Scholars for Puerto Rico Relief

A house floats in water after flood waters from Hurricane Maria

Professor Marisol Negrón
Assistant Professor with tenure of American Studies and Latino Studies

Originally published on October 11, 2017 on Avidly, a channel of the Los Angeles Review of Books.

Available at
http://avidly.lareviewofbooks.org/2017/10/11/scholars-for-puerto-rico-relief/

*
The fundraising campaign referred to in the essay ended on January 30, 2018.

Two weeks after Hurricane Maria struck Puerto Rico, conditions are still dire and in some regions actually worsening. In the wake of Hurricanes Irma and Maria, approximately 3.5 million residents were without electricity, and without secure access to food, water, medical care, transportation, stable telecommunications, and other necessities. The latest reports show that continued support for Puerto Rico’s residents is needed — particularly as the media’s attention turns elsewhere.

We are scholars committed to supporting Puerto Rico relief and recovery efforts in the aftermath of Hurricanes Irma and Maria. We join others who are increasing awareness of the humanitarian and environmental crisis in Puerto Rico and raising funds for ongoing emergency recovery efforts.  All funds raised by Scholars for Puerto Rico will be donated to three community-based organizations who are integral to both immediate and long-term sustainable recovery in Puerto Rico:  Casa Pueblo, Organización Pro Ambiente Sustentable, and Taller Salud. 

Since the passage of Hurricane Maria, numerous accounts continue to circulate of the widespread destruction of homes, schools, hospitals, and even whole towns in Puerto Rico. Many Puerto Ricans, both there and in the diaspora, remain unable to reach family and friends throughout the territory because vast swaths of Puerto Rico remain without communication. Moreover, reliable news outlets in Puerto Rico estimate that once communication and transportation are reestablished throughout the territory, the official death toll from Hurricane Maria could soar. Still, the U.S. federal government’s response to the crisis in this US territory has been lackluster at best, even though Puerto Ricans are U.S. citizens.

Puerto Rico was a colony of Spain until the end of the Spanish-American War in 1898. Considered a war prize, Puerto Rico, along with several other territories, became a colony of the United States. The Jones-Shaforth Act passed by Congress in 1917 granted Puerto Ricans citizenship. However, those residing in the US territory of Puerto Rico do not enjoy the same civic rights as their mainland counterparts. For example, while residents of Puerto Rico can be drafted into the military, they cannot vote for President and lack voting representation in Congress. Puerto Rico’s limited representation has left the territory with few advocates within the U.S. government to push for meaningful and sustained federal relief during this time of crisis.

Puerto Ricans have long been treated as second-class citizens due to the territory’s colonial status. Hurricane Maria has exposed the continued effects of colonialism on the territory since the early 20th century. The Merchant Marine Act of 1920 (also known as the Jones Act) requires that all goods shipped to Puerto Rico arrive from U.S. ports, on U.S.-constructed ships, with U.S. crews. The Jones Act therefore greatly raises the cost of transporting goods as well as their purchase prices once they arrive in Puerto Rico. In the wake of Hurricane Maria, the Jones Act inflates the time and cost of transporting supplies, personnel, and equipment for Puerto Rico’s recovery efforts from foreign countries.  Ships carrying aid to Puerto Rico from countries like the Dominican Republic and Cuba, which have both offered help, cannot deliver aid directly to a port in the territory. They would instead have to travel to a port on the U.S. mainland before transporting aid to their Caribbean neighbor. On September 28, the Trump administration suspended the Jones Act for ten days to facilitate hurricane relief. However, with recovery efforts expected to take months, a reimposition of the Jones Act will obstruct the ability of aid to reach Puerto Rico in a timely fashion.

Since Hurricane Maria, the federal fiscal control board installed by the US government in 2016 to oversee the territory’s finances has only authorized $1bn to fund the recovery. This is nowhere near the amount Puerto Rico will need to not only rebuild, but create a more sustainable and disaster resistant infrastructure. The federal government has also failed to announce a moratorium on Puerto Rico’s debt repayment or consider any form of debt forgiveness in light of Maria’s catastrophic effects.

