Striving for Safety in Dangerous Times

by Ari Pak, he/they

Art by Micah Bazant

I am a nonbinary trans man living in Washington, D.C. This August, I decided to change my legal name and gender marker to match the name and gender I live as. While I’d like to say that this is a warm-hearted end to a journey of self-discovery, the truth is a bit more pragmatic. Historically, I hadn’t felt the need to update my legal documents because I felt secure and comfortable using my chosen name and gender identity without matching legal identification. Ultimately, the main reason I decided to change my legal documents is because I want to keep myself safe. In the current political climate, I have become increasingly afraid of the potential danger others may pose to me if they see a man in front of them but realize I am transgender when looking at my ID. 

Updating my documentation will help me feel safer in the world. Whether passing through an airport TSA checkpoint, being called at a doctors office, or giving my ID for a new job, I don’t want to worry that someone might act out of hate toward me. As I prepare for an upcoming international trip, I wonder if I might be turned away at customs for not having a physical appearance that matches my current passport gender marker; regardless of whether that’s an actual matter of national security or simply due to any potential prejudicial beliefs of the customs officer. I also worry about what might happen if I were pulled over and subject to the whim of an officer who is uneducated about transgender people, or worse, one who hated us because of the stories he's heard in the news. Updating my identification documents helps mitigate that risk by aligning my documentation with the gender that I am perceived to be in public. 

Art therapy images from Trans Day of Visibility, 2021

Over the past 10 years, anti-trans politicians and public figures have depicted transgender identity as a “woke mind sickness” and transgender people as a danger to society. They’ve stoked fears about people using transgender identity to violate women in restrooms, fought against schools’ gender inclusion policies that allow young people to be treated with respect and use their chosen name or pronouns, restricted access to gender-affirming healthcare for adults, and excluded trans youth from recreational activities and affirming care. Anti-trans gender policing even showed up in the 2024 Summer Olympics with false claims that men were competing in women’s sporting divisions, amplified by public figures.. Currently, at least 26 states have enacted laws and policies banning gender-affirming care* for young people and adults. This year, 658 anti-trans bills were considered across the United States, according to the Trans Legislation Tracker. 

“I feel conflicted about the desire to obscure my transgender identity because it is one that I love and am proud of. ”

I feel conflicted about the desire to obscure my transgender identity because it is one that I love and am proud of. While changing my gender marker and name feel true to me, the hostile political climate around trans identity is pushing me to make this decision. It is a sobering realization that the hard-fought safety and security of queer and trans people are under immediate threat. We need everyone to counter the harmful narratives and legislation eroding the safety and rights of our trans and gender non-conforming community members. I invite you to check out the proposed legislation in your state at translegislation.com and take action. Submit comments to your state legislature. Identify your local representatives on www.usa.gov/elected-officials and share your opinions on the proposed legislation and needs to protect trans rights. Speak to your neighbor or family member about what’s going on. Everyone has a different role to play.

Art by Micah Bazant

* “Gender affirming health care is defined by the World Health Organization as “any single or combination of a number of social, psychological, behavioral or medical (including hormonal treatment or surgery) interventions designed to support and affirm an individual’s gender identity.” (aamc.org)

Dear One - A Poem Dedicated to My Fellow Survivors of Racial Violence

by Rehema Kutua, MD

Laying in the Grass II, 2020 by Sola Olulode

I know what it is to feel
Your world turned on its axis
Up feels down
Words come at you garbled,
As if fighting their way through deep dark waters
Sound is muted
Light is dimmed
Your heart is numb
Your skin is on fire

I know what it is to cry
So much your tears reach 
Their end
And you are convinced 
You will never again feel anything
And consider that
A relief.

But dear one
Remember that 
You are not alone
Our ancestors infuse our shadows 
With stubborn affirmations
Reminding us 
We are descended from melanated royalty
So powerful
So divine 
Our very presence is considered a threat

Together, our cups are big enough
To hold each other’s pain 
And if we spill
We will gather ourselves
Together 
And learn how to weave 
The pieces of ourselves
We thought were lost
Into the beautiful whole
We were always destined to be.
We will do this over and over again
Until the spilling
Becomes a part of the living
That we are newly thankful for,
Because it means our hearts still beat,
Our feet still dance
Our tongues still rejoice 
Our joy, untouchable
And they, those monsters,
They did not win. 

