Current Mood: Rumble in the Jungle x Fugees, Tribe Called Quest, Busta
Nearly 2 decades of fighting and I’m oscillating between needing to be hidden for safety and shouting I do not give a fuck!!!
I created curricula for and taught Critical Race Theory with 10th and 11th graders at a high school in Shanghai 2013-2014. Today, I realize more than ever that Interest Convergence is more relevant than ever: Black people achieve civil rights victories only when White and Black interests converge (Bell, 1980). Haz mierda todo! Pero, like, we need yt folxs to be generally disruptive of the system that upholds them but also do more anti-racist work in their quotidian lives.
“The curriculum cannot be time-sensitive” I wrote down in bold.
I have 3 more days to go before the stitches can come out. Photographing my sewn foot inspired me to sew a bit so I spent time making protesting toys yesterday (no sewing happened actually – just a lot of cutting, pasting, writing, sticking and tying). I am not in the streets these days the same as before – I’m much more strategic now. For example, as my foot heals, I’m just doing my art with and for youth:
My Manaba mamas guían. Pachamama shook me and literally debilitated me. Change is not metaphorical. We want a literal revolution. But I need to sit this one out, she said. Last week Pachamama sent early thunderstorms here and shook other parts of the continent with earthquakes. Wake the fuck up! dice ella.
Yall need to figure this shit out because I’m tired.
i am exhausted
Tears are coming in waves of pain and joy. Hearing of Breonna Taylor was bizarre – is this real life? Seeing the video of “a beautiful spirit,” George Floyd’s last living moments was also incomprehensible – almost unreal. The popo did not care that they were being filmed. It was almost like Mỹ Lai Massacre photos of U.S. soldiers with bodies they mauled.
Christian Cooper’s story is not incredible. A Black man gets home unarmed after the fuzz is called? That’s unheard of. The whole idea of pigs came with the invention of slavery.
I haven’t slept for days.
Between the sorrow and utter confusion about what supports our thriving – we are barely surviving here – I paused and felt an overwhelming sense of a loving community. There are Black Lives Matter posts from people – some of my loved ones – who usually only post landscapes, food, concerts or friends/kids stuff on their sm. I’m pushy af – pushing everybody to jump in revolutionary fights – I don’t hide it – your kid stuff is cute; social media ain’t that for me. Still, those closest to me, have been listening all along and listening well and they are all holding me up now, knitting me back together. We are each other’s braids – strengthening each strand. I realized this May that I have been studying thriving all wrong. Mi gente got my back. They nourish my thriving; they planted me.
I begin describing in writing what is thriving with us, our narratives of ancestral love that explain how we are best nourished and nurtured but I trail off into books and articles written by Them. I must keep validating myself with their standards; what I know to be true must be witnessed by someone of official authority as bestowed onto themselves. We must be beyond this now. We must be building power in order to derrotar this ludicrous system in which one group of people make all the rules. Curiously, they do not have to follow their own rules. They decide when the rules get altered. We must fight beyond this.
But how do we do thriving? Like literal “beyond survival”?
A high school friend asked me last night if I “felt good that people are changing now; people are really waking up now,” the ww teacher said.
Yes, it does feel good that more people are on board. And also it sucks that video evidence is what it took for some people to believe us. Is that why protests haven’t centered Breonna Taylor
Now we gotta sit here and educate people on how to listen to us so that we can survive? We gotta keep waiting for yall to catch up to the struggle? Those tiny steps some people are taking are not halting the trigger-happy pigs. The 1% is not ceding power
But our seeding is showing some blossoming now just before summer…
PUKEN (tiempo de lluvias) época de la escasez, donde comienzan las lluvias y la tierra se retrae en un periodo de descanso obligado
WALÜNG (abundancia) época de cosechas, de frutos, de aves y animales
We makes sure our community is well-fed, housed and clothed. We find resources, take extra shifts, take collections, donations, groceries, distribute as needed – we are all about mutual aid. No one goes hungry in my community. We make sure everyone is able to experience joy and cleansing even once a year on their birthday or our Año Viejo celebrations or someone’s wedding – we must celebrate our survival. Celebration and Cleansing – enacting joy is a crucial part of thriving.