The physical and technological infrastructural collapse that followed Hurricane Maria was enabled by more than a decade of austerity measures imposed by the local and federal governments to deal with Puerto Rico’s mounting debt. These austerity measures starved public utilities of the funds needed to make repairs and upgrades and left Puerto Rico’s infrastructure particularly vulnerable. Puerto Rico cannot be rebuilt on a foundation of austerity and colonial neglect.

We must support and aid community-based organizations in Puerto Rico working to rebuild the territory amidst structural inequalities of colonialism and inadequate support from the federal government. In addition to the most basic supplies, Puerto Rico needs billions of dollars to rebuild its infrastructure, homes, and institutions like hospitals, government buildings, and schools. Community-based organizations like Casa Pueblo, Organización Pro Ambiente Sustentable, and Taller Salud are central to the recovery and rebuilding of Puerto Rico. 

  • Casa Pueblo, an organization dedicated to community empowerment and the protection of natural and cultural resources;
  • Organización Pro Ambiente Sustentable (OPAS), an environmental organization whose programming efforts focus on education about and management of sustainable resources; and
  •  Taller Salud, which works to improve the lives of girls and women, particularly in under-resourced communities.

We stand in solidarity with Puerto Rico and all those committed to not only rebuild but transform Puerto Rico with long-term sustainable recovery and recuperation initiatives …

Update 2/1/2018:

The initial campaign raised $28,756. A second campaign raised an additional $8,254 to support relief and recovery efforts of the three organizations below:

  • IDEBAJO, a consortium of organizations in the Jobos Bay region that advocates for environmentally preferred alternatives in community development;
  • Comedores Sociales de Puerto Rico, a grassroots food distribution initiative that began in 2013 in response to the economic crisis;  and
  • PECES, an organization that fosters social, economic, and educational development in under-resourced communities.

For additional information, we recommend the Puerto Rico Syllabus, which contains materials for thinking critically about the Puerto Rico debt crisis and the destruction caused by Hurricane Maria, the storm’s aftermath, and what the storm revealed about the colonial relationship, debt and austerity, and the unequal vulnerability of Puerto Rico’s residents. The syllabus also includes additional teaching tools and media resources for use in classrooms.

Scholars for Puerto Rico*

*Scholars for Puerto Rico is not a group, but rather an effort to raise funds for recovery efforts in the territory. Several scholars worked collaboratively to bring this fundraising campaign to fruition: Frances Aparicio (Northwestern University), Arlene Dávila (New York University), Zaire Dinzey-Flores (Rutgers University), Lorena Estrada-Martínez (University of Massachusetts Boston), Lawrence La Fountain-Stokes (University of Michigan), Marisol LeBrón (Dickinson College), Marisol Negrón (University of Massachusetts Boston), Jade Power-Sotomayor (University of Washington Bothell), Lorna Rivera (University of Massachusetts Boston), Petra Rivera-Rideau (Wellesley College), and Wilson Valentín-Escobar (Hampshire College).

Scholars for Puerto Rico is in partnership with Scholars for Haiti and thanks Yveline Alexis, Nadège T. Clitandre, Marlene Daut, Darlene Dubuisson, April Mayes, and Kyla Wazana Tompkins for their support.

Authorship note: Professor Negrón is one of several scholars who worked collaboratively to organize the effort to raise funds for community organizations engaged in relief and recovery efforts after Hurricane Maria. Scholars for Puerto Rico is not a group, but rather an effort to raise funds for recovery efforts in the territory. Several scholars worked collaboratively to bring this fundraising campaign to fruition: Frances Aparicio (Northwestern University), Arlene Dávila (New York University), Zaire Dinzey-Flores (Rutgers University), Lorena Estrada-Martínez (University of Massachusetts Boston), Lawrence La Fountain-Stokes (University of Michigan), Marisol LeBrón (Dickinson College), Marisol Negrón (University of Massachusetts Boston), Jade Power-Sotomayor (University of Washington Bothell), Lorna Rivera (University of Massachusetts Boston), Petra Rivera-Rideau (Wellesley College), and Wilson Valentín-Escobar (Hampshire College).

