Author: admin

White porcelain shines with the reflection of fluorescent light

It’s glossy twinkles mirror the sun rays that play in the drops of the ocean

But the hollow vessel is an imposter

It holds no water

For the last remnants of moisture were lost long ago

Dainty painted lips sipped from the side

Over-excited droplets leapt out

landing haphazardly on the table cloth, on denim jeans, in the shallow saucer below

But mainly the cup was poured out

To water a garden one day

To feed a fountain the next

To quench the thirst of a parched traveler

To rinse open wounds

To boil pasta

To wash hair

To make ice

To steam clean the carpet

To fill a pool on a scorching day

For it was told to me

It is far better to give than to receive

Evaporation would steal what little remained

And the dry, empty vessel shines

It proudly boasts its intricate inner designs

They should twist and distort ever so slightly under ounces, liters, gallons of rippled water

Yet they remain clear, dancing in a perfect circle

My cup runneth over?

My cup runneth out

And what more can be poured from an empty cup?

One of the most compelling breakout sessions I attended this year was “Eating Black” by Adrian Miller. He traveled to over 150 soul food restaurants in 15 states and 35 cities to understand soul food migration and its relationship to black trauma. Given the Great Migration beginning in the early 20th century, Miller discussed the spatial trauma that black people felt as they moved away from home. In moving up North, black folk built new businesses and created new community, but they kept their food very similar. Miller discussed that the black cuisine we know now as soul food was historically a celebratory meal that slaves ate infrequently. In fact, he likened slaves’ normal diet to modern day vegetarians, as meat (even the scraps) were rarely given to slaves.

The trauma of being away from home pushed black folk to eat soul food daily as a coping mechanism to being lost in one’s own nation. The ripple effects of trauma are telling, as diabetes, high blood pressure, and heart attacks came from the foods that initially were for times of celebration. The way Miller maps intergenerational trauma to not only what we eat but how much we eat what we eat was a novel train of thought for me. It left me shook to my core, it made me question the pros and cons of recreating home, and it provided me with an alternative bespoke framework for tackling black injustice: through food politics.

As I graduate, I am beginning to think about meal prepping for work and what comfort foods I will have at my disposal. Charmaine Jones, another panelist, later posed the question “Do I have to eat like white people to be healthy,” and while the answer is resoundingly no, I hope that I alongside black graduates find a balance of food that reminds us of home without allow it to consume us.

During my time here at Georgetown, I have been fortunate enough to attend the Yale Black Solidarity Conference each of my four years. As myself and the other seniors, who made up our largest cohort ever, prepare to embark on our post grad journeys I find myself highly appreciative of my final experience at YBSC as it related to trauma and mental health. Some of us are preparing to reach new heights in academia while others will be moving to new cities to start our careers and this conference gave us some much needed guidance about things we can do to consciously take care of ourselves.

One of the quotes that stuck out to me during the Coping Mechanisms in the Digital Age panel was, “what someone else thinks is coping or is wellness might not match someone else’s definition of that, do what you need to do.” I loved this quote. As us seniors begin to develop brand new relationships and friendships during the next chapter in our lives it is important that we do not change ourselves or our “practices” simply to appease people and make others like us. We should always prioritize ourselves and our feelings so that we can be the best versions of ourselves. Another quote that stuck out to me was, “be honest with how addicting social media is. It is a coping mechanism itself. If you’re doubting yourself about that, it means your default is to not be with yourself.” Social media has the ability to be a very positive space and platform for self-expression and finding community, however, it can also be very damaging and as we may use it to portray false narratives about ourselves and wrongfully compare ourselves to others.

Moving forward, I am very excited to apply the tips and tricks that I learned from my final experience at YBSC to shape the person that I am becoming and the person that I will be once my story is complete.

This collage represents the summary of my last YBSC. The theme of mental health was especially salient as reflect on a major life transition. Now, more than ever as I prepare to graduate, it’s important to have tools and strategies to manage my mental health as I leave campus. That is exactly what the conference did for me. Two panels that stand out were ones spirituality and mental slavery. The former interrogated millennials’ relationship to religion in a rapidly changing world. The latter, provided a historical thread of slavery to modern day and the impact on our psyche, specifically as Black students and young professionals. I left the conference feeling refilled and equipped. A significant part of that was the fellowship with peers. Both being able to mentor and get to know underclassmen, while solidifying relationships with my  senior & junior peers as I prepare to transition out of Georgetown.

