The Revolution

Out of the huts of history’s shame

I rise

Up from a past that’s rooted in pain

I rise

I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

                                              --Dr. Maya Angelou

Like the phoenix we rise

Out of Blackened ashes 

A new nation, a new people

With sun-kissed skin strong like coffee

And hair defying the white man's gravity

Our backs no longer bearing white burdens

But carrying our fallen young brothers and sisters with us

As we fly into a world of our own

We speak their names

Say his name: Trayvon

Say her name: Aiyana

Say his name: Michael

Say her name: Renisha

Say his name: Tamir

We speak all of their names

So they will not be forgotten 

But the white man is trying to keep us down
Tearing our wings right out of our backs
Ms. Simone said southern trees were bearing strange fruit
I didn't know what she meant until I saw them too
The blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice
Suddenly meant something totally new
Using our Black skin for target practice
First it was our men and then our babies
Now we have to watch our backs as we kneel before God on Sundays

Negroes--Sweet and docile,

Meek, humble, and kind:

Beware the day--

They change their minds.

And we will rise

We will rise.

Gone Girl

barefooted black girl
                       nappy hair in disarray

tears falling down the paths of predecessors

                       brown dress torn against bruised skin
chasing little boys down

                       dirt path roads
dust staining her black skin

                       chasing daddy

though he's long gone
                       ma's been crying for her to come back home

her grandmothers' prayers howling in the wind

Lord please guide her
                       back home

you poor girl

                      poor little brokenhearted black girl
these little boys can't love you

                       you poor girl
daddy should've taught you

                        what love is supposed to be

black bohemian rhapsody

this black woman
whose skin had been dipped in golden brown
and shimmers when sunlight kisses it
body covered in tattooed scars
hair braided long down her back
dancing a solo performance with no expectations
to her black girl's song
filled with whole notes and cacophony
her melody her lover has memorized
and croons like a songbird in the evenings
he has found beauty in her missteps
and when he joins her
there is such a thing as magic
she is queen
her hair is her crown
she is enameled in gold
ruling over all that is poetic
living among blank sheets
waiting to be filled
this is her home

My Weekend with BLAC

Hello, everyone!

This weekend I had the privilege of attending Teach for America's Black Leaders and Achievers Caucus (BLAC) in NYC where a group of young, Black leaders from a variety of colleges in New York gathered to discuss what it means to be Black leaders and how we can work towards education equity in our communities. When I first heard about this amazing opportunity, I figured it would be a chance for me to learn how I can work towards making changes for students of color at Marist. What ended up happening was totally unexpected.

As we dove into conversations surrounding our identities, how we made it to where we are in our lives, what we are doing on our college campuses, and what it means to be a Black male or female, I did a lot of self-reflection on my own circumstances and essentially had an "A-ha!" moment. I realized that the kind of thought-provoking conversations we were having was something that was missing in my life and have not happened since I graduated from high school. It also made me realize that I am not happy in my current situation, and I need to make some changes in my life. I have always enjoyed speaking with like-minded individuals who were just as passionate as I am about being Black and who wanted to make an impact on their communities. Not only did I learn about myself and what I want to do in my life right now, I figured out a career path that I have been battling with for awhile now: teaching.

When I tell people I am an English major, the first question they ask is, "Oh, you want to be a teacher?" and sometimes the tone comes off as condescending (or maybe I am just extremely sensitive). I always laugh and say no, but I have struggled it with it because although I've looked up to my teachers who made such an impact on me and wanted to do the same for the next generation, I wondered if it would be enough for me to feel like I accomplished something. After speaking with my peers and the staff of Teach for America who were present, I realized we all felt the same. Why not go into teaching, Jada? Be like your NSA teachers! 

I have learned more about myself in the last two days, talking to people who looked like me, were experiencing similar things as me, and who wanted to make a difference in their communities, than I have in my first as a college student. Some changes have to be made. I am so fired up (in a good way) to do something meaningful instead of trying to get by in school. 

I would like to thank my extended family, Ali and McIntire, for letting me know about this caucus. I would also like to thank my young, Black brothers and sisters who helped to reignite a passion in me to do my part as a Black woman on my campus and to also work towards heading back to Newark eventually to give back. That is what my high school taught me: And when you succeed, what will you do? Give back to others.

I'm on a mission. I will keep you all posted.

Much love,
Jay

Poet Spotlight: Untitled by Christian McIntire

In light of the recent events in Ferguson, Missouri, I shared three pieces on here earlier this week and received an email from my former teacher about them, who, in turn, shared a piece he had written last summer after the verdict in the Trayvon Martin case. This piece is seriously deep and amazing and is very much pertinent to today's circumstances. Enjoy!

