Mind Reflections: What Anita Hill Said at Purdue 9/25/2017

Reflections: What Anita Hill Said at Purdue
by Jolivette Anderson-Douoning

I sat with my daughter Nadja and listened to Anita Hill speak tonight at Purdue University. This is what I recall intellectually and emotionally about her comments on Thurgood Marshall and Clarence Thomas.

Thurgood Marshall laid a foundation for working within American structures and systems toward equality. He was the first Black Supreme Court Justice and when he retired many must have hoped that another Black person would take his place. Well, a Black man did take his place but the quality and character and racial consciousness of the Black man that took Thurgood Marshall's place on the SCOTUS did NOT serve the interest of EQUALITY for Black people in the manner, method, or memory of the late Justice Thurgood Marshall.

Marshall was a 'Race Man'. He acknowledged that Race, Racism, Racial prejudice and biases were present in society and were determining factors in the DENIAL of ACCESS to equal treatment under the law, and I dare say, in all manner of the lived experience in the United States. He worked toward what Dr. Anita Hill called the "Inclusive Community" and he believed that government had a role and responsibility to address the structures and systems that denied ACCESS TO INCLUSION.

When Clarence Thomas was tapped to take the place of Thurgood Marshall, he believed what Ronald Reagan had promoted during his time as POTUS in the 1980s. The now Justice Clarence Thomas believed that EQUALITY is about the INDIVIDUAL. He believed that Black folk should "pull themselves up by their bootstraps" ie work hard and you will rise and succeed, as if there are no barriers to you based on your Race (or gender, geography, etc.)

He believed that the Government should have no role in EQUALITY for individuals. His thinking fell in line with Ronald Reagan's announcement that he would NO LONGER FIGHT the 'War Against Poverty' that previous Presidential Administrations had fought. He then proceeded to wipe out funding for 'social programs' that affected after-school programs, child care programs, food programs, and more. These things should NOT BE THE BUSINESS OF THE GOVERNMENT (emphasis mine). Thus, 'government IS the problem, too much government, they wanted LESS GOVERNMENT in the lives of the INDIVIDUAL.

This 'less government' involvement cry is the gateway for the battle cry for privatization and segregation all rolled into one thing. Let's call it the INTERSECTION OF PRIVATIZATION AND SEGREGATION, but Dr Anita Hill said, you must know each one individually before you can understand the 'Intersectionality' of it all. (EX: I had to taste corn and lima beans separately before I knew they would taste good together in my succotash).

-- Thomas seems to have been and still is claiming that "advocacy for equality" was / is not a governmental issue.

-- Marshall seems to have been claiming that governmental systems and structures hold some people back from access to equality, equal treatment under the law, and the right to "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness".

Clarence Thomas, at that time in history, was being used to prop up what the Reagan Republicans wanted to be a 'New Day on Race in America'. A day that did not hold them accountable, as White men perhaps, for what has been done to Black people since and before the beginning of this country.

The end. (for now)

Levels of Strength (for Jethro and Helen Anderson)

Levels of Strength (for Jethro and Helen Anderson)
by Jolivette Anderson

FIRST DRAFT

I woke up this morning with my mind stayed on THE FREEDOM. My mind is stayed, positioned, locked on the freedom that was created for me by mother based on how she raised me. It seems, it was her job to raise the girls as the chief executive parent while daddy focused on raising the boys, but we all were there together. Each person affecting and influencing both the girls and the boys. It seems they believed that the menfolk had a certain role in the life of the boys and the women folk had a certain role in the life of the girls neither being mutually exclusive because Daddies impact Daughters and Mamas impact Sons.

Back to strength and freedom. My mother gets a lot of credit for the way I think, the way I approach the world with a Fearlessness and Courage, being ever ready to put it all on the line for my people, Black people.

