what is they?

dear jesmyn,
while reading your memoir, i keep going back to the question that is posed periodically throughout the memoir, "what is they?" i'm not done reading the book yet, so i don't know if you eventually come up with a definitive answer, but what i do know is that they seems to be a looming, inevitable power that determines the destiny of the black men in your life.

"they killed my brother." // "they picking us off, one by one."

i interpreted they as the symbolic white man whose white supremacist ideals permeate and form the very foundations and structures of this nation. these structures are meant to keep poor blacks poor and perpetuate government-rigged cycles of violence, drugs, and mass incarceration. they is everywhere. they pervades the very air inhaled in poor black neighborhoods. there is not a day that goes by without they plaguing the hearts of black mothers and black sisters with fear. they kills black men's bodies, boot heel on throat, and calls it an accident.

you said that your brother taught you that "love is stronger than death."

loving and taking care of each other is resistance. may we always love and take care of ourselves and each other fearlessly.


faatimah

On the Anesthetized Politics of Race

Dear Jesmyn,

What strikes me about your memoir thus far is the dichotomy between dulled deaths and the urgency to humanize, and put face and self to, the dead. That is, death is mentioned almost casually, as though to emphasize the quotidian terror Black folks face and the probable nature of Black men dying young, and dying quite unnaturally. At the same time, however, you are consistent in providing context regarding the time of death, the background of the life lost, and the collective trauma this induced upon you, your family, and your friends.

This made me think about how language and the constant recurrence of terror against Black people has anesthetized others to the magnitude of atrocities. This, combined with policy, ideology, culture, perverted infatuation with militarization as a means of American masculinity, etc. have left white people either turning a ("color")blind eye to white terrorism and power-pleasure dynamics, or in superficial and often times performative "solidarity" with people of color.

What shift must occur for the anesthetic to wear off? Cultural? Political? Personal ideology? Or all of these at once? And how is that shift achieved?

Men We Reaped

There was a specific passage in the Men We Reaped where you explained how families transitioned to a matriarchal family structure from the nuclear structure. I feel like all the things you talk about in the memoir relate back to these ideas of a necessary matriarchal structure, of how men and the idea of masculinity require women to hold it up. When you talk about how much time and care your father lavished on the motorcycle, using desperately needed funds to buy this symbol of personal and solitary freedom, I feel like it provides context to the larger historical moment.
    I was also really moved by the scene where you talk about fiction writing and how difficult it was to make your male characters reflect the reality of the men in your life. It made me thin about how much maliciousness is required to write “real life”. I feel like memoir is such an interesting genre because it blends fiction and nonfiction, so that people in our lives take on the qualities of characters while still retaining the things that make them them. 

Dear Jesmyn

Dear Jesmyn,

Thank you for being brave and sharing your story. Men We Reaped is groundbreaking in the sense that it speaks about real life, important, topics that are rarely touche don by mainstream culture. The idea that Black men are expected to die young, and that the people around them are expected to deal with this fate silently and without protest. I really connected to the idea that even though her life in Mississippi and Louisiana were painted with crime, death, racism, and poverty, when she was at Stanford she still missed it and needed it in a sense. The idea that even though places are less desirable than this school we all attend, there is something real about and honest about the idea of home. Even though home has crime, and poverty, and chaos, it is still a place that grounds me. Thank you for talking about the reality of being an outsider and a Black woman at Stanford and how the reality of Black existence does not really line up with the expectations of student life at Stanford. I am sorry for the loss of your brother, but I want to deeply thank you for talking about it and how you coped with a phenomenon that effects so many Black women.The death of Black men is something that is expected and at the same time ignored by so many, so thank you for shedding light onto the the subject and sharing your life with us.

To Jesmyn Ward

Dear Jesmyn Ward,
I thought a lot about the entanglements you described in your writing. In thinking
about the racial entanglements that blur boundaries or the entanglements of
different histories in your mention of the Black Panthers. Is there a way to tell
history that includes these entanglements? You focused heavily on the
physicality of places and people with specific attention to detail. Is this writing
style related to when you wrote that “Like all children, they were the children of
history and place”? In this same way do you feel yourself having an identity
distinguished from those around you, or are you an embodiment of your town
and community. Additionally, what do you think the point of history is, and why
do you seek to preserve it? I also read Salvage the Bones, and your writing
often mentions dogs/wolves as well as the impact of different hurricanes on
communities. I also acknowledged I am quick to undervalue fiction writing
because it is not completely objective, yet I also know that nothing ever is.
As Virginia Woolf said, “Fiction must stick to facts, and the truer the facts
the better the fiction.”