Where were you when it happened?
When the lynch mob arrived,
and the court of public opinion
put blackness on trial?

Me? I was still thinking –
thinking, of the color of my skin.
My skin: a hood of exceptional power.
If exercised,
it is the hood of a Klansman.
Of institutionalized oppression;
of enslaved Africans in state penitentiaries;
of confined minds in sterile elementaries.

But I’m not one to stand up for white supremacy.

Now? Now I’m Feeling.
Believing.

The color of MY skin,
is a hood of exceptional power.
If challenged,
it is a hood of solidarity.
Of consciousness and community,
with my black and brown children and their families;
of seeking to dismantle what you seek to uphold;
of hope –
I hope audaciously to struggle against the status quo.

Where were you when it happened?
When the lynch mob arrived?
Did you stand up –
pop the right hood up –
when the death of a child
became the trial of our brothers?

Where will you be when our next child is taken?
What are we going to do

when the lynch mob arrives again?

Thank you, McIntire! I swear I read this over and over again; it is extremely powerful!

In Class Thoughts

You ever write something, forget about it, and then find it again months later? This happens to me ALL THE TIME! This piece was written while I was sitting in one of my classes. I had become frustrated about the way the class was going and tuned out, writing this. This doesn't have a title; I was just "speaking my mind." I know that race is a very touchy, sensitive topic, and I do not mean to offend anyone nor is this about any particular individual. This is simply my thoughts.

The white man told me that I, too, could live the dream of being in a world with fellow intellectuals, 
to have thought-provoking seminars and participate in many leisure activities on the green pasture.
But little did we know as we signed away the check we were striking a deal with the devil.
Ignorance stalks by me as I walk, it lives in the dorms at every corner I turn, it even lies in the bed across from mine.
I try to ignore it but it flaunts so viciously that I can't help but notice it.
There is a lack of hunger to want to learn more
and instead is substituted with just wanting to pass.
And they judge me now because of the color of my skin and ostracize me out of their college games.
This isn't what I signed up for.

Excerpt from "Black Like Me?"

In my second semester of college, I was taking a writing class, and my professor (who I now adore!) told us to write a paper about a time where we felt like an outsider. I immediately decided to write about my experience thus far at Marist. I was nervous about handing in my paper, but he said it was well-written and very honest. Here's an excerpt from my essay, "Black Like Me?"

"College is supposed to be a time where people figure out who they are. We are surrounded by new people with different backgrounds and experiences, and by simply learning of who they are, we gain new perspectives as well. However, since I’m been at Marist now for seven months, the only thing that I have learned is that the world is filled with so many people who do not have an open-mind and are culturally ignorant. I am appalled and find myself hanging on to anyone and anything that reminds me of home. By anything I mean music I once criticized but now get excited when I hear, TV shows, movies, article and stories that reinforce my pride of being a young black woman. By anyone I mean the minority, whether he or she is Black, Hispanic, or accepting of me as a Black individual. This is not what I wanted. I never wanted to feel like I have to prove myself in order to make people understand that many stereotypes of Black people do not apply to every single Black person. I never wanted to miss home so much because I feel like I cannot relate to anyone but Black and Hispanic kids. I never wanted to only befriend minority students. I wanted change. I wanted something different than what I have been used to for nineteen years. 

The only other thing I have learned is how to be alone and understand who Jada is without anyone else. Being alone used to terrify me; I never knew what it was like to be an only child, and I have always been outgoing and had a lot of friends. But I was forced to be alone once I started college. I was the first student ever in my high school to be accepted to and attend Marist, so I knew no one else coming here. I have never spent so much time by myself, and it depressed me so much that I began to look into transferring to somewhere more diverse. Now I am somewhat appreciative of that experience because I no longer fear being alone. At the same time, however, this is all I will remember about my first year of college. And it is not fair. 

I feel as though I have been robbed of a real college experience. Not to say that everyone is supposed to have the same experience, but I was robbed of a good one because of what I look like. Who I am did not matter; I never had a problem with getting along with and meeting other people up until this point in my life. Now in my second semester, the option of transferring is gone, and I am fighting for my right to have the same opportunity to an unforgettable and positively life-changing experience as my white peers. Marist was my top choice school; I was lured in by the many opportunities it promised in its introduction video and believed that it was the right fit for me. Not only that, but I deserved to attend this school because I worked so hard in the last eight years at my very rigorous middle and high school.

