I have been an admirer of Langston Hughes since my days of undergraduate studies in the African-American Studies Department at UC Berkeley. Brilliant minds like Barbara Jordan, Harry Edwards and Roy Wilkinson taught us a deep sense of pride in our Blackness. My years at Cal were filled with the wonder and the awe of youthful exploration. It was a beautiful time to be black. Protected by the presence and guidance of the Black faculty at Cal, we were free to discover who we were and wanted to be. My generation reveled in the hard-fought freedoms won by our ancestors during the civil rights movement!
But just three short decades later, those freedoms face a new enemy, a danger unlike anything my generation has ever seen or imagined. We sounded the alarm. We challenged the dark, dangerous, threat with the best of who we were. We brought our melanated, highly educated, highly qualified, passionate, fierce selves to the table in defense of not only our own, but all. And 92% of us (Black women) put the full weight of our collective voice and power behind this force for good.
But the country’s rejection was swift and resolute. Its impact, deafening. With the stroke of a pen, hiding behind the false bravado of executive orders, decades of civil rights, (not just for African-Americans, but all racial minorities and women, and the disabled community) are at risk.
The threat to hard won civil rights is heartbreaking and infuriating all at once. But something of a deeper impact worries me more. This one hurt. It stung in a way that feels different. Something feels broken that I’m not sure we recover from. As a black woman, I have been taught by the women who came before me to fight, not only for my children, but any child in my presence. That child becomes mine, even for just a few minutes. I have been taught to fight for the spirit, heart and bodies of black men, For each one could be my father, my son, my brother. For the few moments they are with me they inhabit that sacred space. I have been taught to show up as the strong, fierce, kind and generous mother that black women are. But something of the way this rejection hit, that 20% of black men and more than 50% of Latino men and more than 50% of white women joined forces with white supremacy and misogyny hit different. This time we’re talking about sitting the next one out. And honestly a world, and a fight, where the passionate heart of black women is not present, worries me.
In this moment in history, the words of Langston Hughes settle in my spirit and body with a new sobriety and greater weight. May the wisdom of our ancestors and the path they laid before us be lit, one step at a time….
“The Negro Mother” by Langston Hughes
Children, I come back today
To tell you a story of the long dark way
That I had to climb, that I had to know
In order that the race might live and grow.
Look at my face dark as the night
Yet shining like the sun with love’s true light
I am the child they stole from the sand
three hundred years ago in Africa’s land.
I am the dark girl who crossed the wide sea
Carrying in my body the seed of the free.
I am the woman who worked in the field
Bringing the cotton and the corn to yield.
I am the one who labored as a slave,
Beaten and mistreated for the work I gave
Children sold away from me, husband sold, too.
No safety , no love, no respect was I due.
Three hundred years in the deepest South:
But God put a song and a prayer in my mouth.
God put a dream like steel in my soul.
Now, through my children, I’m reaching the goal.
Now, through my children, young and free,
I realize the blessings deed to me.
I couldn’t read then. I couldn’t write.
I had nothing, back there in the night.
Sometimes, the valley was filled with tears,
But I kept trudging on through the lonely years.
Sometimes, the road was hot with the sun,
But I had to keep on till my work was done:
I had to keep on! No stopping for me
I was the seed of the coming Free.
I nourished the dream that nothing could smother
Deep in my breast, the Negro mother.
I had only hope then, but now through you,
Dark ones of today, my dreams must come true:
All you dark children in the world out there,
Remember my sweat, my pain, my despair.
Remember my years, heavy with sorrow.
And make of those years a torch for tomorrow.
Make of my pass a road to the light
Out of the darkness, the ignorance, the night.
Lift high my banner out of the dust.
Stand like free men supporting my trust.
Believe in the right, let none push you back.
Remember the whip and the slaver’s track.
Remember how the strong in struggle and strife
Still bar you the way, and deny you life.
But march ever forward, breaking down bars.
Look ever upward at the sun and the stars.
Oh, my dark children, may my dreams and my prayers
Impel you forever up the great stairs.
For I will be with you till no white brother
Dares keep down the children of the Negro Mother.
Rebecca Wheeler Walston talks about how she came to engage her story in more depth. She also shares a story of significant harm at the hands of fellow Christians. It is a story of harm from those in a position of spiritual authority. Rebecca and I talk about how hard it is to make sense of experiences of spiritual abuse. We also ponder the role that envy may have played in her story.
Over the past few weeks on the podcast we’ve talked about grief on a more personal level in our lives, but we also recognize we’re in the midst of an unrelenting season of trauma and grief on a collective scale. So today, Dan and Rachael invite guests Danielle Castillejo, Rebecca Wheeler Walston, and Rev. Michael S. Chen to the podcast to continue a conversation about the nature and impact of collective grief. As you’ll hear Dan say, you may not see how your story fits into this conversation, but “part of the development of wisdom is to enter a world we may not be familiar with” and we encourage you to be open to hearing the wise words these guests have to share.
I invite you to listen with an open heart—to engage with this conversation, reflect on your own experiences, and consider how we might hold grief together.
🎧 Listen to the episode here: theallendercenter.org
We love to hear your story. We’d love to hear from you! Whether you have questions, want to schedule a consultation, or are ready to begin your storytelling journey, feel free to reach out.
📬 Email: asolidfoundationcoaching@gmail.com
📞 Phone: +1.5104686137
🌐 Website: Rebuildingmyfoundation.com
Rebuildingmyfoundation.com
asolidfoundationcoaching@gmail.com
A half-day Solid Foundation Workshop with
Rebecca Wheeler Walston,
Abby Wong Heftter, Cyndi Mesmer, Jenny McGrath and Danielle Castillejo
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