The Art of the Shoeshine: Won’t be Smiling at White People Anymore.

A tall chair that was, what seemed to be black leather (or pleather) sat cater-cornered in a small booth type of room in the airport. The room was sandwiched between the over priced newsstand store and the various booths for Wells Fargo, Florida Agricultural and Mechanical University and Florida State University. What are these little room booth thingys for? My guess is to welcome people to the city of Tallahassee and offer them information on these various institutions. Idk.

But, anyways. the tall chair was all black and sat very high up, by itself. It resembled a throne. You probably already know, the shoe shine chairs, right?

Kinda like this but one chair and much more fancy.

Yup, so right there under the seat and above the foot rests was a silver star that read “StarShine.”

Directly in front of that set up sat an old man. When I say “old” I don’t mean mid-40’s, or even mid-50’s, hell. I mean, this man looked to be maybe 70 years old. Elderly. It was about 6:50 in the morning. There was a man who looked to be about 40-45 in a dark gray suit and hard bottom shoes.

The old black shoe shiner mustered up the might to mutter “shoeshine?”

The white man, in his dark grays three piece, barely acknowledged him, just shook his head no and continued speedily towards the short line at TSA.

I looked at the shoe shine man with a big smile on my face (though I’m no morning person AT ALL,) just to say “hello, goodmorning,” but he had lowered his head and his gaze as soon as his offer had been declined. He went back to somber gaze at the ground. 6:52 in the morning.

This gave me a flashback to just ten minutes earlier when I walked into the airport. I was already tired and groggy from what was a short nap earlier that morning (my partner and I stayed up all night, brainstorming and plotting ideas we have, the usual.) I kept a smile on my face though, in order to greet people, after all it is 7 in the morning and we are in the South. Everyone greets one another!

I noticed an older white woman come in at the same time as me, pulling two suitcases. An airport attendant greeted her “good morning, we are glad to have you here.”

I pulled up in line right behind her and turned towards the attendant, not wanting to be rude. I guess he beat me to it, although I saw him catch me in his peripheral vision, he turned away and I caught the side of his head as he turned to tell an older white man, in an FSU zip-up hoodie, the same thing “good morning, we are glad to have you here.” Of course I felt some type of way, quickly rebounding I noticed the same attendant directing people towards open kiosks for self check-in. People that had come up after I had. When there was an open kiosk he never once turned to acknowledge me and let me know it was available. So I went along and did so myself.

All the attendants reminded me of worker bees, never stepping out of line while accomplishing their tasks. What was weird was that they seemed to be making eye contact with everyone but me.

Whatever.

I got my boarding passes and scooted along to TSA. Which is when I saw black elderly shoeshine man and white gray business suit interact.

Hmmmm. Am I lessening human beings to what is simply their outward appearance? Was I being lessened to what my outward appearance is? Were we all doing it naturally? Things that darted through my mind as I approached TSA.

After my bag was rummaged through to make sure my fruit cups were not terrorist devices I took a seat by my gate.

So, my carry-on suitcase is the right size but it is able to fit more things because it has an expandable zipper part. So I put two pairs of sneakers in there. I’ve taken this carry-on with me on 3-4 other Delta flights, mind you. Usually they ask or offer to check my bag, for free, and either give it to me when I get off the plane or at baggage claim at my final destination.

This morning they didn’t offer, so I asked the two attendants at the gate.

The women said “that’ll be $25 to check your bag.”

A little surprised, I said “nevermind, I just thought it might not fit in the overhead bin,” considering the fact that this was a smaller commercial plane (Tallahassee airport is small.)

“If it doesn’t fit you’ll have to check it for $25 at the front.” She’s looking annoyed now.

I roll past her “thank you.”

When I get on the plane I tell the flight attendant at the front my bag may not fit in the overhead bin. I asked her if we can pink tag it and put it under the plane.

“Oh no that’s only on the barbie flights–the smaller planes.”

I’m looking at her wondering why these folks are treating me like I’ve never been on an airplane.

The aisle on the plane is tight (although this ain’t no “barbie flight” it still ain’t no regular plane.)

I notice a musician I’ve seen play before, a trumpet player who looks to be a little older than I am, mid 20’s maybe. “I think I’ve seen you play before, the sax right?”

