I’m pleased to launch the new anansiwilsonphd.com—an expanded home for my scholarship, legal practice, public commentary, speaking, and ongoing work at the intersections of law, power, race, democracy, and freedom.

The site brings together the questions that animate my work: how law moves beyond the courtroom; how doctrine becomes lived experience; how race, gender, sexuality, technology, policing, and democratic power shape the worlds we inherit—and the ones we might still build.

You’ll find scholarship and signature ideas, selected talks and conversations, media commentary, my Substack writing, and ways to bring me into your institution, newsroom, classroom, or gathering.

Bring the question. Let’s build the answers.

Explore: https://anansiwilsonphd.com

#Law #ConstitutionalLaw #BlackStudies #Democracy #PublicScholarship #LegalCommentary

Me, on the way to give offerings at the river to the Ancestors and Spirits.

For months now I’ve been telling my good friend , that I would write and submit something, to a publication that he works for, to my agent—who I still fear teaching out to after years—or, for the love of God, to myself, at least.

Note, a video version of this will be recorded for paid subscribers.

I had plans to write. I have had plans to write for the last several weeks, months, the year over. Everyone knew I had plans for Substack; a book of essays; a scholarly, public facing book revisiting the ways in which law orders and disorders the way Black and BlaQueer people live and die; a meditation on the super-precedent that guides the Supreme Court (of White Supremacist Nationalism); a forray into fiction; a diary. I had plans. I promised my Self, Saint Tre, my Ancestors that I would write. I thought too, I thought I a lot, sometimes the thinking and the feeling are all that I have done. I thought though, I thought:

That I would write about our history. That I would write about our past, a past that is not past, but ever enveloping. That I would write about our present, the challenges we face, and attempt to help us construct a new angle of criticism, awakeness to and way of contenting with them.

I was going to write about our futures and how we get to tomorrow. I was going to write about Ancestors and children and cousins and uncles and aunts and aunties and mothers and houses and Balls, and marches, and hope and celebration and overcoming and moving through and moving past and Ancestors and Spirit or some other formation of a litany for survival.

Like Lucille Clifton, I wanted you to celebrate with me. I wanted to celebrate with you, as she instructed, because today, like every day, something has tried to kill us and has failed. I wanted to write too, about memory and re-memory and longing, and loss and death, and the imagination that there might be something beyond it, beyond this, beyond all this hoping against hope. However, I realized I was tired of writing about all of that; not because it was not true, not because it was not urgent, not because we did not need to hear it again and again and again, (because we act) as if we’ve never heard it before.

I didn’t want to write that message again because sometimes it feels like we lose the message for the rhythm. It is, perhaps like—I hate that word—when you’re minding your Black or BlaQueer business, and an old, familiar song comes on. You’ve heard the song so many times you can feel the rhythm in your bones. You don’t remember the lyrics verbatim but you know the hook. In fact, you know enough of the lyrics that that you can mumble through the words, but really, truly, you are captivated by the rhythm, by the flow, by the ways in which your body is hypnotized like a Cobra under the spell of a merchant, charmer or conjure man’s flute. Do you know the words? Truly, kinfolk? And if you know the words, do you know the message? And if you know the message, do you know the plot? The point? The strategy and intention of the artist(s), producers, label executive? The (un)truth of the matter asserted? This is precisely how so many of us are engaging the world today. The rhythms are familiar—antiBlackness, trans/queer/homophobia, racial/racist capitalism, struggle, theft, disregard, senseless violence, hallucinative hope devoid of substance—yet we have no new answers, only responses that resemble hooks and the reactive, rhythmic responses of our bodies, shuffling day to day, on replay; a chain gang of pleasure making yet another mockery of freedom song, freedom ways and the long emancipation. So today I just want to wish you Love.

Not love, in the romantic sense, though I wish you that too, but love in the way of salve; love in the way of elixir; love in the way of healing; love in the way of rupture; and conflict; and mourning; and morning; and mediation; and meditation. I wish you love that heals, love that thrills and love that liberates you to love and liberate some more.

When a random person questions your gender or your masculinity, femininity or both I wish you love. When that person is Black and queer or trans (BlaQueer), I wish you love. When they are (s)kinfolk, with blows that strike beyond the flesh, I wish you love. When they are someone you are attracted to, or have loved deeply, or cared for methodically, or are in community with, or sensed a sense of home, or kindred or something… I wish you Love.

I wish you love the moment assaultive words lash across your face and cut into your spirit. I wish you love. I wish you love when you had the propensity to repeat the harm, blow for blow and relented or resisted. Still, I wish you love. I wish you love when it is you who question and critique and mark and obsess over another’s presentation of self; be it the flick of the wrist, the bounce in their step, the style of their hair, the scuffs on their shoes, or the very fact that their skin is a different shade or hue. I wish you love. I wish you love, as you work against those, who build and maintain a world against you. I wish you love.

I wish you love when you hear of another of our brothers, sisters, elders, momma’em and nonbinary kin being attacked, slain, or treated unfair (or not treated at all). I wish you love. I wish you love when you harmed in the healing, intervention, protest or (after)shock.

I wish you love when you are careless because you can’t bear to care anymore. I wish you love. I wish you love when you cannot hear any more stories of death, destruction or indignity. I wish you love. When you hear, but you simply cannot listen. I wish you love. When you listen, but must filter out the message. I wish you love. When you are so full of life’s toxins that you can no longer imbibe, digest or process the humanity of those around you, I wish you love. I wish you love when you are suffering from Irritable Soul Syndrome, when the cruelties, chaos and contrived constrictions of these United States—the truth of the (un)citizenship thrust upon us and the reality of our proximity and complicity to death and death dealing—are too much to acknowledge, let alone marinate in and meditate with. I wish you love. When are you not your Ancestors’ wildest dreams, but their deepest despairs or nightmares, I wish you love.

I wish you love in your toxic relationships. I wish you love when you stay, but wish to go. I wish you love when you go, but wish to stay. I wish you love when y(our) disposability appears the only viable solution. When toxicity is spewed at you, I wish you love. When you return unfriendly, unloving Fire, I wish you love. When the origin of toxicity is you, I wish you love. I wish you love when therapy is beyond your reach. I wish you love when therapies cannot reach you. When you don’t have the funds in your account, I wish you love. When you don’t have the funds in your mind, I wish you love. When no one seems to mind your pain, yet everyone seems to cause pain to your mind, I wish you love.