My father gets a lot of credit for the way I think about justice and the systems, the institutions structured to make justice accessible to every human being. The system had its place, it was to make right the wickedness of man against man, especially those wickednesses based on racial animist toward Black people. In short, to avoid the chaos that is always in the world, there needed to be rules to embrace the order that is always in the world with the key understanding that both chaos and order are first and foremost the internal human battle inside of every human and in my fathers view, that internal struggle was mirroring the struggle between God and Devil, good and evil. The church (Christianity) organized their lives to deal with and respond to God and Devil. The government (Democracy in America) organized their lives to deal with and respond to good and evil. One religious and spiritual. The other societal and governmental. Confirmation from BOTH were used in their personal beliefs about marriage, family, and parenting. In the Anderson home it was God and the Government that wielded out justice in different forms and together they represented the nature of God, they mirrored the male and the female aspects of God that make us human.

All of that to say this: Helen Anderson had a reputation for being crazy but strong. A woman who could demonstrate strength and compassion with the tone of her voice and her actions. She was feared by many. Her passion for doing what is right based on all the wrong she endured, the wrong she witnessed as a child growing up in rural Louisiana. The internal wrongs done by us and the external wrongs done to us left their mark on her and she tried to correct it by actively proving it wrong. She worked with children and adults but she focused on children. Things had to be done a certain way, it had to look good, it had to sound pleasant, it had to be respectful, it had to be filled with joy and passion and encouragement. We had to know that we could do things, we could be good at things, we could be successful, we could be better than our current circumstance, status, or situation and to Hell with whomever was in the way trying to block us from becoming better. They would be labeled 'the devil'.

While my words have changed, my attitude is pretty consistent with the way my parents viewed the world. The Devil is real in the workings of human beings, in our treatment of ourselves and each other, in our very inability to see ourselves and each other as humans, being.

My father and mother argued a lot about money. He liked holding on to it, she felt it should be spent on creating opportunities and joy for Black people, not just her own children, everybody's children. Much of what she did, my dad had to foot the shortfall of the finances. Our electricity, phone, gas, water.... NOTHING.... WAS EVER DISCONNECTED when my father was alive. He believed in paying his bills and paying them on time. Mama, not so much. There were always community issues, Black children and adults that needed help and Mama would help them with her monthly pay check. After Dad died, she had to learn how to live a different type of life.

All that to say this: Jethro Anderson had a reputation for being firm, loving, caring, rational, practical, steadfast, hardworking, and more but of all the words I can use to describe my father, the simplest word carries the most weight and intensity. My dad was 'responsible'.

for those that knew them, I wonder if they have ever asked themselves the question, 'If Mrs Anderson was so fierce, so strong, so courageous, so intimidating then what kind of man must my father have been to embrace all that my mother was to so many people? Or, perhaps, they were more alike than any of us realized.

My mother believed she should "obey" her husband. Deep down inside of me, I believe the same thing. It will take a special kind of person to understand what 'obey' means and still be okay with it. At my core,in all the ways I mirror my mother, I understand how deep and profound of a man my father was. He truly believed in God and the Bible as the teachings of how man and woman should behave toward each other. He believed in RULES. One should "know right from wrong and do right over wrong, no matter how difficult it may be.

To make it simple, all money ain't good money. All loving and good loving. There is some shit you just should not do, not say, not be part  or party to because of what will happen to you after you do it or what could happen to your children and your grand children if you do it. There were always consequences to every action and every opportunity.

Daddy did not spread his seed all over the planet. There were rules and consequences about this type of behavior. You lay with a woman you better be prepared to marry her if you get her pregnant because she and that child become your responsibility and they have to have your name.

Mama gave me advice on my failing marriage. She said, "you got a name and that baby got a name and that is all that matters." It took me years to figure out the culture, the codes embedded in that wisdom, and I am still searching for deeper meanings, but what I have figured out so far is that 'having a name', a mans family name meant you belonged not just to that man, you belonged to a group of people that would give you identity, purpose, and direction on your journey in life, if you choose to embrace who you are.

