Tidings of Comfort and Joy

"I believe that we're more than the worst thing we've ever done. I believe that Grace is power. I believe that Love is Justice. And I believe that we have to judge how we're doing by how we treat the poor, the incarcerated and the condemned." ~Bryan Stevenson

This quote by Bryan Stevenson from his interview on Super Soul Sunday has stuck with me ever since I heard it almost 3 years ago. I find it brought to mind so much more frequently over the last year. To me it embodies the spirit of the teachings of the one known as The Christ, and I find myself striving to align with it more and more. Though American “Christianism” would have folks believe otherwise, Jesus was always on the side of the poor, the disenfranchised and the otherwise marginalized during his time on earth. And one cannot in good conscience claim to be a follower of Christ and negate this most important example he left for us. As Advent approaches, let us who would claim Jesus in this season remember not just his birth, but also his life and the words he recited from the book of Isaiah in the synagogue, “The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free...”

THIS is the tidings of comfort and Joy the Angels proclaimed! The great and wonderful news that Christ came to be the first born of many siblings who will always work to set the oppressed free! Now THAT’S a carol worthy of singing from the rooftops. If you are one who celebrates Christ this season, I encourage you to reflect on who he really was and strive to show this example of him not just at Christmas but year round.

Contemplating Diaspora

I am contemplating the diaspora today. Contemplating my place in it. Considering how though my heritage is Caribbean, I identify as a Black America and what that means to and for me. I am considering how I feel every sting of the words of derision that some first generation, American born Africans and Caribbean/West Indians lob at Black Americans even though I too am "kinda" first gen myself. I'm feeling the pain of how so many first generation black Americans I know try to distance themselves from the consequences and circumstances of Black Americans while simultaneously attaching themselves to the rich history of black contribution in this country. I am contemplating how the Caribbean heritage of many of our Black American (S)heroes gets shrouded in the narratives of their lives so that some black Americans don't even know that the black American giants they quote and praise have Caribbean/West Indian roots.

I am contemplating how the world gets to adopt African American culture without consequence but some black Africans/Caribbeans/West Indians cry "Appropriation" when Black Americans dare to try to connect to a culture that was stolen from them by slavery and colonization. I am thinking about how slavery affected this country and the Caribbean and how one sustained and informed the other but, there are some in both diasporic iterations that ignore the affects of slavery on the Caribbean as we engage these discussions around reparations. I am thinking about how systemic racism built on the legacy of slavery affects us all and somehow that is not enough to push some of us towards common ground

Like I said, I am contemplating diaspora today and my place in it. Whenever I am in this place, I think of this interview of the great Hugh Masekela. Though he is speaking of continental Africans in this piece, it always strikes a deep chord with me. The last line of this interview for me describes the situation of the diaspora and the African born and raised miles and generations from our continent of origin, especially Black Americans. It speaks to this place that we occupy that has somehow deemed us neither American nor African enough. And though it has been quite a few more than 20 years since our forced estrangement, I feel the sentiment still applies: "20 yrs from now when they ask your children who they are they're gonna say: They say we used to be Africans long ago."

She Knew...

I started getting breasts at nine. I was a full C cup at 12. I’ve had these hips since I was 13. The butt was hereditary. So I’ve had it all my life. But my face was a “baby face” well into my 20’s. And my giggle still that of a school girl. There was no way an ADULT could mistake ME for one. But still my mom made me wear a girdle once I turned 13 and always insisted I wear slips through most of my teen years, because a butt that jiggled and silhouettes of thighs meant you were “fast.” She made sure to introduce me as her “baby” in spaces where there were new or unfamiliar men around so they understood I was a minor. I was NEVER allowed to spend the night at anyone’s house but family, and there were some family I couldn’t even spend the night with. All these oppressive but well meaning attempts to keep lecherous men at bay. The onus was never on us as girls, but how does a mother protect her little girl in a world that doesn’t even value her?

I begrudged some of the more restrictive parts of my upbringing, but the older I get, the more compassion I find for my mother’s decisions. My dad gave me my independent spirit, my belief that I could do anything I wanted in this life, and his very presence on the planet gave me a sense of safety. My mother knew what it was like navigating this world as a black woman and did her best to shield me from its horrors so that I could freely believe the messages my father gave and see only the limitless possibility of being an independent black woman. 

But she was always willing to stretch when my strong will pushed the boundaries of her comfort. She never wanted to hold me back, but she knew too much to be completely comfortable when I dared to operate outside of the oppressive norms. So she yielded to my free spirit by expanding her container each time I pushed at its walls, but she never could completely give up the container, because she knew. 

She knew that this world would never value me as much as she and daddy did. She knew that the messaging I received outside of her container would try to feed me lies about my self worth and undermine all the things they had taught me to believe. She knew, so she did her very best to protect me for as long as she could. Her protection seemed like limits back then. I see the intentional love behind her actions now. She Knew...