Jesmyn Ward

Jesmyn Ward,
You spoke about both your mother’s and your father’s childhood. How they both came from similar situations, yet how they both handled their lives differently. How because your mother was a girl, she felt a greater responsibility to be a motherly figure for a majority of her childhood. Yet because your father was a boy, he was allowed freedom, freedom your mother could never have because of her gender. This made me think of the cycle of violence and the idea of masculinity and how deeply both of those are rooted. How even though Black people were never free in that time, at least in the truest sense, how there was still the levels of freedom based almost on anything else.
I love the way you speak honestly. This book is one everyone should read, as it speaks about a cycle of struggles that few people understand. It sheds light on how each person handled similar struggles very differently, how people who are oppressed do their best to oppress the tragedies that are happening around them. There is such a skewed view of both Black men and women, especially when looking at emotion, and this directly corresponds to the expectations that both themselves and others set for them. I appreciate you shedding light on these ideas.

To Jesmyn

In your depiction of the depths of American poverty, how do see the representations of manhood in your environment defining your own identity? As desperation and disaster play a role in the stories you choose to tell, how did you see these experiences contribute to many of the themes present in black American manhood?

Esther

Dear Jesmyn Ward

The accurate and real depiction of your life and those who you have lost is a text and story that I will genuinely never forget. It seems that we either hear these stories every day or not at all. Black people are killed and a lot of times there is no coverage. The only time there is serious coverage is when the black community makes a complete civil rights movement around these deaths. It is crazy to think that black men are killed at such high rates. Black women are often forced to take upon unrealistic roles as two parents when their husbands or partners are killed. Black girls are also forced to take upon unrealistic roles as a result of the mother taking on the "father" role. Black girls are forced to mature at insanely low ages in order to keep the family from falling apart while the mother is making money for the family. The way our society is set up, there is no real way to get out of this cycle of death, leading to trauma, leading to unnatural maturity at young ages by young black children. We have a lot of conversations about how women mature quicker than men, but I think one of the main reasons for this is the fact that women are forced to endure more at younger ages. There are obviously other factors, like the fact that men aren't held accountable for their actions until late adulthood, and maybe not even then, but I think the trauma that women, black women specifically, face at such young ages has a lot to do with their "maturity."

Black Men

Jesmyn,

Your early introduction of your father presented him as a powerful man, faced with much responsibility from an incredibly early age. From your vivid descriptions of various experiences with him and your brother, I was reminded of one of the struggles many daughters of Black men face; the struggle to see them as individuals distant from the pressures of the world. Men are often seen by what they offer rather than who they are. Furthermore, while the book focuses on the loss of Black males due to premature deaths, I considered that the inability for people to see and fully understand them leads to their slow deaths while they live. I would argue that this struggle too exists for Black women.

Genuine and Unfiltered: A Breath of Fresh Air

Dear Jesmyn,

Your writing is enchanting. You spare no details, but share your story in a way that allows your reader to visualize every scene. Your use of metaphor is phenomenal. I am continually captivated by each page, just as I was In Salvage the Bones. Men We Reaped is a story that America needs to hear, though I know it is a story excruciatingly painful for you to write. I so respect your ability to write so beautifully about people in your life who were (and perhaps still are) so close to you.

As I read the Men We Reaped, I find the way you write about death especially engaging. You seem to describe death as an event that does not define the condition of your loved ones. You speak about  interactions with your loved ones as live beings and as ghosts, ("I never met her husband, my great-grandfather Adam Senior, the man or the ghost.'[18]). At first, I was taken aback by statements such as this one, though I so appreciate sentences like it that reflect your honest beliefs and perspectives. The ingenuity and uniqueness that define your writing in each chapter are what make your books such a pleasure to read.

Sincerely,

Jordan

"The endurance demanded of women in the rural South"

Jesmyn,

Your words flow across the page and seem to capture every moment exactly how it was.

Your sentiments flow through your words and I can feel the frustration, sadness, happiness, and joy you must have felt while writing this story. All at different times, of course.

Your sentiment of the endurance demanded by women in the rural south is still echoed today as black women are expected to be strong. They are not supposed to show weakness or emotion. They are not allowed to show vulnerability the way others are. The are archetyped into one individual and nothing less is expected of them. There needs to be a change in the way emotion is portrayed and expected of women and men.

