon, unquote. And quote, Trayvon could have been me 35 years ago, unquote. However, before Trayvon became a symbol of resistance and before his every tweet was scrutinized by media outlets, Trayvon was a regular 17-year-old kid. He was a son, a brother, a friend. His mother, Sabrina Fulton, described her

favorite memories of Trayvon in a 2015 interview with Insight Network. He was a very, very affectionate teenager, and so he liked a hug all the time. He liked the kiss, and, you know, he didn't care that people would think that he's a mom's boy. He didn't care. You know, he was just one of those kids that felt like he had to do everything for me. In the midst of the ineffable tragedy of losing Trayvon, Sabrina Fulton has channeled her pain into action for the movement. She created the Trayvon Martin Foundation in her son's memory, focusing on empowering youth and ending gun violence.

She also created the Circle of Mothers Group, which brings together mothers who have lost children to gun violence for the purpose of healing and community building. She opened up about her decision to become an activist in a 2018 interview with Gail King. And I've heard you say, if it was up to you, none of us would know your name, none of us would know Trayvon's name.

So how have you reconciled that now everybody knows you, everybody knows your story? I chose to live, number one. I chose to move to my next chapter because if my son had died and I had died also when I was just walking around the earth not doing anything, then I would be dead too. By living for her son and making positive change in his name,

Sabrina Fulton both honors her grief and transforms it, making a way out of no way and inviting others to do the same. As Blake sings the word forward for a third time, we cut to an older black woman wearing a golden shawl, seated in an antique Victorian chair. She wears a solemn expression on her face as she stares into the camera holding a photo of a smiling young black man in a suit and tie. This woman is Gwen Carr, displaying a portrait of her son, Eric Gardner, in his senior year of high school.

Eric Gardner was known to his friends as a gentle giant and a family man who worked hard to provide for his children. Gwen Carr described some of her favorite moments of her son in a 2018 interview on BET's Black Coffee. Yes, well, he had a lot of human qualities. He always was like a peacemaker. That's why it reminds me that day when he was breaking up a fight that day that, you know, before he was murdered. He would, this little boy, it was a little white boy that he brought home from school one day.

He says, Ma, he's going to eat dinner with us. The kids was picking on him in class today, you know, and I brought him home with us. And the kids just loved him so much. Garner was 43 when he was killed by a police officer who arrested him for allegedly selling untaxed cigarettes on a New York street corner. Several eyewitnesses at the scene say that while Garner was known to sell loose cigarettes, in that moment he was not doing so. Rather, he had just broken

up a fight between two men. It was taking a moment to recollect himself when officers approached him. Garner told the officers he was minding his business and attempted to resist their arrest. It was then that Officer Daniel Pantaleo put Garner in a chokehold and pushed him to the ground while other officers assisted. Garner pleaded, I can't breathe 11 times. The officers did not relent, and Garner lost consciousness. He was pronounced dead an hour later. Much like Trayvon Martin, Eric Garner's death gripped the nation. A video of the incident went viral, and many saw it as undisputed evidence of the abuse of black people at the hands of law enforcement. However, just as in the case of Trayvon Martin, Garner's killer was not indicted by a grand jury, prompting further protests

across the country. Like Sabrina Fulton, Garner's mother, Gwen Carr, was devastated at her son's death and the lack of action by the justice system. She has since devoted her life's work to keeping her son's memory alive and advocating for change to prevent other mothers from experiencing the pain of losing a child to violence. She's an active member of the National Action Network, a civil rights organization founded by Al Sharpton. In an interview with the New York Times, Carr discussed both her devastation from losing Eric and her desire to pursue justice on his behalf. The day that I found out that Eric passed

was the most horrific day I had ever experienced. I remember trying to kick the windshield out. I remember trying to open the door and run on the highway. Later on, I found out that the police had choked him. They have taken my son's voice away, but his mother still has a voice, and I'm going to use it as long as I have a voice. Gwen Carr continues to use her voice to testify to her son's life and to hold unjust systems accountable. As she displays the photo of her son, James Blake continues to sing the moving words of forward. Blake sings, I love you more than this job. Please don't work for me.