I wish you love when you’ve taken all that you could take, and refuse or even endeavor to endure and take more. I wish you love when you’ve been given all that you’ve never had; but cannot receive it fully, wholly, without skepticism, guilt or gall at the specter of the accoutrements of Love. Especially then, I wish you Love, plentiful, boundless Love.

I wish you love when you don’t know how to receive without being on edge. I wish you love when your life seems to always, already be balancing on a teetering ledge. I wish you love when you’ve been pushed to the margins or are staring out into the abyss. I wish you love when your arrival at the abyss is seemingly, allegedly self-inflicted. I wish you love when you’ve been gaslit to hell and beyond your own recognition. I wish you love when you need Justice, but there is nothing just in sight. I wish you love when home is where the hatred is. I wish you love when you’ve never known peace as any thing other than the stability and calm of consistent, persistent violations. I wish you love when have been disabled from progressing from surviving, to living, to thriving. I wish you love when all you have is myriad scattered, battered and tattered pieces of you, or Dear One, the remnants of those you Love. I wish you love when you collect the pieces of others and put them in all the right order, Beloved.1 I wish you love when you are cut and bloodied by the practice of care work and have nothing to show for it but betrayal and festering wounds. I wish you Love when you remember to forget that you deserve, and are, always, already Love.

I wish you love if you’ve never had the grace or space to come undone, in public or in private. I wish you love when the law and court are the most certain pathways to persistent problems and assured blockades to personal power. I wish you love when you see the nudity of this nation and can longer breathe, let alone love, because somehow, some way, you and every Ancestor within, always knew this site (sight) as true but could not face re-cognize it without the likelihood of disassembling. I wish you love when you boil over with gratuitous violence, as victim or violator, and cannot remove the sour stench of its sordidness, despite its sweet salve of eruption. I wish you love as you look in the mirror and either marvel or are horrified at what you see. I wish you love as you engage in transformation. I wish you love when no-thing, nothing is ever enough. I wish you love when you admit the scale can never be balanced, yet refuse to clear the account or allow for the pacifying violence of redaction.

I wish you love so that one day, at some point, somewhere, somehow, you’ll come home more Yours than you ever were. This month of Juneteenth and Pride, I wish you love because pride without love is merely ego unbound. I wish you love because freedom and liberation are your inheritance. I wish you love, because we are forever bound in the Holy Practice of Emancipation, Freedom and Liberation. I wish you love because no matter what we have—whether lost, gained, endured, achieved, survived, created or (un)done—none of it matters without love and its insistence on a better way of being that values Black and BlaQueer life as more than mere matter or fossil fuel for the pleasure, consumption and life force of the greedy. I wish you love because it is not a luxury, but your divine duty, Ancestral heirloom, and the only method of midwifing a world deserving of your being. I wish you Love this June and the next, this year and the next, this life and the next, because you are beautifully and wonderfully made, in the image, essence and logics too simply wondrous for the comprehension of those who would say, move or render you otherwise.

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I began the month of February with grand plans of writing a daily note, using the phenomenal calendar from the the Equal Justice Initiative, that recounts important moments in Black history—or white terror—to offer a brief but deep reflection and a recounting of those stories. Well, you see that that did not happen. I could say that I was lazy. I could say that I was tired. I could say that my caseload has began to take it’s toll and, to be truthful, all of that would be true. I did not spend Black History Month remarking, recalling and re-membering a Black Past that has not Passed, at least not on substack. I spent the month waking up in the middle of the night, or early in the morning, thinking about clients that I knew were bound for unfreedom. I arose at 3:23am, 3:47 am, 4:28am, 5:07am, 5:23am…and stared at my phone until 6am when I would walk my dogs, listen to npr and think about those cases some more.

At first, I blamed it on the new format of my adderall. Some of you know I’ve had lived with the underlying diagnosis for quite some time, and just wrote, spoke and read through it with the grit that poverty, its memories and afterlives demanded. When I finally left that institution in Winterfell, I decided that I would truly immerse myself in the business of care work, for self, for self, for self….for the love of self and God. That included going to the gym regularly, moderating my intimate relationship with Bourbon, talking to my friends more often, stretching, drink water and, dare I say…reading for pleasure and not merely knowledge again—beyond my beloved Audible books. This was going so well for so long. Hell, I was winning my cases—I am still winning my cases, Dear Reader—but the cost of a win, it’s fleeting nature and the disabling effect it has on the accused? nevermind the lawyer? because what is a win for freedom in the hull of the ship?

what is freedom in the wake? in the reconstitution of the ship? on this side of the atlantic? in a Black Past that has not Passed? And i’m reminded to remember to not forget that these Court house lawns are remnants of killing fields, they are the places where Black Ancestors were handed off to lynch mobs or convicted in show trials in which they were not permitted to testify on their own behalf or against white people and—if at all—only against other Black people, chattel or property. i spent the month mourning in the mornings without language. perhaps this is what Pauli Murray meant she wrote of “a song in a weary throat” or Maya Angelou when she proclaimed to “know why the caged bird sings”; surely it does so so it is reminded to remember to not forget that the cage is not a home, that her status as a pet and captive, is not normative but constructed, that the silence is a holding a heavy space for the response to her call that would naturally rise from her kinfolk, in her own tongue, that she or he is not an it but a being.

You may notice that my punctuation is inconsistent, that sometimes I capitalize things and sometimes i do not. yet you have not managed to lose the central truth or testimony of my words. this serves as a reminder too, that though our methods of existence, resistance and recounting may be inconsistent or unstable in method, they remain faithful in substance, in fact and in truth. I find myself thinking of this often in court, as I wait to engage in oral argument or cross examination. i find myself wrestling with the knowing in the back of head, that though there is a symbol of freedom, a hint of its anatomy, that this is a mere theater meant to manage the unfree that has hardly changed since the chains. Hell, even the chains have not changed. It is harrowing to practice criminal defense in a slave state when the accused are marched in ankle and wrist and waist chains. i was nearly outdone when i saw a person with gout, and clearly disabled feet, chained in a wheelchair, unable to even lift his hand to plead guilty without leave from the court. what does it mean that his only moment of freedom was granted for the purpose of surrendering himself as property of the state?

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i have a podcast that has been pending with good friend —follow him and pay and subscribe and all that jazz—and a book that has been waiting to be written through several different publishers and agents but has refused to be born. i have been stilled and steeled in this moment to absorb central truths and reflections that were perhaps too real for my academic mind to truly reckon with. what i thought was a theft of my voice was really Spirit or the Universe or Ancestors or God(s) placing in a space out of time (time out?) to beyond what i thought was the truth of the myth but was really just another myth of the truth that echos, but does not merely repeat, some of the central claims of Afropessimism; yes the world—and as Christina Sharpe has said in In The Wake, the climate, the weather is antiBlack—but rather even that our conceptions of antiBlackness are warped by antiBlackness. that prison and prism of antiBlackness governs us from within and without. that, as Anthony Farley notes, slavery has merely been perfected and hardly requires chains.