Thank you, again, for your gripping story of Salvage the Bones and for the Men We Reaped. I am sorry for the many losses you have been forced to endure. I hope you feel at least a little reconciled from being able to write their stories and make sure they are not forgotten, Your words will be the legacy of those you love for many, many years to come.

Camille

Dear Jesmyn,

Thank you for Men We Reaped and Salvage the Bones. Your writing style is effective, clear and moving throughout both your fiction and your non-fiction. Firstly, I’ve noticed many plot parallels in Men We Reaped to Salvage the Bones. How did the process of writing these two genres, both obviously inspired by your experiences growing up, differ? Which one do you prefer, and which one do you think is more effective in getting ignorant/ambivalent readers to care about the oppressive constraints of black poverty, or violence against black men? Additionally, after you recount CJ’s death, you present the differing accounts of exactly how he died, but say “I do not tell Charine these stories; I would not add to her burden of loss.” How do you reconcile this desire to protect your younger sister from the truth with the fact that this book will be published and she will inevitably read it? Were you scared about how your relatives would receive this book?

All the best,
Natassia

"She Writing About Real Shit"

Dear Jesmyn Ward aka Mimi (if I may call you that),

I think all authors of fiction have a bit of god complex. As an author of fiction, you have total autonomy over constructing characters, entire people. I am honestly afraid of having all that power over people I write into the world even if they are just fictional people. Having  enough separation your characters to choose when to be the benevolent God or the protector and the Old Testament God is difficult. It's always hard. We strive to make complex characters that have the fullness and many dimensions as real people. We love our characters so much that we can't allow the wolf of darkness destroy them as it did with men you cared about in reality. We seem to have to make a choice between preserving characters and making novels real when real young black people in our world have never been preserved. It is almost impossible to have both.

Luckily in creative nonfiction or memoir, we don't have to worry about any god complex. We, the writers, have the structure of real life to follow and have to create much less. We just have to face our grief and other burdens. We just have to make grief and burden aesthetically pleasing to read. We get to make reader empathize with the constant tearing from past to present, the feeling of going backwards in time and never forward. We do this, and it might make us feel better.

I wonder if you think your writing in your memoir captures your life, Roger, Demond, C.J., Ronald, and Joshua accurately enough, if you think it has preservation and destruction of beauty. Your words are pungent and seem to convey so much about your life that I would have never known from seeing you speak about Salvage the Bones during New Student Orientation this past fall. I hope your think this book captures "all the terrific grace" of yourself and the men you cared for so much. I hope everything you convey in this book gave you more clarity than the "awkwardly bent, blurry," frozen moment of C.J. captured by your camera.

Always Forward,
Kory

Cycle of Violence

Dear Jesmyn Ward,

In your memoir Men We Reaped, you inspire readers with the eulogy of the men who were your friends, your family, your brothers. At the same time, the horror of the details in which you describe their deaths, the fury and grief behind "the thing that chased" you and killed the people dearest to you one by one, is at once excruciatingly painful and candidly evident (249). "By the numbers, by all the official records, here at the confluence of history, of racism, of poverty, and economic power, this is what our lives are worth: nothing" (237). Through the vignettes of your own upbringing, we see closely and personally the ways in which men are indoctrinated with toxic masculine expectations not for some upholding of tradition or culture, but for pure survival, while women are inevitably subjected to loss of their male family members. Violence surrounds African American people. They are subjected to violence regardless of their best intentions, and the only way to survive it is through violence. Yet, this process kills the men, gradually and all at once.

What can be done, Jesmyn Ward? What can we do to respond to this violent whirlwind of injustice and prejudice? To this day, the things that kill men and agonizes women of your race are not even recognized as the consequences of a nation-wide pandemic, of the domination of white supremacy that is hidden behind the façade of individualist blame - that black communities commit vice all on their own. The law doesn't help you. The police murders you and excuses white murderers. The 'people' say this has nothing to do with them, or worse yet, that this does not exist. 'No one says racist things like that in real life,' I heard countless times on the very campus you lived in for years. As you say, "There is a great darkness bearing down on our lives, and no one acknowledges it" (250). It is all so conveniently swept under the rug, suffocated while those who dare not speak of the entity step all over it.

