I must say that it has been incredibly difficult to do much of anything this week other than watch Al-Jazeera. My heart, mind, and spirit have been filled with attention to the revolutionary organizing and mobilizing that has happened in Egypt. The actions and voices of millions of Egyptians has taken down the reign of a tyrant, Hosni Mubarak is out! By no means is the revolution over, some would say it is just beginning. The key now is to continue supporting the people and continue keeping an ear to the ground. Our responsibility here, in the United States, is clear — keep our government’s hands out of the affairs of a revisioning Egypt.<\/p>\n
I did, however, find the time to read, reflect, and write in preparation for today. Today I want to talk about Black history and my great excitement in celebrating it. Black History Month began as Black History Week in 1926, started by Carter G. Woodson, historian, author, and founder of the Association for the Study of African American Life and History. Woodson’s intention was that by highlighting a week of Black history the U.S. culture would begin to shift and include Black history at all times of the year. He chose the second week in February as it marked the birthdays of Frederick Douglass and Abraham Lincoln. The Association for the Study of African American Life and History had expanded Black History Week to a full month and in 1976 President Ford was the fist President to issue an observance of Black History Month.<\/p>\n
There are important critiques of Black History Month that I do not want to ignore. There are those people who think that it simply pigeonholes Black history into the shortest, coldest month of the year. Others suggest that it becomes a capitalist profiteering time for white businesses off the oppression of Black people. I have also heard people critique the way white teachers and white institutions choose Black histories to tell during this month, the story telling of Black leaders that do not make white people uncomfortable or the white washing of Black narratives. I want to acknowledge the critiques without being dismissive. While I choose to honor Black History Month I want to do so with attention to these dissenting voices.<\/p>\n
Why do I honor Black History Month? I am certainly not trying to relegate my care and attention to Black people’s influence on the world to only one month. I honor Black History Month because I believe an important step in the path towards liberation is the recognition of particular experiences of oppression and resistance. One of the people who greatly inspires me around this, and who I have mentioned many times before, is Kate Cannon. Cannon was the first African American woman to earn the Doctor of Philosophy degree from Union Theological Seminary in New York. She is a womanist ethicist and theologian. She suggests that “in order that we may become responsible decision-makers who envision structural and systemic alternatives that embrace the well being of us all,” we need to understand, among other things, larger emancipatory historiographies, liberating histories. In order to best understand these histories we must examine stories of oppression and resistance. As I strive to have an authentic liberation ethic I need to learn and understand Black history, and I encourage everyone else to join me in doing so.<\/p>\n
I want to explore some histories, some untold or under-told stories. Rather than explore the stories in chronological order I have chosen to share them today by theme. Firstly lets hear some poetry and prose that can shape our lives –<\/p>\n
Audre Lorde compiled a collection of poems in The Black Unicorn. The collection was originally published in 1978. Andrea Rich describes Lorde as, “refusing to be circumscribed by any simple identity, [she] writes as a Black woman, a mother, a daughter, a Lesbian, a feminist, a visionary; poems of elemental wildness and healing, nightmare and lucidity.” She writes –<\/p>\n
A song for many movements<\/strong><\/p>\n Nobody wants to dies on the way<\/em><\/p>\n caught between ghosts of whiteness<\/em><\/p>\n and the real water<\/em><\/p>\n none of us wanted to leave<\/em><\/p>\n our bones<\/em><\/p>\n on the way to salvation<\/em><\/p>\n three planets to the left<\/em><\/p>\n a century of light years ago<\/em><\/p>\n our spices are separate and particular <\/em><\/p>\n but our skins sing in complimentary keys<\/em><\/p>\n at a quarter to eight mean time<\/em><\/p>\n we were telling the same stories<\/em><\/p>\n over and over and over.<\/em><\/p>\n Broken down gods survive<\/em><\/p>\n in the crevasses and mudpots<\/em><\/p>\n of every beleaguered city<\/em><\/p>\n where it is obvious<\/em><\/p>\n there are too many bodies<\/em><\/p>\n to cart to the ovens<\/em><\/p>\n or gallows<\/em><\/p>\n and our uses have become<\/em><\/p>\n more important than our silence<\/em><\/p>\n after the fall<\/em><\/p>\n too many empty cases<\/em><\/p>\n of blood to bury or burn<\/em><\/p>\n there will be no body left<\/em><\/p>\n to listen<\/em><\/p>\n and our labor<\/em><\/p>\n has become more important <\/em><\/p>\n than our silence.