I’m a Senior at Georgetown University, majoring in Government and minoring in African American Studies and Religion, Ethics, and World Affairs. For my Senior Blog Post, I wanted to focus on the lecture “Black Feminism and Black Love” hosted by Rachel Cargle. In her talk, Rachel Cargle discussed the strategies and challenges associated with engaging a wider community in intersectional, POC (or People of Color)-centric feminism, and how to create and cultivate self-love in the process. As I reflected on the significance of the talk, I thought of the various Black women, activists or otherwise, who have influenced my own understanding of Black Feminism. This is why I have included an image of Audre Lorde, with the quote: “Women are powerful and dangerous.” However, though Rachel’s talk centered on self-love, which is important, I have spent a lot of time recently thinking about the love we give to others, especially in a time as politically and socially divisive as now. As a result, I wanted a portion of my blog post to focus on the love we give to others, and the love that we may or may not receive in return. In doing so, I chose the poem Habits by Nikki Giovanni.

Lucille Clifton’s poem is both tender and tenacious. This poem elegantly and succinctly sums up the Yale Black Solidarity Conference.  The theme this year was trauma and resilience and there are many obstacles and struggles that we have faced and have emerged triumphant from. We shared space with many that we did not know who have experienced pain and suffering but it was as though we shared that pain and suffering collectively and were able to celebrate the joy of still existing despite hardships we have individually and collectively endured. 

This year’s Black Solidarity Conference at Yale really encouraged me. As it was my second time attending the conference, I had an idea of what to expect but this year really exceeding those expectations. I personally found the panel sessions really enlightening. Beginning with the panel on race and spirituality, the speakers really focused on mental health and the role the church can play to both aid and impede the fight for mental health awareness. Hearing the questions and personal stories from other students in the audience really galvanized the conversation. I personally loved how one of the panelists’ research, as he described to us, wove together faith, mental health, and the arts in the millennial black body specifically. From there, another panel discussed black girl joy and the role accountability and access plays in that conversation. Rachel Cargle is an activist, author, and social media personality who talked about maintaining authenticity while inhabiting primarily white spaces. As a black girl at a PWI, I can resonate with the dilemma that she portrayed. After her lecture, we even got to take pictures with her and discuss some of our initiatives on campus.

Lastly, what I love about the Yale conference is that it provides so many formative experiences outside of the conference itself. For example, each year it serves as a way to connect with other black students from Georgetown whom I may not otherwise see, especially now that I am a senior. I also look forward to seeing the continuities and changes in the on-campus art gallery. Ultimately, the Black Solidarity Conference provides a comprehensive experience: from academic enrichment, to personal development, to strengthening relationships back on campus. Overall, I am glad for the opportunity to go!

As my peers and I groggily boarded the coach bus on a Thursday morning I saw many familiar faces of folks I’d grown to see as close friends over years on th eHilltop, but also many new faces of underclassmen whom I’d seen around campus but had not had the opportunity to get to engage with as much beyond a nod or wave. I slept soundly for just about the entire ride up to Yale and woke up excited for what was in store. I fell fast asleep for just about the entire ride up and was excited for what the next few days had in store.  While I’d engaged on several of these topics in the classroom, at events on campus and amongst my friends, getting to be in a space intentionally dedicated to our growth as Black students- particularly in a topic related to mental health and resilience was a unique blessing. I found such power in being able to break the Georgetown bubble with my peers. Getting to meet Black leaders from other campuses meant feeling in solidarity with other students in our experiences but also being able to expand our vision and exchanging successes for us to bring back on campus. One of these included physically witnessing the Afrocultural House at Yale and envisioning expansion for Black House at Georgetown. I truly felt that the highlights of the trip were often in the reflection conversations we had following the lectured events. My peers are so bright and insightful and I found us all to be deeply engaged in unpacking class politics, colorism, feminism, and various forms or social justice issues in such nuanced and intersectional ways with a generous and authentic spirit that enabled us to put into one another. There were a number of standout memories whether in dancing, laughing or breaking bread that I feel honored to have shared with them as a graduating senior and I know I will look back at my time at Georgetown and look fondly at this weekend. While I certainly fell asleep for just about the entire ride back to campus after a jam-packed weekend, I did so with a replenished spirit and mind and a renewed sense of family and commitment alongside my Black family on the Hilltop.

