Though many beautiful things happened in 2015 (most notably, career changes for both me and my husband), there are also some challenges that we’ve been forced to face. Personal obstacles, as well as the ongoing challenges of communities of color (my mind hurts trying to think of all of the names of Black people whose justice have been rejected), have caused me to reach deep into myself to seek faith and strength. I’ve been forced to find peace in what’s most important. I’ve been brought to my knees with humility. And when the tunnel looks dark and intimidating, I’ve been challenged to peel back the film of my own fear and seek a layer of strength I never knew existed.
As I enter 2016, I’m carried by the power of love, friendship, the words of my ancestors, faith and music that serve its purpose to empower.
Because, in the end, I know that everything is going to be “Alright.”
This blog was supposed to be a woman’s perspective on Hip Hop. I usually begin my, now, rare posts on Hip Hop with this sentence, to remind myself where ShesGottheMic began. It’s now morphed into many things since then– partly because of my boredom with the current state of Hip Hop, but mostly because my thoughts, which were once focused on the representations of women in Hip Hop, has shifted, and become more layered and complicated, to put it simply. But, there are still moments when a Hip Hop artist inspires me to geek out on the culture that defines much of my adolescence and college years, and I’m reminded why I wanted to start a blog that entirely focused on Hip Hop.
A couple of months ago, it was Kendrick Lamar who inspired me to go back to my Hip Hop roots. This time, it’s Missy Elliot’s newest song, “WTF (Where They From)” featuring Pharrell Williams. While Kendrick’s, “Blacker the Berry” reminded me that one of Hip Hop’s most powerful tool is its ability to document the times and produce a message, Missy’s “WTF,” reminds us of Hip Hop’s roots– to make people dance and have fun.
Now that she’s back (we missed you Miiiisssyyyy!!!), she’s brought us a song that can’t be listened to sitting down (I’m listening to it right now as I type at a coffee shop, and my booty is definitely moving). And the video… Missy Magnificence! Aside from reminding us that she’s still got it on the dance floor (you make 44 look glorious), her Afrofuturism/ comic book-esque/ Roundtheway Gurl style remind us that her creative energy doesn’t stop at beat making, but is carried out into the details of her videos (I once read that the ideas of her music videos were replicas of dreams she had). And did you see the Missy and Pharrell marionettes? Magic and creepiness at its finest.
Thank you Missy Misdemeanor for your return!
Its been 7 years since you left us with one of your jams. I’m sure in that time, you’ve changed, I know that I’ve changed, but one thing remains the same. When I finish watching one of your videos, my only goal is to hit ‘da club.
Because this blog often reflects my day job, I thought it might be important to update my change of employment. For the past five years, I’ve worked as a teacher, and grown as an educator, a professional, and an, overall, human being because of my work in the classroom. I learned valuable lessons from fellow educators, from students, and from my students’ families. For multiple reasons, however, I felt it was time for me to move forward by taking a break from the classroom. After three months in my new position, I’m relieved to say there are no regrets.
My official title is Director of School Culture/ Vice Principal (long story for my long title), and I now work at an elementary school in Richmond, which is about 20 minutes from Oakland. My role allows for me to wear multiple hats (but what person in education doesn’t?) When students have behavioral challenges that can’t be handled in the classroom, I’m called. I’m in charge of dishing out the consequences, but, more importantly, I’m also responsible for creating preventive measures for disruptive behavior. Some of the ways I’ve done this so far is implementing a school wide incentive program, supporting classes with implementing conflict/resolution strategies for students, and what’s close to my heart is hosting a girls group for girls who are struggling with social relationships. I also support with ensuring that our attendance numbers maintain high percentages, and facilitate parent leadership within the school.
Another hat I wear is supporting efforts to ensure that our students receive an education that is culturally relevant to their experiences. This may be one of the more challenging roles in this position, because discussing race/ culturally relevant teaching and cross-cultural relationships is challenging. It’s sticky and confrontational. But, when done correctly, it can shift the way we approach lesson design, as well as academic results. I’m trying to figure out how to do this effectively so that my teachers’ hearts are listening and motivating shifts in teaching practices.
On this blog, posts that used to reflect my experience as a teacher, will now reflect my new role as a school administrator. I’ve been in this position for only three months, but I’ve had many questions that I’d like to explore and track on this blog:
What is effective discipline? How do I facilitate culturally responsive practices with a school wide lens? How do I support teachers in their own practice with culturally responsive teaching practices? How do I facilitate tough, but productive conversations? What does strong school leadership look like? I’ve taught in a traditional classroom for five years, which is solid, but not extensive. How do I stay relevant as an educator and leader, while being out of the classroom?