"Men’s bodies litter my family history," you being your memoir, "The pain of the women they left behind pulls them from the beyond, makes them appear as ghosts" (14). The kind of suffering that black women in America are subjected to is interconnected, yet vastly different from that of men. "It was easier and harder to be male; men were given more freedom but threatened with less freedom" (99). We painfully see that in your mother, constantly abandoned by her father and husband. We see that in the helpless loss you feel of the men in your life, who come and go as they please, and most often without a choice. We cannot ignore the great degree of violence and neglect that black men impose upon black women, though both are prejudiced under the same darkness of racism. Yet, how can we address a violence that does not stem from entitlement, but rather a cycle of violence stemming from racism? To end that cycle, the root must be addressed and abolished. In the mean time, when that end seems far from our reach, how do we help women and men who suffer everyday from a legalized, normative violence? Perhaps there is no one answer, but the process is what counts, and your memoir is a testimony to that process of questioning, with the rage and resistance it requires.

On Performativity

Dear Angela Davis,

I have been thinking about the concept of performativity lately, in many of the ways the term is applicable. Performative allyship, performative activism, performative being, etc. What particularly concerns me about the concept of performative being is that it seems that there is no feasible way to escape from the guidelines of being, whatever those may be, and formulated by whoever they were initially crafted. That is to say, our behavior and being seems to be reactionary under all circumstances: reactionary, at least, to whatever guidelines of existence are in opposition to one's image.

This is all rather abstract consideration of what it means to exist. Nonetheless, the concepts still had me questioning the sincerity, or lack thereof, of our crafting political ideology and activism. What are your thoughts on the rhetoric of activism, the epistemology of activism, and the methodology of activism? How do we take into consideration existence as a form of resistance, while simultaneously accommodating for assimilation politics, rejection of problematic ideologies, etc.?

Is militancy necessary?

Dear Angela Davis,

When I visited the exhibit dedicated to your lifelong activism in the GLBT Historical Museum, I was in awe of your unwavering determination in fighting against oppression. From being a cultural icon of "Black, Beautiful and Red" to symbolizing liberation for all, you defy the trap of identity politics while also acting in solidarity of anti-oppression groups. Especially coming from an era where black women were seen as second-class twofold not only in societal normativity but also in activist groups, you are perhaps the first leading activist that never sold out to the pressures of liberal mainstream thought.
One thing that I especially was interested in hearing your opinion about now is your opinion on arms. With the rising movement and debate over gun control, where do you find yourself in agreement or disagreement of the various arguments regarding weaponry? You described yourself as militant in your activism as opposed to the more conventionally accepted practice of non-violent protest. Similarly, when we read Ida B. Wells' piece in Southern Horrors, she called for the need of arms in self-defense. I understand that the Black Panthers' ideology also aligned and likely took influence from her. With thinkers also like Franz Fanon who argued that the colonized as a reaction requires violent measures to fight against the colonizers rather than simple legislative reformation, what is your opinion on activism with armed militancy?

Dear Ms. Davis,

You were not ahead of your time. The times were behind you. The times are still behind you. We were not ready for your radical generosity or your persistent commitment to justice and we were most definitely not ready for you to get back up after you got knocked down. You defy all the odds of womanhood - you are African-American, educated, outspoken, self-aware, confident and are unwilling to submit to an incessant siege of fear-based power manipulation.
The world has never seen the likes of you and that is why you terrified it, Ms. Davis. You stand in the name of honor and truth - aspects most of America, and the world, are unable to face with regards to our history of division.
I look forward to the day we are ready for you but I fear that sun will rise far in the future. For now, I am grateful to be able to learn from you.

Yours,

Maria

Prophets of the Hood

Dear Imani Perry,

You wrote that “one’s epistemological framework determines one’s ability

to understand the music” (32). Thus, often white interpretations translate

this music and flatten it. I think that what is so radical about much of black

culture is its radical conception of a new mode of thought and being, and

this is also what makes it incomprehensible by the white gaze. Whereas the

world of whiteness operates in binaries and demarcations, you often

discussed the complexity and multi-dimensionality of Hip Hop. Is there even

a way that people not familiar to the very specific tones and contexts music

is situated in should attempt to consume it? Can whiteness ever operate in a

less violent way unless it reconstructs its epistemology?

In the Introduction you discussed this blurring of demarcated spaces as an

“open discourse” emerged which joined supposed opposites. This, to me, is

a genuinely democratic space. Furthermore, the idea of discourse, or call

and response, allows a type of art that is in conversation with others around

it. How do we consider the hybridity of culture while decidedly designating

something as specific to a group of people?

Professor Perry

Dear Imani Perry,

I am interested in learning how a law professor like yourself just decides to write a book about Hip-Hop. You wrote about Hip-Hop in such a nuanced way in the section titled Discourse. There is a real value for "speaking your piece" in this genre of music, and no subject is off limits. Respectability doesn't police Hip-Hop's bounds, and you articulated that so well. You made it occur to me that the democratic phrase "speak your peace" embodies classic liberal ideas about free flow of ideas. Who would have thought there was liberalism in Hip-Hop?

