My Freedom Is Tied to Yours
Dr. Demetria Rougeaux Shabazz began her life work as an historian and videographer using local public media in Houston, Texas. She taught mass communication and Africana Studies at the University of Massachusetts and other universities. In the Town of Amherst, Massachusetts, she worked to end structural racism and achieve abolitionist vision of public safety. A mother of two, she produced shows at Amherst Media and was the chair of its Board of Directors. Shabazz graduated high school in 1985. She passed away on September 11, 2023.
Black people have continually expressed rage, and white people weren’t listening.
They did not listen in 1961, not before the end of enslavement, and they did not listen when Nat Turner led his rebellion’s expression of Black rage. Black rage has been around since the beginning of enslavement.
I look at the boycotts and the sit-ins of the ’50s and ’60s as expressions of Black rage. At some point white people—a few at least—did listen. Black folk have expressed anger at the injustices for hundreds of years. We have done so, among ourselves, where we felt safe, but we also expressed our frustrations and anger about inequality in our organizing, which is evident in the historical incidents of rebellion and protest. These are all expressions of Black rage against the dominant culture, against white supremacy.
When we talk about Black rage, the question is how to express resistance, which isn’t always safe to do among people in the dominant culture. Growing up in East Texas during the 1980s, even then, I had to be very careful with how, as a teen, I resisted white supremacy. You were aware that resistance or disrespect towards teachers, community members—those in power—could mean some type of retaliation or your life.
My father and mother grew up in segregated rural Louisiana picking cotton and soybeans, unable to attend the white-only schools, and sitting in the back of the Catholic church. Their stories of the trauma of segregation and inequality created rage that fueled us and propelled us forward. My father never made it beyond 8th grade and had to go to work. He would proudly tell me that my only job was to go to school.
“Safe Outlets for Resistance”
I learned very early growing up in the south, with parents impacted by the cruelty of segregation, that being Black meant you had to work harder and do better than your white peers. Finding safe outlets for resistance, expressions of Black rage, meant you had to be creative. Often it was expressed, not through the grand gesture, but the everyday and mundane.
Resistance came through the arts for me, especially in high school. I participated in music and theater. I was blessed to have great Black teachers that instilled pride and knowledge. One teacher encouraged modes of Black expression that went beyond the limited curriculum, which did not include discussions of Reconstruction, of a history beyond slavery. Her area was social studies, but she played guitar, spoke Spanish, and had a broad knowledge of Black music. I recall that one year for Black History Month, she brought together a group of us, with the idea of creating a tribute to Blacks on Broadway.
Such school assemblies to celebrate Black History Month are commonplace now, but not then, and certainly not in predominantly white schools in Texas. School administrators were unhappy with taking time out of the school day to celebrate. We had to get approved for a special assembly and I remember sitting in my math class just before the assembly and my teacher saying, “Why do we have to break for something like this? It has nothing to do with the rest of us or with the history of America.” Such comments are frustrating and enraging, but they moved me and my friends to action.
As I’ve gotten older, I hope, I have gotten bolder in expressing my resistance. When we see so many of our young people risking their safety, even this past year during COVID, it is inspiring. As things quiet down, we cannot forget the organizing and agitating that took place following the death of George Floyd.
These incidents of violence against Black people continue. Thankfully, the Black Lives Matter movement has forever changed our culture for the better. It should not be an act of resistance or rage to assert the obvious, that Black lives do matter, but until society, especially those in power, understand that our lives and those of our loved ones are valuable, important, and necessary, we must persist. As a movement, Black Lives Matter must remain central to any struggle against racism. We need to stand with young activists and protestors in whatever capacity we can. We need to show that we support their acts of resistance, their righteous rage. They are the future.
The past Trump administration signaled to me that it is power that people wish to hold onto, even if it is detrimental to our democracy. Baldwin stated, “The relationship of morality and power is a very subtle one. Because ultimately power without morality is no longer power.”