Whether you’re an educator, or not, I hope I can engage you as a reader, and if you’re willing, even seek out your thoughts as I explore education from a new lens. In between education posts, I’ll continue to post about race and pop culture, art, travel, music videos, etc…
It’s been extra heavy on my page. I’ve been wanting to lighten the mood, so, when “I Wanna Be Down” with Brandy featuring Yoyo, Mc Lyte, AND Queen Latifah blasted from my iPod, I knew I had to pay homage to one of my favorite collaborations of all time. In 1994, I was 10 years old, loved Brandy, Hip Hop, and myself. So, when I saw a music video with four Black women rockin’ the MIC, it was everything to me. I don’t even know if there was anyone I wanted to be down with at that time (except for Batman from Immature), but I sang and rapped these lyrics like I was grown.
Janelle Monae, and her Wondaland crew have been touring the U.S., marching against police brutality. I’ve been following their endeavors on Instagram, and at the very last minute decided to join them when they went to San Francisco. When I found out they were marching in San Francisco, I wondered why San Francisco, and not Oakland? But once I walked out of the 24th and Mission BART station, and stood amongst the mixed crowd in the gentrifying Mission, it made sense. The Mission needed to be reclaimed.
Activists and families of victims of police brutality shared their truths. Alex Nieto’s family had a big presence. Alex Nieto, is a man who was gunned down in the Bernal Heights neighborhood by San Francisco police in 2014. Someone called and reported that he had a tazor gun. He was about to report to his job as a Security Guard, and was gunned down by police. His family is seeking justice.
Alex Nieto’s family speak their truth.
Oscar Grant’s family was also present. Oscar Grant was gunned down in 2009 at Fruitvale BART station in East Oakland in the early morning of New Years day. Someone reported there was a fight on BART. BART police pulled Oscar Grant off of the train, and though video recordings showed that he didn’t resist arrest, he was shot and killed. The officer claims he meant to taze him.
Oscar Grant’s family speak for justice.
The afternoon focused on the families of victims who have lost their lives to police brutality. People shared their truths, along with activists, speaking and rapping about their experiences. There was also much needed focus on the many trans women’s lives that have been taken, but not spoken about enough.
Later, Janelle Monae, Jidenna and the rest of the Wondaland Crew came on stage with the families of victims and sang a song, “Hell You Talmabout,” naming the many people who have died because of police brutality. They then led us on a march to the San Francisco Police Station where we continued to sing.
Police were prepared for a riot, with their head gear on, but Janelle Monae and her crew led us in song, and played the trombone, New Orleans style. People sang and danced. Jidenna, a singer from the Wondaland crew, said they didn’t want this to be a gathering of mourning, but a gathering of celebrating that we will move forward. That we will fight and survive.
Many people are fighting this fight, and overall, the Black Lives Matter response to police brutality has been led by women. It was powerful to see a woman celebrity not only use her celebrity, but lead other artists in using their talents to support the fight against police brutality. It was very Nina Simone of her to organize a tour that specifically is in support of people of color’s lives, and I hope other celebrities follow.
(Below is a link to a performance of the song Janelle Monae sang with families as we marched. The recording below is from another performance in Philadelphia)
Each death impacts me differently. There aren’t hierarchies in the tragedies that have been placed on Black lives, but the slap of, yet, another death, stings with varying reverberations.
The foul play surrounding Sandra Bland’s death is taking on a different haunting. Maybe, because I can’t stop thinking, “that could’ve been me.” I see myself in her. In her selfies, in her choice of earrings, in her passionate accounts of why Black Lives Matter. Again, there are no hierarchies with the countless lives ending through hatred, but they do reverberate differently within each of us.
Each time I open the door to my car, I think of Sandra. And as I transition lanes, or make a turn—remembering to signal, because God forbid I get pulled over for the same “offense” that eventually ended her life—I think of her. It’s only been a week since her death, but the weight of yet another death is heavy.
As people try to justify her scary arrest ( “she was being unruly, after-all!!”), I can’t help but wonder… what is it that people see when they see people who look like me? What makes some people immediately think we’re trouble? Whether we’re being “difficult” or praying, laughing or resisting, swimming or simply being loud… why do so many people think the most logical response is to shut us down… hurt us….terrorize us… murder us?
