Angela Y. Davis

The morning featured a host of speakers; well traveled women (and one man, my BFF) that gifted us gems from their hard-won perspectives. Each one of them taught us about how women (and one man!) leaders frame ally-ship in the disabled, LGBTQ, and medically underserved communities.

We listened intently and applauded appropriately, but we knew who we were really there to see: The incomparable Angela Davis! With almost 60 years of activism to call upon, she is one of the best examples of what a woman can achieve as an ally, activist, and thought leader.

Needless to say, I was HYPE!

Recalling some of her lived experiences, she painted a vivid picture of the past while gracefully imbuing the future with her personal brand of realistic utopian hope.

It’s possible, she told us, to take what we [women, and women of color] are often given – resistance, racism, sexism, and capitalism – and mold them into narratives of progress. Mold them into avenues for reprentation and justice.

Davis, now 73 (and trust, she look goood), was born in Birmingham, Alabama in a neighborhood knows as “Dynamite Hill”. Aptly named as it was a hot bed of racial conflict that manifested in frequent and gruesome attacks on black families and institutions. It was notorious for fires, bombings, and shootings incited by white residents to scare off black families.

Who would have thought such a rocky start would be the solid foundation for one of our nation’s most prominent thought leaders?

Without her, we couldn’t accurately address some of the gravest ills in our society. Without the language necessary to pinpoint the structural violence that marginalized people’s face, we cannot name and shame our oppressors and their wrong-doings. Language is the framework for our thoughts; a powerful tool in addressing injustice. A powerful weapon in disenfranchising those considered less powerful. Write them out, and write them off.

Davis created and popularized unprecedented terms  like “heteropatriarchy”, “clandestine racialization”, and the now-ubiquitous “prison industrial complex”. Without which we wouldn’t have tongue and teeth to know the horrid specters that wither and steal away many of our brothers and sisters.

Davis counseled us to find our niches in the struggle. To use our gifts and passions in service to others. Perhaps, she queried, that protesting or community organizing isn’t the best use of our particular talents; that our voices may take the forms of paint and brush, song and dance, or pen and paper. But each, she asserts, is necessary. Vital. We’re not far off from a great change, she believes. And although it may not happen in her lifetime, she will be there in spirit because she labored, in part, to create it.

See Angela speak! Watch in 1080p!

Teaching, leading, writing, and always challenging. She is the ultimate #wcw ūü§§ūüėć
Roze Goes… crushing

Tally Taught Me

Looking over the house delegations in the gallery, watching representatives from all over the state, something occurred to me…

Seeing everyday people, community members, and first-time advocates use their voices and lived experiences to address OUR public servants taught me…

Observing predominantly conservative, old, white men in positions of power; long-held and feircly-defended seats that govern diverse commuities disheartened me…

Watching the important people; legislators and influencers of community-building (and often destroying) policy get just a little bit TOO lit reminded me…

Running into alumni, impassioned young aids, and burgeoning politicians somehow both jaded and brimming with idealism showed me…

… that how it is kinda sucks, but can be changed.

… that the established paths to progress, although fraught with beauraucratic potholes, are not the only ones by which we can travel.

… that we need to arm ourselves more deliberately with knowledge concerning healthcare, public policy, education, and our power as constituents.

Now more than ever we need fresh eyes, strong hands, bigger hearts, and more feet on the ground. Less heads buried in the sand.

They have red tape. We are scissors.

 

Roze Goes,

… to Tallahassee, and comes back changed. I’m woke as a MF!

 

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Living to Death!

I have a sneaking suspicion that I’m not supposed to be here. That I’m being Inception-ed. 

For as long as I can remember, I have felt out of place. Not weird. Well, not just weird. Other. Like I don’t believe I’m from this world. Or this time in this world. What’s the opposite of an old soul? 

No skipping and definitely no backsies. 

Till then I’m the slowest time traveler to ever do it. Traveling at the speed of a life. At the speed of death. An average of 78 years with modern medicines and moderate diet and exercise. Coordinates: unknown. Arrival time: death. The most futuristic I will ever be. 

Every moment simultaneously the youngest I will ever be, and the oldest I’ve ever been. Feeling more, doing more, influencing more, to impact the future I was sent from. What’s the opposite of Terminator? Mission: live to death.

Clearly I’ve watched a lot of movies. 

Roze Goes… TO THE FUTURE!!!

February 14th is a Tuesday.

That’s it. It’s just a day. But, as powerful sentient beings we choose and create occasions to venerate. We make important that which we desire. Craft the world around us. Curate our experiences. Choose the people in our lives like players in a roster. Feed what we want to grow. Thus, an international outpouring of infatuate love. Valentine’s Day, and all the meaning that we’ve assigned it, could just as well be July 9th, or October 30th! {hint!}

Don’t get lost. Don’t forget about Black History Month! Remember to assign meaning to things on your own terms. You can’t be upset by something that never had power. Something that was never significant enough to disturb your peace. Don’t let Valentines Day be the dam in your river; even if you and your boo are #relationshipgoals

Be the sky; regardless of clouds or rain.

Today Valentine’s Day looks like this for me:

It started with fitful sleep and fearful dreams. I love myself. Then an overdraft notification. I love myself. Then I made lunch without pants. Super love myself. A great workout! I’m seeing the results of loving myself. Got dressed up cute. I love me… and makeup! Now I’m hammering it out at work. Giving 100%. I love my professional self, even while I’m looking for other opportunities, and figuring it out as I go.

I love you, too!

Roze Goes… to Taco Tuesday!

                                           

…Last year’s V-Day post…

Happy Valentimes Day

Let me first start off by stating that I absolutely HATE when people pronounce it “Valentimes Day”. When is Valentime? Point to it on a clock! When in the calendar year is it Valentime!? If you pronounce it this way, you don’t deserve any chalky heart-shaped antacid candies.¬† deserve to eat ONLY chalky heart-shaped antacid candies! FOREVER!!!

Moving on…

Pal-entine’s Day, Gal-entine’s Day, Single’s Awareness Day… For semi-Bitter Bettys and Barrys such as myself, this past February 14th took on a slightly different tone than the mainstream. For many of us it was a silent massacre. Millions of eligible bachelor’s and bachelorette’s unwanted bodies strewn about highways and workplaces; their faces twisted in agony with cold eyes glossed over. Tortured mercilessly, some for days, with your stories of how “Bae surprised me. He/She/It/They are sooo thoughtful!” We leapt like lemmings to our deaths.

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As if you didn’t know you were single on the 13th !

For me, it consisted of staring at my phone, rolling/thrashing on the couch, and sort of mumble-sobbing. Mind you, I’m usually that emotional on every other day, it just FELT more poignant on that day… you know, on account of the nationwide peer pressure. (Note to whomever: DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT get onto any social media on any holiday ever! Just don’t. Even Leif Ericsson Day.)

Moving on…

Read the rest of the post Here!

 

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#notmyprince 

Mine will be the only wedding I consider royal! The only Prince we acknowledge was from Minnesota! Colonists! Why is this still a thing? Symbolic decadence in the face of abject poverty. Countries that have irreconcilable histories. Potential that was stamped out before it could sprout from the seed. We will never know what could have been. Xamayca lost.

http://news.nationalpost.com/news/cricket-and-colonialism-prince-harrys-tour-of-caribbean-sparks-notmyprince-campaign/

 

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