By Javonté Anyabwelé
In a world that is either really–or perceived to be really–against the ideals of safety and commune for Black women, in the most recent of times, even at the ire and hands of Black men, I want to publicly let it be known, edpouse, and proclaimed that I’m rockin’ with you ‘til the end of time. More than just infatuation or even encouragement, the rockin’ is consistently choosing to love, honor, protect, and provide for Black women above all else. The rockin’, in this case, is deliberately, and quite literally, declaring to the world that you are worthy of it and I am honored to do it. The duty is not obligation; it is nobility and birthright. I choose this every time and in all lifetimes.
In this lifetime specifically, I’ve penned this open letter on the cusp of Black Girl Speaks! The show, which is more than a show, but a movement as well, is elemental and transformative for healing. The show is needed more now than when it was first done. The show existed in a world where social media was embryonic at best. It existed before all the subsequent movements for hearing from and holding up women while they moved to bring light on how they survived assaults from men. The show existed when the voiceless were still without voice, and it was created to bring voice in those times. Now, more than twenty years later, there are questions of if there is still a place and a space for such work. The answer is yes and it is for a myriad of reasons. I want to highlight a few:
The privilege of not having to search outside yourself to produce your best work — that’s what happens from tying your culture & community to your economy. It allows the privilege of your whole self to be the producer of your best self. This is unknown for most; this is the knock on most social constructs (capitalism, socialism, communism, racism, etc). But Afrocentricity and Africanity allows for it because of how it can be inclusive within its tribalism. We live an Afrocentric life with the hopes of living out our best selves as our whole selves. Chanté, I hope you see the offering in that. I hope you feel that way as you return to this show, and that it gives you a piece to take into your next spaces. Talitha, you get to practice it through Black Girl Speaks, Raising Imhotep, SIS, and anything else where we’ve planted flags and just began sowing, tiling and watering the ground. Wherever you are, wherever we are, becomes sacred ground. It is time once again to remind all why we are here, while we are here.
August Wilson once said, “The contents of my mother’s cabinet are worthy of the highest art.” Black Girl Speaks embodies just that and Aminata you will get to witness this in your own volition and cognition for the first time. Other times you were either in the womb or still mostly enamored with Elmo. Not only do you get to witness it, you get to take part in the world your mother created for herself, thus also creating for you, before she knew it was you she would create. This is some of your inheritance. Yet before it is your inheritance, it will be your teacher, your tool, and your trade to grow with, delve into, and learn from with your family.
Talitha you execute what is called community. You put into practice what is called sisterhood. You are a steward of the sacred flame in the sacred space of African griots through American Repertoire called theatre. We, all those who have seen it, are better off for it.
This is art for the soul; art for social justice; art fit for purpose; art for posterity. The hope is that this reestablishes confidence like a paycheck. Your art repairs artists who may have lost who they are or forgotten who they are before they get to you. However, they remember and/or know who they are before they get on that stage with you. That’s the gift. That is the rare mineral in this bitter earth.
Talitha, may your hands remain steady and your spirit remain clean as you keep lighting the room for other women to find themselves. Chanté, may your voice grow even more onto you with ease and power, and may every stage and screen you grace become a door for somebody else. Aminata, may you grow up affluent in love, unashamed of your own light, and certain that your lineage is not a burden but a crown.
Let it also be written plainly, so there is no confusion and no retreat, that this letter is record and vow: I am with you. I believe you. I honor your work. I will provide and protect your peace. I will defend your right to be whole. I will not ask you to shrink so others can be comfortable. I will not confuse access with entitlement, or proximity with authority. Where my voice carries, it will carry in service of Black women, be it in our home, in our family, or in public.
May our sisters (Andrea, Tiffany, Lanica), mothers (Geraldine, Lynette, Edna, Verdell, Mary, Louise, Shirley, Daisy, Carissa) and ancestors (Joyce, Sandy, Penny, Joanne) who carried us, they carry this work too. May God keep you, guide you, and guard you. Talitha, Chanté, Aminata: I see you. I choose you, but not just you; all Black women. I stand with you, but not just you; all Black women. I choose you all now, and for the rest of my life. With gratitude and actionable love, always.
