Uppity-Negro: In Memory of Aaron Hawkins
I voted early last week wearing a Black Panther hoodie and a scowl. the voting official gave me my “I Voted Today!” sticker, and I resisted the urge to
yell how dirty I felt or how pissed I was to other black folks still waiting in line, but I’m fairly certain they could see it on my face. cause I
if Donald Trump wins the presidency, it will have nothing to do with the American people.
undeniably, my favorite Prince song is "When You Were Mine." track six on his "Hits" album. my mother didn’t have an extensive library of Prince music, but somehow I’d managed to pick this album – all stubbled profile and lace on its cover – and take it with me on summer cross-country bus trips with my grandmother’s church group. 75 older black ladies, a few other kids and me on a charter bus headed to New York City by way of Daytona Beach, Fla. I managed to get an empty pair of seats and spread out across them both with blankets and snacks and Prince in my Walkman.
when I was in college and going to conferences to meet other sports journalists, many times I was the only black woman in those rooms. my queerness
has kept me from going to larger conferences like those with the National Association of Black Journalists, but even at the National Lesbian and
Gay Journalist Association’s national conference, not only was I one of the only black people there, I was also one of the only black women.
my bipolar mind had convinced itself that this world could not be saved. I’d grown tired of staying alive because people didn’t want my literal dead body to be something else they had to process. I woke on the wrong side of the bed bitter and angry that I was still alive.
I get a lot of messages from folks inspired by me and an ‘openness’ to share my struggles with bipolar disorder, the irregular regularity of my moods and
the different obstacles I face and sometimes conquer. and every time, I can only think about the things I never say.
I live in Vickery Meadow, a Dallas neighborhood of survivors.
here’s the thing we all can agree on: Nina Simone's legacy should not boil down to this biopic.
she is much more than her music. she is much more than a muse. and she is much, much more than Zoe Saldana in dark make-up and a prosthetic nose.