An Open Letter to My Ancestors

Dear Ancestors,

To those on whose shoulders I stand, I apologize. From the deepest part of me, I am sorry for the mess that we are in in this country. You knocked down the door of segregation and pushed us inside, but we didn’t know what to do once we got here. We thought our work was done. We gulped the Kool-Aid and didn’t know that it was spiked. Now we’re confused and disillusioned. But there is still hope for us. You didn’t give up; we can’t either.  

We messed up. We think that because we have advanced degrees, live in integrated neighborhoods, drive luxury cars, and send our kids to private schools that we have arrived. We think that because we can afford to have someone clean our homes have a diverse group of friends and maybe even have White friends and family members that we can eat at the big table. We thought we were in the House, but now know that we are still in the kitchen.

If we had not forgotten our history, we would not be surprised by recent events. We first came here as indentured servants, but when it was discovered that the color of our skin made us easily identifiable, we became an even cheaper source of labor--free. Most of us descend from Africans who came here as cargo; property, and we’ve never been able to completely wash away the smell from that trip. Hard Truth: We are the shit on the bottom of America's shoe. And no matter what we do, the stench of who we are stays with us.

Many of the founding fathers were slave holders: Thomas Jefferson, John Hancock, Benjamin Franklin, and George Washington among others. When Jefferson penned the words “all men are created equal” in the eyes of the Constitution, he was not speaking of African Americans. We were designated as 3/5 of a person for the purposes of property value. We were no different from the farm animals. Not much has changed. 

We should have known better, and maybe we would have done better. Doing the work that needed to be done instead of sitting comfortably on the legacy you left us. We nodded off into the good life thinking that we had accomplished something only to learn that we haven't. We are despised in the country of our birth. We are made to feel like outsiders and agitators dare we speak out against the injustice that is as American as apple pie and Chevrolet. 

The road to freedom is paved with your blood and your broken bodies. But your spirit lives on in us. How could we forget that? We are here because you chose to survive. We are here because you didn’t fall for the okey-doke. For every major victory, there has been backlash. From the Emancipation Proclamation to the election of Barack Obama, we have faced strong opposition to change. We have been, beaten, lynched, raped, bombed and the victims of other unspeakable acts of violence against us, and yet we are still looked at as savages of some sort. That’s why we kill each other, right?

 When Barack Obama was elected President of these “United” States and everyone was wondering if he was ready to be president, I was wondering if we were ready for him. We were not. Never in the history of this country has a President been so disrespected. I’m still trying to recover from the fact that three major networks decided not to air the President’s speech. Who does that?

Assimilated to the point of indoctrination, some of us are inebriated on the idea of inferiority. We actually believe that in America there is difference between Black people and Niggers, not understanding that we are ALL Niggers in the minds of many. From Phyllis Wheatley to Charles Barkley, some of us have drunk too much Kool-Aid and think that our arrival in this country is the best thing that happened to us since home-made buttered biscuits. I have to give credit where credit is due: the brain washing was thorough and complete. Once we learned to hate ourselves there wasn’t as much work to do to keep us in line.

The reality of our situation is that we have only been desegregated. We have never been fully integrated into American society. The society in which we were born into and still live in is racist. And that’s the norm. We can’t forget that. It is what it is. We can’t change the origin. We have to know that and keep moving.

I had to sit back and marinate on what’s happening because at first I was upset. I kept wondering where I was. I was thinking: This is America? Then is I realized, This IS America. I had to remember what so many of you have been telling us for years: without struggle there is no progress. So, I’m glad to see so much social unrest. I’m glad to see us struggle. For I know that progress will follow.

I’m sorry that we lost our way. I’m sorry that we forgot our place. But I know that we’ve always made a way out of no way. You showed us that. We were not expected to survive, much less thrive. But we have always been able to use that which was turned against us in our favor. So, while we might be the shit on the shoe, we also know that it’s our manure that made it happen. America is America because of the shit on her shoe. So, that makes us The Shit, right?