<\/em><\/p>\n Our labor has become<\/em><\/p>\n more important <\/em><\/p>\n than our silence.<\/em><\/p>\n The voice and vision of Audre Lorde is part of Black history and our hearts and minds must be open to the gifts that lie in her words. History is not something that is dead and gone, rather it lives on in the words and deeds of every day life. Just as a tree holds its rings of history making its trunk as strong and as fragile as it is so too do our histories live within us, collectively and individually. We are living and breathing collections of history.<\/p>\n Richard Wright’s Black Boy<\/em> was published in 1945. This incredibly groundbreaking work is a semi-fictionalized autobiography of Richard Wright. He explores his life and his lessons that he experienced while growing up Black during Jim Crow. While his writing did not gain popular love immediately he later greatly influenced Black consciousness during the 1960s. I chose a particularly powerful excerpt from the book that has been lifted up as a beginning of the young Richard’s awareness building.<\/p>\n “My mother’s suffering grew into a symbol in my mind, gathering to itself all the poverty, the ignorance, the helplessness; the painful, baffling, hunger-ridden days and hours; the restless moving, the futile seeking, the uncertainty, the fear, the dread; the meaningless pain and the endless suffering. Her life set the emotional tone of my life, colored the men and women I was to meet in the future, conditioned my relation to events that had not yet happened, determined my attitude to situations and circumstances I had yet to face. A somberness of spirit that I was never to lose settled over me during the slow years of my mother’s unrelieved suffering, a somberness that was to make me stand apart and look upon excessive joy with suspicion, that was to make me keep forever on the move, as though to escape a nameless fate seeking to overtake me. Fiction cannot be left behind or discarded, fiction shapes the world and tells stories often too challenging to tell in other ways. There are visionary fictions that show another world is possible. Fiction is often the only avenue to communicate when fact is just too complicated to to open up.<\/p>\n Assata Shakur, a revolutionary former political prisoner currently in exile in Cuba, is also an incredible poet. We have read her poetry on Sunday mornings many times. Her image was hung in our space downstairs when our services were held there. She was an essential part of the Black Liberation Army and fought strong for the freedom of Black people, she continues to do so today in Cuba. She writes,<\/p>\n What is Left?<\/strong><\/p>\n After the bars and the gates and the degradation<\/em><\/p>\n What is left?<\/em><\/p>\n I mean, after the chains that get entangled in the grey of one’s matter<\/em><\/p>\n After the bars that get stuck in the hearts of men and women<\/em><\/p>\n What is left?<\/em><\/p>\n After the tears and disappointments<\/em><\/p>\n After the lonely isolation<\/em><\/p>\n After the cut wrist and the heavy noose<\/em><\/p>\n What is left?<\/em><\/p>\n I mean, like, after the commisary kisses<\/em><\/p>\n and the get-your-shit-off-blues<\/em><\/p>\n After the hustler has been hustled<\/em><\/p>\n What is left?<\/em><\/p>\n After the sad futile maneuvers<\/em><\/p>\n After the shrill and barren laughter<\/em><\/p>\n After the contraband emotions<\/em><\/p>\n What is left?<\/em><\/p>\n After the murder burgers and the goon squads and the teargas<\/em><\/p>\n What is left?<\/em><\/p>\n I mean like, after you know that God can’t be trusted<\/em><\/p>\n After you know that the shrink is a pusher<\/em><\/p>\n that the word is a whip, and the badge is a bullet<\/em><\/p>\n What is left? <\/em><\/p>\n After you know that the dead are still walking<\/em><\/p>\n After you realize that silence is talking<\/em><\/p>\n That outside and inside are just an illusion<\/em><\/p>\n What is left?<\/em><\/p>\n I mean like, where is the sun?<\/em><\/p>\n Where are her arms and where are her kisses?<\/em><\/p>\n There are lip prints on my pillow<\/em><\/p>\n I am searching<\/em><\/p>\n What is left?<\/em><\/p>\n I mean like, nothing is standstill and nothing is abstract<\/em><\/p>\n The wing of a butterfly can’t take flight<\/em><\/p>\n The foot on my back is part of a body<\/em><\/p>\n The song that I sing is part of an echo<\/em><\/p>\n What is left?<\/em><\/p>\n I mean like, love is specific<\/em><\/p>\n Is my mind a machine gun?<\/em><\/p>\n Is my heart a hacksaw?<\/em><\/p>\n Can I make freedom real?<\/em><\/p>\n Yeah, what is left?<\/em><\/p>\n I am at the top and bottom of a lower-archy<\/em><\/p>\n I am in love with freedom and children<\/em><\/p>\n Love is my sword and truth is my compass<\/em><\/p>\n What is left?