As a student of color in college there are often hidden battles I fight day in and day out that many of my more privileged counterparts never face. I can recall first getting accepted to Georgetown University and the immense amount of excitement and gratitude that followed. I always felt destined to go to college. I knew that I would. My upbringing came with many accolades that would expose me to a world so much bigger than the one I grew up in – the one my friends would only come to know. As a result, I was able to picture myself becoming something much bigger than what the circumstances of my environment typically allowed. However, it wasn’t until I got to college that I realized how much my “differentness” was actually just me being deemed as exceptional. I then learned how only the exceptional Black and brown kids were afforded the investment and attention needed to become successful. Exceptionalism within the Black community is a vicious cycle that places the articulate, intelligent, and “gifted” on an incredible pedestal with unsurmountable expectations, while also using these elite individuals as the benchmarks of success for all the rest. 

Coming to terms with this reality was a difficult one for me my first two years of college. Why was I seen as being so special, simply because I went to college? Why was this something always expected of me and not of my peers? Why was everyone around me so content with this cycle? Living out the duality of my life – being a charismatic young man who can thrive in any settling and balances the everyday life of college and a very much white world, while also being an authentic member of my community and proving to my friends and family that I am still a part of them – has only added to the many hidden battles I mentioned earlier. Going from class, to mentoring young men like myself, to talking to my closest friends over collect calls as I try to impart a sense of wisdom that I don’t believe I have, yet they always seem to seek from me, can play a very trying and interesting role on the psyche of student like myself. And over time I saw myself loose grip of my happiness and my balance. 

Attending the Yale Black Solidarity Conference was empowering because it reminded me that I wasn’t alone in my thoughts, my actions, and my reality. There were other Black students from across the country who too had been at war with the very same battles as me. Going beyond just being in community with these individuals, I was also inspired by the theme of the conference. It was one that touched on the topics of coping with our mental health, building resilience as a people, and lessons on how to heal from our trauma. In more ways than not, a lot of the trauma of my childhood was brought to the forefront during my time in undergrad, because being removed from my environment showed me just how much I had come to normalize extremely toxic situations. Nevertheless, there was, and is, still a deep love and appreciation for these very environments, and the result left me unsure of my identity, my position in the world, and my own stability. 

I gained a lot of personal resources and advice from the conference that I can now implement within my own life – with the hopes I will begin to channel the rage, fear, and discomfort I felt just a few months ago, into something greater than myself. The Black Solidarity Conference also shedded light on the importance of our stories as people and the need to share them. I’ve been working on an Extended Play mixtape for the past year and a half, and after returning from the conference I had built the confidence and the motivation to complete a very personal song that I believe embodies my own transcendence and growth. The EP is called My First Speech and each song represents a part of the “programming” or overall process of giving a speech. The track-list is as follows: 

1. Mr. Green’s Room (Skit)
2. Opening Remarks
3. Run of Show
4. Speaker’s Bio
5. Cold Feet
6. Intermission (Skit)
   
7. Keynote

This song speaks on the depression and self-doubt that consumed me during my time at Georgetown (feelings that still manage to creep back in from time to time). It follows my path of actualizing my new found success and the pressures that come with such success when coming from the community I come from. But it also contains redemption, self-discovery, and a new found appreciation for self-love by the end of it. Which is exactly the journey I’ve gone down over the course of the past four months or so. I hope you enjoy it. 

The session that really resonated with me was Building the Black Home and Family. It made visible the invisible narrative of black women dying in America due to complications from pregnancy and childbirth. Essentially, the black home and family would not exist if it were not for black women, and this goes beyond the idea that black women are who mentally, emotionally, and physically support the family. Black women quite literally give birth to the black family and are the carriers of the trauma that accompanies such task. Consequently, they can pass on this trauma to their descendants. The session focused on how more attention should be paid to the idea that while we view giving birth at home as antiquated, unsafe, etc., giving birth in hospitals actually has proven to be quite dangerous for black women in America, as demonstrated in this collage.

The panelists discussed how our foremothers gave birth in the home, surrounded by midwives, family, doctors, etc. who got to know her and her body, could support the black woman in a way that was appropriate for her and not in a standardized/technical “medical” manner. We can mirror these processes today with doulas and midwives in instances suggested through this collage where more “modern” techniques, which are supposed to be advanced and safe, have failed us black women. The images at the bottom of my collage demonstrate instances where the black woman is surrounded by people who actually know her and care for her – instances that hopefully seek to diminish some of the trauma that comes with building the black home and family.