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my tongue has been tied and my fingers in open rebellion against my attempts to write against the law and the social order, because even the critiques I was offering were, in some ways—as the prolific Franz Fanon and Saidiya Hartman have noted—merely redressing the wound and—what I called in Godlesss Circumcisions—the scalpel of routinized death dealings. how often, in our attempts to create a Red Record, are we trying to make sense of our murder(er)s? how do we get to the beyond? how do we midwife a life born with a noose around its neck, that is a condition of being? is it the striving to be, to live, to exist that is the central quandary of our life sentence in this living hell, dressed up as freedom? what of a freedom dream? of the souls of Black folks?

i think what i keep coming back to is, what is an essay without an answer? Again, I turn to Christina Sharpe and her work in Ordinary Notes. Is the bearing witness, ala Baldwin, that is our only real freedom practice? is it living otherwise and wayward? is it the embrace of our designation as furtive and fugitive? i do not know, but i am here to experience, explore and explicate it all with you, friends.

—Dr. T. Anansi Wilson, PhD, JD Esquire

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It is January 8th and I’m sitting on a plane en route to New Orleans. I presenting a paper on AI, privacy, policing, racism and constitutional law. I’m wearing a burgundy suit, with a floral rye and blood red pocket swear. I have on large pink Versace sunglasses and my hair is wrapped in a high bun and covered by bonnet. The elderly white lady besides me continues to tap me, in an effort to overcome the boundaries of my headphones and the strength of my resolve to ignore her.

Question 1: Are you from New Orleans?

Answer 1: No (replaces AirPod in ear)

Question 2: Are you a musician?

Answer 2: No.

Question 3: Shoulder tap.

Answer: I’m trying to work here.

I’m declining the temptation to conduct a close reading of this encounter.

My birthday was December 23rd. I turned 36. I felt as if I were actually aging, for the first time. I reflected on all that I had experienced in the last year, all that I had experienced in the last 36 years and I celebrated all that I had received by way of blessings and mourned all the terrible losses and terrible decisions. In the solitude of my bed, I also began to wonder what would be new in the coming days that marked both the end and beginning of the year.

Taxes would be due, a hangover from last years labor.

Hangovers would likely be present too, reminding us that the body continues to keep the score beyond human defined space and time.

Trump would still be president.

Gaza and Haiti and Syria and Sudan and much of the global majority would continue to suffer cyclical campaigns of cruelty, extraordinary extraction and nauseating neglect.

I would still be spending the majority of my time in Court attempting to bend the meaning, application and practice of law toward justice, toward poor folks, toward life, Black and otherwise.

my family and friends will continue to try and FaceTime me unannounced and without care or consent.

The environment would be closer collapse, much like the economy.

I would still be unmarried.

The police would still be running amuck.

The cost of a shape up, eyebrow arch or manicure will still be pioneers of inflation.

The constitution would yet be weakened and weaponized.

My book proposal unwritten and less formed than the book.

Academia’s chickens would continue to come home to roost, never mind its feigned and stale performance of shock.

The people in power would act as if they had no power; hoarding power, life and death with willful abandon.

And white people, Dear White People…

I suppose what I’m saying is, nothing at all. Put differently, my query is, what work is the concept of a new year doing for us? Is it a salve for old wounds that refuse to heal yet might be lulled by the seduction of symbolic renewal, as if scabs and scars not scabs and scars but artistic renderings akin to tattoos that we requested and consented too? I do not contest—and do believe—the notion that scars and scabs are artistic renderings of the divine; the Spirits have always had a thing for flesh work. Let me continue with my query. Is it a ritual, part pagan, part religious? A way to cleanse and absolve us of our studies practice of the seven of deadly sins? Perhaps it is more mechanical, or technical? Like restarting or defragging a computer designed in 2000?

And what if the year is never new and it is always, already a continuation of last evening? How might we live differently and the same? How might we celebrate? Might we? How might we mourn? Might we? Who might we remember and forget, or remember to forget, or forget to remember? What and whom or what ideals might we cling to or cleave away? Might we rest? Might we rebel? Might the weight of our lives become to heavy bear as routinezed oppressions marketed as norm? How differently might we think of labor (extraction), time (surveillance) and life (subordination)? How might we be?

It is January 8th, 2026 and I’m on a flight to New Orleans and, for the first time, neither am I flying Delta, nor is there more bourbon in my coffee than coffee, in fact there is no bourbon at all! So maybe there is something new, or perhaps, this is a return to older version of me that I once knew and remembered to forget, or forgot to remember.

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Keywords

Civil Rights, Immigration, Fascism, State Violence, LGBTQ, Trump, Diversity, Equity, Inclusion, Anti-Racism, Education, Black Lives Matter, Legal Studies, Gender Studies, AI Surveillance, Community Engagement

Summary

In this lecture, Dr. T. Anansi Wilson, PhD, Attorney At Law, offers an exploration, meditation, and analysis regarding the systemic, (extra)legal, political and cultural attacks on Black, BlaQueer, and Trans folks as well as others targeted as enemies of the state (immigrants, anti-genocide protesters, and those seen as political opponents to the current regime).

Takeaways

Diversity, equity, and inclusion are essential in education.

Historical context is crucial for understanding current anti-racism efforts.

Dr. Anansi Wilson emphasizes the legal implications of race and gender.

Furtive blackness describes the navigation of a white supremacist world.

The legal landscape reflects ongoing issues of property and ownership.

Sexual profiling intersects with racial profiling in law.

William Dorsey Swan’s story highlights early LGBTQ resistance.

Community memory is vital for understanding systemic oppression.

AI technology can perpetuate racial biases and profiling.

Rights must be actively defended and reimagined for future generations.

Titles

Navigating Diversity and Inclusion in Education

The Legacy of Anti-Racism in Academia

Sound bites

“Surviving is important. Thriving is elegant.”

“William Dorsey Swan is our first drag queen.”

“Reparations is a legal term for repair of harm.”