Originally published on October 11, 2017 on Avidly, a channel of the Los Angeles Review of Books. Available at http://avidly.lareviewofbooks.org/2017/10/11/scholars-for-puerto-rico-relief/

Using a faucet is a privilege

Zainab Salejwala
TCCS ’19

Image of a dirty faucet

“Something is wrong and nobody is listening…We’re fighting for social justice and reparations but we’re [also] sick…”

Using a faucet is a privilege. Sounds funny right? Maybe a little. What about pipes and faucets that aren’t orange-y brown that has clean water? Doubly-privileged?

On Thursday, February 8th, I attended a lecture called Flint Rising in the McCormick Lounge that overlooks the UMass Boston harbor. The sky turning soft pastels, the water unmoving heavily contrasted the harsh topic of the event- the water crisis in Flint, Michigan.

The problem started on March 2011 when there was a $25 million deficit. In 2014 the state was building a new pipeline to deliver water from Lake Huron but the city switched to Flint River, a river that is a non-drinkable water source and has been historically contaminated. Two activists who have been at the forefront of this issue are Nayyirah Shariff and Gina Luster. When the issue happened, Michigan passed an emergency law but never declared a state of emergency.

Both Nayyirah and Gina talked about how they started to notice the water changing colors to the way it smelt ranging from “tea, honey, dark liquor, dead body, straight bleach to trash.”

Gina would call the state and water systems, but they would keep telling her that it was probably just a “flush” where the water system is cleaned and it tastes a little chemically and bad for a few days. But as days turned into weeks and as weeks turned into months, the water didn’t improve. And it still hasn’t improved even today.  This is how you dismiss a whole population.

Two water activists from Flint, Michigan, speaking at UMass Boston.
Nayyirah and Gina speaking at UMass Boston

Gina, 40, started losing weight, having broken teeth, fainting, and needing to walk with a cane. Nayyirah has seizures. In the middle of talking Gina paused, inhaled and let silence stretch out. And she explained, “Sorry, I need to catch my breath.”

Gina also mentioned how her daughter also gets rashes from the water.

Her daughter only knows of attending school with her backpack full of a day’s supply of water bottles and yellow caution tape or black trash bags wrapped around the water fountains. Nayyirah stressed, “How can you dismiss a whole population?”

To answer that question, Pulido (2016) states: “..[P]eople of Flint are so devalued… based on both their blackness and their surplus status… the devaluation of black bodies has been a central feature of global capitalism” (p. 1).

Gina again stressed, “What kind of message is my daughter getting when she sees those caution tapes?” Nayyirah mentioned that there is no tracking of health programs, no counseling and no curriculum or public health education in response to what is happening.

The water in Flint had extremely high levels of lead which can cause serious health problems. The government kept lying to its citizens and providing them with misinformation. Flint residents who decide to leave do not qualify for health services in other neighboring states.  This is how you dismiss a whole population.

For instance, the government would tell residents to boil water which, in reality, makes the lead and other toxic substances more concentrated and harmful. This is how you dismiss a whole population.

The water facility that the city decided to utilize had “not been fully operational in almost 50 years, was understaffed, and some of the staff were undertrained it is not surprising that it was difficult to achieve effective treatment”  (Masten, 2016, p.27). This is how you dismiss a whole population.

In Flint, there was also a community of people who only spoke Spanish but the government refused to translate fliers about the dangers of their water supply.  This is how you dismiss a whole population.

A sign reading "Water Pickup" from Flint, Michigan

The situation in Flint reminds me of the Dakota Access Pipeline. Both situations in Flint and North Dakota are about environmental injustice heavily tied to racism, capitalism, hegemony of english, the privatization and access to resources. Both these crises “require attention to the past and how wealth, power, and poverty have historically been created” (Pulido, 2016, p.4). Water is a human right and you should not be able to profile of it.

