On Practicing Sankofa
I am becoming extremely clear on who I am and what my people have gone through and continue to go through living here in this United States of America. Perhaps it is because of our current president and the ways he flaunts his white supremacy and terrorism against Black and Brown people. Maybe it is because I am watching as my people are publicly executed day after day as a result of unchecked, untrained, increasingly inhumane police officers drunk on power. Or could it be that the buried truths of my ancestors are finally coming to light obliterating any lingering illusions about what this country represents. The fact is, we are living in a white supremacist capitalist patriarchy and Black bodies are and have always been the targets of exploitation.
But this is nothing new.
None of it is.
We are not the first to suddenly realize that we are living in an inequitable and racist society. We can look at the efforts of the Black Panther Party, the Black Feminist Movement, or the student strike of 1968 to get examples of awakening and resistance that has propelled Black consciousness nationwide. More importantly, we can look to our grandparents or great-grandparents for insight into our current social and political moment and the way we navigate and respond to them.
For me, this wasn’t an easy feat. For one, I come from a family that does not like to talk. Not about the past at least. It was something that always fascinated me. All of my grandparents migrated from the south to California and yet they rarely spoke of life back in Mississippi, South Carolina, or Oklahoma. There were no fond memories shared of a playful childhood full of imagination or adventure. There was no planning of road trips or long stays.There was no talk of visiting for the summer or family reunions. No one said anything about going back. That should’ve of been my first clue into the unveiled horrors that lie in their younger years.
Now, as a child, it just made my grandparents appear more mysterious. Who are these people? Where did they come from? Other than name of the state from which they came, I simply had no idea about their life.
What was clear, was that we were to behave. Especially out in public. When talking or interacting with white people, we had to put extras on everything. Yes sirs or yes mames would litter our sentences. Politeness to the tenth degree was expected unless you wanted a date with the switch or belt. Sitting in the kitchen waiting for a burning comb to go through your hair was the norm. My family’s entire mannerisms were centered around being the respectable negro. Suppressing and altering our mannerisms, behaviors, language, and appearance was the way of life. I didn’t know at the time that this was a direct result of experienced trauma. There was no way I could fathom the extent of what they had endured and survived just to make it to California.
My nana was born in Starkville, Mississippi in the mid 1935. She was a child of 13 and her mother, father, and siblings lived on a farm. For the longest time, this was the only information I could glean from her about her past. However, thanks to the many brilliant scholars who have done extensive research on Mississippi and the Jim Crow era, I can put together what was happening in her vicinity. First, Mississippi was the state that saw the largest number of lynchings of Black women and men. According to an article by the NAACP, between 1882 and 1968 581 people were lynched. Just to be clear, lynchings are a form of public execution of Black women and men were hung by trees and strangled to death. As a result of the courageous work of Ida B.Wells we know that not all lynchings looked the same. Some Black folks were shot and killed before being lynched and left as a reminder to the rest of the community what happens when you step out of line. In some cases, Black people would be burned after being lynched. These lynchings sound horrific and yet crowds would gather in mass to watch the event. Waiting patiently or excitedly to collect a piece or part of the Black body that had just been executed.
What would it feel like to live with the fear that anything you say or do could possibly result in your death? How can you feel ok? How can you thrive? When I think about my nana, I often wonder what kind of trauma was she holding? Did she experience any of this first hand? Did she know of anyone who was lynched?
And that is just one part of it. In her last months, my nana was sick. Really sick. It was until then that she revealed that her parents were sharecroppers. It was like in a dream state she was recalling what it was like sharecropping. The labor system that emerge post enslavement where Black families were essentially perpetually in debt and working for the very people who had enslaved them. I was unable to process what she said. Not then, when there was that much time.
The final blow came when I finally learned why she left Mississippi. And my heart maddens with rage and hurt to know that she was sent to California after being raped by a white man.
I share this for a couple of reasons. First, for Black people surviving in America today, it is so important that we know who the hell we are. The movements and experiences of our parents, grandparents, and foreparents completely shape and guide who we are and how we show up. The second is something Dr. Joy DeGruy speaks of which is intergenerational trauma and epigenetics. The idea that the traumas, pains, hurts, and stress felt and experienced from our foreparents can pass down to us through our genes and social learning. We can’t heal, find solutions, or forge new paths if we don’t even have depth understanding of who we are. The second is that we cannot afford to remain in our little bubbles hiding away from the world. Ain’t no one coming to save us. There isn’t going to be an emerging, single leader to save the masses. That is the stuff out of movie scripts and television production. Real change change, real transformation comes from a community of people. A tribe of people working together to change the surroundings in which they live. Now more than ever it is time for us to get real clear on who we are and what matters to us the most. And then, do something about it.
References
“History of Lynchings,” NAACP. http://www.naacp.org/history-of-lynchings
Shani Ealey is a student of life who is constantly searching for freedom and peace within the unlimited space of Black imagination, creativity, and love. Recognizing that decolonizing the brain is a daily process, Shani uses the written word and painting to break free of institutional and mental forms of oppression that aim to shackle the free spirit. You can follow Shani and her visual creations on instagram @ani_kweens.
