Posted on December 4, 2014by M. T. Chamblee
Today I wore all black clothing to work. From my slacks, turtleneck, blazer, and cowboy boots (not to mention my coat and hat) to all of my inner clothing–underwear and socks–down to my earrings and wristwatch, I wore black. The only spots of color were in a tiny band of shiny stones in my otherwise black earrings, the gray stripe in my black watchband, and the amethyst crystals and malachite stone I carry in my pocket. I did not wear my colorful bracelets or silver rings that are part of my every day accoutrement. I felt like mourning today. And while few or even no people realized it, I knew I was in mourning. So I dressed in the colors of mourning (as defined by US and many Western cultures)
It was not because a member of my family or even a close friend or acquaintance had died. I wasn’t mourning an individual person per se; I was grieving the deaths of so many people over the past year or two with whom I share a racial/ethnic identity–young boys, young men and women of African heritage. I have not engaged publicly in making statements or speeches, nor have I marched in the streets, and I definitely have not debated with individuals or groups who simply do not understand how it feels to be part of a group of people with a history of having been brutalized by others with the power and privilege of the majority behind them.
The nature of the work I do each day means that I have to help people who don’t understand try to make sense of it–people in the dominant culture who don’t “get it,” people in marginalized identity groups who feel that their lives hold little value in US society, children who don’t understand any of it. Those of us who have to educate others, to help them understand how marginalized people are feeling and why they might need additional support, we are often left exhausted and emotionally depleted at the end of each day. Like warriors who have pushed themselves beyond their emotional and physical limits, we often have no place to turn to receive our own nurturing, support, and healing. And so we “soldier on” taking what breaks we can, receiving whatever solace we can from others who understand what we’re up against and why we do what we do.
I am grateful for the power that symbols have in my life. I wore black. Not for the rest of the world to notice and praise, but for my own internal purpose. I dressed myself with great intention and care this morning. It was in its own way a prayer that I offered to my ancestors as much as to God that somehow things will get better. I wore black for lives lost, for innocence lost, but not for hope lost. You see, I am one of those people for whom hope is never lost, cannot be lost, not completely.
My great, great grandmother was a slave. My great, great grandfather was her master. These people are not abstractions. Slavery is not some distant memory for some of us; it is literally a part of the fabric of our current lives. I am very much who I am because of whom I am descended from. In the work that I do, I am always aware that I carry the DNA and blood of the oppressed slave and the oppressor slavemaster. I am at once both and neither and more than they were. It might seem abstract to some, but to me it is all very real.
I am grateful for knowing who I am. There are those who actually hate me and wish me ill though they have never laid eyes on me. There are those who have the power to act on their hatred and ill will with little resistance or repercussions. I cannot do anything about those people. What I can do is reach out and create change within my spheres of influence. I can learn and I can teach. I can demonstrate by my very way of walking in the world that I too am worthy of being here. You might not see me out there marching, carrying signs, joining in with thousands of people in external physical manifestations of our collective grief, anger, and disappointment. I carry my anger, grief, and disappointment internally and work in my own ways in my own circles to bring about whatever changes I can. And sometimes I dress in black.