I can’t believe how the poisoning of the public water supply in Flint has continued for so many years.

Nayyirah and Gina are still fighting for justice. The city is going to stop giving out free water at the end of the month (February 2018) and I hope that, individually and as a program, we are able to take action and help the citizens of Flint, MI.

When you wake up and brush your teeth. Unscrew the cap. Capitalism. When you want to rinse your vegetables under the sink for your salad. Racism. Hold up the two gallon water bottle with your sore arms that have not habituated to the weight of the water although you have been doing this for years now. Lead. Legionnaires. Or brew tea in the afternoon. “Tea… Honey… Dark Liquor…”. Broken promises by the government. Break the seal. When you want to bathe and fill up the tub. Listen to the plastic bend and make guttural sounds. Look at the faucet which is a constant reminder of what should be but isn’t. Bottle by bottle. Drop by drop. Next time you drink clean water, think of Flint, Michigan.

References:

Susan J. Masten. Simon H. Davies. Shawn P. McElmurry. (2017). Flint Water Crisis: What Happened and Why?”Journal American Water Works Association. Vol. 108 No. 12, p. 22.

Pulido,L. (2016). Flint, Environmental Racism, and Racial Capitalism, Capitalism Nature Socialism, 27:3, 1-16, DOI: 10.1080/10455752.2016.1213013

The Feminine Nature of Knowing

Allie Richmond, TCCS Student ’19

Between the reaching branches and the sturdy trunks is the space where the light lingers on the crystalline morning rays. Bright and almost blinding with intense purpose, it seeks out the ice-slick earth with determination I often envy come Monday morning as I make my way to work.

It strikes me as strange, that winter is known as a dark time of the year. Without the dense foliage of summer months, and within the unburdened silence that hushes the clutter of noise, it seems so bright and clear, as though welcoming clarity of vision.

Considering the places that I have been, the one place I know I always feel entirely whole, is where I hear the crunch of leaves under foot, and feel the filtered sunlight on my cheeks. I often seek out the woods and the quiet of morning walks to clear my own vision. Under the canopy my ideas sprout and take root, growing deeper and reaching higher, attempting to mimic the trees.

A hand-drawn image of a woman with tree roots and nature emerging from her head
Original artwork by the author

This past semester I spent a lot of time walking through the woodland paths near where I stay. Graduate school is by far one of the most intimidating experiences in my life. I confront my fears, doubts, and insecurities about my ideas, intelligence, and ability to understand with every lesson. I often worry that I am not grasping conceptual complexities, or not interpreting the nuances within the topics.

It is not a fear of the unknown, rather, a fear that I will reach a limit or an end to what I can know, or what I am capable of knowing. Of coming to a point of stagnation where I become unwittingly but definitively ignorant of what is beyond.

Recently, I have found comfort in several podcasts and books on self-care as a woman and how it is deeply connected to the cycles of the Earth. Many of these outlets explore the feminine power that is a part of Mother Nature. Connecting with Mother Nature is thus a way of connecting with maternal lineage and knowledge.

A figure of a woman stylized with bright, colorful organic lines emerging from her headOriginal artwork by the author

A podcast I listened to recently talked about feminine power and the connection between women and their mother’s lineage. This connection is called Motherlines in the podcast and describes how women have a special knowledge deeply connected to the natural world. It refers to the ancestral string of maternal knowledge that guides us and allows us to understand our journeys with the support of all the past mothers and women in our bloodline. This podcast opened my eyes and reaffirmed my comfort within the woods as a connection I have to my maternal lineage.

One of the speakers mentions the cyclical nature of the Earth. She spoke about how women heal and learn in a way similar to the seasons, and are connected to the cycles of the moon. The seasons of the year, express a continual circle of unending life, death, and rebirth. This gave me solace from my fears. It soothed my mind because, I rationalized,  if I learn in a cyclical way, I will never reach my limit.