Chapters

00:00 Introduction to Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion Initiatives

03:06 The Historical Context of Anti-Racism and Education

06:12 Introducing Dr. Anansi Wilson: A Legal Scholar’s Perspective

08:51 Grounding in Quotations: The Philosophical Framework

12:07 Furtive Blackness: Navigating a White Supremacist World

14:51 The Legal Landscape: Property, Ownership, and Black Lives

18:09 Sexual Profiling and Gender Norms in Law

21:05 The Story of William Dorsey Swan: A Historical Case Study

24:06 The Intersection of Race, Gender, and Law

27:03 Contemporary Implications: AI and Racial Profiling

29:55 Resistance and the Future of Rights

32:49 The Role of Community and Collective Memory

36:07 Final Thoughts: Imagining a Just Future

My co-star horoscope tells me that I am in the midst of a radical realignment in my romantic life and in my career. Radical means to grasp things at the root, Angela Davis reminds us. I’m also reminded of Maya Angelou’s assertion that “life loves to be taken by the lapel and told “hey, im with you kid. Let’s go.””

It has been almost two months since I began this short essay and I cannot tell you whether I’ve been grasped by the root or the lapel, nor whether I’m the midst of a gripping hold, having been turned every which way but loose, or perhaps am in the throes of a new type of liberty that I have yet given myself permission to name.

I only know—and this will be quick—that I am not who I was in June, and am still unsure of who I am this August day. Nevertheless, I’m becoming more intimate with truth as practice—not of telling or showing—but of witnessing and as method. I’m becoming more intimate with the limits of my care and my rage, my generosity and ambivalence, my dedications and hopes. I’m becoming more intimate with the differences between work, production, labor and midwifing.

I wanted to be quick and to finish this unfinished thing; becomes sometimes, you just need a period.

*for keynotes, lectures, workshops or other bookings, please contact me at anansi@anansiwilsonphd.com*

Summary:

In this powerful address, Anansi Wilson emphasizes the importance of grounding oneself in the history of Black resilience and struggle as future law students. He reflects on the legacy of slavery, systemic racism, and the ongoing fight for justice, urging future lawyers to be social engineers rather than parasites on society. Wilson calls for a deep understanding of history and the law's role in shaping social justice, encouraging students to create spaces for dialogue and learning that prioritize Black lives and experiences.

Keywords:

Black history, resilience, law school, social justice, legal injustice, Tyree Nichols, George Floyd, emancipation, systemic racism, future lawyers

Takeaways:

We are standing in the wake of violence and loss.

Black history is a history of resilience and hope.

The legacy of slavery continues to affect Black lives today.

Legal systems have historically denied Black people justice.

We must confront the remnants of slavery in our society.

Future lawyers have a duty to intervene and disrupt injustice.

Education and money alone cannot solve systemic racism.

Lawyers must create spaces for dialogue and learning.

Black lives must be central to the American project.

We must ask ourselves if we are social engineers or parasites.

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Titles:

Grounding in Black History and Resilience

The Legacy of Slavery in Modern Law

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Sound Bites:

"We must plant and nurture new seeds."

"History is our shield and our sword of truth."

"Are you a lawyer or a parasite on society?"

Chapters:

00:00 Grounding in History and Resilience

03:01 The Legacy of Slavery and Legal Injustice

06:09 The Role of Law in Social Justice

08:45 The Call to Action for Future Lawyers

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Keywords

law, social justice, Black history, legal education, empowerment, community, social engineering, intervention, justice, responsibility

Summary

In this powerful address, Professor T. Anansi Wilson emphasizes the importance of acknowledging historical injustices while urging law students to take on the responsibility of being social engineers. He challenges them to intervene in the face of injustice, reminding them of their duty to uphold the law and advocate for those who are marginalized. The speech serves as both a celebration of their achievements and a call to action, encouraging students to dream big and support one another in their journey toward making a meaningful impact in society.

Takeaways

• Professor Wilson is a prominent scholar in Black life and law.

• Acknowledgment of the Dakota land and historical injustices is crucial.

• Law students are urged to consider their role in society.

• The importance of intervention and social engineering in law is emphasized.

• Students are reminded of their duty to fight for justice.

• The speech highlights the struggles and triumphs of marginalized communities.

• Empowerment and community support are essential for success.

• Imposter syndrome is a common challenge that must be faced head-on.

• The legacy of ancestors and community should inspire action.

• Students are encouraged to create 'good trouble' for justice.

Sound Bites

• "This is your charge. This is your debt."

• "You are an officer of the courts."

• "You are the ones we've long needed."

Chapters

00:00Introduction to Professor T. Anansi Wilson

01:20Acknowledging Historical Context and Land

03:38The Charge to Law Students

08:54The Role of Lawyers as Social Engineers

10:07Empowerment and Community Support

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It is unfamiliar though. No, not for all the silly or serious reasons one might mark. It is unfamiliar because I don’t write like this. I don’t wake up early on Sundays to write. I certainly do not write from my bed. I rarely write in the intimate presence of others (my fiance is snoring away on my left, the result of a night out in the Black Midwest). I rarely write in the active presence of anyone at all; preferring to me either a lone, or a remade into the fantastical background of life, with all its movements, sounds and beautiful chaos. More often, my words are born in a boosey bar where conversation is lost by the ways that words and bourbon spill into each other and my competing interests in zoning in and out; in to smirk and revel at the secrets of human life—but also to make sure I’m remaining from its predictable, if we listen, sporadic if we do not, violent moments of passion & spite—and out, well, to focus on my interior world, to make sure that what I’m writing is both true in deed; but also true to the beauty of human life and complexity and unspeakability, particularly as the writing, the words and the human being are experienced.

In this moment I’m tempted to go walk my dogs. My youngest standard poodle, Chiké (8 months or so), is licking himself with the vigor of lion with OCD; making sounds that echo off the walls of the room that create a surround of drowning and studious gulps and gasping for..not air..but cleanliness. I cannot blame him. He’s merely repeating, with almost perfect imitation, the morning ritual of Assanté, my much larger, 99lb tazmanian devil, menance-turned-sweetheart of a boy. In truth, I never wanted either of these dogs. I bought Assanté because Bakarí—the first dog I bought for myself, my child and life journeyman—was getting older and seemed quite disinterest in other animals. It was if they were beneath him. I’m serious. We would go to dog parks and he would prance despite the other dogs, his head held high, as they would attempt to engage him. He had no use for barking, the sniffing, the like. If anything, he’d find interest in outwitting them, taking their toys and holding them high in the air, knowing evcen if the other dog were stronger and faster, they could never match his wits or agility; or he’d hide their balls and watch—laying on my feet— with what appeared to be bemusement, as they searched about, until he felt like giving it back. Perhaps, I bought Assanté because I saw too much of myself in that queer child of mine but also because I knew life is short, he had already endured law school with me, I was intending to be single for the foreseeable future, my dissertation was underway (as was covid) and he’d need someone else at home to pique his interest. Assanté was a five year disaster with little relief until recently. He was unruly, even when obedient. He relished being dirty. He refused to learn to swim. He was both aggressive and petrified of his own shadow; security and insecure. He was unpredictable; but had a respectable distrust of straight men and unkempt children. Then in August, Bakarí died, in a manner so sudden, unnatural and infuriating, I still cannot bare to step foot inside the franchise of dog boarders who enabled this. I cannot walk down the street where he collapsed on the sidewalk. I cannot even look at it from across the way. His ashes and remains exist in an urn bearing his and our family name. They are also part of a system of living urns, so that he might live on, in those braided money trees. Not long after, I bought Chiké, with Assante being about the same age Bakari was, when entered our lives. This was a long explanation; but it is part of my Sunday mo(u)rning.

