In a world where being a black woman can be equated to being born with 2 strikes against you, I wanted a voice. Anyone who knows me knows I have a lot to say. I am loud. I am opinionated. I am passionate. Speaking out has never been a problem for me. I am concerned about the plight of black Americans. I am concerned about women’s rights. I am painfully conscious of the partisan mess that is our current political system. I also know the only way to begin to fix our society to make everyone aware. Until most everyone understands that issues are human issues; not simply, black issues and not simply women’s issues, there can only be limited progress. America is beautiful, brave, and ours. We have allowed bigotry and inequality to reign for too long. We all make up America and we the people are what make America great.
Being colored is more than just a label to replace the word “nigger.” It’s a word attributed to us in order to degrade us but, instead, it embodies us. We are a colorful people. We are rhythmic. We resilient. We are powerful. We are strong. We are resourceful. We are inventive. We are everything the bonds of slavery tried to eliminate. We are everything Jim Crow intended to stifle. We are colored and colorful.
Being southern adds a visceral link to the struggle. The ground on which we stand, below the Mason-Dixon Line, is the same ground my ancestors worked. The trees are the same that once bore strange fruit. The majesty of the south is tainted by a horrific past, but unless we acknowledge it and learn from it we are destined to continue the vicious cycle.
So take this as a wake up call. I am southern. I am colored. And I am here. I will not be silent. I will yell and scream until America is America for everyone.