Raising Free Children, Resisting "Ally" Cookies

Longish story and reflection mostly directed towards my white friends here. Please no cookies in the comments.

Story: The Boy is at Aquarium camp this week so we took the train home together during rush hour (OMG it was amazing I appreciate his presence so much). This dude is currently obsessed with the early history of the US and enjoys sharing facts back and forth, I had none so I did my Googles and played along. The fact I find to share had the word slave in the sentence twice. I read it to him and interrupted myself, "Honey, I misspoke. I'd like you to try something with me. Let's not say slaves anymore, let's say enslaved people. When we say slave it makes it their whole identity, not people not human, but slaves. When we say enslaved people it honors that they are human, and recognizes that something was done to them." 

Now like, I know that's a lot y'all but The Boy is really smart. He gives me his thinking face (pushing his loose tooth out sideways between his lips which makes me gag) for 10 seconds. Then he says "Actually that makes a lot of sense. I don't understand why people don't say it that way.... ...... wait they probably said it that way on purpose cos like you can't call someone a person and be ok slaving them, right? Like right?"

I'm like, right. Convo and commute continue. We get off the train and on the escalator behind us a man who is Black and maybe 10 years older than me taps me on the shoulder. He overheard our conversation and with a warm smile thanked me for having real conversations with my child about this country's racist history.

Reflection: I feel like urban whites my age and sheltered suburban whites of any age are surprised at the racist times we are living in. White people need to be personally affected to be aware. Inexcusable ignorance and a disgusting reality. I see memes with quotes like "if you wondered what you would do in Civil Rights, whatever you're doing now is your answer." The shit is daunting and overwhelming, but no action is action. And sometimes action doesn't feel like much, but telling the truth within our families IS action. You don't need to aggressively "check" people left and right to make a difference, you could mention to your coworker that they often describe Black youth as "well spoken" but have never described a white youth that way. Not everything has to be a GOTCHA to be meaningful.

We also need to do this when no people of color are watching. With our white friends, in our white workplaces, and in our white families. Performance is worthless so if you only speak up when it's convenient or when people of color can witness it, you have more work to do. It's also ok to feel good about making someone else feel good without trying to. My good white person cookie tasted sweet today and I had to check myself when I ate it on instinct.

#nocookies #cantbestillonamovingtrain #teachthebabies

From the Vault: What do you believe in?

October 7, 2009

I believe in my child
in his innocence
his snot and sweat and kisses
I believe in smiles upon waking
which make me believe change is real
I believe in the brown walls of my girl-selfs home
and though it is broken I am not
I believe in courage. 
I hold it in my vulnerability.
I water it with faith and trust and openness

I have seen an abused woman turn abuser 
slinging insults and fists like lightning bolts
I have seen my father cry
leaving me behind
knowing it was the only way for us both to survive
I have seen the waters of the Sumpul
where tragedy flows red
and
the reclamation of that life source

I have had a partner stolen from me time and again.
Cos once you've been in
that's likely where you will end
I have been called a whore and a slut
because I like to fuck
and that's not okay for a proper lady to do
I have been denied pride
the confidence to walk with my head high
and the ability to tell truth from lie 
because I just want to be loved.

And if I can do anything at all I can
raise my boy to be a man
and that man does not equal
violence hate or posturing
but compassion equity and justice
I believe in my child
In being broken and rebuilt
In the courage to lay bare your soul 
regardless of unconfirmed judges
And I know
that with love work and hope
Mamas can raise babies who might not need as much rebuilding




**Written using a Reflect & Strengthen Our Sister's Behind the Wall writing prompt based on Assata Shakur's 'i believe in living'

A love note to music educators...

Yesterday I was outside Berklee waiting for the listening session to start and a couple yards away I spotted one of my former instructors speaking to a summer student. I watched her face, and mannerisms. I watched the student too, she was looking up at the instructor with so much respect and admiration, I could see the same feelings reflected back to the young student from the instructor. I couldn't hear their words but the tone was bubbling and happy. It was beautiful to watch because that same instructor had drawn out that same smile and energy from me numerous times. They said their goodbyes and parted ways, the instructor turned around and saw me smiling at her I said "Hey Darcel!" and she responded "OH MY GOD ALEXIA!!" and embraced me.

