How far backward to "greatness"?

It's been 8 days since NMPOTUS (Not MY President of the US) took office and he's already banned refugees and LEGAL resident aliens from 7 countries who are predominantly Muslim.  He's written executive orders to push the DAPL and Keystone XL pipelines into construction, and there is evidence that he has shares and will directly profit from these orders.  Betsy DeVos's hearing about her nomination for Secretary of Education is on Tuesday the 31st, after she's decimated Detroit Public Schools with her voucher "school of choice" approach to charter, private and parochial schools.   We all know that school of choice equals legalized segregation of schools.   He's pulled out of TPP, put gag orders on National Parks, the EPA and FDA, tried to defund NGOs who even mention abortion abroad and Planned Parenthood at home, as well as announced his plans to begin construction on "the wall" between the US and Mexico.

I have to ask, have we teleported back to the 1930s?  How far back do we have to reach to remind ourselves that America was never great?  We have almost always been on the wrong side of history, unless we ourselves are writing the historic account.  We are victors because we are tyrants, like every imperialistic empire.  We learn too late and decimate human beings and ways of life different from our white, Christian, capitalist, patriarchial societal norms.  Many of my friends are protesting the most recent stripping of human rights at JFK airport right now, as Border Patrol illegally detains refugees who have gone through the vetting and proper channels to be here in the U.S. today.

Today, it may be refugees and nationals from 7 countries in the middle East and Eastern Africa, but next month it could be Western Africa.  We could go visit our family in Senegal and my husband, despite having his green card, could be told that he cannot enter the U.S. again.  This can't happen to "anyone", because there is a specific, racialized "immigrant" who is brown, who is Muslim, who is female or not gender conforming, who is queer, who is educated.  This is what fascism feels like.  Being all of those identities at once magnifies one's experience of why America isn't great at all, but a place of perceived freedom.

My greatest fear is being paralyzed in the face of danger, of making a wrong choice that puts people I love in danger.  I was so upset about not getting to go to the Womens' March last week, but I struggle with bringing my kids into protest situations, which may not always be safe, depending on police response.  So, while people are headed to JFK to protest, I am doing the everyday things with greater intention.  Self-care is revolutionary, too.  I cook food for my family, give Sali a steam bath to help clear her sinuses.  I also realize that in raising these defiant, fierce spirits, we are also teaching the next generation of fighters against injustice.

I have to raise my children to fight.  They must lead themselves to safety, possibly in a literal sense.  We may need to go off the grid sooner than we thought, because we're on track to end human civilization in my lifetime.

Greed over human life will be what ends us.  From cures to cancer to organized extermination through the drug war, fast food and factory farming, mass incarceration, guns in the hoods, gang violence.  If we kill each other, they win.  We buy their products, worship them for being rich.  We stay poor, they build their wealth off of us and live in fear of our power if we were ever to unite.

Our speak UP last week was wonderful and inspiring, but one week later, I am already weary.  I have withdrawn on weekends to heal, and to rest for the long fight we have ahead of us.  See you in the streets, and on the playgrounds.

Meditating On Our Movement

I have been re-posting, writing about and including this quote everywhere lately: “We are now faced with the fact that tomorrow is today. We are confronted with the fierce urgency of now. In this unfolding conundrum of life and history there is such a thing as being too late.” - Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

Dr. King is someone whose writing I return to over and over again, because it is lyrically powerful in addition to its uplifting message of strength and unity. He was targeted because his message was ultimately too powerful, and was begin to assist in the integration of minds, hearts and spirits of white and black people in America. While Malcolm X's message was one feared by many white Americans because it emphasized the strength and unity of black people, King's audience was broadened with his calculated approach of non-violence. His message was sanitized after his death, and every year when we pause to celebrate his glorious impact, I also want to remember "Letter from A Birmingham Jail" and his later writing, which sought to understand the very root of violence as a response to being treated inhumanely, for hundreds of years.

As we work in United Playaz, we often talk about how some of the problems we see in our society, police brutality, sexism, racism, domestic violence, rape -- that these are too large for us to tackle in a small Bronx classroom. I sense your cynicism and you call me cheesy because I still believe in the change we can each activate within our own lives. I am not naive enough to believe that personal change is enough, though. Systemic racism must end. Mass incarceration and criminalization of young, black and brown people must end. Materialism and greed for more than we need. Dropping bombs on people who look different from us, because we fear their way of life. All of these things must be left behind when WE take over.

So, after the election, I asked you to write about where you were. You complained, told me that this was the worst part of this class. I asked you to vision, to think about the kind of future you'd like to see. I asked you to write what you wanted for our future. You told me that no one was listening anyway, that things wouldn't change in the hood, no matter who was president. But we have to speak anyway, have to act anyway. Your community is listening, and wants to hear what you have to say. We might not close Rikers Island (yet), but we can make moves toward building a world in which we are valued, our ideas are heard, and we can impact how our community looks and feels.

So I ask you, as we celebrate the progress that Dr. King helped to make in this country, but as we look around and see that racism is still alive, well and gaining more steam than it's had since the 1950's, how do we move? Let's speak UP on Friday, and take the words we share as a first step in our movement.