This line evokes a line from Love Drought, where Beyonce has a line. had told her partner, I don't care about the lights and the beams, spend my life in the dark for the sake of you and me. Both lines suggest that while Beyonce and Jay's massive stardom and pressure-filled careers may complicate their relationship, they cannot allow it to eclipse their love for one another. Beyonce then joins Blake in singing, Go Back to Sleep, and your favorite spot just next to me. It's as if the two are soothing a partner who had just woken up from a bad dream. In terms of her relationship. It seems Beyonce comforts her partner who still carries the guilt of his past, telling him he can rest easy by her side. But once again, the visuals add another layer of meaning

to the words. The moment Blake raises his voice to sing forward, we cut to the image of a woman with short red hair wearing a black shawl. This is Leslie McSpadden, holding a portrait of her son, Michael Brown. With Michael's portrait in her hands, McSpadden looks directly into the camera, shaking her head back and forth. Then she closes her eyes, finally letting a tear roll down her cheek. Michael Brown was killed in Ferguson, Missouri in the summer of 2014. Brown and his friend Dorian Johnson were walking down a residential street when Officer Darren Wilson told them to move to the sidewalk. Doran Johnson and other eyewitnesses claimed that Wilson then pulled his police car in front of them and forcefully opened his door, leading to an altercation. Some witnesses contend that Brown

assaulted Wilson in his police car, reaching for his gun. Dorian Johnson and other eyewitnesses deny this, saying there was no struggle for the weapon, and instead Wilson tried to pull Brown into the car. Brown then ran away from the police car and turned back around. Darren Wilson claims Brown charged at him, but others say he turned around to surrender. Michael Brown was then shot multiple times and killed. His body remained in the street for four hours after his death. much of the media coverage surrounding Michael Brown's killing was centered around questions of Brown's culpability. He was maligned as a criminal for his apparent involvement in a shoplifting case at a nearby convenience store and as a drug addict for his marijuana use.

This coverage subtly sent the message that Brown's senseless death could somehow be justified, as if Brown himself was on trial rather than the officer who killed him. Despite the negative coverage surrounding her son, Leslie McSpadden was determined to not only bring about justice for Michael, but to advocate for who he was. In an interview with Steve Harvey shortly after her son's death, McSpadden offered a testament to her son's character. He was my first. My first born. He was the leader of the pack for my two daughters and my other son. He was meek. He was humble. He was tall. He was mad. He loved dog. He loved dogs. You love people.

Love anything that had life in it, anything. A plant. And that's why I just can't understand why they happen to my child. Three months after his death, St. Louis County's special prosecutor Bob McCullough announced that no criminal charges would be brought against Darren Wilson. Anger swelled in the city of Ferguson and protests broke out. The phrase, hands up, don't shoot, became a rallying cry in the St. Louis suburb, where two-thirds of its citizens are black, but the police force is primarily white. However, this anger, dismay, hurt, and frustration extended beyond the Ferguson community. For millions across the U.S., the decision once again

represented the all-too-familiar message that black lives do not matter in this country. This message was reiterated by Brown's death and compounded by the subsequent deaths of Laquan McDonald, Tamir Rice, Freddie Gray, Sandra Bland, Outen Sterling, Philando Castile, and other Since her son's death, Leslie McSbadden had advocated for police reform. She founded the Michael O.D. Brown Foundation, as well as the group Rainbow of Mothers, which is devoted to allowing mothers of children killed by racialized gun violence the chance to heal with one another. As she looks into the camera and lemonade, tears coming down her face, it is with this context that we understand not only her immense grief,

but also her resolve to change our community for the better. Beyonce has alluded to the enduring legacy of slavery throughout the film through her visuals. However, here in the chapter Resurrection, we are confronted with the repercussions of this legacy directly, in the unspeakable grief on the faces of Sabrina Fulton, Gwen Carr, and Leslie McSpadin as they hold up photos of their slain sons. Their presence makes clear that not only does America's denigration of black people devalue their humanity, it threatens their very lives. It robs mothers of their children and children of their futures. However, their regal presence and willingness to testify to their son's lives also reveals a bravery and resilience in the face of tragedy,

