Being Livid at a Decisive Time
In short, I want to say that I am very angry.
We live in an obdurately anti-Black world. The despising of Blackness runs so deep, it’s embedded even in the psyche of Black people that we are “less than” by design and can only escape this condemned state by seeking to take on white features, ways and ideologies, to the betrayal of our Divine nature. While whiteness hazes some of us, it’s concurrently flanking ALL Black people with injustice that’s designed to break our minds into submission to oppression: The murder of our people is shrugged, the whites who murder us go on acquitted and unpunished; and the vicious evils against Black women in particular are denoted, reported on, studied, observed—and, in near celebratory fashion, unchanged. It seems as though Black people are expected to tolerate the evils woven around our heels in this world as designated reality. We are perpetually disregarded, demeaned, withheld from, plotted against and despised. Racism’s insidiousness is heavy on the spirit and can cause dismay to poison the marrow.
You can feel that whites want to bring Black people to a breaking point with the incessant pardoning of evil white men, firing of Black women, exalting of mediocre white youth, criminalizing of Black youth; condemning and executing of Black people whilst there is the reign of rescuing and salvaging foolish, psychopathic whites for promotion and investment… The rhythm of injustice is twisted, arrhythmic.
For about three years now (aka being in my 30s), I’ve experienced and sat with new sensations of rage and grief coursing through my being in witnessing sinister, demoralizing dynamics that serve to the bludgeoning of the Black psyche and the presumptuousness of whiteness: the erasure of Black people’s legacies, the killing of Black children, the sabotaging of Black people’s work, the technology of whites’ dehumanization of Black lives; the manifold attempts to strip us of our dignity (as if the lowest caste is reserved for us); the routine publishing of subtle and overt stereotypes portraying us in derogatory light that “justifies” our treatment and restricted mobility in society… And the more I read and research history, the more I realize: these dynamics are not being created they’re being maintained. Through the generations, the beast of white supremacy, colonization, and imperialism fed by chattel slavery has just changed form.
Now, note: If I sound like I’m just learning this, in a way I am: I was homeschooled in a predominantly Black city where whiteness was seldom part of my daily life. In short, I’ve never had to deal with racism from a social (face to face) standpoint (though from an environmental/civil engineering level, yes.) until recent years (—and I’m not complaining. I’m happy my innocence was preserved for so long, haha). Living in TX has placed me flush against dynamics I’ve never encountered; scathing environments typified by white myopia and racist panic that upends and shapes Black people’s world, alters our day to day realities and puts us in persistent danger just because a white refuses to remove their blinders... This place (in zip code and in my sojourn) has driven me to read more Black history (because homeschool curricula and google back in the day were NOT on the side of educating Black folks— and add being a christian to the mix), and learn/consider the many existing facets of anti-Blackness of which I’ve long been unaware by default of circumstance.
And truthfully, from here I have to wage warfare against the consternation of discouragement. Because the devils I/we are facing today have been waging genocidal war against us in every way imaginable and unimaginable for centuries. What makes me feel I have any form of “solution” against such monstrosities???
As an outsider artist, I naturally process my feelings through my body work (mostly with the intent to keep it for myself, if I’m being perfectly honest). And as a diarist, I keep records of my personal thoughts and witness statements archived in my journals.
This season, I‘ve set out to create works that are a series of reminders as to what we as Black women (descended from the Transatlantic Slave Trade) represent in this world as the plot twist, and what our [spiritual, social, cultural] responsibility is to our present, past and future with our written and declared words. The process of creating these works has kept me charged.
I refuse to accept the languish and anguish of defeat and I refuse to nurture discouragement, amnesia and hopelessness in a set of systems that “needs” Black women to exist in and move from the recesses of those dark places. Resolutely, I also refuse to allow the calories, fiber, timbre or concepts of my art/work to acquit the perpetrators (and their descendants) of atrocity of every size, volume and intensity against my people.
Reminder No. 1 : You are a Firmament.
Last year on my 33rd birthday, I was in a meditative state washing dishes, asking the Most High for the words for what was tangibly a new season. I expected a journal entry. Instead, I heard the whisper in my spirit “You are a firmament”. While there were personal layers I had to work through with that word, the rest I was eventually released to share with you with the “Firmament” offerings. The work itself aside, let’s get to the takeaway. The firmament is the vault of heavens above us. It’s where the messages of the luminaries (sun, moon, stars) are displayed— messages that told Nat Turner when to kill, directed Harriet Tubman to freedom, and taught Benjamin Bannecker to tell time. The firmament displays that which is powerful and that which is calendar. A host for the phenomenal, it signals with an untouchable, vast and resolute dignity that shines in Blackness— just like you, Black woman.
Times like these— where the current regime of white nationalism is resurrecting ancient demons to exact a targeted, insidious, strategic rage against Black people— I am burdened with thoughts of what I am to do. It’s a cocktail of strong emotions that teeter the brink of sadness and resolution. I feel responsible and responsive, and want to be wise in my responses to the pretentious audacity of antiBlackness. Demonic attacks usually start with attacking your motivation and from there, eating away at your timing by eroding your passion to accomplish your mandate. It’s that simple. I understand that the concert of evils strutting about are meant to displace Black people from the distinction and weaponry of our birthrights through manifold demoralization. I understand that for us to be the plot twist there has to be a plot against us, which is why I am girded with courage to make work that echoes and fortifies Black women with reminders for their remembering work; for the memories that must travel through their being to nurture their resolve to be on time and in time while holding fast to vigilance.
In reminding the me, we, and us of who we are and what is our phenomena, I’m brought back to the reminder that we are firmamental beings.
And what does firmament do when it’s enraged? It thunders and lightnings.
The past three years have been an new experience in navigating a world that despises Black people with a specific type of diabolical evil. There’s emotions I have felt for the first time… pain, mourning, and the naming of a type of grief that’s not new to my DNA but is new to me in this iteration of my existence. It’s been challenging sorting mandate from the slew of heavy emotions, but I know I am not alone in this, and celebrate those of you persevering alongside me as the intricacies of the wickedness against us weave tighter and the implications of what we must choose from places of spiritual integrity, unwavering conviction, cultural sovereignty, great discernment and unbought focus burning brighter in our souls.
While I design and create tools for analog remembrance, I also encourage myself with new forms of scripture:
“ The insensate slave masters left no stone unturned in conditioning oppressed Blacks to meekly accept their miserable lot. The Black masses’ fate was presented as being inseparable from the will of the white man.…
…times have changed. These changes do not bear very good tidings for the perennial and brutal oppressor, dehumanizer and exploiter of our people… our greatest enemy is our defeatist attitude. Our oppressor’s greatest weapon of repression is his psychological apparatus by which he impregnates our people with a defeatist complex… The sweetest fruits of liberty are plucked by those who readily display boldness and daring.”
— The Crusader May/June 1964 issue*
Finally, I want to say this: While I was raised and still am quite sheltered, I do not create from a place of insouciance. I too carry testament, and hope that anything I am privileged to create for you validates and affirms the testimonies and testaments you create and are meant to preserve in these times. I love you/we/us with a love that says let us come to our right minds. Let us exorcise the colonizer from our beings and keep the words that dismantle his violence in every facet.
In hope and glory,
Keep your head up, Black Woman!
Chimene
* Williams, Mabel, and Robert F. Williams. “USA: The Potential of a Minority Revolution Part One.” 30 Seconds to Zero, Second ed., Rookery Press, New York, New York, 2023, pp. 216–217.
