Pearl Cohn Unitown: Deconstructing the Myth of Black Kids at a Black School

Allow me to set the scene for you. It’s a charter bus of 35 African American students from a North Nashville neighborhood school headed towards White Bluff, Tennessee for a weekend leadership retreat. Yes, White Bluff. Enough said? Also, on this bus are two female school staff (one African American, one Caucasian), one Oasis Center male staff (African American), and two Tennessee State University college mentors (both African American males). Oh, and the bus driver is an African American female. Upon arriving at the camp site an hour late, the charter bus is greeted by 15 screaming camp counselors (both high school and college students, both African American and Caucasian ) that are pumped about their engaging curriculum and the opportunity to connect with new people. Oh, forgot to mention that the bus driver was lost and when the students asked if she needed directions, she gave much attitude and threatened to put them off the bus.

Cancel all of that hoopla and hype because the “Black kids from the Black school” were not having any of it. They were ready to go home before they even got off the bus. Being greeted with happy cheers of “welcome and we’re so glad that you’re here, and you are the ones we’ve been waiting for” fell on deaf ears and stone cold hearts. Too much undefined happiness, must be a set up. End Scene.

Fast forward to the gym where Adventure Works staff were waiting with additional cheers and quirky challenge ropes courses, and you know it, might as well fade to black, literally. Attitudes began to morph. Students started speaking up that this wasn’t what they had signed up for. Strange folks telling them what do and why they couldn’t stay in the cabin with their girlfriend/boyfriend. One male student said his girlfriend brought him so they could get away and not be bothered. Hold up, wait a minute. Camera one zoom in, you mean this is not a couple’s retreat? Hold it. End Scene.

Fast forward to activities after dinner, and conversations about contraband and who would not be sleeping with whom. Second plot begins to unfold. This camp was different. Students were leading the activities and adults were apologizing for rushing and not doing introductions. You mean you want to know what I think about what you just said and you’re not going to get an attitude when I say that I don’t want to be here? In fact, you offer to take me home but ask that I tell you what you could do differently to make me feel comfortable with all of this leadership stuff? And you’re not going to tell the principal that I had an attitude with you? Well, maybe I don’t really want to go home. Maybe I can wait til the morning to see what all of this is really about. And you really won’t be mad if I want to go home in the morning? Hmm, pause. Wait for it. Camera two pan the crowd to see who’s buying this crap. Oh, my friends are going stay. Well, why we gotta play these games? Oh, you want me to figure out what we can do to get to know one another? Well, I don’t mind playing the games but this is not my idea of leadership. End Scene.

Students to the cabins. Adult staff patrol the camp site. All. Night. Long. Yes, all night long. Cue rest of the weekend. Fun and empowerment was had by all.

Intersectionality or All of This Right Here

Maybe it's the end of the year blues or the climate change but I'm feeling very "now you see me, now you don't" these days. My mind and spirit are taking hits more frequently as I work to be whole and seen for all of my complex selves. I can no longer ignore or make excuses when folks attempt to erase some aspect of my identity in conversation or practice. I am so over whitefolks insisting that I'm angry when actually my feelings are hurt or I'm bored with the conversation, coloredfolks assuming I'm post-racial because I work for a white-led agency and therefore less committed, queerfolks demanding that I show up and show out for any cause, and nonvotingfolks accusing me of selling out because I removed my child from the local public school system. Damn, how many masters can one sistah serve? The last time I checked (and I check often), not one of you so called revolutionaries nursed me through a migraine or called to make me laugh or offered to go on 3 mile walk. I ask myself why do I keep fooling with you? You don't feed or sustain me. You don't inspire me to write.  Some of you don't even believe in the healing properties of dark chocolate. So, we decided it was time. Me, myself, and I are calling a moratorium on you. There, I said it outloud or wrote it down. I am giving myself permission to place ME on the priority list or Angel tree or whatever calls attention to the most at-risk and marginalized at this time of the year. I am most at-risk of losing my sanity while worrying about your acceptance and denying my complex desire to be whole. I'm running back to the center of my collective selves from your super-imposed margins and I will not be sorry for leaving you wherever you are on your journey. This is my crossroad and I choose the ones that lead to me. Blackberry wine at 6pm.