I am not going to write about the world falling apart today; it is has never been together, at least not consensually, nor in any way that sustained Black life and abundance. I am not going to write about the law today; it is continuing it’s crucial work of ordering and disordering the way Black and BlaQueer live and die, and democratizing that mandated bloodlust to Blackened and unwhite others. I am not going to write about the election or the president; once again, we remain our own undoing, mired in self sabotage, viewing the world through a refracted polyannic lens that simultaneously tells us there is nothing we can do so fuck it, and if only we put all our trust in a candidate who utters our slogans, we might yet get free; seeing and knowing full well again, we have fought ourselves marronage back to the hull of the ship, and some still revel in the pleasure of their self styled..I don’t know what the fuck. I am not going to write about the deportations and disappearances; because this was the obvious outcome and if I write about it, I fear my anger my overwhelm my words and while true, may add evermore harm to this alchemy of strategic failure, hubris and managed murder. How, in our righteous protests against the unspeakable, did we find it in ourselves to enable a world where the protesters would be doxxed, deported and disappeared and the right to protest itself disposed of? How the fuck did we enable the disarming of resistance, the ability to push back without being sent to a foreign gulag, because we felt better about our performance of moral superiority? And now we have no leverage. We have more death. We have enabled those who would dance our graves, nevermind that of Palestinians, to claim an electoral mandate for fascism, domestic and Palestinian ethnic cleansing, gutting of the equal protection clause and the treatment of any evidence of non-white resistance or existence in American life and history as evidence of racism, terrorism and treason. I am not going to talk about that anymore today.

I will merely say that this morning, I am in mourning. I have also come to the serious epiphany that I have never truly wanted to be a law professor or professor of Black Studies. I have always wanted to be writer who speaks, or speaker who writes; or some iteration of a person who speaks and thinks and writes broadly to, from and with the public—through a gaze as Black and Queer, BlaQueer, as me—and to toil in the alchemy of uncovering truth, democratizing power and sustaining life, in a way that is honestly worth living for us all.

I have an overdue book proposal that was ready, albeit late, on October 6th, 2023. I’ve had no passion or joy for writing since them. I was caught up in doing and defending; for myself, my students, my colleagues, my friends and those that I saw as the most vulnerable to this treacherous narrative of criticism as antisemitism, of free speech as assaultive speech and the conflict of political ideas, identities and ideologies as evidence of domestic terrorism, of those in the minority. The last part was particularly galling—and I still cannot articulate how a realist like me was so paralyzed by this reality—because if we considered the targeted and explicit disregard and disavowal of Black culture, experiences, history and presents, fears, desires, lives and untimely deaths, and the attendant Black discomfort…in the ways we were considering critiques of Israel as attacks on the very existence of American Jews…would we have a nation? Could we have a nation? And what did it mean that at the end of the day, no matter the deathcounts, no matter the issues, in contest of the experiences between feelings and flesh, antiBlackness had won again?

I still don’t know. That is partially, mostly, why this is a substack post. I have to write it out. There has been so much death and I’m just, in awe, that we are still centering feelings and not flesh. I don’t know how to argue in such a contest. Perhaps this has always been the context of Black life here, or the ultimate arithmetic of slavery, that one’s feelings will always be superior to the material reality of how one is maimed, molested and murdered, and regardless of who keeps the score, it will always be the feelings of another, that are privileged, under the rules of human evidence—or evidence of humanity—that are legible, eligible and proof, rather than the marked bodies before us; so much for habeas corpus.

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11am ET Welcome: Anansi Wilson

11:10am Words of Expression: Danez Smith

11: 20am Contending With the Hold: AntiBlackness As Precedent: Professors Zakiyyah Iman Jackson, Anthony Farley, T. Anansi, JB Pratt, Ciji Dodds, Danielle Purifoy with Jameelah Morris, Isaac Manchego and Andre Fields

12:50-1pm Break 1pm Words of Expression: Dr. Amber Rose

1:05pm Words of Expression: Jon Jon Moore

1: 10pm Words of Expression: Phoebe Boswell

1:15pm Fleshy Freedoms: Abolition, Memory & Making Otherworlds Professors Julian Hill, Rinaldo Walcott, Alan Pelaez Lopez, Julian Glover, Amber Rose, T. Anansi, Beverly Bain, Eraldo Souza dos Santos and Inclusion Experts Eric Jo Johnson and Kellie Sauls

2:35pm Words of Expression: TJ Williams

2:40pm New Ripples: Words of Gratitude (opportunity for audience comments)

3pm Brief Notes from Professor Christina Sharpe

3:10 Brief Closing & Final Thoughts: T. Anansi

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Best Constitutional Arguments for Transgender Rights

Moderated by Professor Naomi Mezey (she/her), Agnes Williams Sesquicentennial Professor of Law and Culture, Georgetown University Law Center

Speakers:

• Dr. Anansi Wilson (he/they), Visiting Associate Professor of Law, Kansas University School of Law

• Professor Noa Ben-Asher (they/them), Professor of Law, St. John’s University School of Law

• Professor Diane (Klein) Kemker (she/her), Adjunct Professor of Law, Pepperdine Caruso School of Law and Loyola Law School (Los Angeles)

Keywords

transgender rights, constitutional law, intersectionality, race, citizenship, equality, legal arguments, immutability, animus, coalition building, racism, law, democracy, citizenship, power dynamics, marginalization, joy, reimagining, jurisprudence, historical context

Summary

The panel discusses the best constitutional arguments for transgender rights, exploring the intersection of race, citizenship, and legal frameworks. The conversation highlights the challenges posed by immutability and animus in legal arguments, and emphasizes the need for coalition building among marginalized communities to strengthen the fight for equality and justice. This conversation delves into the intersections of law, racism, and democracy, exploring how historical contexts shape current legal frameworks and societal norms. The speakers discuss the radical nature of citizenship, the role of law in legitimizing violence, and the importance of reimagining democracy to include marginalized voices. They emphasize the need for a new jurisprudence that reflects humanity and the complexities of power dynamics, while also finding joy and resilience in the face of systemic challenges.

