gentrification or “urban renewal” (really a term used to invisibilize displacement of peoples) is essentially colonialism. when a place has endured a removal of lives, when its new inhabitants have joyfully erased its natives’ forced exodus (or have appropriated it to show progressiveness), when the process of “renewal” has replaced a natives’ culture and history with what is ahistorical (shiny shit that is used as an agent of forgetting), when there are forces of state violence (in this case the cops) protecting the lives and property of its new residents, what is it but colonization?

its appearance is just more comfortable to swallow now.

gentrifying san franscisco

beautiful poetics in the forms of words, pictures and other imaginings move through my  mind while meditating.

it’s during these moments that i notice three observations:

1. i enjoy so thoroughly getting lost in the beautiful.

2. i crave to possess all which i imagine because i fear i will lose them if i don’t.

3. these imaginings veer me from learning quiet more deeply.

this place not feeling like home still is hitting hard these past few days.

i have an immediate reaction when something big&tragic hits the u.s. because i know all who they will immediately line up as culprit and i will fear the backlash against those/my communities, i will sense intense racism rise, i will tell my family to “be extra careful”, i will see the emotional inequity between tragedies- the outrage over a tragedy that hits an unsuspecting place because privilege rests there and not a sound for those who are more “deserving” of tragedy (i.e. those in prison, those in occupied territories, in war zones, those who are muslim and inherently terrorist, those who are black and inherently criminal, those who are any shade of brown and inherently illegal), i will await new heights of racism, dehumanization and violence through vigilantism, “security policies” and war and i will know that if the perpetrator of the tragedy is white that no war will be cast against their land, no stigma attached to their race, no analysis to “understand” the characteristics of their people and no subsequent physical/emotional violence (or threat of) to anyone or anything associated with them. and after all of this upsurge of seeing- history, present and patterns- and feeling my immediate truth attached- my rage, sadness, righteousness- i feel shame for losing my ability to empathize even amidst it all. every fucking time something tragic happens here, this is the pattern.

and it is a fucking lot.

i have lost something too.

i

woke

up

A N G R Y

today.

over 55 dead in bombings in iraq. 
the deadliest day in over a month.
-

4 dead in u.s. drone attacks in pakistan.
-

ongoing hunger strike in guantanamo 
leave inmates nearly corpsed.
-

capitalism exploiting bodies, 
neoliberalism exporting displacement and 
occupation binding movement.

cue rage:

how dare you mourn the loss of the lives taken on your soil of red, white and blue

while you wage war on every land and people with skin of melanin

while our dead lay nameless

killed by

your police

your policies

your capitalism

your justice

while you remain patriot to a flag that hungers for power

while you carry gandhi posters, peace signs and chant

“YES WE CAN”?

.

how dare you call us

evil, violent and inherently suspect

after you’ve

gunned down,

bombed,

starved

and tortured

our mothers,

our fathers,

our families,

our people,

our land.

.

how dare you take away my ability to

grieve?

i lay awake

angry

heartbroken

for just as you

do not mourn

the loss of

our people

by your patriotism,

i can no longer

mourn the loss of

yours.

today i mourn self

for i have lost something too:

a mind that moves beyond the comparison of suffering

and a heart open so wide that it can hold the pain of

all who suffer.

“maybe love isn’t enough”

but it really seems like love is enough and perhaps what we think of it- our ideas, experiences and feelings about love are not enough.

our ideas not big enough

our experiences too few and too stagnant

and our feelings mixed up in the former two.

when we try to love one another, our selves and those around us, the trying (i.e. all the sexy, unsexy, difficult and oh so easy) is us in the process of loving- we’re tapping into the deep caverns of our most liberated selves, the selves that knew how to love beyond and before birth.

this  BIG  S T R O N G  UNCONDITIONAL love

is just another form of enlightenment, another form of liberation. and if love is that, if we are trying to love like that then love will not just have its sweets and easies but it will too have those times of heartbreaks and pelagic sorrows- times where we turn away, walk away from the path towards liberation. in those times, we will have to remind ourselves and each other that the path is there awaiting our precious hearts, spirits and feet. it is there no matter how many times we turn away from love, from our liberation, it is there awaiting our coming.