Also, I thought it was always funny how Tupac is from New York but became "Westside 'til we die! / Out here in California." Affiliations indeed do matter more than origins. Rappers really have to freedom to "play" for any reason they want if they fit into the vibe of region.

P.S. I would love to know more about your ideas about "Moynihan constructs of debilitating black matriarchy and cultures of poverty" that many black people have accepted as sound theories.

Best regards,
Kory

To Angela

Do you feel as though the popular consumption of your distinctly African-American features was based on her ability to align with the acceptable beauty standards for African-American women of the time? On a global scale, you were seen as the ideal for African-American women, a wildly unattainable thing, considering your educational feats and your uniquely exceptional climb to prominence. Being one of the most radical black minds of your time, coupled with your being one of the few women ever identified as one of FBI's Most Wanted, makes me wonder why you were not rejected by the media, why your considerably unpopular militant stance and antagonistic approach to activism wasn't shunned and silenced, but approved, packaged, and memorialized. Although today we value your devotion to activism and bettering the lives of your brothers and sisters, it is peculiar that such values were embraced so easily by the public because of the outward appearance of the woman communicating them.

Dear Ms. Davis

Dear Ms. Davis,

Let me begin by saying that you are such an inspiration and role model on how to live a brave, others-focused life. I have a few questions. First, what did it feel like to have your picture used as a symbol? Was it dehumanizing? Did you feel like people began to forget your personhood as they recognized your power to unite a movement? Do you feel like being characterized as strong is dehumanizing? How did you decide to focus your movement on anti-racism and anti-capitalism instead of issues effecting the LGBTQ+ community? What was your relationship with leaders civil rights leaders in the church like? Did you know Ella Baker and have a relationship with her?

I really appreciate your willingness to share your experiences, your life, and your picture with the world. You are and will continue to be an inspiration for many generations to come.

Best,
Taylor Wright

Prophets of the Hood

Prof. Imani Perry,

I thoroughly enjoyed reading the text's introductory chapters, as I feel that they validated and authenticated an art form that is commonly viewed as inferior and simplistic. Specifically, the mention of MC Lyte's use of figurative language in "Lyte as a Rock" provided great insight on the thought and care that many rappers place in their lyrics. Additionally, it properly brought female rappers into the conversation, which is needed given that their many contributions to the form are often overlooked. Why are the female pioneers of hip-hop forgotten, especially when many of them worked to introduce the form to the mainstream world?

Dear Lisbet,

Thank you for the amazing presentation of your collection on Angela Davis. It was fascinating to learn about her work with the Panthers and her activism regarding anti racist and anti capitalist movements. I was struck by how down to earth she seemed to be despite her status as a Black Power icon. Your depth of knowledge was incredible and I am so grateful that you were willing to share not only your collection, but the story of one of your close friends. I am interested in the relationship between her race, sexuality, and spirituality. While it seemed like her racial identity was the most salient to her, I am wondering how these other components of her identity complimented or contradicted her race. Did her sexuality or spiritual practices inform some of her activism strategies? If she had been more openly queer, would she have been able to make the same impact in the Black community? I think her life is so inspiring, and I would love to find out more about some of the nuanced parts of her identity. Thank you again for the wonderful exhibit!

go back in time

Angela Davis,

To think I saw you speak, shook your hand, had you sign my “Black is Beautiful” poster, and took a picture with you is amazing. Yet to think that I also completely underappreciated that experience is frustrating. I wish I had knew more about you at that time, that I had knew more about what you had done so when I sat through your speech and gotten the chance to speak to you I would’ve had a substantial thought to say. I can’t go back now, but I appreciate getting to view the exhibit and developing a deeper appreciation for you.

Dear Lisbet

Dear Lisbet,

 What an incredible collection you have!  And even more wonderful than the collection itself is your passion for the collection and Angela Davis' life's mission which was clear as you soon as you started talking. I am so glad that you took the time from your day to speak with us. I must admit that I knew Angela as a political prisoner activist who was/is one of the most powerful voices arguing for racial equality. I was very unfamiliar with other aspects of her life including the fact that she identified as queer. I think that her sexuality adds a powerful element to her already defiant personage. It was also a surprise to me that she had spent time abroad and was a philosophy professor. I knew she was a professor but had always assumed that she had worked in the political science department. I am so thankful for the opportunity to learn more about Angela movement that she helped create - a movement whose mission still thrives today.