“really? nah, the trumpet actually.”

but before I had even approached his seat and spoke to him I caught the bitchy attendant who wanted to charge me $25 for my carry-on, in my peripheral vision. She was pushing past passengers in the single file line, coming down the aisle towards me. There was another flight attendant making her way towards me from the rear of the plane. The rude one spoke over me as I greeted the musician.

“I’m following this bag! It might be too big! She is holding up my boarding process!” she sounded agitated and was speaking so loud people turned to see what she was talking about.

I could feel my face getting hot.

Bitch, I’m holding up your boarding process? You were supposed to begin at 7:05 and waited until 7:10 anyways. You can’t take a second and serve your customer the way you’re SUPPOSED TO???

The other flight attendant approaching from the rear says “that bag is too big,”

the bitch behind me “it’s going to be $25 to check that!”

I felt like I was in the hospital again, when the deck clerk came into my private room to tell me my E.R. visit would be over $500. Before the doctor had come to see me. And I had only come cuz I thought I had a tampon pushed too far up in me and I didn’t. But anyways, it was with the same bitter disgusted face that this flight attendant asked me for $25 in front of all the passengers on the plane. Right when I started the conversation with the musician.

I swirled around to catch her gaze and match her tone and pitch, to demand respect.

“I DON’T HAVE $25.” I lied.

I couldn’t help but to feel embarrassed. Who travels without $25 to spare? I have $60 in my pocket but will be spending a week away from home so I want to make it last.

She prys ” YOU DON’T HAVE A CREDIT CARD!?”

“NO, I DON’T HAVE A BANK ACCOUNT,” I push it even further. Let me make you feel just as uncomfortable as you wanna make me feel.

I had this whole long drawn out emotional experience written on pen and pad and I’m not sure where that pad is, but hope you enjoyed the minute by minute details of my experience here, just channeling my frustrations through the pen onto the page. I do remember what happened on the flight though. They stowed my bag in a compartment in the front of the plane, free of charge. 🙂

 

 

Stand Your Ground, Self Defense, Guns on College Campuses in Florida

This year, the Florida Legislature has, seemingly, fast tracked a very controversial piece of legislation. A bill that they want, viciously, to become law. That bill is HB 4005/ SB 176. What this bill will do, if passed into law, is allow for concealed guns to be carried on all public college, community college, and University campuses across the state of Florida.

Although ALL STAKEHOLDERS involved have said no, the bill keeps gaining much support and traction in both sides of the Legislature. Makes you beg the question: why?

Here is an interesting article about the issue:

http://www.orlandosentinel.com/opinion/os-florida-campus-guns-scott-maxwell-20150331-column.html

Please stay tuned. More on this issue coming soon.

“Am I My Sisters Keeper?”: Confessions of a Black Movement Sister

When I first jumped into the movement, I was attending rallies, sign making gatherings, and speak outs. Amongst groups of young people I spoke. They spoke. We spoke. All a little hungry for what we envisioned our current present reality ought to look like. We aren’t disillusioned. We understand the current world as it is, though we long for it as it should be.

We are organizers. We struggle with the balancing of things that seem like they ought to exist separately. How do I nurture life and sustain myself, how do I mend my heart and continue to love my soul counterparts? How do I live free yet treat others equally, like true democracy?

How do I balance my inner demons while still promoting radiance, love and sunshine on the outside? Or can I ? Can these worlds ever truly collide?

I realize identity is a big, super important part of life. I wonder who I am and where is mine? Is it up to them and me or me and them to decide? After all it seems we’re socialized through the eyes that span lengths of time.

What is it to be a woman?

Nurturing, organization, being the glue that keeps self together, sisters and brothers and siblings together? Families together? Communities together?  Towns and cities and neighborhoods together?

Is it on us to keep track and keep our people in line? Loving and pushing and urging you to fall in line when you’ve fallen out? Never aiming to straighten the kinks in your hair but the kinks in your mind. Are we here to fight for self? Self feelings, self reactions, self realities as we grow?

What is it about my identity that warrants others to judge me? And should I let that touch me? Yes I am deserving of my own feelings of hate and bitterness towards my oppression and in turn my oppressors. But how can I move past that? How can I grow my bonds with others while growing my bond with self within?