love is definitely enough.

we are on its path.

remembering.

this approximate tongue does nothing for hurt. words feeling of nothing, barren of what is absolute

loss.

a loss to have lost her.

she lost in this lost world of losses-

lost souls unforgiving of a girl tryna find-

she went finding herself on tuesday at 2:46 PM, lights began to dim at 3:02 PM, so low they got 3:12 PM, until she finally lost her way

again

tuesday 3:27 PM.

repeat for 5,222 days,

five thousand two hundred and twenty two.

they liked her that way- lost and confused. lost is so easy to control, you know. tell ’em right is left, left right, circle a square and on they go asking for direction still. she the creator of her map, them the keepers.

lost, still loss.

it isn’t out of naivete that lost keeps on believin’. their heart, like all hearts, their soul, like all souls, are made of the totality of truth- knowing up from down, knowing lost from found.

but

those lost ones,

those terribly lost ones,

are made lost.

she, ripped from insides that pulsed wisdom, moulded into lost, of loss. she forgot that she ever knew how to get back, to find her way, to cast light into seeing. she forgot that she pulsed wisdom, that those unforgiving of her were lost too. she forgot, so lost in her loss of herself; this loss losing her into their lostness again.

she forgot what found felt like.

may she now remember.

learnings from darkness

walking in the shadows, purposefully out of focus, it was uncustomary for me to be illuminated. in dark places was where i found solace and safety, it was where i could not be found. it was where i could not be outcasted either, manhandled into the corner, into the margins. instead i was casting myself out, gently sliding into the crevices where i could not be seen, heard or bothered.

i don’t understand the term “leader” from my lived experience, to put myself so far into the light would blind me, it seems. but to be revolutionary is to be leader in some way or twist, perhaps not like how the so-called-revolutionaries-but-really-murderous-colonizers are characterized or even the watered-down-so-they’re-easier-to-swallow MLKs, Mandelas and Gandhis that our hystory books have taught us about. to be a revolutionary leader is to notice the reality of where we are- time, place and people. it is to listen to and recognize the hystorical moment as such and to act and adapt according to the need of it, the need to move it forward under the propellant of revolutionary intention, strategy and most importantly, the propellant of the many many beating hearts harmonizing liberation all at once.

to be in the light sometimes but not casting shadows, to speak loudly but never over, to inspire the people but to know that they already know, they just need to be reminded, is leadership that i’ve borne witness to but the light, the light is something my eyes are still adjustin’ to.

my strengths as a leader, the strengths that i’ve been cultivating since the days of hiding in the colors of midnight lie in listening deeply to those who i speak to and who speak back, to the time that tells me where we are at, to our people’s hystory when i will myself to know.

my strengths as a leader, the strengths that i’ve been cultivating since the days of hiding in the colors of midnight lie in thinking deeply about what i see and what i’ve been told, about learning new ways and old, about the fantastic and creative places our movement of liberation will soon go.

my strengths as a leader, the strengths that i’ve been cultivating since the days of hiding in the colors of midnight lie in going deeply into the experience of how we sense the world, into the context of why capitalism is designed to hurt us and into the strategy of how we can hurt it back so we can heal.

my strengths as a leader, the strengths that i’ve been cultivating since the days of hiding in the colors of midnight lie in supporting, in loving, in guiding the moment, the person, the people, the comrades, myself.

my strengths as a leader lie in the many many beating hearts harmonizing liberation all at once.

_____

written for a revolutionary study group in Oakland, CA.

prompt for this meeting’s readings- STORM; Tyranny of Structurelessness and Capitalism Destroys Us, Movement Heals Us: what does leadership look like to you, ideally, in political organizing and struggle? do you see yourself being / becoming a leader, politically?  what kind of leader?  what are your strengths or weaknesses according to your own ideas of what good leadership is? if you don’t believe leadership is positive, what other roles or arrangements, do you prefer, politically?