Author’s Note: "I wrote this poem shortly after I learned about the killings of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor in 2020. It was my attempt to process some very difficult feelings while also standing in solidarity with, and simultaneously empowering, other BIPOC folk who were hurting." 

The Road to Tulsa, Juneteenth, 2024

By Joanne M. Braxton

Arrival in Tulsa: A Day of Reckoning 

When I heard the news, I was at the airport in Salt Lake City, on my way to a retreat in Tulsa for 50 regional reparations leaders. On that day, June 12, 2024, the Oklahoma Supreme Court dismissed a reparations lawsuit by the last two survivors of the 1921 Tulsa race massacre, Viola Ford Fletcher, 109, and Lessie Benningfield Randle, 108. When I arrived in Tulsa, it was an impressive 100 degrees just an hour before midnight.

Remembering the 1921 Tulsa Race Massacre

What happened in Tulsa on May 31, 1921, and the days that followed? Historian Al Brophy summarized those events in his 2002 book, Reconstructing the Dreamland: 

"[W]hite mobs, aided and abetted by state and local law enforcement authorities, destroyed the Greenwood section of Tulsa, Oklahoma, a vibrant African American community whose entrepreneurial verve led some to call its main thoroughfare 'the black Wall Street'."

Brophy described this as the worst and deadliest race riot of the twentieth century. Prosperous Black people owned homes, stores, movie theaters, hotels, and airplanes—all destroyed. 

We now know it was not a "race riot" but a massacre. The term “race riot,” an unnecessary insult, made it impossible to file insurance claims for loss of life and property. 

Black Tulsans share this history isn't often taught in schools, and parents seldom spoke of it to their children for fear of retaliation.

The Honorable Michael Blake, Attorney Damario Solomon-Simmons, Robin Rue Simmons

A Gathering of Purpose

It made sense that we came to Tulsa, for as Brophy wrote, “The question of reparations in Tulsa provides a concrete context  for analyzing claims about reparations throughout American society.” There had been many more survivors when the lawsuits began “the direct, living connection between past harms and the present.” Now, only Fletcher and Randle are left, still looking to see justice while in the land of the living.  

Representing Reparations for Lakeland Now! and my hometown, I was, like the other leaders invited, the guest of First Repair,  the Evanston, Illinois-based  non-profit “working nationally to educate and equip leaders, stakeholders, and allies who are advancing local reparations policies that remedy historic and ongoing anti-Black practices,” and  headed by the dynamic Robin Rue Simmons. I was also chaplain for this three-day convening. Afterwards, I would stay on two days longer to talk with community members and worship at the Historic Vernon African Methodist Episcopal church, where most of the retreat was held. 

The Oklahoma Supreme Court decision, paired with a substantial lawsuit filed against Evanston’s reparatory housing program by Judicial Watch, formed a powerful backdrop for Simmon’s gathering. Though the three days clearly planned to shine a light on Tulsa and the decades-long lawsuit, no one, not even Simmons, had known the court decision was imminent. 

Yet, somehow, 50 reparationists arrived in Tulsa from all over America, from Washington State  to Louisiana, from places as diverse as Kansas City, Missouri and College Park, Maryland, where Reparations for Lakeland Now! is based. We arrived as if we had planned to be present for the decision, asking openly, “Why, at this moment?” Someone quipped, “the ancestors are in charge.” Given coincidence and timing, this assertion was not easy to shake off.

Tulsa’s Historic Vernon AME Church

Historic Vernon AME Church: A Site of Memory

Our work began in earnest on June 13 at Tulsa’s Historic Vernon AME Church on Greenwood Avenue, the only church in Greenwood to survive the horrific events of 1921. In many ways, Vernon represents what novelist Toni Morrison might have called “the site of memory,” a location of "proceedings too terrible to relate.” More than that, Vernon is a testament to faith and the sheer audacity to survive such terrible proceedings and then to thrive with excellence while still under threat. 

Some call urban renewal and the building of the interstate in the '70s and '80s “the second Greenwood massacre.” After the massacre, some returned to Greenwood to rebuild, but destruction was soon to follow. Walking from my hotel down Archer Street toward the church, I took note of the bronze markers embedded in the sidewalk along the way. Each marker stood for a building that had been destroyed in the mob violence of 1921, most of them never rebuilt. 

