Thirty Rotations - A Letter to My Past and Future Self
I'm writing this from Brooklyn and will probably be at work as you read it. Today's the day I came into this world, and I think about it a lot in the months leading up to and those following it. It is both a form of rebellion to continue to exist in a world that does everything it can to prevent African people from existing and a source of constant heartache as the end of it never seems to come, despite whatever gains the people may attain.
A few days ago in my journal, I wrote the following as a note to myself fifteen years ago:
I know you're expecting to be at some big science school. Ms. Duncan affirmed how much you enjoyed the stars. Ms. Mason, Ms. Lawes, Ms. Smith, Ms. Burrows and Dr. Sealy all pushed you in different directions to understand what it meant to learn and it defines how you choose to challenge what you see as reality today. You had a community that couldn't stand your guts but empowered your will and enjoyed your presence. Never forget that petition; Mr. Ambrose gave you the first form of political action!
You were looking at MIT as an option. You couldn't afford it. You couldn't afford the training to help you get the free classes. That much you knew. You didn't know then that you couldn't expend the mental energy to get where you wanted to because racism - beyond what you understood - made you feel like it was impossible for you to ask for help. None of this is your fault. I want you to know, Jacky, pitit Jacky, that you did not create this world - you only live in it. But that will not stop you from doing what you set out to do. You got lucky.
Love is not as cut and dry as it seems and ironically it's so easy to let it wash over you. It's going to change a lot of how you view the world. It's funny because you've always had it. You never lost it. If anything, it's been pushed down and hidden because love is what keeps you alive. It is the fire that emboldens all of your actions. It is the warmth that pushes you to rest and to rise. It is the source of the constant joy you have and the echoing of the quippy nature you've already become known for.
I love you, Jacky. Happy birthday, ti gason. Kounye a al manje; ou konnen gen manje nan recho a.
I hated high school with a passion. I did everything I could outside skipping the SHSAT itself to avoid leaving the small enclave of community I had in my neighborhood-zoned school. My father didn't care too much about what I wanted, only about he deemed to be important, regardless of the harm it'd cause me. I mention this because that place was the last place for a long time that I felt safe as a young Black boy. A decade and change later, I am still afraid. I would be lying (and I believe most Black men are) if I said that I felt safe - not physically, but mentally. Patriarchy has taught me that I am allowed to be violent, but racism demands death in the wake of my outbursts of violence. It is maddening to be a marooned African that wants nothing more than to help end the cycle of fear-based subjection instilled into Black youth in this world. High school taught me that despite what I know and have learned, if I do not abide by the unjust law, I will be punished. I'll be removed from my peers and put into isolating spaces - spaces that are innocent-looking in nature, but places that prime us to be fearful of engaging those taken away by enforcers of the authority we live under. I don't say this lightly - fuck David Newman, the current principal of Brooklyn Tech and Randy Asher, then-principal, for their constant bereavement and belittling of Black youth during my tenure at that school. I hate that we continue to accept "administration" that reinforces the post-colonial, law-and-order centric police culture at a young state to a point that it becomes glamorous to uphold it; a remaking of Black respectability. And that it's the best conventional decision to avoid any sort of young academic spaces where children and youth can revel in said youth and not need to be constantly vigilant of breaking the pre-adult law. My education did not come from that place, and I will never feel proud for going to such a place; I spit on it every time I pass by.
I managed to leave New York on a merit basis to begin my life in the techno-fascist meta-industry cutely called "Silicon Valley". It's safe to say that I also no longer identity as an endorser or supporter of the perverted, racist and oligarchical nature of the industry. It's something I had to experience first-hand and as this is my most lucrative means of sustainability for myself and those I care to support; I've transitioned away from the explicitly vile facets of the industry as much as I could into a place where I could feel some level of safety in the work that I do. Even that, as documented about the nature of non-profit organizations, has led me to join new fights in favor of the people. I know for a fact that this was not the path I saw myself on ten years ago, nor can I accurately see where I'll be in another decade - that's a luxury afforded to those who have security in self and stability in their identity, something I'm still working on. I am constantly evolving as I've discovered my queerness, rejected the collective obsession with the inherently violent American project and continue the extremely difficult work of working against (if not removing) the influences and teachings of white imperialist patriarchal masculinity forced upon me through European religion, culture, society and the environments I grew up in. One's human nature is heavily affected by their material conditions.
Contrary to the belief of some, I do enjoy my birthdays. It is a reminder that I've managed to keep it together for another 365ish days, and that in itself is a profound statement. I aim to spend them as quietly as possible. In this landscape of noise, vapid "entertainment" held over community building and the constant need to spend and consume, meant to break us from what we were once so attuned to - I crave peace. I wrestle with wanting to constantly "do" and expending myself to my limits, so having a chance of expressing an authoritative and unquestionable no to everything - to no societal labor, to choosing solitude, to relax on my own terms - is something I cling to as a privilege and a joy. I say that while also being at work; I'm not perfect, and I still live under capitalism. I think about my mother who took time off just to spend it with us as we didn't see her a lot during the day. I think of the community members who always hyped me up when I came back to town, knowing things about me, things I never communicated with them, but they were proud to see nonetheless. I'm always happy to have people who express love in ways many don't see because they're the reason I fight so hard for us to be free - free in the ways our ancestors actually wanted us to be.
Free from forced labor.
Free from unjust pain.
Free from violent suffering.
Free from vapid exceptionalism.
Free to being to just be.
That's the wildest of our ancestors' dreams. I'm glad I'm aligned with that.