voice

these are a few of my favourite things …

| Sheree

I’ve missed a few days here.

I don’t know if I expressed it openly but I’ve been trying to post every day here in honour of a practice from years ago of being creative every day.

This last week, home alone and probably depressed, I’ve been beating myself up for not doing more. More out in society as well as within my own practice. I’ve been on a rollercoaster of emotions and I’ve not been kind towards myself.

Coming out the other end though I can see that I’ve been doing what I’ve needed. Rest yes but also quiet, small magic.

I’ve been collecting brown paper from packages. I thought I’d use them within the creative retreats I facilitated this year but it didn’t happen. So I have a very large pile and what I love about the brown paper apart from the sound and texture is the un/uniformativity of it.

These papers are teared to fuck. Fragile and worn and rough. And I love feeling them. So this week, I might not have been posting here but my sitting room became a factory conveyer belt as brown paper got the credit card treatment of smeared paints. Acrylic paints that I’m using up that I love the mixtures of, that gets under my nails and onto the carpet. And I love it. One side wait to dry and then the next and then let’s fold and put these single sheets together to make a whole

This practice has made me whole again this week. I’ve been writing within this new journal this past couple of days and I feel so good to be doing so. Better.

I’m grateful to wake up each morning and {BE}. I’m grateful that I’m no longer chasing recognition and the big bucks. I’m grateful that I don’t give a fuck about being perfect and always having to smile.

I’m grateful for the community I have around me. Cultivated over years. They care for me and I care for them.

I’m grateful to myself for never giving up on me and for always having my back even when it feels I’m falling apart. Falling apart but big hands to put me back together again, but better.

Anti-racism is anti-capitalism

| Sheree

I really appreciate it when you’ve bought a book and are ready to dive into it, but you’re just not feeling it. You can’t get into it. So onto the book shelf it goes, collecting dust. Maybe even taunting you.

And then, over time, into a different time, you pick up said book again and you dive into this time, deeply. It’s singing it’s message through you mind, body and soul.

This practice happened for me with Women Who Run With Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes and here it’s happened again with What is antiracism? by Arun Kundnani.

It’s that time of year again where I’m due to go back into Sunderland University and lecture within the Social Work Department around anti-racism. This started in 2020, in the pandemic and the Black Lives Matter uprisings around the world. Up until this point there had been no addressing of race and racism within social work training. And you could still say this is the case as one session, 2-3 hours long, is hardly making a dent into racism and its consequences. But I digress.

Anyway each year, my thinking and practices have changed as I’ve read more and developed more as an anti-racist, anti-capitalist agitator, organiser and activist.

I share my learnings and findings as I want to bring about change for everyone. And this transformation can’t be just limited to working on a personal level as the usual anti-racism training/ education would have us believe.

The problem is not just on an individual level, our unconscious biases etc, the problems are structural and are engrained into the bedrock of our societies, countries and communities.

Anyhow, this book What is antiracism? is not only giving me the historical evidence of racism, the term and practices, but is also sharpening my argument around how racism and classism go hand in hand and that you cannot have a revolution without black workers leading the way. As black workers have always fought for freedom and the dismantling of capitalism for everyone, not just for (white) workers as the revolutions within Europe have done.

We have the French Revolution in the 1700s, lead by the urban masses. We have the Russian Revolution lead by the vanguard party for the proletariat. But we have the Saint-Domingue Revolution in the 1700s lead by the enslaved for abolition of all enslavement in the colonies and Europe, in tandem with the French Revolution happening in Paris. The first time that black and white workers were fighting a common cause together on this scale.

Which revolution succeeded?

The revolution lead by the enslaved, black forced labour, which created the sovereign state of Haiti, a black revolution which had at its heart radical action to transform all societies.

This is what we need now.

