Dance Apocalyptic
Who Will Revere the Black Woman II
“But I need to know, if the world says it’s time to go, tell me will you freak out?” Janelle Monae “Dance Apocalyptic”
Thank you to the 140 subscribers who’ve said yes to this site. I appreciate every single one of you! We are living in very uncharted territory and content here will reflect my own thoughts and feelings from the perspective of all of who I am: A Black woman, queer, Gen X, the great-granddaughter of the great migration generation from Charleston, South Carolina; descendant of Gullah Geechee people from mother and father’s side. I grew up with disco, hip hop, funk and soul music, punk rock and hard rock. Welcome! If it’s your first time here!
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This post has lots of links to celebrate and inform you about many things in Black community my Black History and if you’re a Black New Yorker, probably yours too. Here’s an opportunity for those of you who claim allyship, to put your money where your mouth is. In these times of DEI/we regret to inform you … please check out the links and support the Black and woman owned and operated businesses discussed in this post. Try it, you’ll like it.
On MLK Day, I planned a day free of viewing the new administration induction, and opted for a film centering black women and lunch with a coworker buddy. Our day was marvelous. We’ve made a point of taking deep breaks from our day gig with long talks and laughs over after work drinks, taking in films complete with after film discussion, Siskel & Ebert style.
On that day, we languished over some good soul food in Crown Heights, a neighborhood we both used to live in, and can no longer afford. Most of what we knew there was gone, but the cafe was so familiar to lots of what used to be here. Cornbread, describes its food as fast casual, but everything tasted slow cooked. The catfish was delicious and made me miss New Orleans so bad. Not the commercialism of New Orleans, but the 9th Ward fish fry kind I experienced on a volunteer mission with high school students from Brooklyn in 2007.
At Cornbread, lot’s of Black and brown people filled up the tables and booths as we ate. It was particularly refreshing to see so many young people, high schoolers and middle schoolers in the place. Eating and laughing. You order at the counter, but your food is brought to you by the staff, all local people. According to the websites co-founders Adenah Bayoh and Elzadie “Zadie” Smith, the food is all farm to table fresh and it tasted so. The staff didn’t rush you out the door because a table was needed. This sense of eating and not rushing was familiar. Like eating back in the day at Pan Pan, a diner my mentor and English professor at Hunter College used to take me to when I first moved to Harlem. Pan Pan’s pork chops were to die for! I’d get it smothered in gravy with mashed potatoes! Chile! Black History in every bite. The cafe Cornbread got it right. They have locations in New Jersey, Maplewood, Montclair and Neward. Pay them a visit.
My friend and I also braved the frigid temperatures, to walk to Cafe Con Libre, a small bookstore, where I’ve participated and mc’d showcase readings for writers with Roots, Wounds, Words. It’s tiny but so inviting with a large selection of books for adults and children. They serve coffee and tea, and light snacks. They were closed by the time we got there. A writer’s workshop was taking place. Big up to Cafe Con Libros for providing feminist reading and a space for creating.
We took a photo of a snowman. The B on the baseball cap is for Brooklyn.
We walked back around the corner noticing another cafe, Senegalese. It was the mud cloth pattern of the facade that caught my attention. I wasn’t interested in going inside, my belly full of the collard greens, mac and cheese on top of the catfish. We walked past another door, but it was an apartment entrance. The mudcloth facade continued, then a window so full of beauty we were drawn into incense flowering the room and the woman behind the counter with a bright smile greeting us, “Welcome!” What wonder was this? Rue Dix Brooklyn. A beautiful layout of items centering Senegal products. Incense. Perfumes in sprays and oils. Soaps. All handcrafted items. Books, fabric and clothing recrafted from vintage items.
They provide beauty services that include a nail salon and facials.
At Rue Dix Brooklyn beauty services include manicures, facials and hair braiding. And they have a specialty. For those of you who have no patience for taking down your own braids, Rue Dix Brooklyn’s salon will not only do it for you, they will wash and condition your hair. Applause, Applause.
The shop attendant invited us to stay for happy hour. “Happy Hour?!” we said in unison. “And a DJ.” We were like “Whhhaaatttt?” She told us that the cafe a few doors down is actually connected and the services are a cooperative of owners. Impressive. Black Cooperative. Yeeesss! We didn’t want to leave, but the movie tickets were already bought. We promised to come back.