Aiming for cyclical knowledge, where no scale can place boundaries of linear judgement, I am free. There will never be a final ending, but instead, many beginnings and endings that enable growth and rebirth without limit.

My fear dissolves.

A figure of a woman with the words "memory", "heart", "soul" and "past", "present" and "eternity" surrounding her
Original artwork by the author

US Neoliberal Fascism

Andrés Fabián Henao Castro,
Assistant Professor Department of Political Science and TCCS faculty, UMass Boston

Editor’s note: This blogpost is a “Special feature” from Andres Fabian Henao Castro due to their exceptional level of analysis and critique.

A satirical drawing published in La Campana de Gràcia (1896) criticizing U.S. behavior regarding Cuba by Manuel Moliné, just prior to the Spanish–American War.
Source: Wikimedia Commons

The 2016 election of Donald Trump to the Presidency of the US marks a decisive rise of US fascism.

Fascism is a process in which the intensification of imperialist hetero-patriarchal white nationalist ideology accompanies a deepening of the connections between the state and capital in the formation of the corporative state.

This process leads, logically, to the destruction of the public space, the attack on democratic forms of collective power, and the widening of inequality across all vectors of difference.

In this post, however, I would like to highlight the significance of Iyko Day’s concept of “romantic anticapitalism,” for an understanding of US Neoliberal Fascism.

Day defines romantic anticapitalism as “the misperception of the appearance of capitalist relations for their essence, a misperception that stems from Marx’s notion of the fetish.” Fetishism is Marx’ way of naming the ways in which capitalism conceals the real source of value—that is, the socially necessary labor-time that goes into the production of the commodity. Through the fetishization of the commodity, capitalism misperceives the appearance for the essence, that is, it makes it look as if it was the commodity that had value on its own. Thus, when Day claims that romantic anticapitalism stems from Marx’ notion of the fetish she means two things.

On the one hand, that this misperception means to conceive of the opposition between the concrete (use-value) and the abstract (exchange-value) in the form of antinomical realms of society. On the other hand, that the antinomy between these two realms of society translates into a “[glorification of] the concrete dimension while casting as evil the abstract domination of capitalism.”

Day, it is worth stressing, was interested in understanding the settler colonial history by which Asians would end up personifying the misperceived evilness of capitalism in contemporary North-America.

Thus, she distinguished between two settler colonial logics that historically organized these different social positionalities in an structural antinomy: an ongoing logic of elimination—structuring the land-based relationship of expropriation between the settler and the native—and an ongoing logic of exclusion—structuring the labor-based relationship of expropriation between the settler and the alien.

“Alien” is Day’s way of naming a coerced form of migratory labor that, although not native to the territory, can never occupy the position of the settler, as it remains forever excluded from the social order.

The position of the “alien” was originally occupied by enslaved Africans during the British/French/Spanish/Portuguese colonization of native territories, renamed as the Americas after the violent Conquest. This position of the “alien” Day also attributes to Asians who, unlike enslaved black people, were not spatially alienated, as their ancestors were not systematically enslaved and then transported through the Atlantic as commodities to be sold in the market.

This means that Asians constitute a “disposable” form of alien labor. They can be deported, or refused entry, meaning that their dominant forms of social exclusion take place at the border, or outside of the national territory, unlike the domestic forms of social control to which black people are subjected.

And yet, what interests Day most is the more sophisticated form that such logic of exclusion takes under multicultural neoliberalism. The neoliberal exclusion of that alien labor force operates no longer through the openly racist form of the “yellow peril” (materialized in the US internment camps of the 40s), but through the more politically neutralized form of assimilation since the 70s, in the otherwise valorized form of the “model minority.” The neoliberal valorization of this exclusion links Asians to the evil of abstraction as a form of “efficient labor.” And it is this pervasive valorization that facilitates Day’s qualification of the status of Asians in North America as the “new Jews.” The parallel goes as follows:

Just like Jews were made to racially personify the abstract domination of capitalism in Nazi Germany, as a result of their historical segregation into financial sectors of the economy, the neoliberal association of Asians with temporally efficient labor made them eligible to the same personification of evil in contemporary North-America.