What is it about organizing that makes it such a slow, long, drawn out, arduous process?

Relational building. That shit ain’t easy.

We have to recognize out identities and the experiences that come with them.

Should we ever use our identities as a weapon?

I mean, what’s our focus? To love on those within our communities who want to learn, understand, train, grow, and change ultimately…

When I joined the Dream Defenders I met a group of young women and young men. We connected on similar life experiences and issues that we care about. Growing up black. Growing up woman. Growing up light skinned black. Growing up light skinned black woman.

All these conversations had me up all night. My body and mind seemed to glow. My soul seemed to smile.

My friend Giselle hadn’t been able to completely dry out her comforter, so it was damp. We stayed in a big church in Polk County. It was cold where we slept, on the pews. I had a comforter and a sheet. I gave Giselle my comforter.

I stayed up late to write in my journal and Bantu knot my hair. I looked at myself in the mirror as I did my hair. I smiled. I looked so beautiful all of a sudden, like I had never seen myself before. My brown skin seemed to glisten in the dim fluorescent glow in the church restroom. My Afro was half blonde half dark browned, as my dyed days slowly died down.

Moving methodically and almost in a trance, I continued along the lines of my crown, twist, pull, knot, grease, twist, pull, knot, grease.

The scent of the Shea Butter slid from my shiny scalp, down my forehead, into my outstretched nostrils. I loved it.

The church was so quiet. Not everyone slept but all were winding down. I flossed and brushed my teeth and wrapped my hair up. I sat down at my pew for the night and wrote in my journal in the dim light that illuminated the Sanctuary and died down as it tried to meet me at the pews.

I reflected on the last 24 hours. I just found out about this trip and hopped on board with it. So many things about my life had changed in a short amount of time.

Almost three years have passed since then and I have grown as a young womyn. I’ve learned so much and am still in that process.

My sisters in this movement. We are strained. We are illuminated. We are on so many platforms, people looking up, down, and around at us. Every aspect of our living, from hygene to our personal political beliefs, I watch people constantly tear down the black womyn. For being too this or being too that.

I wonder how to approach other young black women who I know are struggling, like me, from a true place of love and understanding. We have to protect one another.

Separating yourself from the next woman by calling her a hoe, thot, etc. doesn’t make you a better woman. How do we move beyond that mindset?

That shit don’t work.

As I was typing this blog I was actually sitting down in a room with seven other people. We were having a very candid, productive discussion about voting rights, education, and the current bills regarding elections moving through the Florida State Legislature. Well out of the eight people there, five of us were black women. I was the youngest. Anyway, the conversation was real. We went out to dinner afterwards, over which we had an even realer conversation. I listened more than I spoke. Surrounded by professional, successful black women who I aspire to be like, of course I had my ears wide open. I soaked it all in.

The sassiness and realness in the attitude of these women. The humble way they held themselves, high and happy but never high and mighty. I realized that these were the type of women who diligently put in work, no matter what this and that person may have been saying or doing to them. These were natural born hustlers. These women were hungry and even with all their successes were not comfortable or satisfied with the current status quo. All of them were bringing up valid critics of the system and questions/ideas about how we can continue to build momentum and power amongst our people. I loved being in their presence and felt a renewed sense of pride in my feminism, womanhood, and the overall way that I see myself. Love.

One of these women left me with this, “If we can’t help one another, who can we help?”

Going back to the original question, am I my sisters keeper?

I want to be able to keep it all the way real with ya and not feel bad. I want you to be able to tell me when I need tightening.

Our hearts and souls are to be kept by us. Nobody else but us.

I’m here for that struggle. Lets put each other first. Heal, grow and love.

These otha suckas can see us how they see us. They’ll fall in line.

#USWTF

As of late a lot of things have been happening. Rather quickly.

As of late half the country has been on business as usual while the other half has risen up to say something. That enough is enough.

But is enough really enough for people at the end of their rope?

What is there left for young people of color to do? There are so many different things that need attention and changing or getting rid of all together that it seems as though we will never see a complete change.

As though we will forever have to live with the crippling effects of what the beginning of this crooked nation has carried on for too long.