I was Darcel Wilson's student 17 years ago in the early years of City Music when we still called it SYSTEM-5. I was one of many vocalists in her ensemble, and far from the strongest one. I would spend the next 17 years graduating from CRLS, participating in SYSTEM-5 and 5 Week, and then the long and winding 13.5 year path to graduation from Berklee. Darcel has taught THOUSANDS of students over the years but she remembered me when I was absolutely certain she wouldn't. My heart boomed. I wanted to cry tears of... I don't know... joy? Recognition? Realness? (but obvs I didn't because mascara, duh!)

Berklee is a bustling place, it can feel like a revolving door. If you aren't a part of Singer's Showcase, it feels like you are nobody. Seeing Darcel reminded me I am one of thousands, but I AM ONE. I was not and am not invisible. Life really isn't about "who you know", but who knows you, and I needed that. <3 <3 <3

The false equivalency of #BlackLivesMatter and... Almost everything else

White folks, please read the whole thing so you don't take this as a personal attack because it isn't. 

I'm having a moment of realization around how hard many white people are pushing back against the Black Lives Matter movement/Civil Rights Reboot... it is still white supremacy at the core, however I'm noticing one particular manifestation of white supremacy - the myth of "Bootstraps" and the lack of empathy that creates, which leads to the "what about me and my struggles" reaction that clouds the vision of many. 

My mother died of AIDS – She deserves more than stigma

Today is World AIDS Day. On March 11^th of this year, my mother died of AIDS-related encephalopathy. My mother was an activist, a southern belle trapped in the north, a grandmother, and a recovering addict. In her life she survived multiple rapes and attacks on her humanity. She overcame drug addiction and homelessness. She turned her “tragedy to triumph” (yes Kanye) when she became a national advocate for ending homelessness in the HIV/AIDS community. She served on the first five years of the historic Massachusetts Ryan White Planning Council.  She lived with HIV for 16 years.

I write this because even at the time of her passing some of my closest friends did not know what she was dying from. In my heart I knew I was not ashamed of her status, so why was I being evasive?

Save #InvestInBoston

So your boy Mumbles pulled some corny stuff and vetoed Invest In Boston which passed in the city council unanimously. Please see action steps below and take them. This is Councillor Felix G. Arroyo's signature piece of legislation, we owe him this. Let's make sure it doesn't get lost in the power games of a rapidly shifting political landscape. ("thanks for feeling me on this y'all")

Another Summer (Annalisse) 4/26/07

We made it through Winter
We made it through Fall
Made it through the Spring
Hard times and all
But it feels good to see Another Summer

This morning I saw leaves on the trees
It felt like rebirth
Winters have become so cold here,
It sometimes feels like the frost will never break
The cold sets deep into the bones
The sun rarely shines
And then….in a cosmic plan
That you nor I could ever understand

What Happens When White People Are Finally Othered: @JenthePen vs @RaqiThunda

Last week on Love and Hip Hop NY, after arguing with Raqi Thunda about the dissolution of their radio show that never quite happened, Jen “the Pen” Bayer let her white privilege show.  From the street Raqi, an Algerian-Puerto Rican Muslim, jabs “Good luck getting on!”. To which Jen responds, from her chauffeured car, window half closed, “I’m white, honey. It will get done.” Everyone watching, and I’m sure everyone who worked on the show, had a gut level response to her statement. Raqi read the situation perfectly and responded by calling Jen an “entitled honky”. Live tweeting during the episode @JenthePen posted this in response to people calling her racist:

HERE is where the actual problem lies.

Race, Equity & Impact at Berklee College of Music

As graduating seniors in the Professional Music major we are charged with designing and executing a project that reflects both our studies at Berklee and the careers we will be entering. I came to the Professional Music department one semester shy of a Music Business/Management degree and four years after the birth of my son. The focus of my course work in MB/M was organizational structure, business systems, entrepreneurship, and ethics in leadership. In my life and work outside of Berklee I have been an educator, organizer, and leader in the movement for social and racial justice. Since my days as a City Music student in my teens, I had always desired an intersection of my studies at Berklee and my activism but never found the right outlet. When I met with Kenn Brass to join the department and learned of the structure of the final project I realized this was my opportunity.

