Colorism runs deeper than we can ever imagine. The offspring of Massuh's rape/brutality have often times become the respected/accepted forms of blackness. With that reality, collective we cannot even begin to fathom the depths of our doom. We have a lot of work to do. In that, I realize just how revolutionary black love is.

Space and Place

Getting rid of a physical space means nothing when the system that allowed it to exist and thrive in the first place is going strong. The individual actors that kept the place in function can and will be transferred out to continue their work elsewhere. We must not lose sight of that.

You must get to the root of whatever caused conflict. You can always burn down a space and rebuild it somewhere else when the materials and manpower remain unchanged.

Check in with your village.

If there's one thing we know as beautifully melanated people, it's that we are powerful beyond measure.

After all that we have been through, we still get up the next morning and set out to walk in our greatness yet again. It is my firm belief that a significant part of that is due to the uplifting of our community. We are our brothers' and sisters' keeper (I acknowledge that at times this may not appear to be our reality but we must be critical of why that is). In the past two and a half years, I have learned a lot about the power of the village. Moving to Minnesota from the DM(V) [Virginia is on probation since declaring Donald Trump the winner of their primary] has been a life changing experience. I have been and am still currently within a culture shock from seeing endless possibilities for us where I call home [PG County represent], to a stifling in what we are capable of as beautifully melanated people.

I now check multiple privileges that I had not realized that I had from having many, many black teachers to seeing black love any and everywhere on a daily basis. My new norm is tragic, and even more tragic is that it's been the only norm that many others that look like me have. I had a Hmong friend tell me in class that before moving to Virginia, she did not know that black people could do well, being from Minnesota. That terrifies me and should terrify you as well. But back to my initial point, there is power in being your brothers' and your sisters' keeper. There is great responsibility to be your brothers' and your sisters' keeper. We deserve to be our brothers' and our sisters' keeper. At times, I find myself envisioning what our ancestors went through. I imagine what it must have been like to be rendered useless as one of your brothers or sisters was suffering, and looking into your eyes in a cry for help, only for you to intentionally not have the power to do anything to aide them. Your intervention became a matter of life or death. Your own body was not even yours to keep. We are still dealing with the pains of our past whether we acknowledge that or not; as we should be. But as we do, we need to keep one another uplifted. We need to hold one another close. We need to share our knowledge with one another. We have a responsibility that we are strategically kept from acting on, that we can act on today. We have to keep the village uplifted and check in with that village as often as we can. We should be intentional about maintaining the village because for so many of us, the village is all we have.

I am grateful for my village. When I got to Minnesota, within days I swore I would be on the first flight out of there, but soon enough I met amazinggggggggg people, and they are my village. On any given day, when I find myself consumed by the weight of the ills of the world, with a few keystrokes, someone is on the other end of a text or phone call saying that they are on their way or knowing exactly what to say to get me right. I appreciate that. My village shows up and my village is always on time (you'll learn I ALWAYS appreciate a good throwback).