As this cancer and rage of racism and hate run rampant on our planet we don’t have time to stop and assess the damage.

Every day we watch as the world withers away

Because of greed

We think that there is a right way, a right answer, a perfect puzzle piece

But instead what we realize is we will never truly be at peace

More will have to perish

We will continue to suffer in anguish

The movement will grow and die and shift and be infiltrated over and over

As we play this game of cat and mouse we can’t help but feel useless

We think we cannot possibly have power, when the forces that be literally decide what we can do to deserve to breathe.

It’s scary to think the next hashtag could be you or me

and it could happen at night

in the middle of your dreams

from Palestine to Ferguson to the mean playgrounds of Cleveland

where cops allow you 2 seconds before they’re convinced you’re a demon

Before they decide that you don’t deserve your life more than they do

Isnt that what they fall back on?

I was in fear for my life. I have a family to go home to.

Maybe we only need cops who are ready to die.

Or is that us?

Should we train our young men up to have a life expectancy of 17?

So there will be no disappointments. Have them live accelerated lives since in the eyes of society they age quick

Like 20 year old Tamir Rice,

how could the officer shoot before he could even blink twice?

How you got a BADGE but you afraid of a BABY??

Got me thinking like damn somethings really got to give now

I’m real anxious can’t sleep won’t eat

We know what thats about

I’m thinking what good is all of our work, art, expression, and preservation, when we are literally being attacked?

There is a slow genocide brewing on the horizon and a lot of Americans are taking this laying down.

It makes me wonder.

To what extent can you push the human race before it breaks the status quo and unleashes itself from its’ demons forever?

The cancer upon our earth is humans disconnect from nature.

The planet is being engulfed in white rage and fear. Supremacy and Privilege are a given…

I just can’t believe these negropeans justifying this hateful world that we live in

Cant find no peace nowhere

We have to create it within ourselves and allow it emanate, radiate, flow through us onto the universe.

Forever.

We have to promise ourselves forever

We have to show our teeth

and use em

We can’t be afraid of what they might do to us.

We are on the right side of history.

The side of justice and truth.

We are there. We are here. It is us. It is now.

We can devastate a sleeping nation…Tuck them in to sleep every night with a warm blanket of protests

Images of black and brown bodies in the streets

Just to show you what we see when we see

Mike Brown

Eric Garner

Kendrick Johnson

Lennon Lacy

John Crawford

Tamir Rice

Renisha McBride

Trayvon Martin

Jordan Davis

Israel Hernandez

Kaldrick Donald

and the list can go on for the next million tomorrows,

Like the hundreds of thousands of protesters around the country. The boycotts, the shut downs, the disobedience in every medium of communication.

People are saying something

Collectively speaking out,

Hoping to release this tight grip around their throats

like
Eric Garner

when officer decided to go for the throat

Not caring whether or not what he did was lethal

Cuz he knew either way the law would make it legal

Ivory harsh as ever against the ebony

Crushed red peppers

crush

crush

crush

I can’t breathe

officers continue to force him down to the concrete.

Head smashes pavement

And see the law continues to brutalize him

because they know for them that it is a solid win

Why? Because of Garner’s deep black skin

they see his whole existence as a BIG BLACK SIN

that’s all we are to them, puddles of black

we deserve nothing. not even a childhood. we deserve to lay dead out on the street

in the warm summer heat

for 4.5 hours.

instill fear in your community.

they take everything that’s “ours”

what are we doing?

I sometimes wake up and can’t believe aint shit changed!!

Scowl as I brush my teeth like why is my life the same

why do i turn on the news to see everyday

this one and that one, new black people slain

And now so many strangers approach me everyday,

I’m wondering if I’ll ever learn whose who, which ones are feds

laugh all you want but you know what they’ve did

you know if they need to they can make sure that you’re dead

Dead

dead

dead

a dog gets more respect and justice than you do.

America has officially spoken.

New name.

The United States of What The Fuck

#USWTF

Non-Profit Industrial Beast

I am sittin here on my bed with a 2 liter of Ginger Ale in my lap drinking straight from the bottle to relieve my tummy pains. I thought about so many things today thanks to the people I have been around at this 5 day training in Chicago, part of a program called Young People for the American Way.

