The more you are able to focus on one single goal at a time, the happier you will be. – Jessica Abel, cartoonist, writer and educator
What a relief. I think that’s why I love to write so much. Writing allows me to focus singularly on something. With all my interests and passions, with everything that I attend to in one day, with my scattered mind, it’s the meditation and medicine.
(Click on her comic above to find out about Jessica Abel on creative focus. I’m a big fan.)
I snapped this photo with my phone from Vicki’s photo album in the guest room when I was visiting last summer.
This weekend is a celebration that I initiated for my family to celebrate my brother’s life with friends and family.
My brother left the planet before I could truly know him and spend quality time with him. Our childhood was awesome in so many ways. But one huge and overbearing regret I have is not being about to truly grow into mature adults together. We got a glimpse of that. We shared stories of parenthood – the love, the intensity, the fear. He was passionate about the world. He was not afraid to meet people everywhere and was genuinely interested in their lives. He was always evolving. He was sincerely interested in growing as a person and making a positive contribution to the planet. He elevated people around him. He was an honorable, worthy man because he loved life and could see beyond petty bullshit.
Some may think that I idolize him. And I have thought that too. Maybe I do. He was my brother, and I uphold him. I also know he was human. I know he was isolated in his cute little blond curled boy way. I know he wasn’t perfect. I know he failed and got overly frustrated. I know that he hurt people and let people down. But I know that overwhelmingly he encouraged, mentored, modeled, supported, motivated and inspired many. And many consider him their good friend.
And I know he saw so many people unhappy and had a longing for a deeper meaning to his life and ability to make the world better for others.
Dream big dreams. The Sky is no limit!
It was Monday morning on my summer break and I was relaxing on our patio.
My daughter joined me to eat her toast and catch up on her phone.
“Kehlani just posted that a Black woman and her sister were stabbed at MacArthur BART.”
“Damn!” I said. “That’s terrible.”
Given all the shit that’s in the news, I had a sinking feeling about it, but we were about to head out so we both figured we’d find more about what happened later.
I dropped my daughter at her job and went to a cafe to work on a project. As soon as I opened my computer, notifications started coming in about what happened to Nia Wilson.
On Sunday, July 22, 2018, Nia Wilson, an 18-year-old black woman, had exited a BART. She was traveling home from a family gathering with her two sisters. Seemingly out of nowhere, a 27-year-old white man named John Powell approached her and her sister Letifa on the platform and stabbed both of them in the neck with a knife. Nia passed away at the scene.
After hearing the news about Nia Wilson, I texted my daughter and told her that I wanted to go to the vigil. She was one step ahead of me and had already decided to go with some friends.
We all met at our friends’ place and walked to MacArthur BART to join the vigil which became a march to downtown. There were a mix of local activists plus a whole lot of people who may have been coming out to a protest for the first time.
The vigil was led by people from Black working class organizations. A key speaker on the podium was Cat Brooks who is running for mayor and Rebecca Kaplan from Oakland city council. The vigil became a march to downtown Oakland where a white nationalist group had threatened to gather and another protest rally had assembled.
We marched down Telegraph chanting, “Say her name! Nia Wilson!” It felt cathartic to chant and march and be together in community as a response to this horrific crime.
We didn’t know Nia Wilson personally, but people in my community did. And Nia was familiar to me since I work with teenagers in Oakland. Nia was also someone my own teenagers could have known. She was young, beautiful, bright, excited about life with her whole life ahead of her. So many could identify with her. And so many like her who are African, feel terrorized.
As white people who give a fuck about humanity, we naturally try to distance ourselves from white people who picked up the gun against African and indigenous peoples in order to maintain the system of slavery and genocide. Somehow these were other white people who did all this. And somehow we are different.
But a closer examination of the matter tells me that the murder of Nia Wilson by a white man fits into both the past and current narrative of white sanctioned police and vigilante in the U.S. As much as we want to distance ourselves, John Cowell is our problem. This is white American violence that has been carried out for centuries.
Think of Emmett Till, Black Wall Street, Rosewood, hundreds of years of lynchings, the white terror unleashed by the U.S. cavalry at Wounded Knee and regular white citizens picking up the gun against the Native American population.
Driving home from the march, my daughter told me how much she appreciated being raised with politically active parents. The white college students at her university seemed to have just woken up yesterday. Later that night, my daughter, who is a guitarist, dedicated her daily video practice to Nia Wilson. My heart burst with love.
Many celebrities have since spoken out and are honoring young Nia’s life, including singer Kehlani and Bruno Mars, Demont Pinder and other visual artists.
Actor Tracee Ellis Ross shared this rap by artist Jane Oranika.
White actor Anne Hathaway called for a self-examination and reflection on the part of white people. This is good! White people whose worldview embraces solidarity need to get out there and talk about this history of white terror, take a stand, march, pay reparations, join in solidarity by becoming members of groups like the Uhuru Solidarity Movement.