<\/em><\/p>\n Black theology has radically shaped the world of religious thought and spiritual understanding. Religion’s influence on race, racism, and racial identity is deeply complex and filled with great tragedy as well as illuminating beauty. Christianity as an imperialist, empire building religion has much work to do in reconciliation with Black people and Black nations. Acknowledging that, there are also those Black leaders within Christianity who have given incredible gifts to Christian theology which has trickled over into theologies of all kinds. There are Black Muslims who have created a Black theology that feeds the needs of a community impacted by deeply rooted systemic violence as well as tragic interpersonal violence. The Nation of Islam has also been a gift to many people and its leadership has, at times, served its members spiritual and political needs graciously. There is plenty of critique to offer the Nation of Islam as well, though their history is much shorter than that of Christianity. There are endless religious traditions and spiritual practices offered by Black communities around the world that need to be honored and lifted up. Today I will only be able to share a few, and they are those that I have had the privilege of being exposed to. One of the gifts I think Black History Month has to offer is a reminder to increase our individual and shared knowledge — a challenge to more authentically engage with the great wealth of knowledge that exists in the world.<\/p>\n James Cone is a Black liberation theologian. One of his most famous books is God of the Oppressed<\/em>. In this text Done offers a systematic theology that roots itself in the lived experience of Black people. He offers both a universal and community specific theology, suggesting tools for all people to understand the ways social and historical context shapes the ways we all shape an understanding of God. I want to share a piece from his opening chapter on “Speaking Truth” –<\/p>\n “Jesus Christ is the subject of Black Theology because he is the content of the hopes and dreams of black people. He was chosen by our grandparents, who saw in his liberating presence that he had chosen them and thus became the foundation of their struggle for freedom. He was their Truth, enabling them to know that white definitions of black humanity were lies. When their way became twisted and senseless, they told Jesus about it. He lifted their burdens and eased their pain, thereby bestowing upon them a vision of freedom that transcended historical limitations. That is why they sang; ‘Sometimes I hangs my head an’ cries. But Jesus goin’ to wipe my weepin’ eyes…” <\/em>He continues, “…There is no truth in Jesus Christ independent of the oppressed of the land – their history and culture. And in America, the oppressed are people of color – black, yellow, red, and brown. Indeed it can be said that to know Jesus is to know him as revealed in the struggle of the oppressed for freedom.”<\/em><\/p>\n We do not have to hold a Christian theology to recognize the power and beauty in Cone’s writings. Just as I do not need to be Black to be shaped by the gifts, ideas, and movements of Black people, I do not need to be Christian to have a theology shaped by the beauty offered by many parts of it. Jesus is the symbol of salvation, the same Greek and Hebrew word as liberation, and for one to know liberation one can only know liberation as revealed in the struggle of the oppressed for freedom. While I would not limit my understanding of the oppressed in the United States to people of color, I would certainly recognize the struggle against white supremacy as an essential part of collective liberation.<\/p>\n Mumia Abu-Jamal, the 2006 recipient of the Sacco and Vanzetti Social Justice Award, is an incredibly prolific writer. He has been locked down for decades and sits on Death Row, still awaiting a decision as to whether or not the state of Pennsylvania will execute him. Mumia has given a name and voice to political prisoners within the United States. While many people in the country do not know the names of the hundreds of political prisoners our country holds, Mumia’s name is one that gets some attention. The fight for his freedom is ongoing and will not stop until he is in the arms of his loved ones once again. In 1996 Mumia published Death Blossoms<\/em> and in it reflects on life from the inside, offering practices and hopes for those of us living life outside the walls as well. The following is an excerpt from his reflections on the Divine –<\/p>\n “There are as many religions as there are cultures, and equally many names for the divine presence that is the heart of each. The energizing influence of belief keeps them apart, for to each adherent they contain truth that, from his or her perspective, is the <\/em>only truth. Al the same, it seems they flow in one direction, like many streams seeking release into one mighty river. My youthful search for meaning revealed that no matter how differently the Infinite was clothed in the garb of a certain religion, it was there. In each, I found a new perception of the greatest good, that is, a belief in God or some other personification of the divine principle. I found, as George