 I have felt like I cannot truly be myself in addition to the fact that now I know what it truly means to be a minority. Sometimes it feels like I’m standing on the outside looking in at everyone else who is having the time of their lives while I’m hoping for the days to end quickly so I can go back home where I feel more comfortable. I do not want to try to fit in and assimilate; I simply want to be accepted and recognized for who I am, but they cannot seem to get past my skin color. It is as if it is a barrier and if they cross it, I will unleash whatever horrible rumor they have heard about my people. And that is their problem: there is no one exactly like me. I am not the spokesperson for all Black people. I do not have the same exact experiences as my Black peers although many of them are similar. Unlike what they have seen or heard, I am not ghetto. I speak well and eloquently (poor grammar is actually one of my biggest pet peeves!). I went to a really good high school and got a top notch education. People who have a similar background as me are not represented in the media, and so we get grouped in with the rest and are labeled as “All Black People.” How can I change the way they look at me, at us?"

Dear Little Brother

Dear Little Brother,

For four years the only thing of this world you have known is
love.
Lots of love and hugs and kisses
Laughter and tickles
Disney and Nick, Jr.
You have a smile that lights up our world and a laugh that rumbles through it and fills our hearts.
I always wanted a brother.
You, Little Brother, are precious.

I am afraid though, Little Brother, that you will soon grow up and know
the real world.
Lots of ugliness and hatred 
Violence and destruction
Degradation of a generation.
Our world is nothing like yours is now, Little Brother, and I wish we could keep you in yours forever.

For protection.

Because when they see the color of your skin at age 17 wearing a hoodie, they will see you as a threat, not as the lovable young man I had the privilege of watching you grow up into.

Trayvon and Michael could've been my little brother.
They could've been you.

My president is black
but that doesn't mean this country has progressed so don't let anyone tell you that slavery is long gone, that you have no reason to be angry,
because embedded into the very flesh and blood of this nation
is a hatred for black people and especially
black men.

Little Brother,
you have only known four years of love and hugs and kisses and laughter and tickles and Disney and Nick, Jr.
You are precious.
I wish that I can keep you in that world forever.
Hopefully the world is a much better place when the time comes for you to meet it.

*For all the black men who lost their lives due to police brutality.

Flashback Friday: Finding Girl: Synthesis of Dark Phrases by Ntozake Shange

This poem is about two years old. At the time, I had fallen absolutely in love with the movie, For Colored Girls. I know a lot of people cannot watch that movie because it is so much to take in, but I watched it because of the poetry. I researched for days on who was the writer behind these beautiful pieces and discovered that it was Ntozake Shange. I immediately begged my mother to take me to Barnes & Noble, and I purchased her chorepoem, for colored girls who have considered suicide/when the rainbow is enuf. I was so captivated by the language and the stories of the characters that I took it upon myself to memorize some of the poetry in the movie (the one I got down-packed was Loretta Devine's towards the end!). I decided to write a poem incorporating lines from one of hers. I plan on doing some sort of reprise of this really soon! Enjoy!

“dark phrases of womanhood, of never havin been a girl”
i am black woman, who has seen the darkest of dark times
times woman can only see
“half-notes scattered, without rhythm/no tune”
my body used and thrown away
my love tampered with, my mind gone
i am all but whole
pieces of me stolen
my song now a distant melody
my ears strain to hear my broken music
“distraught laughter fallin over a black girl’s shoulder”
my sanity now gone
but i smile in their faces
the woman cannot be weak
especially if her skin is of the night sky
“it’s funny/it’s hysterical the melody-less-ness of her dance”
and they laugh at the way i move
the graceful swifts of my arms
contradicting the quick impulsive steps of my short legs
i dance this way for My Love has become nothing
but a contradiction
“don’t tell nobody don’t tell a soul”
the secret rendezvous i’ve had with My Love
deprived me of the little pride i had left
the temptation to proclaim my love was silenced
and now
“i can’t hear anything but maddening screams
and the soft strains of death”
i had given all of myself
in return for the death of my being
i saw my contradictory Love after my demise
wondering why i wasn’t recognizable
“you promised me, you promised somebody/anybody, sing a black girl’s song”
sing me my song, i told My Love
“sing her rhythms, caring/struggle/hard times, sing her song of life”
I am black woman who has seen the darkest of dark times
inflicted upon me
by the Love that had stolen my black girl’s song
“she’s been dead so long, closed in silence so long
she doesn’t know the sound of her own voice, her infinite beauty”
a new sound escapes from me
my own voice 
my inner black girl
“let her be born”
“let her be born and handled warmly”
i give her life

And forever she will live