connecting them to generations of black women before them. As Yolanda Pierce writes in her piece, Black women and the Sacred, quote, Beyonce's work forces us to see these women not only as grieving mothers, but so much more. They are tied to the legacy of black women on plantations, who nurtured children they knew would be sold at auction. They are connected to black women who preached in the clearing knowing they would never be welcome in someone's pulpit. They are connected to the black women who practiced the healing arts when the doors of the hospital were closed to colored people. All the black women in lemonade are connected to a long line of women who conjured a life when the forces

of racism and sexism insisted that they weren't worthy of living, unquote. Sabrina Fulton, Gwen Carr, and Leslie McSpadon embody this ability to conjure life against the seemingly insurmountable forces of racism and sexism. They've become activist for change, advocating for gun control, criminal justice reform, and improved police training. These acts of resistance and reformation

have earned them the title, The Mothers of the Movement, a nickname they share with the mothers of Sandra Bland, Dantre Hamilton, Jordan Davis, and Hadea Pendleton. The presence of these women also connects them to the lineage of women that Yolanda Pierce speaks of. Specifically, we recall the memory of Mamie Till Mobley, the mother of Emmett Till. Emmett Till was a 14-year-old boy that was tortured and lynched in Mississippi in 1955. Just as the deaths of Martin, Garner, and Brown ignited the Black Lives Matter movement,

Till's death is considered an early catalyst for the civil rights movement, largely due to his mother's ability to bring attention to the case. Mamie Till Mobley famously held an open casket funeral for her son, displaying his mutilated body in order to draw attention to the racist actions of his murderers. My first reaction was to let the world see what is happening in the United States of America. I wanted the world to see, and I knew that I could not tell anybody what I had seen. It was just too horrible. Till Mobley devoted the rest of her life to civil rights activism and keeping the memory of her son alive.

As the camera cuts between McSpaden, Fulton, and Carr, they too hold up images of their sons for the world to see as they continue their own activism against racial inequality. Through the parallel struggles of the mothers of the movement to the women of the past like Mamie Till Mobley, we can see a connection between the brutality of the Jim Carrey. era and the present day. At the same time, by including their images, Beyonce also calls attention to the strength of generations of black mothers who endure the loss of their children to racialized violence. As we near the end of the chapter, we start to understand more about the chapter's title, Resurrection, a word inextricably tied to Christianity. We recall how the chapter began, with the unidentified black woman proclaiming her love for Jesus. Thus, the juxtaposition of the mothers and their slain sons with the title resurrection, seems to suggest a connection between

these black men and Jesus. In his book, The Cross and the lynching tree, black theologian James Cohn writes about how black people could historically identify with Jesus' suffering on the cross during the horrific lynching era and how his resurrection was used as a symbol of hope. Cone states, quote, in the mystery of God's revelation, black Christians believed that just knowing that Jesus went through an experience of suffering in a manner similar to theirs, gave them faith that God was with them, even in suffering on lynching trees, just as God was present with Jesus in suffering on the cross, unquote. And so while the lynching tree was a symbol of suffering in death, Jesus' cross was a symbol of solidarity with those suffering. Black Christians

of the lynching era could understand that their God did not identify with the violent white oppressors, but rather stood in solidarity with the marginalized. By framing, this chapter as resurrection, it seems Beyonce and our creative team urge us to consider the ways Jesus can identify with Trayvon Martin, Eric Gardner, Michael Brown, and others who have lost their lives to gun violence, which in many ways serves as a modern form of lynching. When viewing these mothers holding up the images of their sons, it can be difficult to reconcile the loss they've endured with the idea of resurrection, or rising from the dead to new life. However, the inclusion of these mothers is precisely what forces us to envision

resurrection through honoring the lives of these men rather than their deaths. In this way, resurrection becomes an event made possible by members of the black community taking action on earth. According to womanist theologian Kelly Brown Douglas, quote, If the crucified Jesus is seen in the face of Trayvon dead on a Florida sidewalk, then the resurrected Jesus is seen in the faces of his parents testifying to the meaning of Trayvon's life beyond his crucifying death, unquote. In order for these months, mothers to resurrect their sons, they must restore meaning to their lives, which they do through testifying to their son's humanity, as well as through social action to bring about justice.