The racialization of the misperceived capitalist antinomy between the abstract and the concrete, by which people of color are made to personify the evil of abstraction, and white nationalists the authentic embodiments of the concrete—Jews and Germans respectively during the classic form of fascism—has become, however, more racially diverse. What I would add to Day’s claim is that US Fascism has, in short, taken advantage of the multicultural turn of neoliberalism. On the one hand, the anti-blackness that targets black people with domestic exclusion via systems that reproduce their conditions of social death, inclusive of the prison-industrial complex, police brutality, and the new segregation regime articulated around the criminalization of blackness, no longer targets black people exclusively—even if they continue to be the primary targets of white supremacy.

On the other hand, disposable forms of alien labor have also diversified. After all, the inclusive exclusion of Asians through the assimilation of “efficient labor” does not eliminate the exclusive inclusion of “cheap labor,” which finds its racialized substitute in the figure of the Mexican—or the Central and South-American more broadly.

Undocumented migrants, and “undesirable” ones, are targeted with harsher immigration policies outside of the US and more repressive forms of surveillance. These include but are not reducible to, unequal labor agreements, the construction of walls, the militarization of the borders, as well as the creation of a parallel prison-industrial complex misnamed as detention centers without the legal protections afforded to prisoners.

Muslims personify a more complex and affectively stronger form of evil, which is altogether misperceived as outside of capitalism. Muslims have become the systematic target of war, the primary targets of the remaining, if territorial displaced camps—as in the case of Guantánamo—and the subjects of travel bans. US fascism feeds off a broader racist spectrum that in the multicultural style of neoliberalism, diversifies the differences out of which it fuels the romantic glorification of the concrete in the form of white nationalism.

The consequence of this racial diversification is a more fluid and interchangeable implementation of both logics of elimination and exclusion indistinctively and iteratively against multiplied forms of racialized and gendered labor. But more importantly, these logics are today directly part of the circuit of capital accumulation.

The now global military industrial complex, which includes a plethora of repressive apparatuses of the state, the para-state, and the corporation, functions as an extractive machine seeking to convert human and non-human energy into value-in-motion.

The ideological multiplication of the racialized and gendered threat through which the white-nationalist subject is romanticized as the “real” victim not only obscures capitalism as the real source of inequality and environmental destruction, but replaces it with a fictitious social welfare state seeking to unjustly regulate it in order to favor the allegedly underserved. The intensification of this violence marks a significant change with regards to the classic form of fascism. Old fascism still conceived of the state as a relatively autonomous space for corporative capital to manage the common affairs of the elite through the mega-media construction of a unified racial threat. Neoliberal fascism no longer needs the illusion of the relative autonomy of the state, or the unity of the racial threat.

This is evident in the appointments of Marvin Odum, former President of Shell Oil Co., as the “Chief Recovery Officer” after the ecological devastation of Houston; the appointment of Scott Pruitt, who does not believe in environmental protection and denies climate change, as the Administrator of the EPA; the appointment of anti-public education Betsy DeVos as the Secretary of Education; the appointment of Ajit Pai, a former Verizon lawyer and current advocate for the destruction of net neutrality as the Secretary of the Federal Communications Commission; and the appointment of the ExxonMobil CEO Rex Tillerson as Secretary of the State, to mention only a few.

These appointments are logically accompanied by legislation seeking not only to destroy whatever “public goods” remain, but to make the very possibility of reviving their public character impossible in the future. US neoliberal fascism goes beyond the traditional commodification of the state, which gives to corporations an indirect yet de facto power to legislate via their unrestricted power to finance candidates, political parties, and lobbies.

The commodification of the state now operates through the literal subsumption of public institutions into the corporative mega-machine and the global logic of capitalist accumulation.