It’s got me thinking a lot about the institutions of white supremacy and capitalism. I hear other fellows saying the same thing as me, as far as radicalism and progressivism. We understand that we can’t all the way be ourselves in YP4.

I hear the excuse we all give ourselves “opportunity to tailor what I take away from here to my own work and beliefs, networking with others like me, etc…”

It has got me questioning all that I believe and what my path in life is.

If we are so against the system why do we allow ourselves to be so controlled by it, thinking it’s in the interest of the greater good? We say that there are ways that capitalism and white supremacy play out in our lives and that we must build parallel institutions and stop subscribing to all the rules of these systems but then we make excuses for ourselves to join a Democratic or “non-Partisan” organization that focuses on traditional methods of civic engagement (ex. voting) and say that we are only doing it as a stepping stone to organize radically, to organize from the grass roots.

Why, though? Why do we allow some far off old white people to shell money out for our “cause” because they feel bad and maybe even complicit in the system? After all they are wealthy folk in America…

It leads me to wonder…are we perpetuating and condoning the status quo by actively participating in the system, in order to “change” it? Are we being distracted by larger powers to never make a qualitative change in the minds and hearts of our people?

Today, in one of our sessions, another radical person, a male identified person, who is also a feminist, said “we as people of color can be players in the institution of racism without being racist,” like the cop just doing her “job” or an elected official who has a hand in passing regressive laws, when it comes to human rights.

If we apply this same logic (which I strongly agree with, by the way) to the organizing we are doing, is the non-profit industrial complex not the same thing? A piece of the problem, a cog in the wheel of capitalism and white supremacy? And if our answer to that is yes, why is it that we make excuses for ourselves to be in the same space as people who have faith in creating a dependence on old rich white folk in order for us to be able to get into a space to talk about how oppressed peoples should change the world?

Let me try to draw a picture of that for you (if I do have any readers somewhere out there haha)

If you give a man to fish, he eats for a day. If you teach a man to fish he eats for a lifetime. Ever heard this parable?

Well it is a lie.

….Why?

Because of the way this country is set up. Ownership. If someone owns all the fishing poles and waterholes, she then can take away the ability for a person who can fish to be able to provide for themselves and their families. The “owner” of said means of production (fishing poles and waterholes) then has the right to bargain with the person in order for them to have access to fish. They can say “to fish here you must give me 80% of what you catch, and you can only fish on Tuesday mornings,” this restricts access to fish, so this person can no longer “eat for a lifetime,” if they cannot get access to waterholes/fishing poles.

(Youtube “Ed Whitfield fish”)

So, with that as a reference, “teaching a man to fish” or training oppressed peoples on movement work, is not going to help those people change their situation. It will create a dependency on the training/teaching entity (in this case YP4). Do we want to create a dependency on this arm of the system? Can we not train and organize ourselves?

Furthermore, when you look at people who join these types of organizations, they have the “opportunity” to move up in positions in these orgs and that is problematic as well. It is problematic because it is essentially exploitation.

Why? I think it makes people dependent, complacent and comfortable with the way the world is, and that’s scary. It is scary because is that why we do this work? To be told we’re are powerful, strong, the best of the best, and then stay within our bubble and get paid to do the same for others?

It is exploitation because it is a group of people using their resources to sift through our communities, find the “best and brightest” and “train them to be leaders” this creates a structure that says, there is a type of leadership worthy of learning these things and being mentored. While it sound fine and dandy it leaves me thinking.

I’m thinking that if we are saying we need entities like YP4 are we saying we are not capable of cooperatively owning our own resources like this and using a popular education method? Building a strong foundation from the ground up as opposed to this, essentially, trickle down progressive mindset? Or are we just being lazy. I’m tired of having to prove I’m worthy of being developed cuz I’m “so talented”

I’M WORTHY OF BEING DEVELOPED FOR THIS WORK BECAUSE I AM ON THE OPPRESSED END OF THIS SYSTEM. PERIOD.

And I shouldn’t have to abide by the restrictions put in place by these entities when it comes to movement work, like having to veil my radical identity around progressive white donors.

I, and other members of my community and oppressed communities alike, should be able to OWN THE MEANS OF PRODUCTION AND ACCESSIBILITY of movement resources etc.

Thank you.