I do not subscribe to normative ways of being and knowing. And I do not even want to try. I dwell in the grace of my differences.
Edward (Eddie) Ndopu
The three of us met several years ago and immediately found a shared passion for working with people and groups that are boldly striving for racial justice and social equity. Each of us has been hosting conversations in communities and organizations locally, nationally and internationally around this work and, simultaneously, we found that while there is progress and change, there is also a repeating pattern of getting lost. As a result of both progress and stuckness, we sense an emerging desire for the "next" conversation and began experimenting with new questions and inquiry. This blog is an invitation to join our inquiry into both what must be carried forward of our and our ancestors accomplishments as well as to boldly question what is no longer useful to our human quest for equity and justice
Allen Kwabena Frimpong
What is your legacy? On whose shoulders do you stand?
My uncle on the maternal side of my family, Nii Ayinsah Sasraku III is responsible for governing and protecting the land and resources of Kokrobite as chief. I am also my uncle's successor as chief of Kokrobite. It is a sea fishing and tourist township which is a couple of miles outside of the capital of Ghana, Accra. He values human rights, and his family, which extends to the children and families who live in Kokrobite as well.
Community organizing and urban planning of public health services for children and families in urban communities is a part of my training and education rooted in Newark, NJ - my birthplace. My life's commitment is to bring about transformative and revolutionary change in communities whose voices have yet to resonate through systems that should be responsible for governing them. What my uncle and I have in common is that both of us have a knowing ingrained in our bones of what it takes to be a caregiver of land and resources to sustain local communities.
What burning question about our collective liberation is in your heart?
What would it look like to organize towards our liberation from systems that are causing us harm while creating new systems that sustain our well-being?
What is your legacy? On whose shoulders do you stand?
My uncle on the maternal side of my family, Nii Ayinsah Sasraku III is responsible for governing and protecting the land and resources of Kokrobite as chief. I am also my uncle's successor as chief of Kokrobite. It is a sea fishing and tourist township which is a couple of miles outside of the capital of Ghana, Accra. He values human rights, and his family, which extends to the children and families who live in Kokrobite as well.
Community organizing and urban planning of public health services for children and families in urban communities is a part of my training and education rooted in Newark, NJ - my birthplace. My life's commitment is to bring about transformative and revolutionary change in communities whose voices have yet to resonate through systems that should be responsible for governing them. What my uncle and I have in common is that both of us have a knowing ingrained in our bones of what it takes to be a caregiver of land and resources to sustain local communities.
What burning question about our collective liberation is in your heart?
What would it look like to organize towards our liberation from systems that are causing us harm while creating new systems that sustain our well-being?
Kelly McGowan
What is your legacy? On whose shoulders do you stand?
I was born into an Irish Catholic family in Buffalo (the 4th most segregated city in the US at the time) the year that JFK was assassinated. My immigrant grandfather distributed answers to the police exam in his bar. Today, my nieces, nephews and godchildren have parents or grandparents who are African American, Mexican, Puerto Rican, Cuban, Korean, Vietnamese, Cherokee and Jewish survivors of World War II.
My consciousness has been formed by influences ranging from (in order of exposure): progressive nuns who embraced Vatican 2; to queer people of color novelists and thinkers who presence the heart/intersectionality of our collective struggle (This Bridge Called My Back); to pop and punk artists who bring love and humor to our divides; to US-based human rights movements that have won and lost struggles (Anti-Apartheid, Native American, ACT-UP, Harm Reduction, Occupy Wall Street); to healing communities (12 Steps, Thich Naht Hanh) that awaken the transformative power of the collective.
What burning question about our collective liberation is in your heart?
What does it really take to work for transformation rather than regulation and what are the next strategies that move us in that direction? What are we learning about the legacy of trauma and the role of healing in our efforts for collective liberation? What is our work now to co-create an environment where policies like stop-and-frisk cannot take hold in the first place?
What is your legacy? On whose shoulders do you stand?
I was born into an Irish Catholic family in Buffalo (the 4th most segregated city in the US at the time) the year that JFK was assassinated. My immigrant grandfather distributed answers to the police exam in his bar. Today, my nieces, nephews and godchildren have parents or grandparents who are African American, Mexican, Puerto Rican, Cuban, Korean, Vietnamese, Cherokee and Jewish survivors of World War II.
My consciousness has been formed by influences ranging from (in order of exposure): progressive nuns who embraced Vatican 2; to queer people of color novelists and thinkers who presence the heart/intersectionality of our collective struggle (This Bridge Called My Back); to pop and punk artists who bring love and humor to our divides; to US-based human rights movements that have won and lost struggles (Anti-Apartheid, Native American, ACT-UP, Harm Reduction, Occupy Wall Street); to healing communities (12 Steps, Thich Naht Hanh) that awaken the transformative power of the collective.
What burning question about our collective liberation is in your heart?
What does it really take to work for transformation rather than regulation and what are the next strategies that move us in that direction? What are we learning about the legacy of trauma and the role of healing in our efforts for collective liberation? What is our work now to co-create an environment where policies like stop-and-frisk cannot take hold in the first place?
Tuesday Ryan-Hart
What is your legacy? On whose shoulders do you stand?
My legacy as a multi-racial woman is both complex and rich. On both sides of my family (African-American as well as Irish-Czech), I come from people who work hard, don't complain, and care for their communities. Some of my folks have been deeply engaged in the work of our people - my uncle was a chairman of SNCC - while others have chosen to do the work more quietly in our family. At the knee of my grandfather, James McDew, I learned about segregation and civil rights and the value of righteous indignation and right action. In the arms of my mother, Patricia Ryan, I learned that we must take risks to be who we want to be and that it is possible to be be bigger than any plans the world has for us. It was in feminist/womanist circles that I found the understanding of intersectionality and an analysis that has guided me for the past twenty years. I am grateful to the survivors of sexual and domestic violence who shared their stories with me, teaching me joy in the face of pain. I am grateful to my ancestors for their courage and perseverance in creating the ground I now stand on, and to my children for their hopefulness and grace.
What burning question about our collective liberation is in your heart?
What is our shared work together now? What is the next level of our work to liberate ourselves and each other? What will it take for us to give up all we know in service of creating the world we want?
What is your legacy? On whose shoulders do you stand?
My legacy as a multi-racial woman is both complex and rich. On both sides of my family (African-American as well as Irish-Czech), I come from people who work hard, don't complain, and care for their communities. Some of my folks have been deeply engaged in the work of our people - my uncle was a chairman of SNCC - while others have chosen to do the work more quietly in our family. At the knee of my grandfather, James McDew, I learned about segregation and civil rights and the value of righteous indignation and right action. In the arms of my mother, Patricia Ryan, I learned that we must take risks to be who we want to be and that it is possible to be be bigger than any plans the world has for us. It was in feminist/womanist circles that I found the understanding of intersectionality and an analysis that has guided me for the past twenty years. I am grateful to the survivors of sexual and domestic violence who shared their stories with me, teaching me joy in the face of pain. I am grateful to my ancestors for their courage and perseverance in creating the ground I now stand on, and to my children for their hopefulness and grace.
What burning question about our collective liberation is in your heart?
What is our shared work together now? What is the next level of our work to liberate ourselves and each other? What will it take for us to give up all we know in service of creating the world we want?