Bernard Shaw puts it, that there is ‘only one religion, though there are a hundred versions of it…’ In the essence of each religion, then, we see a projection of the greatest good. For a threatened, nomadic desert tribe, what greater good than the worship of a mighty and powerful ancestor, a prominent warrior – YHWH – who defended the clans? For the maligned followers of a Nazarethan carpenter, one crucified by the mightiest Empire of the age, why not the greater good of his victory over the tomb? For contentious Arab clans who saw each other through the lens of enmity and conflict, why not the clarity and simplicity of One God to reign over the throngs who crowd the K’abba – One God to bring unity to a people, a region, a sphere of influence? Many of our ideas about God and religions simply mirror the traditions we have inherited from our forebears. They are imbided with mother’s milk, openly, uncritically, freely – illogical human expressions, exercises in irrationality. Others are perceptions gained only by leaping into the dark arms of faith. God comes, in various faces, and numerous personalities, depending on our myriad perceptions, needs, and histories. Yet if there are any miracles left, it is that God is one.” <\/em><\/p>\n Black History Month is about the sharing of ancient and modern wisdom. There are stories to be told and ideas to be witnessed to. As we shiver in the cold February month I wonder if we can find warmth in the words of Mumia Abu-Jamal. His wisdom comes through barbed wire, onto the pages of a book, and then into the minds of many. His theological gifts need to be honored, obviously not only in February, but it is an exciting time to take some intentional time to do so.<\/p>\n Delores Williams is a womanist theologian. She wrote, Sisters in the Wilderness: The Challenges of Womanist God-Talk <\/em>shortly after James Cone released his thoughts on Black liberation theology. In her reflections she highlights some of the ways Cone’s theology perpetuates patriarchy and a male supremacist vision of God. She looks through the lenses of Black slave women, and Black women throughout U.S. history to find a theology that can speak both to the particular experience of Black women as well as offer a universal theology that all people could rejoice in. She uses the Genesis story of Hagar to reflect on the lives of Black women. I remember the first time I read her book I had hardly remembered the existence of Hagar. The stories told of Abraham and Sarah often leave out the part where Abraham gets his slave, Hagar, pregnant and then turns her away after his wife miraculously gets pregnant with his “true” heir, Isaac. Williams offers a summarized reflection on Hagar and the role of the wilderness that I want to share.<\/p>\n “No other biblical image could have been more appropriate than Hagar in the wilderness for representing the African-American past and present. In the two accounts of her story in Genesis, Hagar goes into the wilderness. In the first account (Genesis 16:1-9), Hagar is still a slave. In her pain and misery she meets her<\/em> God for the first time. Her experience with this God could be regarded as positive by African Americans because God promises survival, freedom and nationhood for Hagar’s progeny. The African-American community has, all of its life, struggled for survival, freedom, and nationhood.<\/p>\n “In the second Genesis account (Genesis 21:1-9) Hagar is again in the wilderness. She and her child are no longer slaves, but their freedom has brought them into dire economic straits – just as freedom brought severe economic consequences to newly freed slaves. Like African-American people, Hagar and her child are alone without resources for survival. Hagar must try to make a living in the wide, wide world for herself and her child. This was also the task of many African-American women and the entire community of black freedpeople when emancipation came”<\/p>\n I would encourage everyone to revisit, or visit for the first time, the Genesis story of Abraham and Sarah. What are the lessons available in that text? What can Delores Williams offer to find theological value in the suffering and liberation Hagar and Ishmael go through? What wilderness journeys have you, and your people, whoever they may be, gone through? What aspects of the wilderness has been spiritually fulfilling, the place where you can name the Divine or find comfort from suffering? What aspects of the wilderness cause fear and doubt, the times you enter into the unknown, not unlike the wilderness Egypt is entering into now – an uncharted territory, a moment of freedom, liberation, and questioning of what is next. All the possible answers to these questions can be shaped by the beauty and power of Black history, just as Black history can add more unasked questions.