Part I. The Reaffirmation of the 1960s stands, after the Classical Period of Kemetic civilization and the Holocaust of Enslavement, as a third modal or decisive and defining period in our history.
We move through February and March to celebrate Black History Month I and II as naturally and necessarily as men and women meet and merge for joy and life, and seasons change and bring some new and needed good into the world. Our history is a self-conscious and sustained struggle for growth, transformation and transcendence to ever higher levels of human life in ever-expanding realms of human freedom and human flourishing.
Once again, the edges of the years have met and merged, and another new year has come. And we find ourselves and the world in the midst of winter in the worst of ways. COVID-19, a pandemic of worldwide proportions and devastating impact, has swept across the world, wreaking havoc on the health, lives, and livelihood of millions, showing no mercy and no signs of an early exit.
Even without understanding it in the depth that would come later, we were in, 1965, a new generation building on centuries of sacrifice and struggles of all those who preceded us, those who cleared firm and sacred ground on which we stood and still stand and who opened essential and upward ways on which we would continue the unfinished struggle for liberation and ever higher levels of human life.
Kwanzaa is a time of celebration, remembrance, reflection and recommitment. It requires these practices throughout the holiday. But the last day of Kwanzaa is dedicated to deep reflection, meditation on the meaning and measure of being African and how this is understood and asserted for good in the world in essential, uplifting and transformative ways.
The histories and holidays of the oppressed, colonized and enslaved are, of necessity, different from the history and holidays of the oppressor, the colonizer and the enslaver. Likewise, their interpretations of those histories and holidays also differ, for they are lived and learned from different standpoints. Thus, the Palestinians call the conquest and colonization of Palestine, the Nakba—the Great Catastrophe, and the Israelis call it the war of independence. The Native Americans call the conquest and colonization of their land and the decimation of their people genocide and Holocaust. The Europeans call it “discovery,” “the move westward,” “reaching the promised land,” and other self-sanitizing words and phrases.
Indeed, for her, freedom meant more than seeking and finding a comfortable place in oppression and letting those who would and could follow you. That is why, having escaped form enslavement, she could only feel free and happy for a brief while and was thus compelled to turn around and bring all she could out of bondage so that they could enjoy the collective and inclusive freedom both she and they needed. For she tells us that all the people she loved and knew and who suffered and longed for freedom were back in the belly of the beast, fighting daily against the deadening, debilitating and acidicly corrosive and erosive effects of the Holocaust of enslavement, and she was determined and duty-bound to liberate them.
It is all there, the beginning of another myth-making drama of an America honestly engaged in coming to terms with its racist past and present, openly discussing the grievous hurt and harm White racism causes to its victims, and making a united front and consensus call for the resignation of a governor caught with his white Klan cape up and his blackface guard down in a pre-selfie photo for his med school yearbook. Clearly, it must be an important issue, for it is on all the media: corporate, social and otherwise. And if it drags out long enough, it could inspire the making of a movie or at least lead to other goodwill tours inside the alternating racist and reformist mind of America.
As Kwanzaa draws to an end and the old year meets and merges with the new, we are, as always, obligated and urged by ancient custom and ongoing current concerns to sit down and seriously engage in righteous reflection on being African in the world. To speak of righteous reflection is, in an Ebonics sense of the word righteous, to talk of thought that is real, ethical and excellent. That is to say, thought that is free from the artificial, false and formulaic and comes from the heart as well as from the head. What is aimed at here is thought which is informed by an ethical sensitivity to the subject under consideration. And this holds true whether in our concern for each other or for the health and wholeness of the world; for the loss of human life or the mutilation of historical memory; and for the deprivation of material needs or the denial of dignity and rights due everyone.
Deny this country what you will, it is without question a land of illusions, illusions about the meaning of truth, the measure of greatness and the almightiness of weaponry, wealth and whiteness. There is this thing about claiming to be “the best” without being able to just be good and about becoming a “more perfect union” without having first achieved perfection, something which in more sober moments is deemed humanly impossible.