MLK Day

In honor of Martin Luther King Jr. Day, and inspired by the FANTASTIC episode of Black-ish this week, I wanted to post the entire transcript of Dr. King’s “I Have A Dream” speech and highlight the parts I think have been conveniently glossed over. I feel like the history books have whitewashed both Dr. King and his words in an effort to make him “more palatable” and erase his legacy of radicalism. People who say things like “I agree with Dr. King’s type of protest but I can’t support rioting” miss the entire point when it comes to the revolution he lead. And let me tell you, that revolution is not over. “Wherever there is oppression, there is resistance” — quote from someone not me. So enjoy reading this and feeling uncomfortable as we look forward to this weekend, and also to the inauguration of that one guy America elected to office a couple months ago who ran his entire campaign on hate. Cheers everybody.

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I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.

But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we’ve come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we’ve come to our nation’s capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the “unalienable Rights” of “Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note, insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked “insufficient funds.”

But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so, we’ve come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice.

We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of Now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God’s children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro’s legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. And those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. And there will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people, who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice: In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again, we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.

The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom.

We cannot walk alone.

And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead.

We cannot turn back.

There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, “When will you be satisfied?” We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the negro’s basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their self-hood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating: “For Whites Only.” We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until “justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream.”

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. And some of you have come from areas where your quest — quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive. Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.

Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends.

And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.”

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of “interposition” and “nullification” — one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; “and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together.”2

This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with.

With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

And this will be the day — this will be the day when all of God’s children will be able to sing with new meaning:

My country ’tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.

Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim’s pride,

From every mountainside, let freedom ring!

 

And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true.

And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire.

Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York.

Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.

Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.

 

But not only that:

Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi.

From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

 

And when this happens, and when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:

Free at last! Free at last!

                Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!

*Taken from AmericanRhetoric.com

Powerful and Divine

Alright sooooo this year I decided to be a witch for Halloween. Technically I decided last year, but how far in advance I come up with my costume ideas is a separate issue.

I wanted to be a witch because I feel like the traditional idea of a Witch as we know her was born out of a patriarchal society’s basic fear of women. **steps up onto soapbox, clears throat** Fear of their power and sexuality, primarily. I think a “witch” is actually just the image of a woman who has a strong sense of her Self, owns and inhabits her own body/sexuality, is maybe unbound by familial ties, is definitely unconcerned with being palatable to men, and is deeply/spiritually connected with the earth and nature. She has nothing to prove to you or anyone else, you know? Witches are the antithesis to a puritanical, male-dominated culture, so obviously I was like, YUP. Found my costume.

I also liked the idea of taking a basic concept for a costume and giving it more interesting execution, so in wanting to keep away from the archetypal representation of a witch (hook nose, green skin, pointy hat), I decided to go with a look that was informed more by pagan European and Yoruba tribal traditions. Kind offfff nodding towards the duality of and tension between my Nigerian and American identities, but it’s like whatever. I wanted my witch to be earthy and dreamy; alluring but also like she might kill you without laying a hand on you or saying a word, you know? Normal witch shit.

My beautiful friends Madi and Steph were kind enough to take pictures of me as I traipsed and at times stumbled (#SixInchHeels) across Kate Sessions Park. You can see my favorite ones below, and at the end I’ll detail where I got different elements of my outfit. Hope you love it!

“…To reclaim the word ‘Witch’ is to reclaim our right, as women, to be powerful; as men, to know the feminine within as divine.” – Starhawk


Dress: NastyGal | Shoes: Zappos | Crown: Michael’s/My Friend Kara’s Genius | Temporary Henna: Etsy | Nails: Hello Birdie Nail Salon

Nope.

This is what I’m not here for:

  • Overgeneralized, amorphous calls for us all to “Love each other”.
  • People saying shit like “Can’t we all get along” or “Spread kindness” or “Love is the answer” in response to rampant police killings of black people and the subsequent reactions of their communities.
  • Other aimless Kumbayah shit.

If your calls to love one another come without recognizing, acknowledging or speaking about the institutionalized racism, police militarization, and systemic destruction of black communities that runs in our nation’s veins and has gotten us to this point, you can miss me with your bullshit.

If you had something to say about the officers killed in Dallas but remain silent on the countless unnecessary murders of unarmed black people at the hands of police, you can miss me with your bullshit.

If you are so dense and willfully ignorant as to believe that #BlackLivesMatter is anti-police (like SERIOUSLY guys?!), you can miss me with your bullshit.

I’m not here for it. I don’t want to see videos of policemen hugging little black kids in the street. I don’t want to see articles about SIX policemen picking up a TWENTY-EIGHT dollar tab for a couple who didn’t want to sit next to them at a restaurant to show that they’re really “nice guys”. Like yeah that’s great that you paid an extra $4.50 for someone else’s meal, but I don’t give a fuck about any of these individual acts of human “kindness” because it all blurs the fucking issue.

WE HAVE A FUCKING PROBLEM.

America! You! Me! And it’s not cops! We need those! I could never take that job which is why I deeply appreciate that someone would—it’s a really tough job to have. And immeasurably indispensable. But like that one lady on The Daily Show said (I’m not gonna look it up but you can if you want):

Cops are an extension of our society.

So if we’re observing an epidemic in our police departments, such as the widespread, repetitive killing of black people,

we should probably take a look at ourselves and examine how it is we individually and collectively actually view black people. 

So no, I’m not here for the let’s-all-hold-hands-and-sing-around-the-campfire bullshit. You can’t broad stroke this problem with a “love one another” and hope it goes away. This problem will require discussion. This problem will require VERY difficult introspective analysis. This problem will require finding safe places where we feel we can be vulnerable to work through the messiness, sadness, anger, and confusion.

DO IT GODDAMMIT.

Oh, and a couple last orders of business: Stop saying #BlueLivesMatter. “Blue Lives” is not a thing that exists in this world. Being a police officer is an occupation. A job. You woke up one day, decided you wanted to pursue that particular vocation, did the work, applied for the position, got it. Being a black person, by contrast, is not an occupation. Some people might like to think you can apply to be black (I’m looking at you Kylie Jenner)— you can’t. You’re born this way or you’re not. Equating “blue” lives to black lives forms an illogical argument and you sound like an idiot.

Which brings me to my next point: #AllLivesMatter. If you’re saying “Blue Lives Matter” I would dare to guess that what you mean to say, or also say, is that “All Lives Matter”. Okay. There are innumerable arguments and articles that have been written to explain in painstaking detail how and why #AllLivesMatter is bullshit and in effect, racist. I’m not going to do that here because I’m tired and I don’t owe you anything. I will say though that you should know that when you say #AllLivesMatter, you are essentially trying to silence us. Black people. I mean hey, if you’re the kind of asshole that would go to a breast cancer awareness event and start yelling about how “other diseases matter too”, or the kind of idiot that when someone says “Save the Whales” you hear “Burn the Rainforests!’, then there’s not much I can do for you anyway. But if you’re NOT that kind of asshole or idiot, you should know that saying “All Lives Matter” makes you sound like one.

You’re welcome.