Cipher One: x + y^5 = self

Cipher One: x + y^5 = self
by Jolivette Anderson-Douoning

x= Jolivette Anderson-Douoning, the unknown pieces of She. y^5 = Who am I? What is my purpose? Where did I come from? When will I get to where I am going? Why do I matter?

Who am I?
I am spirit and flesh. I am a continuation and a beginning happening in each measurable moment in time and outside of time. I am energy trapped inside a vessel, moving, constantly, fighting to find the time to be still.

What is my purpose?
My purpose is to be, to embody, to exact, to exchange energy.

Where did I come from (from where did I come?)
Dark matter. The visible invisible liquid that hold the sun, moon, Earth and stars. I come from prayers prayed for better days. I am my Ancestors returned.

When will I get to where I am going?
I am already here, questioning while knowing.

Why do I matter?
I matter because dark matter made itself known to itself. As above, so below. We grow.

When a Women Dies (for Racheal Janet Williams)

A Woman named Rachael Janet Williams was Killed on Creasy Lane  in 2013 and I Heard Nothing About It

by Jolivette Anderson-Douoning

I don't run into very many Black men in Lafayette, Indiana and the ones I do run into often avoid eye contact with me. I assume because there are many interracial couples in this area, and  I assume that my dreadlocks, my cultural garments, and my scent of Egyptian Musk or Patchouli kinda gives brothers pause.

I suspect they think I will give them the 'What you doing with that White girl" look or energy. While I admit that energy has been and on some days still is a part of my thinking, I have matured enough to let people be who they are and not get into their business with my world view, regardless of how evolved or devolved I am on any particular day. But this is not about me, this is about Black Women in general, and what happens when we meet our demise.

I was moving my belongings out of my ex-husband's apartment. I called a moving company and scheduled a date and time. To my surprise, TWO Black men showed up to move my 30 years worth of stuff. Some furniture, mostly boxes of books, family documents, and memories. I was so energized when I saw them that when they asked, 'How you doing?", I said, " I'm Black, that is how I am doing. We all laughed because they were happy to see my big, black self too.

As we often do, we start to chat, the way Black folk chat. I am older than them by quite a few years, one brother was from Indianapolis, the other from Chicago. I said, that is all fine and good, but what part of the South are your people from. Their responses: Itta Bena, Mississippi and Jackson, Tennessee. It was a front porch, sweet potato pie, catfish, and collard greens conversation from that point forward.

Then things took a turn for the Ancestral. One brother told me he was displeased with the local NAACP because he felt they did nothing to help him. I said, well if you need me to do a workshop with some of the folk you know on how to respond to the things that happen in town, how to work the system to seek justice, I would be willing to have those type conversations.

The brother explained that his situation was unique.

My daughter's mother wall killed on Creasy Lane in front of the Discount Tire place. It was early  in the morning, before day. She was run over by a car. We put flowers and stuff out there by a tree near where it happened, it is still there.

I admit, I see street memorials all the time, I never thought I would meet someone who  actually put one up in memory of a loved one in a spot I pass on a regular basis.

Instead of arresting the man who ran over her, they came to his home and picked him up. The driver claimed that "she just came out of no where" so a Black detective put him under investigation for killing his daughter's mother. The man that ran over her never went to jail, no justice at all for Sister Rachel Janet Williams or her family members. This was 2013. I had not heard anything about it. That was a hard year for me too because my mother died in April so I thought that was why I had not heard about it.

The young brother told me there was no article in the paper, no news report, no one held accountable for the death of this woman who left a then 3 year old girl-child behind, the child he is now raising alone with the help of his family.

I was hit really hard emotionally. What if I did not come home to my daughter. Who would raise her? Most importantly, I kept thinking about a Sister I did not know. To my knowledge, I had never met her. A mother. A woman with a warm, loving personality. A woman liked and loved by many. This is how her man, the father of her child described her. I can only think and believe her to be someone special.

To be fair, I am assuming much. I never asked if she was Black, but no matter what, she needs to be acknowledged and remembered for who she was, how she died, where she died, and how sometimes justice does not get served. We all leave an imprint, an energy that says we have been here.