We constantly thank our ancestors who paved this path for us. We must relive certain times in order to keep seeding the future. Gratitude is part of thriving. We show gratitude by supporting us.
God’s act, stand back and watch
Devil’s time out
Can’t be timed with no swatch watch
But are we are better now?
What the fuck is thriving?
I see my community hurt more and more every day. My community members assimilate, convert, literally pay to disfigure their faces to be like Them and still are dehumanized, denigrated on tv, social\media, in schools all over the fuckin place.
After 1845 weeks in Pachamama, I say, “Fuck You!!!” I live according to my values, up to my own standards.
I love me. I love me whether you love me or even validate my existence.
There is stuff finally happening with exclamation marks.
I seen the Devil spar with Allah
Mathematics was the key to set my whole race free
You might debate we, a refugee
No harm hurt me
Dying, thirsty from the struggle
To my own hustle bubble
On the low, woe is me
3 years ago woe is me. I wrote about a dating dilemma, Should I BLM on a First Date?, and I’m mostly proud of me. It took a lot to learn how to identify and assess an impulsive lying, stonewalling, silencing, gas-lighting, narcissistic, disgustingly privileged abusive manchild. It took a lot of self-criticism, pain and trauma-confrontation to work through defining how the White supremacist delusion and the colonial cis hetero patriarchy operates. I’m still learning ways that I deserve to be treated and how I can trust again.
It’s not only my age and education that shrinks my dating pool, but specifically being vocal about my abolitionism. My people have been fighting for generations; this did not begin with me in this lifetime. My first fights were in grade school against prayer and pledging allegiance to a flag that doesn’t represent me. Next, I began organizing, mobilizing and protesting during my undergraduate studies when I began US For Earth. The Arab Spring hooked me into worldwide movements and taught me how to use social media. Then abolitionist thinking began for me during OWS & ODOE. Most specifically, when Trayvon Martin‘s life was taken, my commitment to the Black Lives Matter movement was solidified.
I’m happy alone today. I don’t use a lot of those words from that post anymore anymore, or rather, I have updated my language to be more precise:
I am a 35 year old radical educator artivist scholar abolitionist
sapiosexual pansexual gender fluid Manaba
I enjoy relationships with folxs who have similar far left values
it’s extra special if our interests are complimentary
Blocks on fire
Fiends getting higher
Robbing blue collar
Killing for a dollar
See youths get tired
Dealing with them liars
From Brooklyn to Zaire
We need a ghetto Messiah
Since the days of fighting grade school teachers to not do the allegiance pledge each day, I have fought for, on and with folxs of Seminole, Timucua, Tequesta, Piscataway Nacotchtank (Anacostan), Lenape, Kizh, Chumash, oθaakiiwaki‧hina‧ki (Sauk) & Meškwahki·aša·hina (Fox), Anishinabewaki ᐊᓂᔑᓈᐯᐗᑭ, and Bodéwadmiké (Potawatomi) Lands. My first protest of 2020 was for Black Lives Matter at School Week of Action in February. My last protest of 2019 was December 14th at #PariserPlatz #Berlin in #solidaridad with my Indigenous siblings; I got my 7th tattoo (my 1st at home-tat) just after these moments:
I continue to write to exist and seeking #solidaridad. This is #ACallformoreAbolitionists in my life. The goal is still not to punish or exterminate yt folxs but to exterminate the hegemonic.
I write here if only to repeat in as many ways as I can learn in my lifetime:
NEGRX RUNAKUNATA MUNAKUY!
K’ATZ’INEL RI TAQ Q’ËQ K’ASLEM
HASAPA T’A WICONI KI TOKAHE
LII VII NWAYR KISHCHIITAYHTAAKWAANWA
LAS VIDAS NEGRAS IMPORATAN