This day of beauty and peace and friendship was preparation for what is coming.
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On MLK Day, I traveled from Bushwick, Brooklyn to Kipps Bay, Manhattan and noticed the quiet of the subway. It was giving early pandemic eerie when none of us knew what was happening and why the public spaces in New York were suddenly silenced. The temperature that day was about 10 degrees, with about three inches of snow that fell the previous night that had become ice, difficult for pedestrians. No school. But no kids outside playing. At all.
An L Train absent of the candy lady with her tray of Kit Kats or Snickers bars or chewing gum and a baby strapped on her back, another child behind appealing to passengers, eyes glued to their phones, or lost in the sound of their earbuds.
No churro lady shaking a brown bag calling “churro, churro” to entice sales. No woman leaning on the handles of her grocery cart with a makeshift table of clear plastic containers filled with sliced mango, melon and kiwi.
The few people on the subway were mostly visitors. Visitors are so obvious, dressed alike in trendy sameness of what they see on social media, expensive cameras hanging from their necks, laughing in small groups. Their young children stare at the variety of Black and black people getting on and off at each stop. Visitors are the ones jumping up at the last minute to leave the train when they get to 34th or 42nd.
On a typical day when I travel from work, the streets are usually animated with elementary school age children headed home, especially on the local buses. Many are new arrivals, noticeable since the school year began, speaking Spanish with their mothers or older siblings. This past Halloween loads of children dressed as witches, Disney princesses or Marvel super heroes costumes or painted faces, visible, eating candy from plastic orange pumpkins.
So the quiet of the subway that day has become noticeable. I see less and less children in my neighborhood traveling to school since then. I see very few children on the way home in my neighborhood. I see less women calling “churro, churro”.
The day after the inauguration was Regents Exam week in New York State. At 8:15 am, I sat coaching one of my best students with a few last minute tips.
“Remember to complete all of the multiple choice questions,”
“Don’t forget to annotate the documents for your evidence in the TAR and the essay,”
“Remember to create a thesis statement …”
“Good Luck, you're going to do well.”
Those were my last words to that student. After the exam he did not return to school. I didn’t get to congratulate him on the highest score in the school. A 90! No goodbye. I think about him every morning. Every morning. Since then, a few other students have also disappeared from my classroom, their names gone from the gradebook.
Students missing from school is just the beginning. In 2016, when Trump was in office and began the Muslim Ban, there was a day when not one person attended the adult learning center for classes. Not one person. Adult Education Centers often serve a variety of people from those who want to prepare for the high school equivalency exam to people who just want to prepare a resume for a job to people who want to improve their English language skills. Trump has promised deporting undocumented people and already people are hiding and in the case of my one student, leaving on their own.
I think about my day of beauty and art and good food with a good friend everyday. In order to get through the last few weeks without being in constant panic, I’ve created moments. I grade assignments quickly to keep transcripts up to date. I’ve gone deep in lesson planning. I fix my google classroom. I go to bed early. I get up early. I arrive early and started leaving work on time. I stay away from my phone to avoid the call of social media, but I pick up the phone to check on a friend or family member.
I don’t want to ignore what is going on with the edicts coming from the desk of the president. But right now, I’m making sure to keep myself from drowning in overwhelm. I have friends and family who need me. I have students who need the stability of my presence in the classroom. They’ve already gone through a pandemic and just want high school to be normal.
My training as a journalist has also taught me not to panic about everything that comes up, even though there’s a lot to panic about. Elon Musk having access to your sensitive data, your social security number, veterans benefits, snap benefits, bank account number and your address. There’s a lot to cry about. The USAID webpage is now deleted. The workers stopped from caring for the most vulnerable, sick and hungry in the world, especially the Sudan where there is a famine. There’s a lot to be outraged about like the proclamation Restoring the Federal Death Penalty.
I’m not falling for being in my bed in a fetal position, and unable to function with fear. And you shouldn’t either. Stay vigilant, but stay steady and keep calling your representatives. Be like Hakeem Jefferies and Rep.Hailey Stevens who sponsored The Taxpayer Data Protection Act with Rep. Sean Casten and the Democratic Whip Katherine Clark.
Keep moving. Keep going. Keep dancing. Even doomsday dancing. Defiant dancing. It keeps me from being blind to what’s going on. I’m gonna fight with my words and shank my ass too. Here’s my playlist.