I pray for her daughter, I pray for her family, I pray for the justice she deserves.

Racheal Janet Williams, I speak your name in remembrance of your life lived in Lafayette, IN and anywhere you roamed on the planet Earth.  Who will remember us when we die? A very good brother loved you and he remembers the beautiful things about you. Rest in peace, Rise in Power, your energy lives on. Ase!

When Adisa Foluke died

Twenty Years Ago
July 29, 1997

By Jolivette Anderson-Douoning

On that day, he was sitting in front of me on a charter bus. We were in route to Washington DC to meet with the Congressional Black Caucus. We'd left South Carolina, Oyitunji African Village, the evening before. In retrospect, there were signs.

We were on Interstate 95. I remember Stevie Wonder playing on a boom box, "Hey, Love..."  before I went to sleep.

I remember, waking at some point in the middle of night, leaning forward to tell Adisa Foluke , "I love you Brother". He was staring straight ahead as if he was watching the road, watching our driver, Mr Oliver, or just watching and protecting us.

I remember, waking once again, the sun pierced my eyelids, it was golden, warm, rays on my skin.

Then. I remember. Bumpiness. Rattling sound. Feeling of floating in the air, like in an airplane. But. We were in a bus.  Then. We CRASHED. DROPPED. SLID. into the Nottaway River in Virgina.

My watch stopped at 7:07 am July 29.

That was the moment Adisa died.

Pathways to Freedom Underground Railroad Tour 1997, Rosa and Raymond Parks Institute for Self-Development.

Memories of Me and Love from Family

I was opening act for the Tom Joyner Comedy Revue back in the day (Thanks to Stan Branson )

My brother came to Jackson, MS from TN to support me. We got to meet Jay Anthony Brown backstage.

Funny, Jethro H. Anderson road tripped it to Little Rock, Arkansas to see me open for Patti LaBelle ( Thanks to Arden Barnett ) and Jacqueline Anderson road tripped it to Mississippi to see me open for Brian McKnight ( Thanks to Arden again)

Uh... Arve Anderson you got to catch up... lol.

Seriously though, Arve was stationed at Fort Belvoir on this day 20 years ago. He got the call saying, " Your sister was in that bus that went into that river near Stony Creek, Virginia"

The Army let him hit the road to come see about me. My baby brother held me while I cried, while I tried to process why Adisa had to die.

Jethro, at the time, was expecting his first born son with his wife Jamiletta Chestnut Anderson. They called me 2 weeks later, wanting to have a name with some meaning for that new baby.

I missed the call, but they remembered my pain, they wanted a name that started with the letter J.

I called Nikki Skies and she said  what about 'Jelani'?

I called my brother back he said, "You too late, she named him Jamir, but his middle name is Adisa, after your friend that died. Jamir Anderson middle name Adisa!

**crying**

All this to say, I am so grateful to God, Our Parents, our Ancestors, the community we grew up in and so much more because my siblings take care of me in the good times and the bad.

When I achieve, WE achieve.

When I get this degree, THIS IS OUR PHD!

YES, Jerene, I am looking for a JOB!!!

Tribute to Onyi and Esom (Thank you for welcoming Nadja and I into your lives)

A Tribute to Onyi, Mother of Three (and her daughter Esom)

Sister Friend Onyi and her daughter Esom moved away to Georgia this morning.

Esom showed up one January as the new little Black Girl at school, so Nadja was not alone anymore.

Nadja immediately stepped to her and asked, " Do you want to be my friend?" Esom agreed and they made 'Little Black Girl History' for the past 4 years.

They laughed, argued, cried, consoled, developed crushes, watched their Mamas struggle, bonded in battles against their brothers, yelled and screamed at each other.... the regular journey for girls their age for sure.

But, what makes me cry the most right now is knowing that those moments will stay with them. They cried and hugged last night. I got to crying too, oh it was a mess, but it was progress.