Takeaways

• The 14th Amendment is being misused against marginalized communities.

• Immutability arguments can be problematic for transgender rights.

• Coalition building is essential for advancing justice for all.

• The current attacks on transgender rights are linked to white nationalism.

• Legal arguments must engage with the realities of prejudice and discrimination.

• The fight for transgender rights is intertwined with racial justice.

• Truth-telling in legal education is crucial for understanding systemic issues.

• The historical context of race laws informs current legal challenges.

• Trans rights are fundamentally about liberty and freedom of expression.

• Engaging with intersectionality is vital for effective advocacy. The Nazis studied American laws to shape their own discriminatory practices.

• Democratization is a radical idea that challenges existing power structures.

• The concept of democracy has historically excluded marginalized groups.

• Law can be a tool for both oppression and liberation.

• Creating new norms requires a reimagining of existing legal frameworks.

• Violence is often legitimized through legal systems.

• Marginalized voices must be included in discussions about democracy.

• Finding joy is essential in the struggle for justice.

• The decisions we make daily contribute to the societal norms we create.

• Understanding history is crucial for addressing current injustices.

Titles

• Constitutional Rights and Transgender Advocacy

• Navigating Legal Frameworks for Trans Rights

• The Intersection of Race and Gender in Law

• Challenging Immutability in Legal Arguments

• Building Coalitions for Justice and Equality

• Racism and Law: A Historical Perspective

Sound Bites

• "We need to engage with the reasons behind prejudice."

• "This is a moment of white nationalism."

• "Tell the truth about the lie beneath the law."

• "The Nazis went to the Americans."

• "Democratization. I put a little extra syllable in there."

• "This isn't about democracy dying."

• "Power has no conscience."

• "Courage is contagious, it's not."

• "Law is nothing more but the legitimization of violence."

• "You have to deal with what you do when you feel wronged."

• "We create every single day with the decisions we make."

• "The purposeful rememory of the things that have happened."

Chapters

00:00Introduction to the Panel and Participants

05:11Constitutional Arguments for Transgender Rights

09:50The Role of Immutability and Animus in Legal Arguments

20:08Intersection of Race, Citizenship, and Trans Rights

29:49Coalition Building and the Future of Trans Rights

37:02Historical Context of Racism and Law

40:02Democratization and the Radical Nature of Citizenship

43:04Reimagining Democracy and Power Dynamics

46:07The Role of Law in Society

50:48Creating New Norms and Jurisprudence

54:05Addressing Violence and Marginalization

58:05Finding Joy and Radical Reimagining

Debt Free Justice is the national campaign to abolish fees and fines in the juvenile justice system. Coordinated by partners at the Juvenile Law Center (Nadia Mozaffar), the National Center for Youth Law (Miranda Sheffield), and the Policy Advocacy Clinic at UC Berkeley Law (Cameron Clark), and powered by grassroots advocates across the country, Debt Free Justice has pursued successful legislative advocacy in over 25 states since its launch in 2021.

For our this event, we are hoping to create a space for Black folks and allies to grapple with the present moment and begin the process of (re)charting our next steps. We have three Black panelists, all with relevant experiences navigating policy and organizing for Black liberation. While the conversation promises to be free-flowing, we would specifically ask that you share your perspectives on the historical significance of the times, roughly sketching the moral arc that the country/movement spans (and maybe which way it’s bending, and where we are on the arc).

Keywords

Black liberation, art, advocacy, youth rights, cultural moments, policy reform, representation, social justice, community, activism, Black liberation, systemic oppression, youth advocacy, interest convergence, reform, alternatives, radical imagination, community building, restorative justice, empowerment

Summary

The conversation explores the intersection of Black liberation, art, and policy reform, emphasizing the importance of cultural moments and the role of youth in advocacy. Panelists discuss how art serves as a powerful tool for expression and healing within the Black community, while also addressing the complexities of representation in positions of power. The dialogue highlights the need for critical engagement with policy reform and the challenges faced by young activists in navigating these spaces. This conversation delves into the complexities of Black liberation, exploring themes of empowerment through knowledge, the concept of interest convergence, the limitations of reform, and the importance of community building and restorative justice. The speakers emphasize the need for alternatives to current systems and envision a future rooted in radical imagination and collective action.

Takeaways

• Art is a powerful tool for Black liberation.

• Cultural moments can rejuvenate the movement for justice.

• Youth play a crucial role in advocacy and art.

• Representation in power does not guarantee justice.

• Art can visualize experiences of oppression.

• Policy reform must consider class and race dynamics.

• Black faces in high places can be misleading.

• Accountability is essential in leadership roles.

• Art can immortalize Black experiences and voices.

• The intersection of art and activism is vital for change. Systemic oppression controls youth in the Black community.

• Knowledge and advocacy empower young people to create change.

• Interest convergence is crucial for advancing Black liberation.

• Reform is often insufficient; alternatives are necessary.

• Imagining Black futures requires radical imagination.

• Community building is essential for true liberation.

• Restorative justice practices are vital for healing and progress.

• Liberation cannot be achieved without addressing internal conflicts.

• The current system limits our ability to envision a just future.

• Change may not come in our lifetime, but the struggle continues.

Titles

• Art and Black Liberation: A Conversation

• The Role of Youth in Advocacy

• Cultural Moments and Their Impact

• Navigating Policy Reform for Black Futures

• Representation vs. Reality in Leadership

Sound Bites

• "Art allows us to visualize our experiences."

• "Art is dangerous business."

• "We must write louder than their silence."

• "Art is a catalyst for immortalizing blackness."

• "Representation matters, but is it genuine?"

• "We have to get serious about accountability."

• "Black faces in high places won't save us."

• "We really had to do this on our own."

• "We need to be looking at alternatives."

• "Reform is not abolition."

• "We must look to the past to go forward."