We will never forget that Oscar Grant was killed by BART police. This will help us counter the knee-jerk calls for more police with the litany of the killings by police officers in Oakland. Shaleem Tindle, DeMauria Hogg, Richard Linyard ( East Oakland rapper Afrikan Richie) Gary King Jr, Casper Banjo, Jose Luis Buenrostro, Jamil Muwaakil are just some of the names I’m familiar with.
If we understand that the police (whose role we thought was to serve and protect everyone) terrorize African and indigenous people, we might then begin to ask why and understand the role of the state, which exists when society is split between the haves and the have-nots.
The sooner we take responsibility for the legacy of white violence against peoples on the planet, the better. And for me, taking responsibility means supporting Black Power.
As African working class people regain their power, they will be able to harness the wealth of the coltan in the Congo, the oil in Nigeria, the bauxite in Guinea Conakry and Sierra Leone. The genius, culture, and talents of the African diaspora as a whole will solve these problems of life for the people. And as a white person in solidarity. That’s what I want to be about too.
That is what the Black Power Blueprint is all about. It will house, clothe, and feed the community, by the community. It will bring forward a larger struggle for the resources of Africa and a different, more humane and just world.
I believe that the family of Nia Wilson is owed reparations from our sick society.
There is an outpouring of support for her family which should continue and also for another victim of this system, Jessica St. Louis. White people, we ought to be right there in support, wherever and whatever we are being asked to do.
When I was in my twenties, the acquittal in the Los Angeles police officers in the beating of Rodney King as what thrust me into political action. Seeing injustice and wanting a better world. It was that simple So that compliment from my daughter meant a lot. I let her know that her clarity, courage, and stance inspire me. So it’s a two-way street.
And as for you, perhaps there are no more excuses. You will take a stand for the love of your children, your community, our collective safety, and future on the planet. Do it, in whatever way you do.
This is the way I do it: #UnitythroughReparations #WhiteSolidaritywithBlackPower #BlackPowerBlueprint
For more details about the march and details from the speeches and organizers, see the article by Rasheed Shabazz.
This summer, in addition to general chill time in our backyard and some outdoor ventures at rivers, parks, lakes, lakes, waterfronts as well as street festivals and performances, I set out to develop a daily creative practice.
I’ve written in journals for decades (there are crates of evidence). For work, I’ve also written product reviews, web site descriptions, . I’ve written articles, press releases, public service announcements for the political organization I belong to (the Uhuru Movement) . But, I’ve never tried to create an audience larger than just myself in the writing that I’ve done on the pages of my journals.
The image above is the cover of a small journal made by my friend and neighbor Alison Moncrieff, who raises kids, chickens, writes poetry and paints and is, more importantly, such an awesome honest, sharp and compassionate friend and person as she does all the aforementioned things. (I wrote about her in a previous post. She is at https://www.alisonmoncrieff.com/) . On the first page of this journal, I made sure I wrote something good. So I started the journal off with a quote from Black Lesbian feminist writer and leader Audre Lorde, “When I dare to be powerful, to use my strength in the service of my vision, then it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid.” This quote feels relevant to me as I move into this new territory, a new way of expressing myself that is out of my comfort zone but feels necessary for this moment that we are all in on this planet.
This daily creative practice needs to fit in with everything else I do including my job, family, political work, and general self-maintenance and enjoyment of life.
I’m currently focused on a project for and about my brother, who passed away in a plane accident ten years ago. My intent was to collect Ned stories, to learn more about my brother’s life and to use the creation of this collection to connect with my family and to his friends. What better way to extend Ned’s life into the future than to get more of him through stories? Daunted by the undertaking, I conceived of it as a ‘zine so that it would appear to be lighter, both physically and emotionally, and so I wouldn’t run away from it.
But of course, it is not lighter! It’s not going to be a zine. It’s physically exhausting and emotional! It helped to be with my parents this week sharing stories that went with hundreds of pictures of a life well-lived. I discovered the full name of Ned’s first roommate out of high school who we’d been searching for and also around 25 more pilots and flight attendants that he knew.
Once again, Jessica Abel’s coaching on the creative process, helps me articulate why I am putting myself through this creative process. Here goes:
Wendy is putting together a book about her brother because she wants to connect with his community, to learn more about him, to move through her grief in order to find a deeper purpose and meaning to her life and how she can serve others. But, there always has to be a “but” in the hero’s journey. But, it’s frickin’ hard!
If you’ve read this far, maybe you want to peep my work-in-progress, The Book of Ned.
Thank you Lorde, Audre, that is, for helping me see that my vision is more important than my fear.
I can’t wait to learn the story behind this picture of my brother. Apparently it is on it’s way, just like Ned was in the picture!
If you have stories that you haven’t shared yet of Ned, I’m tagging you and you may just get a visit from me or a call from my daughter, Ned’s niece. Seriously, we may just have to road trip to you to get the stories. You heard it here. We are coming for the stories! Or, you can contact wsnyder510@gmail.com and send them in!
Wendy Lea Writing 