I graduated from high school in June of 2001. Then September came.
It forever changed how America operated. New federal agencies sprang up overnight. The President bullied Congress into war. And my entire adulthood politics was shaped by hypocrisy, corruption, and double-speak. I did not come of age in an era where I learned to trust my elected officials. I grew up in an era where I was told to trust my elders while they molested, stole from, and murdered us—psychologically and literally—in the post-Cold War boom of the 90s.
Then, around 1995, we collectively decided to become emotionally intelligent. My generation, and every generation hereafter, speaks passionately about the need to communicate with awareness and empathy. Meanwhile, our elders—the same ones who presided over the traumas, by the way—blame us for not being “engaged enough” to have prevented the current shitshow we are experiencing in America.
Because, though they have voted in favor of these policies over time, the wholesale solving of this crisis apparently renders us useless. Let the generational wars begin.
So while families are fighting with each other over things like savings and the cost of living, the ones who have always benefitted are still benefitting. Just yesterday, Rachel Maddow shared the story of an Interior Department official who stands to make $3.5 million for selling water rights on her ranch to a land project that needed to be approved by her own department.
And then, of course, there is the Epstein thing.
Some of us are focused on Keith Porter and Rene Good. Because the one thing the Declaration of Independence made clear was that power was not to be abused by government. Murdering citizens is, in fact, an egregious abuse of power. We have to remain bold enough to name it exactly what it is. It cannot be normalized as a “typical act of law enforcement operation.”
Some of us are focused on the bombings in the Caribbean, or the kidnapping of the Venezuelan President and his wife. Or the update that the Nobel Peace Prize winner, out of completely left field, wants to give her award to Trump—only for the Nobel committee to tell her about herself and be like, “Nah, it doesn’t work like that.”
I am committed to continuing the “Map & Meets,” but my artist spirit needs to express right now.
And honestly? That’s right on schedule.
The Pivot If you have been following the Labor Pains project, you know that the “Map & Meet” sessions have been a core strategy for building our oral history collection. These sessions were designed to be communal spaces where Black women could document their labor experiences in real-time.
However, I have decided to halt these sessions momentarily.
As a researcher, you have to know when to widen the net and when to tighten it. Right now, I need to go deep. I am shifting my full energy toward constructing the foundational body maps for the four women who have emerged as the “Archival Pillars” of this project:
- Harriet Myers (Albany, NY)
- Harriet Tubman (NY State)
- Frances Albrier (Bay Area, CA)
- Ruth Beckford (Oakland, CA)
The Methodology: One Moment in Time The challenge with “mapping” a life is that a life is vast. To create a body map that is legible and impactful, I have decided to choose one specific moment or event from each woman’s life to serve as the context for her map.
I am currently mining the archives for data—specifically looking for first-hand accounts that reference the body. I am looking for the “small” details that history often overlooks: mentions of illness in letters, complaints of body aches in diaries, or records of physical exhaustion.
But the archives only tell half the story. The other half requires reconstruction.
For example, with Harriet Myers, I am researching the physics of her daily labor. It isn’t enough to know she did laundry; I need to know the weight of a wet basket of linens in the 1850s. I need to calculate the physical exertion required to carry that weight up the flights of stairs at the Myers residence in Albany.
I have not totally fleshed out the methodology for visually rendering these maps yet—that is the messy middle where I currently sit.
Cleaning My Corner Truthfully? I would rather be in this messy place than the messy reality of America right now.
I have had pushback, as expected. It comes from people in Albany, and to a far lesser extent in the Bay Area, who do not argue with what I am saying but demand more and more specificity—as if the truth is not right in front of their eyes, too.
But as I watched a clip on PBS NewsHour about the white nationalist rhetoric and propaganda of this administration, I felt affirmed. I am not only not wrong, I am not alone in thinking what is happening is wrong.
Until otherwise noted, this nation remains one protected by the Constitution. And while this administration chooses who is protected under its guise, until proven otherwise, I do feel a need to do my part.
But let me be clear: I am not putting my body in harm’s way. I am not putting my emotions in harm’s way. I have done that too often and too recklessly. I have drawn boundaries around myself, my energy, and my time.
I am going to spend my time focusing on the stories of Black women—the ones this rhetoric is trying to ignore and erase. That is my work within this mess. That is the corner I am choosing to clean.
What is yours?
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