On approaching Historic Vernon AME, I did not find the church easily. I turned left on Greenwood Avenue and expected to see Vernon, which was only two blocks away, but a highway overpass occluded my view. A friendly Greenwood resident confirmed that “Vernon is right there.” And so, it was.

Prayer Wall for Racial Healing

The Prayer Wall and the Memory of Survival

Emerging from the shadows of the overpass adorned with memorial graffiti celebrating the historic Black Wall Street and lamenting its loss, the first thing I saw was the Prayer Wall for Racial Healing, along the side of the building where 200-300 survivors hid for a week while Greenwood burned. For some reason, the pastor of the church had insisted that the walls of the basement should be double thick, and for this reason, many lives were spared, even when the church was bombed from above. And this is how Tulsa’s Vernon AME became a site of memory.

Preserving the Past: The Fresh Burn Marks

Later, I would be shown a small room inside the church where the char marks have been intentionally preserved by a congregation determined to remember and witness to its past. Architects and archaeologists who have seen them call these marks “fresh burn”—fresh, even though they are more than a century old. 

Our guide was Kristi Williams, a descendant of massacre survivors. I first met Kristi, a National Geographic Ambassador and winner of the Wayfarer Award for her educational advocacy for Greenwood, at a convening of reparations leaders sponsored by the Department of the Interior in Hampton, Virginia, almost a year earlier. 

Kristi Williams

Later, Kristi would accompany some of us to Woodlawn Cemetery, where we stood on the site of a verified mass grave. Those buried here included men, women, and children, their names known but to God. Kristi had carried the remains of eight children from the place where they were taken from the ground to a makeshift morgue. “They were just skeletons,” she said softly, “but I could see their faces.”

A Testimony of Faith and Resilience

It is impossible for an ethical person to hear this testimony and view this evidence and not be changed. But it was the chairs that moved me almost as much as the mass grave. After the massacre, the burnt-out Black undertaker who was forced to work for a white undertaker and embalm those Black folks whose bodies were still in a state where they could be embalmed went back to his place of business to see what he could salvage.

All he could save was the chairs. He took them back to Vernon, where they have remained ever since. A week after the “terrible proceedings” of 1921, the congregation met for worship in what was left of their church seated in those chairs. Sitting in those very same chairs in the church’s prayer room, I thought about all those folks who had ever sat in those chairs in their grief, either before the massacre or since. 

For me, this was a moment of reckoning and also a testimony to faith—faith that is stronger than terror.

Strength in Faith: Finding Solace and Support

In my role as chaplain and spiritual caregiver, I learned to be attentive to my own needs so that I could be present for others, and, for my part, taught a few techniques for managing moral distress. It wasn’t easy to attend to both. I found the strength to do that on my knees at the prayer wall outside the church. 

I felt surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, living and dead—Jesse Jackson, William Barber, Carlton Pearson, James Clyburn, Barbara Lee, and others who dedicated that wall on the hundredth anniversary of the massacre on May 31, 2021. On my knees, a strength that was not of my own making rushed in and calmed my distracted spirit.

Looking Forward: The Future of Reparations

Looking forward, we should be mindful that, as Brophy put it, “Tulsa speaks to reparations claims generally. It is a laboratory in which to test ideas about reparations, to ask the question, can justice be done? What are the benefits and what are the costs?”

In my opinion, we ought to be asking more frequently, “What are the costs of not making repair?” Not everyone agrees on what the best path is for the reparations struggle in America, but Fletcher and Randle and their attorneys will fight on, as will Justice for Greenwood. 

Now there are more witnesses who have seen and touched the fresh char, sat in those chairs, and seen a mass grave site. And this is one thing we learned—touching and being touched by the “site of memory” is to become a part of it forever.