Within this neoliberal scenario capitalism is no longer the structural cause of ecological devastation, gross socio-economic inequality, and the erosion of democratic power, but the solution to a misperceived problem that personifies the evils of capitalism through a diversified racist ideology that makes non-whites into the differential evil abusers of a fictitious welfare state that turns deserving whites into the undeserving victims of that abuse.

I Got Ya’ll

Jeannette Mejia, TCCS ’19 student

There is no way, I guess no real way, to prepare one for the pain of higher education. I knew graduate school would be difficult, I was prepared for the difficulty of the technicality of it, but I did not know how painful the experience of learning would be.

I am a second-generation Dominican immigrant, I am an Afro-Latina, I am a first-generation college student, I am a Lawrence, Mass native, I am a woman, I am an unhealthy woman who is overweight and has high blood pressure, I am someone who has anxiety.

 

I share this, not to invoke pity, but because the intersection of these identities has shaped my experience as a graduate student, and needless to say, I wasn’t ready.

I sat in our Topics course, feeling the rage steaming on my face, feeling my heart beat faster than a ticking clock, my palms sweaty, the pain of the skin on my fingers after they started bleeding when I picked too much, the twitching in my leg because I could feel my anxiety seeping through my body not allowing me to sit still, my head hurting, I felt this anger deep deep down that I could not explain, I felt this feeling of helplessness and hopelessness that was not unfamiliar except this time it hurt a little more, almost as if my pain was punching my chest on the inside, and I felt the stinging tears starting to stream down my face, as we discussed Michelle Alexander’s The New Jim Crow.

When I read the readings that had been assigned for that week, I was mad. Not because I did not know how the system targets Black and Brown people, because that was almost innate, that fear was something ingrained into my upbringing. But because I did not know how just how much it was embedded into the functioning of the United States. It was almost as if someone had yanked the half-peeled band aid over my unhealed wound, and I did not know how to move.

Because when I read our readings, a lightbulb went off, and all I could do was playback the moments the men in my family were taken away from me due to incarceration, and suddenly it all made sense, it all became clear and there was no longer a grey area.

I kept thinking about this for the whole week, ruminating about it. I was so angry, and as I have come to learn, anger is a secondary emotion, so I guess if I am going to be open and honest, I wasn’t just angry, I felt despair and I felt hopeless. How can I protect the people I love when I know that I do not have that power?

Pain is not new to me, I think most of us know this undying feeling, but it was the kind of pain. I was sitting there discussing the very thing that was happening at home, my uncle sitting in prison headed for deportation, my nephew who was completing a five-year sentence, my partner who was unjustly stopped by the police that week, this was happening in real time, right at home.

There is something that shifts when you really understand something that you once thought you understood and then you go home to the very thing you just conceptualized/intellectualized in class, and I still haven’t quite learned how to do this, so I just sit with it not really knowing what else to do. I share this because my experience in academia has been one of the most painful experiences and I question my place here every single day.

I want those who feel what I feel to find solace in this post, you are not alone. I am not alone.

On the weekend of November 11th, I attended the Black Health Matters Conference at Harvard, and I felt it. The genuine love and support and happiness that has been able to help me continue this journey. I left the conference and I thought “Okay, Jeannette, you got this, you need to do this”. I feel this when I walk into my lab (shout out to Dr. Tahirah Abdullah & The Black Mental Health & Advocacy Lab) and when I meet with my advisor Dr. Aminah Pilgrim, and the new connections I’ve made in my cohort, their unconditional love and support that has been my backbone throughout this experience.
I want to share this because higher education is an isolating and painful experience that I was not prepared to take on and when I entered the new world of TCCS, I did not know how to work through this. I’m still learning, and I think it’s going to be a long journey, but I think I’m going to get through this and I am grateful to those who are right behind me cheering me on, thank you.

I hope if you read this you can find support in this post or someone who just understands, you are not alone, don’t quit. I want to take a moment to highlight the importance of support & representation, without this I don’t think I’d have the strength to continue.  

A painting depicting four African women in dance wearing long dresses in bright colors