Chapters

00:00Introduction to Black Liberation and Art

03:01The Role of Art in Advocacy and Youth Rights

06:05Cultural Moments and Their Impact on Black Liberation

09:01Art as a Catalyst for Change

12:07Exploring Black Futures Through Art

15:10The Intersection of Policy and Black Liberation

17:56Black Faces in High Places: Representation vs. Reality

20:51The Challenges of Policy Reform and Youth Engagement

29:53Empowerment Through Knowledge and Advocacy

31:34Interest Convergence and Black Liberation

34:57The Limitations of Reform and Alternatives

38:16Imagining Black Futures and Radical Imagination

47:11Building Community for Liberation

52:26Restorative Justice as a Path to Liberation

This conversation explores the rich history of Black and Brown LGBTQIA+ individuals, focusing on their contributions, struggles, and milestones. Dr. Anansi Wilson discusses the importance of recognizing BIPOC LGBTQIA+ history, the impact of historical events like the Harlem Renaissance, and the ongoing fight for rights and agency within the community. The dialogue emphasizes the interconnectedness of Black freedom and LGBTQIA+ rights, highlighting how these movements have shaped each other throughout history. In this conversation, Anansi Wilson explores the intersections of Blackness, queerness, spirituality, and the pursuit of joy. He emphasizes the historical legacy of Black queer individuals, the importance of wholeness in identity, and the need to reclaim joy as a public expression. Wilson critiques the societal pressures of Black excellence and discusses the historical context of acceptance within the Black church, ultimately advocating for a more inclusive understanding of identity and community.

Takeaways

The LGBT community's history is often overlooked in education.

William Dorsey Swan is recognized as the first documented Black drag queen.

The policing of Black queer bodies has historical roots in the legal system.

Black and Brown LGBTQIA+ movements have always been intertwined with broader civil rights movements.

The end of slavery marked a significant shift towards bodily autonomy for Black individuals.

The Harlem Renaissance was a pivotal moment for Black queer expression and culture.

Black queer individuals have historically led movements for freedom and justice.

Agency is a crucial aspect of the Black queer experience.

The fight for LGBTQIA+ rights is a collective struggle that benefits all marginalized communities.

Oral histories are vital for understanding the complexities of Black queer experiences. LGBT, Black and Brown people have existed long before colonialism.

Black queer individuals carry the legacy of their ancestors.

Spirituality encompasses the wholeness of identity.

Joy and pleasure should be pursued openly and publicly.

Black joy is often suppressed and needs to be reclaimed.

The pressure of Black excellence can hinder personal joy.

Historical narratives shape current perceptions of Black queerness.

The church has a complex history with Black queer acceptance.

Humanizing individuals is essential to dismantling stereotypes.

Joy is a pathway to claiming space and identity.

Chapters

00:00 Celebrating Black and Brown LGBTQIA+ History

06:14 Understanding the Roots of BIPOC LGBTQIA+ History

11:54 Milestones in Black and Brown LGBTQIA+ Movements

17:50 The Harlem Renaissance and LGBTQIA+ Intersectionality

24:01 Agency and Freedom in the Black Queer Experience

29:46 The Legacy of Black Queerness

32:43 Wholeness and Spirituality in Identity

37:15 The Pursuit of Joy and Pleasure

46:59 The Burden of Black Excellence

52:01 Historical Perspectives on Black Queer Acceptance

Keywords

Black LGBTQIA+ history, Brown LGBTQIA+ history, BIPOC, agency, Harlem Renaissance, LGBTQIA+ rights, civil rights, intersectionality, oral history, milestones, Black Queerness, Spirituality, Joy, Black Excellence, LGBTQ History, Ancestry, Identity, Community, Acceptance, Legacy

Soul Bites

"We are about education and we are activists."

"Our documented history begins with William Dorsey Swan."

"The ending of slavery planted a seed of bodily autonomy."

"When we fight and win, everybody else benefits."

"We have our ancestors too."

"We are whole as we are."

"What does it mean to remember?"

"We were whole, nothing was missing."

"Black joy not being seen as a thing that is criminal."

"Joy is the portal to which we can start understanding."

"What does it mean that Black people must be excellent?"

"You don't have to humanize anybody. They're already human."

This post was published on the now-closed HuffPost Contributor platform.

“Black Men Loving Black Men Is the Revolutionary Act of the 1980s”

-Joseph Beam

The first time I happened upon the quotation by the great Joseph Beam, it did a work on my spirit. I was just shy of 16 and almost delivered from the Church of God in Christ (COGIC), yet still an occasional, holy rollin’ backslider; the oil was too strong. To my young soul, it illuminated the possibility of a self and communal love that didn’t lead to the burning or gnashing of flesh, but instead to a fire that melted oppression, causing black men to spring forth clean and powerful as an onyx Phoenix. Just shy of 16, I was already grown, but Joey B gave me a new lease on life, I moving from closeted to confident. That was 2005. It’s now 2016.

In the decade since, something in me has changed. I won’t say I’m grown quite yet, but I have grown into a deeper understanding of self, sex and the practice of love. I have come to understand that to revolt, or to inspire revolution, means to act, live, love, think, fuck and die in opposition to an entrenched system while midwifing one of a liberatory nature–with the power to undo all that you think you are–all remaining true and whole to self, eschewing the notion of an “other.” Revolution will undo you. If it does not, you have not yet revolted within or, put simply, unbecome what hegemonic, white supremacist, capitalistic, heteropatriarchal society has branded upon your flesh and psyche. The iron is hot and it’s markings are not easily removed. Therefore, internal revolution is nothing short of psychosocial laser removal treatment–from thought to flesh. For black men, this requires a role-reversal and an expertise in survival jujitsu and imaginative reconstruction.

Black Men Loving Black Men...

This quotation is recited at every black gay/sgl/bi/dl/_______ conference and is generally followed by snaps, smiles and a high/low chorus of YASSSSSS! But what is often heard, understood and practiced is fucking, not loving, or even lusting. If we look closely we can understand the complex relationship between black men as a collective practice of fucking; a rough, quick, thorough, sweaty and primal intercourse that offers short-term relief for a long term desire, repeated over time, in almost any space we enter. The relationship between our sociopolitical bodies, our selves, brother-to-brother become a practice of orientation. More often than not, we measure our masculinities, femininities, wealth, worth, humanity and desirability in opposition to those around us. We do so, acting as if the beauty and bounds of blackness are limited, and our preferred place in the imaginary spectrum of humanities can only be secured by the expulsion or demotion of another black brother. The thinking then goes, that there can only be so many “good” and “worthy” or “real” black men. To think otherwise strikes at intermingled notions of the children of capitalism–the exceptional negro/talented tenth mythology (ex: Barack/Oprah)–and white supremacy–the inherent/imputed deficiency of blackness (ex: controlling images: laziness, violence, hypersexuality).

