Some nights, after I force myself disconnect and I try to sleep, I am struck with the after images of all the disparate thoughts and emotions and data points of the day. Images of Black Lives Matter protestors, refugees from Syria, bombs in Beirut, body bags in Paris and the occasional loving messages and words of support. As a Black Lives matter organizer and artist, I am constantly concerned with state of “the movement.” At the same time, I see and empathize with my Muslim comrades who feel a similar, but perhaps even more omnipresent and ill defined, uneasiness. Flashes of protests, mass arrests, unlawful detainments and police states constantly mix with shared stories, laughter and organizing pot luck’s in my mind’s eye.
It’s two in the afternoon when I hear the banging. The loud clash of flesh pounding on metal underscores the tension that permeates the hallways. Each strike adds to the feeling that the academic veneer that has been crumpling off the walls for weeks is about to explode. I’m used to noise by now, though. … Continue reading Strength In Pain