Recent writings on the way!!

Last month after finding my blog one of my political connects suggested I write more. At first I was like *side eye* I write all the time. My work is writing (grants, newsletters, development strategies) and since I went back to Berklee in June I had been writing even more, just in a different manner than what I would blog. BUT since some of my academic writing is dope, I'm going to share it. I did want to offer some context though. Enjoy!!

What's Going On? (2006)

In Boston 2005, 75 people died of murder
75 mothers cried and further
If all you get from that is a statistic
The point of this,
You missed it
I don’t claim to be a mystic
But I do have faith
That we as a people are great and it is not our fate that
Dorchester 2006 looks like Greenwood Tulsa 1921
And asking each other ‘What’s Going On?’ Is not enough
We must ask the mayor 'What’s Going On?'
Ask the Governer 'What’s Going On?'
Ask the President’s puppeteers 'What’s Going On? '
Cos Marvin wrote that song in the 70’s and this shit is STILL GOING ON
We need to speak truth to power
And fighting for justice is not easy
But believe me when I say that change is coming
The masses are restless
And I dare you to test this
Cos in this chest beats the heart of a warrior
It isn't coincidence we can’t see another way out
Because the Government and big business have more than clout
They have money
And when your mother and baby are at home hungry
You will do what needs to be done
Even if it involves picking up a gun
I as one who cares know that it is not fair
Choices limited by systems we livin in.
This country cant even take care of it’s own
11 dead at the Super Dome
And a pregnant mother left alone on a rooftop for 6 days
Not enough relief workers to save the day
Because they are 15,000 miles away spreading democracy
Spreading hypocrisy
It’s odd to me that more of us are not rebelling against what we've been taught to be.
Holes in the ozone the size of ten football fields
Eleven year old suburban kids talkin bout "Keep it real"
Thousands dying in Palestine and Lebanon
And we are still asking what's going on?

Don't mess with "my" man

This shit is all about claiming. I had a cute, cerebral intro about the intricacies of relationships, but no... This is about "That's MINE." I can't help but think about all the grief Emily B has gotten for claiming a man who doesn't claim her. But I think I have solved the Rubik's cube that is the claim.

When a woman says "that's my man", what she really means is "I am his woman". She means I am dedicated to him, I support him, and I am loyal to him. To me that sounds like a declaration of fealty. Like she is pledging herself to him, which logically would make her his, not the other way around.

When men say "that's my woman" they mean "that's my woman"... i.e. That belongs to me. Not I belong to her. Now when women hear a man say "that's my woman", since we conflate our pledge of dedication with it being reciprocated we hear "I'm her man". Titling yourself or someone else does not imply they will do the same, and better yet it does not imply their behavior will be satisfactory.

So basically, we are out here reverse claiming. Next time call it what it is, not what you want it to be.

Biggie as a son. Thinking about mothering.

Biggie as a son. Thinking about mothering. Follow me if you will...

Today marks 15 years since the murder of Biggie. Even though I wouldn't consider myself a Biggie "fan", I LOVE his talent, brilliance, raw emotion, and deep analysis. He changed the game, period. He was also more than a musician, he was a father, hustler, friend, and SON... a piece of his identity he often referenced (noting either his fathers absence or mothers presence), and his mother was well known even before his passing.

While reading status after status and tweet after tweet, and watching classic BIG clips I was paused. The post of my lost friends mother, publicly feeling her own sons murder, caught me. She probably never heard him spit BIG lyrics like I did, or had any idea the significance of March 9th, she just missed her son right now. Erik made it past 30. BIG didn't see 25. As a mother to a son it hurts and scares me in a way different from many.

It also makes me proud that Boston has institutions like the PI and sisterhoods like MJE because while we work towards losing less sons, we still need the support and guidance out of the trauma.

Rest in power BIG and E. Love and respect to Voletta and Bellie. Guard them well and tell your sons: