“For the only great men among the unfree and the oppressed are those who struggle to destroy the oppressor”
I exist in a lonely space.
Indeed, this is true for most of the men I know that are focused on self-actualization, and community building. If life has taught me anything at all in the brief time I’ve been here, it has revealed to me the complex nature of human character.
I spend a great deal of time alone.
I recognize and accept that my loved ones deserve my time and attention. I also aggressively protect the time I need to reflect and recharge my soul.
It’s Juneteenth.
One hundred and fifty-four years ago in Galvaston Texas, white politicians stood before our ancestors, delivering a decree that threatened the social and economic fervor of America.
Freedom.
I remember some time ago, my father and I spoke of race relations between Black and White Americans in the South. I can articulate now what I was feeling when he originally asked me for my opinion. My spirit has explored hate, desperation and anger. I will always be a student of history, so delving into open ended questions is inevitable, but I have reached a level of pity towards oppressors. Anyone whose ascension is at the expense of another person’s freedom and sanity will always feel threatened. The foundation is shaky.
I celebrate in unconventional ways.
Weeks leading up to Juneteenth I listen to slave narratives. I listen to the speeches of Marcus Garvey, Martin Luther King and Stokely Carmichael, among others. I reread the “Miseducation of the Negro”, “The Fire Next Time”, and flip through my dog-eared pages of “The Souls of Black Folk”.
Thinking is free. Liberation isn’t.
WAF
