Recently I’ve been through what seemed like an almost unbearable amount of anxiety, stress, and struggle trying to fight to recognize my own voice, strength, and follow through in the face of many forms of violence and pain thrusted on me. Today I woke up with an inordinate amount of anxiety, and I need to share what is on my heart.
The struggle is real, and so is the movement. In this next year, we really need to connect with our comrades and make our voices no longer violable. We need to make sure that we continue to check our hearts and our minds everyday and know that our liberation, our revolutionary freedom is all interlocked with all of our subjugated existences. Now is the time for education, for action, for communication. Now is the time to know you are not alone in this.
You are powerful
You can move mountains
You are loved
You are supported
You are enough
In the wake of ‘progress’ is a veil of double consciousness, so please have your minds and hearts open AND secured. This time; OUR time has only just begun.
I wish to you all on this New Year’s Eve an abundance of reflection and a catalyst to act. I will share this poem with you, in solidarity with you.
-No One Can Stop The Rain-
Watch, the grass is growing.
Watch, but don’t make it obvious.
Let your eyes roam casually, but watch! In any prison yard, you can see it – growing.
In the cracks, in the crevices, between the steel and the concrete,
out of the dead gray dust,
the bravest blades of grass shoot up,
bold and full of life.
Watch. the grass is growing.
It is growing through the cracks.
The guards say grass is against the Law.
Grass is contraband in prison.
The guards say that the grass is insolent.
It is uppity grass, radical grass, militant grass, terrorist grass, they call it weeds.
Nasty weeds, nigga weeds, dirty, spic, savage indian, wetback, pinko, commie weeds – subversive! And so the guards try to wipe out the grass.
They yank it from its roots. They poison it with drugs. They maul it, They rake it.
Blades of grass have been found hanging in cells,
covered with bruises. “apparent suicides
The guards say that the GRASS IS UNAUTHORIZED DO NOT LET THE GRASS GROW.
You can spy on the grass. You can lock up the grass.
You can mow it down, temporarily.
But you will never keep it from growing.
Watch, the grass is beautiful.
The guards try to mow it down, but it keeps on growing.
The grass grows into a poem.
The grass grows into a song. The grass paints itself across the canvas of life.
And the picture is clear and the lyrics are true, and the haunting voices sing so sweet and strong that the people hear the grass from far away.
And the people start to dance, and the people start to sing, and the song is freedom.
Watch, the grass is growing.
Written by Assata Shakur
Too many of us are dying and constantly being violently silenced NOT to act. Let’s make this year about us, about our lives being worth it, about our healing. Let’s DEMAND it. I stand in solidarity with the movement because my life matters, because ALL subjected and marginalized lives matter.
Until Next Time,