Nicole Oxendine: Featured Poet

In Honor of Pride Month, we are both pleased and honored to offer this powerful praise and prayer poem by Nicole Oxendine, a member of the Braxton Institute President’s Circle. Nicole Oxendine (she/her/hers) is an Indigenous Queer feminist mother, artist & founder of RiverShe Collective guided by the love, whispers & stories of her Lumbee, Cuban & Celtic ancestors. Nicole lives with gratitude on the ancestral lands of the Piscataway & Nacotchtank peoples, 300 miles north of Lumbee Tribe of North Carolina current & ancestral homelands, 45 miles south of the Baltimore ‘Reservation’, 330 miles east of Jewel Ridge, Virginia, & 1000+ miles north of Cuba & Miami, 3000+ miles west of Scotland, Ireland & the Canary Islands. We welcome you, Nicole Oxendine, wise woman, poet, and lover of life!

RiverShe Queer Family Summer Sanctuary Invocation
(Capital Fringe Festival, Washington, DC 2023)

by Nicole Oxendine

This entry can be found in the upcoming Encyclopedia of Radical Helping to be published by Thick Press. 

Let us ask our ancestors — all who have made this road by walking before us — to be here, today & always. As Chrystos* reminds us — we walk in the history of our people. Those of our blood & those of our belonging. Some whose names we know & many whose names only whisper in the mysteries. We invite all who have served us with their experience, wisdom, strength & their longing. We are their wildest dreams & we are grateful for their conjuring. 

Let us call in those who have uplifted & enlivened us. Let us bring our minds together to honor their names & invite them to share our joy & our togetherness. Together, let us raise our hearts & call out their names with gratitude. Thank you to the grandmothers, grandfathers, aunties, uncles, mentors, writers, artists, sisters, brothers, healers & love warriors of all kinds for making the way to our today. I call some of the so many here & too, your calls & all unnamed into our collective breath.

• Audre Lorde • James Baldwin • Gloria Anzaldua • Fannie Lou Hamer • Ida B. Wells-Barnett • 
(Breathe In)
• Pauli Murray • Paula Gunn Allen • Beth Brant • Pat Parker • Marsha P. Johnson • 
(Breathe Out)
• Sylvia Rivera • Barbara Jordan • Essex Hemphill • 
(Breathe In)
• Ma Rainey • Gladys Bentley • José Sarria • Stormé DeLarverie •
(Breathe Out)

& in the ways of those who have gathered in circles & have gathered me in circles so that I may remember who I am, let us honor the motherline — all mothering in all forms that carried us forward. I offer my motherline — & we gather your additions into our collective call — as prayer & medicine on behalf of all. May we listen & know that we are held, loved & adored.

• Cheryl Ann Oxendine • Lilly Virginia Young Oxendine • Cecilia Garcia Chavez • 
(Breathe In)
• Mary Christian Young • Charity Oxendine Sampson • Evarista Rodriguez Diaz • 
(Breathe Out)
• Maria Negrin Perez • Grandma Christian • Eliza Ellen Pruitt • Susie Jane Oxendine • 
(Breathe In)
• Florence Oxendine • Maria Felicia Diaz Fleitas • Manuela de Paz Toledo • Louisa Smith • 
(Breathe Out)
• Rachel Young • Charity Oxendine Jacobs • Mary Paul Dial Sampson • Mary Oxendine • 
(Breathe In)
• Hilaria Fleitas • Josefa Corona • Antonia Toldeo Yanes • Josefa Leal Gonzalez • Mary Smith • 
(Breathe Out)
• Eleanor (Nellie) Steele • Delilah (Eliza) Lowery • Edith Paul Dial • Nancy Carter
Sampson • 
(Breathe In)• Abigail Oxendine • Christina Deskins • Nancy Pruitt • Elizabeth (Betsey) Locklear Lowery • 
(Breathe Out)
• Elizabeth Revels Oxendine • Mary Lowery Dial • Milly Hammons Carter • 
(Breathe In)
• Elvie Hammonds Sampson • Margaret Francisco Deskins • Sarah Ellen Hurt Pruitt • 
(Breathe Out)
• Sarah Locklear Lowery • Mary Elizabeth Lowery Revels • Honor Erwin Lowery • 
(Breathe In)
• Elsey Hammonds Sampson • Pussie Lowrie •
(Breathing Across The Motherline)

Nicole Oxendine (she/her/hers) is an Indigenous Queer feminist mother, artist & founder of RiverShe Collective Arts guided by the love, whispers & stories of her Lumbee, Cuban & Celtic ancestors. Nicole lives with gratitude on the ancestral lands of the Piscataway & Nacotchtank peoples, 300 miles north of Lumbee Tribe of North Carolina current & ancestral homelands, 45 miles south of the Baltimore 'Reservation', 330 miles east of Jewel Ridge, Virginia, & 1000+ miles north of Cuba & Miami, 3000+ miles west of Scotland, Ireland & the Canary Islands.