<\/p>\n The final theme I want to explore is radical political thought. I know that there are many people in this congregation who were radicalized in the 1960’s, 1970s and before. There are also those radicalized later than that who read the ideas come out of the Black Power movement. There are so many incredible voices to lift up – Fred Hampton, Fannie Lou Hamer, Ella Baker, James Baldwin, Eldridge Cleaver, bell hooks, Bruce Siedel, Angela Davis, George Jackson, and the list goes on. The ideas, actions, and organizing of these revolutionary Black people paved the way for many of us to know what justice could look like. Karl Jones has told me a number of times that the second time he came to the church, he attended once prior because a charming young woman brought him, it was to hear from a member of the Black Panther Party. Black History Month is an opportunity to reinvigorate ourselves and remember who inspires us, whether we are Black or not.<\/p>\n I want to start by sharing a piece from Malcolm X. The excerpt I am sharing comes from his speech that he titled, “The Ballot or the Bullet.” The speech was part of a series of speeches he began to give after he separated from the Nation of Islam and began forming a new Black nationalist movement. In the following he reflects on Black identity and American citizenship. While written nearly fifty years ago, there is much truth for today.<\/p>\n “I am one who doesn’t believe in deluding myself. I’m not going to sit at your table and watch you eat, with nothing on my plate, and call myself a diner. Sitting at the table doesn’t make you a diner, unless you eat some of what’s on that plate. Being here in America doesn’t make you an American. Being born here in America doesn’t make you an American. Why, if birth made you American, you wouldn’t need any legislation, you wouldn’t need any amendments to the Constitution, you wouldn’t be faced with civil-rights filibustering in Washington, D.C., right now. They don’t have to pass civil-rights legislation to make a Polack an American.<\/em><\/p>\n “No, I’m not an American. I’m one of the 22 million black people who are the victims of Americanism. One of the 22 million black people who are the victims of democracy, nothing but disguised hypocrisy. So, I’m not standing here speaking to you as an American, or a patriot, or a flag saluter, or a flag waver – no, not I. I’m speaking as a victim of this American system. And Isee America through the eyes of the victim. I don’t see any American dream; I see an American nightmare.” <\/em><\/p>\n If we are our living histories today, in what ways does Malcolm’s words and analysis live within us today? I think of Black people targeted by the prison industrial complex, the role of the military and its targeted drafting of young Black men and women. I think about today’s immigration debate and the role of citizenship in denying rights and humanity to other people. I think about the obsession with Barak Obama’s birth certificate. I think about the way capitalism pits working class white folks against working class people of color. I think about how these working class white folks end up identifying more with wealthy white people rather than build alliances across race to build a stronger movement to drop wrenches in the American system of oppression.<\/p>\n The last story I want to tell this morning comes from Elaine Brown’s autobiography, A Taste of Power<\/em>. Elaine Brown was an essential member of the Black Panther Party. She was the chairman of the Party towards the end of its existence on a national level. Over and over again Brown has been left out of the story of the Black Panther Party or simply written about as the divisive woman who slept her way to the top and divided the Party. Rather, Elaine Brown was a revolutionary organizer in Oakland who had one of the most successful runs for city leadership in Oakland as a Black woman. She helped coordinate and bring about the successful breakfast programs. She travelled internationally, bringing the ideas of revolution from around the world back into her community. Elaine Brown’s voice is a blessing to Black history.<\/p>\n “I had come to know that York Street was as American for Black people as baseball at Connie Mack Stadium was for whites. I knew that black mothers had tried, like my own, to gloss over the pain with piano lessons and stolen new dresses, the way they smoothed Vaseline onto patent-leather Easter shoes. I knew that millions of blacks had been forced to find hope in playing numbers and relief in Scotch or heroin. I knew that millions had found comfort in the strength of the Joe Louises and Jackie Robinsons and Marian Andersons and Josephine Bakers who had clawed their way out of our degradation. I knew that millions had found salvation in the name of Jesus. <\/em><\/p>\n “I had become mad. Huey had surely become mad. Perhaps that was really our bond. Perhaps it was the bond of all of us, really, our rage.”