Thanks again,

Jordan

To Angela

I want to hear more from you about the ways that you relate to the word "queer." I know we heard about it at the exhibit, but hearing from you personally and what you have to say about the rhetoric around the LGBT community and the way it has evolved would be really interesting. How did your queer identity influence they way that you navigated revolutionary spaces and the way that you thought about activism. What did you value and prioritize in your specific ideologies? A lot of people get overwhelmed with having to think about so many intersections in identity; how did you think about that and manage to incorporate everyone into your activism? It can obviously be done, because you did it, but maybe it would be helpful to explain how you did it because a lot of people are unwilling to consider more than a couple identities.

Dear Imani

Dear Imani,

First and foremost, I must apologize. Until I read the back cover, I did not know you were a woman. I am disappointed in myself for assuming you were male.

Your relevant commentary and analysis on hip hop and it’s connection to and origin in Black American culture is unparalleled. I have heard a similar narrative but never in your unique perspective.

Your statement that one’s analysis and interpretation of hip hop music is a direct result of one’s own personal narrative and subsequent experience and authority is spot on. Coming from my background and privilege, I, too, respond to the rhythmic structure in hip hop music, drawn to it when the beat gets my body movin rather than my soul. While I can try to sympathize with the black experience, it is one that I will never be able to empathize with. While I belt along to the catchy tunes on Nicki Minaj, Beyoncé, Chance, and other black artists, I cannot begin to understand the complete meaning and gravity woven between the poetry of their words.

My narrative is one of white experience and privilege. I want to be able to be an ally to the black community without inserting myself and overstepping and you’ve shown me that that means knowing your place in the movement. 

Camille

to be human and real

dear angela,

going to see lisbet's exhibit of your life at the glbt museum in san francisco with my class on sunday was a brilliant experience. to me, it's so interesting how your ideas were so radical, yet you are inexplicably ingrained in the fabric of pop-culture. 

to me, the most interesting thing about you that lisbet told us about was the fact that you prioritized your health and made sure you had a support system and network. in my head, you were always superhuman in a sense because you seemed so strong and resilient in the face of painful trauma and obstacles that seemed impossible to navigate. but talking to lisbet made me realize that you were a 'long-distance runner' because you developed sustainable methods of self-care and a support network that grounded you and supported you. 

lisbet also mentioned that you never wanted the movement to be about you. she also said that it was jarring in a sense and dehumanizing when people wore your face on t-shirts, etc... but that you understood that you were a powerful symbol to the people and were willing to come to terms with that even though it frustrated you. i have a sticker of you on my water bottle and i think i'm going to take it off especially in light of what lisbet said. 

going to the exhibit has changed the way i view you and has made you much more human in a way. also, the dinner (and cookies!) we had afterward were simply delightful, so in many ways i am a much happier human after getting to see your exhibit. 

faatimah

Radical Pedestal

Dear Angela Davis,

The radicalism you embody is truly inspiring. You were never afraid of confronting the american government for their racist and oppressive policies. You never hid your identities and beliefs, rather you embraced and celebrated them in the face of powerful opposition. Oppressed people all around the world looked up to you. They made posters, t-shirts, pins and more with your face on them. Did it bother you that you looked a little different in each one of these posters? Your eyes softer and more “feminine”, your hair coiffed? Did it enrage the anti-capitalist in you to see the profit being made off of your face? Did you ever feel like it was all too much, like you were up on a pedestal? Although you never hid the fact your were queer, you also never openly and publicly stated it. As queer (bisexual) myself, I can understand the difficulty––and I can imagine how much more taboo queerness was at the height of your activist career. But in today’s age, which is markedly more accepting, why have you avoided making an explicit statement?

Yours curiously,
Natassia

in awe

dear ella,
while reading parts of the biography of your life, i have come to realize that there are many things that i admire about you. // disclaimer: in no way am i attempting to idolize you or say that you had no flaws // i admire how grounded you were in your sense of self and how unwavering you were when it came to sticking to your convictions. i admire your humanistic worldview and how you were involved in multiple struggles and movements.
i was reading about your funeral, and the number of people that attended, as well as the various differences in race, ethnicities, gender, economic class, and political affiliations between them was very telling to me.
it is a mystery to me why you did not leave behind any journals or memoirs. if it's not too personal, may i ask why? did you still want to guard yourself even after you died? or did you not want to be glorified for work that you thought was the very reason for your existence.

best,
faatimah