The end of February dims the spotlight on Black History for the national landscape now in truth we know it’s lived and experienced by Black folks beyond the 28 days it’s contained in…we live this 365, 24/7…our history is American history. We, the descendants of enslaved built, sustained, shaped status quo in ways that to this day aren’t properly enumerated and when talk of reparations comes up gets hushed like small children in church.
As we mosey on into March and meet Womens History month humming and hip-bumping….fists in air like you can kiss this resistance right on the derriere *clap 2x* I think of all the movers and shakers who did back-breaking work day in and out for years on behalf of social justice and equity..sweating, bleeding, teary-eyed and at times holding tongues tempered with dragon fire that singed on the inside. Singular and allied.
I think of the convergence and significance that no movements were built in a vacuum; we each connect to one another…blueprints that do well and set the bar get reproduced…that’s a good thing.. as a Black disabled woman, I am the beneficiary of the hardwork and sacrifices of so many forebears…Civil Rights movement, Women’s Rights, Disability Rights movement..and yes, I know each were flawed in terms of leaving aspects of our identities out and even erasing or down-playing contributions.
So whether you stood up, sat in, or even crawled..(as in the Capitol Crawl of March 1990 where disabled activists literally crawled up steps of Capitol building) know that it’s not lost on me and feel the lift under my feet and fueled to move further…and continue to undergird and support this mission by undoing old cords and beams that have defrayed and need new strapping in the many ways with the many folks who compose and comprise advocacy.
We get this work in many ways bringing our unique experiences and working toward making universal design a forethought to give many more peace of mind…survival isn’t a staying place it’s a pit stop on a stretch of highway and I’m glad my way ain’t the only way of being, thinking, and doing. This much I’ve learned, for this much I’m grateful and when my plate’s full I’m reminded that my self-care is my saving grace. My ancestors and fore-mothers may not have had that choice or chance to partake in this necessity. But I suspect they knew how precious they were buried deep in their bones like marrow.
’Cause I’m a woman
*Image courtesy of sattva at FreeDigitalPhotos.net
Image description: silhouette of 2 women dancing and posing against white background