<\/em><\/p>\n “Huey had seized a moment in the historical chain to make another bid for our humanity. From the first Africans who had leaped from slave ships in suicidal rejection of slavery, we had struggled for freedom. A thousand slaves had slit the throats and poisoned the food of their masters, living with the singular desire to live free or find freedom in hell. A thousand blacks had run for freedom, dudging bullets and ‘n— dogs,’ riding the third rail of the Underground Railroad to freedom. A million blacks had linked themselves to the Harriet Tubmans and the Frederick Douglasses and Sojourner Truths and Marcus Garveys and W.E.B. DuBoises and Martin Luther Kings and El Haj Malik El-Shabazzes. Still, we were not free.”<\/em><\/p>\n “Huey had created his Black Panther Party with both his brilliance and his madness. Now I was chairman of that party. I was afraid. The question was whether I held a scepter of terror or a sword of freedom. The question was whether to go or to bide. <\/em><\/p>\n “The answer came in the echoing cries of Mrs. Huggins and Mrs. Carter and Mrs. Jackson and the other hurting mothers who had given their sons to our struggle. It was in seeing the sum of the bits and pieces of my thrity-one years.<\/em><\/p>\n “The answer was love – the love that was inside the madness. It was about not forgetting. It was about living and about dying for freedom. I had to hold on.”<\/em><\/p>\n Elaine Brown did hold on. She held on to the bits and pieces of a fragmenting movement. She held on and raised a child. She held on and left the Party to find freedom in a new way. She held on as so many did before her and as so many have since. This holding on, this resilience, this is part of why I honor Black History Month.<\/p>\n I want to close with a short poem by Marilyn Buck, a recent ancestor of the struggle for liberation. A woman whose leadership as a white anti-racist leader must never go forgotten. A woman whose voice is needed during Black History Month to remind those of us who are white, that Black history is about us too — about when we choose to be allies or join in with oppression.<\/p>\n “To the Woman Standing behind Me in Line Who Asks Me How Long This Black History Month Is Going To Last”<\/p>\n the whole month you stare at me I take a breath a celebration! <\/em><\/p>\n \u00e2\u20ac\u00a6<\/p>\n the woman drops her gaze she hasn’t spoken to me since I want to stand in line with that woman. I want to stand in line with others and share why this month is so important. I want to remind myself over and over again the Black history is part of my history, is part of what shapes me as the person I am today. I want to dance in the celebration of the liberation stories. I want to cry in the face of the stories of suffering. I want to prepare for the ongoing work because we are far from done with the work we need to do. Lets talk openly and honestly about race and lets also organize authentically for the liberation of all people because truly we will be free when all of us are free.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I must say that it has been incredibly difficult to do much of anything this week other than watch Al-Jazeera. 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\nAt the age of twelve, before I had one year of formal schooling, I had a conception of life that no experience would ever erase, a predilection for what was real that no argument could ever gainsay, a sense of the world that was mine and mine alone, a notion as to what life meant that no education could ever alter, a conviction that the meaning of living came only when one was struggling to wring a meaning out of meaningless suffering.
\nAt the age of twelve I had an attitude toward life that was to endure, that was to make me seek those areas of living that would keep it alive, that was to make me skeptical of everything while seeking everything, tolerant of all and yet critical. The spirit I had caught gave me insight into the sufferings of others, made me gravitate toward those whose feelings were like my own, made me sit for hours while others told me of their lives, made me strangely tender and cruel, violent and peaceful.
\nIt made me want to drive coldly to the heart of every question and it open to the core of suffering I knew I would find there. It made me love burrowing into psychology, into realistic and naturalistic fiction and art, into those whirlpools of politics that had the power to claim the whole of men’s souls. It directed my loyalties to the side of men in rebellion; it made me love talk that sought answers to questions that could help nobody, that could only keep alive in me that enthralling sense of wonder and awe in the face of the drama of human feeling which is hidden by the external drama of life.” <\/em><\/p>\n
\neven if it is the shortest month
\na good time in this prison life<\/p>\n
\nand ask me why I think
\nFebruary is so damn fine<\/p>\n
\n<\/em>prisoners fight for February
\nAfrican voices cross razor wire
\ncut through the flim-flam
\nof Amerikkan history
\ncall its cruelties out
\nconfirm the genius of survival
\ncreation and
\nplain ole enduring<\/p>\n
\nlooks away and wishes
\nshe had not asked
\nconfused that white skin did not guarantee
\na conversation she wanted to have <\/em><\/p>\n
\nI think I’ll try to stand
\nin line with her
\nagain <\/em><\/p>\n