Admission is the first step; I am a work-a-holic. I am actively taking steps to become a recovering work-a-holic. I woke up this morning with one thing on my mind: to tend to my needs first. To check-in with myself and to step away from work, I often take walks. While walking, one of my favorite things to do is to listen to an insightful podcast. This morning, I found myself working double-time to focus on each speaker’s voice and message on each podcast, but I couldn’t do it. My mind kept replaying all of the things that took place this week. As I continued to walk, rewinding, and fast-forwarding through each mental clip from the week’s happenings, my soul began to feel heavier and heavier with each footstep. There were moments during the walk where my anxiety manifests in the physical form. I experienced an increase in my heart rate and short burst of air in my lungs. I began to replay the pain of every tortured soul that I encountered this week.
I am typically pretty level-headed and can find the opportunity in each misfortune. I found myself second-guessing my instincts and honestly allowing cynicism to take root. The question that I cannot answer for myself is, “why will this time be any different?” My asking of this question is not born out of bitterness, but of realness. To end the murder of black people in America at the hands of those who commit themselves “to serve and to protect” will require more than police training and invokes the need for the end of systemic racism. Dr. Jelani Cobb, of Columbia University, shares that corrupt and murderous police practices are a symptom of ills of our country that are far greater than the police force.
To place your knee on another human’s neck for 8 minutes and 46 seconds, is not about training; it is a mentality, a mindset, a belief. A mentality, a mindset, a belief that millions of people in America share that in this country that being black is somehow less than human, and that black lives matter less. To shift the mindset of a people who have benefited from the enslavement and disenfranchisement of black people in this country would take more than an act of Congress. It would take an act of God. Philosophers such as Socrates, have argued that humans’ inherent nature is one of selfishness. Although other philosophers advocate that people tend to act in favor of the “good of the group” when placed in situations where they must collaborate; this latter perspective is more positive, but it still doesn’t give me much hope.
When I think about my visit to the National Museum of African American History and Culture in Washington, DC, last summer, I remember the feelings of rage. I was enraged after seeing the wealth created from the back-breaking work, destruction of family units, rape, brutality, and murder of my ancestors who were stolen from their country to toil the American fields, to fight in American wars, and to build American monuments even though their rights are absent from the US constitution. It was yet another reminder of just how much they have the deck stacked against us. I ask myself, why would someone give up their privilege and/or wealth after all these years so that people like me can have several seats at the table? Why would they dismantle their system of generational wealth that provides the financial stability of their families for generations to come? Why would anyone forfeit their quality of life, healthcare, and even their wealth to ensure that black people in this country after nearly 500 years can experience the fruits of their ancestors’ labor? It seems inconceivable. I keep reciting the words of Jesus “with man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible” (Matthew 19:26). I wonder if I say it 100 more times if it will stick so that I can feel a little more hopeful.
I am a fighter. I am all about doing things that seem to be and what others believe is impossible. I am taking steps to figure out where I can have the most impact. This morning I took the time to donate to causes to end systemic racism. I support every person who is using their bodies and voices to protest across the world. However, I realize that I can do more even if I can’t quite see the road ahead. In the role that I play in an education organization, one could say that I have a seat at the table. I am often in the room when our executive team makes, discusses, and shares the decisions that impact our staff members and the thousands of students that we serve.
This week being in the room felt more like a two-ton brick placed on my shoulders. As one of three minorities on the team, I often found myself feeling as if I was having an out of body experience when listening to the dialogue about “what we were going to do.” I also heard the whispers of the African-American team members echo in my ears who spent the week distressed, angered, and disgusted with the matters of the world, the racial conditions within our organization, and our organization’s response to current events or lack thereof. I experienced the magnitude of the burden of being black, female, and in a position of “power” in this organization like none other this week. To educate my colleagues on what actions to take when they have little comfort in responding in this space, and to keep the needs of those who expect change tomorrow front of mind, while also trying to ensure we all have something to return to in the fall when parents and students will expect us to deliver high-quality daily instruction in some form was more than I could bear. Today, I am going to sit with my feelings and listen to Audre Lorde’s urgings that “caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.”
A few years back, my best friend took me to see Hamilton on Broadway, in New York. It is, by far, the best musical that I have ever seen—several of the tunes from the musical stick with me. One that played in my mind this morning is “The Room Where it Happens.” In the musical toward the end of the tune Alexander Hamilton says the following to Aaron Burr:
“Hold your nose and close your eyes.
We want our leaders to save the day.
But we don’t get a say in what they trade away.
We dream of a brand new start.
But we dream in the dark for the most part.
Dark as a tomb where it happens
I’ve got to be in the room (where it happens).”
So today, I will take care of my mind, body, and soul. But on Monday, I need to be ready to assume my seat at the table that my ancestors could have never imagined having the opportunity to have. On Monday, I need to thank God for keeping me in my right mind and having the wit and intellect to enter the room with both courage and confidence. On Monday, I need to be ready to fight for what is right in the room where it happens.
40 Years & Counting 