In solidarity,
Lauren

ny state of (new jersey) mind

inside the parentheses is where home lives.  squeezed between a larger purpose, being a parent was not what i thought was my destiny, and i am still learning how to do it.  i have uncovered a well of anger, and the tantrums that come with toddlers also occur in parents.  i don't want to adult, some days.  i don't want to take care of others.  i want to sulk, brood, read buffy the vampire slayer comic books and drink coffee, watch criminal minds, write things, read more things, listen to wu tang, relax.

but new york is my heart, specifically. <3 a="" again.="" all="" always="" am="" and="" are="" arms="" balancing="" be="" between="" bronx.="" buy="" capitalize="" children="" community="" commute="" for="" have="" here.="" here="" hold.="" home="" hope="" i="" imagine="" in="" interstate="" is="" life="" love="" my="" nbsp="" of="" p="" raise="" scale="" someday="" that="" the="" this="" to="" traveling="" two="" within="">how do i balance hectic, frenetic and deeply emotional work with two-tantruming toddlers?  plus my own need to exorcise bad energy?  i'm not even doing any of them well.  so, i've had to withdraw, in many ways.  moving so far from my community has meant an implosion of my ability to always be there, but becoming a mom hasn't impeded me, it's transportation.

new jersey has a hold on me.  more space to roam with rambunctious curls, the possibility of yards and parks where we can wear these spirits out.  i do need to exercise more this year, but i am so, so tired.  i am exhausted with the sadness lifted from someone else's shoulders, sagging under its own weight.  i am spiritually exhausted, and done with this commute.  though i am a lover of public transit, i am meditating on the need for a car.  nam myoho renge kyo.

i enter this year in a positive, hopeful place (despite the impending doom of the world), but i recognize the need to withdraw and meditate. be quiet, listen, rest and recharge.  isn't this what winter is for?  you'll find me balancing between the waves, neither yin nor yang, but building a plan and a path for spring.  i withdraw now to reconnect soon.   love u.

at the window, looking out and in

Nov 24, 2016

At the top of the darkened auditorium yesterday, I knelt during the national anthem at the assembly.  Eye-level with my son, I saw the world from his perspective for a minute. He doesn’t know the irony of that song yet, and was trying to sing along.  I am trying to see this year as anything other than the beginning of the end.  It’s certainly not the beginning:  the state has been profiting from genocide for centuries, but it feels like death wins in 2016.  Our elders are leaving us. 

I was neither shocked nor surprised at the election results.  It’s taken me weeks to write about it, precisely because I knew all along that the worst case scenario was possible, and is in fact becoming our reality in January.   They’ve been coming up with new ways to win for as long as race was invented, for as long as there’ve been elections.  It hasn’t been this transparent in my lifetime, because billions of dollars has been invested in colorblinding our laws, but the racial and class divide is clearer than ever in America.  

Teaching has not become my occupation by accident.  As an activist, teaching becomes my way to consistently engage with youth, continue the 2^nd hour of a 2 hour conversation, to quote Suz Dion.  I believe in our youth and what you are teaching us.  We teach you to resist, to know your history, to advocate, connect and celebrate.  Use your voice.  But you teach me so much about hope, resilience, growing despite all circumstances, connections across difference, and a pedagogy rooted in love. 

My job right now is to know my privilege, use it to bring the race conversation, the DAPL conversation to light.  Talk fracking and climate change, gardening and sustainable life skills for students, whenever, wherever, even if people aren’t listening to me. Listen instead of centering myself.  I am not at home in Michigan, so this is my dinner table conversation.  

I have been quiet about the election results because I knew the depths of racial hatred in the U.S., but didn’t expect it to prevail.  I thought maybe we had learned history’s lesson.  Listened to the Holocaust, watched Palestine, listened to Rwanda, watched Sarajevo.  Listened to Wounded Knee, watched Standing Rock.

But when they come for the Muslims, we will resist.

When they come for the queer, we will resist.

When they come for the Latinx, we will build a wall

of gratitude over theirs, ivy of blessings.

It is me, I am the enemy.

Where are we?

I am thoroughly depressed at the stagnation of humanity, but trying to wake up everyday and take one step.   I am struggling with being a parent right now.  I am wondering about the day people realize they’ve been had, again.  Meanwhile, this hatred is creating ISIS breeding grounds, this unabashed disgust of difference hurts my sensitive soul and genuine desire to see the good in people.  Hundreds of hate crimes, hijabs as red targets, police brutality increasing, tension running terribly high because we don’t want to know the enemy.  We are the enemy.  We create the fear, the violence, the terror and self-inflict our rage.

I am grateful to know that the shapeshifting enemy is more like you and me than they want us to realize.  Tower of babel, separating us by language and nation, color and creed, sexuality and gender.  Why do we let them divide us again?  Where is the together place? 

I ask not to forget the past, but to look into it, into the pain, and be there.  This is what we must reckon with, white America.  See the brutality of what we did and continue to do.   See how our disconnect as white folks lets the brunt of the labor still be borne by the backs who made us rich.  Become true allies to our sisters and brothers who do not reap the privileges we do, by listening to them, protecting them, centering their stories, ideas, actions and providing monetary and moral support wherever we can. 