Just

| Sheree

sometimes I fantasise about disappearing. not death.

just checking out. take to my cosy cottage in the shadow of a mountain.

grow pumpkins and squash. swim in a lochan daily.

write that novel. for me. not caring if anyone reads it.

i’m {BEING} on my own time.

slipping under a liminal moon. free.

107 Days

| Sheree

For my birthday, my beautiful and talented daughter gave me 107 Days by Kamala Harris. I might have dropped some hints beforehand but boy was I pleased to receive this gift.

As soon as I heard Harris had published a memoir all about her run for the President of the United Stated of America, I knew I had to read it.

During that remarkable time from 21 July 2024 to the election 5 November, when Harris was propelled into the run for office, given such a historically short time for campaigning, I was hooked.

Hooked into hope. Having a black/ brown woman as president of the United States wouldn’t just be radical and amazing it would change the world. Harris would change the world, not just through what she stood for in terms of policies, but more importantly what message her face in the White House would say about us to the world. Thanks once again to a black woman stepping up, caring and making changes not for egotistical, selfish gains but for the benefit of all

I’ve always been in conflict with Black Feminism, in that reality that black women receive the worst treatment from everyone within society and yet we go to bat, stand up and fight for everybody’s freedom. We lead from a foundation of love while at the same time surviving and thriving within a world that does not give that same love in return.

We are destroyed on the daily and yet we still love ourselves and each other. That is what we have to do, love ourselves in the face of being unloved by others.

So here I am reading 107 days, feeling as if Harris is talking directly to me because of her writing style and because I’ve watched far too many of her speeches and interviews to hear her voice while I’m reading, I’m taken back to that time of campaigning and I’m crying when I’m reading.

I’m crying for what Harris had to go through during this time and after. The behind the scenes undermining and neglect, to the public abuse and questioning of her credentials, intelligence and race, by her opponents as well as those who were supposed to be her supporters.

How there’s nothing more revealing of what is within a person’s heart as when a black/ brown woman walks into a room and what that individual says or does in response. Do they see the black/brown woman? Do they recognise them for who they are/ as a human being or do they operate through a stereotypical, misogynoir lens?

I’m crying because during those 107 days, I bought into the whole Harris campaign. I had to. No choice. I knew that to get a black/brown woman elected as President was a long shot, was believing in unicorns, was hopeful, blissful dreaming for groundbreaking change.

And I was all in. I had to be. I had to believe it was possible otherwise what’s the fucking point! what would that be saying about how I viewed myself and my place in this world?

I’m crying now not just because of all those hopes and possibilities being dashed when Harris didn’t win. But also because of what the world is like now because she didn’t win and the dick for an arse who is now in control of the White House and what a fucking mess he’s making of the job, the country, the world. how many people he’s hurting and killing because he didn’t give a fuck. Because he doesn’t and never will care. Harris cared and cares.

I’m crying because my heart was broken then when Harris didn’t win and it’s breaking now as I read how Harris was graceful and joyful in her appearances and actions during the campaign while dealing with racist, sexist shit behind the scenes.

Harris was used just like any other black/brown woman, brought in to repair and save the day, without given the proper support or time or resources to do so. But expectations were and still are there to excel beyond anyone/ everyone else while given less than in terms of resources, grace, the benefit of the doubt.

What Harris achieved in 107 days was remarkable and historical and downright amazing. But does she receive her rightful credit and accolades? Not a fucking chance.

I’m crying because I still have hope in the face of such shit. I’m hurting with hope.

Hope is a practicing and we have to keep practicing.

today’s ponderings while lying on the couch …

| Sheree

liminality

in-between spaces

lingering in the midst flight

fugitivity

nowhere at all

the potential of edges

black captives trapped at sea

zones of non-being

“Wherever blackness dwells—slave ship, spaceship, graveyard, garden, elsewhere, everywhere—those captives accessed what Spillers calls a “richness of possibility.” Hortense Spillers quoted in La Marr Jurelle Bruce, How To Go Mad Without Losing Your Mind: Madness and Black Radical Creativity.