Why?
When I try to make sense of the hatred that individuals are projecting onto people who look like me, I feel like I’m reverting to my ten year old students, who simply don’t get it when I try to explain racism. “But why, Ms Peters?” they always ask. And regardless of the amount of times I try to make sense of it all, Ms. Peters never has the answer, but only the same question.
But why?
Artwork by Oakland-based artist, Oree Original. Download this image, and other images of people of color who have been victims of violence, at justiceforourlives.com.
With this being a blog about race, one may think that I’m late on responding to the perpetual violence that has been projected onto Black people most recently. I’ve been silent to the many lives that have been lost/ assaulted since Michael Brown. My silence isn’t due to lack of care, but the absolute opposite. While I can deal with anger or frustration through scathing phrases, sadness is a private emotion I can articulate only once I’ve processed it. Currently, it’s difficult to discuss whats been going on with loved ones, let alone a blog. We’re all hurting, but, again, words aren’t medicinal enough to carry our pain. My best mode for healing, so far, has been to read other people’s words. To read the words of people who experienced/ fought against/ survived more difficult, yet similar, situations.
“To be a Negro in this country is really– Ralph Ellison has said it very well– never to be looked at. What white people see when they look at you is not visible. What they do see when they do look at you is what they have invested you with. What they have invested you with is all the agony, and pain, and the danger, and the passion, and the torment– you know sin, death, and hell– of which everyone in this country is terrified.” — James Baldwin, from an interview by Stud Terkel in 1961
Baldwin’s words are heavy, but boldly relevant. His usage of “white people” simply equates to American society, for me. And the death that he says gets projected onto Black people… onto people of color… is sadly, too relevant 54 years later. We are only visible when we are seen as a threat. And then, there are deathly repercussions for our visibility.
I’ve attempted to provide words for the pain I’m feeling for young adults in Ferguson, for the suburban kids in Texas, for praying churchgoers in Charlotte, for the communities that are mourning… but sometimes we simply need silence…silence from the noise of recounting the violence, silence from nonsensical opinions of why things aren’t as bad as they seem, silence so that we can hear the voice within each of us that will tell us how to pick up the pieces.
It’s Mothers Day, today, and I’m compelled to go off topic a bit from my usual discussion around race and simply post a picture of my Mommy.
But, maybe, it’s not so off topic to post a picture of my mother on a blog that centers race. Especially when considering that my ability and necessity to discuss race began with toddler discussions around identity with her.
It is my Mommy who taught me to counteract people’s curiously rude questions on my identity with answers of pride. It was my mother who demanded I love my curls, my skin tone, my features. Before I reached for my auntcestors– Maya, Alice, and Toni–my Mommy put me on the game of racism, warning me of what was to come, defending me when she saw it coming. And when she didn’t know the answers, she brought me to people who could relate to me racially, and handed me books by James Baldwin.
I meet people who are still fearful to discuss race… particularly across races. But, it was my mother- who is read as white and is mostly white (she’s 1/4 East Indian) who continues to teach me how to discuss race across differences.
If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t even have this blog.
So, I guess posting a picture of her– one that celebrates a journey she is conquering that knows no race– is quite fitting, and even kind of traditional considering my posts with the most tractions are the ones I wrote for her a few Mothers Days Ago….#HappyMothersDay
Growing up as a Black girl writer, various books and writers sustained me. One such writer was Zora Neale Hurston. I lived by her. Her robust unveiling of Black human experiences were the literary nourishment to my young mind. I read over and over again her short story, The Gilded Six Bits.It was like I was there. I could feel the spirited home of Missie May and Joe. I could taste the molasses kisses Joe bought for their new born baby boy. I was literally wrapped up in the entire story.
Yet what intrigued me the most about Zora as a writer was her free spirit. As a folklorist and anthropologist, she saw the world and soaked up its wonders. This captivated me. As I grew older, the list of Black women writers that ruled my universe expanded. In college I was enamored with Ntozake Shange, then in graduate school mesmerized…
It’s the last day of National Poetry Month, so I thought I’d share a poem I wrote in response to my my trip to New Mexico earlier this month. Nothin’ serious – just a painting of my own.
The simple beauty of New Mexico
Woos me under the influence
To pick up a brush and paint.
To experiment with blending desert and sun.
But I’m no visual artist
She's.Got.The.Mic 