To my students: What do we do?  This is your time to take the stage and shake your fist at all the mess we have left you.  I am here to guide and support you in getting the resources you need.   We cannot move forward without you, and need your ideas, your spirit, your determination and heart to guide us. 

I am physically, emotionally, and spiritually exhausted.  I have withdrawn in many ways, am reading, writing, listening.  Trying to share the eloquent words of dream hampton, adrienne maree brown, grace lee boggs, shaun king, morrison, baldwin, freire, thinkers and activists I admire, when I have no words to offer. Organizing a speak out, letting my youth take the reins, so that we may move together toward the other world of hope, that is still, always, possible, but feels farther and farther away.   

how many blocks

How many blocks

stopped and searched 

because they fear us?

How many "officer,

please don't shoot"s

How many brown boys

at the precinct,

locked up for weed?

How many hearts

race when you see 

them come for you,

and you reek?

How many illegal 

traffic stops?

Shots into wrong houses,

Girls and grandmas 

at the morgue

on Sunday afternoons?

How many shots fired? 

How many applications

denied? Dreams voided?

Cell doors slammed

in terrified faces? 

How many schools 

closed? 

How many pipelines

to our destruction

opened? 

Filled

with lead,

and fluoride...

How many shots fired?

15 years, today.

15 years ago today, I was getting a frantic phone call from my boss about making notes to put in the hallway of our dorm saying that school was closed today. Not fully understanding in my half-sleep, I looked out my bedroom window to see the sky turning black with smoke from the south, but the source of the fire was blocked by other buildings. I complied with my boss’s requests, made a sign, printed a few copies, put them by the elevator of each floor and ran down the marble stairs to go outside. Union Square had become a crowd of awestruck South-facing gawkers, and I realized why as I turned right to see the background to my city on fire. You think of big buildings as indestructible, the backdrop of the city almost like a canvas propped up behind skyscrapers.

I tell this story every year, usually in front of students who are decreasingly aware of why this day is important. I talk about the change in trajectory of my life because of this day, how it brought forth bad poetry, but solid motives to teach and work for social change. To use my privilege to speak truth to power, to fight against oppression, in all of its forms. To recognize our role in history and why others might “hate our way of life”, which seeks to convert everyone to capitalism and profits over people.

I was looking at the annual memorial of lights in photos last night. Covers of newspapers asking if we will ever be that united again... and I’m thinking of the parts to the story that I don’t often tell. Of Muslim friends who experienced such horrible backlash while wearing hijab, of hate crimes in Queens supermarket parking lots, of New York City coming together over those lost, but simultaneously opening fire upon its Muslim population. While we organized teach-ins, taught about Islam, these fires burned. When it turned into invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq, these fires grew. Syria, ten years later, Palestine and Israel, ongoing, our silent propping up of regimes, the fires intensified. “A war against terror” is a shapeshifting enemy, that conveniently moves beyond borders while we raise our flags.

I hear their names again this year, and want to remind you that protest is patriotism (as Shaun King said this morning), that we can simultaneously mourn those lost on our soil with those who were lost in retribution for the biggest anti-Capitalist symbol falling down, in front of my eyes. I was there, and I remember, that we were anti-war here in New York City, right away. That family members of those lost said, “War is not the answer, not in their names”. I want you to hear these stories, too.

two down, two to go

two years ago, in the summer, i posted a blog about my son's insane tantrums over inane things, and sometimes i'm amazed that i'm still alive, still breathing, after all 2 and 1/2 years of this.  women have done this for millenia, but raising toddlers is the toughest thing i've ever done and i hate it all of the time. i cry every single day when i am home alone with them.  i yell.  i scream.  i lock myself in the bathroom.  i have sourced a well of anger that i didn't even know i had.  i'm pretty much a love-and-peace kind of person, so to be this short-tempered and angry all of the time feels like i'm inhabiting another body.  i don't know who i am anymore, but i do not like who i see in the mirror.

constantly, i am trying to remember that my voice that i use with my kids becomes their internal voice, but i am angered so often everyday... i am slapped, pinched, bit, kicked, hit, headbutted, elbowed, and stepped on more times than i can count before 10 a.m.  he is defiant and looks me in the face as he disobeys my directions, she is feisty and follows the lead of her big brother, insistent pout on her face.  they will be such a powerful pair in the face of evil and discrimination, but i hope with all of my soul that they use their power for good.  that nothing i've done will fuck them up enough that they cross into the dark side.

sali, your middle name means seeker of justice, so we have named you heavy, with this intent.

nasir, you are her protector.  it is your job to serve, protect and love your sister, and all girls and women you meet.  you are their protector, so we have named you heavy, with this intent.

for now, he will continuously wake up his sister whenever she takes a nap, "wash his hands" for 20 minutes and get soap and water all over the bathroom, and she will forever find new hiding spots for my credit cards and keys.  i am ever frustrated, locking myself in the bathroom to take a breath and 30 seconds alone, but ever thankful for these determined spirits who have been brought to me as gifts.  i hope to nurture their souls.

in memorium of my sanity,
lauren