I had no idea that during all the times I was driving these Little Queens-in-Training around that they were actually LISTENING to me.

For the past few days, Esom has been saying, "Tell me a story, you know, like the time Nadja was born or the time you were young, and speak Louisiana" (side eye, I think she means Southern).

I had no idea she loved my southern... accent and stories, just as much as Nadja loves them.

May we adults never underestimate the power of human contact and conversation.

Children still watch and listen and try to become the best ... or the worse... we demonstrate to them. (Which means neither of these Baby Queens will be at a loss for ways, methods, and means to give someone a good cussing out cause they were around me for years, but only when all other methods of sanity and common sense have failed).

Most importantly, I required them to be more than they wanted to embrace. They could say 'hello in about 5 or 6 different languages, but could not say 'hello' in Bété  (Nadja) or in Igbo (Esom) not even in 'Colored or Negro' but that's another Black Culture story.

So, I made Esom get her mom on the phone and Nadja get her dad on the phone to learn how to say hello in their African Ethnic (some say Tribal) tongue. It was so foreign to them they laughed and giggled so I made them put the words to beat with a rhythm.

The next day, they did not remember.... but the fact I made them do it, THEY WILL REMEMBER.

Nadja, you are a Bété / Tikar child, you have an African identity, you are not the empty- headed, souless savage your American identity claims and still tells you to be.

Esom, you are an Igbo/Iduma child, you have an African identity, you are not the empty- headed, souless savage your American identity claims and still tells you to be.

I pray to the Creator that every second you were /are in my presence that you learned how to Love and how to Survive.

Take it to the next level, learn how to thrive, in your skin, in your African Heritage, as it is experienced, as it is lived in America.

I love yall (and your brothers too -- Onyeddi, Ebube, Jean Yves Boa, Djolo, and Jalen and the newest sibling, girlchild, Little Awa too).

I love you all, remember to Love yourself and to be 'YOU',
Mama Jolivette

Twenty Years Ago,
July 8, 1997:

I boarded a flight from Jackson, MS to Detroit, Michigan to work for the Rosa and Raymond Parks Institute for Self Development.

Mrs. Parks liked a poem I had written and recited in her honor when she traveled to Jackson a year earlier (1996) and sent me a message via Theresa, the then manager of Smith Robertson Museum and Cultural Center, offering me an opportunity to work with her youth program, Pathways to Freedom' the next year, if I was interested. I was interested. During her 1996 visit, she requested information about how to reach the Attorney Chokwe Lumumba. She had followed his career from his time in Detroit. Since Nubia Lumumba had taken me under her wing when I was an intern at New Stage Theater, I had his phone number and Mrs Parks had dinner with the Lumumbas while in Jackson. Rukia Lumumba and Mayor Chokwe Lumumba may have memories and images from that dinner.

Flash forward, back to July 1997 --

My Aunt Rosie picked me up from the airport and took me to the Institute. It was on Wildemere Street, the same street name my Aunt Rosie and Uncle George had lived on for decades. I had spent a few summers with them and my cousins Belinda Rogers and Anthony, since I was 3 years old.

This would be a bus tour  from Windsor Canada into Detroit and through several States in the U.S retracing some places and spaces on the Underground Railroad. This would be a 30 day bus tour with Black children ages 11 to 17 whose parents entrusted the Institute with educating them about their heritage as Black American and Black Caribbean children ( two students were from the Bahamas).

I was to be artist, educator, and the person Jethro and Helen Anderson raised. And that is who and what I was.

35 of us set out on this glorious opportunity. Only 34 of us made it back to Detroit alive.

Twenty Years Ago,
July 7, 1997:

I witnessed the first Black Mayor, Honorable Harvey Johnson, be inaugurated in Jackson, MS. I remember two things very clearly about that day.