*Chrystos is a Menominee, two-spirit writer & activist. Their poem, “I Walk in the History of My People” is included in the renowned feminist anthology, This Bridge Called My Back: Writings By Radical Women of Color, edited by Gloria Anzaldúa & Cherrie Moraga. (Kitchen Table Press, 1983)

The Power of Trusting the Universe

by Richael Faithful

An important lesson I've learned is to trust the Universe at life's crossroads. This advice is common but hard to follow! Over the years, I realized listening to my deepest intuition often goes against my desire for certainty. Taking big, potentially life-changing risks can feel nearly impossible. Yet, every transformation in my life happened when I got out of my own way. I've been reminded again and again that valuing my inner-knowing, which connects me to greater forces, will always guide me where I need to go.

An example of trusting the Universe led me to divinity school two years ago. My path there was winding. Some decisions felt more fitting for a future divinity student than others. When I graduated law school 13 years ago, I thought I was done with school forever. After leaving legal practice after four years, I became a consultant doing meaningful social justice work. When divinity school came up, I was a comfortable, established consultant with no need for radical changes. By most standards, I was in an ideal professional position.  

“I’ve been reminded again and again that valuing my inner-knowing, which connects me to greater forces, will always guide me where I need to go.”

I left legal practice because I had a deeper knowing something essential was missing. While on a promising track, having won a big campaign, part of me still didn't feel complete. I sensed a vocational calling - life's work beyond a job or status. No matter how great an attorney I was, I knew there was more meaningful work for me. This knowing led me to leave law without a plan. I worked tough jobs to support my family and complete a shamanic apprenticeship. After, I randomly asked a healing center if I could practice there, which accepted my offer and started my healing practice. Since then, I've guided thousands through life's difficult questions like navigating grief, finding purpose, recognizing gifts, and accepting change. I feel grateful supporting so many and having dual roles as a consultant and traditional healer serving social justice movements.

Looking back, divinity school made sense because I already had a sacred vocational role as a traditional healer for ten years. But the path presented itself to me, rather than me seeking it out. For two years, I reflected on deepening my healing work, feeling something was missing once again. In May 2022, I revisited my college for a memorial dedication event I had advocated for years ago. My mentor, Dr. Joanne Braxton, was also invited. Before the event, she casually asked, "Have you thought about seminary [divinity school]?" I honestly replied, "Absolutely not. But because you mentioned it, I will reflect on it."

After that day, I sat with the question for weeks, and doors seemed to open. First, I learned about a truly multi-religious, anti-oppression, student-centered, and fully remote school. Second, they were eager to welcome me, valuing my experience and knowledge. Third, the application process went smoothly, and the program was more liberating than law school. After a few months of saying "yes" to each next step, I became a divinity student! I finished my first semester earlier this month.

I feel deeply blessed by what I've learned so far through seminary and the people, communities, and opportunities it's already brought. I'm undeniably in the right place, one I would have never dreamt of or chosen on my own. This story reminds me that trusting my deeper knowing is always worth the risk. I have enough experience to know when I let go of my ego, invite the Universe to move me, and allow myself to be moved, I'm already transformed.

Reparations: Three Fundamental Questions for White People

by Jimmy Fleming and Marc Wurgaft, Co-founders, Paying Reparations Now

As soon as we closed the file on our essay, “How Two White Men Became Reparationists,”  about our journey as white reparation advocates, we knew we had to go further. How do we, as European Americans, explain why it is crucial to demand reparative action for African Americans? Why now? How do we demonstrate that reparative action is restorative justice? We knew the objections that our friends and family would raise against reparations. But we also believed that their resistance- in part- is based on false impressions and misconceptions. That got us thinking!

Why is it difficult to talk about reparations with non-POC? 