The fact is that, until we realize that our freedom is bound to one another, we will not move forward to heal and create an anti-racist society. Healthcare, housing, education, the wealth gap, are all real issues where inequalities based on race persist. The new reality of COVID has only deepened them.
“What Baldwin Might Think”
I do wonder that Baldwin would think about our current situation. I hate to ever put words in the mouth of someone as eloquent and gifted as James Baldwin, but I think he might say something like: “We didn’t move the ball much further. There’s still so much violence at the hands of the police inflicted on our young people.” Yes, Mr. Baldwin, the report from the front lines is that it continues. We are still protesting and agitating and trying to legislate policies to protect Black lives. We are in the same struggle, which means that white people have continued to ignore Baldwin’s message or worse, they just don’t care. It’s hard to make the argument of ignorance, however, especially in a society saturated by social media. It is really difficult to close your eyes to what’s happening now—how political leaders are attempting to go back in time and hold onto power through voter suppression.
A lot of James Baldwin’s work speaks not only to the expression of what it is to be a Black person in the US, but also examines what makes us human, that Black lives matter. To me, this is the greatest tragedy: since we were forcibly brought to this country, despite all of what we have accomplished and contributed as Black people, our humanity is still questioned.
Baldwin made this statement in 1961 and white people are still grappling with that. When white people want to disagree with the concept and theory of Critical Race Theory, what they are saying is that they want to erase, suppress, and ignore not just our history but their own. Part of the power of CRT is that it provides a space for other voices; it makes central the role of other narrators who can speak about and speak back against the narrow telling of the story of this nation.
Baldwin would comment that things have perhaps changed a little, but we are at risk of going backward. Were it not for the continuation of Black rage and resistance from our grandparents, educators, artists, my parents, the young people, the workers, where would we be?
Hope is hard. In a discussion with my partner, what came to him were the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. If we look at things in that frame, there are, as with any historical movement, ebbs and flows. There is backlash. After the Civil Rights Act of 1964, there was a white backlash in the north as well as the south. This is what happens in terms of social movements. It’s not until there is an adoption—usually out of necessity—of practices, policies, and behaviors on the individual level, that people will hopefully understand that my freedom is tied to yours. Until white people can see the utility of making these changes in their individual and collective behaviors, little is going to change.
Black people, people of color, and their allies, as well as other folks who have experienced oppression, must stay vigilant. Reform is just chipping around the edges. What Trump has led, and many of the conservatives within this nation have followed, must be resisted. Their argument is not about morality. It’s about power. They fear power in the hands of not only Black people, but in the hands of people who want to share resources and save this planet. We must make sure that the lens we look through regarding the economy, education, and healthcare will speak to the needs that Black people and all people of color have been demanding since we were brought to these shores, and what indigenous people have been demanding since their shores were taken over.
“Stand With the Young”
We must be vigilant, but we must also stand with young people so that they inherit the skills and knowledge we have, to enable them to create change. It is with the young people that I have hope. In the last two years, fear has been generated by the instability of the economy, and the displacement of white people who have held the middle ground for so long. We know that the economic instability has more to do with their friends, community members, and politicians who are in charge and have not looked out for their constituents’ welfare, healthcare, education, and job security. Deeper divisions are being created by pointing fingers of blame at immigrants, people of color, women, and LGBTQ people.
When I think of Baldwin, I think of love. His courage to express the truth about this nation is evidence that he remained hopeful that things would change. Likewise, I want my own words to speak to hope and love for this nation—a love for my fellow community members, even the ones I fundamentally disagree with. My freedom is tied hand in hand with theirs. If I go off the cliff, we all do. We must work together to assure that people have the right to vote and that voter suppression does not become de jure discrimination by our government.
The children are right. We must wake up. My act of love is to continue hoping, to continue shouting, to continue speaking up even when it is inconvenient for me and uncomfortable for those in power.
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