They've challenged narratives that try to reduce their sons to their deaths, and they've created communities of healing and social action. As Gwen Carr writes in her memoir, This Stopes Today, quote, I started doing it for him, for his memory, and for his spirit, because it fed my soul and gave me a reason to get up in the morning. After a full day of marching and sharing stories about Eric until my voice was raw, I would lie down in bed satisfied that I had done my best that day. Then, before I went to sleep, I would promise Eric that I was going to do that same thing tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. I knew it was too late for Eric, but I realized that I had to try to do everything I could to save other people, especially children. I had to change my morning into movement,

my pain into purpose and my sorrow into strategy." As the music fades out, we transition to the dining room of the mansion where a chandelier hangs over a table prepared for a candlelit dinner. Although the places are set for a feast, the table is empty. We follow a woman wearing a white feathered headdress in a matching suit of white plumage as she steps into the dining room. Her ensemble is adorned with an intricate beaded design and her face bears white markings

similar to the sacred art of the ori we saw painted on dancers in apathy. This woman is Cajifa Brown, also known as Queen Yaya of the Washita Nation, a New Orleans Mardi Gras Indian tribe. The Mardi Gras Indians make up a historic black subculture in New Orleans. They trace their history back to the 1700s

when escaped slaves sought refuge from slave owners by turning to the Native American tribes for protection. In homage to the Native American tribes for protection, Americans who aided them, Mardi Gras Indians blended aspects of indigenous culture with their own West African heritage, creating elaborate, beaded suits with feathered headdresses to wear on both Mardi Gras and St. Joseph's Day. Their brightly colored, hand-sown suits bear intricate beaded patterns, often imbued with personal and political meaning. After a year of painstaking work, they debut their regalia on Mardi Gras, where they engage in friendly competitions with fellow tribes. Every year,

they donned their suits as a symbol of pride. They preserve their culture that was born from their resistance to slavery and rebel against the white Mardi Gras festivities that Black Noralienians were historically excluded from. Here at the end of resurrection, Queen Yaya slowly circles the empty table, playing a tambourine in a slow rhythm. This empty table seems to call attention to the deaths of the men we've seen throughout the chapter, as the dining room table should symbolize a place of family and community. With these, men's lives cut tragically short, their deaths leave an empty space in their families and communities that can never be truly filled. However, just as their mothers attest to their lives and resurrect

them through their activism, the ceremony that Queen Yahya performs seems to heal this space and resurrect their spirits. Conclusions. forward Gwen Carr begins a chapter in her memoir from a quote from author Alice Walker Healing begins where the wound was made We've seen this healing take place over the last two chapters of Lemonade

In sandcastles, Beyonce tells her partner, Show Me Your Scars. By being vulnerable about the wounds they've endured and inflicted on one another, they were able to reconcile and break the generational curse of broken male-female relationships within Beyonce's family. In resurrection, we see the mothers of the movement displaying the wounds they've

endured as black mothers who've lost their son to racial violence. Their pain cannot be erased, and their scars will remain. And yet, they create a way out of no way, resurrection from death, and gather community together in order to create social change. In the words of Gwen Carr, they find a way to transform this morning into movement and pain into purpose. And it's with this shared sense of purpose that Beyonce will gather her own community of women together to inspire the hope necessary to sustain their fight for freedom. This is the song Freedom from Lemonade's next chapter, Hope. A chapter will examine note by note, scene by scene, next time on Dissect. Dysect is a production of Spotify Studios. Remember, you can find visual guides for each episode

on dissectpodcast.com, which also includes links to any articles cited on today's episode. While you're there, be sure to check out our limited season 6 merchandise. Be sure to follow us on social media at Dissect Podcast. Today's episode was written by Maggie Lacey and me. Additional analysis by Michael Bundalo and Titi Shodia. Additional research by Gail Acosta. Audio editing by Eric Bass and me. Song Recreations by Andrew Atwood.

Theme music by Birocratic. Okay, thanks everyone. Talk to you next week.