It appears simple enough–race issues are deeply rooted in the United States. And race in our country is framed by our history, most explicitly by our ties to chattel slavery. Slavery brutally commodified black people as property. The labor of the enslaved was thus available to white enslavers at the nominal costs of maintaining their human property. Black people were stripped off their individual identities and personhood. Means of establishing families and communities and owning land, which are the main vehicles for wealth accumulation, were denied.    

There was no compensation or reimbursement for the labor of the enslaved.  The essentially “free”  labor led to huge profits for the enslavers and their families.  The widespread trading of kidnapped enslaved individuals and the benefits from their labor also helped support and empower white individuals who were not slave owners. This complicity and the huge profit margins secured the economies in both the North and the South for generations, even to this day.  Reparations for slavery deems that these historical facts should be acknowledged and corrected, and the debt repaid to the descendants of the enslaved. 

Seems clear enough, right?  WRONG.  The conversation about reparations is difficult because: a) Since they were not directly involved, white individuals do not feel responsible for the horrors of the past; b) White people are willingly indifferent to the lingering legacy of slavery in today’s America; and c) Feelings of shame and guilt fuel white denial, allowing white individuals to claim they are unaware that their ongoing involvement perpetuates the legacy of slavery.

America’s first real chance at reparations took shape as Sherman’s Field Orders #15 (Forty Acres and a Mule).  While encoded by practice, it was almost immediately rescinded, and land and privileges granted to the formerly enslaved were taken back after Lincoln’s assassination.  Ironically, land and rights were instead restored to southern landowners – mostly enslavers – and soldiers.  We live now in a time when these simple and factual truths are being denied.  In fact, some states and boards of education have legislated against teaching anything other than the story of American exceptionalism (read that, white exceptionalism) can be taught. 

Does white America want a fair and just society? 

It all boils down to this one fundamental question. What upstanding citizen of this country would dare say no?  Unfortunately, the truth is better revealed in the behavior more so than in the rhetoric.  The pattern after slavery is clear: Reconstruction was swiftly replaced by redemption and restoration of property to those who had been in rebellion; Jim Crow laws and Black codes then replaced the nascent civil rights and equal protection of freed people under the law; redlining and mortgage covenants next determined where black people could and couldn't live; and lynching, like mass incarceration and state-sanctioned violence today, was often the response for anyone who dared to cross the race line or achieve a higher economic standard of living. Even the Social Security act, established to provide a safety net for all, was restricted to exclude service workers and laborers, the kind of work most often open to Black Americans.  

Sadly, we conclude, it appears white America prefers the status quo of inequality and privilege, and works hard to preserve and codify this system of caste into law. It seems encoded, too, in the myth of the American narrative – that this country is an egalitarian society, a land of opportunity, where the American dream is open to those who work hard, aka, the bootstraps narrative.   It is necessary to offer a counter-narrative.   We can begin by acknowledging that the country’s core founding document, the Constitution, was constructed as a vehicle to protect slaveholders’ rights as a preeminent consideration.  The Civil War, the gravest threat to the union and the fledgling American democracy, was fought to protect those same rights. Thus, the mythic narrative falls short, far short, of holding the whole truth. We can do better.

What actions should reparations advocates take when confronted with white unwillingness to change? 

For the American dream to prevail and flourish, white America  must come to a reckoning with the true history of our shared past. We must recognize the debt we white Americans owe Black Americans for hundreds of years of chattel slavery, segregation and Jim Crow, and enduring laws, policies and practices meant to sustain the racial wealth gap.  We sadly and reluctantly acknowledge that our positions are not held by many of our fellow white citizens. As emerging advocates for reparations, we recognize that white resistance persists at an astonishing level and that it is fed by fear. White people have always had the need to create an Other.  And the need for white people to protect the distance between them and the Other has become sacrosanct.  White people are addicted to  their privilege.

White reparationists are like addiction counselors ministering to our own people, our friends and families.  We must provide education, facts, and a view of reality that embraces truth and truth-telling.  We must be direct and empathetic, and set an example.  We must confront misinformation, lies  and bias. We must be compassionate and steady and ready to endure pushback, especially when it is unexpected.  We must be diligent as well as patient, while demanding accountability, in the struggle for  justice and fairness for all.

And it bears repeating that we declare, as our mantra:  Reparations is our debt; reform is our duty.