Commentary: carl w. kenney ii
The world I knew completely changed on the day I met Alexandra Valladares.
A life limited by eyes wide shut took a blink to discover a
world with unmeasured dimension. I knew the multiple shades of blackness and
the beats and rhythms inspiring me to dance. I knew the oasis of Black love and
the tender strokes of my Black mama’s love whenever sadness shifted to
depression. I understood the power of collective memories and the call of the
ancestors beckoning me to keep moving when troubles got in my way.
Still, something was missing.
I felt a divide created by distance, language, culture, and
complicated histories. I felt the challenge of telling untold stories with a
firm understanding of the life and witness of Brown people. I had to admit what
I didn’t know. It’s difficult telling stories without discernment of lessons
limited to articles and Facebook postings.
We met at a local coffeehouse. I began by telling Alexandra
I wanted to write a story for Durham Magazine about the experiences
of Latina’s living in Durham. Five minutes later, I told her I wanted to write
a series of articles. Ten minutes later, I told her she needed to write about
her experience. Finally, 30 minutes later, I begged her to run for office.
I fought back tears as she talked about jumping the fence
to enter America after escaping the hardship of Honduras. She shared her experience
of living in McDougald Terrace, graduating from Hillside High School and North
Carolina Central University. She disclosed being a single parent after getting
married young, enduring a divorce, and doing her best to be a mother in a
system packed with limitations.
We discussed the burden of advocacy - the brutal pain
related to witnessing parents struggle to communicate feelings when language
barriers get in the way.
Again, I begged her to run for office.
It was complicated.
After fighting to secure a spot on the Durham City Council
for Javiera Cabellero, I witnessed the disappointment when Cabellero failed to
endorse Alexandra. She didn’t complain. It wasn’t mentioned, but, I wondered,
why not. I watched as advocates of Latina inclusion on the city council failed
to acknowledge the importance of the same on the board of education. I noted the
extreme contradiction, prayed, and prepared for a better day.
The answer to that prayer was to build and promote a Black and Brown coalition. The Durham Committee on the Affairs of Black People endorsed Alexandra over Steve Unruhe, a popular and competent member of the school board. Alexandra narrowly received the endorsement of People’s Alliance. Some of the members of People’s Alliance were infuriated and responded with a vicious counterattack.
I met new brothers and sisters. I listened to Ivan Almonte
tell the story and reasons for his activism. I developed a bond with Sandro A
Mendoza, another brother from another mother, who teaches me new lessons every
time I shake his hand. My respect for Aidil Ortiz grew more as I watched her
interact with my Brown brothers and sisters with a grace brewed after years of
listening to each other talk about life in the Bull City.
My celebration of Alexandra’s placement on the Durham Public
School’s Board of Education is because it matters. Not just because she’s
Latina, but because she represents what it means to build an authentic Black
and Bown coalition. She exemplifies activism with the people.
My work with Alexandra, Aidil, Sandro and Ivan imparts
lessons in listening. They help me think critically about the massive
assumptions people make regarding inclusion. Genuine inclusion happens with the
people. It’s not a photo opp. It doesn’t seek the affirmation of people not
impacted by the labor. It’s not engineered by out-of-town activism with ripples
of contributions from people who never stepped foot in the community. It’s not
the ideological vision of state and national directives formed in isolation
from the people who live both night and day with blockades limiting pure
inclusion.
My Brown brothers and sisters teach me lessons about the
purity of love and community. This is the work they do because the survival of
their neighbors depends on their success. They do it when no one is watching.
They do it with limited resources and the lack of consistent affirmation.
I think of them when I witness the influx of endorsements
and campaign material from organizations with limited Durham connections. I
listen to them as they remind me of the work done with and for the people. I
pray when I consider the privilege of support afforded the people who walk and
talk with the advantage of Latino class privilege.
Not my words and thoughts. It’s the message taught when
eyes, once wide shut, blinks twice to discover a world of unmeasurable dimension.
I see the world in Black and Brown. Shades of white are
welcome.
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