Bathing in the Beauty of Blackness

Last weekend, I checked out. I left the building because I needed to insulate myself from the ugliness of racism. So, I wrapped myself in the beauty of Blackness instead. The constant barrage of negative press and off-handed, mean-spirited and misdirected comments were wearing me down. I could not take one more “news” story or opinion from the keyboard psychologists and the armchair forensic experts on anything and everything from Cosby to Ferguson. I simply did not want to deal with anymore widely polarizing views on these and other issues plaguing Black America. 

This was before the grand jury decision in Ferguson, so as the country waited to hear what we already knew, I left the darkness of a country still deeply divided by race to seek solace in the love I have for my own people. I yearned to see people like me living life. Being normal.  Not being characterized by race. Not being demonized or victimized. I needed an alternative view of what makes me, Me. So, I took a respite from media and conversations around the proverbial water cooler and chose to focus on the strength and the beauty of Black culture. First stop: film.

On Saturday morning, I rose early and went to see Beyond the Lights. I love the work of Gina Prince-Blythewood, and I had been following the back story for Beyond the Lights, so I was ecstatic when it was finally released. And even though I had seen it opening weekend, it was worth a second look. On the surface, it was a simple universal love story, and who’s not a sucker for a good lover story? But below the surface it is a story of why it's important to live life authentically.  And yes, love is universal, but it's as refreshing as the first spring rain to see faces on the big screen that mirror me. And so I cocooned myself in Noni and Kaz's story and rooted for the happily-ever-after. Second stop: dance.

Saturday night I went to see the Dance Theater of Harlem (DTH) at the historic Auditorium Theater.  It was their first time in Chicago in 10 years. When DTH stopped touring years ago, I was saddened by the news. But when I found out they were coming to Chicago, I bought tickets and the timing couldn’t have been better.  As I sat in the audience watching those beautiful Black bodies in motion, I was in heaven. It's no secret that classical ballet is comprised of those mostly of a lighter hue, so there are very few dark spots in that sea of whiteness. But DTH founded by Arthur Mitchell the first African-American Principal dancer with New York City Ballet and Karel Shook In 1969 has been a training ground for African-American ballet dancers. The company is definitely diverse now, but there was enough color filling the stage to satiate my desire for cultural recognition and reconnection.  The first two dances were typical classical ballet, but the last dance was ballet to the hits of Aretha Franklin and James Brown, and it brought the racially-mixed audience to its feet. Next stop: church.

Still not ready to return to the ugliness of a racist reality, on Sunday I settled in for some good ole’ down-home religion. I am not an avid Church goer, but I love the faith of Black people. Since coming to this country we have learned to fill our spiritual well when it runs dry. Gospel music is a balsam for my wounded psyche. And on Sunday evening, I tuned into the Trinity United Church of Christ broadcast streaming live on the internet. The choir was dressed in African attire and Pastor Moss had on a jacket made from African fabric. His message was on immigration, and Pastor Moss spoke of the parallels between the African-American experience and that of current immigrants. He cautioned us not to get caught up in the rhetoric around the issue of immigration and forget where we came from. I watched the church service and was in fellowship. Last stop: Literature

Then I curled up in the bed with my favorite African-American historical romance writer Beverly Jenkins who weaves little known history into the stories of Black people.  I am reading the third one in the Destiny series. This one is about Pilar, a Black pirate who steals the ship of Noah, one the Yates men in the series.  My choice to bask in the beauty of Blackness would cause some to label me a racist, but as a woman of color with little power, I am far from being a racist though I can be prejudiced and bigoted. But I'll save that for another conversation.

Weighted down by racism and oppression, I needed to take the time to take that weight off me. Bathing in the beauty of Blackness reminded me on whose shoulders I stand. It reinforced for me that I come from a people who are tenacious, who are resilient, who get knocked down again and again but like the Phoenix will rise. I bathed in the beauty of Blackness, and my soul is soothed.