Anti-Blackness is a convenient, socially constructed covering of white supremacy, white anxiety and white violence.

Black men, like all male-bodied folks, are given situational power and privilege in relation to women and femmes of their racial location. It must be clearly noted that black men–across space, time, class and sexuality–have used this privilege and access to power, to both uplift and more often than not, decimate black women. This has been completed and articulated by the masses as black men accessing and appropriating (white) patriarchy. This is true. However, I posit that it is directly linked to the concept of racial inferiority–a child of white supremacy, a sibling of anti-blackness–that implicitly notes that in order for black men to access “humanity,” we must first differentiate ourselves from other black people (read: women, womyn, queers, trans* folk, ect). Differentiating and othering in the United States is marked by power and power is understood through the demonstration of a marked inability to be oppressed and owned; while simultaneously, ruthlessly portraying that power, through the ability, desire and provision of oppression, ownership and propertying of the othered. Through this violent quest for power, and perhaps the illusion of freedom, black men as a group are marked as violent, hyper-sexual, immoral, criminal and in need of state-control/lashing. The prophecy, markings, and controlling images of white supremacy and anti-blackness become proven by the actions of black men, performing these lip synced lyrics and scripts from the master’s tongue.

Violence upon, and violations of/through, the black male body are the preferred redemptive practice of the 21st century.

Aside from black women―often learned through black/white male cisheteropatriarchy―black men are the primary target of black male patriarchy and power-lust. Sexism is well embedded in society, therefore, the greatest actual threat to a black man’s access to (white supremacist) power in the black community is another black man. This conversation and theory is well fleshed out in bell hook’s “We Be Real Cool” and Richard Majors and Janet Mancini Billson’s “Cool Pose : The Dilemmas of Black Manhood in America.” Both speak to the ways in which black men across age protect themselves–through violence, silence and other performances–against the indignities of white supremacy, anti-blackness, poverty, masculine anxiety and discrimination in their communities. We are taught to prove our worth through the devaluation and violation of other black men. In these practices of violence, distancing and differentiation we are positioned as distinct, if not circumcised, from the collective “bad” black body. We are the strong, the smart, the responsible, the tolerant, the feminist, the queer, the anti-racist, the well-read, the masculine, the christian…the last buffer against the highly contagious other. We are given purpose, we are given worth, we are given pseudo-whiteness, through our performance, perfection and articulation of anti-blackness and internalized white supremacies. To do otherwise–articulating or demonstrating a “soft” pose, or denunciation of this parasitic cycle–can leave a brother isolated, ostracized, bloodied and/or dead.

...Is The Revolutionary...

Flipping the script is both revolutionary and radical. It is a revolt against all that has been designated as “blackness” and radical–or grasping at the root–of the tenants of white supremacy and anti-blackness. Transgressing this ideology and ethic, with a practice of love is not only unheard of, but an unnatural practice in a white supremacist state. This is certainly true if we begin to use my dynamic conception of a critical love ethic: “a practice of universal liberation from cyclical and systemic violence and oppression…we must look deeply and examine the oppressor within, dare to love those who we see as threats or “other” and question whether the threat is real, imagined or internal. This is a call for a human solidarity across and beyond racialized differences and an ethic of love that first acknowledges our shared humanity and endeavors to reify that shared notion.” As I stated in earlier piece on love among black men, we must begin to reconstruct our notions of self, our relationship to others, brothers and sisters.

“The reactionary suicide is ‘wise,’ and the revolutionary suicide is a ‘fool,’ a fool for the revolution in the way Paul meant when he spoke of being a ‘fool for Christ,’ That foolishness can move mountains of oppression; it is our great leap and our commitment to the dead and the unborn.”

– Huey P. Newton, I Am We, or Revolutionary Suicide

We must engage in communal euthanasia of blackness as we’ve accepted it and come to practice and believe that:

“The tea is, blackness is the essence of creation, a potpourri of the creative ingredients of existence. Blackness, unbought, unbossed and unrestrained is the building block of color and from its presence, our presence, your presence, derives all things. …

….Flesh deep, varied and enduring as that of the earth on which we stand. Arms strong and versatile enough to hold masculinities, femininities and the journey of ancestors close. You are rhythmic, moving through the compounded obstacles of society step-by-step, death-dropping over stigma, tossing shade to the bright lights of white supremacy and sashaying truths of our over-comings through your very existences…

You are a soul ballad; stitching together the complex realities of our fraught existences with an in-articulable presence that commands and requires respect, resolve and r/evolution. You are a Cosmos; within you exists a constellation of brilliant expressions of perfect imperfections.

You are queer,str8, trans, gay, bi, same-gender-loving, undefined: simply you. You are father, son, brother, uncle, cousin, and homie. You are truth-seeker, griot, artist, scholar, activist, organizer, writer, singer, designer, athlete, lawyer, educator, trend-setter, and him. You are him. He who is sensitive yet indestructible, authentic yet ever-evolving, sexually breathtaking and intellectually stupefying.

Simultaneously existing within and outside imputed markers and communities of race, gender, and sexuality, we trek on the path of our forefathers. We are called to speak with the urgency of Malcolm, the insight of Baldwin and the truth Essex. We must live with the fearlessness, strategic, acuity of Joseph Beam and Bayard Rustin; navigating the world with our eyes on holistic, comprehensive justice. We must create and we must love, with the fire and passion of Ru, Langston and Rotimi Fani-Kayode. From their shoulders and their pathways we are called and empowered to be all that we are; realizing and releasing the divine nature of our Blackness, Queerness & Flows of Survivance in honor of the crowns of our lineage, the proof of the present and the hope of our progeny. From transmisogyny to police violence, from femme-phobia to HIV criminalization, from poverty to sex-shaming, from heterosexisms to anti-black capitalism.. we are all we need to thrive. Indeed, we are all we’ve ever had.”

―”A Love Letter To My BlaQueer Brothers,” in Godless Circumcisions: A Recollecting & Remembering of Blackness, Queerness & Flows of Survivance.

Our ancestors have done their work, gifting us with a bloody and loving legacy of overcoming and carrying-on, together. It is now our duty to continue to expand these notions of “love”, “Blackness” and “togetherness.”

This essay is an excerpt from my new book Godless Circumcisions: A Recollecting & Remembering of Blackness, Queerness & Flows of Survivance. The book is available via Amazon and Kindle. You can also purchase signed copies of this collection of poetry, essays and cultural critiques here.

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