One, I wanted to read a poem but was told no by the organizers, only to realize why on that day. I witnessed Dr. Margaret Walker Alexander recite a poem for the occassion. I was so humbled and grateful to even be taken seriously as a poet in the same city as Mother Margaret. I bowed down in full genuflect to her with a smile on my face and in full acceptance of my place as one who wanted to be one of her 'literary children'.

Two, the White man with a sign, a placard, that said "No good ever came from letting the slaves take over the plantation!" He was being protected by two JPD police officers, I suspect so no one would whip his ass. Both officers were Black.

Twenty Years Ago,
July 5, 1997:

I was opening act for Patti LaBelle at Thalia Mara Hall in Jackson, MS, the Flame Tour!

The poems I recited had migrated from the Jackson club scene, where I opened for Karen Mus'sang Brown at the Snooty Fox to a 2500 seat, sold out crowd.

I did that gig for free because I recognized opportunity when it knocked on my door.

Thank you Arden Barnett!

Thank you Jackson, Mississippi (too many people to name)!

Dear Black People,

I see your silence. I hear your survival. I have fought myself enough, I have no choice but to write this letter to you. Afterwards, maybe, just maybe, I  will be able to sleep. The illness will leave my body, I  will be able to breathe properly.

First, a word. RECONSTRUCTION. By definition, if something is reconstructed, it must have been torn down, broken, pushed toward obliteration,  or destroyed. Yes, that would be us. Yet, we use the word RECONSTRUCTION  to talk about an Era, a time in history or memory. Yet, in each RECONSTRUCTION that has taken place in the United States, it lived and died because of how WE, BLACK PEOPLE were treated during those times.

Simply stated, when WE, BLACK  PEOPLE,  endeavored to DECONSTRUCT the hypocrisy of this nation to the point of receiving our just due,  the enemy of WE, BLACK PEOPLE, revolted, refused to acknowledge our progress and made haste, to put us in a PLACE that made this enemy feel comfortable again.

According to a book by Dr William Barber, we are embarking upon a "Third Reconstruction" and each one has been and continues to be about WE, BLACK PEOPLE.

THE FIRST RECONSTRUCTION

It was 1875. WE, BLACK PEOPLE, worked for decades to gain access into the political system to be recognized as free, citizens,  citizens with the right to participate as a citizen in all ways human beings exercise their citizenship. OUR EFFORTS were met with things like the "grandfather clause" that said if your grand father did not vote, you can not vote. 4 million recently emancipated people whose grandfather's were ENSLAVED would be denied the right to vote and so would their progeny. This was but one  method used to stop WE, BLACK PEOPLE, from reconstructing the United States into including "ALL people". They used literacy, or the lack of access to deny access.

THE SECOND RECONSTRUCTION

It begins in 1954 with the Brown v Board of Education school desegregation of public schools case, and with the 1955 murder of Emmett Till. Progress for WE, BLACK PEOPLE, was seen as OUR being just as good as white people so for every action toward BLACK PROGRESS during this time, we were attacked and many were violently killed. Killed for exercising our rights to be citizens of a PLACE, to exist as human beings in a SPACE.

They used violence when trickery about our lack of intelligence,  our inability to read and write, proved false. Since they are educating themselves we can't use the 1875 method of disfranchisment so they killed us from 1955 with Till to 1968 with Dr. King.

THE THIRD RECONSTRUCTION

With Black excellence on display from the White house daily, the tactics used against WE, BLACK PEOPLE, are being implemented against  Muslims and Mexicans, but don't you dare think that this IS NOT ABOUT YOU TOO.

Privatization of prisons, destruction of public schools.... 1875 it was Slavery and Emancipation. Majority Black men in prison and will take the place of migrant workers in fields, sound like enslavement to me.

1955 Desegregation of public education.... now the destruction of schools that must accept everyone by law.... Privatization and states rights sounds like RESEGREGATION OF EDUCATION to me.

To keep a plain, same games, same hateful players, our reality is hidden in the layers of our history, of our forcing this nation to live up to what it says it is.... all the while building while the enemy destroys.... generationally!

Peace,
Jolivette Anderson-Douoning