when life gives you uber

this morning my little brother missed his school bus so, thanks to the wonder of modern technology, i was able to order an uber to take him to school in atlanta from my bed in brooklyn. after sharing the details of the pick up with my grandfather who was accompanying him to school, my 9 yr. old brother's only response was to ask me for the driver's name. 

after taking some time to process, i realized the lesson. 

we're not born with a disregard for the humanity in others. it's something we're taught. 

i had, by sharing solely the make and model of the car/arrival time, neglected to recognize the person driving. 

now that convenience is becoming an expectation rather than a luxury, our inclination to recognize the people behind that convenience has diminished. 

so today, my baby brother reminded me. there are lessons all around us, opportunities to connect, and chances to make people feel recognized. 

the driver's name was daniel.

#OscarsSoWhite

Last year, I went to see the Kehinde Wiley exhibit at the BK museum. I'll never forget how awestruck I was by his work. All I could do was stand there and marvel and cry. I realize now that I was overcome with the visual of seeing myself depicted as a hero. Seeing black faces represented where my mind was generally conditioned to see white ones--powerful and proud. 

What's more--the images weren't painted to be seen as perfect beings. Rather, imperfections and fragility were represented as triumphant. Every day life is full of heroism. Heroism in our flaws. Heroism in our struggle. 

But a hero's story has to be told. 

Today, I'm saddened not just by the Oscar's failure to deem any actor of color's work worthy of recognition. 

Rather, I'm saddened by the lack of diversity in the stories that make it to film period. Hundreds of movies come out every year, and only a few are chosen to be recognized. That's the nature of an award. Rather than being upset that the 3-4 feature films with black leads weren't recognized, we should be upset that there are so few movies representing people of color in the first place. Further, one actor or director of color thrown into a category would appease the masses? It's not enough. 

There are so many systemic issues that lead to days like today and the Oscars are merely a byproduct. 

This is about studio heads (most of which are white males) who have the power to decide which films get the green light. This is about casting agents who won't even consider actors of color for roles outside of the stereotypical(slavery, sports, "life on the corner"). This is about a class system that only empowers those with means to pursue art as a profession. This is about the few creatives who do make diverse films making a mockery of their own culture in the name of profit. (I'm looking at you Tyler Perry)

A whitewashed Oscars represents a whitewashed Hollywood represents a whitewashed World. 

This is about more than the Academy Awards, but an entire system that enables a select few to make the incredibly important decision of deciding who in this world gets to see themselves as heroes.

on humanity

I've actively tried to stop posting on FB every time another senseless act of violence is reported in the news, at the hands of police or otherwise. Mainly, because I think many of us have become complacent with using social media as our only brand of activism. It is as though there is some underlying belief (that I am incredibly guilty of) that if I just write this post, I've done my part. And then it stops there. The work begins and ends in a few characters on a website. And so I've stopped. Because I want to think of ways to do the work, without feeling the need to have other people acknowledge it. Without it needing to be validated by a "like". 

But today, I feel like I have to say something. I've seen so many posts today immediately comparing the tragedy in Virginia today with all of the black lives taken at the hands of police over the past year and a half. 

This, I think, is the greatest tragedy of all. That we, and yes, I'm saying we to other black folks (and anyone else who had that immediate reaction), have become so deeply enraged, so deeply traumatized, and so deeply injured by the disregard for our humanity, that we are starting not to be able to see it in others. 

That we would not take a second just to lament that two lives were taken today. Someone's daughter, sister, girlfriend. Someone's fiancé. It is awful. And it doesn't make what happens to black people every day in this country any less awful. But not being able to access the common decency available within yourself just to feel grief or some bit of compassion for the lives lost today means that something is being taken away from us. Something deep. Something we must reclaim. We cannot let them take away the ties that bind. We cannot let them take away our humanity. Isn't that the very thing we are fighting for? For our humanity to be recognized, understood and respected? 

Anger is human. Sadness is human. Confusion is human. Contradiction is human. To err is human. Fight for your wholeness. We can fight for black lives and still have compassion for others.

my mama

she had no rhythm, but danced with everything in her. and when she felt a song in her heart, there was nothing stopping her from singing at the top of her lungs. when she was in the ocean, she was at peace. 

she wrote beautiful prose for her eyes only. she could make your heart skip a beat with just one glance. her laugh could turn your bad days into good ones. if she was sad, her mood could tint your good days with melancholy. 

you were but a moon in her planet's orbit. she was the natural center of everything. always was. she could make any place feel like a home. she brought beauty to everything she touched, and yet sometimes she felt weighed down by circumstance.

she had a power and a grace and a fragility all at once. 
she was my mother. jazmine's mom. robin and christian's mommy. on her birthday, my mind is filled with thoughts of a woman who was flawed and brilliant and fiercely beautiful. when we remember her let us remember everything she was. that's how she would have wanted it. 

heart emoticon

kindness knows no shame

a few months ago, I was slated to have a very brief layover in atlanta on my way back to boston. my nephew had been born a few months prior, and i hadn't had the chance to meet him yet. something told me to ask the gate agent if they'd be willing to give me an overnight layover so that I could visit my family and meet my nephew even if only for a few hours. much to my surprise, that agent obliged and changed all the flights for me without cost-- saying simply, "enjoy your family." little did I know that it would be one of only 2 times I got to see my nephew in his short life. 

that day, a stranger showed me a kindness that meant a lot to me then, but now means literally the world. what was nothing more than a few clicks on a computer for him, turned into one of my most precious memories. 

if you have a chance to, why not show someone a little compassion? even the smallest gestures can make a huge impact. 

kindness knows no shame.

on life.

sometimes I'm just completely awe struck by the majesty and wonder of life. to be a living, feeling, thinking, and utterly complex human being. there's no one else like you in the world. through even the lowest of lows, it's a beautiful thing to be alive.

on community

I've grown tired of hearing people ask why people in Ferguson and Baltimore are burning down their "own communities". For one this implies some level of ownership over the housing developments and impoverished areas they've been relegated to, but I digress. In my view, a community is not created by largely discriminatory zoning laws and practices that push low income residents and people of color into impoverished areas and tell them to deal with it. A community is not the result of gentrification and taxation(or lack there of when it comes to the rich) and the impact that has on who is allowed to be "in" and who is driven "out". A community is not flimsy public housing, a strip mall, or the multitude of fast food joints that are all too available on "that side of town". These people are burning down mere edifices of their systemic oppression. 

A community IS something far more intangible. It is the fact that black mothers everywhere weep for Freddie Gray, Rekiya Boyd, Mike Brown, Renisha McBride and countless others, just like they would weep for their own children. Community is the sense of loss that those of us who understand or are empathetic to what it means to be a person of color in this country feel. Community is the network of activists, both seasoned and newfound, who will never stop fighting. Community is tied to belonging. Belonging to something bigger than yourself, no matter how painful that association is. We are connected in our pain. We are connected in our hope. We are connected in our strength. We are connected in our fight. Try as they might, this sense of community will always exist. It is a "fire" that can never be extinguished.